Guest Post: Karina Halle - Characters in Darkhouse

Darkhouse

by Karina Halle

Paperback, 323 pages

Published May 1st 2011 by Metal Blonde Books

ISBN: 9781461079859

There’s always been something a bit off about Perry Palomino. Though she’s been dealing with a quarter-life crisis and post-college syndrome like any other twenty-something, she’s still not what you would call “ordinary.” For one thing, there’s her past which she likes to pretend never happened, and then there’s the fact that she sees ghosts. Luckily for her, that all comes in handy when she stumbles across Dex Foray, an eccentric producer for an upcoming webcast on ghost hunters. Even though the show’s budget is non-existent and Dex himself is a maddening enigma, Perry is instantly drawn into a world that both threatens her life and seduces her with a sense of importance. Her uncle’s haunted lighthouse provides the perfect catalyst and backdrop for a mystery that unravels the threads of Perry’s fragile sanity and causes her to fall for a man, who, like the most dangerous of ghosts, may not be all that he seems.

Buy Darkhouse by Karina Halle: Amazon (Print) / Goodreads (epub) / Kindle

Guest post by Karina Halle:

How it all started

When Aleetha asked me to speak about my characters, Perry Palomino and Dex Foray, in the Experiment in Terror Series, I was at a loss where to start. Both characters are deceptively complex, fully rounded and unapologetically flawed. They are as real as they can get while functioning in the most unreal circumstances. You see, they are amateur ghost hunters, trying to make something out of a fledging webcast and, consequently, make something of their lives. Almost everyone can relate but in most cases…they don’t want to. Who wants to be able to see ghosts, other than Jennifer Love Hewitt? I know I don’t.

Anyway, while I was contemplating what direction to go on with this blog post, I thought it might be fun to discuss how the idea and the characters came around. And so, I am sharing with all of you something I haven’t shown anyone else. This was the idea that hit me in July of 2009 while sitting in the backseat of my boyfriend’s parent’s rental car while we were “vacationing” in Ontario. Perry Palomino hit me like a stack of bricks. And the only thing I really had to go on was her name (and please keep in mind I wrote all of this on an iPod Touch Notepad!):

Perry Palomino – Ghost Writer

21 years old. New grad with a degree in journalism and English. Had no

luck finding jobs due to the economy and her procrastination.

Waitresses while living at home. Has a 14 yr old sister. Has a blog

that takes up a lot of her time-she uses it for bitching about

waitressing stuff. Her sister is a wannabe designer and sometimes

showcases her clothes. Perry doesn’t know what she wants from life and

admires her sister for having such a clear focus and drive. Most of

all Perry really loves scary books, movies and folklore. Her parents

have family all over the place. They live outside of Athens, Georgia.

She goes on vacation with her family to the coast and has a scary ghost

experience-she ends up writing about it on her blog except really

exaggerating about what happened. She ends up getting a lot of hits on

her blog-while on vacay-so she does more posts including a video one

which end up being a youtube hit. When she returns home she gets all

this attention from ghost-centered media as well as more interest on

her blog. Seems people see her as a kind of ghost whisperer even tho

she’s not. So she ends up being contacted by some people in Georgia who

want her to investigate and blog about the supposed ghost on their

farm. She goes, planning to fully rip off the story and make stuff up.

Instead she gets involved in an actual ghost story that challenges her

very notion of their existence and of her own. When challenged with

the notion of life after death and the fleetingness of death, Perry

realizes there is more to life-her life-in general.

Yeah…so that was the original idea for Experiment in Terror. And what did I do after I hastily plonked this out on my iPod and sucked down beers at my boyfriend’s family reunion? Nothing. I did nothing. I forgot about the idea as I often do (I have stacks of notebooks filled with unused screenplay and novel ideas) and went on with my life. Except Perry Palomino kept nagging at my subconscious. Every other day. I’d be at work and I’d be thinking of her, I’d be driving home from work and I could hear her talking to her sister, who I then I still called Ada. And this all boiled together until September when I decided I was going to write the damn book. It was going to be a series. And I would finish the first novel in a month.

Well, I didn’t finish Darkhouse in a month (which was under a different title at the time) but it did only take six weeks. And, boy, there were a lot of changes. Looking back to the original plan I posted, these are all the things that evolved:

• Perry is 22, not 21. That year makes a little bit of difference.
• She’s a new grad, just with advertising and not journalism
• Perry doesn’t seem to have a procrastinating problem (lucky thing) and is a receptionist, not a waitress
• Her sister, Ada is 15 and has the blog, not Perry
• Perry’s not really a huge paranormal enthusiast
• They live in Portland, Oregon, not Georgia
• She goes to her uncle’s farm on the Oregon Coast on her own will and is met with resistance, not invitation
• She never plans to “pretend” to be a ghost whisperer. She just shows up

The most glaring omission (or should I say, glaring addition) to the Darkhouse story is Dex Foray. Neither a partner, friend or love interest (and Dex is pretty much all three) are mentioned in my original “outline.” Somewhere along the line I must have dreamed Dex up and all his eccentricities and threw him right into Perry’s path. I’m so glad I did. I wouldn’t have a story if it weren’t for him. As interesting and relatable as Perry is, the series rests on the laurels of the relationship and chemistry of our two main leads. Don’t get me wrong, Perry has a sordid past, and the plotlines of running a ghost-hunting show, as well as her lapses of sanity are very frightening, poignant and important. But without Dex, there is no series. This is their story, their journey, together. You can’t have one without the other.

It’s fun to look back and see where the ideas and the characters came from. But there’s a reason why they say “writing is rewriting”- it took months, even a year, of exploring, writing and plotting before I finally found the formula that worked and the characters who would become…well, larger than life.

Buy Darkhouse by Karina Halle: Amazon (Print) / Goodreads (epub) / Kindle

Karina’s sadly neglected personal blog can be found here: www.ontheblogbandwagon.blogspot.com

Karina’s not so neglected writing blog can be found here: www.experimentinterror.com

Guest Post: Why I chose to self-publish by Kim Richardson

Marked, Soul Guardians BK 1

by Kim Richardson

ISBN13: 9781461017097

Sixteen year-old Kara  Nightingale’s ordinary life is suddenly turned upside-down when she dies  in a freak accident, and she wakes up in a strange new world with a new  career—as a rookie for the Guardian Angel Legion. Kara hurtles towards  dangerous missions with the help of her Petty Officer and friend, David.

But when she discovers a Mark on her leg, the entire Legion accuses  her of being a Demon spy. Angels are dying, and David begins to pull  away from her. Can Kara prove her innocence as she becomes the Legion’s  only hope? 

It’s going to take a miracle to save the Legion, and Kara’s luck has just run out...

Buy "Marked", Soul Guardians BK 1: Amazon

~~~

I decided to self-publish one night in March when my editor wrote me an interesting email. He informed me that he was hired by a large publishing house to  edit a contracted manuscript that wasn’t a “joy” to work on, like mine  was—and not comparable to it. When his wife (also an editor) told him  that my book was loads better than a bestselling indie author – I  decided to take the plunge. Why the hell not? I told my computer screen. These two professionals with loads of experience believe in me. Let’s see what happens!

Another  factor was the loads of publishers/agents that rejected my book, all  said the same thing: they loved it, but it didn’t “fit” their list at  the moment. What the heck does that mean? Who decides who’s on this  list? Why can’t readers decide what books they want to read? The control  aspect of the self-publishing world attracted me. As an artist, I did  my own cover; decided how I wanted the inside to look like and I chose  the price. I didn't have a whole team of people telling me what I could  and couldn't do. And that was loads of fun.

I  then started to explore the world of self-publishing. My research  confirmed that I had a better chance of succeeding as an indie author if  I wrote a series instead of a standalone book. If I had more books out  there, I had a better chance of being found by readers. And that  appealed to me. I had all these ideas for different storylines for a  series, so I thought this was a great opportunity for me to write my  story. If the traditional publishing road didn’t work out, then  self-publishing a series was the next best thing—which is what I did in  the end.

About Kim Richardson (from goodreads profile):

I grew up in a small town in  Northern Quebec, where I developed a wild imagination because—let’s face  it—there was nothing else to do. I surrounded myself with  art/books/animation and fell in love with fantasy novels and movies  like, Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal. I loved to be transported to other  worlds.

Years later, I left my little “hick town” and moved to the city of  Montreal, where I studied 3D Animation. I became an Animation Supervisor  for a VFX company, and stayed in the field of animation for 14 years.

Now, I’m a full-time writer, enjoying the country life with my  husband and two Bernese Mountain dogs, Simba and Maggie. My children.

I write stories geared towards children because, let's not tell lies, I'm still a 13 year-old at heart!

Visit Kim's BLOG

Join Kim on the rest of her tour!

6/4   giveaway @ Just Another Book Addict

6/4   giveaway @ My Shelf Confessions

6/5   giveaway @ Seeing Night Reviews

6/5   excerpt @ The Bawdy Book

6/6   excerpt @ It's All About Books

6/6   giveaway @ Books Glorious Books

6/7   guest post @ A Chick Who Reads

6/8   guest post @ Reader Girls

6/8   guest post @ It's All About Books

6/9   excerpt @ A Chick Who Reads

6/9   guest post & excerpt @ Read My Mind

6/9   excerpt @ Ramblings of a (Future) Librarian

6/10 giveaway @ Ramblings of a Teenage Bookworm

6/10 guest post @ Ramblings of a (Future) Librarian

6/10 guest post @ My Neurotic Book Affair

6/10 interview @ Splash of Our Worlds

6/10 interview @ ComaCalm's Corner

6/11 interview @ Ramblings of a Teenage Bookworm

6/12 giveaway @ Star Shadow

6/12 guest post @ The Bawdy Book

6/13 guest post @ Lisa's World of Books

6/14 excerpt @ My Neurotic Book Affair

6/14 giveaway @ Lisa's World of Books

6/15 excerpt @ Sara Is Reading What?

6/15 giveaway @ Splash of Our Worlds

Book Excerpts: Marked (Soul Guardian Book I) by Kim Richardson

Marked, Soul Guardians BK 1 

by Kim Richardson

ISBN:  9781461017097

Sixteen year-old Kara  Nightingale’s ordinary life is suddenly turned upside-down when she dies  in a freak accident, and she wakes up in a strange new world with a new  career—as a rookie for the Guardian Angel Legion. Kara hurtles towards  dangerous missions with the help of her Petty Officer and friend, David.

But when she discovers a Mark on her leg, the entire Legion accuses  her of being a Demon spy. Angels are dying, and David begins to pull  away from her. Can Kara prove her innocence as she becomes the Legion’s  only hope?

It’s going to take a miracle to save the Legion, and Kara’s luck has just run out...

Buy "Marked" by Kim Richardson:  Amazon

Excerpt: "Marked" by Kim Richardson:

Chapter 1

Reborn

“Wait for me!” Kara jogged along Saint-Paul Street. She pressed her cell phone against her ear with a sweaty hand. “I’ll be there in two minutes!”

Her  black ballet flats tapped the cobble stones as she avoided oncoming  traffic. She jumped onto the sidewalk and ran through the crowd. Her  portfolio swung at her side.

“I can’t believe you’re not here yet,” said the voice on the other line. “You had to pick today of all days to be late.”

“Okay, okay! I’m already freaking out about the presentation. You’re not exactly helping, Mat.”

A laugh came through the speaker. “I’m just saying…that this is supposed to be the most important day of your life. And you, Mademoiselle Nightingale, are late.”

“Yeah,  I heard you the first time—MOTHER. My stupid alarm didn’t go off!” Kara  dashed along the busy street. Her long brown hair bounced against her  back. The smell of grease and beer from the pubs reached her nose. Her  heart hammered at her chest.

Thank God. I can see it now.

Over the heads of the crowd, Kara could just make out the sign, Une Galerie. Stencilled  elegantly in bold black letters, the name hovered above the art  gallery’s majestic glass doors. She could see shadows of people gathered  inside. She was only a block away now.

“You know, the presentation won’t wait for you.”

“I swear I’m gonna kick your butt when I get there!” Kara growled into the phone.

She  thought about getting off the sidewalk and running along the edge of  the street. She looked back to see how bad the traffic was.

Then her heart skipped a beat.

Less  than a half a block behind, a man stood motionless and indifferent to  the wave of humanity that flowed around him. He was staring at her. His  white hair stood out against his dark grey tailored suit. Kara frowned.

His eyes are black, she realized.

A  chill rolled up her spine. The man melted into the crowd and vanished,  as though he were a mere trick of the light. The hair on the back of  Kara’s neck prickled.

“I think I’m being followed,” Kara spoke into her cell phone after a few seconds.

“You always think you’re being followed.”

“No!  I’m serious! I swear—this guy is following me—some psycho with white  hair. I—I think I’ve seen him before. Or at least my mother has—”

“We  all know your mother is a little nutty sometimes. No offence, I love  your mom, but she’s been seeing and talking to invisible people since we  were five. I think it’s rubbing off on you.”

“Listen. I was with my mom yesterday on Saint-Catherine Street, and she said we were being followed by someone. What  if this is the same guy? Maybe she’s not as crazy as everyone thinks.”  She wondered if there was a little truth in her mother’s visions.

Mat  laughed. “Are you serious? It’s bad enough that your mom sees spirits  and demons. If you start believing in all that, they’ll lock you up.”

“Thanks  for the vote of confidence. Remind me why you’re my best friend again?”  Kara decided to drop the subject. She focused on the gallery sign as  she ran. “Okay—I can see you now.”

Mat  was leaning against the gallery’s brick exterior. His head was turned  toward the glass doors. He pulled his cigarette from his lips and blew smoke into his phone’s receiver. “I think it’s starting. Hurry up!”

Kara  felt her cheeks burn. Her heart pounded in her ears and muffled the  sounds around her. She took a deep breath, hoping it would calm the  fluttering in her stomach, and she sprinted onto Saint Laurence Boulevard. Her cell phone slipped out of her hand. It hit the pavement.

“Crap!” Kara crouched down to grab her phone.

A flicker of movement appeared in the corner of her eye.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone shouted. She stood up and turned around.

A city bus hurtled towards her. She stared, transfixed. The bus kept coming.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

An arm reached out to her. She saw a split second image of two monstrous head lights.And then it hit.Thirteen tons of cold metal crushed her body. She didn't feel any pain. She didn't feel anything at all.

Everything around her went black.

A moment later, Kara was standing in an elevator.

At  first, streaks of white light obscured her vision. She blinked and  rubbed her eyes. She shook her head. The elevator was elegant—three  sides appeared to be made of handcrafted cherry panels decorated with  golden-wing crests. The smell of moth balls lingered in the air, like  her grandma’s dusty old closet. When her eyesight improved, she realized  she wasn’t alone.

On  a wooden chair, facing the elevator's control panel, covered in black  fur, and wearing a pair of green Bermuda shorts, from which protruded  two hand-like callused feet—sat a monkey.

It  spun on its seat, wrapped its feet around the backrest of the chair,  opened its coconut-shaped mouth and said—in a British accent—“Hello,  Miss.”

Kara's jaw dropped, and she swallowed the urge to cry out.

His  hairless face crinkled into a grin, so that he looked like an oversized  walnut. His square head sat directly on powerful shoulders. He raised  his chin and looked down upon Kara. His yellow eyes mesmerized her. She  couldn't look away.

He looks like Old Man Nelson from the hardware store, she thought wildly.

After a minute, Kara was able to force some words out of her mouth.

“H…hey there, little talking-monkey-person,” she croaked.  “How's it going?”

Her throat was dry. She tried to swallow, but all she could do was contract her throat muscles.

“I have to remember to tell Mat about this tomorrow,” she whispered to herself.

The monkey frowned. Then he growled. “I'm not a monkey, Miss. I'm a chimpanzee! You mortals are all the same. Monkey-this—monkey-that. Might as well call me a dog!” A splatter of spit hit Kara's face as the words escaped his lips.

Kara retched as she wiped the spit from her face. It was yellowish green and smelled like a bad case of gingivitis.

“Ah…sorry, monk—chimpanzee.”

She rubbed her hand on her blue jeans. “Gross! This is really nasty—it’s all sticky!”

The chimp glared at Kara with disdain. “Chimp Number 5M51, if you please.”

He then began to scratch his behind and only stopped once he noticed Kara’s disgusted expression.

“You'll  be arriving at your destination momentarily.” And with that, he turned  his attention back to the control panel—hands away from his butt.

Gradually,  Kara began to feel more awake, as though she had woken from a long  sleep. Reality slowly crawled back in. She bit her lower lip as she told  herself to think.

Don’t panic!

“Um, what destination? Where are we going?” she asked.

Chimp  5M51 turned his head and smiled, exposing rows of crooked yellow teeth.  His eyes locked onto hers. “To Orientation, of course. Level One.”

“Orientation?”

“Yes.  All mortals who have passed must go through Orientation. That's where  you're going.” Chimp 5M51 clamped his feet around the edges of the chair  and extended an abnormally long arm in the direction of the elevator's  control pane. He pointed to the brass buttons.

Kara leaned over for a better view. The panel read:

1. Orientation

2. Operations

3. Miracles Divisions

4. Hall of Souls

5. Department of Defense

6. Council of Ministers

7. The Chief

“OUCH!” cried Kara, “Hey—what the—?”

Chimp 5M51 had picked a flake of dry scalp off Kara's head. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed. “Mmmmh. My apologies, I couldn't help myself. I am a primate, after all.”

“Freak,” mumbled Kara crossly, as she rubbed her scalp.

A feeling of dread slowly rose up inside her. “This—this doesn't make sense. I—I'm dreaming. This is a dream!”

Kara shut her eyes and pressed her back against the elevator wall, trembling. “It can’t be happening. It just can't! I need to wake up now!”

“You're dead, Miss.”

Kara opened her eyes. The word dead echoed in her ears. The weight of his words started to pull her under. She fought against the sick feeling of panic.

“I'm not dead!” she hissed, “I'm right here, you stupid BABOON!”

“—Chimpanzee!”  Spat Chimp 5M51. “Think what you must,” he said, as he lifted his chin.  “But, think about this. Can you remember events before this elevator?”

Kara floundered, trying desperately to remember. Bits and pieces flashed inside her brain: a white light…metal… darkness…

The bus.

Kara  dropped to her knees. The city bus had hit her—pulverized her core and  crushed her like a tomato. But then she remembered something else,  something that didn’t make any sense. It was coming back to her now,  like a faded memory sharpening into a clear picture. It flicked before  her eyes. She saw an arm reach out and touch her during the bus crash.

Someone tried to save me?

“See? You're dead,” said the chimp, matter-of-factly.

She pressed her hand against the left side of her chest.

“Oh,  my God! Oh my God!” Kara couldn't feel a heartbeat. She pressed down on  her rib cage. Nothing. She clasped her wrist. No pulse. No beating. No  movement at all.

“See. No beating. No heart—you're dead,” declared the chimp again.

But before she could start freaking out, she was thrown off balance as the elevator stopped abruptly.

“Level One. Orientation!” The chimp announced.

“Wait!” Kara pushed herself away from the elevator wall and wobbled up to the chimp. “I don't understand. What's Orientation?”

With his finger still on the button, he turned his head. “Orientation is where all the new GAs are categorized.”

Kara stared stupidly into chimp 5M51’s yellow eyes. “What are GAs?”

“Guardian Angels.”

“Huh?”

Kara  heard the swish of doors opening. A hint of a smile reached the chimp’s  lips. He raised his arm and pressed his hand on her back—

She flew out the elevator.

Buy "Marked" by Kim Richardson:  Amazon

About Kim Richardson:

I grew up in a small town in  Northern Quebec, where I developed a wild imagination because—let’s face  it—there was nothing else to do. I surrounded myself with  art/books/animation and fell in love with fantasy novels and movies  like, Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal. I loved to be transported to other  worlds.

Years later, I left my little “hick town” and moved to the city of  Montreal, where I studied 3D Animation. I became an Animation Supervisor  for a VFX company, and stayed in the field of animation for 14 years.

Now, I’m a full-time writer, enjoying the country life with my  husband and two Bernese Mountain dogs, Simba and Maggie. My children.

I write stories geared towards children because, let's not tell lies, I'm still a 13 year-old at heart!

Visit Kim's BLOG

Suggested tags:  marked, Marked by Kim Richardson, Author Kim Richardson, Kim Richardson, Soul Guardians, Soul Guardians book 1, book excerpt, excerpt, book, reading

~~~

Book Excerpts: Flash Gold by Lindsay Buroker

Flash Gold Blurb:

Eighteen-year-old Kali McAlister enters her steam-powered “dogless sled” in a race, intending to win the thousand-dollar prize and escape remote Moose Hollow forever. The problem? Fortune seekers and airship pirates are after her for the secret to flash gold, her late father’s alchemical masterpiece.
With her modified rifle and a pocketful of home-made smoke bombs, Kali wouldn’t normally hide from a confrontation, but taking on a whole airship single-handedly is a daunting task. Unfortunately, the other racers won’t assist her–they’re too busy scheming ways to sabotage her unorthodox sled.
When a sword-slinging stranger shows up, wanting to hire on as her protector, she’s sure he has ulterior motives, but he’s the only one interested in helping her. The question is…why?

Excerpt:

Flash Gold: Part I
Kali McAlister tapped a wrench against her thigh as she contemplated her invention. She had stripped every extra piece of metal she could from the “dogless sled” and had even debated removing the brush bow, but that seemed unwise. Besides, it’d been cold enough the last week men were complaining of pee freezing before it hit the ground. The ice on Forty Mile Creek ought to be thick enough for the heavy steam sled. If it wasn’t…winning the race would be the last of her worries.
Hinges creaked, and a gust of frigid air hurled snow into the workshop. Kali spun toward the door, her long braid whipping around her shoulder.
A fur-clad figure loomed, head an inch shy of the top of the frame. With those broad shoulders and that height, she assumed it was a man, though a cap buried his eyebrows and a scarf swaddled most of his face. He gripped a rifle in one gloved hand, and the hilt of something—a sword?—poked over his shoulder. Who in tarnation brought a sword to the Klondike?
Kali’s grip tightened on the wrench. Another thug who wanted to interrogate her about her father’s alchemical masterpiece, probably.
“If you’re going to hold the door open that long, you could at least bring in some wood.” That sounded cocky, especially since the wrench was the closest thing to a weapon she had handy, but bravado went a long way in Moose Hollow.
Meanwhile, she sidled closer to the workbench and the panel of levers on the far end of it. The man’s blue eyes were the only thing visible between the cap and scarf, and they narrowed, watching her.
“The stove’ll have to work double time to heat the place again,” Kali said, hoping to distract him from her movement. “Not that this drafty hole could aspire to warm anyhow.”
The man stepped inside. Kali tensed, ready to spring for a bronze lever with a billiards-ball knob.
He did not move past the threshold though. Without taking his eyes from her, he pushed the door closed. He removed the cap, revealing thick tousled black hair, then tugged the scarf down to his throat. Kali might have called him handsome, but a scar gouged one cheek, as if someone had tried to remove one of his eyes. The beard stubble darkening his jaw would do little to warm his chin in the cold. He must be new to the north.
His cool gaze skimmed the shop, resting briefly on the unorthodox metal sled before settling on her.
“You Kali McAlister?” he asked, voice smoother and more pleasant than his rough exterior hinted at.
“Ma’am.” She propped her hands on her hips by way of disguising another step toward the lever. “It’s polite to call a lady ‘ma’am.’ Even if she’s a half-breed wearing man trousers with tools sticking out of all her pockets.” Not to mention she was only eighteen and covered in grease. She would collapse in surprise if anyone called her ma’am without the ulterior motive of needing a favor.
He stared at her for a long moment. “You Kali McAlister? Ma’am.”
“I reckon that depends on who you are.” She pretended to scratch her knee and took another step.
“Your identity changes depending on your caller?”
“Sometimes it does.” Another step.
“Cedar.”
“What?”
“My name.”
“That’s not a name,” she said. “That’s a tree.” Though at his height, children might mistake him for the latter.
“Both.”
“And what are you here for, Cedar?” Three more steps and she would reach the lever. He might plow through her “security measures,” but they would distract him and give her time to run.
He strode toward her. She lifted the wrench threateningly.
“The job.” His free hand delved into a pocket. Paper rustled. He pulled out a sheet with writing on it.
It was Kali’s turn to stare. “What job?”
Wordlessly, he held out the flyer.

ASSISTANT MUSHER FOR BARTON’S RACE

Experienced pugilist preferred. Inquire at Kali McAlister’s Tinkery.

Kali scratched her head. “Where did you get this? I didn’t post it.”
“Nelly’s Good-Time Girls.”
“Nelly. Oh.” Kali puffed out an annoyed breath. While it had been nice having someone step in as a big sister after her father died, sometimes Nelly presumed too much. At least this meant the man was probably not there to rob or interrogate her. “That’s a mistake.” She waved at the flyer. “I can’t afford to hire help. I’m going alone. Sorry to have wasted your time.”
Cedar lowered the paper, but did not leave. “If you win, there will be prize money.”
“Yes…. One thousand dollars hard money goes to the first-place finisher, thanks to Francis Barton’s lucky claim. The old sourdough’s spending like a drunk.”
“Then you’ll be able to pay me.”
Kali’s suspicions toward her visitor returned. Only gold miners worked for the possibility of payment, and most of them were addled in the head. More, nobody in town thought her steam sled would do anything except crash through the ice and disappear forever. Francis wouldn’t have let her enter the race if anyone believed otherwise.
“If I win, I’m using that money to build…something I’ve wanted to build for a long time,” Kali said. “And I’m getting out of Moose Hollow to go somewhere warm.” And where nobody knew about her crazy family or called her a witch.
“One hundred,” Cedar said.
“Are you truly trying to negotiate with me over money that odds are against me winning?”
“You believe you’ll win.” A hint of impatience hardened his jaw.
“Everyone believes they’ll win or they wouldn’t risk their lives in this Godforsaken endless winter to run their dogs up a river. Look, Mister—”
“Cedar.”
“Look, Mister Cedar. I appreciate you coming—”
Something shattered upstairs. Kali froze. That sounded like the ceramic-pot booby trap she had set up in front of her bedroom window.
She scowled at her visitor, suspicions deepening. He did not appear surprised. His head was lifted, eyes toward the open stairway at the back of the workshop.
“You know anything about that?” she asked. He was probably the distraction while his cronies—
The front door slammed open. Three men charged inside, six-shooters leading.
Cedar whirled to face them. Metal rasped, and his sword appeared in his hand.
Hoping the men were focused on him, Kali darted for the bank of levers. She yanked the one with the billiards-ball knob.
A door along the wall slid upward, revealing two bulky figures in a shadowy cubby. Gears whirred, and a pair of four-legged mechanical constructs clanked out. Though comprised of a patchwork of spare parts and metal scraps, they had cohesive, canine forms. And they were big.
Her guard “dogs” angled toward the intruders, issuing growls that sounded like knives rasping against sharpening stones. Two of the men noticed the metal hounds and stumbled backward, eyes wide. The dogs’ steel maws gaped open, and iron teeth snapped.
A shadow fell over Kali. The intruder from upstairs. He vaulted over the railing and landed in a crouch beside her. A leer split his beard and displayed a row of tobacco-stained teeth. He raised a Colt Peacemaker toward her chest.
Kali hurled her wrench at his jaw and spun, intending to run for cover behind the steam sled. A second man dropped into her path from above, and she crashed into his chest.
Before she could jump back, massive arms wrapped around her in a bear hug.
“Got her!” her assailant yelled.
She squirmed, finding room to angle a knee into his crotch. His grip slackened, and a startled grunt flew from his lips. She yanked free, but the first man had recovered and grabbed her from behind.
As quickly as he snatched her, he released her. A howl of pain assaulted her ears. One of her dogs had clamped onto the man’s leg with those iron fangs.
“Good boy,” she caroled while jumping to the side to avoid the man still behind her. He caught her braid though and whipped her back so roughly pain erupted in her neck. He spun her to face him. Sharp, cold steel pressed against her throat.
“Mongrel bitch,” the man snarled. “I’ll send you to the bone orchard for that.”
A rifle fired.
Shock widened her attacker’s eyes. He stumbled back, dropping the knife. She shoved him, and he collapsed.
Her mechanical dog still harried her other assailant. The three men who had charged in the front door lay unmoving, blood spattering the floor around them.
Cedar crouched on top of the boiler on her steam sled, rifle balanced across his knees, while the other dog clanked about below. He glared at the last man standing, but that fellow had noticed his comrades were all down. He raced out the front, slamming the door before the dog could chase after him.
Kali gave the bronze lever a shove. She wanted the metal guardians back in their cabinet before Cedar had a good look at them. She told people all her constructs were simply steam-powered machines, but anyone familiar with the technology would guess more than punchcards directed their actions.
Cedar watched through narrowed eyes as the hounds clanked toward their kennel. “Interesting.”
“A girl who lives alone up here has to have security measures,” she said, not sure what to make of the speculation on his face.
His blue eyes shifted to study her. They were clear, like the purest ice, and a striking contrast to his dark hair. They could have made her uneasy, but the speculation was not unfriendly. The scar and beard fuzz notwithstanding, she wagered he would be popular with Nelly’s girls. Not that she cared. A handsome man would not swindle her again.
“They say you’re a witch.” Cedar hopped to the floor, landing lightly. He pulled his sword from the belly of one of the downed men without the faintest change in expression that might suggest the killing bothered him.
Kali looked away. “How lovely. The local rumormongers have decided to share their theories with the cheechakos passing through.”
Cedar cleaned the long, thin blade on the dead man’s jacket. “It seems your friend is correct. You need the protection of a pugilist.”
Whatever this fellow was, she suspected he was far more than a simple pugilist. After cleaning the sword, he walked from downed man to downed man, considering each face. He rolled one fellow from belly to back and stared for a long moment before shaking his head slightly.
“Have I proven my capabilities sufficiently so you’ll hire me?” he asked.
“For all I know, you’re one of these bandits, eager to rob me for…whatever they think I have.”
“Would I have shot them if that were the case?”
Kali shrugged. “I haven’t noticed that criminals care overmuch for other criminals.”
He walked toward her. She tensed, but he stopped a few paces away and stared her in the eye.
“I’m no criminal.”
“Then what are you?” she asked. “Why do you want to go with me?”
“I’m a simple traveler seeking adventure.” He nodded toward the sled. “I believe you are someone whom adventure finds.”
Kali snorted. In the aftermath of Sebastian’s betrayal, those words were proving too apt for her tastes. Yet it might be useful to have such a capable fighter along, if he did not mean to betray her himself. At the least, she could put him to work loading and unloading supplies.
“Fine,” she said, hoping she was not making a mistake. “We leave at eight A.M. Bring food for yourself for several days and kerosene for the lamps. Since it’s dark most of the day, we’ll travel through it when the trail allows.”
She headed to a coat tree and bundled up. She would have to visit the new Mountie headquarters to report the incident. Things had been easier before the law showed up, representing the “Dominion of Canada.” Criminals’ bodies had merely been tossed out for the wolves.
“Where do I sleep?” Cedar asked.
Kali stopped at the door and gaped at him. “Uh, the Blue Moon Saloon has a couple rooms.”
“You’re not paying me enough to cover lodgings.”
She wasn’t paying him at all. No holes or frayed sleeves marked his clothing, and he bore quality weapons. Surely, he was no penniless pauper without coin for a room. “You’re not sleeping here.”
She did not want him roaming around her property while she slept. The flash gold was hidden and booby-trapped, but what of her other valuables? Her tools?
“Are you always this warm and demonstrative to men who just saved your life?” Cedar asked.
“I don’t know. You’re the first who’s bothered.”
“Then perhaps you should consider displaying gratitude, thus to encourage others who may consider similar acts.”
Kali scowled at him. Why did she have a feeling he was going to be trouble?

***

Buy it for $0.99 at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.

About The Author

Lindsay has been writing fantasy novels and short stories since she was seven. She’s been finishing them since... well, that's a more recent development.

She’s a professional blogger by day and an indie author by night. She lives in the Seattle area ("area" is code for 'I couldn't afford a house within twenty miles of the city limits and my neighbors have alpacas'). She has two vizslas who are as spoiled as most people's kids. Occasionally they let her leave the house to play tennis, go to the coffee shop, or take a yoga class.

She writes about ebooks and epublishing on her blog, and you can find her any time on Twitter.

Guest Post: It’s All About Character by Tess Hardwick

 Many readers ask how I get the ideas for my novels.  For me it always starts with a character.  I’m an observer of other human beings, more interested in the nuances of personalities and character traits than anything else in life. I am in constant observation and analysis mode while moving through this world, searching for hints to an individual’s true character loitering beneath their well-formed persona. 

I grew up in a small town.  What I learned early on is that people are not always what they seem: the preacher sneaking out of the bar at 2 a.m. with a woman of questionable reputation; the admired school teacher who beats his wife; the ‘it’ boy who gets an unpopular girl pregnant and lies to everyone, leaving for college as if he had no part in the wreckage left behind.  All of which was known to me, because in a small town, people talk, truths leak out to the observant kid with a bad habit of listening to adult’s conversations, noticing bruises on a woman’s arms, and befriending peers in all social groups. 

What I know now is this affinity I have for noticing everything meant that I was not merely burdened with too much knowledge of the suffering in our human condition but that I was a writer.  For it is the writer’s job to ascertain the truth hidden between the polishing and posturing of life and explore it through words and story.  I’m particularly drawn to telling stories of the voiceless, ordinary people caught in the trappings of their circumstance, rendering them powerless and invisible.  Perhaps this is from my past, hidden truths nestled in my own DNA; generations of women in my family tree, poor and disenfranchised from the best that life had to offer.

For Riversong, the lead character, Lee Tucker, came to me while I was driving the White Whale (that’s our family’s nickname for our Honda minivan) and listening to the song “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol.  Something about the lyrics and melody of that song brought her to my mind, a fair redhead, slender, a hidden fragility displayed to the outside world as cool and distant.  After she came to me, I had to know more about her.  Why was she this way?  What happened in her past that formed her?  As is my process, I then wrote a detailed character analysis and description, including everything from appearance, to her childhood, to her spiritual beliefs.  The story came then, along with several tricks of the fiction craft, like putting her into dire circumstances that forced her to make decisions she wouldn’t normally make.  Oh yes, we storytellers must always have an inciting event.

After the supporting characters are discovered and analyzed in the same way as my main character, the story writes itself.  The characters do what they do, say what they say, because they are fully imagined in my mind.  I know everything about them.  However, even so, sometimes they do things that surprise me, changing the direction of the story.  For example, I never had any intention of making so much of Riversong a love story, but my character Tommy wanted what he wanted and there was no stopping him. 

That’s when, as a writer, the real fun begins.

~~~

ABOUT RIVERSONG

Author Tess Hardwick assembles a colorful cast of endearing small-town characters and takes you on a journey that will make you believe in the possibilities of life – even in the face of overwhelming adversity and unimaginable grief. Lee Tucker is the kind of woman you find yourself rooting for long after the last page is read. 

When Lee’s husband commits suicide, he leaves her pregnant and one million dollars in debt to a loan shark. Out of options, she escapes to her deceased mother’s dilapidated house located in a small Oregon town that, like her, is financially ruined, heartbroken and in desperate need of a fresh start.  Lee's resilience leads to a plan for a destination restaurant named Riversong, to new chances for passion and love, and to danger from her dead husband's debt as her business blooms.

 A surprising mix of romance, humor, friendship, intrigue and gourmet food – Riversong entertains while reminding you of life’s greatest gifts. 

Paperback price: $9.95

eBook price: $2.99

Paperback: 278 pages

Publisher: Booktrope Editions

ISBN-10: 1935961144

ISBN-13: 978-1935961147

•   Available on Amazon.com in Kindle and paperback version
• Available on BarnesandNoble.com in Nook and paperback versions
• Riversong is available internationally – please contact us directly if you do not see it on your preferred book purchase website
• Remember - you can always read for free on www.booktrope.com
•  Discounts or customized editions may be available for educational and other groups based on bulk purchase. For further information please contact info@booktrope.com

ABOUT TESS HARDWICK

Tess Hardwick is a novelist and playwright. She has a BFA in Drama from the University of Southern California. In 2000 she wrote her first full-length play, My Lady’s Hand which subsequently won the 2001 first place prize for new work at the Burien Theatre. This is her first novel.

Like her main character in Riversong, Tess is from a small town in Southern Oregon.  She currently lives in Snoqualmie, Washington with her husband, two small daughters and a teenage stepson.  She is inspired daily by the view of the Cascade Mountains from her home office window

CONTACT INFORMATION

Publishing/Marketing Contact	Author Contact
Katherine Sears	Tess Hardwick
425.830.9702	206.355.1735
ksears@booktrope.com	info@tesshardwick.com
www.booktrope.com	www.tesshardwick.com

Tess is available for personal appearances and interviews, please contact Katherine Sears (info above) to schedule.

 ~~~