Songs of the Forest

Streets of Poverty

2010-10-13T21:43:00.001+08:00

"Wait till I get my hands on you, you thieving little devil. I'll feed your entrails to the dogs!"

Dray sprinted down the aisle of the marketplace, ducking and weaving through the streets he called home. His feet pounded sun-parched earth, and hands clutched the treasure that had caused the commotion.

Just in time, he skidded to a halt before he got rolled over by a cart. Those few crucial seconds lost were enough. Hands grabbed at him, and the furious merchant caught up.  Elbowing Dray's captors aside, the merchant hauled him in by the scruff of his shirt, and raised his fist.

With a wrench, Dray tore out of the merchant's stranglehold before the blow could land. He dropped the coins in the struggle, and they scattered everywhere. No chance of salvaging them. He fled.

To his consternation, the merchant continued to give chase, yelling and shaking his fist at Dray's back. What did the man want? Dray didn't have his money anymore. They were all over the ground, free for the picking. Which was certainly what the street rats were doing.

Desperation lent Dray speed, but even that could not counter the weakness spreading in his limbs. His stomach gave a feeble complaint, and settled down again to murmur in its sleep. It had learned long ago that complaining never did any good, so it contented itself with slumbering to numb the emptiness. In contrast, his heart raced erratically. Blood surged through his body, trying to feed his muscles energy he didn't have.

The world spun for a moment, sending Dray careening into a stall selling children's toys. Marbles scattered and rolled across the ground, transforming it into a dangerous minefield. Little drums tumbled into the dirt, their rattles doing little to drown out the stallholder's outraged roar.

Disoriented, Dray picked himself up and shook his head, willing it to settle. It cleared enough for him to realise the merchant had almost caught up. Only the marbles had bought him time.

Eager to put as much distance as he could between him and the advancing merchant, Dray staggered into a little girl blocking his escape route.

She was about half his age, only four. Her face was round and glowing with health. Her clothes were clean and well kept, and pink ribbons threaded through her hair. In her hand, she clutched a half eaten pastry. It smelt so good.

She stared up at him with round, curious eyes, cocked her head, and laughed brightly.

"Get out of my way," Dray snarled, bowling her over. He snatched the pastry out of her hand for good measure.

Her laugh turned to sobs, then screams.

Dray slipped through the crowd as concerned adults rushed to placate her. Over her screams, he could just make out the furious bellows of the merchant, caught in the press of bodies.

Shielded from the merchant's baleful glare, he took a shortcut through an alley, and emerged into a quieter section of the market. Sure that he had lost all pursuit, he wolfed down the now cold pastry, relishing every bite, feeling the strength rush back into him. Dray stared at his empty hands. It wasn't enough. He needed more.

Damn that merchant. A string of coppers – hardly a pittance. Surely he could have cut Dray some slack. Obviously the merchant had not thought it was worth very much, since he had been more interested in taking out his wrath on Dray than on the money itself.

Those coppers would have been enough to buy two loaves of bread. A little plain, but food was food. Dray wasn't fussy.

Raised voices cut through the heavy afternoon air. Curious, Dray followed it, eyes darting all the while for easy pickings.

He found the source of the din easily. A fat merchant was haggling with a stallholder, his voice getting louder in an attempt to drown her protests.

Dray's stomach roiled in disgust. They were haggling over a sausage. The huge girth of the merchant and the bulge of the money bag at his belt showed a need for neither food nor a low price. Admittedly, Dray thought the sausage suited the merchant very well. Both were fat and oozing juice, or in the merchant's case, sweat.

A quick scope of the area told Dray that the street rats were gathering, sensing an opportunity. With the merchant gesticulating wildly and practically spitting in the poor woman's face, hardly any attention was paid to the heavy money bag bouncing at his waist.

All eyes were turned towards the haggling merchant now. The ebb and flow of the market seemed to have frozen around the turmoil that was him. Even if no one was looking at the money bag, any street rat who dared steal it under all those eyes was a fool.

Well, a street rat didn't survive by being wise. Life was a risk. The trick was to learn to minimise those risks, and Dray had always been a cunning fool.

He slipped through the crowd, feigning curiosity. When he was close enough, he pretended to trip, barrelling into the merchant who had just struck a deal and was reaching for his money. The merchant tottered and crashed into stall. The sausage he had accepted a few moments ago slipped through his fingers.

Dray helped the disgusted stallholder pull the merchant to his feet, making use of the momentary distraction to filch the money bag. He tucked it inside his tunic, conscious of its weight. It felt heavier than he had expected.

The merchant was red and huffing by the time he got to his feet. Before he could turn on Dray, Dray had pointed a finger at a small boy of six, and yelled, "Him!"

All eyes flicked to the boy, caught like a rabbit in the spotlight. He was frozen in a guilty hunch over the sausage which he had darted in to snatch when it fell. The sausage was halfway to his mouth, and he hesitated for too long, unsure whether to bite or to run.

"He stole your money bag.  I saw him," Dray continued.

A sharp intake of breath from the crowd. The merchant's hands flew to his belt. Finding his money bag missing, he bellowed like a furious bull and blundered towards the boy. In the ensuing chaos, Dray slipped away with his ill-gotten prize for the second time that day.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark figures detaching from the shadows of the alleyway. Dray quickened his pace, hoping to look inconspicuous. The narrowing distance between him and the shadows told him it wasn't working. He broke into a run.

Elbowing people out of his way, Dray barrelled through the market place and took a turning into an alley. This menacing world was his home. Dray knew it so well he could navigate it even in the dark. Conjuring a mental map to mind, Dray wove through the stinking labyrinths of the city, careful to avoid running himself into a dead end.

That wasn't working either. Dray could still hear pursuit behind him. Whoever they were, they knew the streets as well as Dray did. In the enclosed space, Dray couldn't tell how far behind they were. Running feet echoed all around him.

Suddenly Dray was flying, his body lurching forward, then tumbling to the ground. Sharp rocks cut into his arms and knees as he skidded across the hard earth. The money bag rolled out the front of his tunic, and Dray reached for it with a stinging hand.

His fingers had barely brushed it when a hand swooped down and swept it up. With dread, Dray followed the hand, his eyes clashing with dark brown. A red, jagged scar cut from the corner of the boy's right eye down to his cheek, where a wound from a fight had gotten infected and had never healed properly.

"Scar," Dray said, his tone flat. Inwardly, he cursed himself. Those hadn't been echoes. They had been real footsteps, circling around him. One of Scar's underlings must have had gotten ahead of Dray and tripped him up when he ran past. They formed a ring around him and Scar now, silent, intimidating.

"Saw what you did back there Dray," Scar said, coolly drawing a gold coin out of the money bag and tossing it up and down. Dray felt the older boys around him stir, shifting involuntarily towards Scar. Dray shared their sentiment. A gold coin! He cursed himself again for losing such a treasure.

"Clever, I must say. Couldn't have done better myself. Although poor ol' Joss wouldn't agree. He won't be sticking his head out of his hole for another two weeks after that beating he got." Scar weighed the bag of  coins in one hand, the gold coin spinning all the while the other. "By golly! This bag weighs a ton. There must be enough in here to last me and my boys for nigh on a month."

"It's mine Scar, give it back," Dray said, struggling to his feet. It didn't make much of a difference. The ring of older boys still towered over him, cutting off all escape.

"''Fraid I can't, Dray. I got my boys to look after."

A snarl ripped from Dray's throat, and he launched himself at Scar, easily twice his weight. The money was his. He needed them. Scar had no right to take them from him.

A blur of motion at his side found Dray caught in midair. Two of the boys had stepped in to protect their leader, and they now had Dray with his arms twisted behind his back, his feet only just touching the ground. Dray's arms hurt from the vice grips, and from the grazes he had sustained from his fall. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the flash of pain.

Scar hadn't even so much as flinched. An amused smile danced on his lips, mocking Dray. He flicked the coin inches from Dray's face and caught it in mid air, making a show of thinking. "Tell you what. You prove yourself, and I'll give you back some. Can't give it all back though." He raised his hands in front of him and shrugged, as if to say what can I do?

A tilt of his head saw Dray released into a heap on the ground. The circle retreated, giving Dray room.

"What do I have to do?" Dray muttered sullenly, rubbing his arms. That smeared blood all over, and made it hurt more, so he stopped.

Scar gestured with the coin. "See that pup over there? Throw a rock at it."

Dray stared at Scar, then at the pup. It was only a few moons old, thin and ragged. It snuffled around at the heaps of rotting garbage strewn around, looking for crumbs, its tail drooping sadly.

Dray forced an indifferent shrug, and stooped to pick up a rock. The pup was less than five metres away. At this range, Dray would be sure to hit it. And it would hurt.

He launched.

The rock flew true, striking the pup just behind its head. Its tail shot between its legs, and it made a sound between a scream and a whine. Its eyes rolled, and it snuffed the air blindly while backing up, unsure whether to run or to face the threat.

Scar and his friends guffawed. Dray held out his hand, silently demanding his due, but Scar was enjoying himself.

"Again," he said between chortles.

Dray shot Scar a look of pure loathing, but complied. This time the pup didn't wait around. With a squeal that hurt Dray's ears, it shot off into the shadows, pursued by jeers and cruel boys. Scar stayed long enough to flick a coin at Dray, before disappearing after his underlings.

Dray's hands shot up fast enough to intercept the coin before it hit him in the face. He felt the sting of metal against flesh. No doubt Scar had thrown the coin in hopes of causing some damage. It felt cool in his hand, after that brief heat of pain. Dray looked at it.

"Scar!"

"I never said how much I would give you," a mocking voice floated back to him, barely audible above the beating wings of birds startled by the scream.

Dray stormed down the street, gritting his teeth. One copper! After all the trouble he had gone through, all he had was one measly copper. Damn Scar to the fiery pits of hell. Now what was he going to eat?
An aromatic scent teased at his nose, and Dray doubled back. Loaves of bread lined the stall, and sweet delicacies nestled next to them. It was these delicacies that sent Dray's head spinning with hunger. Little buns stuffed with meat and laced with spices – a mouth-watering treat. But only a mouthful. It would never satisfy Dray's hunger.

But the bread! Dray couldn't remember the last time he had tasted bread so soft and white. The only food in the slums available for scavenging were stale and hard.

Dray's fingers twitched. The stallholder, a scrawny woman, surprising for one who baked for a living, was preoccupied. The sun was setting, and no honest man would want to be on the streets when it sank beneath the horizon.

Dray watched the woman pack up after a long day's work, all the while wrestling with himself. It was one thing to steal from merchants who cheated for a living, and quite another to steal from those who struggled to place food on the table.

Struggle as much as you?, a snide voice asked inside his head.

No, no one could have it as hard as Dray. At least she has a table to put food on, and a home to go to, he thought bitterly.

The streets were emptying now, and no one spared Dray a second glance, too intent on returning home to safety. When the woman turned to load her trays of buns onto her cart, Dray took opportunity of her distraction and made off with two loaves of bread, one in each hand.

The streets that Dray was hurrying through now, head down and ears pricked for danger, were the filthiest and most desolate part of the city. It was down one of these alleys where the rickety lean-to that Dray called his shelter stood. Rats swarmed boldly over piles of rotting trash, stopping to watch Dray pass by. Dray saw their noses twitch at the scent of the fresh bread, saw the wicked glint in eyes that reflected the light of the dying sun. He kept his head down, muscles tense, and continued his brisk pace.

A corner away from his alley, Dray saw a familiar figure. Dry blood matted its fur, although it was hard to tell what was blood and what was grime.

Dray knelt. Whistling, he tore a chunk of bread off and held it out. The pup's nose whipped out of the mound of decaying rubbish and turned towards the bread between Dray's fingers. Too starved to be wary, despite the abuse it had sustained earlier, it blundered towards Dray. As soon as it was close enough, Dray swept it up, silencing its shrill whimpers with the chunk of bread. The pup's tongue rasped against his fingers, licking off all the crumbs. For the first time in months, Dray smiled. The change in him was astonishing. The premature frown of worry lifted from his serious face, and he looked as carefree as any child of ten ought to be.

Dray carried the pup down his alley, a slight spring in his steps. A shadow stirred at his approach, and retreated under the hole-ridden canvas stretched across sticks.

Dray crouched down in front of the huddled figure, and offered it the pup and loaves of bread. Huge eyes peered out from the forlorn face of a girl who had only known five winters. She stared warily at the boy who had found her on the streets earlier that morning, and left her alone in this dark place.

"I promised you I would return, didn't I? From now on I'm going to take care of you both."

*~*~*

Streets of Poverty is my biggest undertaking to date, NaNo aside. It took 12 hours in total, and had to be completely rewritten at one point. It is the first project in an attempt to get into writing frequently, and improving my skills. Streets of Poverty was written with the focus on characterisation.

What was your initial impression of Dray? How did it change as the story went on?

2710 words
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HBO Game of Thrones Trailer

2010-09-25T15:00:00.000+08:00

Game of Thrones is based on the first book of A Song of Ice and Fire series, by George R.R. Martin. This masterpiece of an epic fantasy is being turned into a TV series with 10 episodes.

Watching that 37 seconds of a teaser, I'm really excited. I can't wait to see Westeros and all my favourite characters come alive. I'm really pleased that the book is being turned into a TV series, and not a movie. 10 episodes of run time will be longer than a single movie, so they'll be able to fit more of the book into it.

From interviews of the various people involved - from Martin himself to the series creators, it looks like this series is largely staying true to the book. I hope so, because there is nothing worse than having your vision of a world shattered by a movie that has mangled the book. I'm sure we all know that story.

2011 can't come any sooner.

Would you prefer your favourite novels be turned into a movie or TV series?

Review: Dark Matter by Michelle Paver

2010-09-19T22:18:00.005+08:00

DARK MATTER
"What is it? What does it want? Why is it angry with me?"

January 1937

Clouds of war are gathering over a fogbound London. Twenty-eight year old Jack is poor, lonely and desperate to change his life. So when he's offered the chance to be the wireless operator on an Arctic expedition, he jumps at it.

Spirits are high as the ship leaves Norway: five men and eight huskies, crossing the Barents Sea by the light of the midnight sun. At last they reach the remote, uninhabited bay where they will camp for the next year. Gruhuken.

But the Arctic summer is brief. As might returns to claim the land, Jack feels a creeping unease. One by one, his companions are forced to leave. He faces a stark choice. Stay or go.

Soon he will see the last of the sun, as the polar night engulfs the camp in months of darkness. Soon he will reach the point of no return - when the sea will freeze, making escape impossible.

And Gruhuken is not uninhabited. Jack is not alone.

Something walks there in the dark.

*~*~*

Paver once again brings her distinctive style to DARK MATTER. A lot of attention is paid to the natural landscape, making it a captivating read for the explorer's heart. DARK MATTER has a very strong sense of realism, testimony of the thorough research involved, and of Paver's own experience in the Arctic circle.

The story is told through the eyes of Jack, in the form of his journal. While suitable for a story which revolves around an expedition, the journal can be a difficult form to master. I was apprehensive at first, worried that there might be a lack of tension and surprise due to the recounting nature of a journal. I'm pleased to say that Paver pulled it off splendidly. There was no excitement lost through the recounting, and I had a constant sense of anticipation.

The journal was written like - a journal. The character set down what was troubling him the most, then expanded on that, instead of narrating his day in chronological order. I would have found it incredibly hard to believe if Jack had started with what he had done in the morning, when he had just had an encounter with Gruhuken's inhabitant.

I began reading the book at night, but lost my nerve by the time it got to 31 October - Halloween. Upon finishing it, I was quite unsettled when night fell. I saw the same words over and over in my mind. Simple words, yet chilling and effective. Even now, months after reading DARK MATTER, I still see Gruhuken wreathed in darkness. I see it inch ever closer to the hut which is Jack's sanctuary. I feel the menace in the air.

For those who might be deterred because this novel was placed in the horror genre, never fear; it's more of a ghost story than a horror story. The chill in this book is more from a play on fear than from horrific scenes.

I've always found that Paver's novels are very solid, fact-wise. Almost everything is real, there are no flaws, and often I learn things from them. In fact, I would even go as far as to say that I use her books as a standard for authenticity.

I end the review here, as I'm jumping at noises now. DARK MATTER was an enjoyable read, and while I'm not sure I would pick it up again, I would recommend reading it at least once.

Rating:

Signed Books + Waiting on Books

2010-09-13T21:33:00.001+08:00

I wandered down into Borders today. I'd seen an advert that they were hiring, and I was wondering what it'd be like to work there. Prices are usually much higher there than in the other bookstores in Australia, so I've never actually bought anything there.

To my delight, I found a book that I've been searching for for quite some time. That, of course, was quick to disappear from the shelves. To make things even better, I found a whole pile of books signed by Jennifer Fallon. Living in Australia, it's difficult to get hold of any signed books, so of course I snapped up two of them.

Here are the books that have joined the ranks on my shelves, and robbed me of $70. No, our currency isn't that small, books really are expensive here.

I won't be reading any of these books any time soon, unfortunately. I'm at least 5 reviews behind, and I've promised myself that I won't read any new books until I've written them. In any case, I'm going through my entire book collection again, and cataloguing it.

For years, I've been trailing a little behind, only stumbling on a book when it's been published for some time. Blogging has introduced me to the excitement of waiting for a new book to come out, and I've started to keep an eye on the publishing industry.

Here are two books I'm eagerly waiting for which will be released in the next few months.

Seer of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier is the fifth book of the Sevenwaters novels. It is set in Europe and has a strong celtic setting. It's published in Australia on 1 December 2010.

Twilight's Dawn by Anne Bishop is the ninth of the Black Jewels novels. It is the name of the Jewel that Jaenelle got at the end of the original trilogy. This is the UK cover, the US/Australian cover doesn't seem to have been released yet, but I will be hunting for it. If you've read all the Black Jewels books and can't wait for this one, have a go at the excerpt (it's a pdf file). Twilight's Dawn releases in April 2011, and I just can't wait for it.

A review for DARK MATTER will be up by Sunday. I promise! And for those who are curious, it turns out that Borders has already hired all the staff they need :(

A Song of Ice and Fire Calendar

2010-08-17T16:16:00.001+08:00

This is just a quick post to say that I've acquired a copy of a 2011 calendar, filled with amazing artwork based on George R.R Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire. It's one of my favourite series ever, and I'm absolutely thrilled to have scenes from Westeros on display in my room.

This calendar features the great castles of Westeros, painted by Ted Nasmith. There's even a thirteenth castle as a double-paged centerfold, which is currently adorning my room, and will continue to do so until 2011.

Check it out!

Isn't is just beautiful? I love fantasy art. They add a whole new dimension to amazing worlds.

Am slowly turning my room into a fantasy landscape :) Soon it'll be a place of dreams.

Review: Ghost Hunter by Michelle Paver

2010-08-09T17:31:00.004+08:00

GHOST HUNTER - Chronicles of Ancient Darkness Book 6
'Her cry rips the souls from your marrow. With her spear she snares them. She devours them. Eostra truly is an eater of souls.'

Winter is coming. Souls' Night draws near. Eostra the Eagle Owl Mage holds the clans in grip of terror.

Torak must leave the Forest and seek her lair in the Mountain of Ghosts, while Renn faces an agonizing decision. Wolf, their faithful pack-brother, must overcoming wrenching grief. And in the final battle against the forces of darkness, Torak will make the most shattering choice of all.

*~*~*

A satisfying finale to the Chronicles of Ancient Darkness series.

Michelle has really pulled out all the stops here, and GHOST HUNTER surpasses the other five books in pace, action, and tension. As usual, Paver brings you straight to the heart of things, right from the first word, drawing you immediately into Torak's world, where a sense of dread lies over the clans.

I particularly like the references made to the previous five books. I can almost see Paver drawing in all the strands, and weaving them together into the final chapter of Torak's tale.

Answers are finally revealed, although some answers we will never know. As always, Paver's solid research shows in the quality of writing. I for one, am very satisfied with the ending she has constructed for our favourite characters.

The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness would suit any lover of nature, or someone who likes adventure. If you're someone who dreams of living it out in the wild, battling the elements and magic of Soul Eaters, this series is for you.

Rating:

In My Mailbox (2)

2010-08-01T21:40:00.001+08:00

In My Mailbox is a meme hosted by The Story Siren

It features books that bloggers have acquired during the week, whether bought, borrowed, or given. The aim is to encourage blogger interaction, and to bring new books to your attention.

Bought

The Invisible Ring by Anne Bishop

A Black Jewels Novel

In a world where magic is power and social status is everything, the colour of the jewel you wear determines the course of your life...

Jared is a Red-Jewelled Warlord bound as a pleasure slave by the Ring of Obedience. After suffering nine years of torment, he murdered his owner and escaped - only to be caught and sold back into slavery.

Recently purchased by a notorious queen, Jared fears he will share the mysterious fate of her other slaves - never to be seen again - and so prepares himself for death. But the Gray Lady may not be what she seems and Jared soon faces a difficult decision: his freedom or his honour...

Borrowed

Heir to Sevenwaters by Julliet Marillier

A Sevenwaters Novel

The chieftains of Sevenwaters have long been custodians of a vast forest, one of the last refuges of the Tuatha De Danann, the Fair Folk of ancient story. Human and Otherworld dwellers have existed there side by side, separated by a thin veil between worlds and sharing a wary trust. Until the spring when Lady Aisling of Sevenwaters finds herself expecting another child, and everything changes.

With her mother pregnant, Clodagh fears the worst since Aisling is well past the safe age for childbearing. Clodagh's father, Lord Sean of Sevenwaters, faces his own difficulties as warring factions threaten his borders. When the baby is born the unthinkable happens, and Clodagh's world is turned upside down.

To set things to rights for her family and for all the people of Sevenwaters, Clodagh must enter the shadowy Otherworld and confront the powerful prince who now rules there. Accompanied on her quest by a warrior of uncertain allegiance, she will have her courage tested to breaking point. The reward may be far greater than she ever dreamed.

Medalon by Jennifer Fallon
Book One of The Demon Child

The Sisters of the Blade rule Medalon with an army of elite Defenders to enforce their oppressive rule. R'shiel Tenragan and her half-brother, Tarja, find themselves caught up in the political intrigues of the First Sister - their mother Joyjimia. R'shiel is to be shipped off to a neighbouring kingdom and Tarja has been imprisoned.

Together they escape the Citadel and travel into unknown parts of the realm. They hear rumours that the magical race of Harshini is not extinct and a Harshini outcast, Brak, is searching for the demon child. Caught up in a rebellion against the Sisterhood, they cross paths with Brak, reluctantly becoming involved in his quest, and setting in motion a chain of events that none of them can control.

A Darkness Forged in Fire by Chris Evans

Book One of The Iron Elves

In an unforgiving world of musket and canon, wizardry, empire and blood oaths, Konowa Swift Dragon, former commander of the elite Iron Elves, id destined either for greatness or disgrace. Marked by the Shadow Monarch, he's murdered a Viceroy, seen his beloved regiment dishonoured and disbanded and been exiled to the deep forest, the place he despises most.

But for Konowa - part hero, part renegade - that is only the beginning. Recalled from exile and ordered to re-form the Iron Elves for an almost certainly suicidal mission, he sets out with a company of misfits, rebels and outcasts. For the Shadow Monarch has harnessed destructive forces with the power to tear worlds apart - and those who bear her mark have a destiny greater than they know...

Book Trailer Thursday: Shiver

2010-07-29T14:00:00.006+08:00

Book Trailer Thursday is hosted by Quill Cafe.

I myself finished reading SHIVER by Maggie Stiefvater last night. In commemoration of that, here is the book trailer for SHIVER.

What really amazes me with this trailer is that the author made it herself. It's not just a few clips and images with background music playing; everything in it was made specifically for the book. The author made all those paper cut outs herself, composed and performed the music, and strung everything together into the trailer you see before you. Imagine all that time and dedication!

What I managed to get from the video: It's autumn. This is a story about a girl, and a boy who can turn into a wolf. The music adds a dreamy feel to it, which hints at a romance between the girl and boy.

Am I alone in thinking that the first two wolves that appear in the stop motion look a little like bears?

In My Mailbox (1)

2010-07-25T17:20:00.002+08:00

In My Mailbox is a meme hosted by The Story Siren
It features books that bloggers have acquired during the week, whether bought, borrowed, or given. The aim is to encourage blogger interaction, and to bring new books to your attention.

Bought

The Shadow Queen by Anne Bishop
A Black Jewels Novel

Borrowed

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater

Paranormal Five Giveaway (International)

2010-07-20T17:51:00.000+08:00

Yet another contest with ARCs up for grabs! Originally scheduled to be closed on 15th July, the deadline has been extended to 28th July due to insufficient numbers.

So what's in this one? The picture says all!

AND

Head over to The Undercover Book Lover to join!

Sequels Giveaway (International)

2010-07-19T16:05:00.001+08:00

Keri over at Cinnamon Quill sure does sum up the pain of being a non-US/UK resident in her recent post.

But never fear, there are always some kind souls out there who remember the rest of us readers who dwell in the rest of the world. Girls Without a Bookshelf, for one, is hosting a 20th birthday giveaway. And it's international!

7 titles are going out:

Crescendo (sequel to Hush Hush)
Torment (sequel to Fallen)
Beautiful Darkness (sequel to Beautiful Creatures)
Return to Paradise (sequel to Leaving Paradise)
The Haunted (sequel to The Hollow)
Ascendant (sequel to Rampant)

Sapphique (sequel to Incarceron)

If you're a fellow reader who feels shunted off and forgotten, head over to the contest and try your luck! And if you're from the UK or US, well, you can have a go as well. After all, it is international.

Contest ends on 31st August 2010.

Dark Matter ARC

2010-07-12T00:06:00.011+08:00

I'm back from my trip to Kalbarri, Western Australia, and have finally gotten my hands on DARK MATTER. Mum's friend was kind enough to drop the mail off at our house, so I could inspect my little treasure. It arrived safe, despite the recent storms, and only the top corners were starting to peel a little from being shoved into an envelope and mailed across hemispheres. Viola!

And what makes it so precious? Inside...

For those who are interested, it says,
"For Joycelyn, many thanks for all your hard work on the Clan - and I really hope you enjoy this!"
The wolf paw print is a signature of Michelle's, which originates from her best selling series, The Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. The Clan is the official fan website for aforementioned series, on which I am a moderator.

I hope you aren't too fond of the cover shown above, because that is only the proof. This is the official cover:

DARK MATTER will be published in hardback (9784092378) and trade paperback (9784092379) on 21st October 2010, as well as an audio file. Pre-order your copy at Book Depository today (free shipping).

The review for DARK MATTER should be up by the end of next week, so keep an eye out for it.

Review: Tangled Webs by Anne Bishop

2010-06-27T21:37:00.002+08:00

Ach! I'm a little behind on my reviews. Ok, make that several books behind. But this review was written while the book was still fresh in my mind, so here you go.

Tangled Webs - A Black Jewels Novel
The invitation is signed “Jaenelle Angelline,” and it summons her family to a special soirée. But when her guests enter the house, they find themselves trapped in a living nightmare created by the Black Widow witches—and if they try to use Craft as protection, they risk being sealed in the house forever.

But Jaenelle did not send the invitation. And now she and the rest of her family must rescue the others inside—and then find out who has created such a place, and why...

*~*~*

If you're looking for a mind blowing read, pass this over. While still fantastically written, the pace of this book is much more muted than the epic trilogy. Aimed more at satisfying readers' cravings than pulling in new victi- I mean, new readers, Anne Bishop builds on what we already know from the trilogy and plunges into story telling.

The characters are still as charming and funny, and it's so easy to fall in love with them again. Surreal and a new character, Rainier, feature most in this novel, but we get to see Jaenelle, Daemon, Lucivar, Saetan and other beloved characters again. I'm a little disappointed that Jaenelle has given up her Ebony Jewels.

What could have added a little more oomph to the story was watching Daemon deal with the antagonist. However, the book is a little vague on how the SaDiablo family dealt with him, choosing instead to focus on well known characters.

Included at the end of this novel is 'By the Time the Witchblood Blooms', a short story featuring Surreal. It takes place before the trilogy, and shows Surreal on one of her assassinations. Not as bloody as you think; Surreal has style.

Rating:
(I will be looking at getting my own ratings meter soon)

CreateSpace Proof + Dark Matter Trailer

2010-06-26T22:20:00.013+08:00

For all you WriMos out there, just a reminder that your CreateSpace offer ends in about 5 days. If you intend to make use of this offer, you better get it in quick.

I myself have finally sent off an order for a proof copy of my 2009 NaNo novel. That doesn't mean it's finished, no. It's still in it's first draft stage, with admittedly, very little revisions to it. I intend to keep it on my shelf next to my 2008 NaNo novel, as a reminder of what I have done, and am capable of doing.

Being able to hold a physical book in my hands helps me to come to terms with what I've managed to accomplish. Sometimes, 50,000 words is a little hard to visualise. Having a physical book is proof that I've written enough for a young adult novel. I just need to heavily revise it and make it read-worthy.

Flicking through the pages of my 2008 novel fills me with awe and pride. I often stop to read through passages, and it amazes me with what I can come up with under pressure. I also sometimes marvel at the way I write. These proof copies are meant to serve as a reference and a reminder for me.

It is a reference for me to compare with, to see how my writing style has improved and how my final draft would have developed from that first draft. When I edit, I will read through that proof copy and make notes for later revision.

A reminder, of the finer points of the plot. I tend to forget my plans when I stop working on my novel for awhile, and rereading it refreshes my memory and inspires new plot points.

What about you? Are you making use of your CreateSpace offer? What plans do you have for that free proof copy?

To finish off, here's a trailer for a book by Michelle Paver, due to be published on the 21st October, 2010. Introducing DARK MATTER, a ghost story that takes place in the Arctic in the 1930s.

'What is it? What does it want? Why is it angry with me?' January 1937 Clouds of war are gathering over a fogbound London. Twenty-eight year old Jack is poor, lonely and desperate to change his life. So when he's offered the chance to be the wireless operator on an Arctic expedition, he jumps at it. Spirits are high as the ship leaves Norway: five men and eight huskies, crossing the Barents Sea by the light of the midnight sun. At last they reach the remote, uninhabited bay where they will camp for the next year. Gruhuken. But the Arctic summer is brief. As night returns to claim the land, Jack feels a creeping unease. One by one, his companions are forced to leave. He faces a stark choice. Stay or go. Soon he will see the last of the sun, as the polar night engulfs the camp in months of darkness. Soon he will reach the point of no return - when the sea will freeze, making escape impossible. And Gruhuken is not uninhabited. Jack is not alone. Something walks there in the dark.

Michelle Paver has written many other novels, including the best selling children's series, Chronicles of Ancient Darkness, set in the Stone Age. DARK MATTER is a ghost story aimed at older children (16+), but in view of the success of her other children's series, it should be a book that adults will love too.

I have been offered a proof copy of DARK MATTER, signed and dedicated by Michelle herself, by her fantastic agent. It should be arriving some time soon. Can't wait! Watch this space for a review of DARK MATTER.

Review: The Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop

2010-06-03T21:14:00.003+08:00

Daughter of the Blood
Seven hundred years ago, a Black Widow witch sees an ancient prophecy come to life in her dazzling web of dreams and visions.
Now the Dark Kingdom readies itself for the arrival of its Queen, a Witch who will wield more power than even the High Lord of Hell himself. But she is still young, still open to influence - and corruption.
Whoever controls the Queen controls the Darkness. Three men - sworn enemies - know that. And they know the power that hides behind the blue eyes of an innocent young girl. And so begins a ruthless game of politics and intrigue, magic and betrayal, where the weapons are hate and love... and the prize could be terrible beyond imagining...

Heir to the Shadows
The Blood have waited centuries for the coming of Witch, the living embodiment of magic. But Jaenelle, the young girl prophecy spoke of, is haunted by the cruel battles fought over her future power. For not all the Blood await her as saviour. Some dismiss her as myth. Some refuse to believe. And some would use her, making her a puppet to their whims.
Only time, and the love of her guardians have healed Jaenelle's physical wounds. But her mind is still fragile, amnesia providing a shield from the terrors of her childhood. Nothing, however, can shield her from her destiny. And soon the day of reckoning will come. When her memories return. When her magic matures. When she is forced to accept her fate.
And on that day, the dark Realms will know what it means to be ruled by Witch.

Queen of the Darkness
Jaenelle Angelline has made her Offering to the Darkness, and reigns as Queen of Ebon Askavi. The Shadow Realm lies under her protection. No longer will the corrupt Blood slaughter her people and defile her lands. But where one door has been closed, another may be opened... or broken through, and Jaenelle must unleash the terrible glory that is Witch to destroy her enemies once and for all.
Even so, she cannot stand alone. Somewhere, long lost in the madness of the Twisted Kingdom, is Daemon, her promised Consort. His unyielding love for Jaenelle will complete her Court and secure her power. Yet, even together, their strength may not be enough to stave off their enemies.
In the end, only Jaenelle's greatest sacrifice will be enough to save those she loves...

*~*~*

Beautiful. Lavish. Stunning.

I just can't find the words to describe that emotional surge and hopeless dreaming Anne Bishop has inspired in me.

This dark fantasy has taken over my life during the time I was reading it. Even knowing that the fantasy would end sooner, I couldn't help but feverishly flip through the pages of all three books.

Anne Bishop knows how to pull all your heart strings, making you laugh, love, live in the world she has created. Even with the story ended, I have a hopeless longing to continue living in its pages. The characters are so real you can't help but fall in love with them. Innocent Jaenelle, with all her dark power. Ravishing Daemon, fierce and sadistic, with a noble heart beneath his fearsome reputation. I've gone to sleep mooning over these characters, and dreaming of the tantalising dark world.

Bishop doesn't waste time explaining. She plunges you right into the middle of the Dark Kingdom, with its three Realms, races and magic abounding everywhere. As a result, the world, so different from ours, can seem a little confusing at first, but you quickly catch on, and soon it's like you've always lived in those pages.

You flow with all the moments. Your heart breaks for the characters, and you emerge triumphant with them. I've had to restrain myself from laughing aloud during the witty bits, littered throughout the series. I've flexed my fingers, so fired by the way Bishop portrays the antagonists that I've wanted to rip through something.

The first few blatant uses of magic, such as vanishing an object, annoyed me, but I quickly accepted that it was the Blood's way of life. Magic ran so deep in them. Another thing didn't sit well with me was, if the protagonists were the most powerful people in all three Realms, why couldn't they just blow up the antagonists and have done with? They were clearly capable of doing it, and had even considered it during the course of the story.

Nevertheless, it was such a beautiful story, its splendour overshadowed whatever tiny flaws there were. I'm still hungry for more, and Anne Bishop does satisfy her readers' cravings. There are other novels outside of the series that feature the dark Realms and the beloved characters. I myself have scurried down to my bookstore and procured a copy of Tangled Webs. A brief flick through has already set my heart beating, and I've fallen in love with the characters all over again.

I look forward to exploring the dreamscape with Jaenelle, Daemon, Luciver, Surreal and other characters again. Anne Bishop and her Black Jewels Trilogy has easily risen to the top of my favourites list, closely followed by George R.R Martin and his Song of Ice and Fire.

And Blood shall sing to Blood...

Review: The Quickening by Fiona McIntosh

2010-06-02T23:00:00.002+08:00

Myrren's Gift
For centuries, a Thirsk General has fought alongside the King of Morgravia, but none ever swore allegiance to a royal as cruel as Celimus.
When General Wyl Thirsk is forced by Celimus to witness the torture of Myrren, a young woman accused of witchcraft, Wyl fears he may become the first of his family to betray the blood oath.
Leading a motley crew of mercenaries, unable to trust anyone, Wyl is sent on a diplomatic mission to a neighbouring territory. He finds treachery every step of the way, and begins to wonder if he will return home alive.
But Myrren, grateful for his compassion, has given Wyl an extraordinary 'gift'. Wyl's life takes an entirely unpredicted turn... he is about to discover The Quickening.

Blood and Memory
Wyl Thirsk has witnessed his best friend horrifically murdered by his King. All those close to Qyl have been traumatised in some way, and now Wyl's sister is being ruthlessly hunted down. Celimus will stop at nothing, it seems, to destroy the Thirsk dynasty.
The King has also turned his attention to the neighbouring realm of Briavel - and the woman Wyl loves. Wyl is desperate to return to Valentyna and prevent her marriage to Celimus, but fate has other plans. Trapped by Myrren's sinister gift of magic, Wyl must first track down the elusive Manwitch - the only person who can help him solve the Quickening.

Bridge of Souls
Struggling against time and repulsed by his latest guise, everything Wyl Thirsk has strived to prevent is happening - including the marriage of his beloved Queen Valentyna of Briavel to the reviled King Celimus.
The final curse of The Quickening demands that Wyl becomes the sovereign of Morgravia. But the chaos created by the Gift turns Wyl's life into an endless struggle and it is not certain that he can survive - or even that he wants to.
To save Valentyna he would give everything he has - including his life.

*~*~*

The first line catapults you right into the action. There's no trudging through a sluggish introduction before you get to anything exciting.

The series raises an interesting question. What is it that makes a person? What do you live for when all that you love are gone, and your own body is cold and dead, murdered by your own hand?

Coupled with a good plot and a few quirks, this series makes an interesting read. It flows well and is easy to follow, and has a lack of tedious passages that I find myself skimming through in other books. Don't start reading before anything remotely important, I vaguely recall pulling Blood and Memory out to read before my lecture started, and found myself with my eyes trained on the words for the rest of the lecture, instead of taking much needed notes.

Nothing is really predictable in this story, which is what makes me so eager to find out what happens. Everytime I think I've got it worked out, the plot has a twist, and my theories fall apart. I never (or rarely) see anything coming before I actually read about it.

The only thing that really put me off in this series was that one of the main points of the plot was dependent on love at first sight. It's not a romance novel, but this supposed 'love at first sight' is the driving force behind the protagonist. After the first few times, I started to get a little annoyed by the way Wyl referred to his 'love' and his 'beloved Valentyna'.

All in all, an easy and interesting read that I would recommend to anyone. Even if you're new to the fantasy genre, this would be a good place to start.

Forgotten Songs

2010-05-30T19:35:00.000+08:00

It's been a long time since I've been to this abode, and even longer since I've finished a story. So many songs that faded into the wind, never quite reaching their full beauty.

I dig in the hidden places, and find scraps of them where they have been abandoned.

Beneath Winter's icy grip, the snowdrop is the first to emerge through his chill fingers. With the delicate strength which comes from the patience learnt from biding its time through the dead months, it blooms, heralding spring and bringing healing - a beacon of hope.

But it is not these earthly things that we should fear. They are only temporary, and will soon pass, for all things are bound by Time's stately march. Thus is the balance of the world always righted, when that which disturbs the balance passes from this earth.

The blood-curdling screams echoed through the empty corridors, bouncing off the cold, grey walls in the deadened silence, making it worse a thousand-fold. It was a scream of pure agony, a cry of mindless terror, a desperate plea for release, and a hopeless longing for freedom. It was the scream of the trapped souls and the lost souls, the scream of both those that cowered down before it and those who sat stiffly and unflinchingly as it washed over them, the scream of the hopeful and the hopeless. It was my scream.

Silence is darkness, darkness is evil. Shadows prowl in silent stealth. Where silence always reigns, no life can thrive. Bright souls wither and fade, leaving only an empty husk. Even that soon crumbles to dust, to be blown away on the wind. Death comes in the night to claim its victims. None can hear their voiceless screams and silent thrashings. That bright spark of life quenched, leaving a void of silent darkness. And so everything ends.

There was absolutely nothing I could do.
Lies, lies, lies. All lies.
A splintering sound as the glass shattered and crashed to the floor.
Drip, drip, drip.
The crystal shards stained by the red pulsing of life.

Flaming balls of otherworldly dust streaked across the dark heavens, leaving a luminescent trail in their wake. Some exploded under the intense heat of entering the atmosphere, showering the earth with light. It was a sight no one alive had witnessed before. There had to be at least a hundred "stars" raining down on earth a second. A meteor storm. Even the glow of suburban lights could not outshine the splendour of the celestial display.

An owl screamed in the still air - a cry of death from the Mistress of the Night. Lisha awoke with a jolt. From the looks of it, it was only a few hours past midnight. She tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn't. There was something wrong with the night. The very air felt evil.

How deep did the earth go? Maybe forever. Maybe it ended in a fiery pit, where nothing survived. If so, were the Gods born there? Did they once tread this path in their journey to the surface of the mortal world? It gave her no comfort, to be following a path that only the Gods have used.

Too many. And many more still. How many have been left to fade over the years? How many stories untold, forgotten? Always, I write. And always, something draws me away. When I return, I find I've forgotten how much I enjoy the magic of words. I feel a yearning to weave dreams once again. Why is it that I can't bring my creation to a close? Am I not serious enough? Not motivated enough? What is it that differentiates a writer from a wanna-be-writer?

I must write. I will write. I will bring one of my dreams to a satisfactory ending, and I won't embark on a new story until one has closed.

Time Waits For None

2010-02-25T16:59:00.001+08:00

Whispered Song: Crown of Stars - THE GATHERING STORM by Kate Elliot

Magic in the Writing: Breath of Snowtear

Society is making demands of me: the expectation to pursue an education, a career; to work and thus earn the currency by which we subsist on. In other, non-decorated, words, my first year at Uni started this week. What does this entail? Well, unlike my other fortunate peers who get days off, I am required to leave at 8.15am most mornings, and do not return to the comfort of my abode till 6pm most days. I say most days, because on days like Fridays, I have activities at night and do not get to collapse in my chair until 10pm. By then, I am most likely to be too tired to get any work done, besides go through my cluttered inbox. For some reason, the start of Uni has brought on a wave of emails, so that I am seeing an average of 10 emails a night. Beneath that pile of work (which I am behind in), my short story is slowly fading away from being smothered and lack of nourishment.

Alas, the date draws near. I have 3 days left till Keri hunts me down and demands that I produce a first draft of my short story. I fear I will disappoint her. Hardly any progress has been made to the short story, which I am very ashamed to say was conceived at the birth of the month of December. Yet published authors have raised their precious prodigies and crafted something beautiful, as well as their blood children. It is debatable which child is the more demanding - the child of words or of blood? If such people manage to spin out a novel worthy of being published, how is it I, with less concerns than them, am unable to produce a short story? Perhaps it is time to give myself a kick. How can I birth something good if I do not sweat for it? So the question narrows down to this: should I assign a day to writing, or force myself out of bed in the morning to get something down before the day's current drags me under?

I shall close here, with the feeling that these words, written while distracted, make no sense to any other than me.

Intense Frustration

2010-02-05T12:55:00.000+08:00

Whispered Song: Crown of Stars - CHILD OF FLAME by Kate Elliot

Magic in the Writing: Breath of Snowtear

The words "intense frustration" leap to mind. I play with it in my head. "Frustration" is a funny word. It sounds like the feeling you get when you're all riled up. It has a vague shape to it. I turn it over, prod it. Trying to find that elusive shape keeps my mind off other things, such as screaming. The cool analytical concentration required for this keeps me calm.
I fancy "frustration" has a jagged edge - curled claws that adorn it - especially around the "fr". Rubbing against it produces a screeching sound that leaves your hairs on end. Yet impossibly, these claws lack the cruel hardness common to claws. Rather, it is soft like a feather - furry even - but still sharp. Don't be deceived by that soft look. It comes up to you, rubs against you like a cat seeking affection, and scratches you from the inside. It's worse than the hard claws. The hard claws draw blood, they cause a sharp pain. These soft claws are too gentle to cause outright pain, but incessant enough to strain your patience. You start off mildly tolerant to it, then your irritation accumulates until you explode.
I feel peaceful :)

So here I wait, counting the days. I watch the sand fall, counting the grains. Here comes my daily delivery, my contact with the world. Oh, what's this? My waiting has finally prospered. A letter from my bank - even secluded in this glade, I need to support myself. I notice they still haven't fixed my name, even though I've told them twice. Oh well, it'll have to do. It's what's inside that I'm excited about.
At this point, those fateful words pop into mind. It's not what I asked for. The little voice in my head starts screaming, "I wasted a whole day making the effort to go down and correct my name and apply for a VISA card! Why can't they just get it right!", and proceeds to throw a little tantrum. Another voice observes, "That is a niiice blue."
It is a card alright, but not the VISA card I ardently desired. Requesting for it again will involve another journey out into the world and a length of more waiting. I have no patience for that. Resigning myself to my lack of VISA fate would encumber me in spoiling myself. I have no patience for that either. So which should I do? That screaming little voice votes for doing neither and pouting instead. I shush it up, and examine the words "intense frustration", which brings us to now.

The trees whisper around me, soothing me. This glade is a place to express my thoughts. The burden remains here, while I leave with a spring in my step.

Ancient Revival

2010-02-03T16:29:00.003+08:00

Whispered Song: Crown of Stars - CHILD OF FLAME by Kate Elliot

Magic in the Writing: Breath of Snowtear

Fallen leaves and twigs - testimony to the passing seasons - crunch beneath my feet as I approach the sacred ground. The dull sunlight filtering through the thick canopy lends the landscape an air of solemnity. Nothing stirs here. There is only silence, as befits the site where secrets are guarded. It is here that the whispers of the trees are set down, here that the heartbeat of the earth is given voice.

The staleness in the air speaks of a place long abandoned. And so it has. Yet it calls to my blood, and I must return. The trees whisper to me; of mortals fighting, bleeding, dying. Through the thrumming of the earth's heartbeat, I perceive visions of powers rising, planets turning, and stars being born. I must record this, craft the magic with my words.

Here in this glade at the heart of the forest, rests a collection of stories and ramblings - the songs of the forest. To this place I will return often, so that the setting down of words becomes ritual.

I recieved a parcel today. With growing excitment, I opened it and gently lifted out my newest treasure: a 13" Macbook Pro. Stroking the glossy silver lid with trembling fingers, I proceeded to turn it on, half afraid of my fingerprints marring its sleek perfection. After a fumble during installation, which I attribute to overexcitedness, I sat back and admired Snow Leopard and Windows 7 running together like a dream. It will take me a few days, but I will convert this treasure into something uniquely mine. Together, we shall record the songs of the forest, so that one day my writings will blossom into something beautiful.