Yesterday, the family and I went to the summer fair. I *love* fairs and everything about them - the music, the men and women trying desperately to get you to throw a dart at a balloon to win a stuffed animal, the smell of fried foods and ... the rides! Fans of Amaretto Flame will remember that Jackson and Olivia went to a fair in Staves and rode a ride called The Drop...so imagine my excitement when I saw this:
Oh, folks...it was ON! I had to ride it. I can't even begin to imagine how high up this thing goes, but you get on and a bar comes down over your head and snaps you in. Then, you're brought all the way up to the top of this tower, where you sit for a few minutes. The view is breathtaking. From there, I could see everything - the beach across the highway, all of the fair rides...it was amazing!
Then, with no warning at all, you free fall. I wish I could have a picture of my face in the first 1-2 seconds of falling because I imagine it was a hilarious sight! It only takes a few seconds to get from the top to the bottom of the ride, but it was one of the funnest rides I've ever been on. I had such an adrenaline rush when we got off that my hands were shaking!
When I wrote Amaretto Flame, I had never been on a ride like this, but I had heard of similar rides. I am soooo glad this one was at the fair so I could check it out. It was really a blast. What's your favorite fair or carnival ride? Here are a few other pics from our big adventure!
Showing posts with label Amaretto Flame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Amaretto Flame. Show all posts
Saturday, June 16, 2012
The Mega Drop
Labels:
Amaretto Flame,
Sammie Spencer,
summer fair,
The Drop
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
My Mistake
I'm a writer. My #1 rule has ALWAYS been to write from the heart. That said, I'm working on Shadow Wishes, the sequel to Amaretto Flame, and I've found myself second guessing, pushing it off to the side, pulling my hair out, and nearly going nuts trying to get this thing completed. Why? What is making it so difficult...and then I realized my mistake.
Amaretto Flame is the very first time my work has been read on a widespread basis, meaning not just family and friends. I am thrilled at the response I've gotten, but I've had my fair share of critics, too. That's expected, and to be honest, I've craved criticism, believing it will make me a better writer. If I know what you hated, and what my downfalls were, I can work on those things in the next book, right? To a certain extent, yes. But I've found myself dwelling on every critical comment regarding my work and then going into the sequel with those things in my heart.
I finally realized I can't do that! I have to write what's in my heart to write, and go where the characters lead me. I can't stop in the middle of a scene and think about someone who particularly hated the same kind of scene in Amaretto Flame. Yes, I want everyone to love it...I want to deliver exactly what people want to read. But here's my reality check: I'm not going to be able to do that! There's no way everyone's going to like every single part. There's no way to write something that EVERYONE will love. So, I have to take it back in and write something that I love.
I think in doing this, I'll capture the same things I was able to capture in Amaretto Flame - the things so many other people loved. This is just a small realization I had, and wanted to pass along to others who might be struggling with the same thing. We all know we're supposed to be writing things we love...things we feel deeply about. But when you're reading all the comments on your work and then you're holding on to those things, are you really continuing to write what's in your heart, without second guessing yourself? That's my new game plan. I'm going back to the word doc with only one thing in mind - write what I love. :)
Amaretto Flame is the very first time my work has been read on a widespread basis, meaning not just family and friends. I am thrilled at the response I've gotten, but I've had my fair share of critics, too. That's expected, and to be honest, I've craved criticism, believing it will make me a better writer. If I know what you hated, and what my downfalls were, I can work on those things in the next book, right? To a certain extent, yes. But I've found myself dwelling on every critical comment regarding my work and then going into the sequel with those things in my heart.
I finally realized I can't do that! I have to write what's in my heart to write, and go where the characters lead me. I can't stop in the middle of a scene and think about someone who particularly hated the same kind of scene in Amaretto Flame. Yes, I want everyone to love it...I want to deliver exactly what people want to read. But here's my reality check: I'm not going to be able to do that! There's no way everyone's going to like every single part. There's no way to write something that EVERYONE will love. So, I have to take it back in and write something that I love.
I think in doing this, I'll capture the same things I was able to capture in Amaretto Flame - the things so many other people loved. This is just a small realization I had, and wanted to pass along to others who might be struggling with the same thing. We all know we're supposed to be writing things we love...things we feel deeply about. But when you're reading all the comments on your work and then you're holding on to those things, are you really continuing to write what's in your heart, without second guessing yourself? That's my new game plan. I'm going back to the word doc with only one thing in mind - write what I love. :)
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Random About Me w/ Pictures
I thought you might find it fun to learn a little bit more about me, and who doesn't love visual aids? So, here's some random stuff!
Coffee. My manna. Nectar of the Gods. Can't live without it! My very favorite kind of coffee is freshly ground Pecan Praline - I can't even tell you how amazing it smells when it's brewing. Yum!
This is my very favorite t-shirt (can you tell I wear it often?) and it's from the Cunningham Muffins Youtube video by Liam Kyle Sullivan. I think he's hilarious and although not for the faint of heart, his videos just kill me! What? You watch True Blood, I watch things like this. Don't judge. ;-) Also, I'm very much a jeans and t-shirt girl. Also, I wear flip flops year round. I will probably get married in them.
This is what I look at pretty much all day long. When I'm not writing fiction, I'm writing nonfiction. Hmmm. Not really sure what's on that screen. ;-)
I am a complete and total romantic. I write my favorite quotes like this and stick these little index cards in books, sometimes my own books and sometimes other books for people to find. I love finding quotes or scenes in a book that really move me. 5 points to anyone who can guess what book this is from (and what book it's peeking out of)!
I live very close to the Gulf of Mexico, and lots of casinos. I don't go to the casinos very often, but when I do, I never win anything!
Christmas (Yule) is my very favorite holiday. I don't know why - it's just as magical for me as it was when I was a child. I hope it always is!
So, now that you know a lot of useless stuff about me, I want to know some random/weird things about you! Leave me a comment and tell me your favorite song, favorite quote, movie, holiday, whatever you want! I'll leave you with just one more pic, and something that is very important to me!
Coffee. My manna. Nectar of the Gods. Can't live without it! My very favorite kind of coffee is freshly ground Pecan Praline - I can't even tell you how amazing it smells when it's brewing. Yum!
This is my very favorite t-shirt (can you tell I wear it often?) and it's from the Cunningham Muffins Youtube video by Liam Kyle Sullivan. I think he's hilarious and although not for the faint of heart, his videos just kill me! What? You watch True Blood, I watch things like this. Don't judge. ;-) Also, I'm very much a jeans and t-shirt girl. Also, I wear flip flops year round. I will probably get married in them.
This is what I look at pretty much all day long. When I'm not writing fiction, I'm writing nonfiction. Hmmm. Not really sure what's on that screen. ;-)
I am a complete and total romantic. I write my favorite quotes like this and stick these little index cards in books, sometimes my own books and sometimes other books for people to find. I love finding quotes or scenes in a book that really move me. 5 points to anyone who can guess what book this is from (and what book it's peeking out of)!
I live very close to the Gulf of Mexico, and lots of casinos. I don't go to the casinos very often, but when I do, I never win anything!
Christmas (Yule) is my very favorite holiday. I don't know why - it's just as magical for me as it was when I was a child. I hope it always is!
So, now that you know a lot of useless stuff about me, I want to know some random/weird things about you! Leave me a comment and tell me your favorite song, favorite quote, movie, holiday, whatever you want! I'll leave you with just one more pic, and something that is very important to me!
Labels:
Amaretto Flame,
pictures,
random,
Sammie Spencer
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Bit of an Update
So I just wanted to touch base with you guys and basically put a bunch of tiny things into one post so you know what's going on! First, there's still time to enter my 100 follower giveaway. It's a great opportunity to win a TON of amazing books. The writers that have books featured in that giveaway are some of the most amazing people I've ever had the opportunity of getting to know!
Next, if you haven't heard, Amaretto Flame is currently only 99 cents! Woot! So, if you haven't picked it up, you can do that at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Smashwords. If you have already gotten it, you can really do amazing things for the book by simply telling your friends about it, posting links to the facebook page, the goodreads page, or threatening to fill peoples' socks with ice cream if they don't read it. ;-)
The sequel to Amaretto Flame (Shadow Wishes) will be out sometime in the fall. I'm currently working on that, and it's so exciting. Things are going to be a little darker, a little sexier, and a LOT more complicated. One of my favorite things about Shadow Wishes is that it takes place back in Eagleton, meaning you guys get to know our coven (Ivanna, Everett, Max, Perry, Sylvia & Charlotte) a lot better!
Amaretto Flame will likely be receiving a new book cover soon! SO EXCITING. I met an artist because she drew a scene from Cassandra Clare's The Mortal Instruments series and fell in LOVE with her work. She's helping me to create a cover that speaks a little bit more to the audience Amaretto Flame was written for. I cannot wait to show you guys the cover. However, it's likely that the paperback will be released with the original cover first, and then a second edition will be released with the new cover. So, the original cover won't be around for much longer.
And finally - if I owe you an email, a guest post, winner prizes, or anything else...thank you for being patient. I'm getting caught up after being a little under the weather, so I promise I'll get to you. Thank you so much for your amazing support! <3
Next, if you haven't heard, Amaretto Flame is currently only 99 cents! Woot! So, if you haven't picked it up, you can do that at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Smashwords. If you have already gotten it, you can really do amazing things for the book by simply telling your friends about it, posting links to the facebook page, the goodreads page, or threatening to fill peoples' socks with ice cream if they don't read it. ;-)
The sequel to Amaretto Flame (Shadow Wishes) will be out sometime in the fall. I'm currently working on that, and it's so exciting. Things are going to be a little darker, a little sexier, and a LOT more complicated. One of my favorite things about Shadow Wishes is that it takes place back in Eagleton, meaning you guys get to know our coven (Ivanna, Everett, Max, Perry, Sylvia & Charlotte) a lot better!
Amaretto Flame will likely be receiving a new book cover soon! SO EXCITING. I met an artist because she drew a scene from Cassandra Clare's The Mortal Instruments series and fell in LOVE with her work. She's helping me to create a cover that speaks a little bit more to the audience Amaretto Flame was written for. I cannot wait to show you guys the cover. However, it's likely that the paperback will be released with the original cover first, and then a second edition will be released with the new cover. So, the original cover won't be around for much longer.
And finally - if I owe you an email, a guest post, winner prizes, or anything else...thank you for being patient. I'm getting caught up after being a little under the weather, so I promise I'll get to you. Thank you so much for your amazing support! <3
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Jackson POV: While She Was Gone *SPOILER ALERT*
I thought this would be fun for me to write, and fun for you to read if you love Jackson Vance. This short takes place while Olivia was gone from Staves. If you haven't read Amaretto Flame, this piece contains spoilers...lots of spoilers, so you might not want to read it. That said, I hope you enjoy!
***
***
Several shots ago, the whiskey stopped burning. The inside of the dimly lit club was one big swirl of smoke and colored lights, smiling faces and heavily-lidded eyes. Jackson’s bluesy voice twisted through the place and bounced back at him; a haunting melody. His eyes moved slowly over the crowd. Same old drunks that showed up most weekend nights to drown their sorrows or amplify their good time with the liquid magic. I am one of them though, aren’t I, he thought with disgust. This is my clan; these are my people. His eyes moved back down to the stage in front of him as he sang.
Fingers dancing gracefully over the strings of his guitar as if they had a mind of their own, the music kept the crowd spellbound for the time being. He spotted Jenny standing off to the side of the stage. Alternating lights dyed her hair blue and then red before it shone pale blonde again. She held the tray; the god-forsaken tray that she brought him every night more often than he could count. Most of the time it was at his request, though lately she’d started bringing it before he’d even asked.
An image flashed in his mind of steel-gray eyes dancing with a laugh. He shook his head and finished the slow song, flicking on a fast melody with an earth-shattering beat. He only glanced up for a moment, but he saw her coming in the door, head dipped down, black hair falling silkily over her face.
His legs moved to stand before he’d even made up his mind to do so, his throat working as he swallowed. And then she looked up, the hair falling back away from her face to reveal bright blue eyes, an upturned nose, and a mouth that was too full. It wasn’t the face he’d been imagining; the one that had haunted him for weeks. A sinking feeling caught him with a steel grip and dragged him down, further and further.
Running a hand through his hair, Jackson turned to look at Jenny, whose eyes were soft and compassionate. She’d witnessed the small moment, the hope that must have shone in his face for that split second. Sick with himself, Jackson let one corner of his mouth turn up in a little smile for her, hoping it would say, I’m okay. I’m on top of the world. Nothing could be better.
He snatched the shot glass and downed the whiskey, letting it clatter back to the tray without watching Jenny take her shot, and left the stage. So much for not drinking alone. He had to breathe. He squeezed through the bodies on the dance floor and broke free of them near the exit, pushing the door open and escaping into the muggy night air.
He stood on the side of the building, with his back pressed against the brick, sucking in air as if he’d been suffocating. Never before had Jackson felt this all-consuming panic that coursed through him now. He knew Olivia was safe, because Claire spoke often with Ivanna and Charlotte. It was probably the only thing that kept him sane. Darkness drowned him at the side of the building, only a faint glow leaking over from the streetlight out front. Jackson laughed briefly with no humor. The one thing he’d wanted; the one person who had seemed to make it all make sense. Gone.
“She’s not coming back,” said a sultry voice from the corner. Jackson’s head snapped up and he fixed his eyes on Paula. Her glossy lips turned up into a smile. “Why don’t you ever talk to me anymore, Jackson?”
“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Paula,” Jackson said. “Go away.”
She sauntered up beside him, her hand going lightly to his chest. “You know, the last night Olivia was in here, she kissed Joey LaFontaine from high school. Laid a lip lock on him he’s not likely to forget any time soon.”
Paula’s grin told him she was savoring this moment; his suffering. He glared at her for a long moment, and then his hand moved slowly to her neck. A small smile fluttered around his mouth as he moved closer to her. With just a little bending of his mind, he could hear the pitter-pattering of her heart speeding up at his touch. She grinned brilliantly, the devious glint still present in her eyes. Jackson’s voice was low and dangerous when he spoke.
“The lies that come out of your mouth sicken me,” he said. “If you ever say her name to me again…” His jaw tensed and his hand trembled with the effort it took to control his rage. “If you let it roll off that filthy tongue of yours in my presence again, I’ll break your neck.” His eyes were as cold as stone, his words venomous. A blossom of fear sprouted up in Paula’s eye, and he had no doubt she believed what he’d said. A small, logical part of him was sorry for scaring her, but the rest of him enjoyed it and he wished he’d have seen what a snake she was a long time ago. But back then, it hadn’t mattered.
Even after she’d slinked back inside the building with a pout, Jackson couldn’t stop replaying the words in his head. She’s not coming back. He took a shaky breath, and walked back inside the bar, wanting another shot of whiskey. She had to come back. He wouldn’t give up hope. She wouldn’t forget him.
Days blurred together. Most of the time, Jackson did what he could to take it moment by moment. Things were less painful that way. Then he didn’t have to look at the big picture; the months and years that stretched before him like a lonely promise. In one of those moments, when he was slightly drunker than usual, he sat at the bar in Stallott’s, letting modern music blast through the speakers.
“Looks like you have a lot on your mind. Bet it has to do with a girl.” The voice was weathered and rough. It belonged to an older man a few barstools away, silver hair hanging to his shoulders and a curly beard of the same gleaming color. Jackson focused on the man’s face and made out pale blue eyes that twinkled in the neon lights of the club. His hand lingering on the whiskey bottle in front of him, he turned up a corner of his mouth.
“Stupid, right? Of all the things going on in the world; starvation, war, corrupt politicians, murder…the one thing that cripples me is some girl.” Jackson’s tone was bitter but the man chuckled, shaking his head.
“Oh, I don’t know. Better men than you or I have been crippled by some girl before. They have that power you know, like witches.” Jackson eyed the man, who continued speaking after taking a long swig of his vodka. “Of course, there are girls that will come and go, and then there are the girls the likes of which you’ll never encounter again for the rest of your life. The way I see it,” he slapped down a few dollars on the bar and nodded at Rick, the bartender, “you should figure out which category your girl falls into. If it’s the latter, you’d better do something quick to get back in her good graces.”
An odd feeling crept up Jackson’s spine as Rick gave the man another vodka, an eerie sensation. Pouring another shot from the bottle Rick had simply left on the bar for him, Jackson attributed the feeling to the man’s words. “I’m not sure how to do that,” he said, holding the tiny glass between his thumb and fingers.
“Well, what would you do?” The man asked, his mouth forming a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “What would you be willing to do to keep her? To make sure she was yours? To make sure she was safe?”
Jackson cut his eyes back toward the man. He’d never said Olivia wasn’t safe. Something about the man made his skin crawl. After taking the shot of whiskey, Jackson told himself silently to lighten up. He was way too stressed out and he’d had way too much to drink today. He let his arms move out to his sides, indicating himself and all the space around him. “All of it. Everything I had to give or whatever was in my power to do.”
The old man smiled and nodded. “As most good men would,” he said. “What about your own sanity; your own free will? Your beliefs.”
“What does that have to do with love?” Jackson asked, his body tensing for a reason he couldn’t quite explain.
“Well, sometimes, that’s what is demanded of a man who loves a woman, son. For the sake of argument, would you give yourself to have her freely for just a little while? If you could just have the ability to love her for…oh, say a few months, would you give it all up even then? If your time with her was limited?”
Jackson blinked at the man’s confusing words. He felt a little like he’d been asked a complicated riddle and he still had that odd feeling. He ran his hand through his hair. He needed to go home. He wondered if Jenny would drive him. But the man had asked him a question and he found Olivia’s beautiful, cool face passing through his mind. The way her eyes lit up when he’d shown her some new thing she’d never seen; and how when he kissed her she held on for dear life, like he was her savior. Just the thought of it caused an ache so deep within him that he could barely breathe. Would he? Would he give even his own sanity to just have her for a little while? He looked back at the man and nodded.
“Yes.”
The man seemed to be studying him for a long moment, and then he smiled again. Standing, he put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder for just a moment, and then put a few more dollars down on the counter for a tip. “Well, she sounds like some girl. Don’t let her get away from you, boy.” And then the man was gone.
The next day, Jackson seemed to have trouble getting the man’s words out of his mind. How was he supposed to keep Olivia from getting away from him? She was the one who had left. What was he supposed to do about it? Sure, he had a hard time telling people how he felt, but he thought he made it pretty obvious to her how he felt about her. He’d even sent her a birthday present. Well, he’d painstakingly chosen the little silver necklace, imagining how it would look against her pale skin. Then, he’d given it to his mother with a muttered, “Would you…” He had given up trying to say any more words, as he couldn’t seem to find them within him. Claire had obviously realized what he wanted, because she’d gently taken the little box and said, “Of course.”
Jackson ran his fingers along the strings of his guitar. It was obvious that Olivia was scared. Jackson laughed darkly to himself. Did she think he wasn’t? The difference was that he wanted her enough to take that risk, and she didn’t. He hadn’t given up hope yet that she’d realize her love for him, but as each day passed, his hope grew dimmer and dimmer. Trying to clear his mind and change courses before his thoughts took him down a dangerous road, Jackson began singing.
At least that was something he would always have; the ability to lose himself in a song. The twanging and soft sound of the acoustic guitar, the emotion he was able to release with each word. This time, when the girl with the dark hair came in the door, he barely glanced at her before looking back down at his hands. He couldn’t afford that stupid moment of hope again. Sing, he thought. No matter what happens in five minutes, in a day, in a month…right now, just sing.
Pathetic how he had to talk himself through the moments of his life. His eyes moved up again and then his heart stopped beating. She was approaching him, holding a tray with two shot glasses. Those smoky gray eyes were shining with unreleased tears, and her mouth turned up into a small smile. The next lines of the song went unsung, the guitar silent. What kind of trick is this? Jackson wondered if he had finally lost it, and blinked, but when he opened his eyes, she was still coming toward him. She stopped at the side of the stage. Her hands were trembling, and her heart was beating so wildly inside of her that Jackson could hear it plainly, even if the humans couldn’t.
The little sun necklace rested on her chest, her hair falling softly around her shoulders and down her back. Jackson remembered to breathe as she spoke, and inhaled shakily.
“I…” She started. What was going through her mind? The way she was looking at him…for the first time since she’d left, Jackson’s hope exploded.
“When I left, I left the only man I've ever loved behind,” she said, her voice low. He vaguely remembered what he’d asked of her before she had left. And now, after all this time, Ahh God, Now, she was answering him. “I left my heart here...with you. I love you in the way I hope you still love me. I was tortured because I wasn't here with you. I've spent hours thinking of what I should have done, and when I close my eyes at night, I see your face. You haunt me until morning.” Olivia held the tray out toward him hesitantly, her own hope taking over the usual coolness of her face. “And James Dean really has nothing on you,” she added, a playful gleam in her eye.
Jackson couldn’t find his voice. There were a million things that surfaced; that he wanted to shout out at her, to tell her, to make sure she understood. There were so many things that he didn’t know what to say first, and so he remained quiet. Seeing his hesitation, she stepped up on the stage, taking his mic in her hand. Despite himself, Jackson raised an eyebrow. If there was one thing that made Olivia squirm, it was being the center of attention.
“Can you guys believe that this guy won’t have a drink with me?” She said, her voice booming out through the speakers in the place. Jackson watched the tears trail down her cheeks, wanting nothing more than to catch them, to stop them from coming, to take away any pain that had ever plagued her. “Now if that’s not the rudest thing I’ve ever seen,” she continued. “What kind of guy won’t toast to my undying love for him?”
She had said it. She loved him. She had come back for him. These were the only thoughts Jackson could translate from the jumble that was in his brain.
“Don’t you nice ladies and gentlemen think that our musician should just take the damn whiskey before I pass out on this stage?” She said. She was crying earnestly now, and Jackson found himself comparing the sight to the other wondrous things he’d seen; sunsets, newborn life in the forest, the beauty of a song just completed. Nothing compared. She was beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
The crowd was going wild now, bringing Jackson back from his thoughts, but one remained. She was his. She belonged to him. He’d known it from the beginning, and now she knew it too. As if waking up from the longest sleep he’d ever been in, he took the shot glass from the tray and smiled at her, putting the guitar down. Finally.
He drank down the liquid, watching her do the same. “I’ve waited so long,” he said. The words came out sounding angry, but she didn’t seem to notice. The smile that lit up her eyes was all his. The shot glass fell from his fingers and before he knew what he was doing, he pulled her to him roughly. Her legs went around him, and the buzz of life that he always felt when he touched her returned.
“I love you Jackson Vance, and I never want to be away from you again,” she said. The emotion present in her eyes; the truth, was almost enough to make him dizzy.
“I love you, Slayer.” It didn’t seem to be enough to explain to her…to tell her the things that were going on inside of him. “So much,” he added, and then giving up on words, he pressed his lips to hers. His legs moved as he carried her away from the stage, his only thought being her taste, her warmth, and the old man’s words. “Don’t let her get away from you, boy.”
This time, he didn’t intend to.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Jackson's Poem for Slayer
In honor of National Poetry Month, I'm posting an 'extra' that is present in Amaretto Flame, at the very end of the book. This is Jackson's poem for Olivia, his Slayer. :-)
For Slayer
Smoky silhouette against the night,
What was dark is now bathed in light.
His eyes are smiling and shrouded,
The room of his heart is not crowded…
Unlike the dusty lounge that goes on forever.
The hand runs through bristled, messy hair,
Interrupted beams of light flash in the air.
A smile transforms his face and lingers,
He sits, he caresses, adjusts his fingers…
On the frets of his guitar.
Slowly, almost painfully building,
Notes create beauty, silence is yielding.
His voice is raspy then smooth again, dancing
The strings of the guitar are not the only ones prancing…
As he unknowingly resurrects a heart.
His eyes; they flash passion into a lonely room
And his body sways to the rhythm of impending doom.
And when he closes them, his face betrays a pain
That draws out through his music and starts falling like rain…
And it lands on her.
Like a vampire, his voice draws blood
And the notes, they flow through the room in a flood.
Stop it, her heart screams, yet begs for more,
As she drops to her knees and stares at the floor.
And she knows that he wants to sign.
The last few notes leave a depth that is sweet
And across the room, their naked eyes meet.
He bites his lip, smiles gently; his eyes shy away,
She cries from the silence that now covers his play.
And they stand.
In an instant, the floor between them disappears
She cradles his face and he kisses her tears.
The guitar is no longer needed, as the music resumes
They melt into each other and the passion consumes
Although they’ve barely touched.
An arc of color between them shoots out like a light
And fills up all the darkness and cuts out all the night.
He is dangerous because she is his only
And she fills him up and there’s no trace left of lonely.
And he is her song.
What was dark is now bathed in light.
His eyes are smiling and shrouded,
The room of his heart is not crowded…
Unlike the dusty lounge that goes on forever.
The hand runs through bristled, messy hair,
Interrupted beams of light flash in the air.
A smile transforms his face and lingers,
He sits, he caresses, adjusts his fingers…
On the frets of his guitar.
Slowly, almost painfully building,
Notes create beauty, silence is yielding.
His voice is raspy then smooth again, dancing
The strings of the guitar are not the only ones prancing…
As he unknowingly resurrects a heart.
His eyes; they flash passion into a lonely room
And his body sways to the rhythm of impending doom.
And when he closes them, his face betrays a pain
That draws out through his music and starts falling like rain…
And it lands on her.
Like a vampire, his voice draws blood
And the notes, they flow through the room in a flood.
Stop it, her heart screams, yet begs for more,
As she drops to her knees and stares at the floor.
And she knows that he wants to sign.
The last few notes leave a depth that is sweet
And across the room, their naked eyes meet.
He bites his lip, smiles gently; his eyes shy away,
She cries from the silence that now covers his play.
And they stand.
In an instant, the floor between them disappears
She cradles his face and he kisses her tears.
The guitar is no longer needed, as the music resumes
They melt into each other and the passion consumes
Although they’ve barely touched.
An arc of color between them shoots out like a light
And fills up all the darkness and cuts out all the night.
He is dangerous because she is his only
And she fills him up and there’s no trace left of lonely.
And he is her song.
~ Jackson Vance
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Bad Boys and Why They're So Good
*WARNING - This post contains potential spoilers for The Hunger Games, The Mortal Instruments Series, The Vampire Academy Series, Jane Eyre, and Wuthering Heights.
If you're a paranormal romance reader, you probably already have an idea of what I'm talking about...especially if you're reading some of the most recent popular paranormal romances and urban fantasies. Oh, those bad boys! *SWOON*
You know the ones I'm talking about. Patch Cipriano, Jace Wayland (Morgenstern/Herondale/Lightwood), Gale Hawthorne, Will Herondale and the countless others that have charmed us. I have found something while reading my most recent favorites. When it comes down to a couple of choices for main guys, I'm more than happy to let the heroine of the story have the good guy as long as she leaves me with the bad boy. ;-) Why do we love them so much? What makes the characters so irresistible?
Well, I have a theory about that.
We are women. Hear us RAWR. It's our natural instinct to nurture, to 'make all better,' and to comfort. The boys above all have something in common. They're snarky, rude, and obnoxious...but for a reason. Poor Jace - what a troubled childhood he had. I'll never forget the quote, "The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed." If that doesn't scream broken, damaged, and wounded, I don't know what does!
What about Gale? The poor guy was in charge of caring for his family from a young age, oppressed by the capitol, and then forced to watch the girl he loved fall in love with someone else - ON TELEVISION.
“I knew you’d kiss me.”
“How?” I say. Because I didn’t know myself.
“Because I’m in pain,” he says. “That’s the only way I get your attention.”
If that scene wasn't enough to tear your heart out, what is? Patch - fallen angel. Need I say more? Will Herondale - well, I haven't quite figured out what his deal is yet. (Come on, Clockwork Prince!) The point is, each of the bad boys we love so much have been broken, damaged, and wounded - and we know that our heroine is going to come along and make them whole again. Or, in some cases, she won't, and then we'll end up mourning them and wondering if they ever found happiness. (Gale - *Hint, Hint, Suzanne.)
When faced with two handsome, strong men, is it in our instincts to choose the one we can 'fix?' Or, is it something to do with the bad boys being the alpha male? Is it somewhere in the backs of our minds...this little drive to look for the leader of the pack? Maybe. There is one exception I've found, though.
Adrian Ivashkov.
He doesn't seem to be wounded. I mean, he fights his own demons in the darkness of spirit, but he's pretty much got everything a boy could want. He's wealthy, royal and handsome. Also, being Moroi, he's not the 'tough' one or the fighter, so I don't think the attraction is the alpha male variety. Richelle Mead has managed to create a snarky, arrogant, cocky, rude, lazy addict that I can't get enough of. I will happily hand you twelve Dimitris for an Adrian. I'm not sure whether that means Richelle needs therapy or I need it.
I have to put a shout out in here for the original bad boys - Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) and Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights). Come on - Mr. Rochester was hiding his wife in a wing of his house, teasing Jane with that hideous Blanche Ingram and lying throughout the entire book but we still love him. Heathcliff made it his life's mission to bring down everyone who ever crossed him, and I don't know about you, but I thought it was pretty hot.
My very own 'bad boy,' Jackson Vance (Amaretto Flame) is a musician with a taste for whiskey and pretty girls. Hmmmm...what is he hiding? ;-)
In any case, my favorite stories have the bad boys in them...the ones that are toxic, but you just can't get enough of them. Who is your favorite bad boy? (Let me know because if I don't know him, I want to be introduced ASAP!)
If you're a paranormal romance reader, you probably already have an idea of what I'm talking about...especially if you're reading some of the most recent popular paranormal romances and urban fantasies. Oh, those bad boys! *SWOON*
You know the ones I'm talking about. Patch Cipriano, Jace Wayland (Morgenstern/Herondale/Lightwood), Gale Hawthorne, Will Herondale and the countless others that have charmed us. I have found something while reading my most recent favorites. When it comes down to a couple of choices for main guys, I'm more than happy to let the heroine of the story have the good guy as long as she leaves me with the bad boy. ;-) Why do we love them so much? What makes the characters so irresistible?
Well, I have a theory about that.
We are women. Hear us RAWR. It's our natural instinct to nurture, to 'make all better,' and to comfort. The boys above all have something in common. They're snarky, rude, and obnoxious...but for a reason. Poor Jace - what a troubled childhood he had. I'll never forget the quote, "The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed." If that doesn't scream broken, damaged, and wounded, I don't know what does!
What about Gale? The poor guy was in charge of caring for his family from a young age, oppressed by the capitol, and then forced to watch the girl he loved fall in love with someone else - ON TELEVISION.
“I knew you’d kiss me.”
“How?” I say. Because I didn’t know myself.
“Because I’m in pain,” he says. “That’s the only way I get your attention.”
If that scene wasn't enough to tear your heart out, what is? Patch - fallen angel. Need I say more? Will Herondale - well, I haven't quite figured out what his deal is yet. (Come on, Clockwork Prince!) The point is, each of the bad boys we love so much have been broken, damaged, and wounded - and we know that our heroine is going to come along and make them whole again. Or, in some cases, she won't, and then we'll end up mourning them and wondering if they ever found happiness. (Gale - *Hint, Hint, Suzanne.)
When faced with two handsome, strong men, is it in our instincts to choose the one we can 'fix?' Or, is it something to do with the bad boys being the alpha male? Is it somewhere in the backs of our minds...this little drive to look for the leader of the pack? Maybe. There is one exception I've found, though.
Adrian Ivashkov.
He doesn't seem to be wounded. I mean, he fights his own demons in the darkness of spirit, but he's pretty much got everything a boy could want. He's wealthy, royal and handsome. Also, being Moroi, he's not the 'tough' one or the fighter, so I don't think the attraction is the alpha male variety. Richelle Mead has managed to create a snarky, arrogant, cocky, rude, lazy addict that I can't get enough of. I will happily hand you twelve Dimitris for an Adrian. I'm not sure whether that means Richelle needs therapy or I need it.
I have to put a shout out in here for the original bad boys - Mr. Rochester (Jane Eyre) and Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights). Come on - Mr. Rochester was hiding his wife in a wing of his house, teasing Jane with that hideous Blanche Ingram and lying throughout the entire book but we still love him. Heathcliff made it his life's mission to bring down everyone who ever crossed him, and I don't know about you, but I thought it was pretty hot.
My very own 'bad boy,' Jackson Vance (Amaretto Flame) is a musician with a taste for whiskey and pretty girls. Hmmmm...what is he hiding? ;-)
In any case, my favorite stories have the bad boys in them...the ones that are toxic, but you just can't get enough of them. Who is your favorite bad boy? (Let me know because if I don't know him, I want to be introduced ASAP!)
Labels:
Adrian Ivashkov,
Amaretto Flame,
bad boys in books,
Jace Wayland,
Jackson Vance,
Patch Cipriano,
Richelle Mead,
The Hunger Games,
The Mortal Instruments,
Vampire Academy,
Will Herondale
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Eagleton Coven: Amaretto Flame Chapter Excerpt
I will have it available in other formats soon, including regular ebooks if you're interested in reading that way. In any case, I'm super excited to hear what everyone thinks, and I am including the first chapter here. Unfortunately, the first chapter does NOT include one of the best parts of the book, and that would be Jackson Vance. ;-)
So, if you like the first chapter and you want more, you can get it for Kindle here. Without further ado...
Chapter 1
I was angry. I was so angry that I felt as though my body could burst open with that anger. Red, pulsating streaks of fury rushed through my limbs, building the pressure until I thought something inside of me might snap.
This is how I felt as I ran…it’s why I was running. I had knocked over a chair in my haste to get outside, to escape the confines of the small room I had been sitting in. The daylight and fresh air didn’t help, and so I kept running over the grounds of Eagleton. My feet pounded over emerald grass as I sought some solitude; some place where the concerned eyes of my family couldn’t reach me. I ignored their gazes as I passed, even as some deep part of me registered that only my sister, Sylvia, kept her eyes on the ground instead of looking at me questioningly.
I could hear his footsteps behind me as I rounded the pond, and it only made me angrier. My coven brother, Everett—who was also my best friend—couldn’t leave me alone in this desperate moment, even though that’s all I wanted him to do. My lungs burned, though my muscles were accustomed to working even harder than this. I turned my head slightly as I pounded forward, getting a view of Everett in my peripheral vision.
“Go back!” I yelled. I didn’t want him to see me like this.
“No,” he shouted back. “I’m not leaving you.”
His refusal only made me run faster, and as I reached the forest that he and I both knew as well as our own selves, I stopped. The anger had built in me too long, and I knew it actively sought its escape now. With the furious red haze in my vision, I opened my mouth, looking forward to letting all that anger go. My hands shot out to either side, and with the last moment of sane thinking, I made sure Everett was behind me. Then, I screamed.
A shrieking, high-pitched wail shot its way out of my mouth. I watched the forest change with clarity that I usually didn’t possess. The glistening green leaves and carpet of grass before me turned black, as if they’d met the hot end of a blow torch. The air shimmered and shifted and I felt for a moment like I was looking through vapors. Somewhere in front of me, a tiny sapling snapped under the force of my anger, and a shower of dead leaves fell to the ground. It was like the whole earth was moving for a few seconds, and then the scream quieted and died.
I surveyed the damage with sorrow for only a moment, and then the tears came. This was my power. Olivia Landry, future high-priestess of Eagleton Coven, destroyer of life. Maybe that wasn’t a fair assessment. You see, I was born with an extraordinary power, one that was unheard of. With a scream, I could obliterate anything and anyone that stood before me. I had used this power before on people, and those weren’t even people. They were the deadly Venator, hunters that wanted to track down all of my kind and kill them, or turn them into slaves in mills. That had been different. There had been a kind of triumph when that had happened.
This, I thought as I looked over the blackened trees and scorched grass, was just unfair destruction. Then, with a bitter note, I reminded myself that I’d been messing up a lot lately. Why stop now? Why not just scream until every tree of the forest was black and lifeless?
Everett was there a moment later, his arms going around me protectively as he murmured comforting words. He was shaken. I could see it in his face as I turned to look at him. He’d never seen me use my power before, and that, combined with what we had just been told, left him reeling. But he didn’t stop comforting me.
“It’s okay, Olivia. It’s all out now. You’re okay,” he said.
“I’m not okay,” I argued.
His sky-blue eyes took me in for a long moment, and his hands ran down long ribbons of my dark hair. “Yes, you’re okay.”
I didn’t reply. He wasn’t the one being forced to leave his home—the only home he’d ever known. Still, it was my fault. I had broken the rule. Not him; me. I deserved this. With a deep breath, I collapsed onto the forest floor, Everett shifting his body so that he could sit with me, his arms still trying to comfort me.
Today had started well. Everett and I had been chosen for a special mission. He’d been chosen for his unique ability and I had been chosen because I needed the experience. Ivanna, our coven mother and high-priestess, had prepared us in the usual way. She’d briefed us on the situation and what needed to happen. With the wave of her hand, she’d disguised our faces, making us appear years older than we truly were.
Just a few hours away from Eagleton—our home—a boy was being held in a group facility; an orphanage. The boy was one of us, a Wise One, born with the ability to wield the ancient magick. Not long ago, his entire family had been killed in a raging fire at their home. Joshua, the boy, had been the only survivor. At just fourteen years old, he’d been turned over to the state for care. It was our mission to get him, or at least to offer him the chance to come with us; to learn how to properly control the magick.
But the boy wasn’t cooperative. It didn’t surprise me. Each one of my coven brothers and sisters had suffered through something similar before coming to Eagleton. In what seemed a cruel cosmic joke, most Wise Ones were born to ordinary human parents. Imagine walking into the room one day to find your young child moving things through the air with his or her mind, or creating a storm in the middle of your living room. I glanced at Everett. Or, what if your child could speak directly into your mind with his mind, excitedly telling you about a bug he’d found on the playground? Imagine that his voice took over all of your thoughts, making it impossible for you to concentrate on anything else.
It’s not odd that parents of Wise Ones often thought that their children were evil; incarnates of some black demon that went against everything they’d been taught in chapels and churches. That’s why these Wise children often ended up abandoned or victims of their own parents’ attempts to free the world of their evil. But Joshua’s fate had been different, maybe even worse than the rest of ours.
He was a fire-wielder, and in the grips of a nightmare, he’d inadvertently used his powers. The house had gone up in flames quickly, destroying his family and his life. The firemen and police thought it was a miracle that the boy hadn’t been hurt. They’d rescued him from the charred and burning home, thinking that he had a guardian angel watching over him. What they didn’t know was that he had been immune to the flames as he slept, because he’d created them.
It was absolutely understandable that he’d be bitter, angry…that he’d hate the world. He’d tried to ignore Everett and me from the moment the lady had led us out to the courtyard to speak to him. We had tried gently persuading him that we could help, using the disguise Ivanna had given us—hopeful foster parents. Nothing we said got through to him, until Everett had told him that we were like him, that we understood what was going on with him.
He’d snapped his head toward us quickly, those sky-blue eyes burning through me.
“If you’re anything like me, then I hate you almost as much as I hate myself,” he’d said, his voice dripping with disgust. After a few more attempts to talk to him, he shut down completely. His finger jutted out toward the ground. I’d panicked, knowing what his plan was. I shook my head no, even as a small flame leapt up from the grass. The other children were in the courtyard too, some of them jumping rope while others dribbled basketballs or played hopscotch.
Knowing he wasn’t going to come with us, Everett and I prepared to leave…to get out of there before we angered him and pushed him to do something we would all regret. But something wouldn’t let me leave just at that moment. Maybe it was the look in the boy’s eyes; the lonely, desolate look. I recognized myself in him, and my mind went back over the time I’d spent in a foster home before being brought to Eagleton. I’d remembered just how lonely it had been; how I thought I’d never be able to pull myself out of the dark misery. In a last minute, desperate attempt to do something for the boy, I’d leaned over and given him the numbers of the phone back in Eagleton.
It was untraceable. Surely it wouldn’t matter too much, and I was confident that the boy would call when he came to terms with what was happening to him. We wouldn’t have to lose him, and we could still keep him safe from them…the hunters. So I’d said it twice, reciting the numbers slowly so he would memorize them. That’s where I’d gone wrong. It was absolutely forbidden to reveal anything about Eagleton to anyone who didn’t live here.
Everett and I had gone back to Ivanna after escaping the group home without the boy. I knew a punishment was coming, but I wasn’t prepared for what she would say. She focused her dark, piercing eyes on me in a way she never had before. Ivanna was beautiful, with black hair as shiny as glass, and high cheekbones. She was a tall woman, but even without her height, she had a presence that made her seem imposing and large. We’d met with her in her cottage behind the main house, Everett insisting on going with me although I told him to stay in his room.
Nervously, I told her the entire story as she perched on the edge of her desk in the small library. She was quiet as I described the boy’s demeanor, and when I talked about him using his power on the patchy grass outside the orphanage, she stayed calm. There was a long moment of silence after that, and Everett made no move to speak up about what I had done.
“There’s one more thing,” I’d said. “I gave the boy our phone number.”
Again, I was met with Ivanna's piercing gaze. Her face was unreadable, the muscles under the skin relaxed. I thought she might not get angry after all, but then suddenly, her expression changed. It was as if she just remembered that it was one of the most important rules in Eagleton not to give out any contact information. Her brows drew together and she moved to sit at the desk, clasping her hands together.
Again, I was met with Ivanna's piercing gaze. Her face was unreadable, the muscles under the skin relaxed. I thought she might not get angry after all, but then suddenly, her expression changed. It was as if she just remembered that it was one of the most important rules in Eagleton not to give out any contact information. Her brows drew together and she moved to sit at the desk, clasping her hands together.
“I’ve never been this disappointed in you, Olivia.” Her voice was as chilling as her eyes. “You have always been ruled by your emotions, but I expected better from you in this situation. What if the boy had been a plant for the Venator? What then? I don’t have to remind you what would happen if the hunters found our location…what would happen to every single one of us.”
I wished she would scream in rage rather than focus her icy quiet wrath on me, but the demeanor with which she delivered the words didn’t cut as deeply as the words themselves. I’d trained for years to fight the Venator. I’d seen the trophies of their kills; I’d heard horror stories about the hidden locations full of Wise Ones and humans that they’d enslaved. The thought of the Venator coming anywhere near my family sent an arch of terror through my bones.
“Ivanna,” I said, “it was just a number. It was an untraceable number. You can’t think that I’d ever willingly endanger any of you.” Did I have to say this to her? She of all people should know that I’d walk out into a crowd of Venator if it would save my family.”
“But you have endangered us,” she argued. “When you break a coven rule, you endanger the coven. That’s why those rules are in place. I could toss you right out for this.”
An odd feeling crept over me as she said those words. It was as if the words weren’t matching up with her external display of anger; she should be screaming and shouting, with her eyes flashing. If her face showed a lack of anger, Everett’s showed an overload of it.
“If you toss her out of the coven, I’ll be right behind her,” he said loyally, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as if he were prepared to jump up at any moment and follow through on his threat. While he spoke calmly—because he would never dream of raising his voice at a woman—his jaw was clenched and the air around the three of us was practically crackling.
“Peace, Everett,” Ivanna said, holding up a hand toward him. Her eyes remained on me. “Do you see the kind of loyalty you’ve placed in danger?” A sharp pang of guilt flamed up in my stomach, and I felt the sting of threatening tears. I was too prideful to let them show as Ivanna spoke again.
“You must be made to realize the magnitude of what you’ve done, Olivia.” She heaved a long sigh, as if the old thing parents said was really true; as if this would hurt her more than it hurt me. “You’ll be leaving the coven tomorrow.”
It was like the world went black for a moment, and my whole body was numb. It was like I wasn’t really sitting here listening to what she was saying, and briefly, I thought I might wake up and realize this was all a dream. Everett stiffened in the chair beside me, and as my mind reeled, Ivanna clarified things.
“You’ll be staying in the house in Staves until Midsummer. You can prepare anything you want to take with you and I’ll provide the rest. I’ll need you back here in a few days for a meeting, but otherwise, you’ll live as a normal human until the solstice.”
“Ivanna,” Everett said tensely. “We need her here.” Without looking up from the top of her desk, Ivanna nodded.
“You’re absolutely right. We do need her here. Perhaps this lesson will teach her just how badly we do.” Her words had a certain finality to them, and quickly, my disbelief turned to rage. I’d given the boy a number. That’s it. She was acting like I’d handed each of my family members over to the Venator, one by one. The pressure built in my head until I could finally feel my limbs again, and that’s when I’d made my escape from her cottage.
I hadn’t stayed long on the edge of the forest with Everett. I wanted to be alone; to wallow in the heat and anger inside of myself. By the next morning, it had simmered and boiled so long that it blocked out the self-pity, which was a small relief. I packed my clothes carefully and slowly, trying to delay the final moments I guess, because there are only so many ways you can fold jeans and t-shirts. When I was just about done, Everett knocked on the door to my bedroom. His pale blond hair was cropped short, but it looked as if he’d been running his hands through it all morning. He helped me carry my bags downstairs, through the massive main house, and out front to where a car was waiting.
It was as if my family had shown up for a funeral. Charlotte and Perry, the eldest coven members, stood closest to the door as I exited. Perry was our coven brother, but also Ivanna’s real brother, and although he was a giant, burly man, his dark eyes were exact replicas of Ivanna’s. Charlotte smiled weakly at me, and smoothed her strawberry-blond hair, gray strands here and there shining in the sunlight.
I noticed that Max was holding Sylvia’s hand, and I willed her not to become emotional. She was by far the most sensitive and outspoken one of our group, along with being the youngest. Max was five years older than me, with dark eyes that sparkled and shaggy dark hair. The tattoos that covered his chest, back and arms made him look more like the singer in a heavy metal band than a Wise One and computer genius. Sylvia was usually all sunshine, with glowing mocha skin and caramel eyes, but today, she kept her eyes on the concrete and her face was long.
I gave them all a quick smile. I couldn’t do more than that, because my anger kept threatening to turn sad at the thought of leaving them. As for Everett, I could barely look at him. Without pondering how I’d survive the time away from him, I paused long enough to squeeze his hand and then I walked to the car. Ivanna was standing near the passenger-side door as I placed the bag I was carrying into the trunk with the ones Everett had already deposited.
To my relief, Charlotte walked around and got into the driver’s seat. I gave Ivanna a quick look, and then side-stepped her and got into the car. If she was waiting for me to kiss her goodbye, she’d be waiting a long time. I could sense her disappointment as the car pulled away from the main house, but I decided to focus on other things…like how I was supposed to behave like a human. Surely Ivanna didn’t expect me to actually communicate much with humans?
A thread of fear shot through me. To be honest, I was terrified of them. There had only been one point in my life when I’d lived with them and communicated with them every day, and that simply hadn’t worked out. Since leaving the foster home, there had been very few humans I interacted with. I wondered if I could blend in with them. As I watched the miles fly by, I imagined all sorts of scenarios involving humans. I imagined me talking with them, telling them who I was and where I came from.
“Oh, you didn’t know there’s a battle going on between good witches and bad ones? Well, there is. You should watch out, too, because if the bad ones get you, you’re toast. What’s that you say? I’m completely bonkers?”
It was almost amusing enough to make me crack a smile. Still, none of the fantasy images my mind could create would prepare me for the real interaction I was about to have with humans.
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