A Busy Year Behind...A Busier Year Ahead

I've written A LOT this year. I now have 8 publishers, and I've composed by 40th manuscript! This has been my year for novellas. I've decided they provide a wonderful opportunity to explore new genres. I'd like to write some SF/fantasy novellas later this year. So far, I've concentrated on romance and YA novellas.

I'm posting an excerpt from In Flames, which was published earlier this year. Scary romantic suspense. Enjoy!
Regards, and best wishes,
Norah/ND/Melody

EXCERPTS

Sophie opened the door, then stood, reluctant to enter. There was a smell, a scent in the air…

Cigarette smoke, fresh and pungent.

It might just as well have been sulfur and brimstone. Wherever Damian lingered…it was hot.

There was a small pile of ash on the floor, but no cigarette. She spotted a new mark on her dressing table—a charred circle.

Sophie lifted the silk skirting, and touched the hole with her fingertip.

A perfect circle.

Like a ring. At the end, when he feared losing her, he’d talked marriage. A lifetime of beatings and bliss.

She'd left him instead. Left him and moved on.

Damian had moved on, too—to the Hereafter.

A little defiantly, Sophie lifted her head. This room had meant so much to her. It had been her sanctuary, at a time when she had no longer needed saving. It had been proof of her resolve and good fortune—the sign that she no longer had to hide, that she was now self-sufficient and self-contained.

No longer.

Because this haven was no longer hers. If she’d needed a sign of usurped ownership, it was there in the burns marring her dresser, the holes in her clothes. Someone—or something—else owned it now.

With a shudder, she grabbed her purse, then dashed out and slammed the door behind her.

AND

She’d gone down maybe a dozen stairs, following always that acrid smoke smell, her keen sense of smell guiding her. She wound through a maze of tunnels and intersections, Ys, in the dark, arms flailing, trusting to stink and instinct—and all the while dreading what she would find at the end of it.

She had been right to dread. The incinerate glow leached out into the darkness, staining the corridor red and orange. She knew, when she felt the heat emanating from within, that she’d reached Hell.

It was hot and holed and cavernous, and inhabited by maybe a dozen robed figures. The wall lengths were broken by alcoves; flattened bottoms with rounded arches above. A New World solution to Old World catacombs. The roof was a giant rock chute, and the smoke churned, eddied and swirled upwards and out.

The center was an inferno—a stone altar alternately orange, yellow, blue, red, black. Flames licked it, dancing like the wood-coal which fed it. Dying wood which glowed with that peculiar animacy of searing orange and bred in the efforts of sweating men in motion. Their robes flapped and their hoods slipped, as they fought to sustain illusion in the face of toil. Crackle, snap, branches flung and logs thudding against the base. The searing heat made the scene wobble in waves of molten air, and already heated tempers flared to incandescence at the pyre's demands for fuel.

Sophie stood there blankly, wobbling on her feet, blood leaking down her legs. She looked from the altar to the arched crevices around the walls. The dancing orange light picked up the dull dark brown of carbonized bone.

Carbonizing bone.

She was seen…of course. By Damian and not-Damian. They were both there, but only one was hers. The other one, she decided later in her nightmares, had been present only to show her there was more than one demon in Hell.

Damian and not-Damian had hit her, kicked her, pounded her, again and again.

Smoke, fire, flames, corpses.

And the demons danced on.

AND

Sophie lost him in the smoke and steam. She screamed, choked on soot and swallowed water—then it was all gagging, paddling, churning her way through the wash. The surge was relentless, all troughs and waves, floating wood and falling stone. She was slammed against the wall and felt her shoulder give. Sophie shrieked and fought for air. “Marco!”

He had her. Marco grabbed her, and clung. She held onto him weakly, and opened her eyes to find he was smiling.

A death’s head grin. It was Gerald Beaumont.

“Sophie!” he cried, clawing at her head, her shoulders, climbing her like a bobbing tree. She was going under, down, when Marco snatched her out of Gerald’s grasp and flung him aside.

But Marco’s hold on her was tenuous, and Beaumont’s frantic antics cost him. Scratch, tear, rip, fling, but in the wildly swirling muddle, of dirt and bone, ash and wood, filthy foam and churning backwash, Sophie was jarred loose from Marco’s grasp once more, out of his reach. He heard her choked off “Marc-!” as she vanished beneath the rising waters.

http://www.lindenbayromance.com/product-inflames-144-149.html

AUTHOR WEBSITES: N. D. Hansen-Hill | Melody Knight

From Edits to Editorials

Valentine's Here, Valentine's There -
Our Valentine's Day was yesterday and we had heaps of fun. Dinner out last night, movies and candy afterwards. I seem to be content as long as I have something exciting to watch and something sweet between my lips. Love candy and ice cream and pie...

And cake frosting.

I finished my ghost story this week, and decided to name it "A Spirited Encounter". This is my first finished book for 2008, and I'm quite happy about it. I also finished a novella and want to get it re-written fairly quickly, so I can submit it to Nocturne's open submissions call. Definitely worth looking into if you're a writer, aspiring or established.

If you're seeking an agent, pop over to BookEnds this week, and pop in 100 words in the appropriate category. You never know what will transpire.

Cheers, and Happy, Happy!

WIP: From Haunted Houses to Haunted Mirrors

These are the themes of the two books I wrapped up this week: A Spirited Encounter and A Kiss for Luck. The latter is a novella than a book, but no matter. I wrote it in 4 days, so we'll see what I can do with it.

Other things: interviews and articles. I wrote a tongue-in-cheek article about my writing journal for Shelley Munro's blog, but there's a bit about my research on there, too, in the comments. Today, I participated in my weekly contribution to Tales of the Trade, which is a blog newly christened this week. With Red Rose Publishing, I've been hopping around like a mad thing, participating in promo. This is the most highly motivated group of authors I've ever met, and even though I've met some of them through other publishers, being with RRP works some kind of magic on us all. The action there never stops. I love it!

***

Tempter (I may want to stick this in a book some time): Fusion may be the answer to our energy future, but the issue has always been one of containment. Magnetic fields haven't been sufficient to maintain the fusion reaction in the lab, so even though the reaction can be induced, the energy can't be contained. It was found recently that plasma flows along magnetic field lines and will even fuse when joining with another field line—in space! The reconnection of our Earth's magnetic field lines may provide the key to dealing with fusion down here. To read more, visit: http://www.livescience.com/space/businesstechnology/080206-tw-magnetic-reconnection.html

Save Your World: FAQS about donating blood (I want to thank all of you personally! You saved my life! How many other lives can you save this year?) http://www.givelife2.org/donor/faq.asp

Now, an excerpt from one of my books - Light Play, methinks. Enjoy!

The woman stood quietly at the window, gazing unseeing at the day’s yellow glare. A sudden jolt stirred her from an unnatural stillness, and she turned away with a swift gasp of fear. “What next?” she wondered aloud.

Her dash from the room was halted by the recoiling of the cat, which cowered, hissing, near her feet.

The woman’s lips creased in a self-deprecating smile. “Damned cat,” she whispered, recalling yesterday’s words. “Which of us is damned now?”

The feline slunk away—hiding its tomcat’s boldness beneath spiky hair and flattened ears.

Angry with the cat’s reaction, the woman moved swiftly toward the far wall.

The cat—hidden now beneath a chair—dared a backwards glance, just in time to see the human figure drift through the solid plastered wood partition. He chased her departure with a bold yowl.

The walls echoed his cry, seeming to hold it for just a second too long. When it came back to his ears, the distorted wailing was no longer alone, but held the lonely misery of a human’s despairing sigh.

From Light Play

http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook4094.htm

Cheers,

ND Melody

Thanks, www.mikesfreegifs.com,

http://www.wondercliparts.com/holidays/valentines_day/valentines_day_graphics.shtml

and www.wilsoninfo.com, for the animations!

Happy Holidays, an Intro to Jenyfer Matthews, + Excerpts

It's been a wonderful week, and can't wait till Christmas now. I updated my MySpace to look gaudy, clashy, and Christmasy - reds, greens, and animated GIFs.

Last night I went to a dessert party at Jane Beckenham's. You know Jane - the author of Hiring Cupid and He's the One? Well, she hosted a number of fledgling authors at her home for a Christmas celebration, and I had the opportunity to meet some incredible people. My friend Yvonne Walus was there, too. Yvonne just returned from a book tour in South Africa, promoting some of her crime novels. She arrived back just in time for her Sir Julius Vogel Award nomination! Way to go, Yvonne!

I want to introduce you to a fellow Cerridwen Press author today, Jenyfer Matthews. Jenyfer describes herself:
"Jenyfer is an American currently living in Cairo, Egypt. In addition to writing contemporary romance, she is also a full time mother, quilter and aspiring wine snob. She's a chatty sort and is addicted to email. If you want to know more about Jenyfer visit her website or her blog."

Here's an excerpt from her book,Here to Stay:

Julia nearly collided with Patrick who stood on the porch, poised to knock. When Julia opened the door, he lowered his hand and tucked it into his pocket. “Hello, Blue.”

She stood looking at him, gripping the edge of the door tightly. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “I’m going back to Chicago, but I didn’t want to leave things like we did the other day. I hope that we can at least be friends. Here, I brought you a house-warming gift.” He thrust a colorful gift bag toward her.

She took the bag from him and turned away, leaving the door open behind her.
Patrick frowned and followed her into the house. It wasn’t hard to see that something had her upset—more than just his showing up unannounced. He wanted to help if he could. If she’d let him.

He followed Julia back to the kitchen and found her leaning against the counter, looking out of the window over the sink. She’d set the bag on the counter beside her, untouched.

He wanted to go to her and hold her but feared what her reaction might be. Instead, he stopped near the kitchen table, trying to decide what to do next. He looked down and saw the estimate the contractor left her.
No wonder she was upset.

He had no idea how much money her aunt had left her, but he guessed it wasn’t much based on the way the house had been kept and by her reaction to the builder’s estimate.

Julia stood looking out at the sky. She was doing some deep breathing exercises and thinking. Trying to regain her calm.

The contractor’s estimate was nothing to lose hope over, she assured herself. She had known that starting her life over here, in this strange place, was going to be difficult.

She had to trust herself, trust that she would make it. She would find a way to support herself. She would resume her marketing career if she had to. She was close enough to New York to commute if need be and her former boss had assured her of a glowing reference if she should need one.

Her house needed a roof. The floors needed refinishing and the walls needed a paint job, inside and out—there were just too many things to mention. She would do everything, just not all at once. It would take some time. This was her house now and she wasn’t going to give it up.

Dealing with Patrick was a different story though. She found it difficult to remain calm when she looked into the warm golden brown of his eyes. She took one last deep breath to steel herself before turning to face him.

He stood near the kitchen table with a paper in his hand. She walked closer. “What’s that?”

He pushed it across the table to her. “Is this what has you so upset?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

He grabbed her hands in his. “Let me help you. Please.”

She looked up at him. His touch felt so good. She hadn’t realized how much she needed human contact, to be held and reassured, but she couldn’t seek solace from Patrick. She had to maintain her distance. She squeezed his hands and pulled away.

“I don’t need your money, Patrick. I’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t talking about money.”

She shook her head. “Then I don’t understand. How can you help me?”

“Let me do the roof for you.”

She gaped at him in surprise. “What? You?”

“Why do you look so skeptical?” he asked. “Dad is a contractor, you know and I worked with him every summer during college. I’ve done lots of roofing.”

“It’s not that,” she stammered, “what about your job? You have to go back to Chicago.”

“I took a leave of absence,” he answered. “So, you see, I’m at your disposal.”

She looked away, trying to regain her equilibrium. This was all happening too fast. She needed to have the roof fixed but to have Patrick do it?

“Come on, Blue, let me help you this one last time. You’ve made your feelings clear. I’ve signed the divorce papers. I promise that I won’t pressure you for anything more.”

That was true enough. He had signed the papers. She looked him in the eye. He looked sincere. And she really did need that roof done.

“I don’t know. I’m sure you’ll be sorry—it’s a big job,” she said, trying to give him an out.

“I like a challenge,” he responded with a confident smile.

She wished she felt as confident as he looked. Still, it might be the perfect solution to her problem.

“Okay,” she answered slowly, “if you’re sure. Thank you for offering.”

He grinned at her. “I’ll go take a look at it right now.”

She shook her head as she followed him. She could see he was pleased and against her better judgment she felt a spark of excitement too.

It’s just the roof, she reminded herself. Nothing more. He’ll be gone before you know it.

AND NOW ONE FROM MY BOOK, In Flames, written under my pseudonym, Melody Knight:

Peri knew Sophie was up ahead—a rattle, a scuff, a scraping of rock warned her. She paused, unwilling to use the flashlight, instead focusing her night vision glasses carefully on the path. There was enough residual light here, whether vented moonlight, or glimmers from Sophie’s distant flashlight, to make the glasses useful.
The path was rock, dirt, worn stones. Easy enough to follow.

Unless… Peri hesitated. There’d been four or five intersecting tunnels so far. Could Sophie have wandered down one of those? Echoes in a cave system could throw you. Peri wondered whether she should call out. Surely, if Sophie realized Peri was following, she’d wait.

Unless she figures what she's doing might be hazardous to your health.

There was another answer, but Peri didn’t like to consider it. Sophie might not be exactly “herself”, at the moment.

It wasn’t until Peri came to yet another intersection that another possibility came to mind. What if it's not Sophie?

Which seemed ridiculous unless you were working under the premise that Gerald Beaumont had some idea you were going to be here, or at the very least, that Sophie was. If any of it was true, or even if they’d triggered some hidden security switch in opening the secret door…

…then I left them a sign saying where I was.

Maybe it didn't matter whether it was Sophie in the tunnels. Maybe being a trespasser was condemnation alone.

Peri was panicked. If she hadn't been, she would have brought rationale and logic and reason to the fore. She had the owner’s permission, after all…

But her own intuition was screaming. As a footfall sounded behind her, Peri began to run. It could be they were looking for the one who’d defaced their ancient stone path with fluorescent paint.

Me.

Peri kept picturing monks and group rapes—specters from Sophie’s dreams. For some reason, the more likely scenario of armed security guards never even occurred to her. There was too much here that matched Sophie’s nightmare, and made it seem more like memory. If that was the case, Peri didn’t think either one of them should be going this alone.

Another footfall at her back.

Peri picked up speed.

She was moving as fast as she could; nearly overrunning her night-vision lenses. Silence and subterfuge suddenly seemed as stupid as racing through the dark. They knew she was here.

But maybe they didn’t know…as yet…that she was female. Maybe, there were no thoughts of group havoc here—just the capture of an unanticipated security risk.

In that case, her best shot lay in outdistancing them, confusing them further—and finding a place to hide until she could locate Sophie.

With these confused thoughts in mind, as she tore down the path, Peri decided it was time to toss caution to the wind. Light might give them a target, but there were enough bends in the tunnel to avoid giving them a clear shot.

Decision made, she lifted the night-vision goggles at the same instant she flicked on the flashlight. She missed the apparition emerging from the side tunnel, full-on in her path.

Her light wavered, wobbled, and fixed. She was looking into the face of a dead man.

READ IT...AND SHIVER. In Flames

Chocolate ice cream for breakfast again!

If you're a novelist, looking for a September challenge, consider the Brava erotic novella contest. I've written 5000 words - only problem is, none of it is erotic (LOL!)! Sorry, but I consider that really funny.

I'm also working on a very chaste story, which I'm liking ever so much better. This is a YA novel in my Elf Chronicles, for a Random competition. If it's considered, great, but if not, I've got the next book in the Chronicles. I promised myself I'd write it this year anyway, so here goes.

I've finished Art & Soul, and it's heading off to a publisher either tomorrow or next week. Then, it's just BoneSong to rewrite, and the usual edits for my publishers. Yay!

Back to work. Fortified with chocolate ice cream, I shall prevail!

Cheers,
ND | Melody
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