annathepiper | Entries tagged with niwa

This weekend Dara and I are attending Westercon 69 in Portland! We got here today and so far my convention has consisted of hanging out with fellow NIWA members Madison Keller and Rachel Robinson, a.k.a. Maquel A. Jacob! We’re teaming up to sell books at a table in the dealers’ room, and I noted with pleasure that behind us is the table where none other than Alexander James Adams is selling music. And across from us is Book Universe, who often sells so many wonderful books at Cascadia-based conventions.

Fellow NIWA compatriots Lee French and Jeffrey Cook, both of whom have appeared on Boosting the Signal, are running their Clockwork Dragon table as well. So even though we don’t have an official NIWA table at this con, we DO have a pretty strong NIWA presence! Which I feel is awesome. We’ll even be having a Meet and Greet as well.

And don’t forget: in honor of this convention as well as Clallam Bay Comicon which I’ll be attending next week, Faerie Blood and Bone Walker are on sale for 99 cents each in ebook form. That sale is in effect until July 16th!

MEANWHILE! In case you’re coming by to visit my site from Smart Bitches Trashy Books, welcome to you!

I have posted many a time about the awesomeness of the ladies at Smart Bitches Trashy Books, my one-stop-shopping place for where to find the romance novels I like to read. I like the Bitchery well enough that I am trying a new thing: I have signed up to sponsor two episodes of the Dear Bitches Smart Authors podcast, which SB Sarah runs jointly with Jayne Litte from Dear Author!

Today the first of the episodes I am sponsoring went live. You can find it right over here, and I am particularly pleased that the episode I am sponsoring involves neuroscience! And a lot of questions about female sexuality! There are heavy-duty topics called out in the episode description, and I’m looking forward to giving this a listen, because it sounds like an episode with some substance to it.

And that, O Internets, is why I wanted to show the podcast some sponsorship love: because it’s not just about romance novels, but also about crunchy topics like female sexuality and neuroscience and sometimes history and science and any manner of things that go into building the stories of the genre. Sarah and Jayne have even been perfectly happy to bring in interviewees who don’t write romance–I was super pleased, for example, that they interviewed Jim Hines earlier this year!

I figured, hey, if they can interview one of my favorite fantasy authors, thereby showing their readiness to step across genre lines, I want to step back across the same genre line and show ’em some sponsorship love. This week’s episode is sponsored by me with my Angela Highland hat on, and therefore by the Rebels of Adalonia trilogy! Next week will be sponsored by me as Angela Korra’ti, highlighting the Free Court of Seattle books! And both episodes are running tracks from the Bone Walker Soundtrack as well!

So if you’re coming over from the Bitchery to check me out, again, greetings and welcome and do drop a comment to say hi! And if you think you might like my urban fantasy or epic fantasy, do check out the books!

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1347149.html

This post was supposed to go up on Sunday, but this is what happens when you are hit with SURPRISE CRITICAL SERVER MAINTENANCE! Which took us until Monday night to really resolve, so now I can finally bring you all the seventh and final special Boosting the Signal post for the 2015 NIWA anthology, Asylum. The final featured author is Walt Socha, whose story in the anthology is “The Seventy Percent Solution”, and he offers you a small prologue for that story now! (And Walt is now the second Boosting the Signal guest I’ve had whose piece stars non-humanoid protagonists, too! With a nice tasty goal of GTFO, always a classic.)

Asylum

Prologue to “The Seventy Percent Solution”

“Your food cravings will cause trouble,” Adur chittered. “Think of the future.” He wiped a paw over his face.

“Future?” M’rist shook her head, whiskers quivering. “We People are bred to be sacrificed to the whims of the Two Legs.”

“Stealing food from the nest of the Two Legs worker will not help.”

“But the dark food is very tasty.” M’rist lowered her gaze. “Makes me feel good.” She looked up. “Is there no hope of communicating with them?”

“We have discussed that. Remember our non-talking smaller cousins? One ran the maze quickly without pretending to be confused.” Adur shivered. “The chief of the Two Legs cut his head open.”

“Even if they knew we can talk like them?”

“We hear their low pitched sounds and understand them, but the Two Legs can not hear our higher pitched words. Even if they could, I doubt they could understand.” Adur sat, licked the back of his paw, and brushed it across his face. Even if they did establish communications by sound or by inking the sound symbols on paper, what would the Two Legs do? Could they trust creatures who cut their prisoners heads open for merely running through their primitive mazes without hesitation?

Letting his grooming falter, Adur let out a deep breath. The Peoples’ only hope was to escape this prison of pain.

But what then? The People did not even know what lay beyond the hard metal doors. They had mastered the many sheets of symbols stored in the nests of individual Two Legs. But even with visual images, it was difficult to interpret the descriptions of the outside world.

He resumed his grooming.

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow Walt Socha On: Official Site | Facebook

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Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1329563.html

And now, the sixth post in the special Boosting the Signal series for the 2015 NIWA anthology Asylum! Making her Boosting the Signal debut is today’s author, Connie J. Jasperson. Her story in the anthology revolves around Billy Ninefingers, the Rowdies, and the fundamental idea of asylum—the concept around which the town of Limpwater has grown. The Fat Friar, Robert De Bolt, pushes Billy to widen his horizons and take on a bad job in this wandering tale of snark and strange majik. Here now as a prelude to that story, Connie offers this bit of flash fiction: “The Fat Friar”.

Asylum

“The Fat Friar”

Billy Ninefingers, captain of the mercenary band known as the Rowdies, stood behind the bar at Billy’s Revenge. His inn had only been open for three days, but already he was doing good business. Several merchants he’d never met who were traveling the trade road stopped there, promising even more business for his Rowdies.

A rather portly looking man entered, wearing the robes of a Brother of St. Aelfrid.

“I’m looking for Billy Ninefingers.” His voice was deep and clear, the sort that would resonate at a naming ceremony or a funeral, bringing comfort even to those in the back of the chapel.

“Who shall I say is looking for him?” asked Billy.

“Oh, sorry. Robert De Bolt. I was told the church could buy some lots from him. I’ve been sent here to—what is this town’s name, anyway?”

“Limpwater. I’m putting the signs on the trade road today. I’m Billy Ninefingers,” replied Billy, holding up his maimed hand to forestall the friar’s onslaught of words. “I’d be happy to sell you what you need. Have you some idea which lots are you interested in?”

“I suppose we should look at them.” The friar looked longingly at the mugs on the shelf behind the bar. “But perhaps we might quench our thirst first?”

“It’ll cost you a copper,” Billy poured a mug and handed it to the friar. “So you’re building a chapel here in Limpwater.”

“And also an infirmary,” replied Robert, savoring his ale. “I’ve the plans with me. Mother Agnes will send sisters for healing from Hyola once I get the chapel open for business.”

“You’ll want at least two adjoining lots,” said Billy.

“Eight. This will be a larger infirmary as it has to serve Dervy and Somber Flats too,” Robert said, smiling broadly. “But I’ll need to build a double-cottage, one side for me, and one for the sisters. Separate entrances and all. I’ll make the sisters’ side of the cottage spacious, as several healers and their apprentices will be sent here. The Patriarch and Mother Agnes expect this town to grow quite rapidly.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” replied Billy. “The nearest Sisters of Anan were in Somber Flats, but they were run off.”

“I know about Somber Flats. The church is taking a dim view of that, which is I why I’m here.” Robert held his mug out again. “I’ll need a room here until I get the chapel built.”

“The lots cost five golds each, because I have to figure out how to get the streets paved and sewer catches installed. I don’t have enough gold for that right now. Selling the lots covers those costs. We’ll have water piped to pumps at the street corners so everyone has good clean water. That means the water system will need to be cleaned every year and repaired, and so we’ll have to have an annual subscription for that. Folks need access to a sewer-catch on each street to dump their chamberpots. James Holloway, the king’s architect, designed the sewers, but maintaining them costs money. I’ll have to levy a small fee for that.”

“That’s fair. I spoke to James before I left, because you’ll need to expand them soon. You’re smart to plan ahead for maintenance.”

Billy looked ill. “How soon? My pockets are empty these days.”

“Next year, by the look of things.” Robert set his mug down. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you find the golds. But I’ll have to wait until later for another mug.” Sighing, he said, “My stipend is small, and my appetite for ale is over-large.”

Billy chuckled. “Well, let’s get you set up in a room for now and talk with the carpenters. Builders and thatchers have come from all over to work.”

Robert said, “I noticed you’ve a lot of refugees from Lanqueshire and Somber Flats here and they can’t feed themselves, much less pay for the lots.”

“I know, but I can’t turn them away. Once they get settled they’ll be able to pay their way.” Billy grinned. “I’d have nothing if not for the men and women from all over this sad, bad world who have come here looking for refuge.” He looked away. “I’m hard-pressed to feed us all, but the river is full of fish, and it was a good year for turnips.”

“I’ve some ideas you might be interested in, to bring more coins to town. We’ve a lot of raw material to work with here that will provide income for your citizens and pay the fees for your projects. And I’ve a large shipment of beans and dried peas on the way from Harlynde, courtesy of the church.”

Billy smiled, feeling one burden lifted away. “Everyone has pitched in, and we’ve a stockpile of root vegetables for now, but our beans didn’t do well this year. That will help get us through the winter.” He drew the friar a mug of ale. “You just earned yourself a mug on me!”

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow Connie J. Jasperson On: Official Site | Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Twitter

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1328844.html

The special Boosting the Signal week for the NIWA 2015 anthology Asylum continues! Today’s featured author is Pamela Bainbridge-Cowan, whose story is “Going Sane”—and whose unnamed narrator is seeking to escape The Facility. (And oh my no, a name like The Facility is not the SLIGHTEST BIT OMINOUS.) Before that, though, there’s a goal of figuring out how to cope with life, and Pamela’s sent me an excerpt in which her narrator and her friend Vo discuss how the narrator has had to cope with what life has thrown her up till now, via painting.

Asylum

I had one friend at The Facility, maybe one friend anywhere. Of course the universe, with its ironic sense of humor, made sure that he—the least likely to help me—would be the only one who could.

Vo Danielson. Unless you’ve spent your life beyond the Milky Way you’ve heard of him: the best musician of our time, maybe of all time. And also that guy who wrapped his hands around a transport slide wire which discharged, melting his hands into unrecognizable lumps of useless flesh.

I remember the first time we talked. It was late and we were the only ones in the community lounge. Earlier, the walls of my room had felt like they were shrinking. I was having one of my manic nights, a dish of self-pity served with a side of rage.

Brazenly I stared at his hands, balled up into fists on his lap. “They say you didn’t know the wire carried enough energy to fry your hands. Did you?”

I was sitting at one of the carved mahogany tables. Had been reading. He was sitting on the end of one of the tastefully horrific white and pink silk couches my mother had donated. Had been doing nothing. He looked up and smiled. “I knew,” he said.

Later, he asked about my family.

“My family…” I repeated as I thought about the question. “My family is brilliant and unique. My mother, before she retired to be my business manager, was in genetic R&D with Myer-Hoy. She designed me when she was sixteen and perfected her work at nineteen when she got her first breeding license. She hadn’t wanted me to be conventionally pretty—there were far too many pretty people. Instead, my pattern was a truly heteromorphic design. As you can see, she made my features stark and angled, my eyes sharply slanted and of course just this lovely slash across my face for a mouth. She also wanted me tall, but since my torso is about average she put most of my height in my lower legs. Then, to make things more symmetrical she designed my forearms to be extra-long. She thought she was creating a really new exotic, not an ugly freak who looks more like an insect than a human.”

Sometimes Vo made me forget what I was. Forgetting is a set up. It’s like drinking, or drugs, or dreams. It’s a temporary fix that takes you up and drops you so you hit the ground again. It hurts when you hit the ground because you can remember the last time and the time before that: all those bad landings. The aggregate should kill you—but it doesn’t.

Vo eventually asked me why I paint the things I do.

I didn’t want to talk about that, but I didn’t want him to go away again either. Finally I said, “When I was thirteen I saw a dead raven beside a garbage can. It was an old bird, feathers ruffled, not bleeding, not shot. I thought maybe it had a broken neck, some sort of natural death. I wanted that to be true. Someone had tied a wide pink ribbon around its legs. Maybe so they could carry it without touching it too much. I don’t know. And why a ribbon, something so pretty? It was death and beauty. It was black and pink. Rough and smooth. I ran home and painted it. Everyone thought it was amazing. My mother saw it as my first truly creative moment. It was proof that she’d done everything right. Not just my design but all of it—not marrying, giving all her passion to her work. It was affirmation.

“She took it to a gallery and they wanted more. So for five years, I painted dead birds. Dead birds with ribbons around their feet or their necks. Dead birds covered with flowers, hung from twisted ivy in the branches of trees, heaped on the shores of breathtaking lakes. I got sick of dead birds. One day I painted a bird without feathers. Raw sinews and tissue purple with blood, feathers torn off and thrown down. I was having a tantrum. And they loved it.”

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow Pamela Bainbridge-Cowan On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1328408.html

The special Boosting the Signal feature week for the 2015 NIWA anthology continues! Today’s post features another previous Boosting the Signal guest, E.M. Prazeman, who now offers us a bit of a prelude to the story “Travail”. See below for the author’s own intro, and a bit of backstory for the jester Pick, in which Pick faces the goal of not only acquiring a messenger boy—but also surviving keeping him.

Asylum

Travail takes us back in time, about three hundred fifty years before the events in The Lord Jester’s Legacy trilogy. In this era, Jesters, the masked courtiers that do the dirty political work for the noble class, wear bells to warn of their presence, and knights in armor are given a piece of a king’s or queen’s soul and sworn to dispense the monarchy’s justice.

Pick is a jester to a minor lord. Strong, tall, and quick-witted, he has a somewhat undeserved reputation for skipping the bribery, scheming and trickery associated with his trade and going straight for the throat of the matter. Unlike most of his compatriots he prefers gaining the trust of people who have great skill, intelligence, learning, or preferably all three, regardless of accident of birth.

I made my way through the broad, cluttered alley where merchants store their empty crates and barrels that will later be filled with goods to be traded at the Amendsday market. In daylight this was an innocuous place, but I traveled at night with a lantern that burned too low to serve well. I had the wick set that way on purpose. If I thought I could get away with no light at all I might have tried it. It’s so much easier to intimidate someone when they can’t get a good look at you. I had height, strength and a good sword on my side, but that only really meant that whoever might try for me would either have me outnumbered or they’d ambush me. So much for height and strength.

“Pick?”

The relief rushed out of me like a wintry gust. “Gary.” The artfully-named little boy, Gary Gray, moved into the light. My relief was short-lived. He had someone with him, someone burly. No. Two men, one close behind the other.

Lovely.

“You didn’t say he was a jester,” one of the men said.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing friends,” I added. I turned my head just so and allowed the bells on my steel-beaked mask to ring as I did it. “Is there a problem?” I listened carefully, not to them but behind me. That’s where the real danger would come from. Two men in an alley I could handle. An axe through the back of my skull, on the other hand, would fell me. It’s a weakness of mine.

“You have him running messages and he’s no messenger,” the man informed me, as if I didn’t know. “So yes, there’s a problem, jester.”

“I’ve heard of you, Pick,” the other man said.

That wasn’t good news. “Gary gets paid for his trouble.”

“Will you pay his corpse when whatever you’re tangling him in gets him killed? He’s only a child, for pity’s sake.”

Hmm. That didn’t sound like concern. My guess? They found out he was getting money and they wanted him to get more so they could take it from him. The air in the alley didn’t carry much but I would have bet my bells that they smelled like wine and shit. The sort that took a small boy’s bread money usually did. “It’s better than begging, wouldn’t you say? But you’re right. I’ve been taking advantage and that’s wrong, so wrong of me that I should like to make amends. It is Amendsday, now that it’s after midnight. How does ten ar sound? And I shall never trouble you to carry messages for me again. Unless.”

They took in so much air in anticipation of my next offer that I wondered that there was any left for me to breathe.

“You would like to keep carrying messages for me. For an ar each?” I had no intention of paying that rate, of course. To a beggar boy? That, not my messages, would get him killed once word got out. Word usually did, too. I kept listening behind me. Someone was there, I was fairly sure. They hadn’t been there before. They must have hidden well away and had only now reached the alley to cut off my escape. My nerves lit like lightning inside me.

“Tell you what,” the first man said. “You pay ten ar now, for the trouble you’ve brought him so far, and he’ll run those messages for an ar a week. Won’t you, Gary?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s one or the other.” I had to make some sort of show of resistance or they’d catch on too soon. It might have been my growing fear that I wouldn’t get out of this alive but I thought they tensed. Maybe they already knew. “Consider. Ten dangerously attractive ar now in ten silver coins, versus an ar, dispensed in cupru so that it doesn’t draw too much attention, at least once a week for as long as he cares to carry. You’re the boy’s father. Consider his future. That’s a decent living for him.”

“He’s not my father.” Gary’s small voice released the lightning.

In the end it was just Gary and myself left standing in pure darkness, for the lantern had gone out in the midst of my attacks. I bled, I hurt, but we were both alive. I braced against the wall, gasping for air, and he braced alongside me. He’s a smart boy, Gary Gray. He might have invited those men to rob me or coerce me. But he didn’t grieve for them, and it seemed we were friends, for now.

“An ar a message?” he asked.

“I have a better, truer offer,” I told him. “I’ll be your patron, if you’d like to become a real messenger.”

“They’re rich,” he whispered.

“And they live in nice houses, and travel to see the world. Unless you’d rather have the ten ar.”

“No. I want to be a messenger,” he said quickly.

“Good boy.” With my wind back, I stood back up. “Did you deliver my message?” I asked.

He gave me the answer into my hand.

I knew then he would serve me well.

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow E.M. Prazeman On: Official Site | Facebook | Goodreads

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1327794.html

Welcome to the third post in this special Boosting the Signal feature week for the 2015 NIWA anthology, Asylum! This post is featuring NIWA member Madison Keller, who I hope to feature in another forthcoming post for her novel Flower’s Fang. Till then, she’s in the anthology with her story “Clary’s Asylum”. And if I had to hazard a guess about Clary’s goal, based on this snippet, I’d say she’s got a real tough time on her hands protecting a certain book!

Asylum

Clary struggled against the straps of the gurney as the paramedics lifted her into the ambulance. The girl she’d saved, Rael, had already been taken away by another ambulance, which had sped off lights flashing and siren blaring, only a few minutes earlier.

Her friend Gunny, a retired Marine, watched from the dock, a broken cigar clamped in his teeth. Water still dripped from his diving suit and the spear-gun he still had a death grip on. Clary could see her watertight diving bag, which contained her spell book, potions, and protective amulets, lay abandoned on the dock behind him.

Gunny shifted, spat out the remains of the cigar into the ocean. “Clary, don’t you worry. These nice men will get you better, get you making sense again.”

The straps that held her arms thwarted most of her spells. She chanted anyway, feeling the magic surge through her like burning night. At the height of the surge she bit down hard on her tongue. The spell snapped out, inflicting the pain she was feeling ten-fold on the paramedic closest to her. He cried out and fell back, blood dripping from the side of his mouth.

“Gunny,” Clary screamed, twisting her head to keep his face in view. “Blue water black night hides their eyes. The stars are still right. Protect the book-”

While she’d been talking a paramedic had inserted a needle into her arm. Clary’s speech slurred and she drifted away into slumber. Her last thought before she went under was escape.

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow Madison Keller On: Official Site | Facebook

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1327415.html

The special Boosting the Signal feature week for the NIWA 2015 Anthology Asylum continues! Today’s post is a piece from author William J. Cook. In his story “The Last Refuge”, Qunbula, a splinter group from Al-Qaeda, has destroyed Seattle in a nuclear holocaust. A firestorm of anti-Islamic hysteria is sweeping the country, and the newly established Patriots Administration is rounding up Muslims on the west coast and confining them to prison camps in Montana and Wyoming. Hamza, the registrar at a community college near Portland, is on the run with a very straightforward goal: trying to survive as he grapples with the growing virulence around him, even from children. A very timely story, I feel!

Asylum

Lunch in the Burger King was terrifying. He knew his American history. A dark-skinned man huddled in the corner with a suitcase? He imagined sitting at the counter of a whites-only diner in 1950 Alabama. Children were the worst. While grownups would usually look away when they saw his darker skin and hair, children would stare at him and point. They had already been taught profiling by their parents.

“He’s one of them, Momma, I just know it,” a tow-haired boy about his daughter’s age whispered loudly, while tugging at his mother’s sleeve.

Hamza hunkered down lower and rushed to finish his sandwich and fries. This is my country! he thought helplessly, eager to get out from under the watchful gaze of the unforgiving child. I’m an American citizen! I served in the Army! But something vital had ruptured, some organic kinship with this boy and his mother had dissolved. The threat these people felt from all things Muslim was projected onto Hamza. Soon someone would stand up and point an outstretched arm at him, shouting imprecations at the stranger in their midst. He envisioned uniformed Patriots crashing through the glass doors, guns raised.

Through it all he imagined his daughter’s confused face, her eyebrows arching, her lips quivering. “Why Daddy? Why don’t they like us anymore? I go to school with them. We play jump rope and volleyball together. They came to my birthday party.”

“Why Daddy?”

How could he have explained this dark secret, this violence at the heart of things, to a ten-year-old girl—or to his wife for that matter? Despite his grief, he was glad he would never have to.

In a moment, he was up and hurrying out of the restaurant. In his haste, he caught his suitcase in the double doors and the clatter drew all eyes to him. He saw several people reach for their cell phones.

Again he ran.

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow William J. Cook On: Official Site | Blog

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1328247.html

Normally I run Boosting the Signal posts on Fridays when I have them to run. But since I’m a member of NIWA, and NIWA does a yearly anthology, I’m running a special feature week to highlight the 2015 NIWA anthology! It’s called Asylum, and features stories by both NIWA and non-NIWA authors, all along the theme of the anthology title. Today’s Boosting the Signal post features a piece from Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins to highlight their story “Bedlam Asylum”. Of this story, Jeffrey says that it’s set one month after their novel Foul is Fair, and it’s a strategic analysis of the emotional needs of disabled pixie Ashling. And as you might guess, Ashling’s goal is pretty much what the anthology says on the tin: asylum.

Asylum

Humans mistake pixies for butterflies and sprites for moths. Pixies travel and work in glimmers; sprites, in murmurs.

Pixie magic focuses on locations, and sprite magic focuses on events, but the important thing is that it’s always done together.

Ashling’s wings were torn years ago. She relies on a service crow just to fly at all. Her glimmer left her behind a long time ago. She’s worked mostly alone with her crow, or with people fifty times her size. She says she’s fine. She’s lying. Who knows if her friends can tell, but any pixie or sprite could.

An outcast sprite and an outcast pixie will understand each other in ways a half-human sidhe princess and a half-menehune will never fathom, no matter how good of friends they all are.

But Ashling is friends with the princess. The princess whose little clique in Seattle is safely off-limits from Faerie conflict for the rest of the season.

Ashling needs not to be alone anymore, and that’s all the ‘in’ a sprite looking to be granted asylum could ask for.

Buy the Book: Amazon (Kindle) | Amazon (Paperback) | Kobo

Follow Jeffrey Cook On: Official Site | Dawn of Steam Trilogy Facebook Page | Facebook | Twitter

Follow NIWA On: Official Site | Facebook | Twitter

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1326426.html

For those of you who haven’t already seen me posting about this on the social networks, tomorrow Dara and I head out to Spokane for this year’s Worldcon: Sasquan!

I plan to be spending a good chunk of my time helping staff the NIWA booth in the dealers’ room, so I will be easy to find. I’ll have plenty of copies of Faerie Blood and Bone Walker with me, as well as copies of the Bone Walker Soundtrack! Look for me there if you’ll also be at the convention. I’ll even have posters of the Bone Walker cover art for anybody who might happen to want one, so you have reason to track me down even if you already have the books!

And here’s hoping there will be minimal drama all around, yes? Yes.

OH YES and don’t forget: Faerie Blood and Bone Walker remain on sale for 99 cents each for the duration of the convention, and three days afterward as well to give folks time to pick up the book if they talk to me at the con!

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1313744.html

Deadly Strain

This post has been sitting in my Drafts list the whole time I was at Fiddle Tunes. Oops! Here are some recent ebook acquisitions I’ve made, anyway!

From Amazon:

Ghost Hand, by Ripley Patton. Urban Fantasy. Picked this up because Ripley is a fellow NIWA author, and she was handing out her book for free over the Kindle for a bit.

From Carina Press by way of Boosting the Signal:

Deadly Strain, by Julie Rowe. Romantic Suspense. Got this because Julie was kind enough to send me a copy when I featured her on Boosting the Signal!

And from Kobo, because I had some credit to spend:

Two Serpents Rise, by Max Gladstone. Fantasy. Gotten because this is book 2 in his Craft Sequence series and I very much liked book 1.

“The Deepest Rift” and “The Litany of Earth”, by Ruthanna Emrys. Two of her original short works that have been published on Tor.com. Grabbed ’em because I’ve already read “The Litany of Earth” and very much liked it, so wanted a copy for my library.

40 for the year.

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1307064.html

Today’s second Boosting the Signal feature is for fellow NIWA member April Bullard! April’s bringing me a first–I’ve done anthologies on Boosting the Signal before, but this is the first time I’ve done one targeted for young readers! And this is also the first time I’ve had a work submitted to Boosting the Signal that includes illustrations, as well! April’s stories are intended for readers age 7 and up, and her Goody Hepzibah, presented as the originator of these stories, has a very simple goal with them: teaching. Give Goody Hepzibah a listen, won’t you? AND, April adds to me that there are a couple hidden codes to find and decipher in the book, plus lots of extras to discover in the illustrations! Since she was kind enough to send me some of the illustrations, I’m including those in this post.

Goody Hepzibah’s Harvest Tales

My name is Goody Hepzibah and I have to confess. I’ve always loved a good story, especially if someone is reciting the story and better yet, if we are around a campfire or fireplace in the dark, and even better if the story rhymes! I decided to create a collection of my own poems and tales, and here is how I do it.

First take the familiar nursery rhyme or tale and set it in colonial or Revolutionary America or the best historic era for the poem. I use my own family history and old town records to flesh out the characters and situations. Let the characters do exactly what the old rhyme says. Filter those actions through Goody Hepzibah’s Rules to Live By. When the rules are broken severe consequences come crashing down without reprieve or excuses. It surprises me how many little ditties become real horror stories!

Just to be clear, here are Goody Hepzibah’s Rules to Live By:

Two simple rules are all I need
To deal with any race or creed:
I will not lie and I will not steal.
Trustworthy honor this will reveal.
When others do not abide by these rules
I leave them alone and ignore them as fools.

The next little word I chose to live by
Is the word “safe” and each letter tells why.
S is for Sound: home, body and mind.
A for Access, things easy to find.
F for all Flames, severely controlled.
E means exclusive, for those my love hold.

I may look like a harmless, old lady, but these are not your typical, sweet grandmother’s nursery rhymes and fairy tales. You have been warned.

Follow the Author On: Official Site | Goody Hepzibah on Facebook

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1306414.html

Girls Can’t Be Knights

A bunch of other NIWA authors and I are selling ebooks for 99 cents all weekend, until Monday! You can see all the participating titles at this Facebook event, including my own Faerie Blood.

And to participate as a buyer as well as a seller, I’ve scarfed a bunch of these titles myself. I got them all from Amazon for once, since we’re a bunch of no-DRM-selling authors, and that’s one of the circumstances under which I’ll actually buy ebooks from Amazon. Behold the roundup!

Toy Wars, by Thomas Gondolfi. Described as ‘science fantasy of inter-toy warfare’, and this seems like the silly sort of thing I’d like to read sometimes. I’ve seen Thomas at Norwescon. He has pretty awesome huge teddy bears at his booth, and you should look for him!
The Witches of Dark Root and The Magick of Dark Root, by April Aasheim. Paranormal fantasy with witches.
Core of Confliction, by Maquel Jacob. SF along the lines of “holy crap I’m the leader of a nearly extinct race”.
Girls Can’t Be Knights, by Lee French. Urban fantasy. Featured just yesterday on Boosting the Signal! And while we’re on the topic of Lee French, I also grabbed her Dragons in Pieces and The Fallen.
Huw the Bard, by Connie J. Jasperson. Medieval fantasy in which a young man has to run from the assassins who’ve killed his father. Also grabbed her Tales from the Dreamtime, a set of novellas billing themselves as “Three Modern Fairytales”.
Awake: Finding Dad, by James M. McCracken. SF in which humanity tries to give the Earth time to replenish itself by putting everybody in suspended animation. But of course, this doesn’t go well for everyone…
At One’s Beast, by Rachel Bernard. Fantasy, centering around a yearly sacrifice to a beast in a forest–and what happens when the sacrifice doesn’t go as planned. Also got Bernard’s Ataxia and the Ravine of Lost Dreams, YA SF featuring a young heroine in a futuristic military academy.
Flower’s Fang, by Madison Keller. Fantasy, in which the hero is a member of a magical race, and the only one who doesn’t have magic.
Nouveau Haitiah, by Donald McEwing. SF, though I’m not entirely sure what it’s about, even based on reading the blurb on the Amazon page! Guess I’ll find out!
Masks, by E.M. Prazeman. Book 1 of her Lord Jester’s Legacy series, historical-flavored fantasy with the promise of a lot of political intrigue.

Total of 15 scarfed for this sale, which puts me at 35 for the year.

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1303827.html

So a bunch of us in NIWA thought, hey, wouldn’t it be awesome if we banded together and put several of our books on sale for 99 cents? We are doing exactly that.

Me, I’ve put Faerie Blood on sale for 99 cents for the entire month of June in honor of this, and also because I CAN. This price will be valid until the end of the month. As always, all of the official links to buy this book are on the Faerie Blood page!

HOWEVER: several other NIWA-author titles will ALSO be on sale for 99 cents, for a narrower window of time, from the 12th until the 15th! We have a Facebook event describing this and which titles are participating! (If you’re not on Facebook, worry not–this is a publicly readable event so you should still be able to see the book list even if you’re not a Facebook user.) So keep an eye on that link, because more titles are getting added to it over the next several days. Be poised with your wallets to snap up all these nifty deals on the 12th, won’t you?

And in the meantime, Dara’s also jumped in on this tasty sale action. She’s set up a discount download code of “niwa” for anybody who’d like to snag a digital download of the Bone Walker soundtrack for 40 percent off! And as always, the soundtrack can be scarfed directly from Bandcamp.

ALSO! Although this is not actually part of the sale, don’t forget, the short story “The Blood of the Land” is also available for pennies. If you go to Smashwords, you can grab it for any price YOU choose, including free. Everywhere else, it’s 99 cents, and that will be the story’s permanent official price.

Spread the word, everybody!

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1301901.html

The first piece for Today’s Boosting the Signal doubleheader comes from fellow NIWA member E.M. Prazeman! She’s the author of the Lord Jester’s Legacy trilogy, and having laid personal eyes on her covers, I can report that they got a LOT of attention at Norwescon this past April. I’m looking forward to checking out her work, although from what I’m seeing in this piece, one will clearly want to tread lightly around her bad guys. She’s going to let you into the head of one of them now.

Oubliette

E.M. Prazeman writes secondary world fantasies with strong historical leanings. Current works include The Lord Jester’s Legacy Trilogy (Masks, Confidante, and Innocence & Silence) and a short story which will appear in an upcoming anthology that will go on sale in November. Current works in progress are The Poisoned Past (Oubliette, Penumbra and A Dark Radiance), sequel series to The Lord Jester’s Legacy, and The Kilhellion, a sword and sorcery fantasy. The Poisoned Past will go on sale this summer. Oubliette looks good for an early June release! Now, please let me introduce to you a certain person from Oubliette whom you would not want to meet under any circumstances. If he succeeds, you’ll all get to see him again in Penumbra.

***

I’m a villain. I like it, and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have become one, if people weren’t slow, stupid liars. Are you afraid? I don’t care if you are. Not anymore. I used to like fear, and blubbering, and people pissing themselves. I’m not sure what happened. For a while I thought I got bored with it, but honestly … don’t you look for a way to escape when I’m talking to you. I thought you weren’t as idiotic as the others, otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered with you. That’s a compliment, and a gift. You’re exceptional. Too bad for you, hmm?

Anyway. Years ago when I raped a man, something went wrong. He liked it, in a way. He killed himself later, but that wasn’t what changed me. I’m pissed that he changed me, by the way. He and his wife. I can’t stop thinking about that look in his eyes. Release. A strange joy behind his fear, as if I’d set him free. He wanted to die then. I didn’t want to kill him. Fuck, I wanted more from him. I wanted to make him mine forever.

I find it curious that both people I harmed who liked it were men. I should have enjoyed it better, I think, if they were women, but a hole is a hole when it all comes down to it, don’t you agree? No? It’s all right if you disagree. I don’t mind. Truly. As if I would care what people think of me.

Anyway, since then, for the most part, I kept my work simple. I interrogated, mainly using my wits and their lack thereof. I tortured people sometimes if I thought they’d respond in the way that normal, rational people do when they’re in pain, but that seemed risky to me. I should have trusted my instincts. Because that boy.

That boy.

I can still hear his exquisite voice calling my name softly down the dungeon hall. Cock. His mouth cupped the word like he wanted to take me in. A Trace. A lover’s whisper. Cock, a trace. Cockatrice.

Oh for pity’s sake you didn’t know who I was? Am? Whatever. It’s so obvious to anyone who’s paying attention. They called me Cock in school. I deserved it, earned it, both for the good and the wicked reasons, though they tried to humiliate me and make fun of it. And then, when I graduated, I took the name Trace. Cock. Trace. I have no idea why no one makes the connection between Trace the Master Jester and Cockatrice, the dreaded highwayman. It’s not even that clever. What can I say? I was young and I think part of me wanted to give the people who hunted me a little help because I didn’t feel hunted. I wanted to play the fox to their hounds and I wanted them to get close because that is about as thrilling as you can imagine. But they never got close to catching me, no matter how many sacred guards they sent after me. Now I’m employed rather than a free agent. I work alongside sacred guards every day. My employer would protect me if I was accused, but the pathetic nut rubbers that try to play mavson these days still haven’t caught on.

The boy, you ask? None other than the infamous regicide, that dreaded and feared little boy, Lord Jester Lark. Have you seen him? He’s as short and slight as they describe, with his angelic little innocent face. You’d never dream he was dangerous at all, especially when he’s not wearing his jester’s mask. I made the mistake of hurting him. And oooohhh, how he yielded to me, gave in to the pain. How he took strength from his endurance. I wanted to whip him bloody and then force myself upon him.

I’ve gotten quite carried away. Hand me that drink.

Thank you.

He got away and I want him back. I don’t want you. But I need you. Not like I need him. I need your skills. Track him for me. They say he ran off into the woods. That’s rather like saying he sailed away across the wide ocean, isn’t it? But you’re going to find him for me. It shouldn’t take you long. I know where he began, and I think I know where he’s going. We need to intercept him. And when you find him for me, I’ll be so preoccupied with my prize you’ll be able to slip away from me. I won’t care. I’ll happily let you go. Here. I’ll even pay you in advance.

Ha! You’ve never seen five sol together in one palm? Well now you have, in your own hand, my friend. I might give you another five if you find him.

But. If you don’t find him, I’ll have to take my money back and try to satisfy myself with you. For this boy does inspire a strange lust in me, and the closer I get to him, the stronger my lust becomes. Now, don’t you worry about him. He’ll be far more interested in me than you. He might be strong enough to kill me, which will be a great relief to the living world. But I’m betting he won’t hurt me. I’m betting that he felt the same thrill I did when I gripped his hair so hard that some tore free from his scalp, when I forced him against that cold, hard stone.

A shame we were so rudely interrupted.

Compared to him, you’re not at all interesting. But if you’re all I’ve got, I will use you. So go get him for me. And make it quick. I’m more patient than I was as a youth, but that does not make me a patient man.

Buy the Book: Oubliette is not yet released, but follow the author for news on when it becomes available!

Follow the Author On: Official Site | Facebook | Goodreads

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1300785.html

This year at Norwescon was a totally new experience for me, since I spent the vast majority of the convention attempting to sell stuff!

I got in a bit of a trial run with that last year, working with Brad and a couple other folks in NIWA to run our table then. This year I did that again, only this time I turned out to be one of the primary people working the table–because Lee French and I were the two at the table with actual Squares, so we were the ones ringing up transactions. Jake Elliott, Connie Johnson-Jasperson, and Madison Keller were also helping work the table, and we got in a pretty good groove going, engaging with folks. Luna Lindsey popped by periodically, but she was also on a lot of panels, so she was only able to check in every so often.

Here are a bunch of things I learned from that:

Read the rest of this entry »

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1293176.html

In the midst of all this HEY BONE WALKER IS OUT excitement, do not forget, Victory of the Hawk is ALSO on its way. And there’s official cover copy for it now and everything, so I have updated the official Victory of the Hawk page with it! AND, I have also found it up on iBooks for preordering goodness, so I’ve added that link to the page too.

I have also taken the time to update various high-level pages on the site to be current with the status of Victory and of Bone Walker. The About Me, FAQ, and Books pages have all been updated too with current data, including how to get print copies of Faerie Blood and Bone Walker by ordering via Bandcamp!

Likewise, I have made sure that the current main places to get all of my books are called out on the overall Books page. This includes the direct links to go to the Crime and the Forces of Evil merch pages on Bandcamp, where you can order the aforementioned print editions.

It ALSO includes a direct link to the Audible page for the audiobook edition of Valor of the Healer, which IS a thing that exists, let me remind you all.

***

Last but not least, I saw the news break last night courtesy of James Nicoll’s LJ that SFWA has opened membership to self-pubbed and small press authors.

To wit, awesome.

I still don’t qualify for membership by the criteria they’re discussing, which are based around “how much income do you pull in from your writing?” They are setting that bar at a level that’d be the equivalent of what authors can get from an advance from a traditional publisher. And honestly, that seems reasonable to me.

Now, though, this changes my likelihood of ever joining SFWA from “well, THAT ain’t gonna happen” over to “possibly feasible, if I keep growing my available titles and sales”. And this does please me. So as I said on the comment I left on the post, I would like to thank the folks in SFWA for making this policy change.

Meanwhile, I am still very pleased that NIWA is a thing that exists, and have renewed my membership with them. The opportunity to be in an organized group of independent authors IS very valuable–if nothing else, the chance to team up to sell books at local conventions is very, very welcome. And I do recommend that fellow indie authors who aren’t yet at SFWA-qualifying levels of sales consider checking them out.

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1281720.html

This is another out-of-band Boosting the Signal post, which I’m doing mostly to support the 2014 NIWA anthology, and because I can! So y’all remember I’m in NIWA, right? There’s an anthology coming out TODAY! It’s called Underground, and one of the participating authors, Roslyn McFarland, sent me in a piece called “Soldier Boy”, which is a prologue to her piece in the anthology. Enjoy!

Underground

Soldier Boy

Prologue

How long has it been?

Swords rose and fell accompanied by a cacophony of sound: the clashing of steel, the thudding impact of a weapon meeting its mark, the screams and moans of the dying. As a soldier of Scotland, ’twas my duty to play the part as directed by my superiors. This primarily involved the bloodying of my hands, an occupation in which I did not revel despite my unusual—let’s say, aptitude.

Then came the change.

Years? Decades? Centuries? So long since I’ve even bothered to keep track, I have no idea.

The pervasive harmonies of trauma and war stilled as soldiers returned to their homes or were committed to the grave. I stand alone amid the echoes of their memory. I don’t know why. Why me? Why this trail, this path, this lake? Mine is not to know, only to protect. I assume that’s what I am, what I do. A protector. Any who come upon me shouldering the mantle of darkness or bearing a soul full of anger and fight, soon meets the specter I cannot. Death will come to call within a fortnight, claiming yet another soul not my own.

Therein lies the crux of the situation. Though neither food nor drink pass my lips, rest also purely optional despite my ceaseless wanderings, I do not die. I live. Alone. Endlessly alone. Human contact is as surreal a concept in my waking days as the possibility of an endless sleep claiming me in the night. It doesn’t happen. It can’t happen.

It is my destiny. My curse.

I walk through the mists and weeds along green shores, forsaken, the burden of the souls lost by my hand weighing down each step.

Then she came.

The lass with the bright eyes and fiery spirit, who either doesn’t know my tale or doesn’t care. Whose odd accent and stranger clothes, products of a new era, do nothing to disguise the strength of a soul bearing its own heavy burdens. Whose touch, soft skin, cocky yet kind smile, blow warmth through the husk of what I am, relighting embers I thought long since withered away, buried by the ash of time and death.

How long has it been, since I felt the warmth of human touch?

How long before my curse takes her?

Anthology Blurb

What does “underground” mean to you?

This anthology from the Northwest Independent Writers Association presents fourteen “underground” stories, each with a different interpretation of the titular theme. In these pages, you will visit a murderer’s hideout, walk the road to the afterlife, plunder a dragon’s lair, uncover a mysterious archaeological artifact, glimpse human existence after an environmental apocalypse, and delve deep into dark secrets, crime syndicates, forbidden worlds, sacrifice, and the human psyche.

Featuring stories by:

Mike Chinakos • Amber Michelle Cook • Pamela Cowan • Jake Elliot • Jonathan Ems • T.L. Kleinberg • Jason LaPier • Maggie Lynch • Roslyn McFarland • Cody Newton • Dey Rivers • Steven L. Shrewsbury • Dale Ivan Smith • Laurel Standley • Jennifer Willis

The Northwest Independent Writers Association (NIWA) supports indie and hybrid authors and promotes professional standards in independent writing, publishing, and marketing.

Buy the Book: Amazon (print) | Amazon (Kindle) | Barnes & Noble (Nook) | Kobo

Follow NIWA On: Official NIWA Site | Twitter | Facebook

Follow Roslyn McFarland On: Facebook |

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Crossposts: http://annathepiper.livejournal.com/1268675.html

Dara and I went to Norwescon a few weeks ago, of course, and I didn’t get to post much about what happened there since the con fell in the middle of my being ill. I didn’t do much at the con except rest and periodically do stints at the NIWA table in the dealers’ room.

But since I was in fact at the NIWA table, and paid my share of the table fee, that meant I was able to actually have copies of Faerie Blood on sale! I didn’t sell many, just one each of my paperbacks and ebook CDs. Still, this was a moment I had to capture in a picture. Those of you who follow me on the social networks may have seen this pic already, but I wanted to post about it here too!

Faerie Blood on Sale at Norwescon

Some of y’all may see Faerie Blood in dealers’ rooms at future PNW cons, since I gave the NIWA treasurer, Brad Wheeler, custody of three of my paperbacks and three of my CDs so that he could take them to other events and sell them on my behalf. So if you happen to go to a con in Washington or Oregon that I can’t get to, tell me if you see the book!

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.

Because yes, this conversation is ongoing, and I keep seeing commentary that’s worth attention.

From Seanan McGuire, Sexism, the current SFWA kerfuffle, and “lady authors.”.

From N.K. Jemisin, her Continuum GoH Speech, including her commentary on what it’s like to be a PoC in Australia, and how she extrapolates from that to what advances she’d like to see in the genre as a result of what’s going on.

From Chuck Wendig, 25 Things to Know about Sexism & Misogyny in Writing & Publishing.

And, linked to by Wendig, Delilah S. Dawson adds On Sexism in Publishing, or Why I’m Writing this Now Instead of Two Days Ago.

I decided after absorbing the ongoing commentary about this from many sides that it would be worth my time to put down the dues to join NIWA, the Northwest Independent Writers Association. Because for the time being, while I do have a title out from Carina and expect to finish my trilogy with them, I’m still an indie/hybrid author.

Because if there’s one thing this ongoing controversy is teaching me, it’s that it’s important for writers to make their voices heard. And I’d like to support an organization that gives a voice to authors in my position. I’m looking forward to seeing what this association will bring for me. But at the same time, I’m hoping that SFWA will be listening to the voices being raised, and that moving forward, there will be progress.

ETA: Editing to add Chrysoula Tzavelas’ excellent suggestion to help fight -ism’s in publishing by signalboosting authors who have been overlooked because of their gender, their race, their sexual orientation, or anything else that may have gotten them tagged too unusual for the market.

Mirrored from angelahighland.com.