The Tales of Lunoor: Extra Tales

Was anyone wondering what exactly happened to poor Belissa, Lord Beldons sister? Well here you go. Just remember what happens to curious minds…

The echo of a pixies giggle was the first sign that she had gone where no wise man dared to tread. The soldier ignored the sign and trudged on. Her heavy boots sunk into the moist earth with every determined step. She kept her fists clenched tightly at her mail clad sides. Refusing to touch the mossy sides of the trees, to raise her fingers to the golden rays of the sun that filtered through the leaves to the forest underneath.

A breeze sighed through the underbrush and wisped her hair around her face.

“Come, “ It whispered into her ear. “Come with us and be happy. “Be free.”

She shut her ears to the voices that couldn’t hurt her. Ignoring the second sign.

Another breeze tousled hair flattened by a helmet long since tossed aside. Joining her sword on the forest floor. Both relics of a war she had left behind forever.

She stepped over a clear, chuckling stream. Keeping her head up so as not to see her grimy dirt streaked reflection. The marks of a battle she had fled from.

The air she breathed into her lungs was heavier on this side of the stream. Every heave of her chest took a little more effort. It was only that she had been walking for so long. But she refused to sit on the grassy bank. She could rest when the war was far enough away to be but a distant memory.

She was the only sign of war in the forest. The trees were still unbroken, the ground unmarked by hundreds of stomping feet. Marching off to yet another battle in the never ending war.

There was one battle weary soldier here, one who batted aside chattering pixies like flies. Flies didn’t dare enter this part of the forest.

“Come,” The pixies coaxed deaf ears. “Come with us. Come be happy.”

“I could use some happiness,” the soldier said unknowingly. Unable to hear the triumphant laughter of the pixies who flew ahead of her to ready the path.

The trees grew in twisted shapes here, unlike the straight trunks of the forest behind her who reached up to the sky in joy.

Faces appeared in the nooks of the crooked limbs. Smiling and winking at the heedless woman.

The air underneath the trees was close and warm. The woman stopped to remove her armor, leaving the worn and dented metal underneath a tree, alongside another pile of armor long since rusted beyond repair.

“It didn’t do me much good anyway,” The woman said with a shrug, walking with a spring in her step. “A war can’t make me happy.”

“Come with us instead,” The faces in the tree cooed. “We will make you happy.”

“The King didn’t make me happy either,” The woman told herself, beginning to walk alongside a whispering stream. Her next sentence was muffled. “All he asked us, his ‘loyal soldiers’,” she spat out the words. “To do was fight in a civil war. To uphold a promise he made to defeat the Rebel and undo the evil he has caused.” The dryad in the stream murmured her sympathy. The soldier kicked a stone that squealed as it bounced away. “I can’t believe I bought into that.”

“Come,” The dryad lifted her white head from the water. Beckoning with long fingers and a charming, sharp toothed smile. “We will right your wrongs. Come.”

The woman plodded along the stream.

Fluttering wings announced the pixies return. They teased her hair and tugged at her clothes with their tiny hands. The woman sighed out the last bit of the determination in her eyes. The steel in her gaze  fading to a dull eyed stare. The dryad laughed in delight and splashed back into the stream.

The faces in the trees crawled out onto the branches and chattered from their perches, “Keep going. You are almost there. Come and be happy!”

“Be happy,” The soldier muttered in response. The pixies fingers tugged more insistently. The naiads spoke louder. The dryad laughed longer. All fell on deaf ears. The soldier’s eyes saw only the path in front of her. The grins and sly winks going unheeded.

The soldier stumbled on to a chorus of faeries whispering, “Come, come and be happy.”

“Be happy,” the soldier repeated, stumbling over a log who glared at her retreating back.

Tripping over another stone, the soldier stumbled into a sudden clearing. The chorus of shrill voices stopped. The pixies flew away, the golden sunlight reflecting off their wings in sparkles of gold. The woman blinked in the bright sunshine that put every leaf and tiny blade of grass in sharp relief.

The bubbling stream went silent as it made its way to the center of the hidden meadow. Pooling at an old stone archway.

The stones of the archway were covered in wet moss. The cloud of sparkling pixies guiding the soldier alighted there. All silently watching the woman.

The dryads head lifted out of the water just before the pool. She grinned, a fierce smile copied by the carvings peeking through the moss warning the woman of the place no soldiers ever dared to touch.

The dryad beckoned to the woman who lurched forward to the archway. Barely heeding when she splashed into the pool.

Now the view through the arch revealed itself. A castle stood on a faraway hill, its flag waving proudly in the wind that rustled the treetops of the forest below.

“Home,” The woman whispered. She sloshed through the pool, eyes so focused she did not heed the lack of sound. She stretched out her arm to touch the place destroyed long ago.

A spindly hand grabbed her ankle in a vice. The woman frowned and tried to lift her foot. She looked down at the grinning dryad. A film fell from her eyes and she beheld her faeries guides for the first time.

A gasp tore from her lips as she reached to her side. Her fingers grasping empty air where her sword used to be.

A giggle came from the dryad. Echoed by the pixies that rose as one into the air. The woman’s gaze went again to the archway. Yet it too had revealed its true self.

Thorns and darkness awaited her beyond the mossy stones. Darkness full of grinning eyes and glinting teeth. The woman recoiled from it, but the dryads hand stayed firm.

“No!” The woman wailed. “No! Let me go!”

“Come with us,” The dryad chortled. “Be happy!”

“Be happy!” The pixies repeated, flying over her head. Little hands were placed on the woman’s back and hundreds of little wings fluttered.

The woman flailed for the carven stones, reading their warnings even as her hands slipped on the moss. Her shriek echoed through the meadow. But there was nothing to stop her fall into darkness. The faeries laughed. The arch had claimed another life.

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Shaina Merrick

To Begin

One of the most important bits of any story is the beginning. The part that convinces a reader to keep reading, or to shut the book and move on with their lives. The blank page that keeps writers trapped in fear. We know beginnings are important, we know they must portray character, setting, plot, and tone all without info dumping, we know that a good beginning will keep readers, a bad beginning will deter them. As writers, we are acutely aware of all of this. And that awareness keeps us frozen, staring at the empty page and waiting for the perfect words to begin our stories.

It doesn’t have to be that hard. Don’t laugh, yet. Beginnings have the possibility to be easy. Well, easier anyway. Now, I am no expert on this. On anything to be perfectly honest, but I do have an idea of what a good beginning is, and what a good beginning isn’t.

It all boils down to a couple of questions to ask yourself as you are settling down to begin your epic novel.

What is the most important part of this story?

Don’t tell me the characters. You haven’t thought about it yet. Think about it. What, in your book, is most important? Is it the plot? Is it the setting? Is it the theme? Or is it your characters? When you have answered that question, you know what to showcase in the beginning. If your setting is the most important part of your story, you will most likely want to start with a description of said setting (don’t scoff, many classic novels start out with description). If it is your plot, get that plot started right away!

Cut straight to what is important and leave out the fluff.

Is this story plot driven or character driven?

For the sake of this post, we will not be discussing the differences and potentials of each kind of story here. Suffice to say that plot driven stories rely on the plot to drive them forward, character driven stories, the characters.

If your story is going to be plot driven, you will want the plot to start off with a bang. Plop your reader in the midst of a gun fight, have the inciting event start two pages before the novel begins. However you do it, make sure events are happening from page one. This is a plot story after all, there isn’t time to be introspective.

If you have a character driven story, you will, most likely, start at more of a leisurely pace. Your inciting event can start a few pages down the road. Breath, introduce your readers to the characters they will be hanging out with for a few hundred pages. Don’t worry if things seem a little slow at first. Just worry if they stay slow when they aren’t supposed to be.

Since we are all about to being new projects, I thought it would be worthwhile chatting about beginnings. Don’t stress writers! Your beginning will be awesome. Are you guys ready for Nano yet? I am pretending that I am, also trying not to hyperventilate as November 1st looms ever closer. Eep!

Good luck everyone!

Shaina Merrick

Writing Prompt Contest Winners!

Remember that contest I told you about a while back? You know, the one with writing prompts? Well, the results are in, and I am pleased to announce the winners!

I had a super fun time helping to judge this contest along with Cassandra Hamm. The lovely lady who hosted the contest. We met at the Realm Makers conference a few months ago, and bonded over deep conversations and pizza. She is a great writer, and I loved judging the contest alongside her!

Cassandra Hamm is a writer who has always been fascinated by the inner workings of the human mind. She received her B.S. in psychology and continues to apply her knowledge to her characters. In case the reader is wondering, no, she does not psychoanalyze everyone she meets. One of her passions is helping other writers, and she does so through her work as a Community Assistant for the Young Writers Workshop and a teacher for Young Writer Lessons, both of which are affiliated with The Young Writer. She can be found online at https://cassandrahamm.com, where she posts prompt-based stories meant to entertain, encourage, and inspire; on Instagram at @cassandrahammwrites; and on Facebook as Cassandra Hamm, Author. 

In fact, this contest was to celebrate the fact that one of her own stories got second place in a Story Embers writing contest! Check out ‘The Will of the Sky’ here! It is pretty awesome! *nudge nudge*

It was so cool to see how each person came up with a completely different story for the prompts! No two stories were alike, and I was blown away by the creativity. Let me tell you, it was so hard to choose a winner! Everyone’s stories were so amazing. Decisions decisions…

But we did come to a conclusion, but before I reveal the winners, here are the prompts if you want to go read all the entries for yourself!

The Instagram entries:

Prompt 1

Prompt 2

Prompt 3

The Facebook entries:

Prompt 1

Prompt 2

Prompt 3

And now, for the prompts winners. Drum roll please…

Prompt #1

Image taken from Pinterest

Our Instagram winner was…

‘The tormenting heat of the sun beats against the barren kingdom. Thin gusts of wind sweep over the sand of ancient stones, bones of the dead peeking into sulfurous air. The faint thrust of his leathery wings and the shifting of his every bone echoes over the muteness of the ghosts. Slit eyes bore into the souls of every dark crevice, ripping exotic shadows of the past into the foreboding silence of the present. For in the heart of the reapers’ kingdom, memories of life bow to the carcass of death. ‘

~Kaylee Clay

This beautiful entry by Kaylee (@kk_the_bookdragon) is full of scary mystery. I love the descriptions in this story. It pulls you in and doesn’t let go until the end.

Our Facebook winner was…

‘It had been just another noise in the desert, probably a creature dying in unfamiliar, hostile surroundings. But after the bone beast had flown over, no one could unhear that desperate, aching sound. It echoed in the mind, raising memories of sorrows and lost dreams, like spectres called from the beyond. So the towns fled to the deep subterranean caverns in an attempt to dampen the cries and to bury themselves from hauntings created in their heads.

Only little Keili understood the cry, understood why the beast screamed as it flew. It wanted to die but couldn’t.’

~Ariel Jackson

Wow, what a story! Ariel Jackson spins a tale of heartache. A creature who is seeking something it can not find. Death eludes him, and the bone beast’s cry brings others into it’s despair.

Prompt #2

This picture has been used with permission from Purple Dragon Prompts

Our Instagram winner was…

‘ “It’s the center of the universe,” the sage had whispered to me, as he indicated a tattered map of the desert.

Not the literal center, of course. The gravity at the center of one galaxy would instantly crush my frail, mortal body.

Then again, the villagers in this area didn’t understand gravity. They didn’t even understand what it truly was: the place where all worlds converged. From there, I could go anywhere. Find anyone. Find HER.

“It’s the center of the universe,” he had said.

“Perhaps,” I whisper, with a strained, hopeful smile, “it can find the center of mine.” ‘

~Carrie-Anne Thomas

Excuse me while I go blow my nose. How did Carrie-Anne (carrie_anne.thomas) create such sadness in only one hundred words? Even though it is heart breaking, I love this story and the tiny bit of hope at the end. I truly hope that he is able to find the woman he is searching for.

Our Facebook winner was…

‘She could see nothing.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. There was dust. There was wind.

There was more dust.

Senra clutched the gauzy veil closer, her parched breathing shallow through the thin material.

Somewhere, the green lands still existed. Water and grass and men with glittering swords and greedy eyes.

She turned her back to the wind. A slight veiled figure clutched their cave entrance. “M-mother?”

Senra wrapped her daughter in an embrace. “You’re safe here.”

“But…”

“Hush.” She buried her face in her daughter’s hair. /You’re the center of everything. And I won’t let them touch you./’

~Hope Ann Schmidt

Such a beautiful depiction of motherly love! This mother will do literally anything for her child, even cross the world to a place where they can be safe. Congrats Hope Ann, this is a lovely story!

Prompt #3

Image taken from Pinterest

Our Instagram winner was…

‘Some say it means dire things for any who walk beneath its shadow.

Some say that signs can be read in the cracks of its sun-brittled bones.

Some say it is a gateway to the spirit lands.

But it is none of these; only the lonely remains of a great earth-shaker who lay down and died before my father’s fathers were born. I have seen more like it, in the clefts of the great mountains, and fed them with my hands. Their lips are gentle.

So I listen to the foreigner ramble on and on beside me, and I smile.’

~ Verity A. Buchanan

Verity (@verityb.writes) wrote a vivid tale that leaves me wanting to know more! Earth shakers, legends, and foreigners all come together to create a story world that I would be happy to get lost in! I hope I can learn more about it someday!

Our Facebook winner was…

“Yo yo, gangsta.”

“Yo, wassup.”

“Been a few hundred years. Felt a breeze lately?”

“Nah, this sand hasn’t moved in weeks.”

“You can still see?”

“Sure!”

“Sure. Tell me what’s over the horizon, then.”

“An old man.”

“Out here?”

“Don’t scoff. I see an old man walking in the lightning.”

“Sure, that checks out.”

“Don’t believe me, then.”

“… What else is happening?”

“The bones are shaking off the sand.”

“Ressurectin’?

“‘Course.”

“What about us?”

“We’ll fly again. No more stone birds perched on an old man’s spine.”

~ Hannah Brown

From the first word, this story made me laugh. Hannah did such a great job with the characters voices. The bounce right off the page and into your ears. Those familiar with the Bible may recognize an allusion to Ezekial 37 and the story of dry bones.

Weren’t those stories awesome? This contest was so much fun! If you would like to join in the fun, I am pretty sure Cassie is planning another contest for November 6th-ish. Keep an eye out for that! I hope to see your story!

Shaina Merrick

Know the Novel Link Up Part One

The wonderful Christine Smith has created a writerly link up for Nanowrimo! Yay! Which is next month guys. (I’m not thinking about it, I’m not thinking about it) Anyway. Her link up is all about the beautiful stories we are all writing, or attempting to write as in my case.

It is a three part link up series, the first part is the introduction. Where I get to introduce you to my royal mess of a novel and all of its poor characters. Fun! Prepare to scratch your head and wonder what on earth I was thinking when I started this project. I don’t have an answer for you. Let me know if you come up with one!

Without further ado… Onto the questions!

1. What first sparked the idea for this novel?

Wellll, a long time ago, when I was younger than I am now and when I still had dreams of being rich and famous, I had a scene in my head. The scene was all about a girl who had been hurt by magic and was struggling to heal. I wrote the scene down, and the next one that had the same characters. At that time I didn’t feel up to doing the novel. But I wrote down each scene as it came to me in a notebook. And then eventually I got around to figuring out what happened around those scenes.

2. Share a blurb!

One night changed the future of Valai. A night of betrayal and soaked in blood. The youngest prince alone escapes the rebellion, and he is forced to run to the mountains.

Terrence vows to take back his throne and defeat the usurper who killed his family. But planning a war is harder than it seems. Terrence needs an army at his back, and the only one to be found is in Trium. A country wracked with its own change as a new king takes the throne. A king unwilling to help in another countries civil war.

The only bright spot in Terrence’s journeying is Kerina. The niece of a forester who knows the mountains of Valai like the back of his hand. She waltzes her way through life, bringing sunshine into Terrence’s plots plans. Yet like all things, she is more than she appears to be. And she may be the only thing standing between Terrence and his enemy. Behind the throne is a shadow, a shadow who has placed a price on Terrence’s head.

3. Where does the story take place? What are some of your favorite aspects about the setting?

Most of the story takes place in Valai, with a jaunt or to outside to other countries. Valai is known by its wide stretching plains that threaten to swallow you up if you aren’t careful. On one side the plains are bordered by a ridge of mountains that hold secrets. Or so the rumors say.

Yes, there are elves. When I first began this novel there wasn’t a story I wrote without ’em. However these elves are nomads, wandering the plains in gypsy like caravans. If you search for them, you will only find them if they want you to.

I think the most interesting part about this particular setting is the magic system. It is all within the mind. Almost everyone in Valai can talk to each other in their minds. Some can only speak with immediate family members, other can speak with family and close friends. The most powerful mind speakers are the wizards, they not only can speak with a complete stranger, but can make you fall asleep. Or perhaps see things that aren’t there. They can do anything within the limits of the mind. Things like changing dirt to a flower don’t work too well.

Of course, then there are the ones born with immunity to magic. But no one talks about those people.

4. Tell us about your protagonist(s).

Let me introduce you to Terrence, my poor displaced prince who has been hiding out in the mountains with his small band of men. He is the last royal in Valai, and as such the full weight of taking back his kingdom has fallen onto his shoulders.

Prince Kai from the Lunar Chronicles

This guy, he tries so hard to help everyone and shoulder the responsibility alone. And yet, it doesn’t work. He can’t do it all, and things keep falling apart. Which isn’t all his fault, but he never sees it that way. He blames himself for not paying more attention in class, but why did he need to when he wasn’t supposed to be king anyway? Yep, a second son forced into becoming the royal heir.

In his head Terrence holds up his elder brother and father as the perfect standards for kingship. Every decision he makes is held up to that standard, and every time he fails he thinks of how they would do it better. And it all get worse when he meets Kerina.

Kerina is an artist. She enjoys painting sunsets and forests and would prefer not to get mixed up with the displaced prince thank you very much. But her uncle thinks otherwise, and she is forced to go on with them.

Kerina

Generally a cheerful person, Kerina does things like skip through camp, sing in the top of a tree, and paint the back of her hands when she runs out of paper. She likes to make up stories about her paintings, and tends to hide elves and fairies within her drawings, if you know where to look.

However to get past her cheerful veneer and to the Kerina underneath is something that many have tried and none have succeeded in doing. She has no wish to let people see what is inside and then laugh at her for it. Until, of course, she meets a friend that she would rather not lose, and then has to find out how much exactly she trusts Prince Terrence.

5. Who (or what) is the antagonist?

Torroc is the man who now sits on the throne of Valai. He is a paranoid man who sees enemies in every shadow and conspiracies in every whisper. It is soon known that coming to his court is like signing your death sentence. It is not a question of if you will be accused of treason, but when.

Torroc

He has good reason to be paranoid, he did take over a county loyal to the king, and spilled a lot of blood to do it. But his paranoia reaches new levels with every passing month, and recently they have come with hallucinations as well. Which may be the work of a wizard, except he has locked them all up.

He took the throne that he believes should be rightfully his anyway. It would have been, if his father had not descended into madness and was forced to surrender the throne to his younger brother, King Rond, Terrences father.

Yet his greatest fear is that he is descending into madness as well.

There are some who question how he gained the power to take the throne, and those ones will be the first ones to fall to the what lurks in the shadows behind the throne.

6. What excites you the most about this novel?

To be able to finish it! I have been working on this book for years. In fact a few Nanos ago I tried to write it. (don’t kill me for doing the same novel twice, please) However the ending, and to be honest the middle too, has eluded me. This year I will finish it! Even if it takes 100k and all nighters! (okay lets be honest, I probably won’t pull an all nighter, I do have a day job after all)

Seriously though, I am excited to get back to my characters. Terrence and Kerina have been strolling around in my head for so long, I know them better than any other characters I have ever written. They feel like home I guess, they are what I always come back to after the first thrill of another novel has worn off, when I finish a book and wonder what to write next I always think of them. This story is destined to be written, and I hope this year is the year their story will be completed.

7. Is this going to be a series? standalone? something else?

*glares at novel*

You will stay put as a novel. Got it?

Glad we understand each other.

8. Are you plotting? pantsing? plansting?

Plotting aaall the way. This particular novel has gone through extensive world building, character mapping, and plotting. It also has two half drafts to its name. I will brush everything up before I start, but I can say right now that this novel is about as plotted out as it gets.

I am still planning on being surprised by something though. Something always happens that I don’t expect. Always.

9. Name a few things that makes this story unique.

The magic system is one that I personally think is unique. It is all within the mind, and everyone can mind speak. Well, almost every one… It might be hard to juggle mind conversations and real conversations, but I want to try!

Other than that, it is a standard tale of epic journeys, battles, dangerous mountains, and displaced royalty.

Oh, and King Nerl. I can’t forget him. Not that I could if I wanted to.

Nerl

Let me introduce you to the bratty king of the neighboring country of Trium. Terrence and Kerina travel to the kingdom of Trium to ask for help. He and Terrence are old friends, well, that is stretching it a bit. They knew each other when they were kids. They may have also hated each other. So it may not be too much of a surprise for them to realize that Nerl doesn’t exactly want to entangle himself with the civil war of another country.

He also might, might, have a crush on Kerina. But he would kill me for saying that. So don’t tell.

10. Share a fun “extra” of the story (a song or full playlist, some aesthetics, a collage, a Pinterest board, a map you’ve made, a special theme you’re going to incorporate, ANYTHING you want to share!).

For once, I do actually have a pintrest board! Enjoy!

Welp. That is my story. My hope is that I will finish the story, and it won’t finish me. Here we go to Nano!

Shaina Merrick

Battles End, Battles Begin

Tada! After long hours of writing and editing (though I do apologize for any missed typos), I give you the first story of Lunnoor. For a tiny bit of preface, this is the story arc that will be the backbone of it all. Most of the Lunnoor stories will feature Lannie and co.. Though a few of them may have other characters and other plot lines. However, they will all tie back into Lannies stories, and the story of the war for Lunnoor. Enjoy!

Image result for public domain silhouettes of a flower

Lannie slammed her sword back into its sheath. The clang resounded over the muddy battlefield. Part of her winced; she was putting a dirty sword away, but there was not a speck of grass not trampled and every a rag of her own clothes was covered in filth. At least it wasn’t her messenger garb that was ruined. Rain cleansed everything except the battlefield.

Trying not to see the carnage of the battle, she hunted for her dagger. The churned up mud threatened to devour the dead men and weapons scattered on the ground, but she searched anyway. It was right where she had left it, sticking out of a blue-cloaked rebel. Lannie wrenched it out of him, then threw up on his boots. She wiped her mouth and peered at the wounded around her, but they cared only for the approaching medics. Medics who didn’t have time to give her a second glance. The sun was going down, and they had to find as many of the wounded as they could before nightfall.

The sun was low enough in the sky for its rays to be tinged in red, covering dead and living men alike in scarlet. Scarlet like the blood Lannie had just spilled. Her stomach heaved again at the memory of it.

“This isn’t winning,” she spat as she sheathed her dagger. “I defy any man who says such a thing.”

The medic closest to her shrugged but didn’t look up from the soldier he was giving a drink of water. The soldier had a spear sticking out of his side. It was going to be the last drink he ever had. “I think the official verdict was a stalemate.”

“That’s even worse,” Lannie snapped. All these men dead, and for nothing. They hadn’t gained a foot towards the capital. Another day they were stuck in the foothills with the faeries, another day their people languished underneath the rule of a madman. Another battle like this and the rebellion against the King would turn into a civil war.

She gritted her teeth and turned on her heel. Striding towards their side of the field where colorful tents housed the officers, and her father. Known to others as the King. She needed answers, and there was one place where she was going to find them.

Lannie stepped over a half-buried shield that was still attached to its owner, trying not to look into the mans empty eyes. She did, of course, no matter what she told herself, she always did. Those eyes haunted her dreams, but she had to look every single time. And if she looked, she had to shut them. Gritting her teeth she used her grimy glove to close his vacant eyes. Giving a dead man respect was the least she could do.

A few steps later a rebel lifted his hand to her, “Water.” He whispered, “Please.” His shoulder had been pierced with an arrow. His face was tense with pain, but he would live. Lannie stepped past him. He had killed how many of her people today? And yet…

She was scowling as she gave it to him, but he didn’t seem to care as he lifted her canteen to his mouth. Without bothering to wait for him to give it back Lannie strode forward.

The sun was halfway set, the angry clouds around it flamed orange and red as it sent out its last rays of light. Blasted rain. Lannies first battle in months, and she had fought enemies and the fear that she wouldn’t be able to distinguish friend from foe in the downpour.

Yet another reason why I should not be on the battlefield. Messengers should see people receive their letters and commands. Not have to kill them in hopes that the message gets across.

She clenched her fists, she was supposed to be the one who brought letters from home with a bright smile, or carried the Kings commands from legion to legion. The messenger legion was called to battle only as a last resort. When the battle was in danger of being lost. Which had been three times in the last two weeks. Chance had sent her away giving reports for the battles before this. Chance could bring her only so far, and being the Kings adopted daughter did not keep her from the field.

A medic cart passed her as she left the battlefield. The man pushing the over sized wheelbarrow fumbled for his handkerchief.

“You’ll get used to the smell,” Lannie said.

“I don’t think I ever want to,” the medic groaned. He glanced at her, then looked again. “Messenger Lannie?”

Lannie nodded, he was one of the only ones today who had recognized her without the soft clothes of her messenger garb.

“Was the battle so close then?” The medic asked.

“Yes,” Lannie replied and kept walking. He would find out soon enough. When he saw the amount of men that could not be saved.

She savagely kicked a clod of dirt that turned out to be a boulder. Groaning she bent down to rub her bruised toes. Her sword clanged against the side of her leg as she did. Another reason to hate swords and stick with daggers.

A short walk took her to the creek that separated the battlefield from the camp. The one way over it without getting wet was a rickety bridge. One you walked across as fast as you could and hope that it didn’t collapse. Emmy and Lannie had chosen it for that purpose. To keep people from peering into the dryad infested waters.

Emmy had taken to shooting the soulless things on sight with her bow. Lannie smirked as she crossed the bridge. She was a good influence on her friend after all. For her part Lannie skewered every naiad in and around camp with her dagger. She didn’t lose as many when she threw them at trees. But she did dump salt into every dryad haunt she found. Keeping the camp free from the faeries who wandered in looking for victims and finding an implacable enemy instead.

Her feet touched the ground on the other side of the creek as a whisper tickled her ears. She whipped her heard around and snatched her dagger out of its sheath. A few paces away a young soldier knelt on the ground by the stream. Fumbling with the straps to his helmet. Faerie bait. As if the battle had not claimed enough lives already.

“You look so tired,” a voice from the water sighed. “Aren’t you tired?” A hand rose from the stream and beckoned to the soldier. His helmet was on the ground and he reached out to touch the dryad.

Lannie snorted as she knelt to snag a rock, “You need to change your tune.” Her arm complained as she threw the rock at the slender hand. “Don’t you ever feel the need to say anything else?”

Her throw was true. The rock hit the dryad with a gentle thud. Her hand jerked back into the water and she stood up with a dangerous hiss. The soldier stumbled back from her sharp teeth.

“Get out of here!” Lannie screamed at the dryad. Raising her dagger as if she was going to throw it.

The dryad hissed again, but retreated back into the water. Lannie half heard muttered curses at the ‘faerie slayer’ but ignored them.

“Get your helmet back on soldier,” she barked.

The soldier looked up at her, eyes still clouded by the faeries spell. Growling under her breath Lannie scooped up his helmet and smacked it back onto his head.

“Keep it on until you know you’re safe,” she grumbled.

The soldier glared at her, rubbing the top of his head. “What happened?” he muttered.

Lannie raised an eyebrow, ungrateful and stupid then. Maybe I should have left him to the dryad. “You,” she poked his chest. “were just faerie bait.”

He had the decency to look stricken at least.

“When was the last time you spoke to the King?”

He shrugged and looked back at the stream. “I had never seen a dryad before.”

Lannie barked a laugh, “You had a happy childhood. Talk to the King as soon as you can. Or be lost to the faeries.”

She turned away before he could reply and marched towards the tents. He’d better listen. Or he would disappear without a trace. Just like all the others. Soul eating faeries or speaking with the King. Was it that hard of a choice?

The medic tents were a bustle of people and torches. The sun was barely a crescent above the mountain, and the medics work was just begun. Lannie resisted the urge to plug her ears against the screams and pleas of the wounded and dying men as she hurried past the tents. The trees began just beyond those tents, small things that stretched to be taller than the tents, but trees just the same. Lannie hefted the dagger in her hand and peered at each tree she passed. Any could hide a naiad. Even this close to the King.

The only tree that held a grinning face also boasted of an arrow that had sprouted in the middle of its forehead. I will have to remember to congratulate Emmy later. Though when did she find the time to shoot naiads in the middle of a battle?

Her path took her to the center of camp and straight to the large golden tent. The torches were just being lit as Lannie walked up to the tent. Illuminating the lions embroidered on its sides that tread upon the faerie folk and who men bowed to. The colors were washed in the lamp glow, one blending into the other. But in the light of day the rich colors would inspire awe. A fitting tent for the King.

The guards on either side of the tent entrance were as mud splattered as the line of soldiers and officers in front of them. Did the King join the battle? I don’t remember. Though surely the tide would have changed if he had.

Lannie walked straight past the line of tired soldiers and brightly dressed nobles. She pressed down a sneer for the latter. The only reward that should be given to those who let their soldiers fight for them.

There were a few mutters as she stepped to the front of the line. Yet another reason to keep to her messenger clothes. It kept the complaints to a minimum. The guards took one look at her face and lifted their spears to let her through.

There were more nobles and officers in the front room of the tent. More than usual, even after a battle. Well, they had never come so close to losing before. The flickering candle light cast shadows on their faces, adding years to every one of them. Though I would guess the battle added those, not the just the candles.

Silence prevailed as each sect tried to ignore the other. More guards inside kept careful watch on the men waiting to speak to the King. Lannie ignored them all and marched straight towards the inner door. The guards of this door were also mud splattered. Perhaps the King had come to the battle. I don’t remember hearing his call. Or a surge as the soldiers went to join him. He could not have been where I was. Lannie shrugged off the memories of the shouts to hold the line. Shouts that were accompanied by the screams of the dying.

Lannie strode up to the inner guards, they moved their spears for her without a second glance. Indignant shouts from the nobles were quickly hushed by the officers. They knew who she was, armor or no armor. If they had any complaints they were wise enough to keep them quiet.

“Why was I in the battle?” Lannie asked before she was all the way through the doorway. A young man in armor spun on his heel to face her, dark eyes blazing with fury. Lannie blinked, I don’t recognize this one. His armor is clean, I hope he is put on guard duty tonight.

She unbuckled her helmet and slid it off, “The whole messenger legion was hardly enough to keep the line, and…”

“Lannie,” A rich, gentle voice interrupted her. The source of the voice was hidden by the young knight. “I am glad you have come daughter of mine.”

The knight was on his knees in an instant before her. “Your majesty.”

Lannie looked up at the King, allowing her shoulders to relax for the first time since she had received the order to go to battle. His blue eyes radiated calm that seeped into her bones. The armor that covered his broad shoulders was as mud splattered as her own. Lannies heart sank, the King himself had joined the battle, and the best they had done was a stalemate?

He smiled down at her, but made no move to come down off his throne. “How went the battle for you?”

“Terrible,” Lannie snapped. “I don’t understand why I had to be there.”

“It is my fault your majesty,” the knight said. Lannie frowned at him. His fault? The King gave the order. “I was en-route to the battle but was unable to make it on time.”

“The reason?” The King asked, his kind gaze shifting to the knight.

The knight shifted on his knees, “Faeries.”

“Did they attack you or did you fall prey to them?” Lannie demanded. I can understand many things, but if he was late because he listened to a faerie…

“Both,” The knight bowed his head a little lower. “My men were caught in the snare and by the time I found out about it…”

“To your feet soldier,” Lannie sighed. “The faeries have trapped better men.”

“This is Lord Beldon,” the King said as the soldier warily got to his feet. Should I have said something else? Something more tactful? “He took command when his father died on the battlefield. You know his sister, Lady Belissa.”

“Ah,” should I tell him that she is irretrievable faerie bait now? Or let the King do it?

“I will speak to you later Lord Beldon,” the King said. Lord Beldon bowed, then backed out of the tent.

Lannie waited until he was out of sight before exploding, “Why was my legion on the battlefield? We were unprepared and separated. How did we do any good?” She rubbed shaking hands over her eyes. “I don’t even know who all survived, and for what, another stalemate?”

The King got down from his throne and enfolded her in an embrace. He said nothing, just held her. Lannie let the long held back tears fall onto his shoulder.

“The field is covered with the dead and dying,” she whispered. “Their cries ring my ears.”

“I know,” the Kings voice rumbled. He stepped back and smiled at Lannie, a smile that belied the pain in his eyes. “I know the name of every man who died today. Their deaths were not in vain.”

She sighed, “Even though we were not victorious?”

“Even then,” was the quiet reply. “Is there anything else?”

Lannie shrugged, “There was a dryad near the bridge after the battle. The seventh one this week.” She released a frustrated sigh. “Add that to the two naiads Emmy and I killed today and that is the thirtieth faerie we have battled with since camping here.” Scowling she added, “It wouldn’t surprise me to see pixies show up too. And a brownie with the ways things are going.”

The King placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You are fighting well, but it will get worse before it gets better.”

Lannies scowl became deeper. Of course, it would.

“Perhaps you should ask Lord Beldon to join your battle against the faeries,” the King added as he sat back on the wooden chair that served as his throne. “He has cause enough to hate them, as he will soon learn.”

Lannie nodded, “Emmy and I could use the extra help.” For the first time since the battle began, she smiled. “Thank you father, for everything.”

“Of course my dear.”

Lannie spun on her heel and skipped out of the tent, flashing a smirk at the waiting nobles and soldiers. With all the men speaking to the King today the faeries would be kept at bay for a while. She would have time to regather her legion and speak with Lord Beldon before they struck again.

Outside of the tent an arm threaded through hers. Lannie grinned at the dirt smeared face of her best friend.

“I saw the arrow,” she told Emmy. “Great work.”

Emmy flashed a gap tooth smile, her eyes dancing in the torchlight. The sun was completely set now, all sane people would be in bed soon if they had not already done so.

“I found the thing just before orders came, how many does that make this week?”

“Seven,” Lannies scowl returned. “If more people would speak with the King…”

“The faeries would stay away,” Emmy finished for her. “Say it often enough and someone might believe you.”

“Thanks,” Lannie grumbled. She dragged them both to a halt when she caught sight of Lord Beldon in the shadows of a tree. He was talking with another messenger, and from the way he was rubbing his eyes Lannie had a good idea of what the message was.

“Wait here,” she told Emmy and jogged towards the young lord.

“Why?” Emmy called after her, but she stayed put.

Lannie’s armor clinked together as she ran, but her approach still went unnoticed by the two men.

“How long ago did this happen?” Lord Beldon asked, his voice rough with emotion.

“Not more than a week ago,” the messenger replied. “We dispatched a message to her kin, but it was never received.”

“I was on the road by then,” Lord Beldon said. He dragged his hands over his face, it was too dark to see his expression. “Are you sure it was the faeries?”

“I was the one who searched for her,” Lannie said in as gentle of a voice as she could muster. “I found her armor and her sword deep in pixie territory. There is a known faerie gate there.”

Lord Beldon slammed a fist into his leg, “Father always disbelieved the stories, but I knew better, Belissa knew better…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

“When you are ready to hear it, I have a proposition for you,” Lannie said quietly. “A way for you to strike at the ones who took your sister.”

“I can hear it now!” Lord Beldon growled.

Lannie gestured for Emmy to come, and as her friend walked closer she dismissed the messenger. “My friend and I have declared war on the faeries, especially the ones who dare to enter the camp. There are those who think our war is a waste of time.”

“You mean those who say that we are fools,” Emmy interrupted and folded her arms. “The ones who turn a blind eye to the ones who disappear every day.”

“But it is important nonetheless,” Lannie said quickly. “In the last few weeks the faeries have become more numerous, and it is almost beyond our abilities to control.”

“She means we are scrambling around trying to kill as many as possible in-between our other duties and even then more pop up every day.” Emmy interrupted again. “I think she is trying to say that we are losing this personal war and would like to ask you to be our ally.”

Lannie glared at her, “I was getting to that!” She turned back to Lord Beldon and wished very hard that she had brought a torch. It would have been nice to see the expression on his face.

“I understand if you think you will have too many other duties,” she added. “Or if you would like to think about it and reply another time. It is late and…”

“Yes,” Lord Beldon said. “I will gladly join your war against the faeries.”

“I am so glad,” Emmy said with a sigh of relief. “I am running out of arrows.”

“We will fill you in on the details tomorrow, along with what we have found out about the faeries in our battles,” Lannie said all in a rush before Emmy could interrupt her again. “Say midday meal?”

“I will look forward to it,” Lord Beldon said with a fluid bow. As he walked past them the light of a passing torch touched his features. His face was set like granite. The faeries would have another slayer to fear.

“That went well,” Emmy said cheerily. “Whatever gave you the idea of asking him?”

“It was fathers idea,” Lannie replied with a shrug. “And he just lost his sister to the faeries.”

“Ah,” Emmy was mercifully silent for a moment. “Should we go clean up? The dirt is making me itch.”

Lannie smiled through the sudden wave of exhaustion, “That is a great plan.”

Image result for public domain silhouettes of a flower

Shaina Merrick

Plotting V.S. Pantsing

You know how at the beginning of each how-to post the author tells you why you should listen to them? Why they are uniquely qualified to speak to you on this subject? Well. Here is a short version of that.

In the plotting and pantsing world I am not exactly in either camp. Nor am I one of those enlightened people who sit squarely in the middle of the line with their novels. I am a metronome. Sometimes I swing all the way to the pantsing side of writing, sometimes I swing the other way. It really depends on the day.

So do I know what I am talking about when I say plotting or pantsing? Yup. Been there done both. Whether that makes me qualified to write about this is another matter altogether. I will leave it for you to judge.

Lest you become confuzzled, let me define these terms. Ones that are bandied back and forth in the writing world all of the time. Sometimes sparking an interesting discussion, sometimes a heated debate.

In simple terms, plotters plan out their story before the first draft. Pantsers plot it out while they are writing the first draft. Plotters figure out their characters, plot, and setting waaay ahead of time. They are the ones with multiple notebooks dedicated to different elements of their story. Pantsers sit down with the germ of a story idea, a pen, and a piece of paper, and figure it out as they go along. Plot outlines? Character worksheets? What are those?!

The most heated debates come when writers begin to discuss which one is better. To plot first, or to plot later, that is the question. To which I say, depends on the day?

Pantsing Strengths

At this particular moment, the novel I am working on has been completely pantsed. When I began writing it I had a phrase, and half of a character. As I wrote I found more characters, and eventually figured out what on earth was going on with this story. That is the magic of pantsing. It is like a movie going on underneath your fingers. No one knows what is going to happen next. Least of all yourself. Everything is a surprise, and the magic that keeps us writing is everywhere. It is the first blush of that story, untainted by planning, that gets you through that first draft.

Also in pantsings favor is the fact that you can start right away. No waiting until every plot point is filled and every character question answered. You don’t even need to know the theme before you write those first words. I love that. I love that I can sit down and begin, and somehow that first bit of a story idea becomes a full story.

Plotting Strengths

Now while my current WIP is being pantsed, I have many many many plotted stories in progress. Ones that were plotted withing an inch of their life before I even started the first chapter.

As with pantsing, I start with the first blush of an idea. And then I figure out what on earth I am going to do with this idea. Which means all the worksheets, all the character questionnaires, and all the theme wonderings. What I love about this method is that I get to answer all of my questions before hand. There is something breathtaking about creating a character arc and watching it unfold before your eyes. I don’t have to wait for the end of the book to find out what is going to happen to all of my characters. I can figure it out right now! Then there is writing out each and every plot point and deciding what happens when. My organized self gets a thrill out of that part! When each character arc connects to the plot points, and it is all tied together by the theme, that there is pure magic.

I must say that the actual writing of the story goes much smoother when you have it all planned out before hand. There are less writing block moments and way fewer times that your characters have backed you into the corner with less than no ways out.

Pantsing Weaknesses

What, did you think I was going to let you leave without telling you the dangers of each method? Nope! Prepare to be overwhelmed.

If you absolutely hate writers block, if even the mention of it wants to make you hide under your bed with chocolate, then don’t pants. Trust me. When you barely an idea with where you are going to go with your story, writers block springs up often. Yelling ‘surprise!’ and then wondering why you are running away screaming.

It is easier to write yourself into a corner with pantsing. You eagerly follow each and every rabbit trail, and then wonder how on earth your characters ended up on the edge of a cliff with no ways of rescue. Hm, maybe I should write in a flock of eagles?

Also, you will have to edit many many times. There is no first then second then finished draft with pantsing. Unless you are a writing genius of course. You will have to do way more after the first draft to make sure that it all goes smoothly. And that includes refining character arcs, filling in plot holes, and foreshadowing. Things that you would have already done if you had plotted. So if you hate editing, try to have some of the planning and questioning done before hand.

Plotting Weaknesses

Even with your mega plans and color coded plot your novel still might fall flat on its face. Or never get written in the first place.

The greatest weakness I have found in plotting is the fact that you are never done planning. There are always more questions to answer about your character, always more bits to find out about your world, and always more research to do. You may find yourself always plotting and planning and never getting to the first draft. And if you don’t get to the first draft, you don’t have a novel. Only a well planned project that you will get to, someday.

Also, if you have created a multi faceted plot that has planned for every eventuality and filled every plot hole and put every character in a firmly defined box, your characters will grab the reins and run away with the whole story. It seems to be the rule of all plots. The more you tack them down, the smallest thing will upset them. If I don’t make sense, I apologize.

You see, writing is a creative process. Which means you are using the creative side of your brain most of the time. You know, the side that wakes you up at 2:00 AM with a great idea. That side will refused to be tamped down, and when you least expect it will pop up with this great idea that will send your perfect plot careening off course.

Pantsing Ideas

I thought this post was long enough, but I didn’t want to leave you with all of this dismal news. My hope is that these how-to posts are useful, and so I want to give you a few ideas to make each side easier to write. To avoid each pitfall and tap into the strengths.

I have found that pantsing becomes more manageable when you take notes while you are writing. Whether those notes are in a different color within your draft, or in a different notebook, or even at the end of each chapter, write ’em. Notes will save you from wondering where your characters went, and keep you from hours of finding where you wrote down what color your MC’s eyes are.

If you are writing notes, you have a quick look at what you will have to edit later. Possibly saving you a draft, or at least a bunch of time.

This idea is to keep writers block in the corner. Keep the ending in mind. No, this isn’t me trying to finagle you into plotting. Know where you are going with your story, at the very least you will know when you need to end it. Chances are, you already have an idea of where your story is going, just fine tune it a bit. What is the goal of the characters? Are the characters going to get their goal? Or not? Figure that out, and your pantsed novel will end right on time.

Plotting Ideas

Don’t plan too much. That about sums up my advice for this side of the question. If you plan too much, your novel won’t be written. Which isn’t quite what you want, is it? We all want to finish our stories, so do yourself a favor and stop planning. Find a point that you can stop, and stop. Decide beforehand what that point will be. Are you going to plan until you have a basic idea? Until you have the whole plot finished? Answer that question, and when you have hit that point. Stop. Don’t let yourself plan any more.

Again, if you plan too much and too tightly, one small thing will make it all crash off course. Okay okay. I might be exaggerating. Your plot will probably not go crashing into a mountainside and shatter into smithereens.

However, when you are plotting, leave breathing room. Room for your characters to do unexpected things, and for unexpected people to show up. And if the unexpected happens, don’t sweat it, or try to erase it. It will be easier to put toothpaste back into a bottle than to stuff your idea back into your brain. Play with idea a bit, let it percolate. Maybe it will make your story better, even if it means that your plot will have to be adjusted a bit.

Phew. If you made it to the end of this ridiculously looong post. Congratulations! Take some chocolate strawberries. I hope it was helpful, at least a little. So go out, finish those stories! I will be over here trying to end my pantsed novel. I need to take my own advice and figure out what the ending is for this thing…

Shaina Merrick

The Tales of Lunnoor

What if the faeries were evil? What if dryads pulled you to a watery grave while pixies led you off a cliff. Brownies lived to be a thorn in your side (and to mess up your house), and naiads took over trees to use them to poison other living beings.

The world is dangerous, and it has become more so now that the Kings closest advisor has turned on him, sparking a civil war that has swept the whole country up in its battle. Some men want what they think is freedom, some want wealth, some want nothing more than to serve their King.

Welcome to the world of Lunnoor, the setting for my collection of short stories. Once a month you will read about faeries, rebellions, battles, and men and women who are willing to do anything for what they believe in. Some of the stories will be connected by characters or events, some only by the same world. However when you take them all together they will create a patchwork quilt that tells the story of the war against the King.

Until next time!

Shaina Merrick

Why I am Keeping my Day Job

Like many writers living today, I have what is called a day job. A job to pay the bills and support me while I write. My ‘true calling’, writing, will eventually take over and I will stay home and write all day. Spending my days in bliss as I churn out novel after novel. The end goal of almost every writer is to get to the point that their writing is financially able to support them so they can quit their day job and come home to write full time.

Well, the goal of every writer except me. I would prefer to keep my day job thank you very much. And it is not because I am a pessimist who thinks she will never make money from her writing. (only sometimes) Nor is it because I want to keep my writing at hobby level.

I will keep my day job because I like it. Most of the time. Now, being a PreK teacher is no walk in the park. There have been more than a few times that I have wondered why I signed up for this. However, there have been plenty of times that I wondered that about writing too. Why on earth did I think it was a good idea to put the stories in my head down on paper?

I enjoy what I do, so I don’t see myself stopping it any time soon. But even if I did quit and found myself with hours a day to write instead of snatches of time here and there, I think I would still find a job.

Sometimes, I think creative people believe that creativity exists in a vacuum. We are story writers, poets, artists, and musicians who spend hours upon hours holed up in a room pouring our hearts out into whatever medium we have chosen. Creating art is a solitary process, it has to be. But I don’t think our creativity comes from that tiny room. It comes from all around us, from our experiences, our lives, the things we have seen and the things we have heard.

I put this idea forth to you; that the stories we find ourselves thinking about are in a large part influenced by our lives. Who do you know? What do you do? How do you live? Where do you live? All of that will affect the stories you write. Whether you mean it to or not.

Writers are often told to write what they know, and the second best thing to knowing it is researching the stuffing out of it. So many writers spend even more time holed up in their room googling random, or not so random, things because they want to know it so they can write it.

Well, I for one do not want to settle for second best. I would rather do than read. So I have done, and done some more. I have traveled, explored, gotten lost, made friends and lost them, worked for myself, gotten a job, and done lots of random things. I have failed a few times, and done a face plant in life. But hey, at least I know what it feels like for my characters! (my poor characters…)

I fill my life with interesting things and interesting people in part so that my writing will be interesting. I know there are some things that will have to be delegated to research. Like going to the moon and being a prima ballerina. Yet if I can, I do rather than read. I want to know how this world works.

So no, I am not quitting my day job. I know that because of it I will write slower than most. I know that my path will be longer because I don’t dedicate as much time to my craft. But I would rather be slow, and have my stories filling with interesting things, than be fast and have my stories all sound the same.

As a side note, all the aforementioned things are not why I am sometimes late putting up a blog post. Naps are wonderful things that help you get nothing done.

Shaina Merrick

Book Review: The Girls at the Kingfisher Club

The Girls at the Kingfisher Club

I just stayed up waaay too late finishing this book. Even though I was tired, even though I had work in the morning. I couldn’t put it down. I either found out what happened to Jo and her sisters, or I had a sleepless night wondering about it! Either way, I wasn’t going to sleep much, so I may as well satisfy my curiosity.

To satisfy your curiosity, here is the blurb!

Jo, the firstborn, “The General” to her eleven sisters, is the only thing the Hamilton girls have in place of a mother. She is the one who taught them how to dance, the one who gives the signal each night, as they slip out of the confines of their father’s townhouse to await the cabs that will take them to the speakeasy. (in case you don’t know what this is, in the 1920’s alcohol was illegal. The only way you could drink was to go to a night club, or speakeasy) Together they elude their distant and controlling father, until the day he decides to marry them all off.

The girls, meanwhile, continue to dance, from Salon Renaud (once) to the Swan (once) and, finally, the Kingfisher, the club they come to call home. They dance until one night when they are caught in a raid, separated, and Jo is thrust face-to-face with someone from her past: a bootlegger named Tom whom she hasn’t seen in almost ten years. (yeees, loved this part and the backstory that came with it!) Suddenly Jo must weigh in the balance not only the demands of her father and eleven sisters, but those she must make of herself. (yeah yeah, it wasn’t that hard of a decision to make, stop playing it up for tension)

With The Girls at the Kingfisher Club, award-winning writer Genevieve Valentine takes her superb storytelling gifts to new heights, joining the leagues of such Jazz Age depicters as Amor Towles and Paula McClain, and penning a dazzling tale about love, sisterhood, and freedom. (mostly sisterhood, slightly less freedom, and not really about love at all)

This book would not be every ones cup of tea. It moves slowly, even as it is building to the climax. There are a few bits of quick action, but they disappear as soon as they come. There is a lot of backstory, especially in the first half of the book.

I enjoyed it, I thought the backstory and flash backs were woven in well. It was a flow of thought that made sense. Rather than wondering how the character had gotten from point A to point B.

Most of the story is from Jo’s point of view. A great choice, because she is the one making the decisions and pushing the plot along. Yes, there are other people making decisions around her, and doing things that affect her, but she is the one that moves the plot.

Jo is the perfect illustration of an active protagonist. One who acts rather than reacts. When her father decides to attempt to marry them all off, she tries to get on top of the situation. She is trying to keep her sisters safe, and knows that to do that she will need to control as much of this as possible.

She is a strong character, without being able to beat up anyone who crosses her path. She doesn’t go against the ideas of the time, much anyway, she is strong enough without having to push against the grain. Which, honestly, is a relief. A breath of fresh air in a world full of heroines that can do everything. Save the guy, flirt with the guy, and get the guy. She has her points of weakness, and learns what they are.

A main theme of the book is that Jo can not do everything. Her sisters are their own people, who must make their own decisions. She learns, slowly, that the more she tries to control them, the easier it will be to lose them.

However, this book was not focused solely on Jo alone. There are twelve girls. Twelve characters each with their own motivations and dreams. Somehow, Genevieve Valentine made each one of the girls come alive. They all got a little snippet of the story that wove itself into the plot as a whole, she didn’t leave you wondering why the plot had stopped in order to characterize.

I loved the characters, Jo mostly, but like I said. The plot is slow. I enjoyed the slow pace that explored the ins and outs of Jo’s decisions. However, not that much happens in the first bit of the book. I never did feel like the plot was dragging though. It slowly picked up steam in a very satisfying way, ending in a BIG event that shakes everything up. Then is all calms back down again for a while.

I did feel like the end dragged a bit though. It was a good wrap up, but it took such a long time from what felt like the climax was to the end. It was a good end, an end that caused a sigh of happiness. But a long ending, so both good and bad I guess?

I would recommend this book to late teens and up. There are a couple of content issues, such as a romantic scene (mostly off screen, but it still happened), and a couple cuss words.

Over all, I would give this book 4 stars. * * * *

What have you guys been reading lately? Anything good? Anything gag worthy? I would love to make my tbr list bigger! 😉

Shaina Merrick

The Death of Hamlet (and why I cared)

Whether or not you like Shakespeare, you have to admit that he wrote some great lines. Gems like;

“To be, or not to be: that is the question.”

“Frailty, thy name is woman!”

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

“To die, to sleep – To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come… ”

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Lines that all happen to come from Hamlet. That terribly morose play that I have fallen head over heels with. I don’t pretend to understand every word that was said, but the words I did understand I listened to with bated breath. At least, until Little Miss Ophelia opened her mouth. (get some brains woman!)

At first look, the play seems awful. All about a man who loses his father, and is trying to exact revenge upon his uncle (reverse Star Wars anyone?). There is death, madness, false friends, and lots and lots of self pity. Usually, I stay away from such melodrama. But hey, it was Shakespeare, and why not?

From the first word I was hooked. My eyes never strayed from the screen where the tale unfolded. You couldn’t have pulled me away with a team of horses until the final word was uttered and the curtain fell.

I had to ask myself, why would such a dark tale enthrall me so much? Why would I find my thoughts drifting back to the story again and again the next day?

The plot was not what drew me to the play. It was not so twisty that I couldn’t figure out what was happening next. (I also knew the end before I watched it *cough*) The characters around Hamlet varied from mostly interesting to groan worthy. It wasn’t their witty banter that kept me glued to my chair. It was the main character, Hamlet.

His struggle to bring about revenge on his father would not have been that interesting if he had not been such a compelling person. Hamlet was a hurting mess who procrastinated, blamed himself, wallowed in self pity, fell in love, and tried to do right by his father. He loved deeply and hated with all of his being.

Stripped away of all the wit, the ghosts, and the madness. Hamlet is a story of a young man whose father has died. A man he looked up to and adored with all of his being. Hamlet is hurting, and he cannot understand why the rest of the world is able to blithely go on like his father never existed.

Then he finds out that his father was taken away from him on purpose. Someone chose to do away with his father in order to advance their own ends. Much of the play is him asking why. Why on earth would anyone choose to do away with someone so wonderful?

You follow Hamlet through his inner struggles as tries to find a way to proceed. As he rages against those who did this to his father, yet feels helpless to do anything about it. Those struggles make him so real and raw that I could not help but be on his side. Whether I agree with revenge or not, I know what it is like to wonder why a loved one is so suddenly gone.

At his core, Hamlet is a person who wants answers to the hard questions. Why did his father die and his uncle live on? Why do we love one person and not another? How can the world forget a person so good so quickly? Why are men so afraid of death?

This vulnerability in a character is what drew me into the play and swept me through the good and bad of it. By the time the end of the tale had come and (spoiler alert) Hamlets death was near, I was rooting for him. Hoping that he would succeed in the goal he had worked so hard to grasp. He had lost everything in the pursuit of this one all encompassing thing.

By the end of the play, he truly had lost everything, including his own life. But he had completed his quest, and went to his final rest knowing that he had been a son worthy of his father. And that was all he had really wanted anyway.

Nope, I am not going to cry. I refuse.

I know this kind of play is not everyone’s cup of tea, so I won’t end with an entreaty that you go watch it right now. Instead, I will end with a bit from one of Hamlets monologues.

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death-
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns- puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

Shaina Merrick