TITLE: Like Watching Fireworks from Nantucket Harbor
GENRE: Contemporary Women's
When Janey Walker arrives on Nantucket for her brother's wedding, she expects the usual inquiries about her (less than glamorous) job and her (nonexistent) love life. But, she is unprepared for the flood of memories that comes rushing forth the moment she steps ashore, memories that draw to her to the past and a long-ago summer spent on the island.
When we were kids, my brother Ben and I loved to keep watch for the first glimpse of island peeking above the horizon. Whatever the weather – rain, shine, heavy winds – we would be out there on that ferryboat deck, straining to see who could spot the stretch of pork-chop-shaped land first. Ben was older, but more easily distracted, and I almost always won. I collected these victories, these small tokens of a younger sister’s triumph, and cherished them with almost the same reverence I reserved for our destination itself. For even as a child I sensed the island was unique and very early in life it became synonymous with the sweetest summer things; lazy days of sun and sand, longstanding traditions, and a freedom from responsibility we would never fully appreciate until it was much, much too late.
It was a foggy morning in August, the day I finally went back to the island and very little was visible through the mist. It had been seven years – almost to the day – but sitting there on the ferryboat deck, amidst the translucent mid-morning haze, everything, those long pushed-aside memories, everything felt uncomfortably fresh… and as close as the air.
I couldn’t – I wouldn’t blame Ben for dragging me back here like this. He could hold his wedding wherever he so chose – on the moon even – and I would be there, of course. And I was happy for him, for them.
Miss Snark's First Victim
Friday, November 29, 2013
(7) Historical Fantasy: TALASSIO
TITLE: Talassio
GENRE: Historical Fantasy
In 18th century England, Elisabeth’s sister is violently kidnapped, forcing her family back into the supernatural world they disavowed. Now, as Elisabeth journeys across Europe to rescue her sister, she faces her people’s warring families, the vampire servants they create, and a cabal of powerful madmen—and her success might prove the destruction of them all.
They walked single-file and surefooted through the dark woods, their bare feet padding lightly atop the damp carpet of earth and leaf and needle, their shifts knotted above their knees so as to clear the brush just coming into leaf. It had been a bitter winter and a rainy spring, but now the sky was clear and filled with stars, casting a spectral glow on the new green leaves. The moon was high already and when again she could let herself remember this night Elisabeth would realize it was a sickle, unusually thin and bright: a tool for reaping, and she should have taken it for a sign.
But she was never one to pay attention to such things, and this night had been no different. Her mind had wandered as she trailed after Cathy, watching the scaly soles of her eldest sister’s feet turn black with soil, her pale calves flashing from beneath her yellowed shift. At their head Mary was singing:
Ombra mai fu
Di vegetabile
Cara ed amabile
Soave più
Her sweet, clear voice rising on the wind to curl among the trees, and Elisabeth fancied they were rustling in response, their branches stirring to gather the music towards themselves. How many times had they walked this path? More than ten springs now, the longest she could remember staying anywhere. Their home. For the first time she understood all that the word invoked: safety, family, a place of refuge.
GENRE: Historical Fantasy
In 18th century England, Elisabeth’s sister is violently kidnapped, forcing her family back into the supernatural world they disavowed. Now, as Elisabeth journeys across Europe to rescue her sister, she faces her people’s warring families, the vampire servants they create, and a cabal of powerful madmen—and her success might prove the destruction of them all.
They walked single-file and surefooted through the dark woods, their bare feet padding lightly atop the damp carpet of earth and leaf and needle, their shifts knotted above their knees so as to clear the brush just coming into leaf. It had been a bitter winter and a rainy spring, but now the sky was clear and filled with stars, casting a spectral glow on the new green leaves. The moon was high already and when again she could let herself remember this night Elisabeth would realize it was a sickle, unusually thin and bright: a tool for reaping, and she should have taken it for a sign.
But she was never one to pay attention to such things, and this night had been no different. Her mind had wandered as she trailed after Cathy, watching the scaly soles of her eldest sister’s feet turn black with soil, her pale calves flashing from beneath her yellowed shift. At their head Mary was singing:
Ombra mai fu
Di vegetabile
Cara ed amabile
Soave più
Her sweet, clear voice rising on the wind to curl among the trees, and Elisabeth fancied they were rustling in response, their branches stirring to gather the music towards themselves. How many times had they walked this path? More than ten springs now, the longest she could remember staying anywhere. Their home. For the first time she understood all that the word invoked: safety, family, a place of refuge.
(6) Epic/High Fantasy: DEMIGOD
TITLE: Demigod
GENRE: Epic/High Fantasy
Cora, a young midwife, flees her village to protect the newborn son of an ancient god from a cultist who intends to sacrifice the child in a ritual to summon his demon lord into the material realm. To reach safety, Cora must cross the Feral Wood, a landscape rife with vengeful forest spirits, nightmarish man-eating predators, and gods intent on destroying her.
The bees trembled with nervous energy as Cora placed a hand upon one of the sections of hollow log that hung from the eaves of her cottage. She hummed a soothing tune of beseeching, and the daughters of the hive responded with a welcoming buzz of wings. She touched her blade against the edge of the clay dish that covered one end of the wooden cylinder. As she did so, a wisp of green flowed through the center of the knife, a blessing from Elassa the Benevolent. With a small amount of pressure, Cora cracked the wax seal that held the dish in place. Humming in time with the vibration of a thousand pairs of tiny wings, she reached into the hive and gently worked a comb loose.
The children of Elassa’s Bend gathered around, raising scraps of bread from the loaf Cora had baked that morning, clambering to catch the first drips of honey. She held out the comb and smiled down at the eager faces. “One at a time, my dears. There’s plenty of honey for everyone. Please move aside when you’ve gotten enough.”
The pieces of bread bumped against one another as the children reached out with thin, trembling arms, but not a drop of honey was spilled. They had learned not to let a morsel of food go to waste. Cora gazed down at their sunken cheeks and bony arms, and wished the lesson had not come at such a steep price.
GENRE: Epic/High Fantasy
Cora, a young midwife, flees her village to protect the newborn son of an ancient god from a cultist who intends to sacrifice the child in a ritual to summon his demon lord into the material realm. To reach safety, Cora must cross the Feral Wood, a landscape rife with vengeful forest spirits, nightmarish man-eating predators, and gods intent on destroying her.
The bees trembled with nervous energy as Cora placed a hand upon one of the sections of hollow log that hung from the eaves of her cottage. She hummed a soothing tune of beseeching, and the daughters of the hive responded with a welcoming buzz of wings. She touched her blade against the edge of the clay dish that covered one end of the wooden cylinder. As she did so, a wisp of green flowed through the center of the knife, a blessing from Elassa the Benevolent. With a small amount of pressure, Cora cracked the wax seal that held the dish in place. Humming in time with the vibration of a thousand pairs of tiny wings, she reached into the hive and gently worked a comb loose.
The children of Elassa’s Bend gathered around, raising scraps of bread from the loaf Cora had baked that morning, clambering to catch the first drips of honey. She held out the comb and smiled down at the eager faces. “One at a time, my dears. There’s plenty of honey for everyone. Please move aside when you’ve gotten enough.”
The pieces of bread bumped against one another as the children reached out with thin, trembling arms, but not a drop of honey was spilled. They had learned not to let a morsel of food go to waste. Cora gazed down at their sunken cheeks and bony arms, and wished the lesson had not come at such a steep price.
(5) Science Fiction: STARBREAK
TITLE: Starbreak
GENRE: Science Fiction
Stuck with a husband married to his career and a dead-end job, scientist and mother Chrissy King joins the interstellar peacekeepers after she witnesses the murder of an alien. When the killer she's chasing starts destroying stars, Chrissy must stop the murderer before he adds the sun to his collection of celestial corpses.
As a card carrying scientist, I knew things: gravity sucked, sound couldn’t travel in a vacuum, and chocolate always made me feel better. I slipped into the lab through a side door and dropped my brownie on my desk like I’d been there for the last ten minutes.
My boss, Dr. Owen, stormed through the opposite doors on a wave of floral aftershave. “Where the hell have you been, Dr. King?”
“I was getting you some—”
“Coffee?” He shot me the I-have-you-now smirk. He knew I didn’t drink coffee.
“Walnut covered brownies.” I finished the sentence without any hesitation. Sure I’d be out breakfast, but post docs didn’t really have job security. Time for bribes. I pulled the brownie out of the bag like a model on the home shopping network. He narrowed his eyes at me. I saw his resolve slipping.
His aftershave filled the space between us, and the stink face came back. “We need to talk. Outside.” He pointed to the door I’d come through. The other lab techs had the wide-eyed look of gazelles watching a lion eat one of their own. Oh Galileo, it’s The Talk.
I opened the door, and the brisk Albuquerque air pulled at it like a grasping monster. March in the desert was like living in a sandblaster set up in the freezer. I pretended not to mind the cold. Or the sand.
“What’s going on Dr. King? You’ve been jumpier than a fox at an NRA convention.” He pushed the door shut.
GENRE: Science Fiction
Stuck with a husband married to his career and a dead-end job, scientist and mother Chrissy King joins the interstellar peacekeepers after she witnesses the murder of an alien. When the killer she's chasing starts destroying stars, Chrissy must stop the murderer before he adds the sun to his collection of celestial corpses.
As a card carrying scientist, I knew things: gravity sucked, sound couldn’t travel in a vacuum, and chocolate always made me feel better. I slipped into the lab through a side door and dropped my brownie on my desk like I’d been there for the last ten minutes.
My boss, Dr. Owen, stormed through the opposite doors on a wave of floral aftershave. “Where the hell have you been, Dr. King?”
“I was getting you some—”
“Coffee?” He shot me the I-have-you-now smirk. He knew I didn’t drink coffee.
“Walnut covered brownies.” I finished the sentence without any hesitation. Sure I’d be out breakfast, but post docs didn’t really have job security. Time for bribes. I pulled the brownie out of the bag like a model on the home shopping network. He narrowed his eyes at me. I saw his resolve slipping.
His aftershave filled the space between us, and the stink face came back. “We need to talk. Outside.” He pointed to the door I’d come through. The other lab techs had the wide-eyed look of gazelles watching a lion eat one of their own. Oh Galileo, it’s The Talk.
I opened the door, and the brisk Albuquerque air pulled at it like a grasping monster. March in the desert was like living in a sandblaster set up in the freezer. I pretended not to mind the cold. Or the sand.
“What’s going on Dr. King? You’ve been jumpier than a fox at an NRA convention.” He pushed the door shut.
(4) Adult Literary Fiction: BREEDING GROUNDS
TITLE: Breeding Grounds
GENRE: Adult Literary Fiction
When a young woman is found dead in a rock pile, talk is her fisherman husband did it. But if he wanted to get away with murder, he could have cut her up for chum. In this small New England town where ethics are a luxury and the desire to escape is as strong as the urge to make do, Breeding Grounds carries you down to the depths, where even the foulest deeds make sense.
Dora McGill
Eight o’clock in the goddamn morning, blueblood cold outside and someone was downstairs banging on the barroom door. I’d been working the Walleye for going on ten years, and my ears were my own personal Emergency Broadcast System. Still had drool on my cheek, but I opened my window anyway and had a look. It was the Little Sergeant of all people. He’d been around long enough to know the Walleye wasn’t open till noon on Sundays. The church ladies would throw a fit. And, after waiting on piles of stinky old fishermen till closing time, so would I.
He stopped banging, looked up at me and said, “Police, Open Up! Police!”
“No kidding,” I said, slamming the window shut. Like my week wasn’t shitty enough already. I grabbed my robe, lit a cigarette, and opened up the window again.
“What seems to be the trouble, Officer Alvarez?”
He really didn’t like it when I called him “Officer” but he hated being called the “Little Sergeant” worse, and when I saw his face, I was glad as hell I didn’t call him that. You know, I always figured I could find one redeeming quality in anybody. The only thing I ever really liked about the Little Sergeant was that for all the ribbing he took, he seemed like a man in his own mind. But down there, with the street empty behind him, the Sunday morning quiet and that gray New England cold, he was just the opposite.
GENRE: Adult Literary Fiction
When a young woman is found dead in a rock pile, talk is her fisherman husband did it. But if he wanted to get away with murder, he could have cut her up for chum. In this small New England town where ethics are a luxury and the desire to escape is as strong as the urge to make do, Breeding Grounds carries you down to the depths, where even the foulest deeds make sense.
Dora McGill
Eight o’clock in the goddamn morning, blueblood cold outside and someone was downstairs banging on the barroom door. I’d been working the Walleye for going on ten years, and my ears were my own personal Emergency Broadcast System. Still had drool on my cheek, but I opened my window anyway and had a look. It was the Little Sergeant of all people. He’d been around long enough to know the Walleye wasn’t open till noon on Sundays. The church ladies would throw a fit. And, after waiting on piles of stinky old fishermen till closing time, so would I.
He stopped banging, looked up at me and said, “Police, Open Up! Police!”
“No kidding,” I said, slamming the window shut. Like my week wasn’t shitty enough already. I grabbed my robe, lit a cigarette, and opened up the window again.
“What seems to be the trouble, Officer Alvarez?”
He really didn’t like it when I called him “Officer” but he hated being called the “Little Sergeant” worse, and when I saw his face, I was glad as hell I didn’t call him that. You know, I always figured I could find one redeeming quality in anybody. The only thing I ever really liked about the Little Sergeant was that for all the ribbing he took, he seemed like a man in his own mind. But down there, with the street empty behind him, the Sunday morning quiet and that gray New England cold, he was just the opposite.
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