"I am ready to meet my maker. Whether my maker is prepared to meet me is another matter."
-Winston Churchill

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

The Cold Elf by John Garrett (Book Tour & Giveaway)


About the Author

john-garrett-author-pic  I'm John Garrett, an author and artist who loves Comics, Art, Sci-fi, Fantasy, Web and Tech stuff -also I prefer food in sandwich form.   My main site is Hypertransitory.com, where I write about all kinds of stuff and show the latest art I've created. Head on over if you're interested in learning more about me. See you there!    

Author Links
Website: http://thecoldelf.com/
Blog: http://hypertransitory.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/hypertransitory
Twitter: http://twitter.com/johngarrettx

Purchase Link (Kindle, iBooks and Nook versions available): http://thecoldelf.com

The Cold ElfTITLE: The Cold Elf
AUTHOR: John Garrett
GENRE: Fantasy

PRICE (Standard version): $0.99 - for one device (contains 5-piece art gallery)

PRICE (Premium Package): $2.99 - includes epub and mobi versions, 15 pieces of hi-res art plus the Artist's Diary pdf.

SYNOPSIS: A young, bitter Elf undertakes a solitary journey, in search of a weapon that could be the last hope of his people.    


Jorr had never seen snow before. It wasn't the kind of weather that Elves traditionally preferred, and so they had little to do with snow.
Stepping shakily out of his boat, Jorr's foot sank deep into a mass of the damp substance. If the wetness of the sea couldn't get through his oiled leather boots, he knew this snow would fare no better. Still, the cold was unpleasant.
He stood and stretched, satisfied that he could do so after three long days on the sea. He looked out over the vastness of icy, dark gray water he had just crossed and frowned. It had taken so long, it was hard to believe that he had sailed across the narrowest part. Crossing that water again was not something to look forward to.
Then another thought - depending on what he found here, maybe he wouldn't have to?
In any event, he was here now. He still had a good distance to travel if the maps were correct.
Jorr grasped the side of the small boat that had been his home for the past three days and pulled it completely onto the shore.
The snow had stopped falling, yet there was plenty of it already on the ground here. The day was overcast, but was beginning to get darker, and the wind wasn't helping with cold or visibility. Waves of snow dust were washing over him. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his bald head. He had waited too late. The hood had collected snow inside of it, and now it fell down past the side of his face and down his neck.
What a vile substance!
He resigned himself to the sensation, then looked around some more. The snow-covered beach was stark white, contrasted with a row of dark, dead trees a short distance away.
A very lonely place.
Jorr dragged the boat through the snow up towards the trees. He was so tired, but he had to get to those trees and start a fire, or he might fall asleep and freeze to death.
If that happened, the hope of the Elven people would die with him.
Grasping the small pouch he carried reminded him of how painfully little food he had been able to bring. The Elves had little enough at all in these dark times, and Jorr had hidden away as much as he could before his trip. It was not mucht. He had hoped for a bountiful forest where he could hunt, but as the island had grown into view bit by bit he had realized the forest was dead.
Just as the Elders had said it would be.
They were right about this, but that didn't mean they were right about everything. In Jorr's opinion, the Elders were wrong about most everything, and were not relevant any longer. Only a little time left, and they would see that he was right. Although he was but fifty years of age, and considered a child, he felt he was the one seeing reality, while the Elders were content to meekly accept their fate.
Shivering, Jorr realized that he was standing around freezing instead of building his fire.
Leaving his boat by the forest edge, he made his way through the trees and found what he considered to be an acceptable spot to make a fire. There was a row of trees grown tightly enough together to block much of the wind and the snow, so beside them the ground was only lightly covered.
Jorr opened his pack and withdrew the Fire Element.
The dull red rock glowed warm in his hands. Powerful guilt came over him. Although snow was new to him, the Elven people were no strangers to cold. They lived in a land that was nearly all desert, and the nights were as mercilessly cold as the days were hot. It seemed every night you would wish for the same burning sun that you cursed during the day.
Fire Elements were precious. They represented the last vestiges of magic the Elves still possessed. Supposedly they were used as children's fireworks back in the Before-Times, but now the few they had left were critical to surviving the cold nights of the ShirraLand Expanse where the Elves resided.
All Elves were now taught to make a fire as soon as they could hold a stick, so Jorr knew he could make one from the wood in these dead trees if necessary, but he couldn't take the chance that there would be no forest here. He had to be sure he could survive his journey, so he had stolen one of the Fire Elements the night he left.
It would all be worth it. He did this not for himself, but for all the Elven people.


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Monday, December 9, 2013

Destiny Sets by Karen Faignes (Book Tour & Giveaway)


Shaytonian Chronicles – Book 1: Destiny Sets
Karen Fainges

Welcome to IAB. I'm so glad you could stop in today to chat. May I offer you a beverage? 

At the risk of murdering a quote, "I don't drink..... wine."

LOL, Now that we are settled in, let's get to know you better.

BK: Looking out the nearest window, describe the scene you see.

Framed in the window is a dry and bare backyard strewn with whatever the dogs have managed to liberate from the house. A garage stuffed with so many hobbies that car has never seen the inside dominiates the very back. Next to it lays the mummy mansion perched on its besser bricks and windows tight shut against the heat and dust of the drought stricken mining town. At the very edge of the frame, you can glimpse the pool fence that surrounds the cool oasis holding the spa and hammock.

BK: Tell us about your office. Is it a mess like mine, or is everything in its place?

Umm office, I am sure it is in there somwhere. The mummy mansion was pristine until gradually the lego, space models and board games moved in towards the only clear table.

BK: What is a must-have, such as coffee or a favorite pen, that you need to write?

To write, one needs time, an electronic device and snackage including Pepsi Max. Yes I will be seeking a sponsorship deal.

BK: Do you like to write in silence, or do you need music or background noise?

Music definitely helps though I have been known to write in a spectrum ranging from near vaccuum to busy fast food venue/town pool.

BK: Tell us a bit about your hero/heroine, and their development.

Lisa and Talkar arose from stories created to avoid playing with my younger sister and cousins. They grew to roleplaying friend, writing buddies and then to full blown beings that I could send out into the worlds around the Circle to play and wreak havok.

Lisa is an exiled princess from a race of escaped vampiric slaves hiding in the dimensions. Long raven dark hair as befits a named warrior, she has the lean graceful form of the dancer she is and the strong hands of a doctor. Not everyone can combine healing and exotic dancing but she does it quite well.

Talkar is her son, born out of the desire to thumb her nose at the Council. He is the charming rogue that saves them all.

BK: What is your unique twist that you've brought to your storyline?

Hmmm unique, not sure. My vampires are not undead, aliens and shapeshift more than most. My race are a matriarchy with the hero male and fighting for his rights. The "good guys" are only good in certain ways and quite enjoy being bad in others. Humans are often the villians. Sorry, can't really think of anything too unique.

BK: As a writer myself, I'm always curious how other writers get through stumble blocks. When you find a story not flowing, or a character trying to fight you, how do you correct it?

I go with it. If the character is fighting me, then inevitably I have it wrong. After all, they know who they are best. I let the character have their head. If I'm blocked, I think, what is the worst thing that can happen, abd do that.

BK: Using the letters of your first name as an acronym, describe your book...

Keep fighting, the Fates do not allow slackers to live on Shayton.
Always watch your back.

Run with it, if there is a chance for beauty and pleasure, grab it with both hands.
Enemies are everywhere, paronia merely shows you are paying attention.
Now is the best time to do anything.

BK: How did your writing journey begin?

Frequently being the "new kid", I found that kids will forgive almost anything if you can spin a good yarn. Eventually, I started writing the yarns down.

BK: Using the letters from the word, Summer, how would friends and family describe you?

Sum of Mum & mummer (as in actor)

BK: What is the craziest thing you've ever written about, whether it got published or not?

I did a website and literature for the Seahorse club which is a cross dressing group.

BK: Tell us one thing you've done in life, that readers would be most surprised to know.

I used to help my mother to deliver messages to our local politician Fast Bucks, by making sure the flag was run up that told the hippie commune where he lived to put their pants on before she got there.

BK: What can we expect from you in the future?

I am currently finishing off the fourth book in the Shaytonian Chronicles and the second comedy book based, very loosely, on my own life and that of my family.

This or That...

Coke or Pepsi? Pepsi Max

Night Owl or Early Bird? Hoot hoot or does writing through till 5am count as an early bird?

Fantasy or Mystery? Fanatasy definitely.

Pen/Paper or Computer? Computer, I am a gadgetphile.

Pizza or Burger? Hmm tough one, burger I think.

Rock or Country? Depends on my mood but normally Rock though Aussie country has some brilliant comedy songs.

Chocolate or Vanilla? CHOCOLATE

Beach or Mountains? I come from the Northern Rivers, we have both, including semitropical rainforests and plains. I now live near the desert and I can definitely say, as beautiful as the colours are, I prefer watching the sea from a nice cliff face.

Thank you so much for having us as one of your stops today. It has been great getting to know more about you and your book, and hope you will come back when the next release is out (*hinthint*)

Wishing you much success!

BK Walker

downloadAuthor Bio: http://shayton.net/Author.htm  

Karen Fainges works as a trainer in business and computing. A wife and mother, she started thinking up sci-fi stories at the age of 10. Editor of the K-tips business and computing ezine, she longed to present her fiction to the world. So she took those long ago stories, a love of the absurd and wrote about beings that were not humans. Sometimes you see a lot more about humanity and yourself when you are looking at someone else.

Author Links  Website http://shayton.net/
Facebook Author page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Karen-Fainges/83671225033
Facebook Series page https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shaytonian-Vampire-Fiction/88608175544 Twitter https://twitter.com/annalisamara
Linkedin http://au.linkedin.com/pub/karen-fainges/a/b99/424/
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/10612018
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Karen-Fainges/e/B0050KEU3S/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1382177091&sr=8-3 

About The Book

Book Genre: Scifi/Fantasy Vampire
Publisher: Writers Exchange
Release Date:

destiny-sets-mediumBook Description:  

Destiny Sets is the first novel in the Shaytonian Chronicles.   Lightning sears a scene against the eye. Trapped between reality and death, every scrap of life is fighting for existence. To stop fighting is to die. Some precious moments of peace can be stolen from small pockets of calm. Life can take a breath and wonder at the harsh beauty. But only for a moment, then struggle resumes. And others watch.   The Shayton Chronicles begins in Destiny Sets, the story of one man. He is that drop of chaos that can spell success or failure.   Born from a vampiric race of slaves, genetically moulded to provide comfort for their masters, he alone decides to be truly free. Irreverent humour and a fierce need to know 'why', war within him and entire worlds are changed.   "The Stainless Steel Rat with fangs."  


Painting the mythic vampire

The deep royal blue sky of the Italian Riviera provided the perfect backdrop to the posed woman. She was an otherworldly figure set amongst the ancient columns. Her softly accented voice broke the stillness. "Are you sure about this?"
She watched as he added a daub more paint, "I am sure. You said it yourself, the best way to deny something it is to say it is true."
"And what if the Council finds out?"
Alfredo dabbed on a different colour. Going by the look on his face, he still did not have the skin colour the exactly right colour of purple. It had been frustrating him all evening. There was a timeline that neither one of them had mentioned, but it loomed in their thoughts. He was getting older, and no one lived forever. His words dragged her out of the wave of sadness that swept through her. "This mythical Council of yours, what if they do notice the paintings? They are just paintings."
"The Council is no myth. They rule our world."
"I thought the King ruled your homeworld?"
Lisa started to shrug but remembered in time not to move from the pose. "His rule is absolute, so long as he leaves all the day to day decisions, like whether to exile his daughter to Earth, to the Council."
"And you, as this poor exiled waif are concerned that one of those 'day to day' decisions may be objecting to this painting?"
Lisa snorted at the sarcasm in his voice, knowing it was meant more to chide her out of the doldrums than anything else. "They defend of the safety of Shayton. They hold dear her anonymity. It keeps her from being destroyed by those that fear the different, which, my dear, you must agree describes most humans remarkably well."
Alfredo nodded, "And trust me, the picture of a masked dancer with obviously fake wings..." Lisa snorted again at this description of her body, "will ensure that any little slip ups like the one in Venice, will be seen as a publicity stunt and nothing else. Your Council will thank us."


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