Fallen Redemption by RB Austin
The Trihune Series
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Tour Dates: 10/14/13 – 10/21/13
Blurb:
Cade committed himself to saving lives before he
learned the full consequences of his life-altering decision. It wasn't until he
was tending his sick wife that he learned the enormity of what he’d done and he
was unable to save her from the monster he had become. Consumed with guilt and
praying for absolution, he threw himself into killing every Fallen he could
find to save the humans he’d sworn to protect. But then Emma, deliciously
mortal and completely forbidden, swept into his world, stirring an overpowering
desire. Now he’s not only fighting soulless creatures, but also his inner
cravings, trying to maintain his distance and continue on his path to
forgiveness. He won’t lose control again and lose another love.
Excerpt
Excerpt
Prologue
Llangwyllog, Anglesey
Wales
1729
Caderyn yanked on the reins.
His fevered mind barely registered the horse’s protested whinny. He threw his
legs over the side and slid down. Wiping the sweat from his face with his coat
sleeve, he staggered to the small wooden house.
“I need the doctor.” His hoarse
cry bellowed through the night. He pounded on the door. “Doctor!”
Fist raised and ready to knock
again, the door opened two inches. “Are you the doctor?” A wave of dizziness
swept through him. Clutching the doorframe, splinters dug into his fingertips.
He. Would. Not. Faint.
“Are you the doctor?” Caderyn
peered through the opening and spied the shape of a portly, short man.
“Yes.” A thin, high voice
replied.
“I need you to come with me. My
wife. She’s sick. Smallpox.”
The doctor’s thoughts slammed
into his head. Hurry . . .
Quick . . . Shut door . . . breathe on you . . . touch you. “I can’t help you. The whole town
is infected.”
“Please. She’s with child.”
The doctor hesitated . . . unborn . . . saved . .
. taken from the womb . . . No . . . risky . . . blood . . . contamination . .
. Not worth my life . . .
Caderyn placed his hands
against the door and pushed. Sarah needed help. His unborn babe needed help.
The door swung free.
The doctor stumbled back, eyes
wide. His expression changed to horror the moment he saw the red spots gracing
Caderyn’s left cheekbone.
Ah . . . infected . . . Get the
. . . The
barrel of a rifle poked into Caderyn’s chest.
“Leave. My. House.” The doctor
enunciated each word with a jab of the gun.
“Please,” Caderyn begged,
stumbling out the door. “There’s no one else. My wife—”
“I can’t help you.” The doctor
jammed the gun into Caderyn’s chest one last time, forcing him further away,
then slammed the door.
Caderyn lurched forward and pounded
on the door. No. No. No. “You must help me. She’s with child.” A bout of
coughing racked his body. He slapped his palm against the door. “I need help!”
Caderyn pushed from the door.
His chest burned with every breath. It took three tries to get in the saddle.
The doctor had said the whole town was infected. Where else could he go?
Wrapping his coat around his
large frame, he hunched his shoulders. The chills were back. Spinning the
horse, he kicked him into a gallop. He would care for Sarah himself.
Caderyn struggled to keep his
eyes open against the rushing wind. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d
slept. Between burying his daughters and taking care of Sarah, he hadn’t been
able to rest when the sickness began to mark him. No matter, though. He was
thirty-four and lived a long enough life. His unborn babe deserved a chance at
living and he’d do everything possible to make sure it happened.
The wind whipped at his eyes
making them tear. Raising the collar of his jacket, his fingers brushed over
the marks on his face that rose that morning. Sally Mae had bumps all over her
face and body before she died. Little Laura died two days after her fever
begun. Sarah was just beginning to show the red spots.
Shivering violently, sweat
beaded on his forehead. Burning up but unable to get warm. He had no energy to
steer. It was too dark to see a horse’s length in front of him anyways. Laying
his head down on the mane, he closed his eyes. This would offer a reprieve from
the wind until his eyes adjusted. He’d lie here but for a moment.
Caderyn woke to the sensation
of falling then the jolt of the hard, cold ground as he slammed into it,
bounced once, then lay still. Breath sawed in and out of his lungs. His body
and head ached. Rolling over, a groan pushed from his lips. Sitting or standing
seemed an impossible task at the moment. Sarah. He gritted his teeth. Get up. Get up, damn, you. Bright light shone in his face and
he covered his eyes with his hands. Did the moon break free of the clouds? Had
it even been out? He stilled. Slowly dropped his hands, squinting at the sky.
The light was so blinding he couldn’t see past it. Was this the sun?
Fear sliced through him. How
long had he slept? The horse should have made it to the house by dawn. Had they
turned somewhere? He tried to roll back over. Urgent, sloppy attempts to get
onto all fours. Where was he? Sarah could be dying as he lay here. She could
be—no—he had faith. The Creator would save her life. She carried one of His
precious children.
Suddenly the bright light
dimmed. Twisting his head to the sky, he searched for the proof it was still
night. Please let it still be night.
He froze. Clouds didn’t cover
the moon.
There was no moon. No sun.
It was a ghost. A glowing male
body with long white hair stood next to him. Its face was indiscernible in the
light.
Caderyn trembled with fear. His
boot heels dug into the ground, forming grooves in the dirt as he tried to move
and went nowhere. The ghost laid his hand upon Caderyn’s upper arm. Mouth open,
Caderyn inhaled to scream. Before he could utter a sound, a wave of peace swept
through him. Strong and fierce.
There was no fear. No aches. No
worries. Just quiet nothingness. He stiffened. Things were never quiet for him.
Not with his curse. But he heard none of the ghost’s internal thoughts. Was he
cured by its touch?
“You’ve not been cured of what
you call your curse, son.” The ghost’s voice was deep, methodic. A warm blanket
on a cold, winter night.
You can hear me?
“Yes.”
Caderyn’s heart skipped a beat.
“Why can’t I hear you?” His voice cracked. Licking his lips he wished—his
canteen appeared a hand’s length away. He startled.
“Don’t be afraid. I mean you no
harm, Caderyn O’Cearnaigh of Llangwyllog.”
“Who are you?”
The ghost held out his hand. It
no longer appeared ghost-like or glowing. The hand was attached to a solid arm
and a solid body. Maybe the thing next to him wasn’t a ghost.
Caderyn glanced at the offering
then into the man’s piercing blue eyes. He laid his hand into the outstretched
palm. Their skin connected. The glow returned. Panic rose. Frantic now, Caderyn
tried to pull free. The man tightened his hold.
He braced himself for fiery
heat, but the glow only warmed. When it encased his body completely, he began
to hear. And see. Not only thoughts and images of the present but ones from the
past and in the future. His mind raced to understand what he saw. Beings. Not
of this world. Glowing. Like the man next to him. Holy. His breath caught. It
was the Creator. Three beings stood next to Him. No, not next. In front.
Protecting Him. From Apollyon. The betrayer. These three were the Fathyr, Sonh,
and Holyspiryt. Then came war. Banishment. Uprising. Creation. On both sides.
The Trihune were born. More protectors. Like the man next to him. Elias. One of
seven Sonhs. A Behnshma, one of three species of the Trihune.
Elias stood, and the glow faded
from Caderyn’s body.
“Will you, Caderyn O’Cearnaigh
of Llangwyllog, lead my kindred against the fight with Apollyon and lend
protection to the Creator’s Followers?”
Followers. He meant humans.
Like . . . What of my Sarah
and unborn child?
“They are beyond my help.”
On some level, he’d known his
wife wouldn’t make it, but he believed, hoped. Pain consumed him. He squeezed
his eyes shut. His anguished cry pierced through the night. Memories of the
last weeks, months, swept through him.
The horrible wretchedness at
having to bury Sally Mae and Laura. The guilt for allowing that stranger into
their home. The worry over his wife and unborn child. The pain and ache in his
own body. The tautness of his upper cheek where the sickness begun its
destruction.
He opened his eyes. Could this
man fix it? Elias could turn him into a Behnshma. Perhaps he could bring Sally
Mae and Laura back. Caderyn’s eyes widened at the possibility. Elias could cure
Sarah and the unborn babe. Caderyn would exchange his life for theirs. Gladly,
he’d suffer in their place.
“And that is why I chose you,
son. But I’m terribly sorry. I cannot revive the dead.”
“My Sarah, then?”
“She’s on her path. I can only
change what could be, not what’s already occurred.”
What would be the point of
following this man, then? A hurricane of anger ripped through his body. It
stirred his blood, giving him strength. Ignoring Elias’s outstretched hand, he
rose into a sitting position. Enough of this. He needed to be with Sarah for
however long she had left. To feel his child move in her womb one more time.
“I’m sorry I can’t save them.”
Elias moved too fast for Caderyn to block. “But you, you can save many.” He
grasped Caderyn’s palm, trapping it in between his hands.
Again, image after image
flashed through Caderyn’s mind. This time quick, but vivid. Each burned into
his brain.
Horrible. Bloody. Body after
body. Nothing mattered to these beasts.
A man. His throat ripped into
pieces. Eyes open and staring unseeing. Horror captured forever in his
expression.
A woman. Dead. Unclothed.
Bruised neck. Legs spread wide. Blood dried on her inner thighs. Long deep cuts
on her neck, wrists, and belly.
A child. Thrown to the ground
like an abandoned toy. Limbs twisted out of place. Blood pooled underneath its
tiny body.
Every emotion the victims
possessed before death was Caderyn’s. Pain. Terror. Hopelessness. He was the
one being pursued, tortured, beaten, violated. Falling to the ground on all
fours, he panted for air. Elias was no longer touching him but the images
didn’t stop. These people had not been saved. Apollyon and his creation, the
Fallen, had slaughtered these victims. Their demise had been drawn-out. So much
violence. They were monsters. Murderers.
The pictures changed. Caderyn
saw himself. Different, yet the same. Stronger. He knew how to kill. Protect.
Fighting the Fallen he wielded a large curved sword as if it was an extension
of his arm. Moving with grace and speed he didn’t now possess, he saved an old
man. A young boy. A family. A couple.
Five against one. Kill after
kill. Fallen after Fallen. He rescued. Defended. Guarded.
A woman with child. He swung
his sword high and in one swoop cut off a Fallen’s head. It disappeared in a
gray cloud. The woman gazed at him. Tears ran down her face. Her hand curved
protectively over her extended belly. Fear faded, replaced by relief,
thankfulness, and gratitude.
The last emotion hit Caderyn
deep in his stomach. The woman was grateful he’d been there. She was alive
because he’d been there.
The image flickered out and the
mind storm stopped. Caderyn’s head hung low in between his arms. His chest
ached from panting. He wanted to weep.
How could he choose any other
path? How could he let that woman and all the others down? He wanted to go back
and save those who were already lost.
What emerged what a whisper,
but he knew Elias would hear him even if he chose not to speak. “Yes.”
Caderyn was whirled onto his
back in the dirt. He watched two of Elias’s teeth grow in size, sharpening at
the ends. Terror stuttered his heart. Striking fast, Elias’s teeth punched
through the skin at his neck.
****
Four days later
Caderyn opened his eyes and
found the world changed. No, it wasn’t the world that was different.
He saw the hairs on each
individual blade of grass. Heard the soft flutter of a butterfly’s wings as it
flew overhead. Listened to, and understood, the thoughts of the ants in the
ground and the birds in the trees. He was more than ten times stronger than before,
yet his emotions had not changed. Worry constantly plagued him. And fear. What
would he find at home?
“You cannot leave, Caderyn. You
are not ready.”
Since he’d woken, every second
passed as a minute, every hour was a half a day. He stayed in this cave with
Elias growing stronger while Sarah was alone growing weaker. “Can you guarantee
my Sarah’s survival if I stay here?”
Elias didn’t reply.
Caderyn left, starting at a
slow jog. Elias told him his smallpox had vanished. He’d never get sick and
wounds would heal fast. Nor would he tire as quickly either, apparently. His
body responded to the jog as if it was a leisurely stroll. Needing no other
encouragement, he broke free from usual human constraints. Trees blurred in his
peripheral vision. Caderyn passed birds as they flew overhead. If his horse
were next to him he’d have surpassed the animal as well.
Within moments the home he’d
built for his family came into view. He wasn’t breathing hard. His lungs didn’t
ache. There was no stitch in his side. The muscles in his legs weren’t burning.
Elias had given him a gift.
Smoke rose from the small
chimney. Hope flared. He reached the door in a matter of seconds. A medium
sized room served as the kitchen, dining, and living area. Sarah lay on the
dirt floor in front of the fireplace, eyes closed. Her body shook with fever.
He was unworthy of Elias’s
gift.
Caderyn crossed over to her,
processing a barrage of information at once. Half-eaten food on the table and
the floor. Two of the table chairs were missing. One wooden chair leg stuck out
of the dying flames in the fireplace. Despite the rotting food stench, he
caught the scent of sickness. Sarah smelled worse than a half devoured deer
baking in the summer sun. Her labored breathing filled his ears. Along with her
faint heartbeat. The smallpox marks had spread to her arms, neck, and chest.
He knelt next to her head.
“Sarah? Sarah.”
Brushing the sweaty strands of
long, scarlet hair off her face, incoherent thoughts slammed into his head that
weren’t his own. His gaze traveled over her body. Her distended stomach
appeared even bigger in comparison to her frail frame.
Caderyn gasped as pain stabbed
through him. It was not his pain. Another spear of agony. This one sharp and
piercing. It came from their unborn child.
Their son.
His gut clenched.
“Where were you?”
Gaze swinging up, he met
Sarah’s accusing, green-eyed glare. She’d not spoken out loud.
“I’m sorry.” Picking her up, he
placed his hands in the least hurting areas and carried her to their bedroom.
He could have been holding Laura. Was this due to her sickness or his new
strength? Laying her in bed, he covered her with the blankets. She was still
cold. Caderyn walked two strides to the girls’ room and took the blankets from
their bed.
Did you find the doctor?
“No. The whole town is
infected.” The fever’s grip must be strong. Sarah hadn’t realized he was
answering questions not voiced.
You’re better. She
stared at his upper cheek. His red spots had vanished, replaced with
deep-pitted scars, like months passed, not days. Her eyes narrowed.
Caderyn tucked the ends of the
blankets around her feet. She was so cold. “I am.”
Did you get medicine?
He straightened. “I’m going to
make you a hot drink. When did you eat last?”
Not hungry. The
words lashed out through her mind leaving red, oozing welts on his heart. What
she really meant was, I don’t
want your help.
“I know.” His voice was gentle.
“You need to eat for the baby.”
Her hatred could have burned a
hole in his back as he walked to the kitchen. He deserved all she threw at him
and more.
After pumping water into the
kettle, he placed it over the fire. Adding two pieces of wood, he used the
metal pick to stoke the embers until a fiery blaze burned around the bottom of
the pot.
Caderyn ladled heated water
into a cup and added one of the tealeaves Sarah saved for company. Stirring
until the water changed color, he carried the cup and a spoon into the bedroom.
He took one of the remaining kitchen chairs and sat it next to the bed.
Spooning the liquid, he blew on the rising steam.
Murderer.
The spoon wobbled in his hand.
The tea threatened to spill. He didn’t shift his gaze from the dancing liquid.
You killed my children. You
deserve to be lying in this bed. Not me. This was not the life I wanted.
He inhaled sharply, but when he
lifted his eyes along with the spoon, his face betrayed nothing. Caderyn had
practice with that skill since he’d been old enough to know he heard what was
in people’s minds and not just what they spoke out loud. The two were, in most
cases, vastly different. The change made his curse stronger and instead of
catching phrases here and there, he heard and felt everything.
It was nothing he wanted to
hear.
For three days her progress
remained steady and then with no forewarning she begun to decline. Standing by
her side with a bowl of cool water and a cloth, he listened to her thoughts as
they ran in circles and dips. The fever made her delirious. He removed the
blankets and her thin nightdress. The rash that had consumed most every spot on
her skin was now firm, whitish pustules. Careful not to wipe, lest the bumps
open and scar, he saturated the cloth and squeezed the water on her face and
body until the bowl was empty and the bed sheets were sopping wet.
She was still. No moaning. No
shivering from the air brushing over her exposed hot skin. Her jumbled thoughts
were silent. His son didn’t move.
Panic gripped his chest,
squeezing hard. He moved to the bed. “Sarah.”
No response.
He took her by the shoulders
and shook. “Sarah! Open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“I can save you.”
Slowly her lids lifted. Her
gaze found his. No.
No? She didn’t know what she
was saying. The fever was too strong.
“I can make you better.”
No.
“You can be cured. I can make
you like me.” He’d find a way.
“No.” Her voice was weak but
the meaning clear.
He stared, eyebrows drawn.
Maybe she still didn’t understand.
“I want . . . to die. End . . .
this misery.” She exhaled on the last word. Her eyes closed.
“Our son—”
Is dead.
He placed his hands over her
stomach. Leaned in. Concentrated on drowning out Sarah’s ragged breaths. The
mice in the next room. The cry of the hawk in the sky. Caderyn put his ear on
her stomach. His son had to be still alive. Pushing all of his new senses
outward, he focused on the baby in her womb. No heartbeat. No movement.
Caderyn removed his hands from
Sarah’s stomach and sat back. When he finally lifted his head her gaze was
fixed on him. Empty. Cold.
“Let me save you.” His voice
broke. He couldn’t have meant to lose all of his family. It wasn’t supposed to
be this way.
I was denied everything I
wanted from life when I married you. Don’t deny me my death as well.
Sarah no longer had the
strength for thought, but the moments of her life she now reflected upon came
through strong enough. Pregnant with Sally Mae, Sarah visited with her father.
She sobbed. Begged to come back to the city. He refused. Another memory. Sarah
pleaded with Caderyn to accept her father’s job offer at the bank. Caderyn
promised that things would get better. The next memories came in flashes. Cold,
hard winters. Resentment growing. Days with little food. Enough money for only
the cheapest fabric. Hatred took over.
Caderyn’s breath left him. He
was stronger than he’d ever been before. Stronger than any human on earth, but
she’d made him feel as weak as their dead babe. How had he been so blind? So
deaf?
She was watching him. Waiting
for his reply from her earlier words, not realizing what he’d seen. He
swallowed once. Twice. Then nodded his acquiesce. Slowly he stood, pulling the
covers back over her body. Caderyn wouldn’t deny her last wish. If death were
better than a life with him he’d allow it to take her.
The next hours, days, passed in
a blur. He made her as comfortable as possible. Covered her with extra
blankets. Cooled her heated forehead. Brought pease soup, tea, and even juice
from a plum he’d picked from a tree near the house.
Her lucid moments became less
and less. She refused to eat. Turning her head to the side when she was awake.
Keeping her lips tightly closed. Her fever raged. The heat from her skin would
have burned him if he were still human. Sarah had to take substance.
She’d been unconscious for most
of the day. Even her mumbling subsided. He carried in half of a plum and a
small knife. Cutting the fruit into quarters, he propped Sarah’s head up with
one hand and squeezed small droplets of juice into her parted mouth. No
movement. He repeated this until the fruit was squeezed dry. Tense, senses
alert, he waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
His shoulders sagged. The juice
should have made a difference. She’d open her eyes one last time. He’d get on
his knees. Beg for forgiveness. Tell her he still loved her even if she did not
feel the same.
Slowly he gathered the remains
and the knife and stood. His foot caught in the leg of the chair. Balance
immensely improved, he righted quickly, but the knife fell from the tray and
headed toward Sarah’s exposed arm. In less than a second, he moved the tray to
one hand and stretched to grab the knife. Caderyn caught the handle, though
still not used to his new strength and speed, his starting momentum didn’t slow
and the side of the blade grazed Sarah’s wrist.
The cut was small and not deep,
it would stop bleeding in a matter of minutes. Blood seeped from the cut. It
trickled down Sarah’s wrist and pooled in her upturned hand.
He froze.
Changes overcame his body.
Uncontrollable. Unknown.
Breath quickened. Heart pounded
as loud as a horse’s gallop. Sarah hadn’t awakened. The pain from her cut was
insubstantial compared to the pain of her sickness.
The thick, crimson liquid
flowing from the wound was anything but insubstantial to Caderyn. Still unable
to move, his eyes hadn’t wavered from the blood. The tray left his hands and
clattered to the ground. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, bringing
himself an inch from the cut. The scent of blood filled his nostrils. Consumed
all thought. Sight. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the reverent aroma
filling his senses. Something awakened inside of him.
Foreign.
Monstrous.
Wrong.
He was hungry, yet didn’t want
food. Thirsty, but didn’t want to reach for a cup of water. Another drop of
blood welled from the cut. A growl tore from his throat.
It was the switch and it had
been thrown.
One moment he was himself. The
monster inside separate. Next the wall between the two vanished. He was the
Behnshma. His humanity gone. Another growl. It echoed around the house. Filled
his ears.
He was ravenous. The fact he
hadn’t eaten in a little over a week ached his empty belly and burned his dry,
parched throat. There were two pricks of pain in his top gum. Finger in his
mouth, he found two long, sharp as knives, teeth. Like Elias. Like the wolves
in the forest when they tore into a deer carcass. Their muzzles bloody, meat
dangling from their mouths. Blood.
He knew what he wanted to do,
what his body demanded he do. Caderyn licked his lips and his tongue nicked an
elongated tooth. His own blood melted decadently over his tongue. A flood of
senses erupted. Never had he tasted anything this wonderful. His mouth zinged
with flavor. The blood coated his throat. He’d been dying of thirst his whole
life but hadn’t known it. Warmth spread through his body.
His hands shook as he brought
them to Sarah’s arm. Grasping her wrist and forearm he leaned toward the blood.
Inch by inch. He was a magnet and her arm was the polar opposite.
Her inaudible yelp of fright
permeated through the rushing noise in his ears. He tore his eyes away and met
her wide-eyed startled ones.
Stop.
Fear was an acrid, burning
stench in his nostrils. Her thoughts a chaotic jumble weaving through his mind.
She tried to move her lethargic limbs. Tried to escape. To break free.
He flexed his hands, squeezing
her arm as his gaze trailed from the vein in her neck to the one in her wrist
right below the cut. The blood slowed and the edges of the wound begun to dry.
The tangy, copper scent of the fresh liquid underneath her skin reached his
nose. Caderyn listened to it pass through her veins. Faster and faster.
Ignoring his wife’s futile
attempts to escape, he leaned closer and inhaled. A growl erupted from his
throat. He bent. Licked the wound. Groaned. His cock hardened.
Sarah, panicked now, tried to
yank her arm free. It was the most she’d moved in days. Growling, like a dog
with his bone, he held down her upper arm and her squirming hand. Pushed it
back until her forearm bowed, and the cut extended to him like a present.
Caderyn. Please. I beg you.
He was hurting her arm. Scaring
her. She was begging.
Flicking his tongue over her
wrist, he caught another drop of the thick liquid gold. Then another and
another. It wasn’t enough. He bared his teeth, striking fast to sink them deep
into her wrist. She gave a weak jerk. Caderyn drew her blood into his mouth
with long pulls. His cock jerked and warmth spread inside his breeches. There
was no stopping. Her struggles to escape were an annoying insect buzzing around
the room. The pleas to stop were shouts in his head. Both were easy to ignore.
Sarah ceased to struggle.
He was killing her.
He couldn’t stop.
And didn’t stop
until she was dead.
AUTHOR'S BIO:
RB
Austin is a writer of paranormal romances and YA novels. She puts her slightly
neurotic organizational skills to good use managing her time as a wife, mother,
full time worker, author, and blogger. Her dream is to become a full time
writer and move down south where she can sit on the sunniest beach with her
laptop and a bag of chocolates, writing what the voices in her head tell her
to. In her spare time she enjoys knitting. Her current project is a dog sweater
because even if it turns out ugly and full of holes her cairn terrier can’t
complain. RB is a member of Romance Writers of America and is currently working
on the second novel in her Trihune series and a YA supernatural novel. Fallen
Redemption is her debut novel.
Author
Links:
INTERVIEW WITH THE AUTHOR:
How will you describe
your book within a sentence?
Killing
Fallen to save mankind was Cade’s redemption for murder, but one human -deliciously
mortal and absolutely forbidden - stands in his way.
Genres you like to
read? Genres you prefer to write?
I enjoy
reading paranormal romances and young adult novels.
I write in those two genres as well. I don’t think I would be able to write in
a genre that I don’t read. It would be difficult to connect to a story and with
characters that I can’t absolutely fall in love with.
How do you feel now
that you’re a published writer? Are you satisfied with your achievement?
Writing is
just as hard and rewarding now as it was pre-published. I don’t think those two
aspects will ever go away no matter how many books I write. And truthfully, I
hope they don’t. It’s the struggle during the writing process that makes my
novels what they are.
Am I satisfied… I don’t think that is the right word for what I am feeling now.
I am beyond extremely happy that Soul Mate Publishing picked up my story. My
hope has always been to lead readers on an emotional journey. To close the book
cover and not be able to get my characters out of their head. To make the
characters that are alive to me, breathing to them. To make them laugh, cry,
and hope. With Soul Mate’s help, I now have a larger audience who will
hopefully have those experiences.
Describe yourself in 3
words.
Writer,
Daydreamer, Chocolate-lover
Three most important
things that an amateur writer must keep in mind while writing his first book.
1. Don’t stop
writing
2. Don’t stop writing
3. Don’t stop writing
Plot issues, character
arcs, or horrible grammar can be fixed. A blank page cannot.
How do you spend your
leisure time?
I read. A
lot. I knit, too. I love spending time with my family and taking the dog for a
walk.
Tell us about your favorite vacation destination.
If there’s
any place that has temperatures higher than 80 degrees, then I’m good to go. J My husband and I recently returned from Cancun. Even
during a tropical storm, I was happy to be there. It was just so…warm.
Did you always wanted
to be a writer? If not then what was your previous ambition and what made you
change your decision and step in the field of writing?
I’ve always
written stories. I wrote a happy birthday horror story for my friend one year
in high school. Another friend and I wrote a short story together…I can’t
remember exactly what it was about, but I’m sure some high school woes, oh and
boys. ;)
I didn’t realize I wanted to write for a living until I was in my early
twenties. For a while, I wanted to be a nurse, but a change in my life led me
in a new direction. The right one as it turns out.
Who are yours top three
favourite authors?
I can only
pick three? J Gena Showalter,
Kresley Cole, and Richelle Mead
Would you like to share
with us any suggestions or advice for the upcoming writers?
Never give
up. It took me fifteen years and five novels before I was published. I can
definitely say those five novels before Fallen Redemption were crap, but I
learned something about writing and my own writing process from each one. Also
with each novel I could see my writing getting better, which was super
exciting. I read constantly, wrote constantly, and would inhale any type of
writing advice I could get my hands on.
A few times over the years, I thought if I’d just went into nursing my life
wouldn’t have been this hard and so full of rejection. And that might have been
true, but I wouldn’t have been this happy either.
If you really feel that writing is what you are meant to do, who you are meant
to be, then believe it with every ounce of your being that one day it will
happen. Never let go of that belief and just keep writing.
Thank you so much for hosting me and for the
fabulous questions! It has been a fun.
.jpg){kind=link}
Comments
Post a Comment