It’s time, my friends! Share with me a moment I, at times over the years, had thought would never come. The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two will release August 11, but today … the world gets to see the cover! Celebrate with me!
As usual, huge thanks goes to The Illustrated Author Design Services for this magnificent piece of art, time, and dedication.
And without any more delay …
Aleister Corigan watches the last rays of daylight sink out of sight from the rocking chair on his back porch. The clouds are painted in brilliant orange and pink, but soon it will fall to darkness. Usually he wouldn’t mourn a dying day, but this night brings with it a vast unknown of enemies and violence.
Four full nights have passed since the attack that led him to a series of discoveries, an army in the shadows waiting to crash through the magical protection over the city. Those four nights have changed everything. Now war is imminent. A battle of unthinkable magnitude has come to the Order of Crows’ doorstep and they have no choice but to fight.
Aleister slept after the Murder parted ways earlier in the day. He had no choice. As much as he would rather have focused some time on preparation, his physiology put him under as soon as he got home. Still, he’s already exhausted, and a strange, ebbing magic is in the air that makes his skin prickle. He had thought at first that it was a lingering effect of Casper’s alarm sigils, but he realized later it was something else, the evacuation order Legba sought from the city council.
Now Aleister has showered and dressed, casually for him in a black v-neck shirt with long sleeves and grey t-shirt beneath. A glass of red wine sits unheeded on the table beside him. The enchanted pocket watch that will boost his magic by the number on its face is in his hand. The fabled grimoire, the Key of Solomon, rests on his lap. He’s smoking slowly as he stares at the book.
It’s not open but he can hear quiet rasping whispers from it, words in a dark tongue that he doesn’t really understand but recognizes as infernal. This is a dangerous book, one that stirs fear in his inner sanctum. He won’t open it again unless he absolutely has to. The power to summon the Princes of Hell could just as easily be disastrous as it could be useful. Never mind the question of why it came to him.
The sky is fading now to true night. He can feel the pull of the full moon as it makes its ascent. He has to go face the Murder and the impending mayhem. He has to go start a war.
Y’all! We are getting ever closer to release, and I am so excited! Cover reveal is coming very soon. Look for it probably this weekend. Today, though, let’s talk about Nichi. She is the Murder’s healer, but she’s no damsel. She hails from Japanese heritage, wields a sword, and manipulates Ki as her form of magic. That gives her unique communion with the body and spirit of others. If you’ve read The Murder Meets at Dusk, you know she plays an important role. If you haven’t, let’s just say she plays an important role.
Personally, I love Nichi as a character. She’s a strong female, but not removed from her femininity. She won’t take shit from anyone but she’s still empathetic to the suffering of others. She’s not overprotective, but she’ll stand up for her Murder. Mostly, she knows what she’s capable of.
Please enjoy this excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow:
Aleister is quietly watching the others move in chairs and other furniture to sit on and arrange it all in a circle in the middle room of the office. He feels absolutely wretched, like a bigger pile of shit than he previously thought humanly possible. The little bit of food he forced himself to swallow and the coffee aren’t helping.
His body is distinctly feeling the several beatings it has taken over the course of the last few days. Even his soul hurts. It’s a strange feeling, one he didn’t know was possible and, while it’s an interesting discovery, it’s not that interesting. When he tests his magic’s gate a stinging sensation runs through him. In retrospect, he knows he pushed pretty damn close to the line. He knows he nearly destroyed that gate with his own power. He almost lost everything.
Nichi offered to heal him. She had insisted on it but he told her to save it for when they really need her. He’s half-seriously considering changing his mind. He’s mildly surprised no one has said anything about him sitting on his ass while they’re doing the work. It’s a very mild surprise that doesn’t really break the surface. Probably because of the massive headache that has his skull in a vice.
A sudden hand on his shoulder makes him tense. He goes on the defensive by reflex. His gate starts to open. Then an undeniable calm seeps through him from the physical contact, followed by an involuntary relaxation. He looks up at Nichi standing beside him.
“I’m not asking again,” she says in a tone that begs him to argue. He might if she didn’t have him completely under her spell already.
“Thanks,” he answers softly.
He can feel a reluctance in her, maybe because of the contact, but he thinks he’d feel it even if she wasn’t touching him. He breaks the eye contact and happens to notice Cait watching the exchange. He doesn’t make true eye contact, though, and is less worried about being noticed than he thought he would be.
“You might as well say it.”
A quiet sigh precedes Nichi’s next words.
“You almost burned yourself out.”
He hesitates.
“I know.”
There’s something else coming across their connection, something that stirs surprise in the midst of the rest of his whirling emotions.
“I just … be careful,” she says.
“You’re worried about me.”
He’s sure he meant for that to be a question. It came out of his mouth as much more of a realization, albeit one laced with disbelief. He hasn’t really taken the time to let himself consider the ways the two of them broke the Order’s rules, but he can at least say he definitely didn’t expect it to change everything so much.
“Yes, I guess I am,” she answers. She lets a few beats pass then adds, “Why are you so surprised?”
He shrugs the shoulder her hand is on. He’s not really sure what to say so he doesn’t answer. Moments later her touch disappears. He really does feel much better. He looks back up at her.
“Better?”
“Much.”
She glances down at him, nods, then walks away. He watches her go, forgetting for a moment that he shouldn’t be watching the way she moves like water around rocks. When she kneels in front of Casper and they start talking, he looks away. He realizes the others are starting to sit down.
Hello, all! Today I’d like to share another character spotlight with you. Today we’re going to talk about Santino di Veneto. Santino is the oldest among the Murder, significantly so for some of them. He hails from Italian roots, is typically a portrait of calm, and wields an emotional mask much of the time. He’s an ordained member of the Church, which sometimes causes conflict and friction.
When I first wrote Santino those many moons ago, I thought he was going to be another antagonistic force within in the Order. Turns out, he’s really important. He sometimes comes across as smug and maybe a little condescending, but beneath the mask he’s incredibly reasonable and, his defining characteristic, patient. He knows when to push and pull, so to speak, and when to just listen. He also stands as a bit of an opposite force to Aleister, who wields black magic. So there’s a fun dynamic between them that’s not as hostile as one might expect.
Please enjoy this excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow, which will release August 11, and (shh) be on the lookout for the cover reveal very soon:
He too looks to Aleister in time to see his hands ball into fists. He turns unsteadily and pins a manic look on Johnny, who has stepped up beside Santino. Johnny’s surprise brings the air to life around them as he lifts his hands in defense.
“What did you see?” Aleister demands.
He’s like a walking firecracker, his magic still visible in traces on his skin. His eyes glitter like quicksilver. His hands shake visibly as he raises an accusatory finger.
“What,” he says again, much lower and more menacing, “did you see?”
Johnny’s hesitation is apparently enough to stir Aleister’s impatience, because he turns on Lochlann, who had been in front of him but who stepped aside when Aleister addressed the elf. Lochlann doesn’t exactly go on the defensive. He just returns a steady gaze from his good eye.
“Tell me what you saw that made the vampire cross the line!” Aleister cries.
Santino searches his memory for a time he has seen Aleister lose his composure this way. There isn’t one. This is entirely new.
“What are you talking about?” Lochlann says softly.
“The trap shouldn’t have worked. The vampires were onto me. Something forced Benjamin just as it forced the first vampire through the curse. I know you saw it appear!” Aleister says shakily.
Lochlann takes a step toward Aleister and clamps a hand on his shoulder. Aleister’s expression goes sour, like he suddenly feels sick. He sways again.
“I can’t say for sure,” Lochlann answers.
“I know you saw it!” Aleister snaps, jaw grinding visibly.
Lochlann says, “I don’t know. It had no shape. There was no face, but it had eyes of all colors,” says Lochlann, his one good eye holding Aleister’s furious gaze captive.
“What madness are you speaking?” the planar crow asks, an incredulous whisper that makes Santino shudder.
“It’s not madness,” Johnny speaks, stepping up beside Aleister and gently putting one hand on his back.
Aleister sags and the crunch in his features smooths. There’s indignation in his eyes, but it doesn’t come out of his mouth. His eyelids visibly weight down like he can’t keep them open.
“The elementals screamed when it appeared then fell completely silent. I couldn’t see anything, like it was obscured by its own power,” Johnny says.
Santino watches the exchange with a thinly veiled fascination. Something about the combined forces of Johnny and Lochlann have taken Aleister’s roar to a hum. Still, he can see the Corigan’s rage struggle back to the surface. A suspicion Santino had earlier in the day resurfaces.
“Your magic is too hot. Whatever it was has gone,” Lochlann says. “We can’t chase it across the planes.”
Aleister’s eyes flatten, beg to differ, but he still doesn’t speak.
“We have much more important obligations here,” Johnny says.
What a team Lochlann and Johnny make to quell the temper of the fire gate. By the looks of Aleister, it’s not an attribute he appreciates just now. He looks like he’s going to argue, but maybe like he can’t find the words.
“What did you feel, Aleister?” Santino cuts in. He watches the Corigan peel his eyes from Johnny then blink questioningly, as though the words are slow to make sense.
“On the front line, when the presence appeared. What did youfeel?”
Aleister’s verging panic seems to have calmed, but his steel eyes are now full of suspicion as he stares at Santino for a long time. The priest doesn’t necessarily want to spread the cards of history out now, not this way, and he hopes that Aleister will catch the implications in the question. Santino knew their parents’ Murder much better than most of the others. He also knew Aleister’s mother.
Finally Aleister says, “It felt like we’re in fucking trouble. Whatever it is, it’s stronger than we are, stronger than the jinn. And it will be back.”
His gaze drifts to the ground and the fire goes out completely. He has drained himself to a dangerous level, and so soon when they hardly know what’s to come. Santino releases a quiet sigh and looks around at the rest of the Murder, waiting to see if anyone will question what he means or why he would ask Aleister that particular question. No one seems poised to speak, but Nichi’s eyes are on Santino and there’s a knowing light in them. Strange that she would be in on Aleister’s newly developed secret.
“How did you touch me without taking the curse, and how did you stop me?” Aleister asks quietly without lifting his eyes.
Santino glances at Miller and finds the priest also watching him closely. Santino clears his throat and says, “God’s light protects me. Good thing, too.”
Aleister’s eyes narrow again but he doesn’t say anything snotty. He just sniffs indignantly. Lochlann and Johnny remove their hands from him and he nearly falls. He manages to catch his own weight. He pushes his chin into the air.
“We should split up now,” he says, glancing sideways at Santino, who steps forward and reaches Solomon’s Key into the space between them. When Aleister moves to take it, Santino doesn’t let it go, which solicits a hard look and a moment of actual eye contact from the Corigan.
Santino holds the moment long enough for Aleister to realize there won’t be a deeper connection. He won’t say as much. He shouldn’t need to. Aleister’s eyes widen. Santino releases the book. It looks so big in Aleister’s hands.
So I spent a while this morning going back and forth on today’s blog content. Who to feature? Marisa. No, Legba. No, it should be Marisa. Then I figured…what the hell…I’m going to do both because it’s my party and there are no rules.
Both Marisa and Legba are strong supporting characters within the Order of Crows. Every member of the Murder hail from different mythological backgrounds. It’s a world that’s all-inclusive, every religion and tons of different folklore. I was certainly ambitious when I started this story fifteen years ago. Yet I managed to make it work, with a nod of thanks to Neil Gaiman and his “American Gods” that made me realize way back when that I could basically do what I want when it comes to my stories. I’ll also say here that a lot of that mythology is loosely interpreted for creative purposes. At no point did I intend to stay rooted in fact, or traditional fiction, as the case may be for religions and folklore.
Legba, if you’re unfamiliar with the name, hails from the world of Voodoo. Marisa comes from ancient Mayan stories. With these two characters, I decided to make them both human and divinity. They’re demigods. Legba is the bridge to the loa, or Voodoo gods. He is the way for humans to link to their gods. Marisa’s domain is darker, and she is my other trigger warning from the story. Her domain is death by suicide, and the idea that those who take their own death by the reins have freedom in the afterlife.
In The Murder Meets at Dusk, Legba is antagonistic at best, especially when it comes to characters who have an affinity for darkness, mainly Marisa and Aleister. Marisa, on the other hand, is not antagonistic but she is prone to secrecy and seclusion. What a surprise that the two end up making an excellent team.
Please enjoy this excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two:
He spins in wide circles, stomping to the drums. The blade gleams and flashes in the low light. Then he stops abruptly and, with a well-placed swipe, severs the head of the dove. Bright blood spurts from the rended body and pours down over Hattie’s hands.
It shouldn’t mean anything, the death of a small animal, but Marisa feels it in her core. Her breath catches and her gate slams open. Her power billows out into a set of ebony, smoky wings.
The sound of the drums dies. She looks around. The room looks the same but all the people are gone. Almost. Legba is here. Marisa steps toward him. His head jerks up and he whips around.
“How did you follow me?” he asks, his tone harder and closer to what he uses in the circle. His gaze skates downward and his eyes widen.
Her attention follows his and her reaction is the same. She’s wearing a long white dress that hugs her curves and has no sleeves. The dove coos in her hands, intact and calm.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“She comes naturally here.”
The voice is deep, heavily accented. Marisa and Legba look as one to its source. She hears Legba take a sharp breath and then he bows low. Marisa studies him for a moment then looks back to the other man. Maybe a man standing beside a second figure.
The first is tall, nearly seven feet. He wears a white, double-breasted suit made of linen that hugs close to his slender form, complete with a solid white tie and button-up shirt. Upon his head is a straw trilby hat, with a broad band of fabric the color of snow around its crown. Short, salt-and-pepper hair shows at the base of his neck. His skin is the shade of thick tar and his face shows soft hints of age lines in the residual light of the altar. His expression is a severe portrait of solemnity.
He says, “She is kindred by her own right,” and he smiles, his teeth like ivory.
“Thank you,” she says, gaze flitting to the other, shorter figure, also an old man, though his hat has a wide brim and he carries a straw bag on his shoulder. He’s not looking at them. His eyes are on the altar.
“I am Damballah. This is Loko,” says the tall one. Somewhere in Marisa’s memory the first name rings a bell. She doesn’t know much about Voodoo but she has heard that name. These aren’t men, she thinks, they’re gods. “Stand up, Legba.”
Legba straightens, all of his lines hard with tension. He seems nervous in a way that Marisa can feel rather than see. He holds his head high, though, and he’s still holding the machete.
Damballah casually slips his hands into the pockets of his pants and looks to Loko. The shorter, more wrinkled god steps forward. A stalk of rhubarb hangs from the corner of his mouth and it bounces slightly as he chews on it. Every line in his expression is hard. She watches shrewd, dark eyes again sweep the altar.
“Tonight,” he says without looking away from the array of items cluttered on the altar’s surface, “you do well, Legba.”
Damballah nods.
Breath rushes from Legba’s lungs, an overt and uncharacteristic show of relief that seems to create a wind that blows warm against them.
The dove in Marisa’s keep coos again and rustles its feathers, but it doesn’t try to escape her grasp. Her hair moves to taste the air. Then Loko pins Legba with a stern look that tinges on a glare, and the younger gathers his apprehension once again.
“Thank you,” Legba whispers.
Loko makes a long and impersonal hm as he approaches the altar. He’s much more interested in the booze that waits there, straight up, in two highball glasses. He spits the rhubarb onto the ground and picks one of the glasses, sniffs it, then drains it.
In the same vein as spotlighting Casper from my Order of Crows series, let’s talk about Johnny Mochni. Johnny is fairly quiet in The Murder Meets at Dusk. He’s a very supportive character. He really steps up in The Song of the Sparrow, and his development both took me off guard and delighted me. His potential totally slept through the first book and slammed open the door in the second book. He’s so important, in fact, that the title of the book comes from his arc within the story.
So, a little break down on Johnny if you haven’t read Dusk. There is a group in the story called the Elemental Courts. They’re humans, but they’re descended from the elemental guardians, who are very important to the story. Johnny is a member of the Earth Court, mostly a sort of field agent who’s most important role is being a member of the Order of Crows. Johnny’s line is descended from Hopi mythology but, their namesake aside, they are pacifists. Getting thrown into a war is a different sort of journey for him than his fellow Crows. I don’t want to give away too much, but I’ll say this. Turns out Johnny is a total badass.
Please enjoy this short excerpt from The Song of the Sparrow:
The soft, slightly husky voice that has been comforting Johnny goes quiet. The last note of the song seems to reverberate forever over the distant landscape. The hands that have been gently massaging the ache from his shoulders also still.
He can feel a deep thrum coming from the rock beneath him. It feels like his Murder. His own pain has abated for the moment. It comes to him in waves, a receding tide. He takes a long breath then opens his eyes.
The blood on his hands and arms has dried. The skull is rust colored, still gaping at him. The hot pains in his tired muscles have become a numbness in his hands, and the joints of his fingers are locked around the skull’s horns. The fire in the pit before him is low, casting strange and distorted shadows onto the rock face. The dancing darkness makes the skull look menacing.
“Thank you,” he whispers without taking his eyes from the flame.
If he looks at the skull he thinks of the agony that has ravaged him. He has no concept of how long he’s been fighting his own body, but he’s so exhausted that if he thinks about that pain, he may let go. The woman’s hands draw away from him, yet he can still feel her so close to his bared skin. He knows if she meant him harm she could have taken advantage of his weakness well before now. He doesn’t believe she does.
“I have come a very long way to find you, Johnny Mochni.”
That voice when speaking is … familiar? If he was in better mental shape he’s sure he could place it. He wants to turn toward her but he can’t move.
“Who are you?”
“You know me, Johnny.”
“I do.”
It was meant to be a question but it doesn’t come out that way. He’s sure she’s right. If he could just think clearly.
Her hands leave him and he hears a rustle of her movement. Without her close he’s suddenly cold. He catches movement in his periphery and his eyes slide sideways to watch her walk around him then kneel in front of him. Her face comes into focus over the steer skull.
“Kaya!” he says with a gasp.
She’s slender, her skin the same red-brown as his, her hair long and black. A royal like him and from his own Court, though ranked higher. Her almond eyes study his face and the shock that has to be apparent there.
“Did the Court send you?” he asks.
She slowly reaches forward. Her long fingers wrap around the skull’s face. She pulls the thing from his cramped hands. He resists at first, but when she takes its weight from him, the relief is disabling. His arms are left abandoned before him for several breaths that he uses only to flex his screaming hands. The bone of the skull begins to crumble to dust beneath her touch.
“They did not,” she says, brushing the dust from her hands.
Johnny’s arms begin to tremble and lower a fraction at a time. He grimaces, tries to breathe slowly. He’s so tired of pain.
“Then why are you here?” he asks, his tone quiet and strained.
“To see you through your trial,” she says. Her voice is like a warm wind on a summer afternoon. Her proximity does soothe him now that she mentions it.
“My trial.”
Again it came to his head as a question but came out of his mouth much more knowing. Finally he rests his arms on his knees. The tears that left him dry some time ago now rise against his eyelids.
As mentioned in my previous post, release day for The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two is just around the corner. I decided that today I’d like to talk about one of my favorite characters in the Order, Aleister aside. Today I want to talk about Casper Lekkas.
It’s true that characters sometimes surprise me as the writer. Casper was no exception. If you’ve read The Murder Meets at Dusk, you know Casper as the youngest member of the Order of Crows. He’s shy, awkward, always withdrawn, but you also learn in Dusk that Casper is a powerful mage. You don’t, perhaps, learn how powerful.
In Sparrow, Casper hits his stride. He starts to come out of his shell a bit and he gave me so much personality in the sequel. Casper is a chaos mage at his base, but I feel like the chaos part of his power doesn’t really come through until the sequel, which is understandable when the story in general starts with such a big cast. It was impossible for me to develop them all equally and still tell the story. So Casper’s spotlight doesn’t really happen until Sparrow. And, oh, does it shine.
I think this is a good time to mention that this is a dark fantasy story. There are elements of it that might sit uncomfortably for some. Casper also falls into that area due to the way he practices magic. There might be some triggers when it comes to him. Fair warning.
All of that being said, please allow me to introduce you to Casper in The Song of the Sparrow:
Santino eyes the others, more interested in their condition than he is the vampires’ house. Nichi is as still as a statue, staring forward as she no doubt sends the tendrils of her energy into the surrounding area. Miller fidgets restlessly, glancing around them, fingers absently counting the beads of the pearl and ruby rosary in his hand. Casper shudders violently, seemingly waiting on the head of a pin to act, his guns secured in their holsters.
Santino slowly twines his own rosary around his middle finger as his eyes run the length of Casper’s left arm, most of which is bared, save his close-fitting t-shirt and the strap of his double holster on his shoulders. Scars line much of the pale space, geometric and intricate patterns that turn his body into some living sigil. They are scars he shows no pains to hide. Santino has no idea what the sigils do but the savage nature of the practice makes him uneasy.
He thinks of the morning that began this epic day. He drove across town still half asleep to rescue Casper from the weeds of an abandoned gas station lot, as his body still tingled from the strange burst of magic that woke him from a deep sleep. He hadn’t yet directly made the connection of what made him get up and go, and it seemed easiest to leave Casper on his couch to recover from his exhaustion without questioning it.
It was only later, after several cups of coffee, after the magical buzz in his bones gave way to caffeine, that he realized it was the very sigil Casper had been charging that had risen to protect him in that dire moment. The question of why Casper’s magic had chosen Santino remains a more difficult one.
Santino notices a symbol, cut into the backs of Casper’s hands, carved since they parted ways that afternoon. The scabs have barely formed. A circle, nine points defined around its circumference in the same formation in which the Murder stands, and each point is connected inside like a nine-pointed star. The cardinal directions are notated, and there are neatly scribed words running around the outside of the circle. It must have taken a long time and a tiny blade to etch those little letters. It’s too dark for Santino to make out any of the words, which makes him ever more curious as to what they say.
The chaos mage’s hazel gaze turns on Santino like Casper can feel the priest watching him. The expression that meets Santino’s attention is surprisingly forward and the eye contact is electric. Such a far cry from the crunched grimace of pain earlier when the nightmares had stalked his heavy sleep. Gone is the frightened innocence with which Casper had regarded him when he woke to a protective touch, after Santino banished whatever had grabbed hold of his dream space.
Casper’s awkward shyness is nowhere to be seen. In its place is an obvious fascination and something else that sends a thrill shooting through Santino’s limbs, attraction. Santino doesn’t quite cover his surprise, nor does he deny the heady connection that lasts long enough to garner a curious look from Nichi. Casper looks away like nothing strange just happened. The cross in Santino’s hand feels obscene.
“Do we burn it down?” Casper asks, his tone quiet but firm.
Santino swallows thickly as Nichi studies Casper. She seems to be considering the option. Then she says, “As much as I’d like to, we need to focus on a way to ensure they’re also in the city.”
Silence settles at the end of her words and she looks back toward the house. Santino’s eyes are still on Casper, his thoughts still muddling over the overt connection the younger just made. Since he’s still watching he also sees the Lekkas’s jaw set.
“I can do it,” Casper says with an unsettling surety.
Santino sees Nichi turn back to Casper, eyes wide with obvious surprise. Santino mirrors the sentiment. This side of Casper has either been very well guarded or has emerged amidst the severity of their current situation. There’s a fierceness to him that he has never shown his fellow Crows.
“How?” Nichi asks.
Casper hesitates for a moment. He looks so young to Santino, the scars on his surface tragic. He takes a long breath then says, “Blood magic.”
The words sink like stones into Santino’s gut. An uncharacteristic anxiety follows them as the magnitude of those two words slowly reveals itself. Casper is right, it’s the one thing the vampires have no weapon against or resistance to. Santino instantly hates the idea.
Weighted silence brings Casper to face the rest of them, who are staring back.
“It’s practical for my path,” he says. He meets each of their eyes in turn, even Fr. Miller. “I can make them yearn for blood so strongly they’ll crawl into our streets like the ravenous dogs that they are.”
“Not just blood,” Fr. Miller interjects in his sharp accent that cuts through the familiarity among the other three. “If I am correct, your means of drawing them would enamor them to the blood that is offered by your pagan practices.”
Three sets of eyes critically study him. He adjusts his glasses and pins Casper with an expectant gaze, eyebrow cocking slightly.
“It’s true,” says Casper. Now he looks away from all of them to stare at the ground.
Santino’s attention volleys from Casper to Miller then to Nichi. They’re not really considering this, are they? Someone has to be a voice of reason here.
“Your blood?” he asks, not quite able to keep his expression from folding with disdain. “You want to use yourself as bait?”
Excitement is amping up for my next release! This book is fourteen years in the making for me. To say that I’m proud to finally set it free to the wild is an understatement. Look for it to drop August 11, 2024. And until then check back here for an early look at the story and characters. This book is the second installment in my Order of Crows sequel, and if you haven’t read “The Murder Meets at Dusk” (Book One) you can find it on Amazon and KindleUnlimited. Also, look for a sweet deal on Dusk closer to release.
“The Song of the Sparrow”
War is imminent. The Order of Crows have done what they could to prepare, but based on the prophecy of a powerful seer, they have to force their hand. The pieces of the puzzle are beginning to look like a bigger picture, and their enemies are getting more formidable as they are revealed. It will be a battle of wit and magic, as well as sword and skill, that much is clear.
Aleister Corigan is at the heart of the conflict, as much as he’d rather not be. There’s another layer to the Crows’ strife that’s unexpected, secrets coming to light from their past, details that put Aleister in a unique position. Will he be able to use his newfound abilities and information to his advantage, or will it weigh him down into failure? That’s one of many unknowns the Murder will face in the nights to come.
Even with the combined effort of their allies and aid from an unusual source, will the Murder stand up to the forces who want to destroy them? Can they save New Verona, the heart of the plane, from invasion?
Happy Tuesday, y’all, even if it’s almost over here where I am. I’ve got some really exciting things on my horizon that will hopefully translate as also exciting for you. I’ve been quiet on here lately, which isn’t honestly that strange, but at least this time I’ve been quietly working.
My first bit of awesome news is I’m eying an August release for Order of Crows Book 2! Now, if you don’t know me or anything about my writing journey, know this release is a huge deal for me. The first book was originally published waaaay back in 2010 by Key Publications (now defunct). It was an amazing way to debut, but unfortunately the whole thing fell through before I ever managed to finish writing the sequel. Fast forward to 2022, I decided to publish the first book for myself. A ton of work went into revisions on said book, and it became clear later the same would have to happen for the sequel. It took me longer than expected, but those rewrites did painstakingly happen. The short version of the rest of the story is I’ve been working on all the behind-the-scenes stuff like formatting the physical and ebook versions, deciding what material to use for promotion, and all the little things that being indie entails. This sequel is fourteen years in the making and I’m extremely proud to finally release it into the wild. I don’t have an exact date yet, but check back often because things will start amping up around here when the time gets close.
The second part of my good news is we’re approaching the one-year anniversary of my release of The Nameless. I’m a firm believer that you should celebrate yourself and your achievements whether other folks join in or not. So I want to celebrate my fourth title release and we’re going to do it a little early. The actual release anniversary is August 1st, but since it’s also almost my birthday, The Nameless ebook will be free to download July 6th through July 8th. Get those megaphones out and shout about it! Warm up your like and share trigger fingers! I want as many people to know as possible.
Happy birthday to me! Happy anniversary to me! And happy free (July 6-8) book for you.
As you might know, I recently took some time with Author Katy J. Smith to ask her some questions about her debut novel. It was such an awesome thing to be able to do with a grand lady I’ve known for a lot of years. She decided to return the favor and put me on the other side of the table. She gave me some great questions that were a lot of fun to answer. What a look back it was for me, too.
Today, I’m excited to share with you some words from debut Author Katy J. Smith. She released her first novel this month, “Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal,” and I had the pleasure of asking her a few questions about it. It’s a historical fiction piece that focuses on the West Virginia Mine Wars of 1912-1913. This book is a unique telling of the mine conflicts and I highly recommend checking it out.
The Interview:
Q: Start by talking a little about yourself and your writing journey. When did you start writing? What inspired you to do so?
A: Interesting question, simply because I just wrote a blog about a part of my writing journey. I love stories—whether I read them, whether I tell them, or whether I write them.
I sort of kept a diary, and I sort of wrote stories when I was younger. In public school, we had no formal writing instruction nor did we write outside of completing homework. My first true attempt at writing was in the introductory college Composition and Rhetoric class. I loved writing, although, at that time, I had issues with “what can I write?” I had things published in both the college’s literary magazine at that time as well as news stories in the Tech Collegian.
Then I became an elementary school teacher in 1983. At that time, teaching writing in public school, especially elementary school, was daring. Years before it was a county and state mandate, our teachers at Pratt Elementary decided to teach creative writing to our students, from Kindergarten through Grade 6. Our students did so well! (I wish I kept the vignettes of what my students wrote. WOW! They were great!) But, we teachers knew we needed training on how to teach writing. We took the seminars and staff development so we could teach effectively.
I’ve written or told stories since those days. It’s different as a writer because, while I want to tell a story, I want others to enjoy reading it. I have to look at it differently, and I have to employ tons of deep leveling thinking on what makes sense in the story.
I also took two writing courses at Marshall University after I retired. I’d take more, but I need on-line writing instruction due to the thing called ‘everyday living’. Most of those courses, if it’s what I need, fill quickly or aren’t offered on-line.
Someone (I think it was my grandsons) told me, words are just the same 26 letters put in different formations. I like making those different combinations.
Q:“Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal” is historical fiction set in the 1912-1913 West Virginia mine wars, which is an interesting part of the state’s history that I feel is overlooked by folks who aren’t from there or haven’t lived there. Why did you choose that setting?
I’m a retired elementary schoolteacher who loved teaching. I am not good at the retired part of “retired elementary teacher.” On my first ‘official’ day of retirement, I was driving to sub in a 4th Grade classroom for a month. On my way to the school in the following days, I passed by a roadside marker that told the story of the Bull Moose Special, an armored train equipped with a Gatling gun, that shot up a small town of displaced miners who were living with their families in coarse canvas tents.
I knew the story from several sources: my grandfather, a coal miner, told me the story when I was young. I learned about it from my history profs at WV Institute of Technology. The children who live on Paint Creek attend the school where I taught had family stories to tell. Their grandparents, who were children in this time, told me some of their personal stories. Plus, I love Appalachian history, especially the coal history of WV, so I started digging into the region. As I read, I was horrified by the atrocities inflicted on these families, simply for wanting to provide a better life for their families.
So, basically, I couldn’t get the facts out of my head, and then a bunch of “What if…” questions formed in my head and wouldn’t leave.
Q:Your story is told mostly through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old girl, Valentina, whose family is caught in the midst of the mine strike. How did you decide on this unique take for your story? Was it difficult to put yourself in the mind of someone so young?
The grandparents who told me their stories were adolescents in the era. Their stories were heartrending. Their voices and eyes hardened as they talked about that night in their childhoods. Their expressions, as if they were lost in a nightmare, reflected the brutality of that time. Even my husband, who grew up near this area, told me about teachers and subs who told their personal stories. Each person who spoke of that time was conflicted by the events, but those events help to create their character, something that still is an underlying tone in their progeny, the people who still live in the area.
I wanted the story to be completely written in diary form. But I couldn’t develop my characters effectively through a diary format. (I’m not that talented, but I’m trying to develop it!) I taught mostly 5th and 6th graders, so I had an idea of how kids between the ages of 9 to 15 think. Plus, these kids, not a child but not an adult, usually have something that shapes who they become. I call it that defining moment. Valentina’s defining moment was the death of Cesco Estep, her neighbor. She realized it could have easily been the man she loved the most, her Pap.
I think of it as her Scarlett O’Hara moment when Scarlett swears, “With God as my witness, I…”. Valentina vows to find a way to help her family and her neighbors have a better life. She does through true journalistic integrity*, to write unbiased stories.
*I’m sending kudos to Dr. Ralph Turner of Marshall U’s Dept. of Journalism who taught me much about journalistic integrity way back then.
Q:To me, this novel does a great job of capturing the West Virginian spirit that can still be found in many small communities there. Did you draw from any personal experience to shape your characters and community?
Due to the mountainous terrain and isolation of many West Virginia communities, the people developed grit and self-reliance. This has been proven repeatedly from the earliest days of human settlement in WV, from the Mound Builders, and throughout its history. We West Virginians have a friendliness, but we can also survive. We love you, and we will help you. We will be a good friend and neighbor. But, don’t try to walk over our good-naturedness. We fight back.
Maybe that attitude is true for any small community, not just those in West Virginia. Although West Virginians are still a marginalized group, they have grit and are self-reliant. They help themselves and rarely whine about it. An example would be the 2014 flooding that devastated communities in different sections of the state. Another example is the people who live in a small community of Hico in Fayette County. We’re not hearing about the relief efforts for those who lost everything from the tornadoes in early April 2024. Those folks prayed about it, and then rolled up their sleeves to clean up the devastation so they can rebuild or find a viable alternative.
Fortunately, I’ve not lived through these types of experiences. But I am the daughter and granddaughter of coal miners. Even as a young girl growing up in rural Fayette County, I always feared someday Mom would receive word that Dad was hurt or killed in the mines. I remember the days of union activity and why men went on strike.
The only ‘coal camp’ I lived in was in Landisburg during my senior year in high school. The house was a nice cinderblock home, 3 bedrooms, and a full basement with a free-standing shower stall Daddy used to wash off the coal dust. The other six houses in neighborhood were as nice. The mine superintendent house looked lavish, but it wasn’t. It was an updated Craftsman with more bedrooms, a large front porch, and a wooden frame.
As for the spirit of West Virginia, I think about the ideas that shaped our American history. West Virginians have a strong work ethic, but they expect respect, fairness, and equity from their employers. They try to live by the tenets of their faith. They expect their children to ‘do better’ than they did because of having better educational opportunities. They are law-abiding for the most part, but they will not tolerate an injustice. They expect to be heard in these matters.
I find those same qualities in most rural areas in our country.
Q:This book is also quite informative about the events that took place in it. Was that information you were already knowledgeable about, or did you have to research everything?
It was a combination of both. I’ve always been fascinated by the coal mining history of our region. I knew some things about the 1912 – 1913 Coal Mine Wars. But I researched it as well, mostly to verify what I knew (or thought I knew) was true. Not only did I research about that era, I examined the beginning of the coal industry in West Virginia and how a region bounded by mountains was the leader in bituminous coal mining. Coal mining is the reason we had an era called the Industrial Revolution, which began in those regions of England. I researched its progression through time.
I also examined the impact of the 1912 -1913 Coal Mine Wars on other mining incidents. Within a year, the same Bull Moose Special gunned down another Tent City (with the striking miners living in the same tents supplied by the UMWA) in Ludlow, Colorado. The incident at Holly Grove, WV, set the standard on the importance of gaining basic needs, such as increase in pay, safety on the job, and in not having the script system of currency that can be used at only the one company store. One of the experts on coal mining and the labor union stated the events in Holly Grove taught the striking miners what they needed to do to ensure others listened to their voices.
During this era, from 1912 – 1913, the fight wasn’t only on Paint Creek but also on Cabin Creek. The two hollows are separated by mountains. If it were a flattened area, the distance would be around five to eight miles. The families on the two creeks helped each other, thus the incident of Valentina helping pull up the railroad tracks. *
Fortunately, we live in an era of using the internet. I could do most of my research from the internet resources available, especially from the WV Mine Wars Museum and the WV Encyclopedia, e- WV. But I also read books from the experts of the Coal Mine Wars. I now own an extensive library of their research! ☺
*This incident actually occurred in 1912, not 1913. I took creative freedom to make it one of Valentina’s ‘acts of defiance.’
Q:I feel there’s also a strong message about feminine independence in the story. Was that intentional, or did Valentina decide that for you?
It was a bit of both. I come from a long line of strong women. We enjoy being with our men, but we can fend for ourselves. My maternal grandmother, a quiet and tiny lady, married a coal miner. She could have easily been Valentina. They were the same age and had families who tried to shelter and protect them. Women in WV received the right to vote on March 10, 1920. My grandmother, a married woman around the age of 22 and mother of several children, registered to vote. She was proud of being a registered voter and kept her voters’ registration card in her purse. She voted in every election until her death in 1989, whether it was for the town, the county, the state or the nation. When the men tried to tell her how to vote, she would clench her jaw and then voted how she wanted. She listened to both sides and made her choices on what she determined to be the best choice. Thus, I chose to put some of those characteristics into the Valentina character.
Like many children, Valentina was sheltered by her family. Yet she yearned for independence and being treated as an equal, like many children do both then and today. She was at an age of rebellion, and she was wanting to be treated equally and equitably. Her mother recognized but yet hated that her child was growing up. Margaret Rose became the unofficial head of household when Walter disappeared. She and Walter’s mother Sylvia worked in tandem to keep their family safe. Valentina had strong models on how to survive in a bad situation.
Yes, Valentina started “talking” to me in the story. I had to rewrite chapters to show her point of view, and then often she would tell me more, so I had to rewrite again. But Valentina’s life changed in 1913, not only physically but emotionally. She recognized she wouldn’t be the girl who played in the creek and shared secrets with her girlfriends. She was growing up, often too fast, in a dangerous world. Fortunately, her family helped her grow and accepted the young woman she was becoming.
Q: Can we expect more titles from you in the historical fiction genre? Are there other genres you enjoy writing, as well?
I want to write more historical fiction! I love history and the ‘forgotten stories’ from the different eras. I’m mapping out another story and researching another topic that too is being forgotten. I would like to write a story about the European-based settlement in western Virginia.
My grandsons and I have discussed different topics over the years. I want to write non-fiction children’s books about our discussions. The boys are creative and forward-thinking. They ask good questions.
As a reader, I enjoy mysteries, perhaps my favorite genre. A mystery doesn’t have to be a whodunit, but it can be something that aggravates a person because there are unanswered questions. That’s the story I’m currently writing, but it has elements of romance in it as well.
I dabble in poetry, but I am not a poet. I’d love to be one though.
Q:Finally, you’re published through Rose Dog Books. There are a lot of ways to publish these days, and a ton of different resources for authors who choose not to go the fully traditional route. Tell us a bit about your publishing experience. What made you choose the way you did?
One of my writing goals is to use a traditional publisher! Wow! What a coup that would be! I researched they types of publishers available, and I knew what I wanted and, more importantly, didn’t want. I didn’t want to have to build a room to house 2,000 copies of my novel. I didn’t want to deal with certain aspects that a hybrid or traditional publisher can handle more efficiently.
Forgotten Voices: Excerpts from Valentina’s Journal is my debut novel, and Rose Dog Press (part of the Dorrance Publishing umbrella) is my first journey in publishing. Once again, I researched different publishers. I liked many of the subsets and skills of Rose Dog/Dorrance offered. I liked they were reasonably close to Appalachia and the coalfields, and, hopefully, would have a better understanding of what the beginning writers need. Overall, I’ve been pleased.
My advice on using any publisher includes:
Study what the publisher offers you, and see if it meets (most of) your needs. If not, move on to another publisher.
Follow, to the letter, the expectations of how to submit a query or your manuscript. Most publishers don’t want the entire manuscript. Read those points carefully, and then do what they request.
Set a budget that you can live with. (Don’t quit your day job!) Then, live within that budget. Also make sure you keep good records and receipts for your income taxes.
Know your contract, a legal document! Make multiple copies of it, keeping one as your legal document while you can mark up the others. Then make sure both you AND the publisher are meeting the points of the contract.
Work professionally and respectfully with your book team—from editing and revision, cover design, any book-related matters, and the publicity team.
Keep in touch with the different coordinators within the book team. If you haven’t heard something from them within a reasonable amount of time, email or call them. But don’t waste their time or yours. Be spot on with your questions and requests. Give them time to find or develop their answers, but also expect a timely response from them.
Above all else, have a publicity plan that you implement. Use social media. Have an author’s webpage. Write a newsletter or blog that you update regularly. Get your exercise by visiting local businesses and libraries to promote your book. Discover the ins and out of using Amazon and Good Reads. Go to the free zoom meetings on how to publicize your books.
When I have a second manuscript ready, I will go through the process again. I hope by then to have an agent to help me. I may or may not use Dorrance/Red Dog Press again. But, at this point in time, I’m not opposed to using them a second time.
A huge thanks to Katy for spending the time to answer my questions! And congratulations on her release!
Aj Elmore, Author 