When Pigs Fly, Mini-Interview & Excerpt

I'm excited to share one more author of the Gaslight & Grimm anthology with you today. She's the last of my mini series this month, sad to say but I've been honored to share these few authors with you.

Please welcome Christine Norris to the blog!

M:  Welcome Christine. It's wonderful to have you by the blog today.

The title, When Pigs Fly, caught my eye as it's the famous saying my family and I used when I was
younger to tell me I wasn't going to get anything. There's a fairy tale about it?

CN:  Thank you for having me! Actually, it’s just a play on words. The tale that this story is based on is The Three Little Pigs. Which is weird, right? It’s not a Grimm’s fairy tale, but it is a classic story.

M:  Could you share what your story is about?

CN:  Sure. The story, which has no actual pigs in it, is about three siblings and their airships. Two have chosen a path for their life that is different than what was expected, and on one fateful day, one of them has to make choices in order to rescue the other two. I bet you can guess who they need rescuing from! Oh, and there’s airships. And a dogfight. But there are plenty of nods to the original, some that are obvious and some not so much.

M:  What drew you to tell the story When Pigs Fly?

CN:  To be honest, it was a challenge. I don’t usually write short stories, though this is the second anthology I’ve had a story in in the last two years. I have already written a Steampunk-like version of Cinderella, called A Curse of Ash and Iron. Many fairy tales have an almost natural fit to a Steampunk retelling, if you can find the hook. I was looking for the most unlikely story you could think of to turn into a Steampunk story.

M:  What steampunk item did you use in the story that you would love to have?

CN:  I think I would love to have the main character’s airship. It’s definitely one of a kind!


Ahha! I like the twist to the Three Little Pigs here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Excerpt from When Pigs Fly

Based on The Three Little Pigs

CHRISTINE NORRIS

“GET THIS BLOODY THING MOVING, LIEUTENANT NELSON. NOW!”

The captain’s furious tone caused the pilot’s face to turn white, his hand shaking only slightly as he raised it in a salute.

“The Athena has left. We were supposed to be beside her. And yet, Mr. Nelson, we are still in port. Why is that, Mr. Nelson?”

Nelson tried not to let the captain see him flinch, but was unable to hide his anxiety. The captain narrowed her eyes—he was a seasoned pilot, and she was not his first commander. Why is he anxious now? Because, like the rest of them, he has heard the stories. Perhaps it is better that way, the captain thought. If she was feared she wouldn’t have to fight to be respected.

“I am trying, Captain. The balloon is full, but we’ve only just lit the furnaces, and you know how long it takes for the steam to get to the engi—”

“I did not ask for excuses, Mr. Nelson. I asked for results. Or did you miss this morning’s meeting? Were your ears full of wax when the admiral read the intelligence report? “

Nelson swallowed deeply and shook his head.

“I thought not. If we are not underway in precisely five minutes, I will have you removed from duty. Permanently.”

The captain did not think it was possible, but Mr. Nelson’s face turned even paler. He understood the captain’s meaning perfectly, the threat undiminished by either her size or age.

“Yes, ma’am. Five minutes to launch.”

Captain Nightingale did not even acknowledge the pilot’s assent before she turned on her heel, her anger evident in the set of her shoulders and her determined stride. She knew Nelson was doing his best. Her fury was not due to anything the pilot had or had not done, only her frustration. She had been assigned to this ridiculous vessel, and now, on her first assignment, she was stuck in port, struggling to get this hulk of an antique moving.

The rest of the bridge crew kept their eyes glued to their maps and dials. They must have overhead the captain’s verbal assault on the pilot and did not want to be next.

Good. Saves me the trouble of yelling at them. The captain perched on the edge of her seat, but her body was not yet ready to be still. Her foot tapped out a steady beat, her fingers drumming on the armrest of her cushioned, velvet-upholstered chair, the beat of her heart resounded by the hum of the engines below. If sheer will could be used at fuel, this ship would have taken off long ago and flown faster than even the engineers could imagine. Patience had never been her strong suit. This first assignment wasn’t much—just a reconnaissance mission—but she had already botched it by not sticking with the Athena, her partner vessel.

Not that the commander of that vessel had bothered waiting, ruddy blighter.

“Three minutes to launch.” The announcement came over the loudspeaker, echoed by the pilot’s voice on the bridge. He glanced at the captain, his face pulled tight with anxiety, which was only slightly relieved by the captain’s nod of approval.

“There’s an…incoming message, Captain.” The wireless operator’s voice cracked, and he did not turn to acknowledge her. Nightingale’s stomach knotted with dread.

“Who is it, Lieutenant Commander Hemmings?”

“It’s…” The operator swallowed. “It’s the commodore, ma’am.”

“I see.” The knot in her belly turned into a stone, dragging her down. Still, she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Patch him through to the loudspeaker, please.” She balled her hands into fists and jammed them into her thighs, bracing herself. “No, wait. I’ll take it personally.”

Lieutenant Commander Hemmings nodded. He flipped a switch on the wireless console, and a green light lit up on the ornate wireless receiver, which sat on the arm of the captain’s chair. Captain Nightingale lowered herself onto the seat, her spine straight as a bar of steel. She cleared her throat, and then lifted the polished dark wood and brass of the handset to her ear. There was a loud click and a bit of static.

“Captain Nightingale.” She tried to announce herself with as much confidence as she could muster, and hoped her nerves did not show.

“Petunia! What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation? Or can’t your crew get that beast into the air?”

Captain Nightingale bristled at the sound of her brother’s brash voice as it assaulted her eardrum. “We are already underway.” She hoped her voice did not betray the small lie. It wasn’t the first time she had been less than truthful with him—they were siblings, after all—but now she was also lying to a superior officer. Superior in his own mind, at least.

“By the time you get here, the mission will be over. Or is that your plan, little sister? Are you afraid you can’t live up to your own reputation? I told Command there was no use in having a woman as a captain.”

There was a sly, gloating edge to his words with which Petunia was very familiar. If it had been any other officer, she would have kept her cloak of dignity and professionalism wrapped around her. Of course, if it had been any other officer, they wouldn’t have spoken to her in that manner. But her façade of control dissolved like wet paper, anger filling her chest and spilling over into her mouth.

“Not at all, Commodore Porky. First of all, you’re not going into battle, you’re chasing intel.” Her voice was low, her mouth very close to the handset’s speaker. “Second, you know that or else you wouldn’t have flown off on your own. Or maybe you would have, since you barely passed Strategy at the Academy. But don’t you worry. As I have done my whole life, I will be there to save your bacon when you get in over your head.”

There was a pause on the other end and Petunia could practically hear the blood rushing to her brother’s face, his round cheeks turning the color of ripe apples. Using the childhood nickname had been going too far. It had slipped out in anger, but she wouldn’t take it back. He would only see it as further proof of her weakness.

Her brother’s voice came through in a hiss. “Just you remember, little sister, the only reason for your command of that—vessel—is because—”

She never knew what insult he had been ready to hurl at her. A sudden shout cut her brother’s rant short, followed by an alarm that blasted through the handset. Her brother’s voice was barely audible, as if he were holding the handset away from his mouth as he shouted the order that made her blood run cold.

“Wolves at the door! Battle stations!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About the Author:
Christine Norris is the author of several YA works, including A Curse of Ash and Iron and the Library of Athena series. She is overeducated, however, she has never flown an airship. She has a complete weakness for British television, an addiction to movies, re-told fairy tales, and police procedural shows. She also believes in fairies.



Order Gaslight & Grimm now:
Release day, May 29, 2016.
(Now Available!)

The Walking House, Mini-Interview & Excerpt

I'm thrilled to continue with this mini series of mini interviews and excerpts of Gaslight & Grimm. This week we have Jeff Young with us.

M:  Welcome Jeff. It's wonderful to have you by the blog today.

M:  The title, The Walking House, caught my eye. This is a new story title for me. What fairy tale is it based on?

JY:  There are a number of stories based around the Russian character Baba Yaga and her rather peculiar dwelling – a hut that stood on chicken legs. She’s interesting because she typically known as evil person, literally a devourer of young women with her iron teeth. At the same time, she is also occasionally someone who is gone to for advice and help. So she’s a fascinating character, but let’s get back to that house. Interestingly enough the Sami People of Scandanavia built huts on top of tree stumps, which just happen to look like chicken feet. It’s a striking image and one that could certainly spark people’s imaginations to come up with a story to explain what they were seeing. Add to that a cautionary tale to keep your kids in order and just like that faerie tale. On the whole, the stories gave me a great deal of opportunities and I ran with them.

M:  Could you share what your story is about?

JY:  “The Walking House” is about three people who form an unlikely friendship as they search for the inventor of a walking machine for the Tsar. Nikolai, who once met Sasha Gubernetsky and whose parent’s balloon will provide transportation. Piter, a writer and Nikolai’s acquaintance sent along as a chaperone. Svetlana, Nikolai’s maid who grew up in the wilds of Russia and will serve as a guide in the search. But “The Walking House” is also a story told by Piter to two young children, who occasionally interrupt with their own thoughts. Finally, it’s a tale about a fearsome old woman, three challenges, and an unexpected love.

M:  What drew you to tell the story The Walking House?

JY:  When I was younger, I read the standard Faerie Tales and since I tend to read a lot, I kept looking for more. That meant that once I’d finished with Grimm and Anderson I had to look a little farther a field. I found things like the 1001 Arabian Nights, Irish folklore, and even a few Russian tales that included Baba Yaga. I didn’t have to spend a lot of time in thought when Danielle Ackley-McPhail came along looking for a steampunk story that was based off of a Faerie Tale. Besides, there were so many different places to go with this one and the fact that there’s not a tremendous amount of steampunk set in Russia.

M:  What steampunk item did you use in the story that you would love to have?

JY:  The spoiler’s apparently right there in the title – a steam-powered walking machine. If I was going to write about Baba Yaga, then I better have an explanation concerning her very famous hut. Why shouldn’t it be steam-powered? After all the setting is one great big forest and there’s plenty of fuel around. But I also took the opportunity to tie the walking machine idea to Tsar Alexander II’s need to move troops and weaponry through difficult terrain to deal with the Polish Uprising.



This sounds so cool! I'm looking forward to all the machines created.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An Excerpt from The Walking House

based on Baba Yaga

JEFF YOUNG

“UNCLE, TELL US WHY THERE IS AN OAK TREE IN THE YARD.”

Piter looked down at Alexei and his little sister Tatiana. Her fingers gripped Piter’s pant leg and she pulled insistently. He put a hand on the young boy’s head, ruffling his dark hair. Then he led them over beneath the shade of the tree. “You know these don’t grow this far north and certainly not like this one. So why don’t you sit down, and I’ll tell you the whole story the way your father told it to me.” Piter pulled out his ever-present journal and paged through it until he found the story. Then he began, “A long time ago, your father lived in Moscow and one day he went on a journey with two friends...”

~ * ~

“Nikolai, wipe the borscht from your beard. You look like a Cossack.” Svetlana handed him his napkin from the table. Then she turned away, her cheeks reddening as she hurried to the doorway.

“She is too forward with you, Nikolai,” Ivan said, pointing with his knife.

“No, she is right. You do look a bloody mess.” Piter laughed and sipped his tea before turning to the other guest, “Be kinder, Ivan, you don’t want her mother against you. After all she merely tolerates Nikolai and he pays her to keep the house. Although that is not a bad thing now that his parents are gone, else he would be like a house spirit with no tenants. A little domovoi on his lonesome.”

Nikolai sighed and daubed at his beard. Svetlana was right. More often than not she was right.

Ivan rapped his knuckles on the table and the others turned to him. “Congratulations, dear Nikolai, on your new assignment. It is always good to be noticed and very good to be noticed by the Tsar.”

“Even if you are being sent out into the woods to chase a ghost.” Piter’s cup occluded his cockeyed grin.

“That may be my fault,” admitted Nikolai running his spoon around the bottom of the bowl. He looked to the mantelpiece at the photograph of his parents in front of their balloon. Perhaps it was his turn to explore and hopefully his luck would be better. “When I spoke of the drawings I found by Sasha Gubernetsky I had little idea things would turn out so.”

“Why do we need a machine that walks anyway? Didn’t we free the serfs to raise an army? You tell him, Piter; you know I am right.”

“No, Ivan. The Tsar freed the serfs because it was the right thing to do and the right time to do it. What is this walking machine anyway, Nikolai?”

“Gubernetsky’s machine was two-legged and had a gyroscope inside to keep it balanced. It was big enough that it could step over most obstacles. Imagine how you can march men over areas you could never drive a wagon through; that’s what Gubernetsky envisioned. Unfortunately, all I have is a picture and some vague sketches that were given to the Tsar by a mysterious source.

“Since I met Gubernetsky a while ago, I am considered familiar with him and his work. The military is always looking for ways to keep the borders more secure, such as those with the Ottoman Empire, and stop unrest in places like Poland.”

“You sound like you should be recruiting for the army, Nikolai,” Ivan said with a laugh.

“No,” Nikolai replied, “I’ve just heard it too many times. One of the generals is taken with the idea of a walking machine and pushed the plan up to Alexander II. So I am commissioned to find Gubernetsky and retrieve him.”

Piter leaned forward. “But that still doesn’t tell us why Svetlana is going along with you, much less why you are taking the balloon.”

Nikolai found he couldn’t meet the other’s eyes for a moment even though the reason was perfectly honest. “She is from the Ural Mountains north of Perm where Gubernetsky was last seen. So she will serve as a guide. As for the balloon, there is an immense amount of land to cover in our search and we will do it more quickly from the air. The plan is to stop at villages here and there and ask after Gubernetsky until we find him.”

“You make it all sound so simple, Nikolai. But when you come right down to it, it is you and a young lady in a balloon in the wilderness. I know Mistress Kasinov well enough that she would not allow that for her daughter. So is this where you come in, Piter?”

With a glance at the doorway, to ensure he was not being watched, Piter replied, “Yes, I am the chaperone, but only because my uncle married Mistress Kasinov long ago. Even though she is sharp of tongue, Svetlana is family and I shall look after her. I am to keep our young man here a dreaming inventor and not a wild beast that the young lady should fear. Also I am a writer. The opportunity to chronicle this adventure is too great to pass by.”

“And Mistress Kasinov trusts you to not spend your days head down over your notebook?” Ivan laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know who is the greater fool here, you or Nikolai for chasing a ghost in the wilderness.”

When his guests left, Nikolai climbed the staircase to his room. As he packed his clothes, a light evening rain dimmed the lights of Moscow. In a day or two they would be far enough away that he would no longer see those lights. A day or two more and they would be farther away than any dacha he had ever visited. In a week, farther than he had ever traveled. He reached out to put his sable hat into the trunk and stopped when he heard a board creak. Looking up he caught Svetlana glancing at him from the doorway. She pointed to the hat and then shook her head. It was so quiet that the long black hair spilling from her headscarf rustled against her back. Then he smiled and set the hat aside. She was right; something so fine would make him stand out as from the cities. As always her advice was sound. At least some things would not change.

~ * ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About the Author:
Jeff Young is a bookseller first and a writer second – although he wouldn’t mind a reversal of fortune.

He received a Writers of the Future award for “Written in Light. He also has contributed to the anthologies: Writers of the Future v.26, By Any Means, Best Laid Plans, Dogs of War, In an Iron Cage, Fantastic Futures 13, Clockwork Chaos, TV Gods, The Society for the Preservation of C.J. Henderson and Gaslight and Grimm. Jeff was published in the magazines eSteampunk, Realms, Cemetery Moon, Trail of Indiscretion, Realms Beyond, Carbon14 and Neuronet. He is an editor with Fortress Publishing for their Drunken Comic Book Monkey line as well as the anthology TV Gods.

Jeff has helped run the Watch the Skies SF&F Reading Group of Harrisburg and Camp Hill for more than fifteen years. He also is an instructor for the Step Back in Time class. Step Back in Time prepares children to enjoy all aspects of Renaissance Faires by learning about dress, language, culture, history and more. Finally, Jeff is also the proprietor of the online eBay and Etsy shops- Helm Haven, which produces Renaissance and Steampunk costume pieces.


Order Gaslight & Grimm now:
Release day, May 29, 2016.

The Giant Killer, Mini Interview & Excerpt

I'm thrilled to share this series of posts with you. As mentioned last Tuesday, I'll have mini interviews about a story in the anthology Gaslight & Grimm that will be coming our way at the end of May.

Please join me in welcoming this weeks author, Jonah Knight, to the blog!


M:  Welcome Jonah. It's wonderful to have you by the blog today.

JK:  Thank you for having me.

M:  The story title, The Giant Killer, sounds like a spin on Jack and the bean stock. Maybe?


JK:  Jack and the Beanstock and Jack the Giant Killer arose as separate legends, as far as we know. Over time, a couple of the “Jack” stories melded together to become the way many of us think of Jack these days.

M:  Could you share what your story is about?

JK:  In the original, Jack basically goes from giant to giant defeating them in different ways with different tools. That core idea is where I started.

In this version, the giants- built during the Civil War as a defense measure- are malfunctioning, causing mayhem, and disrupting the city. So, almost reluctantly, our heroine gathers her devices and goes out into the streets of Boston to stop them, using techniques similar to those used in the original tail.

M:  What drew you to tell the story The Giant Killer in a steampunk setting?

JK:  Years ago I read Charles De Lint’s novel Jack, the Giant Killer. In his book, Jack was a title bestowed on anyone who killed a giant. I’ve always loved that idea and wanted to use it in a way completely unlike the way De Lint did.

When I heard about this anthology I had been writing a series of steampunk short stories about a young woman inventor (almost Tony Stark-like) journeying by train, constantly being waylaid by strange events (Lovecraftian creatures, Confederate soldiers). The idea of her having to fight giant automatons seemed to be a perfect fit.

M:  What steampunk item did you use in the story that you would love to have?

JK:  It’s not an item, per se. I don’t know what I would do with Paul Revere’s sword. As someone who has never been particularly crafty, I would love to have the ability to build impressive devices out of simple components. Magnetic scarves, spring-powered boots, and clockwork giants would be everywhere.


Awesome! I love the sounds of this one as well! Thank you Jonah!

An Excerpt from The Giant Killer

based on Jack the Giant Killer

JONAH KNIGHT

EXCUSE ME,” SAID HANNA LEE. SHE LEANED IN, JOINING THE PORTER to look out the train window. “I could not help but notice that these people seem to be, what is the proper description? Fleeing in terror?”

The porter nodded and turned from the window to face the sixteen-year-old woman before him. “It’s one of the giants, I expect.”

“I thought that the giants were inactive?”

The porter shook his head and his cap wiggled. “They been getting ornery after their maker died. Confederates never got to Boston, of course, but three of the steam-work giants patrol, same as before the war. I seen Cormorgan marching around the train yards plenty of times. Looking for an army to fight.”

“I see,” said Hanna, watching the people scatter beside the tracks as her train slowly approached North Union Station. “It would appear his behavior has changed.”

Grinding steel brakes rattled the car, bringing them to a sudden stop amidst the screaming Bostonians. Typical, thought Hanna. Every mission she had been sent on to recover artifacts from the War Between the States had found her diverted and sidetracked. And now giants. “Nothing to do about it, I suppose,” she said to herself.

Hanna put her hand on the porter’s shoulder and firmly turned his nose from the window. “Perhaps you could see us safely from the train?” She held the little smile on her lips, and motioned to the car full of near-panicking passengers. The porter nodded, straightened his vest, and began calling out orders, ushering the people toward the exit in a calm fashion.

Hanna secured her bonnet and scarf, and carrying her reticule, a sizable handbag, descended onto the dusting of Boston snow. She turned away from the rest of the fleeing passengers and went to see the spectacle.

Three train cars ahead of her stood Cormorgan. The steam-work man was only about eight feet tall, but he was as wide as three men and round like a barrel. He had torn open the side of the coal car and was shoveling the fuel into his furnace through a door in his chest. Flames spilled out, blackening his iron hide. Hardly a giant, really.

Hanna watched a pair of police officers creeping up behind the giant. One held a long iron rod like a spear and the other aimed a rifle. The rifleman fired and hit, but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away.

Cormorgan’s head rotated around in its socket, his three eyeholes focusing on the officers. His body turned about, rotating at the waist, squaring off with the police. The fire exhaled from his chest as he spread his arms out wide and lurched forward.

His thick legs reminded Hanna of Greek columns. They were not steady, but the giant moved with surprising speed above the waist. He clamped his hands around the chest of the rifleman. The man screeched as Cormorgan lifted him, crushing his bones. As the man flopped lifelessly, the giant pulled him in, cramming the broken body into the gaping furnace as well.

Hanna could smell flesh burning even at this distance. She held her scarf up to her nose to block the stench and looked about the train yard for a few moments before a plan came together. She began to jog alongside a neighboring track that housed a train loaded with lumber. She loosened her scarf, positioning herself behind the remaining officer.

The officer, with the red whiskers and wild eyes, yelled to her, gesturing with his spear. “Go! Get away!”

“Keep your eyes on the task before you,” Hanna replied, calmly looking about for a safe place to set her reticule, before spying a mostly dry spot under the train. Now then, she thought, as she pulled the scarf from her neck and rubbed its ends together.

Hanna lived on trains much of these last few years and, when she had the good fortune to procure a private car, she would spend her hours building useful devices to assist in her non-traditional occupation. She was particularly proud of this scarf and its magnetic properties although, she had to admit, it was truly her aunt’s design.

The blood splattered across Cormorgan’s body smoldered as the giant advanced. He clumped awkwardly, one step at a time, arms quickly lashing out. The remaining officer ducked and scrambled to stay out of his reach.

“Excellent,” Hanna said. “Lure him this way if you could.” She felt the magnetism within the scarf begin to activate. Just a few more moments, then, she thought, and counted down from ten.

She twirled the scarf in front of her and walked in front of the officer. “What are you…” began Red Whiskers.

Cormorgan stepped onto the track as Hanna counted three. She pulled her arm back on two, and threw the scarf on one.

The scarf stiffened, attaching itself in part to Cormorgan’s left leg and in part to the train track. Hanna began to count down again. The giant lunged forward, but finding himself anchored, tipped over crashing into the ground.

“You trapped it,” Red Whiskers said in awe, as Cormorgan spun his arms in the dirt.

“Not for long,” said Hanna, pulling the spear from his hands. Eight, she counted. She jumped up onto the nearest lumber flatbed, perched on a log, and with the spear began prying at the latches holding down the pile of wood.

“What are you doing?” asked Red Whiskers.

“Attempting to bury the giant,” she said, straining in a most unladylike manner. Six, she counted. The first latch popped off and the logs shifted. The officer scrambled out of the way as Hanna dug the spear into the second latch.

Fire spilled out of Cormorgan’s chest as he lay face down, pounding at the earth. Three, counted Hanna as the second latch popped. She jumped aside and watched as the logs stayed exactly as they were. One. The scarf lost its magnetic charge and Cormorgan began to push himself back to his feet. Hanna took a breath, wedged the spear into the pile of logs, and threw her weight behind it.

The timber spilled, flowing over the side of the flatbed, raining down on the giant. His back dented, his arms cracked, his head split. When the deluge ended, all that could be seen of the giant were the bottoms of his feet sticking out from the pile of wood.

“Ah,” said Hanna to herself, brushing her gloved hands together lightly to remove the dust. “That seemed to turn out just fine. Would you mind,” she held out her hand toward Red Whiskers, “helping me down?” The officer shut his slack-jawed mouth and rushed around the logs to offer his assistance as the porter ran up beside them.

“You killed Cormorgan,” the porter said in a soft voice, picking up her scarf.

“In my defense,” said Hanna, draping her arm around the officer’s neck as he lifted her to the ground, “he didn’t leave me many options. Thank you,” she said, accepting the burned scarf. “It does look a bit damaged, doesn’t it? Out of commission for the time being. I trust we are still on schedule to depart for Bangor this evening?”

Red Whiskers cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not, miss. The mayor has put a halt to all trains until the giant situation is resolved.”

“Are they all revolting?” asked the porter.

“Only two others,” said Red Whiskers. “Two-headed Thunderdel in the Public Gardens and Galigantus in the harbor.”

“And no one can stop them?” asked Hanna.

Red Whiskers shrugged. “The maker built them in a secret laboratory. Seemed a fine idea until he died and no one knew how to turn them off.”

Hanna pouted. True, her schedule did have flexibility, but she did not want to set a precedent of attending to every local crisis she encountered in her travels. However, she considered, these were the famous giants of Boston. Incredible machines that had not yet seen their equal.

“Well,” she said, turning toward the porter. “If the trains will not depart before the matter of the giants is resolved, perhaps you would care to escort me?”

“To your hotel?”

“To slay the giants.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About the Author:
Jonah Knight is a paranormal modern folk musician specializing in songs about ghosts, monsters, and steampunk. He is a five time musical guest of honor at various conventions and has released six albums of weird and/or creepy songs. His steampunk album Age of Steam: Strange Machines brought him to the attention of The Steampunk World’s Fair and The Pine Hill Steampunk Festival, both of whom featured his live performances. This is his first published story. Listen to his music at www.jonahknight.com

Related Book/Publisher Links
Blog - https://especbooks.wordpress.com/
Website - http://www.especbooks.com/Projects/GaslightAndGrimm.htm
Kickstarter - https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/e-specbooks/gaslight-and-grimm-steampunk-faerie-tales
Kindle - http://www.amazon.com/Gaslight-Grimm-Steampunk-Faerie-Tales-ebook/dp/B01E6C03OA/
Print - http://www.amazon.com/Gaslight-Grimm-Steampunk-Faerie-Tales/dp/1942990316/
NOOK - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gaslight-grimm-jody-lynn-nye/1123660280?ean=9781942990321
GoodReads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28522644-gaslight-and-grimm
GoodReads Giveaway – https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/183549-gaslight-and-grimm
Twitter Handles: @eSpecBooks @DMcPhail @jonahofthesea



Order Gaslight & Grimm now:
Release day, May 29, 2016.

The Clockwork Nightingale, Mini Interview & Excerpt

I'm thrilled to share this series of posts with you. As mentioned last Tuesday, I'll have mini interviews about a story in the anthology Gaslight & Grimm that will be coming our way at the end of May.

Please join me in welcoming this weeks author, Jean Marie Ward, to the blog!

M:  Welcome Jean Marie. It's wonderful to have you by the blog today.

The title, “The Clockwork Nightingale”, caught my eye as it sounds like it would be beautiful with the bird's song. Did any song or music help influence the story for you?

JMW:  Thanks. I’m so glad the story caught your eye—and your ear. Since the story focuses on a singer and her mechanical competition, it’s not surprising “The Clockwork Nightingale” grew a soundtrack while I was writing it. The pieces most important to the plot are:

“Streets of Laredo”
Norma by Vincenzo Bellini and Felice Romani
The Pirates of Penzance by W.S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan
“The Moon” from The Planets by Gustav Holst
“The Erlkonig” by Franz Schubert
Finally and most crucially, “La Marseillaise” (aka “War Song for the Rhine Army”)

Writers often talk about how a piece surprises them, and this was certainly true for “The Clockwork Nightingale”. I thought it was all about subverting Hans Christian Andersen’s poisonous misogyny by celebrating a woman’s voice, her agency and her mobility. (Take that, “The Little Mermaid” and “Red Shoes”!) But when I sat down to write, it turned out “the Girls in the Basement”, as Jenny Crusie calls them, were having a major side conversation with one of my favorite movies, Casablanca. Anytime you can’t figure out what music is playing in the background, call up something from Max Steiner’s score for Casablanca, and you’re good.

M:  Could you share what your story is about?

JMW:  “The Clockwork Nightingale” tells the story of would-be opera singer Genny Teil. Genny made a devil’s bargain with saloon owner Big Roy King, signing away twelve years of her life in exchange for a life-saving operation. For seven long years she’s honored that contract, singing for the miners and roustabouts who frequent Big Roy’s Empire Saloon. But Big Roy wants to claim her body as well as her voice, and he’s not above committing fraud or violence to achieve his ends. Genny’s future, her very life, is balanced on a knife’s edge.

Then he walks into the bar—Shiro Shimatsuga, the love Genny gave up for lost. But Shiro hasn’t come to save her. He’s brought Big Roy a new toy: an automaton with the voice of an angel, the very thing Big Roy needs to break Genny’s contract and take her by force. Genny’s not about to let that happen, even if it means breaking her clockwork heart.

But she doesn’t know Shiro has one last card to play.

M:  What drew you to tell this particular story?

JMW:  As you may have gathered from my first answer, I’m not a Hans Christian Andersen fan. But by the time I arrived at the Gaslight and Grimm party, all my favorite Grimm stories had been claimed by other authors. Then the anthology’s co-editor, Danielle Ackley-McPhail, suggested casting my fairy tale net further afield. Andersen’s “The Nightingale” immediately sprang to mind. The story is practically Steampunk as written. It revolves around a marvel of early nineteenth century technology, a wind-up bird whose song rivals the real thing. In addition, its theme, the conflict between the natural and mechanical world, is pure Steampunk. Finally, it has the singular advantage of having a less than wretched ending—a rarity among Andersen stories.

I also relished the idea of moving the serving woman and the Japanese ambassador (who presents the mechanical nightingale to the Chinese emperor in the original) to the front of the story. Andersen’s stories routinely punish women for their talents and ambition, and he owned all the nineteenth century’s prejudices about the inherent superiority of white European males. So I set myself the goal of subverting all his tropes in a single story. I like to think his bones have been spinning in their grave ever since I wrote the story’s end.

M:  What steampunk item did you use in the story that you would love to have?

JMW:  It’s not so much something I want for myself, but something I’d love to exist. The world of “The Clockwork Nightingale” is one in which magic co-exists with nineteenth century science, machinery and technology. Shiro is what’s called a magicanist, an artist/engineer whose work combines both magic and technology. “The Clockwork Nightingale” of the story’s title is almost entirely mechanical, a wondrous creation of pistons, gears and tiny, folded steel energy cells, which store and disburse electrical charges like a battery. But he made his reputation by crafting elegant, enameled brass prosthetics for individuals injured in local conflicts. Thanks to the batteries he invented and Territorial physicians’ ability to magically transmit neural impulses along certain types of wires, these prostheses provide full functionality for missing limbs and are only slightly heavier than flesh and bone. Prosthetics in our world have come a long way, thanks to computerization and improved materials, but we still can’t provide functionality, comfort and beauty in a single package. I’d like to think we soon will, but that day is not yet here.


Oh my! This sounds like a magnificent story! Thank you Jean Marie!

An Excerpt from The Clockwork Nightingale

based on The Nightingale

JEAN MARIE WARD

Shiro tugged the snowy cuffs of his shirt. He pressed a pair of studs on the doll’s back. Pistons sighed. The corset’s side front panels lifted on short metal rods. Matching elbow joints folded the panels over the center of the corset. Hissing softly, the panels settled flush against the line of beads marking the corset’s center front.

The operation exposed oblongs of stretched black mesh. Genny whistled softly. As if the Nightingale wasn’t loud enough already, Shiro had incorporated covered horns, like the ones used in speaking tubes, to further amplify her voice. It wasn’t the doll’s movements Genny had to worry about; it was the volume.

She retreated upstage, trying to get behind the horns without spooking the crowd. For the first time in all her years at the Empire, she thanked the Saints for the perpetual glare of the Empire’s mage-bulb chandeliers. The bright lights shining on the gaming tables meant there was no need for footlights. Stout metal casings shielded the mage-bulb spotlights suspended between the battens. Their glass wasn’t as thick as the exposed bulbs of the chandeliers, but at that height, they should be safe.

“Please, turn to the song index at the back of the book, and read out the four-digit number next to ‘Nera’s Death Scene’,” Shiro said.

After seeing what a pair of beads could do, it came as no surprise that the flowers on the Nightingale’s corset served as dials. As Roy read each digit, Shiro twisted a different blossom on the back of the corset a corresponding number of petals to the right. Fascinated in spite of herself, Genny couldn’t help but keep track: two, four, nine, one. Did each of the flowers, leaves, beads, and spangles govern a different function? No wonder the doll’s instruction book was so thick.

Shiro called for silence. After a quick shuffle of feet and the scrape of a few chairs, the room quieted. Even the off-duty sheriff’s deputy manning the gun check turned to the stage.

With a crisp flick of his arm, he presented his creation, exactly like the magician she’d compared him to. He pressed a white button between the automaton’s shoulder blades and stepped back, somehow managing to draw level with Genny without glancing in her direction. She willed herself not to cover her ears.

“Woe!” the Clockwork Nightingale shrieked. In high C.

The crystal champagne glasses on Big Roy’s table exploded in a hail of slivers. Sharp citrus fumes of champagne joined the odors of beer, sweat, and drying wool rising from the main floor. Roy started to swear, changed his mind and forced out a laugh as the bartender and waiter girls ducked under the bar. The mirrors shook in their frames, but withstood the blast as well as the thick, everyday barware. Not so the watch faces of the patrons near the stage.

A railroad engineer Genny knew by sight shouted at Big Roy: “That was my papa’s watch, you son of a bitch!”

That’s what she thought he said, at any rate. Thanks to the horns, the Nightingale’s voice was big enough to fill the largest theater without sacrificing clarity, pitch, or the miraculous sweetness of its tone. Genny had never heard the aria sung so musically, as if some celestial instrument had been given human voice, or a siren had taken her melody to land. Eventually even the angry engineer succumbed. His eyes glazed with awe.

Only one aspect was lacking: the music had no context. Nera was being burnt at the stake. The infamous trills were her death throes, echoing the rising flames. Yet the Nightingale’s voice registered neither the agonies of the fire nor the exultation of martyrdom. The stage directions called for Nera’s chains to “miraculously” fall away in the middle of the aria, permitting her to clasp the flames in a final, symbolic embrace. But in the absence of emotion—or anything holding her down—the abrupt transition from singing stock to flailing arms looked more than a little ridiculous.

Meanwhile, the trills went on and on.

The reaction started with a quickly muffled snicker from somewhere near Roy’s table. Soon there were more. Not many. The automaton’s performance was a true marvel, worthy of the applause that greeted her final note. But it wasn’t programmed for passion, and as for dying, it couldn’t manage that at all.

At Shiro’s command, the automaton retreated upstage. Genny minced forward, eyes as wide and girlish as her ruined make-up allowed.

“Oops,” she squeaked in Soprano C, minus the Nightingale’s glass-shattering force.

A few people tittered nervously. Big Roy snarled, “What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing.” She pretended to pout. “That’s the first note of my song.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About the Author:
Jean Marie Ward writes fiction, nonfiction and everything in between, including novels (2008 Indie Book double-finalist With Nine You Get Vanyr) and art books. Her stories appear in numerous anthologies, such as The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity, The Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs. Aliens, and Tales from the Vatican Vaults. The former editor of Crescent Blues, she co-edited the six-volume, 40th anniversary World Fantasy Con anthology Unconventional Fantasy and is a frequent contributor to BuzzyMag.com. Her website is JeanMarieWard.com.



Order Gaslight & Grimm now:
Release day, May 29, 2016.

The Steam-Powered Dragon, Mini Interview & Excerpt:

I'm thrilled to share this series of posts with you. As mentioned last Tuesday, I'll have mini interviews about a story in the anthology Gaslight & Grimm that will be coming our way at the end of May.

Please join me in welcoming this weeks author, David Lee Summers, to the blog!

M:  Welcome David. It's wonderful to have you by the blog today.

DLS:  Thank you for having me!

M:  The title, The Steam-Powered Dragon, sounds like a story I need to read! Did you have fun writing about a steam-powered dragon?

DLS:  Absolutely! I’ve loved dragons since I learned how to read and I’ve long been fascinated by steam-powered and clockwork devices. It was fun finding ways to combine to two into a mechanized creature whose size and power are at once frightening and true to the dragons of traditional fantasy, while making it a machine I’d love to tinker with and see in operation!

M:  Could you share what your story is about?

DLS:  Three British soldiers pressed to fight in India encounter a steam-powered dragon who offers to take them away from life in the army and even gives them an alchemical device that turns coal into diamonds. The catch is that the dragon will return and ask three riddles. If the soldiers can’t answer, they will become the steam-powered dragon’s slaves, keeping his boilers stoked for the rest of their lives.

M:  What drew you to tell the story The Steam-Powered Dragon?

DLS:  I’ve long been a fan of Grimm’s Fairy Tales and I was drawn to the original tale which served as inspiration for my story because it was one of the lesser known works. Of course, the idea of writing about a steam-powered dragon also appealed to me! That all said, I think what really drew me to this story was that it’s about three ordinary guys who find themselves in a time and place they don’t want to be. It’s a story that I think has relevance for people who may think fairy tales no longer speak to them.

M:  What steampunk item did you use in the story that you would love to have?

DLS:  No question, I’d like the alchemical engine for turning coal into diamonds! With that, I could buy a veritable dragon’s hoard of books!



Reading these answers, I'm ready to read the story now! Thank you David!

Now, time for an Excerpt.

The Steam-Powered Dragon

based on The Dragon and His Grandmother

DAVID LEE SUMMERS

MARLOW AND DANIELS WERE STROLLING THROUGH THE MARKET OF Peshawar Town, admiring the work of local weavers, when Carlyle ran up to them, out of breath. “The Russians jus’ crossed the Oxus River. They’re fightin’ the Afghans at Panjdeh.”

“Good for them,” declared Daniels with a laugh. “Keeps the bloody Afghans off our backs for a while.”

Marlow scowled. “That’s not going to sit well with Parliament. The whole reason we get to enjoy this mild climate is to keep the Russians intimidated. They push in on us, we’ll have to push back.”

Carlyle nodded. “Bad enough fightin’ Afghan tribesmen. Them Russians is trained soldiers, they is. The last thing I want to do is face them—and that’s bloody desert over there by Panjdeh.”

“All I ever wanted was to be an artist.” Daniels looked off toward the tall peaks to the north. “We could always go into Kafiristan and set ourselves up as kings. We’d be wealthy and do what we wanted.”

Marlow folded his arms. “That’s just dreaming. You know the tribesmen up there would tear us apart as soon as look at us.”

Carlyle followed Daniels’s gaze. “He does have a point, though. If we was up in the mountains when the army moved out, we wouldn’t have t’ march across the Afghan desert.”

Marlow snorted. “They’d still shoot us as deserters if they caught us.”

“And who’d catch us?” Daniels asked. “If we run off, they’d assume we went down the road to Lahore.”

“Best if we’re not deserters.” Carlyle tapped his pith helmet’s brim. “We could suggest a scouting tour in the mountains—requisition some guns and disappear for a few days. By the time we get back, the army’s sure to have moved on to meet the Russians. We’ll be able t’ stay here in relative comfort with the garrison what’s left behind.”

Marlow considered the proposition, then nodded. “Now that’s an idea I could get behind.”

Daniels sighed. His gray eyes lingered on the mountains, whether studying them or dreaming of distant kingdoms the others didn’t know. “All right then, I’m in.”

With that, the three men returned to the garrison headquarters and reported to their commander. Once in his office, they snapped crisp salutes. Carlyle stepped forward. “Sir, we’s heard that the Russians have invaded Panjdeh. We respectfully request that we lead a scoutin’ party into the mountains to make sure there’s no Russians spyin’ on us.”

The lieutenant returned their salute and placed his hands behind his back. “And why do you think the Russians would be spying on us?”

Daniels stepped forward. “Surely they’ll overwhelm the Afghans. If that’s the case, isn’t it likely we’ll be sent to fight them?”

Marlow nodded and joined Carlyle and Daniels. “Surely the Russians will want to know what they’re facing. Spies with telescopes could be lurking up there right now and we’d never know it…unless we go look.”

The lieutenant pursed his lips and sat behind the desk. “Very well. I need to check with the colonel, but if he approves, you can go. At least I’d get some useful work out of you three. Make a list of the supplies you need and see me in an hour’s time.”

The three saluted again, turned on their heels and left the office.

~ * ~

The lieutenant granted the three soldiers permission to conduct their scouting expedition. “Take only a week’s worth of supplies,” said the officer. “The colonel agrees the Russians might be snooping about, but we could be marching out soon. I want you back here when we do.”

The three soldiers snapped salutes and left for the mountains as soon as they could.

Their foray into the mountains was a quiet one. They encountered no Russian spies and stayed clear of the villages. Nevertheless, Marlow couldn’t shake a feeling they were being watched. Six days later, they hiked out of the mountains into the foothills above Peshawar.

Daniels retrieved a spyglass from his belt and examined the city. “They haven’t been ordered west yet,” he growled.

Carlyle took the spyglass and confirmed Daniels’s observations. “I say we’s stay put fer a few days an’ see if they depart.”

Marlow shook his head. “You heard the lieutenant. He wanted us back in a week.”

Carlyle shrugged. “So we go back in th’ hills, fire off some rounds, eat s’more of our rations and say the tribesmen gave us trouble. No one’ll be any the wiser.” With that, the three men were agreed and they went up into the hills for three more days.

When they returned to the foothills, they saw that the garrison had still not been ordered west to Panjdeh.

“What do we do now?” Marlow’s shoulders drooped. “We’re nearly out of supplies. If we stay in the mountains we’ll starve. If we return to the garrison, we’ll have to face the Russians. If we sneak east to Lahore, we’ll be shot as traitors to the Crown likely as not.”

“I vote we stay in the mountains and make friends with one of the tribes,” said Daniels.

Carlyle shook his head. “I say we’s takes our chances on Lahore.”

“I think it’s best if we accept our fate and return to the army,” said Marlow.

Just then, a great wind swept up clouds of dust. A loud, screeching roar like a broken-down freight train pulling into a station sounded. A burst of flame ignited a nearby bush. A moment later, a great, copper-colored dragon appeared in the sky above and descended to the rocky ground, scattering dirt and pebbles. As it landed, they heard tickings, whirrings, and clackings from within the beast. Steam issued forth from between its joints. The dragon was not alive at all, but rather a great automaton. Nevertheless, it looked them over with green, emerald-like eyes and let out a hearty mechanical laugh. “You men seem to find yourself in a predicament. I think I can help.”

Daniels rubbed his goatee. “And just what do you think you can do for us, eh?”

“If you promise to give me service,” said the steam-powered dragon, “I will carry you across India to the coal fields of Raniganj. There you will buy a coal mine and work it for seven years. Once you have done that, I will come for the coal and give you a choice.”

Marlow held up his hand. “Now wait a minute there, Mr. Dragon. In principle, this all sounds very good, but we’re hardly rich men who can go about buying coal mines.”

“That is easily solved,” said the dragon. He opened a leather pouch that he wore around his neck and pulled forth a small machine, which he placed on the ground. Then, he opened a door in his belly and retrieved a chunk of coal. He placed the coal inside the machine, then turned a crank on its side. Steam issued from the machine and it glowed red. Before it was cool enough for human hands to touch the exterior, the dragon reached in and plucked forth a diamond with his claws. “I think this would serve as a down payment for a coal mine. I’ll leave you with the diamond engine in case you have…other expenses.”

Carlyle stepped forward. “You said we’d have a choice at the end of the seven years. Wha’ choice would that be?”

“Ah.” The dragon’s metallic lips creaked upward in a toothy smile. “I will give you three puzzles—one for each of you—and if you solve them, you shall have your freedom. If you don’t solve them, you shall continue to serve me for the rest of your days.”

Marlow and Carlyle looked at each other and nodded. Daniels narrowed his sharp gaze. “What if we’re not there? What if we just make some diamonds and skip out on you?”

“A clever man. I like that.” The dragon tapped his forehead with his metallic claw, then his devilish smile turned into a fearsome scowl. “If you try to cheat me, I will hunt you down. Human flesh won’t burn as efficiently in my belly as coal, but it will do for a while.” The dragon let the implications of the threat sink in.

“I see no choice then but to accept your terms,” said Daniels.

Without another word, the dragon scooped the soldiers up in his claws and carried them through the air and across the entire subcontinent until they reached Raniganj near the Damodar River. He set them down. “Enjoy your time in Raniganj. When I return in seven years, I expect to have coal enough to power my burners for many decades to come.”

They watched open-mouthed as the dragon lifted himself high into the sky and disappeared from sight. Marlow held up the diamond the dragon had given them and nodded slowly. “I suppose we better get busy and buy a coal mine.”

~ * ~

About the Author:
David Lee Summers is the author of ten novels and numerous short stories and poems. His novels include Owl Dance, a wild west steampunk adventure which tells the story of a microscopic alien swarm manipulating events in 1877 New Mexico, and The Solar Sea which imagines the first voyage to the outer planets aboard a solar sail spacecraft. His short stories and poems have appeared in such magazines and anthologies as Realms of Fantasy, Cemetery Dance, and Human Tales. In addition to writing, David edited the quarterly science fiction and fantasy magazine Tales of the Talisman for ten years and has edited three science fiction anthologies: A Kepler’s Dozen, Space Pirates and Space Horrors. When not working with the written word, David operates telescopes at Kitt Peak National Observatory. Learn more about David at davidleesummers.com



Order Gaslight & Grimm now:
Release day, May 29, 2016.

Author Interview: K.A. Finn

I'm thrilled to interview on the blog today a science fiction author that I've LOVED! I read the first Nomad series and loved what was created and how it was presented to us. (You haven't read my review? Feel free to go check it out.) Everything for everyone in one place.
book in her

Please welcome K.A. Finn to the blog today!

M:  I'm curious what was the inspiration for Gryffin? He is one damaged man, and in more ways than one.

K.A.:  Right! A nice easy one to start. The earliest version of Gryffin made an appearance (in my head) when I was about 16. My sister and I would rush home from school to watch Star Trek: The Next Generation – we were both hooked on it! I’ve always been a day dreamer – caused me lots of problems in school :). I’d spend a lot of time running through different Star Trek storylines in my head. Gryffin jumped right into one and refused to leave.

The older I got, the more he developed. He went from a regular guy to a cyborg (not quite sure how that happened) and his attitude changed from a ‘nice’ guy to… well the Gryffin he is now. Personally, I’ve always steered towards stories with a darker hero – someone who has flaws, not the perfect ‘Prince Charming’. I think it makes for a more interesting and possibly unpredictable story.

Saying that, I never planned for him to be as ‘damaged’ as he is – it’s just where the story took him. The more I delved into his background and what he went through, the more his personality changed in response to that. He’s had to fight every single day of his life – against himself, what he is and what was done to him. The Gryffin from the first draft of Ares is a very different Gryffin to the final published book.

Once you take time to get to know him and what he’s gone through in his life, you start to understand why he is the way he is. He never asked for any of it to happen to him or to be modified the way he has – his anger and ‘emotional wall’ is a result of his past. There is more to him than that – you just need to dig a little to find it :)

More details about his past are revealed through the series so it should all become clear.

M:  If we talk about Gryffin, we have to talk about Terra. She's learning quick the way of space. She is new out of the academy at the beginning and has some good friends around her. She is growing stronger through the book. Will she be crossing new boundaries in her life soon?

K.A.:  Her life takes a drastic change in Nemesis partly due to what happens in Ares ( I’m not going to give anything away from Ares, but as you know, something happens at the end that will alter her). She really has no choice but to adapt to survive living so far from Earth, but other situations drive this development further. She really needed to ‘toughen up’ to be a suitable match for someone like Gryffin – which she does quite a lot in the second book.

I think the key to their relationship (if you could call it that!) is Terra’s initial reaction to him. She stood up to him instead of cowering. It’s that attitude that intrigues him and helps her push through his wall. It’s never going to be a typical relationship and she’ll be faced with more than her fair share of stubborn moments with him but she sees the ‘real’ Gryffin. She knows he’s worth the effort – no matter how infuriating he gets.

M:  Each character has an in depth and complicated background that intertwines with all present. How did you go about writing each character? Were they separate sections?

K.A.:  No, I actually developed each character as the story evolved. I plotted the storyline so I knew roughly where each character had to ‘be’ at each stage, but the rest just developed as I wrote. I never stick to a definite plan. Things can change as you write. Your mind just let’s go and you type. For example, the Scientist’s true identity only came out in the final draft – about a week before I published.

M:  I loved ARES, no secret in that around here. I know we have another book coming our way soon, NEMESIS. We will see all our favorite characters again, right? Well, at least the ones that didn't die. ;)

K.A.:  Of course! Nemesis will be out in January (exact date to be confirmed) and will bring back all the original characters – except the ones that died. I couldn’t keep any of them out of the story. I get very attached to my characters – even the bad guys. Some of their storylines have been developed so you learn more about them. I always planned for this to be a series so didn’t want to ‘finish’ every story/plot line from the first book. It takes time to get to know people and it’s the same for my characters.

I’ve also introduced some new characters. It wasn’t planned – they just burst into the story and stayed. These new characters create some interesting situations for the rest of the gang and may help them deal with what’s going on around them.

M:  Are you planning more books to the series?

K.A.:  Absolutely! The plan I have in my head is for at least one or two more full size novels. It really depends where my characters take me.

I also plan to release two or three more novellas centering on some of the other characters in the series. I’ve been asked by readers for more information on both Bray and Chayse so I’ll start with these two. Both of them have had such colourful lives, I think it would be a shame not to delve a little deeper. To be honest, you could say that about quite a lot of the characters! I guess we’ll all have to wait and see who forces themselves onto the novella list! I haven’t decided on an exact number so who knows! I know I’m not ready to say goodbye to Gryffin and the rest of my characters yet.

I don’t want to say too much, but after you read (or listen to) Nemesis, you’ll know what way I’m planning to go next :)

M:  Okay, K.A. Time for some fun questions. I ask these of all my first time interviewees.

If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?

K.A.:  Maldives – sun, sea and a good book – yes please!

M:  Tea of Coffee?

K.A.:  Coffee – well, mocha to be exact. Need my chocolate fix!

M:  Favorite Color?

K.A.:  Red – red computer, red phone, red car, red, red, red – love it!

M:  Favorite Childhood Fictional Creature?

K.A.:  Dragons

M:  Now as an adult what's your Favorite Fictional Creature?

K.A.:  Really? It has to be the griffin – no surprise there!

M:  Favorite word? (any word at all)

K.A.:  Twit – I call myself that numerous times while I’m writing 

M:  K.A. I want to thank you for joining me today and for the interview. It is a pleasure to meet you and read Ares. I can't wait for Nemesis!

K.A.:  Thanks for the interesting questions – I really enjoyed answering them! Thanks again for your amazing review of Ares and hope you’ll like Nemesis as much!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ares
Description:
He wasn't expected to survive — no one else did — and for twenty years, he has managed to stay off their radar. Until now. Until her… 

Gryffin was the sole survivor of The Foundation’s experimental project to transform human children into hybrid cyborgs – half human, half machine. The program failed and he was sent on a one way trip into The Outer Sector where he was left for dead. He has survived for twenty years by suppressing his human emotions and embracing his machine side. 

Officer Terra Rush believes in her duty to the Foundation. The Sector needs to be prepared for colonization, and nothing can stop her from doing her job…except him. When Gryffin saves her from an attack, Terra uncovers a terrible secret. The Foundation has been lying to her…and maybe they still are. 

They have labelled Gryffin a killing machine, yet he acts more human than many of The Foundation’s leaders. He has awakened intense feelings in Terra that throw her loyalties into question, and even though he pushes her away, she is determined to find out the truth about the cyborg program. 

Gryffin refuses to be a mindless soldier, yet escaping The Foundation’s control and stopping the colonization of his home will require Terra’s help. Can Gryffin overcome the machine inside and trust her? Or will getting in touch with his human emotions destroy him once and for all? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

About K.A. Finn:
I grew up in Co. Wicklow, Ireland and now live in Herefordshire, England with my long-suffering husband, bossy daughter, two cuddly dogs, crazy cat, unpredictable ram and six impatient sheep.
After working as a veterinary nurse for many years, I was forced to change career when I ran out of room for any more strays. I spent the next few years in banking before moving to Herefordshire.
My days are filled looking after the small-holding and its demanding residents as well as working as a freelance proofreader.

Any spare time is devoted to writing or reading (sci-fi, thriller, some paranormal).
My favourite authors are J.R. Ward, Lee Child, James Rollins, Stephen Leather, Andy McNab and J.D. Robb.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Follow K.A. Finn:
Author Site:  http://kafinn.com/
Blog:  http://kafinn.com/random-ramblings/
Facebook Author Page
Twitter:  @K_A_Finn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Purchase Ares:
Amazon

Audio on Audible


The second book in the Nomad series, Nemesis, will be coming our way January 2016!