Sneak Peek: Sons of the Falcon

.
I am pleased to announce that my website has been updated to include a sampling of Book 2 of the Falcons Saga. Yes, you may read the first chapter of Sons of the Falcon at this link.

I never expected the kind of response these novels have received, and so this is for all of those readers who have asked me how the next book is coming along and how much longer they must wait for its release.

The date keeps moving, and I have stopped being optimistic by saying Christmas of this year. I will be much farther along by then, but not finished. Alas. This is a one-woman show, after all, and that includes all the design, layout, and finding as many typos and incoherent rambling as my aching eyes can. I could rush it, but I would not be proud of it. Therefore, in the meantime, may this peace offering satisfy a little of your curiosity, but not all of it. ;)

(Remember, this book is still undergoing revision; while I am currently happy with how Chapter 1 has turned out, there will likely be some textual changes in the final version. Also remember, no copying or reprinting this sample at all without my written permission. I shall send Athna to bombard any pirates I find.)
.

Cat Immortal

.

 
RAPHAEL

October 14, 2005 - July 8, 2013

Well, I meant to get a chapter+ written this week, but on Monday morning I woke up to find my most faithful companion sick. He died at noon. I'm still sick over losing him. Caring about the scene I need to be working on comes and goes in fits, so I write when I can focus on words. 

It's really amazing to discover how many habits I had that revolved around this little guy. Very strange adjusting to a different way of doing and thinking. The worst part was Monday evening dinner time. I went to the garage with my two other cats in tow, and looked down at the floor where three bowls waited to be filled. I had to decide which one to pick up and set aside. Raphael always got his bowl of food last because he was too sweet to steal a bowl from the other two, and because Gabriel and Sonora don't like each other, I have to separate their bowls at arm's length, then I would set Raphael's bowl down in the middle. So I picked up the middle bowl and put it on the shelf, sobbing the whole time, of course.

I've had too many pets during my lifetime to get sappy over most of them, and I am usually not the type who posts sappy obituaries about an animal on my blog, but this one was different. I won't be replacing him any time soon.

.

Review: Wool by Hugh Howey

 .

I have jumped on the Wool bandwagon. It's rare that a self-published book keeps me reading to the end, but Wool by Hugh Howey managed to pull it off.

A full review of this post-apocalyptic novella is up at The Bearded Scribe. I usually like to write a second version of these reviews to post on my own blog, but time is a luxury these days, so I invite you to head over to Joshua's fabulous blog and read the review there.



Blurb:

"Thousands of them have lived underground. They've lived there so long, there are only legends about people living anywhere else. Such a life requires rules. Strict rules. There are things that must not be discussed. Like going outside. Never mention you might like going outside.

Or you'll get what you wish for. "

In Brief:

Suffice to say that this short read does not disappoint. There is a good reason why it has attracted the attention of Simon & Schuster and 20th Century Fox. If I'm any judge, we'll be seeing a lot more of Wool and its talented author Hugh Howey. Check it out for yourself. The download at Amazon is currently free.

I give Wool 4 out of 5 magic wands.

Anyone who has followed Wordweaver for a while knows I'm a sucker for great art. Check out these other gorgeous covers for Wool:

.

Tornadoes and the Falcons Saga

.

That, right there, is the kind of thing that is slowing down my progress lately. These suckers will not stop coming. It's been the stormiest spring in my memory. More storms are projected for tomorrow as well, and Thursday. Hopefully no more clouds that look like this. This is the kind of cloud you never want to see bearing down on you. I took this picture on my husband's iphone last Friday. The storm itself was about six miles northwest of our house at this point, but soon after this, the storm exploded south and overtook us. So last Friday was my first official trip into a storm cellar. Bound to happen sooner or later, living in Tornado Alley as I do. Today we learned that the primary tornado spawned by this particular cloud was rated an F5, which is the strongest tornado rating available to date, and it's been classified as the widest tornado ever recorded. Over 2 miles wide. That's a nightmare, folks.

Once the tornado swept past, the storm dumped up to 10 inches of rain in places. Oklahoma City was flooded, houses and business and cars were ruined, several people drowned.

Devastation and human loss seem to have filled my viewfinder lately. It's unbelievably difficult to write about crisis in my characters' lives when real-life crisis is affecting so many people around me. Words suddenly seem inadequate, but the twins and I are gradually punching through the pain, a paragraph at a time.

RECENT PROGRESS
Chapter(s): 25-26
Death count: 200+
Good things that happen: A love story blooms.
Bad things that happen: A terrible choice looms for Carah.
.

A Month In A Day: Falcons Saga, Progress Report

.
Ugh! Some passages are just harder to write than others. It's like switching gears and the gears catching and grinding and groaning before the car speeds ahead. Blech. So after the great gory carnage chapter, the following several chapters all take place during the same night. This one night is taking me a full month to write. It's very strange, getting up in the morning, eating, writing, going back to sleep, then waking up again and finding my characters still living out the same horrible day. Poor suckers. It's a nightmare for them, it's a nightmare for me. One day soon. One day we will get over this hump and forge ahead.

Worse, I don't like anything I wrote yesterday, which means scrapping that passage and starting over. The goal: never let the readers know it was painful to write. Write it until it's easy, write it until I like it, then they will like it too. That's the theory anyway.

RECENT PROGRESS
Chapter(s): 23-25
Pages Revised: 17
Became: 35 pages (and still growing)
Death count: 100+ 
Good things that happen:  The Goddess makes a move.
Bad things that happen: The Black Falcon suffers agonizing disillusionment.
.

Review: 19 Varieties of Gazelle by Naomi Shihab Nye

.

In celebration of National Poetry Month, how could I not write a review of my favorite book of poems?

Blurb:

"Fowzi, who beats everyone at dominoes; Ibtisam, who wanted to be a doctor; Abu Mahmoud, who knows every eggplant and peach in his West Bank garden; mysterious Uncle Mohammed, who moved to the mountain; a girl in a red sweater dangling a book bag; children in velvet dresses who haunt the candy bowl at the party; Baba Kamalyari, age 71; Mr. Dajani and his swans; Sitti Khadra, who never lost her peace inside.

"Maybe they have something to tell us.

"Naomi Shihab Nye has been writing about being Arab-American, about Jerusalem, about the West Bank, about family all her life."

Review: 

19 Varieties of Gazelle, was released in 2002, months after the attack on the World Trade Center. The collection is clearly close to the heart of poet Naomi Shihab Nye, who was born to a Palestinian immigrant and grew up in both San Antonio, Texas, and the Old City in Jerusalem.

I cannot state it more clearly: I love this book of poems. It's the book I keep on my nightstand and read morsel by morsel in stolen moments when I can stand to have my heart broken and seek to have my spirit lifted by the nobility of day-to-day human existence. These sixty poems are simple and profound. They draw tears from me and put my heart in my throat every time I read them. The words, the images bring people of a far-away culture right into the room with me, and they are not alien but familiar, not "those people" on the other side of the planet, but neighbors. Each poem is a snapshot that shows you details that you wouldn't have seen otherwise. And suddenly the barriers are gone.

It's no wonder that this remarkable collection was a National Book Award Finalist. I love poet William Stafford's statement that "reading her work enhances life." Yes, that's it exactly.

I give a blazing five magic wands to Nye's 19 Varieties of Gazelle:

(some of the proceeds from the sale of this book go to Seeds of Peace)

.

National Poetry Month - Shakespeare

.
From us celebrating National Poetry Month, "Happy Birthday, Master Shakespeare! You're an inspiration to us all."

For your reading pleasure, a sonnet and an excerpt from my favorite poem, that just so happens to refer to one of the Bard's most beloved works:



Sonnet 100

  Where art thou Muse that thou forget’st so long,
    To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
    Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
    Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
    Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,
    In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
    Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
    And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
    Rise, resty Muse, my love’s sweet face survey,
    If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
    If any, be a satire to decay,
    And make time’s spoils despised every where.
    Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life,
    So thou prevent’st his scythe and crooked knife.

... ... ... 

From "The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot:

Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.” .      .      .      .      .      .      .      .	110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,	115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …	120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

 .