Micro-fiction Challenges!

I have really wanted to write some micro fiction put out a call for people to challenge me. This is my response to the first prompt I was given – Dinosaurs & Melodrama.

I couldn’t help where it ended up… once I got started it was, well it was inevitable! (If you know, you know) I hope that you enjoy it. I’ll work on getting one done a day 🙂

Steg grazed lush grass; revelled in the scent of fern, baked yellow dirt and coming rain.  Allosaurus dozed beneath the nearest tree. They were greatest allies and truest friends.  Thunder rumbled.

Steg looked up, content.

‘Good friends, stay truest,’ he smiled.

Allosaurus flexed. She stretched. She grimaced.

‘I’m hungry,’ the sky had darkened.

The herds had moved away.

His heart thumped with uneasy horror.

Allosaurus grinned. A blaze of light set the clouds on fire.

‘Curse you,’ Steg started to run. He tripped, he tumbled.

Allosaurus approached, teeth bared.

‘Curse your sudden yet inevitable betrayal!’

And then they all exploded.

Do you want to provide a prompt? Just comment with me a word like ‘Vampire’ or ‘Moose’ and a genre. Like Moose – Horror! And I’ll do my best to come up with a story of 100 words or less.

Or do you want to join in the challenge! If you do, then post your micro-fiction of 100 words or less below. I challenge you to use the prompt of ‘Daffodil’ and the genre of Sci-fi. Have fun! I would love to see some responses.

Happy Writing,

Fibi

Longbow Archery – Part Two

Following on from my previous post about Longbow Archery 🙂 The next injuries are by no means specific to longbow archery.

String Whip – it’s not life threatening but it does bloody hurt. If you’ve done archery a couple of times, then you’ve done this. What happens is the arm holding the bow, bends in just a little and it’s enough for the string to whip against the inside of your arm when you release the arrow. The injury can stretch from elbow to wrist and anywhere in between. It’s unlikely to draw blood and it will probably stop hurting within an hour or so. However, you are going to develop a beautiful, multi-coloured bruise. Usually in the shape of an extended ellipses.

I’ve been told that due to slight physiological differences that women are more prone to this than men, because their arms bend more naturally at a slightly different angle. There seems to be evidence that can go either way on this. Anyone is capable of getting whipped by the string. However, women also have adjust their stance a little to account for their chest which can lead to a tendency to curve the bow arm.

The easiest way to avoid string whip is to wear a van brace. Usually shortened to just a brace, this is the leather guard that is strapped to my wrist. If you go to any archery club, they will make you wear a brace to stop this injury.

Arrow Damage – when shooting arrows, one of the most dangerous things (other than the other people doing it beside you) can be going to collect the arrows that you’ve flung at the target. One of the main lessons in archery is –never- run towards the target to collect your arrows. If you trip over an arrow, or near the target, there’s a good chance you’re going to fall on an arrow and the nock end (the bit that holds onto the string) can be sharp and pointy. No one wants the wrong end of an arrow in their eye.

Muscle Strain – As with any sport, archers are going to develop certain muscle groups and they’re capable of over extending. Muscles that are going to hurt are the torso, back, neck, shoulders and arms. When drawing a longbow to shoot curved arrows where they go long distance, there’s even more strain from the draw that goes from shoulder down to your feet. That’s because of the large circular motion you’re doing in order to put as much muscle into the draw as possible. You’re not drawing a longbow with just your arms, I would argue that more than with recurve or short bows, the longbow requires the most full-body momentum that you can give it. Inevitably the battle commander will make you draw and hold that draw from a minute or so. If you’ve drawn properly, this should be possible without too much discomfort because the weight and the strength has not come from your arms.

I know there must be a dozen injuries that I’ve missed off, please anyone jump in if you spot something or just have an questions. I’ll try and get a post up in a few days about longbow equipment, body position and shooting.

Forging the Fire – Chapter One

Hi All,

This is a little bit of a tease of what I’m working on at the moment, the sequel to Burning Embers! Here is the opening of Chapter One… I really hope you like it.

Forging the Fire

The City was called Kalit, or the Diamond City in an older language. It hunkered down in a protective curve of the Spine Mountains and opened on one side to the Sea. The mountains rose in regular jagged peaks covered in a thick pine forest and deep snow.  Spring had only started to touch the world and would take longer so spread so far north. The evening sky was hooded with clouds.

Kalit had one entrance overland. Its walls, hewn from the mountain itself, glittered with traces of diamond dust. A promise of the wealth found within the mountain and a fortune from its mines. The single tall gate opened to the North, Arngeir and a solitary road that led through the Spine. Travelers were rare so early in the year but two guards stood beside the iron portcullis, stamping their feet and muttering curses. Once the last rays of sunshine slipped from the sky they could close the gate and return to the barracks and their dinner.

‘It’s bloody freezing,’ the elder blew into his gloved hands before clapping them together. His halberd staff gripped between armpit and body.

‘Do you think they’ll make it?’ The younger, who wore a red knit hat beneath his helmet had his eyes fixed on a pair of distant travelers.

‘I don’t care,’ the first kicked his foot against the dark stone walls. ‘Soon as that sun is gone, I’m shutting the gate.’

‘They’ll be trapped outside for the night,’ the youth protested, ‘I wouldn’t like to sleep outside in the snow.’

‘Then they’d better hurry up!’

They approached Kalit with all the weariness expected of those passing through the Spine in winter. It was a long and lonely pass. One of the riders, a girl, stared at the city as it came into view.

Feia could see the buildings sprawling against the edges of the snow covered range. In the fading light, lanterns were being lit and the glow of a thousand flames spread through the distant streets like stars appearing in a night sky.  She’d never seen so many people living together, so many houses or buildings or streets as they stretched out below in a warren.  She had expected to feel relief that their long journey was over, that she’d be able to sleep in a bed, that she’d feel warm for the first time in weeks. But as the dark stone walls rose from the mountains, all that she felt was unease; as though she was a mouse sneaking towards a sleeping cat.

‘They say you can buy anything in Kalit,’ Feia she kept her voice lowered as they approached the gate.

‘I’d love to meet these ‘they’. They know so much,’ Rhyode replied. He nudged his own mount forward to catch up with her, the black irises of his eyes fixed on the dark granite of Kalit’s defenses as they drew closer.

‘So it’s not true?’ She persisted, intent on drawing out an answer from her protector.  The man, Rhyode, let out a long suffering sigh. Although he looked less than a decade older than the teenaged-girl beside him, his gaze held a depth of knowledge beyond his apparent years. Something Feia had determined to take advantage of. She wanted to learn as much as possible about the man who had sworn to protect her; after all she’d sworn to travel with him to Lluridi, the world capital. A pact made on the promise that Rhyode would help save her family from invaders. Rhyode had upheld his promise so far and so a faint band of light encircled her wrist, a sign of vows that were unbreakable, except in death.  Something that many people would be glad to offer the pair of them. From Kalit they would take a ship to Lluridi, the fastest way to end their perilous journey. Until then, Feia wanted to know more about the man who had kissed her once. To understand how he saw the world. Perhaps then she could understand why he had kissed her, or why he wouldn’t do it again.

‘Are you listening?’

Rhyode was staring at her and she checked the hood of her cloak covered her hair. Hair the colour of fresh blood.

‘I’m listening,’ she lied, and wondered what she had missed.

‘Many things can be bought in Kalit, some things which should never be traded,’ Rhyode replied eventually.

‘Girls?’ Feia felt a familiar thread of tension pulling at the back of her neck and shoulders. Once, she had almost been sold.

Rhyode looked back at her, his taller horse had pulled ahead. The last light was fading quickly but they were just a few short strides from the gate itself.

‘All life,’ he replied. His voice was a low rumble as his horse started to climb the stone bridge towards the gates. They stretched high above, almost blocking out the sky beyond them.

An older guard glowered as they passed, stamping the end of his halberd against the frozen ground.

Rhyode reached out, touching his hand to her own and nudging his horse closer. His breath tickled the top of her ear as she forced herself to look ahead. Where she had expected busy city streets, Kalit almost seemed deserted. But light flickered against windows, and curtains moved. There were people in the city, she could feel them watching.

‘Keep your tongue and your opinions to yourself within these walls,’ Rhyode warned. ‘The Champions are powerful in Kalit.’

Feia had lost count of how many times he had issued the same warning. But never, had it caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise as it did. She swallowed her fear.

‘Champions, Nethari…’ She rolled her eyes, ‘and I almost forgot about all the people trying to kill me.’

Rhyode withdrew his hand and nudged his horse forward. Embry’s hooves seemed to rattle on the stone paved streets. ‘I mean it Feia.’

Her own pony was determined to keep up and Feia couldn’t blame her.

‘You can buy diamonds from Kalit,’ Rhyode continued to speak softly, ‘you can trade goods from all around Arenith. So long as the mines are open, Kalit will trade. But-’ he hesitated, ‘you can buy life or death. If we’re heard speaking ill of the city it’s likely we’ll end our days in the mines. You can never be sure who is listening.’

She wanted to point out that surely people could hear Rhyode whispering now, but Rhyode was powerful. His magic was rooted in darkness, as night descended no one would hear a thing he said, unless he wanted them too.  She held her questions and turned to watch the gateway as they left it behind. The impenetrable border of Kalit stretched higher than any castle walls she’d ever seen. She’d assumed they were to keep attackers out. The final sweep on sunlight vanished from the city and a call rose for the gates to close. The portcullis began its creaking descent behind them. The impassable wooden doors thunked shut behind her and the guards stretched to bring iron bars down. Not to keep people out she realized but to keep them in. Rhyode guided the horses forward, deeper into the city streets.

At first, the way was lit by lanterns hanging from the walls of shops on either side of road. Rhyode motioned to them, explaining that each lantern held quartz stones filled with magical energy. They were taken each day to the Temple of Saelil, the Spirit of Light, to be infused with power.  An enormous undertaking, but they provided a sure and steady glow and a safe place, well lit for the wealthier population of Kalit to wander in the night-time. But the main streets were a difficult place to travel quickly. Despite the late hour they bustled. People dressed in rich colours moved from vendor to vendor in groups. Their laughter rose into the night air, but the throng was difficult to pass. Rhyode soon led Feia to narrower streets, where the lighting dimmed and crowd thinned. The lanterns or quartz holders in the main street had been elaborate. Beautiful shapes made from precious metals, Feia had selected a particular favourite on the wall of the apothecary. Hanging from a hook, intricate vines of silver had fallen, and curved. Tiny metal leaves of Ivy, embellished with green glass, had then woven together to form a ball to hold the stones. In the side streets, the lanterns were made of wood. Passing, Feia could see cracks in the quartz stones. Soon, as Rhyode led the way through narrowing streets, lanterns vanished altogether. Dotted in the cracks of walls were stones the glinted with a sickly glow.

‘Why is it so much dimmer?’ She asked softly, ‘isn’t the magic as strong?’

‘Not in these stones, they’re filled with impurities and the temple will not infuse them.’

‘So who makes them? Do they still relight them each day?’

‘No,’ Rhyode replied, ‘they are created and then fade overtime. Apprentices with a talent for Saelil’s Spirit are paid to keep them burning; but it is a large city.’  Without warning he swung himself down from the saddle and stretched.  ‘Stay out of trouble.’

‘You say that like it’s easy.’

‘Just don’t set anything on fire. Don’t set the tavern on fire. Don’t set the stables on fire. Don’t set anything on fire.’

‘You say that like it’s easy,’ she grinned.

 

BECOVER

Burning Embers is available on Amazon and through Kindle Unlimited!

The first chapter is also online just here.

 

 

 

And other confessions

Happy Friday!

I’ve been working on a few short stories, just to keep my mind in writing as I tackle longer projects. I’ve sent one off to a competition so fingers crossed!

On facebook I had a request to write a story for a friend, and here is the result. I keep being very tempted to write about my University years and fictionalise them. It would be a very different genre of novel and voice than I usually use, so I’m still thinking. The working title for the project would be: University and other confessions.

So, here is the beginning;

First things first about moving into University. Despite being ridiculously excited for years, the night before I decided that I didn’t want to go. I was going to stay at home, see the friends I already had, maybe I’d get a job in the local shop. I don’t think I slept.

The next day, I decided to give it a shot. We carried the boxes and the bags up the winding stairs and dropped them on the single bed, ready to be unpacked later. I was itchy with excitement. My heavy, black computer was carefully placed beside the desk. My Mum managed to get trapped in the communal bathroom. She was shouting for help, banging on the heavy wooden door as I smiled a nervous hello to my new flatmates; Rob and Rob, and Rod. At least their names would be easy to remember.

Once security freed her, I ushered my family out of the flat and waved them away from the kitchen window. Goodbyeeee. Dear God, please don’t come back.

The bed was made, pictures stuck to the wall. Computer plugged in and speakers rattling with the sound of Panic! At the Disco. I heard the flat door opening, then slamming shut. I peered out from my bedroom. The corridor carpet had once been blue. It still was blue beside the skirting boards. The centre was grey and worn out with age. Oh, well imagine, As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor, And I can’t help but to hear.

She said goodbye to her Mother and went to wave goodbye from the kitchen window.

Hi!

Hi there!

Did you want some help setting up your computer?

Yes!

It didn’t take long. I crawled under the desk, kettle-lead in hand. I threaded the mouse and keyboard wires down the back, against the faded green wall. Somewhere in the background, the Killers broke into song. Coming out of my cage, And I’ve been doing just fine.

I had an emo fringe and she had Avril Lavigne hair. I wore a black t-shirt and my nails were painted blue. She stacked UB40 and Offpsring CD’s on the desk and I offered Green Day as a swap. Her TV started tuning, the slow line inching across the screen. We had tea. Milky, but not too milky and two sugars in mugs that still wore price stickers.

We took a walk to explore the campus. It was an end of summer day, bright and warm with stretched-out clouds and golden light. I don’t remember who started skipping first. But we were flying across the manicured lawn.

There was a statue, half hidden behind flowers and long grass. A man, upright in bronze with his hands resting lightly in his lap. I don’t remember who asked, and who answered.

Who’s that?

Geoff!

But they were right. It was Geoff, and we laughed at the incredible coincidence. We laughed and laughed until we couldn’t stand. That was the moment I knew. No matter what happened, we would always be stuck together. There would always be me and you.

The uneducated rumbled Rube.

I’ll be honest – I had to look this daily prompt up and work out what it meant: Rube! It’s a word that I’ve never come across before. However, I have recently been writing a chapter where I think this is demonstrated…

The tower appeared on the road. Made from large grey stones, hewn from the local mountain side it was quickly lost in the canopy as they drew closer. It was a large square building with stables and cleared paddock beside it. A pair of bay horses looked up as they approached, tails shaking off the pestilence of summer flies. A large archway extended across from the side of the tower, over the road. Where the pillars of the arch ended, and on the far side of the tower, a stone wall extended. This was the border between Ipito and Staven.

They were forced to slow their horses, or charge through the guards who stood in the centre of the arch. Their helmets were rounded at the top and shone with polish. They were both tall, broad men wearing chain main beneath a tunic with the King’s crest emblazoned on the front. As Kit and Lyris approached, they levelled spears at the charging horses, the wooden butts pressed into the hard dirt and steadying the points. Kit’s pony was first to stop, skidding to a halt and twisting away. Kit turned her quickly and waved a greeting at the men.

Storm, always reluctant to obey anyone other than his own desires had run further and was forced to rear, kicking out at the spears. Lyris clung to his neck, praying that she wouldn’t fall off and break her neck, before they could rescue Arn. When the horse landed on his four feet again, huffing with fury, he danced on light feet and she remained, clinging to his main. Her legs and arms felt like water, flowing and trembling with every small movement. This was not the time to be afraid. The young woman forced herself to sit up. Sparrows were hopping between the pine trees and a hawk circled overhead, casting a shadow on the mottled ground.

‘Speak,’ the first guard demanded, ‘what is your business in Staven?’

‘Did a cart pass this way?’ The words tumbled free, breathless. Lyris had intended to introduce herself, thoughts of formal requests for help spinning through her mind. The young woman knew that she needed their assistance, and quick passage through the pass but despite the churning concern, the words came again before the guard could answer. Lyris steadied Storm with a hand against the tall horses’ neck.

‘Did a cart pass this way?’ She demanded, urgent.

The guard, affronted, glanced at his companion before, features stern. ‘Our question first, mistress.’

As Lyris opened her mouth to protest, he lifted a gloved hand from the spear and set the weapon on it’s end resting against his shoulder. The guard beside him copied his action and Lyris felt Storm release a breath of tension. Long legs quivering beneath her.

‘It’s our duty to stop and question all those who pass,’ confident that he had regained control the first man had settled into a slower speech and northern drawl. His a’s and r’s extending.

Kit had circled his pony again and drew level with his companion.

‘Sir,’ he bowed low across the front of the saddle, hand swept with dramatic gallantry to one side. The trader looked to Lyris, begging a moment of her patience before he continued. ‘We’re tracking a wagon that passed through these gates,’

The guards looked uninspired.

‘Has a wagon passed through?’

The young woman lifted her eyes to the heavens, the pale blue sky was starting to darken again. A natural rain was gathering at the peak of the mountain.  If they could move on with their journey, she could track Arn without draining her powers.

‘A lot of wagons’ pass through here, lad,’ the first guard lent on his spear, ‘but that doesn’t explain your business beyond the border.’

So this is more of an extract from the Poisoned Well and it’s the chapter responsible for slowing me down! The paragraphs from this section must have been written months apart but hopefully you can’t notice…

Elves of Myst: Short Story

Midwinter was silent on the Isle of Myst.

The students knew better than to roam the corridors of the academy after hours, and the Myst themselves, masters of magical ability had retired to their beds. There was a rumour that professor Larkin’s home brew was more potent than expected. The faculty had been defeated by spiced rum and rich helpings of festive fruit cake. The scents of cinnamon, raisins, brown sugar and the bitter tang of alcohol still twisted through the corridors.

Mendlesohn the elf tilted his head back and drew in a lungful of the potent aroma, eyes closed with delight before a slap landed on the back of his ear. He spun around so quickly that his pointed green hat fell off and bounced along the cold stone floor.

Lia glared at him. All nine inches of the elf from pointed hat to toe, filled with barely contained impatience. One hand resting on her left hip, she gestured with fury towards the open door and the enormous evergreen tree behind it.

He stuck his tongue out at her, but before she could thwack him again, scampered towards the hallway. Elves had work to do on midwinter. On his back, Mendlesohn carried a sack three times his size. Confident that her partner wouldn’t be distracted, Lia bounded after him, her own sack bouncing along the corridor as they ran.

The tree was a beauty, coaxed in from snow outside and convinced to settle new roots in a gigantic yellow urn. It stretched far above their heads towards the ceiling, swaying a little with the weight of decorations already thrown upon it. There were garlands of brightly colour paper looped between the boughs. Shortbread biscuits in the shape of stars, flowers and the moon had ribbon threaded through and swung low from the branches.

Stood at the bottom, Mendlesohn watched the faint twinkling of fairies who sat on the branches, staring back with amusement. Lia prodded him in the back and he nodded, there was no time to stare at fairy lights, they had work to do.

The elf opened the worn hessian sack he’d carried across the island and pulled out a small gift. A wooden flute wrapped with a ribbon. He turned it over between his hands examining the name inscribed on the instrument itself. It was then that he bounded, leaping onto one of the long tables that stretched across the room. On either side of the table chairs were set, as though ready for dinner. In the front of each chair was a neatly written name on a piece of parchment.

Mendlesohn whizzed across the tabletop before skidding to a halt. He checked the name on the gift, before examining the name on the parchment. Satisfied that he’d found the correct recipient: Wesley, the elf set the flute down with the smallest thump and sprinted back to his sack at the base of the tree.

The elves rushed back and forth from the tree to the table places, tiny hands always full as they distributed the gifts entrusted to them. Still, the island was silent as their footsteps made barely a whisper as they ran.

Finished at last, with the first grey light appearing on the horizon, they collected their sacks and prepared their retreat. It was Lia that paused on their return to the underground, beckoning Mendlesohn to follow her into a small room with soft chairs and stacks of paper in disarray. On top of a table someone had left a plate with two minute slices of fruitcake and a thimbleful of Larkin’s home-brew balanced in the centre. The elves exchanged a grin. Dawn was approaching, but there was time to celebrate before the magicians awoke.

****

My response to today’s daily prompt of Meager I just couldn’t resist!

I hope that you’ve enjoyed this festive little story from the Isle of Myst! There’s more to come from Myst in the Poisoned well!

Feel free to leave me a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

 

Wisps of smog spun around her

Two days to go!!!

In response to today’s Daily Prompt: Snippet please find a little taster from Burning Embers below. I’m trying not hard to reveal spoilers and ruin the story, so it’s just a little teaser really and I hope that you enjoy it! Remember to comment below!

TWO DAYS TO GO! ARGH

The study was cosy in the approach to winter. Behind the High Priestess’ gilt chair was an arched window where the sun shone through, fracturing on the panes and scattering across the room. The perfume scent was thicker and Feia saw an incense holder in the shape of a sun, perched on the large desk that dominated the space. The fire was stoked to a roaring blaze and wisps of smog spun around her. The sounds of Temple life stirred beyond the door as it closed.

High Priestess Fraelyn was seated behind her desk. She was slender, her skin the parched porcelain colour of someone who rarely ventured outside, and her hair was tightly bound. Feia couldn’t help that think that if anyone looked like a ghost, it was the High Priestess. She struggled to keep the thought in check. She’d heard too many rumours that the Priestess would hear stray thoughts, that she had been a Seeker for the Champions of Light. That respect for this woman was the only thing that prevented the Knights from visiting the Temple.

Fraelyn stroked the edge of her desk with an absent gesture. The sun broke over the high back of her chair and washed her in a golden glow.

‘You know why you are here?’ It wasn’t really a question.

Feia nodded. The fireplace flickered beside her.

Remember – that there is a full short story from Arenith available on Instafreebie, make sure you get your copy of The Last Charter.

Happy Reading!

Fibi xx

Weaving Networks

I’m a left-handed dyslexic and I cannot Knit. I love to sew, paint, draw and I’ve even turned my hand to crochet and lucette; but I cannot knit. I’ve watched friends and family knitting, and they always ask why I’m frowning at them. I’m usually not, but I am glaring at the whirr of wool between their hands because it just doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry, I know it’s a terrible confession to make, but I can’t get my head around the way the knot on the needle joins with the other one-and-why-doesn’t-it-all-just-fall-off?!

Knitting, I just have to admit, is a skill I do not have.  This is also not due to a lack of kindly (and very patient) tutors. I’ve had to make my peace with knitting, and continue to observe it as a strange, wool-based-ritual that I may not join. What I remind myself – is that it’s okay that the tangle of wool has eluded me because I have other talents.

Now, in my head is a Thunderbirds countdown of Five, Four, Three, Two, One – lift off! This is because Burning Embers is released on Friday. ARGH! That’s right, Friday!!! For everyone that has pre-ordered a copy online, it should be downloaded to your screen of choice or posted to you on the 1st of December – ARRRRGH! Time for me to hide under the desk!

It’s funny how this has come about though, this book. It’s been in the pipeline for so long, but it’s the way my writing interlinks with the rest of my life which has pushed it to the forefront now. Expecting our first little one in the New Year, meant that I was determined to pull this project to an end. So the decision was made to self-publish. All these choices are carefully interwoven, like fine threads that tug and pull on each other.

Having decided to self-publish, I realised that I had done all of my research…and that I still didn’t know enough to give Burning Embers the best shot at life, out there in the big world. So I joined a few groups of facebook, and the wealth of experience and advice has been astonishing.

When fellow indie authors are posting about how they’re selling 500 paperbacks a month, and how can they increase this? I just about fall of my chair in a scramble to grab the computer and shout ‘tell me all of your secrets!’ I feel like I’ve made connections with lovely people, who are all stitching together their books and projects with the same passion and enthusiasm I commit to my own work. It’s a beautiful community. Join us!

I’m compiling information and experimenting across the internet and I fully intend to share my findings with me.

However, in this final run up to the release of Burning Embers wish me luck (and positive reviews!)

Remember you can still pre-order a copy of the paperback and the e-book online, and for a short story from the world of Arenith, The Last Charter is available through instafreebie. Nearly 100 copies have been snatched up already, so make sure that you don’t miss out!

Happy Reading!

Let me know what you goals for this week are!

Fibi

A little flash-fiction to start the day…

I stumbled across a competition at Carrot Ranch, I’m feeling suitably autumnal this morning and so here is my response.

November 2, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story a chair on a porch. Why is it there, and what might it mean? Think about using it as a prop or the main thrust of your story.

chair.jpg

They put it out in the spring with the white-wash still drying on its arms and legs. Shoots of grass sneaking through the gaps in the porch.

She spent long summer nights watching stars fall from a sapphire sky. Propped up with floral cushions that sank between thin spindles.

Gold leaves gathered at the feet. A pumpkin perched on the seat and scowled at passers-by. Until it started to rot, and the nose caved in and the lid fell down.

Frost coated the peeling flecks of paint; silent and still.

The chair was brushed, painted and set out again.

 

If anyone else wants to enter then all of the rules are: here

Are you attempting Nanowrimo this year? I won’t be but I’m always happy to cheer you on!

Happy Writing,

Fibi

xx

 

YA Fiction for you…

As a lover of YA Fantasy, I’m always on the lookout for a new book to read. I’m eagerly awaiting the newest release from Tamora Pierce (February 2018 folks! It’s pre-ordered!) but February is still a long way off!

Now, if like me you’re waiting for the next book to add to your collection have a look at Dorothy Dreyer. All of the tantalizing information about her forthcoming release is below…

PD 99 cent promo

Who must she become in order to survive?

Since the outbreak of the phoenix fever in Drothidia, Tori Kagari has already lost one family member to the fatal disease. Now, with the fever threatening to wipe out her entire family, she must go against everything she believes in order to save them—even if that means making a deal with the enemy.

When Tori agrees to join forces with the unscrupulous Khadulians, she must take on a false identity in order to infiltrate the queendom of Avarell and fulfill her part of the bargain, all while under the watchful eye of the unforgiving Queen’s Guard. But time is running out, and every lie, theft, and abduction she is forced to carry out may not be enough to free her family or herself from death.
Dorothy Dreyer is an author of young adult and new adult books:
ENTANGLED SOULS out April 18, 2017
FRAGMENTS OF DARKNESS out Sept 13, 2017
PHOENIX DESCENDING out Nov 28, 2017

I’m sorry, but the cover is just gorgeous! I love the delicate scrolling and the story is intriguing.

Now, this is going to be added onto my reading list. However, my lovely blog-followers, would you be interested in further YA fantasy recommendations from me? I’m working on a monthly newsletter with the most exciting new YA releases to be included.

Please comment below, if this is something you would like to hear more about!

Happy Reading,

Fibi

xx