The Fairytale Curse teaser

The Fairytale Curse, first book in my new series, is coming out soon. Here’s a peek at the first chapter to whet your appetites!

CHAPTER ONE

The girl on the TV wore a long white dress, as if she’d been on the way to her wedding when she decided to lie down in a glass coffin instead. Her skin had a healthy glow; her cheeks were a rosy pink and her lips bright red. She certainly didn’t look dead. I almost expected her eyes to flutter open as I watched.

“Janey!” Dad never took his eyes off the TV. “Come and look at this.”

Mum came in with a this better be worth it expression on her face. She didn’t approve of watching TV at breakfast time. Whenever Dad picked up the remote, she’d roll those sharp green eyes of hers and sigh in that I’m so disappointed in you way. Not that Dad took any notice. You’d think she’d have gotten used to it after twenty-one years of marriage, but every morning it was the same old same old. It always ended with her huffing off to another room as soon as her cereal was done, where she made as much noise as possible until the TV was turned off again.

The footage was wobbly, as if it had been taken with a mobile phone, and only lasted a few seconds. The camera panned around a small clearing in what looked like dense forest. And not the kind we have in Australia, either. This was forest straight out of Central Casting, dark and foreboding. Huge pines towered over the scene, leaning in as if whispering secrets to one another. In the centre of the clearing, in the gloom beneath the pines, stood a massive marble platform. How the hell it got there, I couldn’t imagine, since there didn’t seem to be any gaps in the trees big enough to drag a huge lump of stone like that through. On top of it rested the glass coffin.

The girl inside was laid out like royalty at a state funeral. Her dark hair fanned neatly across the pillow, and her hands were clasped precisely on her chest. Whoever had put her there had obviously taken a great deal of care. They’d even tucked a single red rose into her hands, its colour a perfect match for the lipstick she wore.

“The unidentified girl was found early this morning in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, not far from the popular tourist destination of the Three Sisters.” The camera zoomed in on the girl’s still face as the reporter spoke. She could have been anything from sixteen to twenty-six. “This footage was taken by the hiker who discovered her. Despite appearances, she isn’t dead. Emergency services took her to hospital where doctors found her to be in a deep coma, though apparently healthy. There is no visible sign of trauma, and police are appealing for anyone who can shed any light on the mystery of the Sleeping Beauty to come forward.”

Dad snorted. “Sleeping Beauty, my foot. Idiot doesn’t know his fairy tales.”

And Dad did? He was more comfortable with gadgets than books; I would never have suspected him of an interest in fairy tales.

The picture changed to the reporter standing in the same clearing. The coffin was gone, but the platform remained, cordoned off with police tape. Good luck shifting that sucker.

“I’m here with a local resident, who’s lived in the area for the past fifty years.”

The camera pulled back to reveal a grizzled old bloke who could have claimed to have lived there for the past hundred years and I’d have believed him. He had the leathery look of someone who’d spent a lot of those years outdoors.

The reporter turned to him with an encouraging smile. He was probably afraid the old guy would drop dead on national TV from the excitement.

“You were telling me before that there’s even more to this mystery than first appears.”

“That’s right.” The old man nodded vigorously. “I was a park ranger before I retired, and I know this area like the back of my hand. I’ve probably walked this trail more times than a young bloke like you’s had hot dinners.”

The reporter chuckled. “And what can you tell the viewers about this spot where we’re standing?”

“It doesn’t exist, son. At least, that’s what I’d say if I wasn’t standing in it, if you see what I mean.”

Hmm. Old guy wasn’t making any sense. Maybe he had dementia, and the reporter was about to make an idiot of himself live on camera. Mum and Dad were staring like three-year-olds hypnotised by a Disney movie. I’d never seen Mum pay that much attention to “that idiot box” before.

The old guy waved a bony hand at the trees looming over the clearing. “These trees here, they look pretty established, don’t they? Forty, fifty years old, maybe. But I’m telling you, they weren’t here last time I came down this track, and that’s only a couple of years ago. Maybe weren’t even here yesterday, you know what I’m saying? The main trail’s only twenty metres that way, and this whole section is nothing but gum trees and other natives. Not a pine tree for miles.”

“But the clearing was here?”

“Nope. Well, I mean—just look at that grass.”

The camera swung to focus on the grass, which didn’t look all that sinister to me. It was just grass.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s thick and green. Looks freshly mowed, doesn’t it? More like a putting green. Grass doesn’t get like that on its own, you know. You’ve got to take care of it. You seen anybody standing round the middle of the national park with a hose and a lawn mower?”

“So how do you explain it?”

The old man shrugged. “It’s got to be a hoax, hasn’t it? Probably one of those reality TV shows.”

The camera zoomed in on the reporter. “And there you have it. A mystery girl in a mystery clearing.”

The reporter signed off, and Mum reached for the remote and started flicking channels. Cooking shows and cartoons flashed past, but there was no other news. She turned it off, and for once Dad didn’t complain.

“What do you make of that?” he asked. “Did that girl look familiar to you? I feel like I’ve seen her before somewhere.”

Mum said nothing. Her forehead was creased into her thinking frown. No point talking to her when she got like that. She probably hadn’t even heard him.

“Do you think that guy was right about it being a hoax?” I asked. “Is this the kind of crap they get up to in Sydney?”

Dad seemed to have forgotten all about his cornflakes. They’d gone all soggy in the bottom of the bowl. “Snow White in the Blue Mountains? Either that or a serial killer, I suppose.”

“But she’s not dead.”

“Not a very good serial killer then.”

I refused to laugh. I was still mad at him for dragging us down to Sydney, just when things had been going so well in Townsville. We’d been there nearly two years, the longest time we’d ever stayed in one spot. “Snow White, is it? I didn’t know you were such an expert on fairy tales.”

He grinned. The corners of his eyes crinkled up when he smiled, making him look like a mischievous kid. It was hard not to smile back, but I wasn’t giving in. “Hidden depths, my darling. Hidden depths.”

A thunder of feet on the stairs announced CJ’s arrival. She was always running late in the mornings—probably because she spent so long in the bathroom doing her makeup.

“Have you seen my black hairband?” She shot me an accusing look.

“As if I would dare borrow anything of yours without asking.” My twin wasn’t big on sharing. At least not me sharing her stuff. Her sharing mine was apparently just the natural order of things.

“Good morning, darling daddy, I hope you slept well,” said Dad, watching her bang around the kitchen getting breakfast.

She snorted, but dropped a kiss on the top of his head before flopping into the seat next to his. “Morning.”

She, at least, wasn’t holding the move against him. She’d been hanging out to get to the big city for years.

Breakfast was at the small round table in the meals area off the kitchen. The dining room was still piled with the last boxes from the move. After two weeks, the unpacking was nearly done, but there were always a few odds and ends it was hard to find a home for in a new place. Like photographs, or Christmas decorations. Or our baby clothes that Mum had been carting around for the last seventeen years and ten houses. Every time we moved she and Dad went toe-to-toe about throwing them out. Again.

“Have you seen it since we moved in?” I asked.

“Wore it on Wednesday,” she mumbled around a mouthful of cereal.

“Well, I haven’t got it. Besides, you’re only allowed to wear accessories in school colours.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Like I’m going to wear ribbons in a lovely shade of cat vomit.”

“Caramel, please, Crystal,” said Mum, suddenly tuning back into the conversation. “Not cat vomit.”

“Whatever. I liked our old uniform better. The blue matched my eyes.”

Mine too, but that was about the only thing we had in common—we both had Dad’s blue eyes. Most people couldn’t believe it when we told them we were twins. CJ was about ten centimetres taller and three cup sizes bigger, so everyone assumed she was my big sister. She could easily have passed for twenty, though we’d just turned seventeen.

Me, I’d gotten my height from Dad—which was to say, I had none. CJ not only had Mum’s height, but she’d gotten her beautiful sleek dark hair too, not to mention the skin that tanned golden-brown the minute she even thought about going outside. She looked like a younger, blue-eyed version of Mum, whereas everyone could tell at a glance I was Dad’s daughter—short, with pale freckled skin that never ever tanned, and a mass of orange-coloured steel wool that passed for hair.

The uniform of our new school was a gross mustard brown, but it looked good on CJ. Everything did. Somehow it made her skin glow even more golden, and the blue of her eyes fairly leapt out of her face. In the same dress, I just looked washed out—also pretty common, given that my skin was so pale the veins in my arms stood out like a road map.

“Well, you know what they say,” Dad said. “A change is as good as a holiday.”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut him to ribbons. Him and his stupid sayings. “Probably the people that say that haven’t moved quite as many times as we have. I don’t need any more holidays like that, thanks very much.”

Mum’s face was an odd mixture of sympathy and guilt. “I know you haven’t been very happy about this move,” she began.

“This move? When have I been happy about any of them? Would it be so much to ask if we could just stay in one place for more than two seconds at a time?”

This was our fourth high school, and I was getting kind of sick of making new friends. It hardly seemed worth the effort any more. I’d just start to get comfortable, then Mum and Dad’s stupid job would uproot us and dump us on the other side of the country. Again. They worked for the military, some top-secret hush-hush thing.

“I promise you this is the last one for a while,” she said.

Like that was supposed to be comforting. “How long is a while exactly? Six months? A year?”

“I’d tell you,” said Dad, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

I rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard that one before.

“That kind of information is classified, Violet,” Mum said. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Yeah, I did know, because she’d been telling me that since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. It was one of her favourite ways of shutting down a discussion.

“Doesn’t your bus come soon?” Dad asked, one eye on the clock.

In Townsville we’d lived close enough to walk to school, but not any more. Everything in Sydney was bigger, further away, and more crowded. Welcome to the big city.

“Yeah.” Guess that was the end of that conversation. It made me crazy how they’d never give you a straight answer if it involved their stupid work. I stomped into the kitchen to pack my bag.

“We might be late home tonight,” Mum said, changing the subject with her usual skill. “There’s lasagne in the freezer if you get hungry.”

“Don’t worry about us.” CJ crammed in the last of her breakfast and grabbed her school bag. “We’ll be fine. Come on, Vile. You don’t want to be late in your second week, do you? Might make a bad impression.”

“I’m only ever late if I wait for you, Cryssie.”

“Bye, Violet. Have a good day.” Mum was the only person who called me Violet. She called CJ Crystal too—she said she couldn’t see the sense in giving someone a perfectly good name and then never using it.

I shoved my lunch in my bag without replying. The chances of having a good day were pretty damn low, all things considered, though I doubt she really cared.

I looked back as we reached the door. Mum had turned the TV back on to the news channel. Well, that was a first. Was the girl in the glass coffin really that interesting? It was probably just some stupid advertising stunt.

 

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Moonborn cover reveal

Good news! Moonborn, the story of how Garth became a werewolf and what he did to get exiled from the pack, will be available next week. It’s a prequel to The Proving series, so Kate doesn’t appear, but a few familiar characters show up (although they’re all much younger!).

It’s a novella, so less than half the size of my novels, but packed full of excitement. Poor Garth gets put through the wringer, but torturing your characters is one of the great joys of being a writer, and I’ve really loved spending some extra time with Garth. He’s always such fun to write!

That’s him on the cover there, looking all young and handsome. He’s about fifteen years younger here than in the Twiceborn books.

The cover was done by my talented friend Shayne of Wicked Good Book Covers.

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Twiceborn Endgame is out!

Half human, half dragon, all vengeance: Kate is back for the final struggle that will tear the dragons’ world apart.

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No one said being half dragon would be easy, but Kate O’Connor’s life has gone completely off the rails. She thought she’d won the succession war between the daughters of the dragon queen, until a shocking betrayal changed everything.

Now seven new sisters have joined the fray, a sinister government taskforce is gunning for her, and the Japanese queen has hit town, bent on snatching the throne for herself. Worst of all, her beloved son has been abducted.

The shifter world has never seen a proving like this one, but then, there’s never been a dragon quite like Kate before. She’ll need her human ingenuity as well as her dragon magic to save her son and everyone she holds dear. The final moves in the deadly endgame take her from goblin caves to Japanese palaces as she races against the clock to snatch victory from the dragon jaws of defeat.

And that’s a wrap! Twiceborn Endgame is the final book in the urban fantasy trilogy The Proving. I’m so pleased to be finished. That’s something I can cross off the bucket list now—I’ve written a trilogy!

Twiceborn Endgame is available on Amazon now. Give yourself an early Christmas present and find out how the story ends!

Playing super ninja spy author

You’re writing along, making up a story, and the words are flowing—you don’t want to bring it all to a screeching halt so you can check your facts. You can do that later, in the editing phase. So you just make something up and keep going.

I had a lot of fun recently scoping out locations for Twiceborn Endgame, when it finally came time to check those facts. The Park Hyatt features in the story. I knew where it was, but I’d never been there, so one Sunday my very patient husband and I drove into the city on a factfinding mission.

This is the entry, which doesn’t look all that exciting, tucked into a little street right next to the ramps that feed onto the Harbour Bridge. You can see the hotel is not very tall.

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The view is all on the other side of the building, and it’s spectacular. The hotel is designed so all the rooms have the view. Now I want to stay there! The blue waters of the harbour are laid out before you, and the Opera House is so close you could almost touch it. That’s the front of the hotel on the left.

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It was kind of awkward and fun at the same time. We wandered in and I surreptitiously took photos of the foyer.

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I’d set some of the action in a room on the sixth floor, but neither of us were sure how many floors there were until we got there. We just knew it was a low-rise hotel. I also needed to know if you needed a room keycard to operate the lift. I felt like an imposter as we snuck into the lift. We were going to look pretty stupid if we did need a card and we had to get straight out again. At the same time I felt like some kind of ninja spy, sneaking around doing surveillance. It was really fun.

I know, the life of an author is so exciting. I need to get out more.

As it turned out, we didn’t need a card, and there is no sixth floor, so we went up to the third floor and I had a little peek at the décor, so I could get the descriptions right. This little statue even made it into the book:

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After that we drove to the airport to check out where the rich people board their private jets. My poor husband drives to the airport all the time for work, so it was hardly a thrill for him, but I got a good idea of the layout and how the action would have to go, so it was worth the trip.

Next step: set a book somewhere really exotic, and do a slightly more upmarket “research trip”. Might have to become a bestseller first, though, to be able to afford it!

Twiceborn Endgame cover reveal!

Drum-roll please! It’s finally time to reveal the gorgeous cover for Twiceborn Endgame:

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I love it, and I can’t wait to see it sitting side by side with the first two on Amazon. That should only be a couple of weeks away now. It’s still with the editor, but should be back any day now. Hopefully she won’t suggest too many changes, then it’s off to the formatter and we’re into the home stretch. Still have to write the blurb, though. I always put that off until the last minute! Considering how short they are, blurbs are surprisingly difficult to write.

This one will be a doozy, too. There’s so much going on in this book! So many threads to tie off, as it’s the last book in the trilogy. Lots of exciting twists, none of which I want to give away in the blurb, so I’m going to have to give it careful thought. Kate has more hair-raising adventures! And does kick-ass dragon stuff! (Sadly the blurb requires a little more detail than that.)

In other news, the second Fairytale Curse book has a name: The Cauldron’s Gift. It also has a most delicious cover, but I can’t show you that yet, as the book’s not due out for several months yet. I’ve had a stressful but exciting time lately working with the cover designer to come up with something that suited the book and was genre-appropriate. That’s another thing about publishing that’s not as easy as it sounds (though it’s a lot more fun than blurb-writing).

And of course it’s November, that time of year when crazy people all over the world commit to writing a whole novel in just one month. I was still finishing up revisions on Twiceborn Endgame when November started, and then I had a bit of a mental blank for a few days: what on earth would I write about? I was supposed to be writing the third Fairytale Curse book, but the prospect left me unenthused, so I sat down on November 5th and began a random new story instead.

So now I’m pulling my usual November stunt of madly scrambling to dream up enough story to be able to continue writing every day. “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Well, the road is exeptionally foggy, but I’m motoring on, trusting to the process. Hopefully I arrive at the end with a finished draft!

How about you? Are you doing Nanowrimo? How are you going?

Procrastinators of the world, unite … tomorrow

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What do you do when you have a squillion and one things on your to-do list and deadlines breathing down your neck?

Why, you start crocheting a random shawl, of course. Despite the fact you’ve never worn a shawl in your life. And summer is approaching, and said shawl could not possibly be worn for another six months.

Hello, my name is Marina and I’m a terrible procrastinator. Well, actually I’m a darn good one. It’s my habit of procrastinating that’s terrible, and it seems the more urgent the tasks hanging over my head are, the more likely I am to skive off and do something else completely. It’s as if the weight of everything hanging over my head paralyses me and makes me incapable of doing anything.

I am enjoying crocheting again, though!

And the situation isn’t quite as dire as I’m painting it. I’ve written two scenes in Moonborn since my last post. Should have been more, of course, but two is better than none, and I only have five to go. I’ve finished the read-through of the first draft of Fairytale Curse 2, which is the first step in my revision process. I also finished up a beta read of a friend’s novel, so I haven’t spent all my time crocheting.

Funny thing about that, though. I realised some time ago that all my creative pursuits have fallen by the wayside since I got serious about this writing thing. No more quilting, crochet or scrapbooking. Each of those has been a huge part of my life at one time or another, and I miss the colour. I’m a very visual person. I love playing with fabric, and seeing a piece of art emerge under my hands. It still thrills me when I look over a piece of crochet forming and marvel that this object is taking shape from a single strand of yarn. I miss the tactile nature of practical crafts. Making up worlds and people in your head is a very different kind of creativity, and even though I love that, life has felt like it’s missing something since I started focusing so exclusively on it.

And sometimes, particularly when deadlines are looming, even the most creative enterprise can still feel like work. That’s when a hobby, something you do just for fun, no pressure, can be a wonderful release. Whether it’s baking, woodwork, gardening or crochet, there’s nothing like the feeling of creating something with your hands, and the quiet, contemplative nature of such creation makes a great stress release.

So maybe my shawl wasn’t so random. Maybe it’s my subconscious’s way of telling me to stop and smell the roses a little. That’s my excuse, anyway, and I’m sticking to it!

What activities do you turn to when you need to chill out?

What’s that whooshing sound?

As Douglas Adams once said: “I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

Well, I love deadlines too, for their motivational power. I have eleventy billion things to get done between now and the end of the year, so no whooshing sounds allowed. Writing down my goals helps me get my procrastinating butt into gear, so here are the big ones:

  1. October: Finish drafting Moonborn. Plan the revision of the second Fairytale Curse book and decide on its title. Incorporate beta readers’ feedback into Twiceborn Endgame.
  2. November: Nanowrimo time, yay! Draft a new novel. Incorporate editor’s feedback into Twiceborn Endgame, publish it and organise promo. Liaise with the cover designer for the second Fairytale Curse book.
  3. December: Collapse in a heap once Nano’s over. Revise Moonborn. Possibly even publish it, but most likely Christmas madness will intervene.

To help keep myself accountable, I’m joining in the final Round of Words in 80 Days, the writing challenge that knows you have a life. That will encourage me to blog more than once a month, too.

Lots to do, and we’re running out of year! All the usual end-of-year things will start soon, including Baby Duck’s graduation from primary school. I can’t believe my baby will be in high school next year! It will be the end of an era for our family, with no one left in primary school. Next year will also be Drama Duck’s last year in high school, so more big adventures are on the horizon.

And some kind soul pointed out to me on the weekend that it’s only nine weeks until Christmas. Aargh!

Saying “I love you” with Weetbix

Weetbix as an artform? Breakfast is never just breakfast at our house. It’s an opportunity for whoever gets there first to leave a Weetbix artwork for the other. And given my general dislike of mornings, it’s usually the Carnivore leaving gifts for me.

Some mornings it’s a simple stack, or a triangle. Stonehenge is a popular choice, though sometimes it looks more lik Pi, with a bit of a lean on one of the legs.

Here’s a typical Stonehenge:

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Occasionally we have a flying Weetbix bird. Or maybe it’s a biplane. What do you think?

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And then there is that elusive beast, the Weetbix bridge. This miracle of balance and engineering is the rarest of masterpieces, often sought, but rarely achieved. Both the Carnivore and his apprentice, Baby Duck, were celebrating success when I came out for breakfast the other morning.

I present to you: The Weetbix Bridge

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It occurred to me the other day that relationships are full of Weetbix bridges—little things that people do for each other, for no other reason than to make the other person smile. Silly little rituals that only have meaning for the people involved, that are just another way to say “I love you”. Relationships, particularly longstanding ones, are full of in-jokes and personal histories that make them unique, and it’s capturing exactly these sorts of things in writing fiction that can make characters appear to be real people.

And besides, they’re fun! Do you have any little personal rituals, any “Weetbix bridges”, of your own? Share them in the comments!

Giant fantasy and sci fi bonanza!

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This weekend, the 12th-13th September, sees a great sale for fans of fantasy and science fiction. Aussie author Patty Jansen has organised a whole bunch of indie authors, who are all discounting books this weekend. There are over forty books at the bargain price of 99 cents, including my own Twiceborn, plus several more which are the first in their series at the unbeatable price of free!

There’s a range of books, from epic fantasy to urban fantasy, horror to science fiction, so there’s something for everyone. I have my eye on a few of these, and will be picking up some bargains myself. And if you like epic fantasy, I can highly recommend Pauline Ross’s The Fire Mages, which I’ve read and loved. I’ve read a couple of Patty’s too, though not the ones she has for sale here, and she tells a great story.

Go direct to the page of 99 cent specials here, or click on this link to take you to the main promotional page. From there you can access both the 99 cent page and the free page. (Fellow Aussies please note, some of these books may not be discounted until Saturday afternoon, since it will still be Friday in the US when it’s Saturday morning here.)

Happy reading!