I’ve been looking forward to sharing this with y’all all summer … and then wound up trapped in the hospital when the cover was officially released during Enclave’s Kickstarter Campaign. Still, for those of you who haven’t spotted it yet, I am beyond excited to finally be able to show you the cover for Orphan’s Song, my fantasy novel releasing from Enclave Publishing this Fall! 
Orphan’s Song is the story of a world woven through melody and shattered by discord, where a girl discovers that her Song contains far greater power than she ever could have imagined. A power that a ruthless soldier and his evil master seek to possess. A power that her guardian wants silenced. Read the full blurb on the Songkeeper Chronicles page. So, what do you think of the cover? Gorgeous, isn’t it? The artist responsible for this beautiful cover is one Benjamin Lucas Powell. Personally, I think he did a splendid job. From an author’s point of view, the book cover designing stage of the process can be a tad frightening. To be honest, once I received the first email broaching the dreaded (yet exciting?) topic, I was terrified! What if I didn’t like it? What if it didn’t turn out as I imagined? What if it was one of those covers you see on Amazon every day, the ones that make you wince and grimace and wonder what in the world the designer was thinking? I shouldn’t have worried so much. As soon as we started talking design, Steve Laube at Enclave Publishing sent me a form to fill out listing elements I liked/disliked/absolutely loathed in book covers. He graciously kept me updated and informed throughout the entire process, and I was able to give feedback at all stages. Until finally, we wound up with a gorgeous cover that I can’t wait to see in published form. In my humble opinion, this cover captures the overall feel of the novel with just the right touches of the whimsical, hints of the danger, and glimpses of the magical that fill the world of Leira. Not to mention a girl who looks exactly as I imagined my main character Birdie, orphaned drudge of the Sylvan Swan. You can practically see the sorrow and desperate longing and indomitable hope in her eyes! What do you think? Would you pick this book off the shelf? Share your thoughts in the comments! Interested in staying updated on the release news for Orphan’s Song? “Like” my facebook page for updates, fantasy “fandoming,” sneak peaks and more!
Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd, Princess of Wales
The surprisingly true tale of how my picture almost wound up in a castle in Wales. Yep. You heard that right. I’m famous. Or almost was. While I was in the hospital, I received quite an interesting email. Came all the way from Wales. Apparently, a certain picture I took a while back of one of my characters made quite the circuit of the web, until the man who contacted me stumbled upon it while scouting for images to represent a princess of Wales from the twelfth century, Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd. So, he contacted me to verify that the image was mine and request my permission to use it in an introductory panel in a castle in Wales. 
(The photo in question) My first thought: The costume isn’t historically accurate! How could they use it? My second thought: If they don’t care, I don’t! Sadly, being woefully ignorant of Welsh history, I had never before heard of Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd. So I decided to do a little bit of research and was completely fascinated by what I discovered—hooray for Wikipedia! Gwenllian lived from 1097-1136, during one of the many conflicts between the Welsh and the Normans. She married Gruffydd ap Rhys, a prince of Wales, and joined him in leading daring raids against the Normans. Matters came to a head while Gruffydd was away on an alliance forming mission, so Gwenllian mustered the army and marched into battle herself. Only to be defeated near Kidwelly Castle and beheaded by her enemies. A tragic end to the tale. But her example was an inspiration to the Welsh in their struggle against the Normans, and her name became a common battle cry throughout the conflict. Fascinating, isn’t it? Check out Wikipedia’s article on Gwenllian ferch Gruffydd to find out more! Research completed, I weight the pros and cons. I was amazed at the similarities between Gwenllian and the character in my novel that I had been depicting. Not only that, but her name is practically the same as mine! And who could say no to having their picture in a castle in Wales? Pros won. Cons lost. So I said yes. And immediately began planning ways to scrimp and save so I could eventually take a trip to Wales to visit the castle and research Gwenllian and walk the battlefield where she fought and died. Only to get another email a few days later that regretfully informed me that they had run the image past a historian who rejected the photograph on the basis that the costume wasn’t historically accurate. Ah well. Should have listened to my first thought. So there you have it. The fascinating tale of how my picture almost wound up inside a castle in Wales … and the even more fascinating tale of a princess of Wales who fought alongside her husband for the defense of her people. I still intend to find out more about Gwenllian. Amazing character inspiration right there!
At The End of the Day, the Lord is Good
I apologize for the silence, folks. For the past several days, I’ve been trying to come up with some crazy exciting story to explain my absence – something involving portals, dragons, and a mysterious call to save he world – but once I sat down to write it, I figured there’s actually no need to elaborate on the true story.
It’s fairly thrilling, involving a death-defying escape and a helicopter ride and flaming vehicles.
Intrigued?
Well, long story short … I was in a car accident last Wednesday. My truck spun out on a road with a speed limit of 70 mph and ended up slamming head first into a tree. Not sure if I blacked out completely or was just really dazed, but my first conscious thought was of buzzing in my ears and smoke everywhere and pain and something wet dripping on my hands.
Then somebody was pounding on the side of the truck, shouting “Get out! It’s on fire!”
That brought me to pretty quickly. I tried the driver’s door, but it was jammed. But the adrenaline was pumping hard enough that I managed to jump over the console into the passenger seat, open the door, and stumble out in the arms of the folks who had stopped when they saw my truck smoking.
From there, I watched as my truck caught on fire and was consumed by the flames – after my rescuers managed to salvage my laptop and all the important stuff I had in the front seat – and waited for EMS to arrive. A helicopter took me to the hospital where I’ve been since. Apparently I broke my jaw in multiple places and fractured parts of my face, so I’ve had one surgery so far and another coming up, and several days of napping in the hospital in between.
All in all though, this story is the most exciting story I could have come up with, because I can clearly see God’s hand on the whole situation, and I am simply left feeling grateful. It could have been so much worse than it was. I mean … I was able to walk away from the accident – sure, I didn’t get very far, just out of the reach of the flames, and I had to take a wee detour past the hospital, but those are just minor details in the big scheme of things.
Nobody else was injured. My truck was the only vehicle involved. And yet once more God’s perfect timing came into play when there were people who came along the road just afterwards who were extremely helpful! Throughout the length of my stay in the hospital, I have been overwhelmed with the kindness of friends and family and sometimes even complete strangers who have rallied around me.
I have so much to be grateful for.
Including a publisher who was very understanding when I had to inform him that my Orphan’s Song edits were going to be just a tad late since editing a novel on high doses of pain medication doesn’t make for the best combination.
So here we are. I’m alive. I have not forgotten poor Alexander and hope to be continuing his story soon … though it might be a bit sporadic at first, since I’ll be neck deep in the last of my edits post surgery!
At the end of the day, all I can say is the Lord is good!
When Destiny Comes Calling—Installment Four
Afraid I have to apologize for the lack of a post last Friday. It was a bit of a crazy week, and this week hasn’t been much different. I’m currently wading through the edits for Orphan’s Song, so needless to say, those have been consuming the bulk of my writing time. Still, I wasn’t heartless enough to make y’all wait another week before you could discover what happened to Alexander. Once again, poor Alexander’s fate was decided by a single vote. So you see, your votes do matter. (Be sure to vote at the end of today for the next week!) In the meantime, I’m very pleased to be able to announce the arrival of Installment Four!
Confound the woman! Of all the exasperating, irritating, high-falooting people he had ever met, she had to be the worst. With mud plastered hands, Alexander tugged the hood of his cloak down over his sodden hair and squelched through the noxious pools of the swamp where Miss Destiny had deposited him.
“Oh, no, Alexander. I’m sorry!” He muttered in an exaggerated attempt at a falsetto. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? No, it wouldn’t! Because apparently it’s absolutely impossible for you to tell anyone anything! Like maybe that an umbrella would have been more helpful than dueling pistols!”
The tail of his cloak caught on a branch, and he yanked it free, splattering his face with mud droplets. He stood there, dripping wet, pistols damp and useless in his belt, while the swamp sucked noisily at his boots. He watched the mud creep up toward his ankles and sighed.
Miss Destiny must have also forgotten to mention the quicksand. A minor oversight on her part.
Right.
Cold mud crawled up his shins. He fought the urge to panic and instead set his mind to mentally skim through all of the survival guides he had ever read. By the time he reached the chapter on Quicksand and How to Escape from It from A Ranger’s Guide to Roving, the sand had reached his knees. After a moment’s refresher course, he flung himself forward and belly-flopped into the quicksand, tugging his feet free with a plop, then crawled forward on hands and knees until he reached a hummock of solid ground in the midst of the swamp.
He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the vines and shaggy moss dangling from limbs above. Brown, slimy gook covered every inch of his body, clothes, and equipment. Paragraph seven of chapter thirteen of A Ranger’s Guide to Roving scrolled through his head, reminding him that he really ought to unsheathe his sword and pistols and tend to them to keep them from rusting. But for now, he was too exhausted to rise.
Three days on the road with Miss Destiny was enough to try the patience of a mule. Three days of riddles with answers that weren’t really answers and Miss Destiny’s signature frosty glare, delivered with all the force and tact of a musket ball. Then without any explanation whatsoever, she had led him straight to the edge of the swamp, and after a pursed-lip grin, a reminder to stay far away from ogre cooking pots, and a fluttering of her fingers, she had vanished. Into thin air. Or thick air, rather. The swamp was about as humid, rank, and sweaty as the toes of the aforementioned ogres.
Something crashed in the woods to his left, and Alexander instinctively reached for his pistols. But even as his hand settled on the muddied grip, he knew it was useless. Damp gunpowder was about as helpful as Miss Destiny’s instructions. And a simple dueling pistol didn’t use nearly a large enough caliber bullet to make a dent in an ogre, let alone kill one. Pity he couldn’t have brought his cannon along on this little misadventure.
So he simply lay there, flat on his back in the mud, as the thing crashed nearer and nearer, hoping whatever-it-was would go away, and hoping he wouldn’t scream, and hoping he wouldn’t die before he discovered the history behind his family’s curse.
Option 1: “Get up, Alexander. Heroes don’t loll about in the mud.”
No mistaking that voice. Alexander peeked one eye open and could just make out the stiff form bending over him, a familiar look of disapproval on her face. He closed his eyes again. “I’m not lolling. Just taking a very well deserved nap in the word possible location in the worst possible conditions in the worst possible company in the world! It’s a talent. One that I have to employ thanks to you.”
Miss Destiny sniffed. “You mean one that thanks to me hasn’t gotten you killed yet. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Insufferable woman.
With a groan, Alexander rolled into a sitting position, then did a double take. “Is that … is that ogre blood on your hem?”
Option 2: The earth trembled as the massive thing crashed through the woods just a few feet behind Alexander. He lay very still, trusting in the fact that most monsters have notoriously poor eyesight. Unfortunately, there was rarely anything wrong with their sense of smell.
Or his!
He caught a whiff of something that smelled like it have been dead and buried for a week before being unearthed and left to fester in the sun. Ogre. No doubt about it. Something wet and sticky dripped on his face and crawled down his chin. He pinched his eyes shut. If he was about to die, he didn’t want to see it coming.
Option 3: A high pitched scream brought Alexander reeling to his feet, pistols drawn. “Hullo? Miss Destiny, is that you?” He turned in a circle, scanning the dripping woods for any sign of the exasperating woman. He found it hard to believe that such a high pitched scream could have come from her throat. She just didn’t seem the type.
A second cry rang out, and this time Alexander dove into action. He darted off through the swamp in the direction of the cry, wet pistols held at the ready, wet cloak flapping about his legs, wet sword rattling in its sheath. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too late.
Help decide what happens next! Vote by leaving a comment with your favorite of the three options!
When Destiny Comes Calling—Installment Three
This week has been a tad hectic, to say the least. First, my internet was down for a few days which kept me from getting on here and tallying votes until after I was supposed to have already written the next installment of the story. So the following was written somewhat last minute to the accompaniment of an overabundance of two of my writing staples—coffee and Dr. Pepper—so I pray you bear with me through any of the odd typos or sleep-typing that may have slipped through.
In case you missed last week’s post, every Friday I intent to post the next installment of a serial short-ish story on here. If you haven’t yet, be sure to read the previous installments:
Installment One: In which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III dismantles a cannon and has an unexpected brush with destiny.
Installment Two: In which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III has an unpleasant surprise, and Miss Destiny appears to posses the ability to walk through walls. The truly fun part of this story is that y’all get to help decide what happens. Curious how that will work?
Read Installment Three to find out …
“You’re Destiny.” Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I am Destiny, and you are a Beauford.”
Alexander felt the cold fingers of fear crawling down his back like an army of spiders. “But … I thought that was just a legend. You haven’t been seen in over three generations of Beaufords.”
Destiny shrugged. “That’s the problem with a family curse. They’re often unpredictable, but always unavoidable.”
Well … This was a conundrum and no mistake. Alexander scuffed a stockinged foot against the floor as he considered his options. It wasn’t every day one came face to face with a supposed family curse. What was the traditional protocol? His military handbooks had been disappointingly vague on the subject of family affairs—especially in regards to curses.
The way he saw it, he could make one of four choices:
1) Run for his life and see how fast Miss Destiny could chase him in her long dress and heeled shoes …
2) Beg for his life. Perhaps Miss Destiny would show mercy and leave him in peace.
3) Fight for his life. Between the cannon in the center of the room—that Miss Destiny was still using as a seat—and the various handguns and rapiers mounted strategically on the wall, he had a fairly good supply of weapons, should the curse necessitate defense.
4) Or lastly, yield his life in servitude as a good little cursed descendent of a cursed family should.
Four options … But Alexander, being Alexander Scott Mitus Beauford III, heir of the Baron of Midsig, decided to follow none of them. Instead, he simply laughed, plopped down in Father’s leather desk chair and flipped open a massive tome to continue his research. Curses were a thing of the past. Relics from a time when magic reigned supreme and fantastic critters prowled the night. They belonged to the era of swords and shields and knights clad in not-so-shining armor, not this modern age with its guns and cannons and firearms and research.
Destiny cleared her throat.
Alexander answered without lifting his gaze from the book. “Do you need assistance finding the door? Because that can be arranged, though we are a tad short on servants at the moment.”
“Stalling gains you absolutely nothing, you know.”
“More’s the pity.”
Miss Destiny took a deep breath, and Alexander crooked an eye at her over the edge of his book. She looked like she was about to explode. “Time is wasting! And you, unfortunately, don’t have much of it! You know what they say, heroes always die young. Now shall we get on with it before I die of old age?”
What was that about heroes dying young?
Alexander tried to conceal his concern as he let the tome snap shut with a thump and rocked back in the chair with his stockinged feet on the edge of Father’s desk. Not that he was a hero … or anything approximating one. Not yet at least. Still Miss Destiny certainly took the cake for persistency. “You know … I do believe I’m rather rusty on the details of this whole, nasty curse business. I can’t for the life of me remember who or what or how it all began … Care to enlighten me?”
“There simply isn’t time.” Destiny pursed her lips. “Suffice it to say that Emperor Caldwell has need of your services, and you, as a cursed member of a cursed family, are cursed to respond.”
Alexander’s chair settled with a thud. “And do what, exactly?”
Destiny’s eyes glittered. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
“Fine.” Alexander pushed out of his chair, swiped his hands on his trousers again, took a deep breath, and pulled his cloak from the hook by the door and his dueling pistols and rapier from the umbrella stand. “Fine. Let’s get it over with.”
Help determine the course of the story by voting for your favorite next scene starter below! (Leave a comment with your vote.) And don’t forget to share the story with a friend!
Option 1) Confound the woman! Of all the exasperating, irritating, high-falooting people he had ever met, she had to be the worst. With mud plastered hands, Alexander tugged the hood of his cloak down over his sodden hair and squelched through the noxious pools of the swamp where Miss Destiny had deposited him.
“Oh, no, Alexander. I’m sorry!” He muttered in an exaggerated attempt at a falsetto. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? No, it wouldn’t! Because apparently it’s absolutely impossible for you to tell anyone anything! Like maybe that an umbrella would have been more helpful than dueling pistols!”
Option 2) “Now, before we get started, there really are a few things we should cover,” Destiny said over her shoulder.
Alexander trudged along the road, feet already sore in his stiff leather boots, throat already dry with dust, and already hating the sight of the stiff figure in the gray dress marching briskly ahead of him. “Like what?”
“Rules of the road.” Without slacking stride, she counted them off on her fingers. “No dilly dallying. No complaining. No short cuts. And no asking if we’re there yet. Trust me, you’ll know when we’ve arrived.”
Option 3) “Don’t forget. Heroes die young.” Destiny’s final, chilling admonition sent a shiver crawling up Alexander’s spine. He cleared his throat, straightened his black and white servant’s livery, then stepped through the massive double doors that enclosed the Emperor’s great hall. He couldn’t help rolling his eyes at the irony of it all. Only a short while ago, he had been complaining over the fact that he had to play servant in his own home. Now he played servant for an Emperor. A game that might very well get him killed.
When Destiny Comes Calling—Installment Two
The votes are in! It was extremely close by the way, and the winning option was determined by a matter of one point. Curious to know what it was? Read the next installment to find out. In case you missed last week’s post, every Friday I intend to post the next installment of a serial short-ish story on here.
If you haven’t yet, be sure to read last week’s installment in which Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III dismantles a cannon and has an unexpected brush with destiny. The truly fun part of this story is that y’all get to help decide what happens. Curious how that will work? Read Installment Two to find out …
So of course, Alexander Mitus Scott Beauford III did what any reasonable person would do when confronted with such a statement. He smiled politely and slammed the door shut on Miss Destiny’s primly upturned nose. The heavy paneling muffled her indignant cry.
Good riddance!
Alexander allowed the smile to remain on his lips as he marched back to the study to continue his research. The son of the Baron of Midsig had far more important things to do than bandy words with a madwoman. Just as his hand settled on the latch, the doorbell began to ring again. He growled, shoved the study door open, dashed inside, slammed it behind him, and flung his back against the door, breathing hard.
No more visitors. No more interruptions! He’d had about as much as he could stand. He really was going to have to talk to Father about hiring a new round of servants … or at the very least a butler!
“You really should answer the door, you know. It’s considered the height of rudeness to leave a guest standing on the threshold.”
Alexander jumped and nearly fell when his stockinged feet slipped on the wood floor. She was here … in Father’s study. Destiny glared primly down her nose at him, perched casually as could be on the barrel of his cannon. His cannon! A highly sophisticated, highly rare, highly valuable instrument of modern warfare! Decidedly not a seat.
He resisted the urge to race over there and drag her away before she could break anything and forced a polite grin to his face instead. “You do realize you are sitting on an extremely dangerous weapon that’s covered in several layers of grime, mud, and powder residue, don’t you?”
“Indeed.” Destiny pursed her lips and scribbled a line in her notebook. “Manners: decidedly lacking. General appearance and cleanliness: atrocious.”
“Wait … what? What are you writing?” Curious despite himself, Alexander inched forward to snatch a peek at her paper, but Destiny closed the notebook with a snap of her wrist. “Contender evaluation. Normal procedure.”
Indeed. Because everything about this day was completely normal. Alexander rubbed his aching forehead.
Destiny’s mouth quirked into something that no doubt was supposed to resemble a grin. It looked like she had been sucking on a lemon. “You do realize your hands are covered in several layers of grime, mud, and powder residue, don’t you?”
Apparently politeness could only carry one so far. “Look … how did you even get in here? What do you want?” She flipped open her notebook cover, and her pen hovered once more over the page. “And stop taking notes about me!”
“Like I said, it’s normal procedure. Gracious me, but you are a dull one.”
It hit him then. Like a twelve pounder cannon ball that barreled through and left the dead in piles and the living bleeding and gasping for breath. “You’re ________.”
Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was.
You get to help me decide. Who/what is Destiny? Or who does Alexander think she is?
Option One “You’re one of them.”
Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Why yes, I am. Took you long enough.”
One of the Fey Folk …. here … in Father’s study. Alexander took a deep breath and fumbled in his trouser pockets for a semi-clean handkerchief to wipe his forehead and hands. “Is this it then? Am I being summoned?”
Because if not, he had research to get back to.
Option Two “You’re Destiny.”
Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I am Destiny, and you are a Beauford.”
Alexander felt the cold fingers of fear crawling down his back like an army of spiders. “But … I thought that was just a legend. A family myth. You haven’t been seen in over three generations of Beaufords.”
Destiny shrugged. “That’s the problem with a family curse. Often unpredictable, but always unavoidable.”
Option Three “You’re one of them. This is a test, isn’t it?”
Destiny smiled then, and a cold, shark-like smile it was. “Indeed. How ever did you figure it out?”
Alexander snapped to attention, back straight, arms at his sides, shoulders and head erect. He was painfully aware of his stained clothing and stockinged feet, but there was no help for that now. He couldn’t recall seeing any sort of a military emblem or rank insignia on Miss Destiny’s dress, but he might have overlooked it, distracted as he was by the whole surprise appearance thing she had going.
Vote in the comments. Share the story with your friends. Then stop by next Friday to see how your vote determines the course of the story!
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