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Tag Archives: fantasy

Snippet #8

03 Tuesday Sep 2019

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

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blog, dragon, fantasy, free, snippet, WIP

I’m looking forward to seeing/reviewing The Peanut Butter Falcon and Downton Abbey. Quite the distance between those genres.

Until then, here is “something completely different” but as promised, the next snippet for The Gracarin, which is now on preorder:

https://www.amazon.com/GRACARIN-SEASONS-WAR-Book-ebook/dp/B07XBMCYNT/ref=sr_1_2?crid=BBWLNA5O62FE&keywords=m.l.rigdon&qid=1567526974&s=books&sprefix=m.l.rigdon%2Cstripbooks%2C148&sr=1-2

 

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)

Follow on Twitter @RigdonML

Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/

Website http://www.MLRigdon.com

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-donner

https://www.facebook.com/Julia-Donner-697165363688218/timeline

 

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Update

16 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

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Tags

books, dragon, fantasy, snippet, WIP

Added another snippet for The Gracarin but have yet to get the pre-sale date set. Still waiting on final edits.

Did go see an interesting film yesterday, The Kitchen, and will review it later. In the meantime, Voranna-Vos nagged to be noticed. As I’ve said before, the people in my books are real to me, and she’s a forced to reckon with on the page and inside my head. I like quirky characters.

 

 

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You Are Here

07 Wednesday Aug 2019

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

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Tags

dragons, fantasy, flying, free, Music, snippet, sorcery, swords

After a reading at the last writer’s group meeting it was suggested that a map of Gracarin would be helpful, which is why one was already made. Plugged it in as a new page. Cover reveal coming soon.

Fantasy fans understand, and often expect, complicated plots, lots of characters and heavy doses of weirdness. Toss in a cast with unusual names, some creepy creatures, swords and sorcery. You’ve just whipped up a fantasy. So with this fourth (not in chapter order) snippet, I added the book’s map, which will have changes and additions with each following book.

The Gracarin will be released in September. Date for pre-release in a few days.

Thanks for following!

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)

Follow on Twitter @RigdonML

Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/

Website http://www.MLRigdon.com

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-donner

https://www.facebook.com/Julia-Donner-697165363688218/timeline

 

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Snippet #3

11 Thursday Jul 2019

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

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battle, books, court case, dragon, fantasy, law, war

Chapter 3

Judgment Court

A scent similar to the fflorin’s filtered down the long corridor that connected the Garrison to the Temple compound. A phalanx of Cavalry warriors, the only military allowed inside the Temple, waited at its end to separate the wharf and hill country contingents. With the exception of Lorin, the Cavarly was made up entirely of women. They were known for their fearlessness, fierce dedication to the protection of Temple members, and unbreakable loyalty. Torak admired those qualities and sought them for his warriors, rather than mere fighting skills.

Other than during the investiture, he’d seen only one of the famed fighters up close. A handler of their Cavalry mounts had traveled to Gracarin to purchase wild charger mares, due to inbreeding problems. She’d not had the height and strength of the women of his country, but had about her a quiet menace that made shoppers on the wharf keep their distance, even though she hadn’t brought her charger. If she had, a glimpse of the military mount would have emptied the harbor.

Wild chargers looked similar, the serpentine heads smaller and usually brown-spotted, not all over black. Gracarin chargers had none of the training that made them living machines of war. All Temple entrances and exits were large enough to accommodate the beasts, since charger sentries roamed the Temple inside and out at night. There were none with the warriors today.

It was ironic that his first time inside the Temple was for a hearing in its Judgment Court. He strove not to gape, while wondering about the venue. Most legal actions were heard in the one of the city’s municipal courts. Only violent crimes were judged by the Temple’s leader. The present High Priest used facts and discretion. The former priestess could read minds. So it was said.

This could be to his advantage, if she were present. The evidence against Kilamok was strong but verdicts from the former High Priestess were never questioned, and hers were potentially deadly if it involved premeditated cruelty.

The clatter of armor and heavy footsteps rattled up and down the wide corridors. The Temple’s wealth had diminished during its temporary abandonment after the Dawn That Bleeds. There were no indications of any restoration work being done to its interior. Some of the gem-studded murals remained unmolested on the ceilings and high up on the walls. The Temple’s distinctive scent became stronger as they moved deeper into the maze of hallways, the smell similar to that of the fflorin, but more herbal and not as sweet, sparking the memory of incense.

They halted in front of what he initially assumed was a metal door with no handle, only a handprint embedded in its center. As he moved closer, he discerned that it was highly polished wood, opened from the inside by a warrior. A long line of them stood on red-carpeted steps leading down into the sunken courtroom. Beneath the high-vaulted ceiling, white marble pews encircled the chamber. Torak and Jaekl were escorted down and seated in the first row. Kilamok and his entourage were taken to the opposite side. A dark, uneven smudge marred the floor’s gleaming white.

There was no seating for judges, priests or official scribes, prompting Torak to murmur, “An odd sort of courtroom.”

Jaekl nudged him in the ribs and gestured sideways with his chin. “What do you make of that?”

On their left, the remainder of their marble pew had been warped, buckled into lumps of white stone. “Looks melted,” Torak murmured. He asked the warrior standing on the steps across the aisle, “What happened there?”

The insignia on her armored chest stated her rank and her proficiency in hand-to-hand. The shield was absent from her back, and she wore a saber in the belt that secured her Cavalry blue tunic. Since they were riders, they usually wore trousers, but today, all the warriors wore knee-length tunics and high-strapped leather sandals with a side-sleeve for a knife.

The warrior preceded her reply with a smirk. “Someone displeased Her Highness.”

“You mean Lady Sha?”

The warrior’s expression hardened. “Lady Sha is forever High Priestess to us. Be advised that there will be no talking once the High Priest enters.”

“And what about that dark spot on the floor?”

The warrior gave the blemish a glance and smiled again. “Where Her Highness ended the Mastema.”

“Mastema. Doesn’t that mean drechleth? I thought she killed it out on the steps.”

She gave him a suspicious glance, most likely due to his proficiency in Omirrian and his slight knowledge of Temple language. As a boy, he had preferred weaponry training. His mother insisted on learning about neighboring cultures. As he matured, he became grateful for her demand that he also learn their languages.

The warrior shifted her attention from him to the opposite pews before giving an answer. “Her Holiness and my Lord Sha killed the Threat From the North on the Temple steps. That spot on the floor is where she destroyed the Oracle, the one known in the Portends as the Mastema. His evil filth has been difficult to remove.”

She stood straighter and placed her hand on the saber’s hilt. “Silence. His Highness is about to enter. You will stay seated and silent until directed to do otherwise or you will be punished.”

How the warrior knew that High Priest was about to enter was in no way apparent, but a door on the opposite side of the court underneath the pews opened. A warrior entered first, followed by Ladnor, Medra, and the High Priest. Torak’s heart started to thump inside his chest when the most lethal person in the world, a small, white-robed figure entered last.

The warrior escort stood to one side with Medra and Ladnor. Both were armed The scrape of a sword being withdrawn slithered through the silence as the High Priest and Lady Sha moved to the courtroom’s center. The guard stood well back in the attack-defend position, feet planted, sword pointed up and at the ready.

Lady Sha stood directly on the smudged spot, giving Torak the eerie impression that she enjoyed standing on it. He allowed one side of his mouth to lift with a half-smile. He liked her, even though she was rather puny for a woman renowned for her power. An annoying compulsion had him glancing sideways at the melted marble.

High Priest folded back his cowl, revealing sharp features and skin paler than most Omirrians. He also had a thin line of beard along his jaw when all the men of Omirr were clean-shaven. His night-dark eyes glinted aggravation. So this was the half-breed Gryff of Sha, the unlikely heir decreed by the Temple’s former leader to rule.

“We are here because uncivilized men could not contain their violence during a meeting convened to bring nations and peoples together in common understanding. Beyond that, a challenge was issued by Lord Torak for the return of his countrywoman. As crude and uncontrolled as it was, it remains an accusation and one, due to its heinous nature, must be immediately addressed. We are aware of the matriarchal aspects of your laws and religion, but you are now in Omirr and will be adjudicated by ours.”

Kilamok started to speak and was silenced when a warrior’s blade pressed against his neck. Salmysis was clever enough to keep silent and still. High Priest ignored the incident and moved closer to where Torak and Jaekl sat. He studied them with a gaze steady and uncomfortably piercing.

“Jaekl of the Coldblood Clan, do you speak Omirrian?”

“Yes. More fluently than my Lord Torak”

“Was that your sister among the harem?”

“Yes, Highness.”

“And you are positive that she was not with them of her own accord?”

“No. She was taken while shopping at the wharf.” With pride he added, “It was reported that it took five men to bring her down.”

High Priest glanced at Torak, who couldn’t contain his the hot hatred of his stare at his enemies across the room. High Priest returned to ask Jaekl, “Your sister appeared to be drugged. Do you concur?”

“Highness, that was my sister, but not. They have done something to her.” Jaekl swallowed. “You know how we revere our women.”

“Yes, Jaekl, we are aware of all religious doctrines and comprehend the aspects of your matriarchal culture. Therefore,” he turned and moved to the small figure in the center of the court, “we will decide this matter in a manner where there can be no misunderstandings, no opposition.”

Across the room, Kilamok raised his hand and High Priest responded. “You have a question?”

“Why do they have the right to speak and I do not?”

“Because you were not requested to speak, and you are not the offended in this matter. It was hardly the smartest political move to flaunt a crime, particularly one so abhorrent to the strictly religious of the Gracarin faith. And a crime that is more than loathsome to Omirrians.”

He turned to the warrior standing beside Medra. “Bring Jaekl’s sister. She doesn’t need to be coherent.”

Sheathing her sword, the warrior turned, jogged across to the door under the pews and exited. Hand raised again, Kilamok stood. Before he could speak, the warrior shoved him down on the pew.

Salmysis remained still, caught in a staring contest with Medra. Torak sneered. What incredibly stupid behavior, aggravating the nation’s Lady Protector. Salmysis was the worst sort of soldier, one who would not protect his master. Jaekl would have somehow intervened.

With bored impatience, High Priest demanded, “What is it now, Kilamok?”

“My lord priest, we have a witness.”

“One was not requested. It is expected that you act as your own witness.”

Kilamok’s furtive glance to the center of the courtroom darted away from the small, silent figure. He would never succumb to an interrogation from her. She would comprehend all of his perfidies. The Temple couldn’t outright execute a foreigner, but there were many other ways to punish.

Kilamok answered, “I was not present. There was a merchant who saw it all and will verify that was not abducted.”

High Priest turned away, looked up, and spoke to the warrior guarding the courtroom entrance. “Have their witness brought here.”

The courtroom guard returned through the door under the pews. A burly warrior followed, carrying Jaekl’s sister, who’d obviously been given more drugs. Her limp arms swayed as the warrior brought her to the High Priest.

Torak sensed his second’s distress, saw Jaekl’s white-knuckled grip curled around the edge of the pew. Because he couldn’t speak, Torak placed a steadying hand on Jaekl’s thigh, digging into tough muscle to pin him in place, and felt him flinch when the High Priest brushed aside his sister’s veils and cupped her cheek in his palm.

When her eyes fluttered open, High Priest gently said, “Hush. I am healing you. The poison you’ve been given will be erased from your body.” The court remained silent until Jaekl’s sister inhaled a sudden, deep breath.

The priest gently asked her, “Your name?”

“Feldspa.”

“Feldspa, are you able to stand on your own?”

“I am not sure, my lord.”

High Priest took her from the warrior, who backed away and exited under the pews. He held her in his arms for a moment then gently set her down. Feldspa weaved in place for a second then straightened, shoulders back, head up. She yanked off layers of veils and kicked them aside until she stood in a short, filmy tunic.

Not realizing that she wasn’t allowed to speak, she looked at the High Priest, a glare sparked by outrage. “May I kill them, my lord?”

He responded first with a dark, disturbing chuckle. “No, Feldspa, only we are allowed to do that here, but we do commprehend your provocation. Remain silent and join your brother. He looks about to explode if he doesn’t get you safely in his hands.”

She scowled and whipped back flowing dark blond hair. Familiar with Feldspa’s easily provoked temper, Torak wasn’t surprised when she tugged off delicate, gem-studded sandals and aimed them at the wharf rats before she stomped across the courtroom to her brother. Jaekl clutched her in a rough embrace until his sister shoved free, kissed his cheek, and sat in glowing discontent.

While Feldspa glared death and destruction at her former captors, the High Priest looked at Medra with a lop-sided smile. They shared an extended visual conversation—hers not amused, while his, oddly merry. Torak experienced a moment of understanding and surprising envy; theirs was not a political alliance but a true marriage.

Their silent interchange was interrupted when a warrior led a man down the steps into the courtroom. Crackling power rippled throughout the chamber when Lady Sha lifted back the hood of her robe. Torak had seen her from a distance, too far away to distinguish her strong-featured face. Hair the color of old blood, braided Cavalry style and streaked with silver, coiled around her head. The sly cleverness of her gaze spoke of a confidence so complete that there was no hiding from her perception. High Priestess she had been in the past, but in her eyes, he saw that all of her faculties remained as sharp as ever. And as terrifying.

Her husky voice filled the courtroom, sending a chill down his spine, when she asked the witness, “Do I have your permission to touch you?”

Visibly trembling, the slender, well-dressed man nodded. Shaking back a billowing sleeve, she placed her palm on his brow. The man buckled to his knees, leaving her hand in the air.

She instructed the warrior who’d brought him, “Take him away. He is of no use.”

Kilamok again opened his mouth but choked off the words when the warrior guarding him stuck the blade under his nose.

Lady Sha turned to address the wharf contingent. “You have presented me with nothing to verify your assertion. Feldspa was indeed compliant and subdued when she and your soldiers passed the vendor’s booth. That proves little. She could have been coerced to behave in other ways besides employing a quick acting drug. Feldspa was drugged again before being brought here.” She asked over her shoulder, “I presume it was hallucinate in composition?”

When High Priest nodded, Lady Sha sent a smile to Jaekl’s sister. “You did not make it easy for them, did you, Feldspa? They were bloodied when they passed that vendor’s booth. Good for you. Now that we have established how and that she was abducted and held against her will, we shall determine the Hill Country contingent’s assertion regarding this issue. Lord Torak, come here.”

Torak got up, stepped down, and crossed the courtroom floor, amazed at how large she appeared from a distance but in reality was so small up close.

She squinted up at him. “It is rude to swagger in this place, Lord Torak.”

“May I speak now?” When she jerked a nod, he replied, “Apologies, but it is my usual manner of walking.”

High Priest and Ladnor must have taken his remark as insolent and stepped closer to her. Lady Sha backed them away with a shake of her head and a cluck of her tongue. “Leave us be. Gryff, go torment Medra. You also, Ladnor. Stand back. I dislike the two of you hovering.”

“He’s a bit of a brute,” Ladnor warned.

She snorted at that and again waved them off to eye Torak up and down. He should feel petrified. This woman had melted marble like wax and obliterated an entire Marin horde with a sweep of a sword. All he could think of doing was cuddling her until she squealed. He couldn’t help it. Except for being half her size, she was so like his mother that he was unable to mask his sympathy.

“You are weary from healing, Holiness.”

“I am Lady Sha now, and what would you know of healing, Lord Torak?”

“My mother is a healer.” He paused to grin down at her and added, “Lady Omirra-Sha.”

“You are impertinent. And speak Omirrian well enough.”

“My mother taught me.”

“Good for her. I assume you give your permission?”

When he nodded, she flicked her fingers, an impatient gesture for him to lower his head, and muttered, “You Gracarin hill people are impossibly tall. Worse than my husband.”

Warmth and comfort soaked through the palm she placed on his brow, sinking down into his soul, weakening his legs. From somewhere far away he willed himself to stay standing. When her touched lifted, he blinked to reorient.

Wise eyes, hazel and gold, studied him. A film of sadness, brief with understanding, dimmed the alertness of before and created a queasy feeling, as if his most secret thoughts had been exposed. He’d had no choice. She’d given an order. There was no other alternative but to obey. He could only pray that she hadn’t seen his darkest secret.

“Lord Torak, you and your second have reason for your grief. Return to your seat and say nothing. Remain after the others have left.”

Relieved that she showed no change in her opinion of him, he smiled. “It will be exactly as you wish, my lady.”

He bowed, suppressing a chuckle at her annoyance when he added a bit more swagger to his walk. She clicked her tongue as he sat and waited for the drama to unfold. She had to have seen his homeland, its magnificence destroyed, the vileness of the wharf king and his lords, the suffering of Jaekl and his family when Feldspa disappeared. The strapping, sassy-mouthed girl was the pride of the Coldblood Clan.

Lady Sha glided across the courtroom to stand in front of Kilamok and Salmysis, whom she addressed first. “Lord Golivaris, our Lady Protector’s animosity stems from a nasty incident that was actually none of your doing. Someone impersonating you presented himself as a suitor.”

Lady Sha glanced over her shoulder at her scowling daughter. “That was enough to set up her back. She has a difficult time casting off a grudge. Even though her present animosity is unjustified, you, Salmysis, are not an honorable person. Your soldiers got their teeth loosened when they abducted Feldspa. If I should ask her, she would never admit to rape, but I am positive that it occurred.

“As for you, Kilamok, I will not give you the respect of your title. Since I am no longer priestess, I am not subject to specific limitations and can say and do as I please. I am tempted to unman the both of you, but instead, will ask our ruling High Priest to ban you from our country. If either of you dare to enter Omirr, either by water or by way of Marin lands, you will die. That is all. Warriors, escort them to their ships. Take your chargers. If they speak or create any disturbance, have your mounts remove their heads.”

She turned to the High Priest. “Have I overstepped?”

He nodded a bow. “As Lord Torak so eloquently stated, it will be exactly as you wish. She has spoken. Let it be done.”

Torak put on his most gloating smile as the wharf rats were taken by sword point from the courtroom. Salmysis glared revenge. Kilamok stared straight ahead, red-faced and too overwrought with frustration to do anything but focus on each step up the carpeted aisle. There would be retaliation. Torak looked forward to it.

Prickling on the back of his neck had Torak returning his attention to the courtroom floor. Ladnor had crossed the courtroom floor. Narrowed-eyed and amused, he said, “They dropped themselves right into your hands, didn’t they?”

Before replying, Torak addressed the High Priest, “May I now stand and respond, Highness?”

Gryff unbelted a fringed, blue sash and shrugged out of a layer of robes. “Court is over. Say what you like, but I have an idea of what you will say. All of us do, but we should go somewhere else to discuss it.”

When Jaekl, Feldspa and Torak left the pew to step down onto the courtroom floor, Ladnor sent his wife a scowl, because she tucked her hand into Torak’s elbow. She held him to a leisurely stroll, companionable, deceptively friendly. Torak wasn’t deceived but was mildly surprised by her first comment.

“Tell me about your mother, Lord Torak. Then we shall see about this plan of yours to become the king of Gracarin, not just its wharves.”

He concealed his dismay that she had seen everything he had planned. “My lady, I was beginning to think that you were like her, but perhaps not.”

Behind him, he heard Ladnor mutter, “You have no idea what holds you by the arm, Torak-en-Doarth.”

Her laugh sent a slither of awareness down his spine. “My husband delights in spoiling my little amusements. Pay no attention. I saw that you came directly from your ship to the conference. You may join us for a meal. The family keeps a villa nearby. A dwelling too luxurious for my taste, but necessary for impressing those who liked to be impressed. It has a view of the city that I never tire of looking at. Ladnor, find Sorda and bring her to me.”

“She’s heading to Sha with Lorin and Rynn.”

“Tell them all to delay the trip. Off you go. Now, Lord Torak, I believe your country is partial to fish and bison. We are blessed with plenty of the former and none of the latter. My husband and children would gnaw on a haunch of meat every day if they could,” she ended with a delicate shudder.

From the corner of his eye, Torak saw Ladnor veer off and go down another corridor, as the diminutive tyrant with a scary grip on his arm whispered, “Very clever of you to suppose correctly that you could entice my husband over to your way of thinking by offering cattle.”

Dread’s chill trickled through his belly. So far, she hadn’t referred the one thing he wanted no one to know about him, but he kept that so deeply hidden he rarely thought about it. Had she seen his political and salacious interest in Sorda? He looked down. Lady Sha wore a smile some might judge as soft and complacent, but he saw something entirely different.

 

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SEASONS OF WAR

24 Monday Jun 2019

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

battle, books, dragons, fantasy, free, new release, other worlds, snippet, sorcery, swords, war, writing

It’s a good thing to have someone to nag and knock one about the head. My critique partner, Judi Lynn/Judy Post has a pretty good aim. Sometimes there is ringing in the ears, which is not a bad thing, because it makes me pay attention. And as it was written in the Haggard novel, when She Who Must Be Obeyed speaks, you’d better listen.

SWMBO has been nagging me about doing snippets (among other things) and today’s mini-post is a heads-up just to prove I listened. The snippet thing is a fave of the delicious Ilona Andrews, and if it’s good enough for her…and so on.

The trilogy Seasons of Time made its debut in paperback in 2003, when I was told self-published works were a waste of time, would never sell, would never get reviewed, would essentially get laughed off the face of the Earth. I’d had encouragement from a publisher, but as traditional houses are wont to do, they wanted changes. The vision of the story was too important for me to change it to fit someone else’s format. It went on to sell many thousands of copies, win an Honorary Mention in a Writer’s Digest International contest, and receive an excellent review from Midwest Book Review.

Back then, I did book events where I talked about e-publishing and the digital future where hundreds of books could be stored and read on a device not much larger than a postcard. I was given pitying looks from the attendees, but it didn’t bother me. They all bought the book.

Today’s snippet is the opening of The Gracarin, Seasons of War. I’d been asked to write more about the world created in the first trilogy, so I am deep in that process. The interior map is almost done. It needs a few tweaks before sending out into the world. The cover is being created and a cover release should happen any time now. The notes from three beta readers have come back, which means it’s almost time to send it along to SWMBO.

Thanks for following. Because if it’s good enough for Judi/Judy and Ilona, it’s good enough for me.

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)

Follow on Twitter @RigdonML

Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/

Website http://www.MLRigdon.com

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-donner

https://www.facebook.com/Julia-Donner-697165363688218/timeline

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PLACES TO GO

25 Saturday Aug 2018

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

battle, creatures, dragons, fantasy, hero, monsters, mythical, war, writing

Long ago in a land far away (Wisconsin), I sat in the dark inside my car, early for a night shift on the oncology unit. Looking out the front window, a vision blotted out the screen—a white temple, a robed woman standing in front of it. The image hounded me at work and in the days to come, until I had to write the story crammed inside my head. It roared to life in an unending stream that meant cutting over a hundred thousand words when it was done. That was the beginning of the fantasy trilogy, Seasons of Time.

Prior to this mental invasion, I’d been writing a western romance. That story needed lots of research about Native Americans. Regency requires even more, but with fantasy, the mind flies to faraway realms, unknown and new, strange and freaky wonderful.

Writing “in the zone” is an amazing experience, a bit like deep meditation, but without the placid floating off into peaceful relaxation. Writing it makes me think of what it must be like to smoke weed or peyote, neither of which I can do because of weird reactions to drugs and a wussy fear of getting caught. In the fantasy zone, protags are fearless. They can fly with the dragon-like fflorin, ride chargers that are part horse and reptile, escape from terrhogs—think blind, gigantic worms. Where did I get all this stuff spewing out of my brain? I have no idea. I’ve been asked and can only reply that they are just there, living inside my head, and causing havoc until I write it down, give it voice.

Fantasy also offers the freedom of the omnipotent power of world creation. What if you could make up your own world and go live there, sort of what Sheldon Cooper does on Sheldor? I’m not an antihero fan, so I can kill off the baddies, hurt them any way I want. Talk about your “heady” stuff. One may ask if that isn’t what every writer does in the writing process. Not exactly. Genre writing requires specific parameters. Fantasy has few, other than what its readership expects, and even then it’s pretty loosely defined.

It’s important to take seriously reader requests, so I’ve tacked on more to the Seasons of Time triology and by starting Seasons of War trilogy based in the same world. Oh, the places where my mind has gone. I’d forgotten what it was like to charge into battle and soar with the fflorin.

The first book of the Seasons of Time trilogy is free now and for the next 3 days. Get it here:

https://www.amazon.com/PROPHECY-DENIED-Seasons-Time-Book-ebook/dp/B004S7EQ92/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1535118166&sr=1-4&keywords=m.l.rigdon

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)

Follow on Twitter @RigdonML

Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/

Website http://www.MLRigdon.com

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-donner

https://www.facebook.com/Julia-Donner-697165363688218/timeline

 

 

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More Than Friends

06 Monday Aug 2018

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

blogging, books, critique, editing, essays, fantasy, friendship, horror, inspiration, mystery, opinion, publishing, regency, romance, thriller, writing, YA

Just finished another exquisite blog post by Rachel R. Roberts, author, playwright, educator, and essayist. Poignacy and nostalgia embue every sentence. There is an elegance to her writing stemming from her personality, as lilting and gentle as her voice. I hear her as I read, the syrup-smooth glide of her southern cadence. The prose is so lyric and grammar always perfect. I can see her blushing as she reads this, her head slightly turned away with modesty that is natural and unaffected. I’ve always admired that in certain women, specifically those who are sincere with that response. I have none of that and often feel like a clod when in the company of Rachel, the epitome of  the gracious, southern lady. Her writing has the same even grace, while layered with so much left unwritten and yet clearly stated. I feel so lucky to hear her comments when she can attend our writing group. She never fails to find a bit of encouragement, is perceptive and kind when it comes to critiquing. Which brings me to the writing group itself, Summit City Scribes, or as we call ourselves, just plain ole Scribes.

The group ranges from ten to twenty members, fluctuating with each bi-monthly meeting. The rules are simple—fifteen minutes to read, the reader is not allowed to comment until after all the members make their remarks, which goes around the table one by one, starting with something complimentary then the opinion, suggestions, or critique.

Members are an eclectic bunch covering a wide variety of genres in fiction and non. It’s heartening for this reader to hear that the work just read held the attention of those having no interest in the genre but that it did hold their interest. If it’s a romance, that’s a big deal to hear from men who write about hiking, or a jounalist, a former cop, or the guy writing a gritty murder mystery. I remember the terror the first time I read to the group almost twenty years ago. Nowadays, I can’t wait to hear what they have to say and often use everything they suggest.

There are so many wonderful writers in this group, and since joining, I’ve found more than encouragement and instruction. The women are clever, bold and goal-oriented. The men are clear-sighted and true gentlemen, which is a lot to be said in this day and age. When my husband passed, Scribes were there, surrounding me like a bastion, determined to hold me up and see me through. They did and have through so many disappointments and set backs, writing and personal. I also scored with another of my favorite writers, my critique partner, Judy Post aka Judi Lynn. She is the fearless leader for Scribes and takes the role seriously, encouraging and touting us like a fierce mother hen. Uh, no. More like a valkyrie. Even though I dread the work involved in rewrites, I get a shiver of excitement when getting back pages from Judy drenched in red ink. She loves to write mystery, so she finds all the plot defects.

I’m including blog sites to illustrate how we differ as writers. I’ve always loved differences, how much there is to glean from another POV. I’ve learned so much from Scribes, wouldn’t have any of the craft or successes without them. Check out their blogs, you’ll see what I mean about how we differ, and because of that, learn, and more importantly, apply.

Rachel S. Roberts

https://www.rachelsroberts.com/blog/naked-ladies

Judith Post/Judi Lynn

https://writingmusings.com/2018/08/04/just-keep-writing/#comments

Kathy Palm

https://findingfaeries.wordpress.com

I’ve added a former Scribes member, Les Edgerton. (Won’t list his credentials  because it goes on for miles.) He has a terrific blog and an amazing new book out.

http://lesedgertononwriting.blogspot.com/2018/08/preordering-available-for-adrenaline.html?spref=tw

So much to learn, so little time.

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)

Follow on Twitter @RigdonML

Blog: https://historyfanforever.wordpress.com/

Website http://www.MLRigdon.com

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-donner

https://www.facebook.com/Julia-Donner-697165363688218/timeline

 

 

 

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THE GREAT WALL

26 Sunday Feb 2017

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Asian, China, fantasy, films, Graphics, Matt Damon, movies, review, The Great Wall

The Great Wall

Comments have been made about a Caucasian taking part in a Chinese legend. The gist of the complaint questioned why a white guy is in the story at all. (Hello! Probably because the story is about a white guy, a thief and mercenary, who comes of age a bit late in life.) Matt Damon’s manner of understated acting is an added bonus in the fantasy-slash-action adventure film genre, where characters tend to gnaw every available inch of scenery. (Insert eye roll here.)

Another relief while watching was the judicious use of blood spatter. Typically, buckets of red are splashed everywhere. Injuries and dismemberments happened, but were quick and not gratuitously gruesome. (IMHO that’s a sign of poor screenwriting and direction. Can’t think of something original, so let’s throw some blood and gore at it. Yawn.)

China has the resources, dedication, and centuries of exquisite cultural artistry to create visual beauty. (Who can forget the magical bamboo forest scenes in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?) Asian films tend to overwhelm with their vast casting and equally massive production budgets. Sometimes it gets a bit much, but this film is a perfect example of controlled excess. American made fantasy and sci-fi films tend to compensate with over the top graphics. Sometimes it’s done well. For me, the best work in US productions are the Star Wars films. (I do not include Rogue One. The facial reconstruction at the end, and you know what I mean, was absolutely creepy!)

Keeping that in mind, some things can be overlooked and others can’t, such as blatantly sloppy production work. There is none of that silliness in The Great Wall. The costuming is gorgeous, lavish colors for the different military divisions in contrast to the utilitarian and coarse armor of the round-eyed mercenaries, which in subtext, illustrates the honorable character of the Chinese and the utter lack of elevated values in the white mercenaries. A nice touch, that.

In current fantasy filming, it often boils down to the graphics. The scenic design in this film was laid out on the sort of grand scale only Asian films are able to financially create. Large scale graphics require discipline and a monumental effort in teamwork, and this film did it well. Compare it to the childish and cheesy backgrounds in Gods of Egypt and the absolutely horrible mess of the chariot horse somehow landing up in the stadium seating and trampling the audience in the flimsy remake of Ben Hur.

There was only one weak point in the story and to explain it involves a major spoiler. It’s not worth the fuss since it comes near the end and doesn’t ruin the whole. Artistically, I came away satisfied and impressed, even encouraged. The protagonist followed through on the classic story arc of personal change. A nation’s resolve to protect itself, to sacrifice to save others, to stand with courage and determination in the face of impossible odds is a familiar theme in fantasy. This film brought it to life—showed the meaning of honor and integrity to oneself and others—attributes sadly absent in our present political climate and culture of films exemplifying antiheroes smashing up the scenery and crashing cars. The Great Wall gives us real heroes, men and women, Asian and Caucasian, who give all they have to protect others and do their duty, as our military does today—our last vestige of national honor. This film is a reminder that it still exists in some of us. I left refreshed.

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WHO LET THE DRAGONS OUT

17 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Atlanitis, dragons, fantasy, romane, writing, YA

 

So, I’m toiling away on the last bits of Canticle of Destruction, the third installment of the Songs of Atlanitis YA fantasy series. I put dragons in my first fantasy series (called them fflorin) and figured, what the heck, might as well put dragons in this series. I like ‘em. So do others. In they go. But of course, they have to be part of a historical twist within the story arc and coincide with the previous books. Check. Check.

Anyway, the last six months have thrown my goals off track due to involvement with a friend’s estate and collaborating with her writing. Won’t do that again. Doing so proved painfully illustrative and validated a set of rules my critique partner, Judy Post, aka Judi Lynn, and I have learned to our cost. Rule Two—which comes after the sacred Rule One of writing one’s tushie off every day—is never, EVER let up on promoting your own work. I did for the last months, spending more time elsewhere, but always managing to get some writing done. Still, I dismally failed at Rule Two: promote and advertise your work until you die. Or lie bleeding out on the floor.

The year started off great with a fabulous bounce from an ad on BookBub for the regency series written as Julia Donner. Yes, I do the no-no of writing under more than one name. Here comes the whine: I gotta do more than one genre!

Fortunately, and blessedly, as writers in this day and present industry construct, we no longer have to line up under the sign that says writers MUST follow a formulaic code of composition. Of course, that outdated rule must be observed if one is signed with a traditional publisher. (Shoulder shrug here.) That’s a given, but writers now have a wide range of choices. Whether we go with the traditional publishing path or not, we all have to promote ourselves. The days of book junketing is pretty much dead and gone, unless your agent has signed you for a million buck deal with a clause that clearly states the publisher will provide this. Ergo, Rule Two (hence known as the Eleventh Commandment) is not to be forgotten, never ignored. I did to my cost, my sales sagged, and now I’ve got to get back on board the advertising express.

At the end of the month, I hope to have that new YA fantasy up and live on Amazon and two (yes, count them, two) campaigns running. This means (insert dramatic groan) I have to scour pages and pages of advertising ideas. As writer and playwright friend, Rachel Roberts has expressed, it’s not easy to toot one’s own horn. Can’t agree more. I’ve endured  the disappointment of three declines from BookBub in the last months. Have to wait for a while to resubmit, but in the interim, look out Twitter, here I come.

Wrapping up, publicizing one’s work is wicked heart-wrenching—a hair-pulling, out- loud wailing, and lying-on-the-floor-heel-kicking endeavor. But it’s the only way to sell the books we’ve sweated blood and rained tears on the keyboard to bring to life. So bring on the dragons and burn up the procrastination tactics. Your work and what you have to say is worth it.

While we’re on the subject of horn-tooting, Judi Lynn’s latest installment of the delicious Mill Pond Romance series, Love on Tap, is now available for presale. Please take a looksee on Amazon, Face Book or her webpage:

Judi Lynn

http://www.judithpostswritingmusings.com/

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Got a Rise Outta Moi

04 Friday Mar 2016

Posted by mlrover in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Bible, Easter, fantasy, Fiennes, film review, Passion Story, Risen, Scripture

It’s that time of year when religion theme movies come out to play. I was ready for some religious action and went with hope to see Risen.

Let’s start with what I loved. There’s only been one depiction of Christ that I’ve liked and that was in the Matthew Series. In this film, Cliff Curtis has a sweetness about his portrayal that drew me in. The film locations and sets take the viewer to the time period. I delighted in the correct use of Christ’s given name, not the twisted, Latin version we use today.

Joe Fiennes had the tough job of carrying the story along, and he accomplished this but just barely. He looked more comfortable in the battle scenes, which were well conceived, depicting how the Roman military conquered the known world. (China was thousands of years ahead of Western Civilization at this point in time, but that’s another story.) Poor Joe attempting to work his way through a mystery, and find his path after his discoveries, well…not so much. Joe sort of deflated as a regular guy.

I also loved the political aspects of the film, the showing of another perspective and backroom dealings, of how religious leaders plotted to get rid of a threat to their power structure and sleazy dealings in the Temple. (Recall the turning over the tables in the courtyard? Caiaphas and his family had control of that side of the business.)

The way the Pharisees used Pilot and Pilot hoped to use them to secure his own position was nicely rendered. Pilot was definitely under the gun with Tiberius about to visit the troubled Palestine. Tiberius was a vile man and worse emperor. He had no patience for inferiors bungling up the works. In this film version, Caiaphas is marvelously slimy and evil in contrast to the dignified and holy Joseph of Arimathea, a true servant of God. These character contrasts and Curtis’s depiction of Christ made the picture in my opinion.

The clinkers were the use of stirrups and saddles on military mounts. Nuh-uh. Don’t believe me. Look at the bas-reliefs that exist. Egyptians didn’t use stirrups either. They were used elsewhere in the world, but not like what we have today and used in this film. Then there was the funky scene where Joe gets a costume change all within the same time segment. Guess they had to keep the actors on horseback somehow.

There were a couple of other silly things but they didn’t bother me much. What really got to me is coming next, the Mary Magdalene bashing. It goes on and on, even though it has no scriptural verification.

Pope Gregory I took it upon himself to do some Biblical revisionism during a sermon wherein he set Mary M. down as a prostitute. And so the insult was born. The ugly lie has held on throughout the centuries, perpetuated by men, in text, art and repeatedly in film—yeah, that’s you Mel Gibson. This saddens me, especially since I otherwise liked this film. Even got teary-eyed in places. It’s still no excuse for trashing a woman Christ loved and relied on as confidant and friend. His own disciples griped about her, but they were men reared in a culture and religion that separated women and men in religious settings.

So what excuse do men (and sloppy screenwriters) have today for abusing a holy woman? I’m not even going to go there. Too sick, boring and wearying. Anyway, sans the stupid bit in the barracks asking soldiers for a show of hands to see how many men Mary had screwed, I would have really liked this film. If you don’t mind the toying with Biblical truth/ female bashing, go see it. Tis the season.
FYI: Prophecy Denied, the first book my fantasy series is free March 4 through 7.

Also check out Empty Altars by Judith Post, last day free!

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B007EW75Y6

M.L Rigdon (aka Julia Donner)
Follow on Twitter @RigdonML
Website http://www.MLRigdon.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Julia-Donner

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The Bump and Grind of Daily Life

Thoughts courtesy of Dee's brain.

Entertaining Stories

Just a fiction writer, trying to reach the world.

Hollywood Genes

🌸 Zoe K Blogs about Old Hollywood and Genealogy 🌸

Hannes van Eeden

LIVING THE DREAM

FOR A NEW TOMORROW

Sharing

Happiness Between Tails by da-AL

Writing/Tales + Tails + Culture + Compassion

Edge of Humanity Magazine

An Independent Non-Discriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations

BRAINCHILD

gehadsjourney.wordpress.com

Dr. Eric Perry’s Coaching Blog

Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

Bombay Ficus

Running, Writing, Real Life Experiences & Relatable Content.

Harmony Books & Films, LLC

Tired of being ordinary, then here are some tips for becoming extraordinary.

Facets of a Muse

Examining the guiding genius of writers everywhere

Myths of the Mirror

Life is make believe, fantasy given form

Ailish Sinclair

Stories and photos from Scotland

Book 'Em, Jan O

Ghosts, Tall Tales & Witty Haiku!

The Godly Chic Diaries

BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH

Staci Troilo

Character-Driven Fiction/Pulse-Pounding Plots

The Observation Post

mistermuse, half-poet and half-wit

From the Pen of Mae Clair

Mystery and Suspense, Folklore and Legends

The Bump and Grind of Daily Life

Thoughts courtesy of Dee's brain.

Entertaining Stories

Just a fiction writer, trying to reach the world.

Hollywood Genes

🌸 Zoe K Blogs about Old Hollywood and Genealogy 🌸

Hannes van Eeden

LIVING THE DREAM

FOR A NEW TOMORROW

Sharing

Happiness Between Tails by da-AL

Writing/Tales + Tails + Culture + Compassion

Edge of Humanity Magazine

An Independent Non-Discriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations

BRAINCHILD

gehadsjourney.wordpress.com

Dr. Eric Perry’s Coaching Blog

Motivate | Inspire | Uplift

Bombay Ficus

Running, Writing, Real Life Experiences & Relatable Content.

Harmony Books & Films, LLC

Tired of being ordinary, then here are some tips for becoming extraordinary.

Facets of a Muse

Examining the guiding genius of writers everywhere

Myths of the Mirror

Life is make believe, fantasy given form

Ailish Sinclair

Stories and photos from Scotland

Book 'Em, Jan O

Ghosts, Tall Tales & Witty Haiku!

The Godly Chic Diaries

BY GRACE THROUGH FAITH

Staci Troilo

Character-Driven Fiction/Pulse-Pounding Plots

The Observation Post

mistermuse, half-poet and half-wit

From the Pen of Mae Clair

Mystery and Suspense, Folklore and Legends

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