Connie Suttle's Blog
October 17, 2012
Bibles, law Dictionaries and Wrong Numbers
When I worked for Borders (I left the company in 2007), we used to get faxes all the time from questionable sources, asking us to please sell them XX numbers of Law Dictionaries or Bibles. The reason I used two X's is because they always asked for double-digit quantities. They always offered to pay using a credit card number, and listed an address in another country as the shipping address.
Scam? Obviously. I even had one call me on the phone (I got the call because I was the manager on duty). I gave my apologies and said that we didn't ship outside the country. Really, scammers, why would anybody take you seriously when you are calling a store in OKLAHOMA for all your U.S. Law Dictionary needs? From outside the country, no less!
Today, I got a text on my cell, assuring me that I'd won a gift card from a popular electronics store. My entry was selected, it said, and all I had to do was log onto their website and enter a code supplied in the text. REALLY? I DIDN'T ENTER ANYTHING. I seldom do. I'm not the winning kind of person, generally.
That brings me to wrong numbers. Curiously enough, my cell number is one digit away from the local Attorney General's phone number. I get calls frequently that are meant for the AG's office, usually from another cell phone, because it's easy to substitute one number for the other. A couple of times, the caller ends up telling me their story, even after I've explained that (A) I'm not the Attorney General, and (B) I'm not qualified to help them with anything, unless they want a recommendation for my favorite tea (It's Earl Grey, usually decaf).
One caller told me about a scam that she'd inadvertently participated in, and was now seeking legal recourse. I told her the AG's number. She kept talking. I sat down to listen (it was a long story) and she ended up saying that she was buying a gun in case these people (the scammers) came to her door. (Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!) I did my best to convince her to call the police AND the AG's office after that. I think I even looked up the police department's non-emergency number for her in the phone book, and really hoped that I didn't see a homicide on the evening news after she hung up.
That was a couple of years ago. If there was a homicide, it didn't make the news. I will say this, though. I've already considered this as a potential plot/subplot for a book. As for the message in this blog post, well, there's not much of one. All I can say is that if you text me, call me, email me or send me printed material involving a scam, or text me, call me, email me or send me printed material involving your (possible) intention to shoot, stab, hang, torture or otherwise do away with a scammer, bear in mind all of that may end up in a book.
With the following disclaimer, of course:
"All rights reserved. Void where prohibited. Only one offer per customer. For external use only. May contain nuts or nut products. Not meant to be used as a flotation device. If erection lasts more than four hours, for Pete's sake don't freak. Walk (if you can) to the nearest phone and call your physician. Outside Physician's business hours, please visit your local emergency room. After they stop laughing, you'll probably get treatment. If the problem still persists, well, fly proud.
Scam? Obviously. I even had one call me on the phone (I got the call because I was the manager on duty). I gave my apologies and said that we didn't ship outside the country. Really, scammers, why would anybody take you seriously when you are calling a store in OKLAHOMA for all your U.S. Law Dictionary needs? From outside the country, no less!
Today, I got a text on my cell, assuring me that I'd won a gift card from a popular electronics store. My entry was selected, it said, and all I had to do was log onto their website and enter a code supplied in the text. REALLY? I DIDN'T ENTER ANYTHING. I seldom do. I'm not the winning kind of person, generally.
That brings me to wrong numbers. Curiously enough, my cell number is one digit away from the local Attorney General's phone number. I get calls frequently that are meant for the AG's office, usually from another cell phone, because it's easy to substitute one number for the other. A couple of times, the caller ends up telling me their story, even after I've explained that (A) I'm not the Attorney General, and (B) I'm not qualified to help them with anything, unless they want a recommendation for my favorite tea (It's Earl Grey, usually decaf).
One caller told me about a scam that she'd inadvertently participated in, and was now seeking legal recourse. I told her the AG's number. She kept talking. I sat down to listen (it was a long story) and she ended up saying that she was buying a gun in case these people (the scammers) came to her door. (Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!) I did my best to convince her to call the police AND the AG's office after that. I think I even looked up the police department's non-emergency number for her in the phone book, and really hoped that I didn't see a homicide on the evening news after she hung up.
That was a couple of years ago. If there was a homicide, it didn't make the news. I will say this, though. I've already considered this as a potential plot/subplot for a book. As for the message in this blog post, well, there's not much of one. All I can say is that if you text me, call me, email me or send me printed material involving a scam, or text me, call me, email me or send me printed material involving your (possible) intention to shoot, stab, hang, torture or otherwise do away with a scammer, bear in mind all of that may end up in a book.
With the following disclaimer, of course:
"All rights reserved. Void where prohibited. Only one offer per customer. For external use only. May contain nuts or nut products. Not meant to be used as a flotation device. If erection lasts more than four hours, for Pete's sake don't freak. Walk (if you can) to the nearest phone and call your physician. Outside Physician's business hours, please visit your local emergency room. After they stop laughing, you'll probably get treatment. If the problem still persists, well, fly proud.
June 13, 2012
Blood Redemption Teaser
"Now," he said after he'd gotten comfortable, "tell me a story."
"What?" I pulled away to stare at him.
"Please. The sound of your voice will help me sleep. It doesn't matter what it is," he added, pulling me against him again.
"Fine," I grumped. "Have you ever heard The Legend of the Three?"
"Never heard of it," he mumbled, closing his eyes.
"Only a few of my kind know it," I said with a sigh. "It goes like this: In the beginning, the One created the Three. Those three were Wisdom, Strength and Love. The three had many others beneath them eventually, at many levels of power and ability. The Powers That Be and the Nameless Ones are at the lowest levels beneath the Three."
"One day," I continued, "the One and the Three discovered a blight had infected their ranks. Some of those in many levels had banded together and turned against them, seeking to destroy what had been created. The Three were given the task of pursuing those destroyers and either finding a way to turn them back to the Light or devising a way to destroy them. Not an easy thing to do, since the ones they hunted were not only immortal and powerful, but were recruiting allies among the created races. The Three began to choose their armies carefully—part of their duty is to seek out and right many wrongs in their pursuit of the invasive evil. Among those who recognize them, the Three are called The Mighty. They are commonly known as The Mighty Hand, The Mighty Heart and The Mighty Mind."
"So what happened?" he blinked sleepily at me.
"The battle is still going on," I shrugged.
"What?" I pulled away to stare at him.
"Please. The sound of your voice will help me sleep. It doesn't matter what it is," he added, pulling me against him again.
"Fine," I grumped. "Have you ever heard The Legend of the Three?"
"Never heard of it," he mumbled, closing his eyes.
"Only a few of my kind know it," I said with a sigh. "It goes like this: In the beginning, the One created the Three. Those three were Wisdom, Strength and Love. The three had many others beneath them eventually, at many levels of power and ability. The Powers That Be and the Nameless Ones are at the lowest levels beneath the Three."
"One day," I continued, "the One and the Three discovered a blight had infected their ranks. Some of those in many levels had banded together and turned against them, seeking to destroy what had been created. The Three were given the task of pursuing those destroyers and either finding a way to turn them back to the Light or devising a way to destroy them. Not an easy thing to do, since the ones they hunted were not only immortal and powerful, but were recruiting allies among the created races. The Three began to choose their armies carefully—part of their duty is to seek out and right many wrongs in their pursuit of the invasive evil. Among those who recognize them, the Three are called The Mighty. They are commonly known as The Mighty Hand, The Mighty Heart and The Mighty Mind."
"So what happened?" he blinked sleepily at me.
"The battle is still going on," I shrugged.
April 30, 2012
Blood War Release
Blood War is now available from Amazon and bn.com
"Tsk, tsk," Erland muttered, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Perhaps Lissa should raise the topic of Diplomatic Immunity at the Conclave."
"That, my friend, would be inadvisable. She is new and many will be waiting, as vultures do when an ox is dying."
"I know. At times, I feel the need to cover myself in oil, just to slip through the tripe and garbage of Wylend's court. Lissa will have to contend with five hundred times that when she goes to Conclave."
"I fear that no amount of diplomatic oil will keep her from the shock that is coming. She will be snubbed and mistreated by many, I fear. Not only because she is a new monarch, but because there is a price on her head. Most will be placing as much distance between that and themselves as they can get. It is never wise to befriend one who is marked by the Assassin's Guild. That is usually a death waiting to happen."
Death has come to Le-Ath Veronis. A would-be assassin, aiming at Lissa, kills someone close to her instead. A price has been placed on Lissa's head by Black Mist, an assassin's guild who have been paid by a reassembled Solar Red. Throw in a spin-off religion, betrayal, a misguided kidnapping and the Five-Year Conclave for the Reth Alliance, and you have the seeds of war.
"Tsk, tsk," Erland muttered, shaking his head in mock sympathy. "Perhaps Lissa should raise the topic of Diplomatic Immunity at the Conclave."
"That, my friend, would be inadvisable. She is new and many will be waiting, as vultures do when an ox is dying."
"I know. At times, I feel the need to cover myself in oil, just to slip through the tripe and garbage of Wylend's court. Lissa will have to contend with five hundred times that when she goes to Conclave."
"I fear that no amount of diplomatic oil will keep her from the shock that is coming. She will be snubbed and mistreated by many, I fear. Not only because she is a new monarch, but because there is a price on her head. Most will be placing as much distance between that and themselves as they can get. It is never wise to befriend one who is marked by the Assassin's Guild. That is usually a death waiting to happen."
Death has come to Le-Ath Veronis. A would-be assassin, aiming at Lissa, kills someone close to her instead. A price has been placed on Lissa's head by Black Mist, an assassin's guild who have been paid by a reassembled Solar Red. Throw in a spin-off religion, betrayal, a misguided kidnapping and the Five-Year Conclave for the Reth Alliance, and you have the seeds of war.
March 12, 2012
Shadowed Teaser
Because several other books have the title "Shadow", I have retitled the second book in the Legend of the Ir'Indicti Series "Shadowed". I only found one other book with that title, and it was in a different genre. Now, for the teaser:
"This is all that's left?" Bill Jennings, Director of the Joint National Security Agency and Homeland Security Office glanced up at his assistant. Seven names on a piece of official letterhead had been passed to the aging Director. Bill was two months away from retirement and the president and other high-ranking officials were vetting his replacement. Bill shook his head at the list of children still living. Another piece of paper resting under his hand listed the names of the dead. There were nearly six hundreds of those, and he still wasn't sure they'd gotten information on all the children involved. He worried about many other children listed as missing—had they been abducted? How could he explain these things to the president, let alone someone coming in to take over his position? Bill sighed heavily. "Where are they now?" he asked.
"These six," Vince Jordan, Bill's assistant, tapped the paper, indicating the first few names, "are relocated, but we've seen how unsuccessful that has been in the past. You know where the seventh one is, through Mr. Winkler."
"Yes. I do know where the seventh one is," Bill agreed. His once dark hair had gone completely white and had thinned over the years. His brown eyes now required glasses to clear fading vision. His face, too, he barely recognized in the mirror most mornings. When he had time to examine it, that is. Wrinkles and lines—that's mostly what Bill saw when he looked. Winkler, the werewolf security mogul who provided the government with recognition software and other security measures, being what he was, still appeared quite young. Most people would think him thirty or so, although Bill knew the Dallas Packmaster was more than one hundred years old.
"Do you think, sir," Vince mused aloud, "that we might put these six," he tapped the paper again, "where the seventh one is?"
* * *
Of the hundreds of Bright Elemaiyan half-children born to human parents, only seven remain. Six of those have been relocated, but the Dark Elemaiya are closing in to destroy them. The seventh, Ashe Evans, resides in Cloud Chief, Oklahoma. Government authorities, in an effort to save the relocated six, approach the residents of Cloud Chief seeking shelter for the half-children. Ashe must find a way to keep them safe as murders begin to pile up outside Cloud Chief's protected boundaries.
"This is all that's left?" Bill Jennings, Director of the Joint National Security Agency and Homeland Security Office glanced up at his assistant. Seven names on a piece of official letterhead had been passed to the aging Director. Bill was two months away from retirement and the president and other high-ranking officials were vetting his replacement. Bill shook his head at the list of children still living. Another piece of paper resting under his hand listed the names of the dead. There were nearly six hundreds of those, and he still wasn't sure they'd gotten information on all the children involved. He worried about many other children listed as missing—had they been abducted? How could he explain these things to the president, let alone someone coming in to take over his position? Bill sighed heavily. "Where are they now?" he asked.
"These six," Vince Jordan, Bill's assistant, tapped the paper, indicating the first few names, "are relocated, but we've seen how unsuccessful that has been in the past. You know where the seventh one is, through Mr. Winkler."
"Yes. I do know where the seventh one is," Bill agreed. His once dark hair had gone completely white and had thinned over the years. His brown eyes now required glasses to clear fading vision. His face, too, he barely recognized in the mirror most mornings. When he had time to examine it, that is. Wrinkles and lines—that's mostly what Bill saw when he looked. Winkler, the werewolf security mogul who provided the government with recognition software and other security measures, being what he was, still appeared quite young. Most people would think him thirty or so, although Bill knew the Dallas Packmaster was more than one hundred years old.
"Do you think, sir," Vince mused aloud, "that we might put these six," he tapped the paper again, "where the seventh one is?"
* * *
Of the hundreds of Bright Elemaiyan half-children born to human parents, only seven remain. Six of those have been relocated, but the Dark Elemaiya are closing in to destroy them. The seventh, Ashe Evans, resides in Cloud Chief, Oklahoma. Government authorities, in an effort to save the relocated six, approach the residents of Cloud Chief seeking shelter for the half-children. Ashe must find a way to keep them safe as murders begin to pile up outside Cloud Chief's protected boundaries.
February 1, 2012
Bumble Release
Bumble is now available on Amazon and bn.com.
"Ashe, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't produce a single scale, feather, talon or patch of fur."
In the paranormal community of Cloud Chief, Oklahoma, Ashe Evans is a failure. Born to a shapeshifting mother and a vampire father, he should be passing his Transformational Arts classes easily. Sadly, Ashe can't seem to become anything other than himself. Principal Billings, a werewolf, is threatening to send Ashe to a human school if he doesn't transform soon. Ashe's troubles are soon forgotten when a seventeen-year-old werewolf is found dead behind his rural home. Someone is killing those with ties to the human world and Ashe finds himself a target. Will he solve the mystery of the murders or will he become the killer's latest victim?
as one reviewer put it :"Bumble may be ABOUT Young Adults, but it certainly isn't just FOR Young Adults. This is a series that looks to be shaping up to be enjoyed by all family members."
--Connie
"Ashe, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't produce a single scale, feather, talon or patch of fur."
In the paranormal community of Cloud Chief, Oklahoma, Ashe Evans is a failure. Born to a shapeshifting mother and a vampire father, he should be passing his Transformational Arts classes easily. Sadly, Ashe can't seem to become anything other than himself. Principal Billings, a werewolf, is threatening to send Ashe to a human school if he doesn't transform soon. Ashe's troubles are soon forgotten when a seventeen-year-old werewolf is found dead behind his rural home. Someone is killing those with ties to the human world and Ashe finds himself a target. Will he solve the mystery of the murders or will he become the killer's latest victim?
as one reviewer put it :"Bumble may be ABOUT Young Adults, but it certainly isn't just FOR Young Adults. This is a series that looks to be shaping up to be enjoyed by all family members."
--Connie
January 24, 2012
Blood Wager Free
Today and tomorrow only, January 24th and 25th, 2012, Blood Wager will be free on Amazon! If you haven't gotten a copy yet, take advantage of this one-time offer now :)
January 22, 2012
Winkler
Here it is; the excerpt from Bumble, featuring Winkler, as promised!
"Grand Master, Radomir showed me photographs of the site," Winkler spoke quietly on his cell while driving around Cloud Chief's perimeter in the darkness. The van bumped over uneven, grass-covered prairie as Winkler followed the fence line, searching for breaches in the barbed wire enclosure. After he'd seen the footprint Radomir photographed, Winkler's suspicions and his hackles had risen. He'd seen something similar twenty years earlier.
"You think they're back?" Weldon Harper, Grand Master of the werewolves asked.
"I think it's possible. I've talked with our friend in Washington, but he's too concerned with all those child disappearances across the country to look into this."
"All my trackers are out," Weldon Harper sighed. "Or I'd send a few to look. You may have to handle this yourself."
"I'm working on this, Grand Master. If these killed James Johnson, then someone from this community led them past the witch's shields. We'll have to find the collaborator as well. I'll keep you posted as things develop." Winkler shut off his phone and concentrated on driving across the Oklahoma prairie.
Yes, Radomir is investigating for the vampires, Winkler is investigating for the werewolves, to hold prejudices at bay and keep the paranormal community of Cloud Chief together. Twelve-year-old Ashe Evans and his best friend, Salidar DeLuca, are right in the middle of it. Bumble is coming along, and I'll post a copy of the cover design as soon as it's ready. Hope your day is a happy one!
Connie
"Grand Master, Radomir showed me photographs of the site," Winkler spoke quietly on his cell while driving around Cloud Chief's perimeter in the darkness. The van bumped over uneven, grass-covered prairie as Winkler followed the fence line, searching for breaches in the barbed wire enclosure. After he'd seen the footprint Radomir photographed, Winkler's suspicions and his hackles had risen. He'd seen something similar twenty years earlier.
"You think they're back?" Weldon Harper, Grand Master of the werewolves asked.
"I think it's possible. I've talked with our friend in Washington, but he's too concerned with all those child disappearances across the country to look into this."
"All my trackers are out," Weldon Harper sighed. "Or I'd send a few to look. You may have to handle this yourself."
"I'm working on this, Grand Master. If these killed James Johnson, then someone from this community led them past the witch's shields. We'll have to find the collaborator as well. I'll keep you posted as things develop." Winkler shut off his phone and concentrated on driving across the Oklahoma prairie.
Yes, Radomir is investigating for the vampires, Winkler is investigating for the werewolves, to hold prejudices at bay and keep the paranormal community of Cloud Chief together. Twelve-year-old Ashe Evans and his best friend, Salidar DeLuca, are right in the middle of it. Bumble is coming along, and I'll post a copy of the cover design as soon as it's ready. Hope your day is a happy one!
Connie
December 8, 2011
Blood Queen and Blog Posts
Blood Queen is on track for the December 15th release date. My editor/proofreader and I are working through the manuscript now, doing our best to make it ready for next week's release.
A few days ago, I put up a post on my Facebook page (Connie Suttle Author) saying I'd been invited to do a guest post for a blog this month. I asked for suggestions from fans on what subject they'd like to see me write a guest post about. The suggestions ran from Merrill to Kifirin, with a few others in between. I wrote three things--two concerning Merrill, one with Kifirin. All three contain little slices of their past, and none of the three will make it to the guest post. So, I'm publishing them here. The first concerns Merrill and how he became vampire. The second is Kifirin's last conversation with Lendevik Lith, then King of the High Demons. the last involves a visit with Griffin, and an unusual Christmas gift. Here they are:
Merrill:
September—C.E. 9. That's when I left my human life behind. As a centurion for the Nineteenth Roman legion, under the leadership of Publius Quintilius Varus, I and my troops were led straight into a trap. Teutoburg Forest will remain forever burned in my memory, as we were surrounded by Arminius' troops and slaughtered. The battle is often called the clades Variana—the defeat of the Roman General Varus.
Varus committed suicide after the defeat, and I, being the sole remaining survivor of that battle, still hold some anger against Varus. I still think him a fool, too, for his treatment of the people and for his blind trust in Arminius.
I was left for dead in a swampy, forested area. I would have died there, too, had night not fallen. My heartbeat, faint as it was, drew him. My sire. My maker. Had he known at the time what he was making, he may have turned away. Nevertheless, he has expressed his gratitude on more than one occasion that he did not know when he offered his blood and a chance at immortality.
I and one other stood until the last, until Nepos fell, hacked across the throat by an enemy blade. I had the choice, then, of falling on my knees and accepting the beheading, but I refused, eventually taking a sword through the gut. And then they walked away, leaving me to die a painful death.
"My name is Aniketos," he said softly, leaning over me. As full dark had fallen and there was no moon, I could not make out his features. He spoke fluent Latin, but with an accent. As I was dying and in too much pain, I failed to notice or attempt to unravel its origins. Instead, I expected him to deliver a death blow. And I would have welcomed it, as an escape from my suffering.
"Do you wish to live?" he asked. I must have blinked in weary astonishment, as he repeated the question. "Do you wish to live?"
"Not in pain," I whispered. My throat was dry as dust and my lips were cracking—hours had passed since I'd been left to breathe my last.
"There will be no pain, my child," he whispered, before bending his head to my throat.
Kifirin:
Lendevik Lith regarded me warily. They all did. Seldom did I come to them, and they worried and were distrustful at my appearance. Every time. I knew of their guilt and innocence. It mattered not to me, as I'd promised from the beginning not to interfere with their lives. Now, I merely expected this one to keep his word.
"What is your desire, Dark Lord?" Lendevik inclined his head respectfully. I knew a part of that respect was false—the High Demons had grown too confident in their power.
"I desire that you keep your promise to me," I said. "I grow weary and wish to rest. The Dragon's Teeth are the way to wake me. Use them if there is need." I turned to go.
"But the Dragon's Teeth requires willingly offered blood," Lendevik murmured behind my back.
"Then only offer if there is great need." I leveled my gaze upon the High Demon King before disappearing. I intended to sleep. For a very long time.
M'Fiyah:
"Griffin?" Merrill should be used to Griffin's sudden appearances by now—he just wasn't. They'd known one another for more than eight hundred years and Griffin often brought wine to Merrill, some of a quality Merrill couldn't hope to get anywhere else.
He'd given up, too, on attempting to read labels affixed to some of the bottles. Griffin explained often enough that the worlds they came from were so far away the suns couldn't be seen from Earth, but Merrill just shook his head. He understood that Earth had catching up to do—they were far behind what Griffin referred to as other star systems.
"Case of wine," Griffin grinned and produced a crate of bottles from nothing, handing it to Merrill.
"Is this?" Merrill examined the bottles—he recognized the labels, although the language evaded him. This was his favorite of all the wines Griffin brought.
"Glish, from Refizan," Griffin nodded.
"A midwinter gift?" Merrill lifted an eyebrow at his friend.
"Start calling it a Christmas gift, brother," Griffin smiled crookedly.
Merrill snorted. "Never let it be said that humans were accurate in their keeping of the time or the seasons."
"A fallacy common to many worlds, not just this one," Griffin slapped Merrill on the back. "Where are your wine cups and your manners?"
* * *
"You know," Griffin waved his sixth cup of wine later, "I have a better gift for you. But you have to come with me."
"Come where?" Merrill lifted an eyebrow—he didn't often see Griffin in a near-drunken state.
"Oh, it's a private planet. It belongs to someone I know. Don't worry, I'll shield us. The owner will never know we're there," Griffin said.
"Are you sure?" Merrill had only drank three cups to Griffin's six, and watched his friend skeptically. They sat before a roaring fire in Merrill's study, inside his expansive Italian villa. Griffin had helped in the construction of the villa, and many envied it and copied its spires and vaulted entry. Merrill seldom allowed anyone inside, however, preferring to send them away with compulsion to never return.
"A private planet?" Merrill sipped more wine. This was an excellent vintage and he raised his glass to Griffin.
"A small planet, with only one inhabitant. We'll pay a brief visit and come back quickly."
"I fail to see the point in this, brother," Merrill observed.
"Just bear with me. Come on, get off your posterior and come with me."
"Are you sure you should be folding space in your condition?" Merrill had his doubts whether they'd arrive where Griffin intended. Or, once there, they'd get back again.
"Come on, where's that adventurous vampire spirit?"
"I've never had that. Neither has my sire."
"Your sire wouldn't recognize adventure if it bit him on the ass," Griffin chuckled.
"Come now, he turned Radomir on a whim," Merrill defended Wlodek.
"A very good decision on Wlodek's part," Griffin admitted, pouring out more wine. "Even if he did complain that the cottage smelled like fish when he walked into it."
"I wouldn't mention that to him, if you ever have the opportunity," Merrill offered dryly. "Come. If we don't leave soon, I have my doubts you'll land us where you intend."
"Oh, yes. We'll go," Griffin downed his wine in only a few swallows, forcing Merrill to shake his head. In a blink they were gone.
"I knew this would happen," Griffin slurred his last two words. Merrill had taken one look at the woman and fallen to his knees, a stunned expression on his face.
"Who is she?" Merrill was breathless and still staring. She was everything. His world, his desires. He would give everything for her; there was no doubt.
"Kiarra," Griffin whispered. "Someday, that will be yours, brother. But there is much time and distance between you."
"I will wait forever," Merrill vowed.
"It may seem that long," Griffin replied and before Merrill could protest, he'd folded Merrill home.
My guest post is scheduled for December 21st on Rabid Reads (). Carmel, who runs the site, is amazing, and if you haven't checked out the site, I urge you to do so! The guest post I intend to submit is on another subject, and one that was eventually edited out of Blood Queen. It involves an explanation on how Larentii prefer to have sex :)
Cheers--Connie
A few days ago, I put up a post on my Facebook page (Connie Suttle Author) saying I'd been invited to do a guest post for a blog this month. I asked for suggestions from fans on what subject they'd like to see me write a guest post about. The suggestions ran from Merrill to Kifirin, with a few others in between. I wrote three things--two concerning Merrill, one with Kifirin. All three contain little slices of their past, and none of the three will make it to the guest post. So, I'm publishing them here. The first concerns Merrill and how he became vampire. The second is Kifirin's last conversation with Lendevik Lith, then King of the High Demons. the last involves a visit with Griffin, and an unusual Christmas gift. Here they are:
Merrill:
September—C.E. 9. That's when I left my human life behind. As a centurion for the Nineteenth Roman legion, under the leadership of Publius Quintilius Varus, I and my troops were led straight into a trap. Teutoburg Forest will remain forever burned in my memory, as we were surrounded by Arminius' troops and slaughtered. The battle is often called the clades Variana—the defeat of the Roman General Varus.
Varus committed suicide after the defeat, and I, being the sole remaining survivor of that battle, still hold some anger against Varus. I still think him a fool, too, for his treatment of the people and for his blind trust in Arminius.
I was left for dead in a swampy, forested area. I would have died there, too, had night not fallen. My heartbeat, faint as it was, drew him. My sire. My maker. Had he known at the time what he was making, he may have turned away. Nevertheless, he has expressed his gratitude on more than one occasion that he did not know when he offered his blood and a chance at immortality.
I and one other stood until the last, until Nepos fell, hacked across the throat by an enemy blade. I had the choice, then, of falling on my knees and accepting the beheading, but I refused, eventually taking a sword through the gut. And then they walked away, leaving me to die a painful death.
"My name is Aniketos," he said softly, leaning over me. As full dark had fallen and there was no moon, I could not make out his features. He spoke fluent Latin, but with an accent. As I was dying and in too much pain, I failed to notice or attempt to unravel its origins. Instead, I expected him to deliver a death blow. And I would have welcomed it, as an escape from my suffering.
"Do you wish to live?" he asked. I must have blinked in weary astonishment, as he repeated the question. "Do you wish to live?"
"Not in pain," I whispered. My throat was dry as dust and my lips were cracking—hours had passed since I'd been left to breathe my last.
"There will be no pain, my child," he whispered, before bending his head to my throat.
Kifirin:
Lendevik Lith regarded me warily. They all did. Seldom did I come to them, and they worried and were distrustful at my appearance. Every time. I knew of their guilt and innocence. It mattered not to me, as I'd promised from the beginning not to interfere with their lives. Now, I merely expected this one to keep his word.
"What is your desire, Dark Lord?" Lendevik inclined his head respectfully. I knew a part of that respect was false—the High Demons had grown too confident in their power.
"I desire that you keep your promise to me," I said. "I grow weary and wish to rest. The Dragon's Teeth are the way to wake me. Use them if there is need." I turned to go.
"But the Dragon's Teeth requires willingly offered blood," Lendevik murmured behind my back.
"Then only offer if there is great need." I leveled my gaze upon the High Demon King before disappearing. I intended to sleep. For a very long time.
M'Fiyah:
"Griffin?" Merrill should be used to Griffin's sudden appearances by now—he just wasn't. They'd known one another for more than eight hundred years and Griffin often brought wine to Merrill, some of a quality Merrill couldn't hope to get anywhere else.
He'd given up, too, on attempting to read labels affixed to some of the bottles. Griffin explained often enough that the worlds they came from were so far away the suns couldn't be seen from Earth, but Merrill just shook his head. He understood that Earth had catching up to do—they were far behind what Griffin referred to as other star systems.
"Case of wine," Griffin grinned and produced a crate of bottles from nothing, handing it to Merrill.
"Is this?" Merrill examined the bottles—he recognized the labels, although the language evaded him. This was his favorite of all the wines Griffin brought.
"Glish, from Refizan," Griffin nodded.
"A midwinter gift?" Merrill lifted an eyebrow at his friend.
"Start calling it a Christmas gift, brother," Griffin smiled crookedly.
Merrill snorted. "Never let it be said that humans were accurate in their keeping of the time or the seasons."
"A fallacy common to many worlds, not just this one," Griffin slapped Merrill on the back. "Where are your wine cups and your manners?"
* * *
"You know," Griffin waved his sixth cup of wine later, "I have a better gift for you. But you have to come with me."
"Come where?" Merrill lifted an eyebrow—he didn't often see Griffin in a near-drunken state.
"Oh, it's a private planet. It belongs to someone I know. Don't worry, I'll shield us. The owner will never know we're there," Griffin said.
"Are you sure?" Merrill had only drank three cups to Griffin's six, and watched his friend skeptically. They sat before a roaring fire in Merrill's study, inside his expansive Italian villa. Griffin had helped in the construction of the villa, and many envied it and copied its spires and vaulted entry. Merrill seldom allowed anyone inside, however, preferring to send them away with compulsion to never return.
"A private planet?" Merrill sipped more wine. This was an excellent vintage and he raised his glass to Griffin.
"A small planet, with only one inhabitant. We'll pay a brief visit and come back quickly."
"I fail to see the point in this, brother," Merrill observed.
"Just bear with me. Come on, get off your posterior and come with me."
"Are you sure you should be folding space in your condition?" Merrill had his doubts whether they'd arrive where Griffin intended. Or, once there, they'd get back again.
"Come on, where's that adventurous vampire spirit?"
"I've never had that. Neither has my sire."
"Your sire wouldn't recognize adventure if it bit him on the ass," Griffin chuckled.
"Come now, he turned Radomir on a whim," Merrill defended Wlodek.
"A very good decision on Wlodek's part," Griffin admitted, pouring out more wine. "Even if he did complain that the cottage smelled like fish when he walked into it."
"I wouldn't mention that to him, if you ever have the opportunity," Merrill offered dryly. "Come. If we don't leave soon, I have my doubts you'll land us where you intend."
"Oh, yes. We'll go," Griffin downed his wine in only a few swallows, forcing Merrill to shake his head. In a blink they were gone.
"I knew this would happen," Griffin slurred his last two words. Merrill had taken one look at the woman and fallen to his knees, a stunned expression on his face.
"Who is she?" Merrill was breathless and still staring. She was everything. His world, his desires. He would give everything for her; there was no doubt.
"Kiarra," Griffin whispered. "Someday, that will be yours, brother. But there is much time and distance between you."
"I will wait forever," Merrill vowed.
"It may seem that long," Griffin replied and before Merrill could protest, he'd folded Merrill home.
My guest post is scheduled for December 21st on Rabid Reads (). Carmel, who runs the site, is amazing, and if you haven't checked out the site, I urge you to do so! The guest post I intend to submit is on another subject, and one that was eventually edited out of Blood Queen. It involves an explanation on how Larentii prefer to have sex :)
Cheers--Connie
November 6, 2011
Nexus Echo
In Blood Royal, you'll get a taste of Nexus Echo. It was employed a bit in Blood Domination, it just wasn't completely evident. It is mentioned in Blood Royal, but nobody ever explains how it works. So I thought I'd give you the facts now, only I'd let another character explain it. (hint: it's not Lissa, but Kiarra)
"Nexus Echo is an ancient trick the Larentii devised, to listen for key words, names and phrases. If Pheligar is employing Nexus Echo and his name is mentioned—he knows it. The trouble is, he'll never bother to explain how it works, he'll just fold his long blue arms over his chest and pretend you didn't ask. Therefore, I'll explain it as best I can.
This is how Nexus Echo works: imagine the entire planet is a lake. Now, imagine that someone places an invisible net over that lake. It doesn't sink—it floats on the surface. With me so far? The net is tuned to certain words, phrases or names, spoken by certain people. Any time any of those words are spoken by these people, it's like dropping a pebble into the lake. The pebble causes ripples, which make the invisible net bounce. The net caster has an ear tuned to that net. He knows when the ripples come and he can go in an instant if he feels his presence is warranted. Is it nosy in the extreme? Sometimes. But then being nosy means nothing to the Larentii; they are never worried or embarrassed over any information, and think the rest of us are just being silly over the whole thing. I must admit, however, that many of the Saa Thalarr and their healers, along with a few other powerful races, have adopted Nexus Echo and employ it at times. Is it a logistical nightmare? The simple answer is yes, unless you are Larentii."
Okay, it's me again. And on another note—I love the Larentii. I think every woman should have access to one, just for the trilling alone. (I'll explain that, someday) And while I love Pheligar, he's my second favorite Larentii. My favorite Larentii is his son, Renegar. Also a tale for another day. Going back to work, now. November 15th is coming.
Connie
"Nexus Echo is an ancient trick the Larentii devised, to listen for key words, names and phrases. If Pheligar is employing Nexus Echo and his name is mentioned—he knows it. The trouble is, he'll never bother to explain how it works, he'll just fold his long blue arms over his chest and pretend you didn't ask. Therefore, I'll explain it as best I can.
This is how Nexus Echo works: imagine the entire planet is a lake. Now, imagine that someone places an invisible net over that lake. It doesn't sink—it floats on the surface. With me so far? The net is tuned to certain words, phrases or names, spoken by certain people. Any time any of those words are spoken by these people, it's like dropping a pebble into the lake. The pebble causes ripples, which make the invisible net bounce. The net caster has an ear tuned to that net. He knows when the ripples come and he can go in an instant if he feels his presence is warranted. Is it nosy in the extreme? Sometimes. But then being nosy means nothing to the Larentii; they are never worried or embarrassed over any information, and think the rest of us are just being silly over the whole thing. I must admit, however, that many of the Saa Thalarr and their healers, along with a few other powerful races, have adopted Nexus Echo and employ it at times. Is it a logistical nightmare? The simple answer is yes, unless you are Larentii."
Okay, it's me again. And on another note—I love the Larentii. I think every woman should have access to one, just for the trilling alone. (I'll explain that, someday) And while I love Pheligar, he's my second favorite Larentii. My favorite Larentii is his son, Renegar. Also a tale for another day. Going back to work, now. November 15th is coming.
Connie
October 19, 2011
Fact and Fiction
In July 2007, when I left my job at Borders, I fully intended to search for a desk job the following January. Life has a way of pointing out the amusement it feels for any human-made plans. "Why January?" you ask? Good question. You see, after working eleven Christmases in retail, with absolutely no time allowed for family during the holidays, well, I intended to have a nice holiday that year.
Big mistake. My husband was rushed to the hospital two days before Thanksgiving, after a routine outpatient procedure that went as bad as it could go. He almost died. I can't begin to tell you what it feels like to have a doctor, a nurse and the hospital chaplain come to you and tell you that your husband is bleeding internally and if surgery is required, he won't make it. And then listen as the nurse explains that when they call the code in the CAT scan lab (not if, when) to go ahead and go in—they'd allow it. (They had to do the scan to determine where the bleeding originated)
Against all odds (insert a miracle or two, here) my husband lived over all that. We spent six weeks in intensive care—my husband unconscious and breathing on a vent—me wagging my spiral notebook around, watching machines register his vital signs, listening for regular breathing patterns and writing my first book. I kept writing after that, in doctor's waiting rooms, during dialysis treatments and while waiting for my husband to finish rehab/physical therapy.
That first book—then titled Hope and Vengeance, helped get me through those dark days. There will always be a special place in my heart for Adam Chessman, because the book was about him and Kiarra. (Warning—if you haven't read Blood Domination, you won't know who I'm talking about) In the following months, I wrote twelve or thirteen books about the Saa Thalarr. (Hope and Vengeance is the English translation of Saa Thalarr, by the way) They were a mix of Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Fantasy and Science Fiction. And the reason I say twelve or thirteen books is that one of them was so long (more than 150,000 words) that I split it in half. Lately, I've considered rejoining those halves—especially since nobody except me and a couple of good friends may ever read them. They're all too long, all need to be rewritten (I was cutting my writing teeth on those novels) and have way too much sex in them.
I came up with the idea for Blood Wager while attempting to write a punchline for a joke to insert in one of those first novels. The joke? Two vampires walk into a bar. I never did come up with anything particularly funny to go along with it. But it did send me down Lissa's path—what if there really were two vampires in a bar, with more nefarious plans? What if they played games with people's lives, betting on how long it would take them to become vampire? Obviously, they wouldn't pick the healthiest or the youngest—those were easy guesses. No, they'd go after the older, sick or infirm. They'd kill their victims afterward, of course—those hapless targets had outlived their usefulness after the bet was collected.
I wrote those first notes on a scrap of paper and slipped it inside a notebook. I didn't get back to it until seven months later. In March, 2009, after writing twelve or thirteen other books, I pulled out my scrap of paper and sat down to write Lissa's story. The first draft was finished in ten days. After two years of rewrites, edits and more books written (and after a lengthy bout of double pneumonia last February) I decided to self-publish. Yes, I sent out queries for Blood Wager—six, in fact. Nobody seemed to be interested. I know six rejections isn't a lot—I read horror stories all the time about successful authors who were rejected many more times than that. And honestly, I didn't expect Blood Wager to do very well. But it and the books following it were just sitting there, and I'd devoted four years of my life to writing. Time to do something.
After making the decision to self-publish, I did as much research as I could. I'm still not an expert, and I cringe at a bad review. I can only hope some of those things are easier for traditionally published authors—the ones with agents and publishers to back them and reassure them when the road gets bumpy. I don't have that backup system. I have me. Honestly, I've had to work my way through marketing, cover design, book giveaways, advertising—everything. I am thankful that I have an amazing cover artist and a handful of good friends who've gotten behind me and helped push this bus to get it started.
And now, a few fans have jumped in to provide moral support. (Thank you!) I have four books available that are experiencing decent sales—especially for an indie author. What worries me, though, is this: These books are already written. When I sat down to write Lissa's story, I never intended the series to go in the same direction other published series have gone. And there are things that have happened (and will happen) that are certainly outside the norm. I have read suggestions from readers already that I should kill off this character or that, because they're just not needed. That actually frightens me. What I want to say is this: I can't change my vision to fit everybody's vision. If you have hopes and dreams of Lissa having a traditional marriage someday, I beg you to stop reading the series now. You will be disappointed. If you want this or that character dead and gone, I beg you to stop reading now. If any character lives or dies, there is a purpose in it and I cannot rewrite the remaining books to suit one or two people.
For those of you who are art fans, I know you'll recognize the name Georgia O'Keeffe. I once watched a documentary on her life and work, and she said in it (I'm paraphrasing, because I can't find the actual words) that in her early work, she did certain paintings to please one person, and other paintings to please someone else. And then she realized she hadn't done anything to please herself. That's when she started doing the works she is truly known for. One of her quotes, however, I love: "I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life—and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do." While I'm not that brave, I want to be. My books will remain intact, because they are the things I did to please myself, probably for the only time in my life. I wrote what I wanted to read.
"If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."—Toni Morrison.
I hope you stay with me. I hope you understand the vision—at least a little—when all the books are published and available. If not, I'll understand. After all, not every book is for every person. Thanks for reading so far—Connie
Big mistake. My husband was rushed to the hospital two days before Thanksgiving, after a routine outpatient procedure that went as bad as it could go. He almost died. I can't begin to tell you what it feels like to have a doctor, a nurse and the hospital chaplain come to you and tell you that your husband is bleeding internally and if surgery is required, he won't make it. And then listen as the nurse explains that when they call the code in the CAT scan lab (not if, when) to go ahead and go in—they'd allow it. (They had to do the scan to determine where the bleeding originated)
Against all odds (insert a miracle or two, here) my husband lived over all that. We spent six weeks in intensive care—my husband unconscious and breathing on a vent—me wagging my spiral notebook around, watching machines register his vital signs, listening for regular breathing patterns and writing my first book. I kept writing after that, in doctor's waiting rooms, during dialysis treatments and while waiting for my husband to finish rehab/physical therapy.
That first book—then titled Hope and Vengeance, helped get me through those dark days. There will always be a special place in my heart for Adam Chessman, because the book was about him and Kiarra. (Warning—if you haven't read Blood Domination, you won't know who I'm talking about) In the following months, I wrote twelve or thirteen books about the Saa Thalarr. (Hope and Vengeance is the English translation of Saa Thalarr, by the way) They were a mix of Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Fantasy and Science Fiction. And the reason I say twelve or thirteen books is that one of them was so long (more than 150,000 words) that I split it in half. Lately, I've considered rejoining those halves—especially since nobody except me and a couple of good friends may ever read them. They're all too long, all need to be rewritten (I was cutting my writing teeth on those novels) and have way too much sex in them.
I came up with the idea for Blood Wager while attempting to write a punchline for a joke to insert in one of those first novels. The joke? Two vampires walk into a bar. I never did come up with anything particularly funny to go along with it. But it did send me down Lissa's path—what if there really were two vampires in a bar, with more nefarious plans? What if they played games with people's lives, betting on how long it would take them to become vampire? Obviously, they wouldn't pick the healthiest or the youngest—those were easy guesses. No, they'd go after the older, sick or infirm. They'd kill their victims afterward, of course—those hapless targets had outlived their usefulness after the bet was collected.
I wrote those first notes on a scrap of paper and slipped it inside a notebook. I didn't get back to it until seven months later. In March, 2009, after writing twelve or thirteen other books, I pulled out my scrap of paper and sat down to write Lissa's story. The first draft was finished in ten days. After two years of rewrites, edits and more books written (and after a lengthy bout of double pneumonia last February) I decided to self-publish. Yes, I sent out queries for Blood Wager—six, in fact. Nobody seemed to be interested. I know six rejections isn't a lot—I read horror stories all the time about successful authors who were rejected many more times than that. And honestly, I didn't expect Blood Wager to do very well. But it and the books following it were just sitting there, and I'd devoted four years of my life to writing. Time to do something.
After making the decision to self-publish, I did as much research as I could. I'm still not an expert, and I cringe at a bad review. I can only hope some of those things are easier for traditionally published authors—the ones with agents and publishers to back them and reassure them when the road gets bumpy. I don't have that backup system. I have me. Honestly, I've had to work my way through marketing, cover design, book giveaways, advertising—everything. I am thankful that I have an amazing cover artist and a handful of good friends who've gotten behind me and helped push this bus to get it started.
And now, a few fans have jumped in to provide moral support. (Thank you!) I have four books available that are experiencing decent sales—especially for an indie author. What worries me, though, is this: These books are already written. When I sat down to write Lissa's story, I never intended the series to go in the same direction other published series have gone. And there are things that have happened (and will happen) that are certainly outside the norm. I have read suggestions from readers already that I should kill off this character or that, because they're just not needed. That actually frightens me. What I want to say is this: I can't change my vision to fit everybody's vision. If you have hopes and dreams of Lissa having a traditional marriage someday, I beg you to stop reading the series now. You will be disappointed. If you want this or that character dead and gone, I beg you to stop reading now. If any character lives or dies, there is a purpose in it and I cannot rewrite the remaining books to suit one or two people.
For those of you who are art fans, I know you'll recognize the name Georgia O'Keeffe. I once watched a documentary on her life and work, and she said in it (I'm paraphrasing, because I can't find the actual words) that in her early work, she did certain paintings to please one person, and other paintings to please someone else. And then she realized she hadn't done anything to please herself. That's when she started doing the works she is truly known for. One of her quotes, however, I love: "I've been absolutely terrified every moment of my life—and I've never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do." While I'm not that brave, I want to be. My books will remain intact, because they are the things I did to please myself, probably for the only time in my life. I wrote what I wanted to read.
"If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it."—Toni Morrison.
I hope you stay with me. I hope you understand the vision—at least a little—when all the books are published and available. If not, I'll understand. After all, not every book is for every person. Thanks for reading so far—Connie
