Fairy Tales - There Are Worst Things Than Me in the Forest

Was looking through my story folders and found a few fairy-tales I'd started. Can't decide whether to do an anthology of them. They're fun to write, but is there an audience for romance set in the world of fairy tales?


This one is the start of a story called,

There Are Worst Things Than Me in the Forest

 

1550 words

 

 

Only the birds saw her sneaking out of the secret gate in the palace garden wall. Their sharp vision saw through the invisibility cloak she’d stolen, no borrowed, from the court magician. She was fully intending to hang it back on its hook in his alchemy-chamber as soon as she returned. When she’d seen it unattended, its owner nowhere in sight, she hadn’t been able to resist a rare jaunt away from the confines of the palace. 

Away from her boring duties as princess in waiting.

Making her way along the path that flanked the enchanted forest, she couldn’t help shivering. Whether with the excitement of breaking free, or because of the tales told by her old nurse of fierce wolves and bloodthirsty brigands, of evil witches and greedy dwarves, she could not tell.

“I’m telling the queen. I’m telling the queen,” the old crow croaked. Princess Lania ignored the spiteful prattletale, picked up the hem of her cloak and started to run. She had no idea how much magic was left in the cloak but was determined to achieve at least one dream this summer’s afternoon.

Passing the travellers on the road, who had no clue she was even there, let alone that they walked right by their princess, was a thrill such as she had never experienced. When she pitched a farm boy’s hat onto the road, holding it for a moment in front of his astounded eyes, she could hardly contain the laughter. The sparrows, her dearest friends, flew alongside her, along with a gaggle of chattering magpies, who would not rest until they found out where she was going.

Ahead of her, she spied the Lake of Blue Waters, glistening in the afternoon sun. She’d crossed it once, on the Golden ship, to attend the coronation of the king in The Kingdom on the Other Side, but though she had often fantasised of doing so, she had never yet experienced the pleasures of swimming in its clear waters.

Something she was putting right the moment she reached its shores.

Finding a secluded spot on a shady bank, she dropped the cloak and started on the lacings of her gown. That too fell to the ground, along with her chemise. Warm air ghosted over her bare skin and she took a moment to luxuriate in the sheer joy of freedom. As she twisted her hair into a knot, she dipped a tentative toe into the water.

Heaven. The water was silky smooth on her skin, warm and inviting. She waded in with a sigh and leaned back, closing her eyes against the blindling brightness of the sun and allowed herself to just be.

Was there anything more wonderful than this?

The loud snap of a twig brought her to her senses so sharply, she almost drowned in her efforts to get back to the shore and the safety of her cloak. Grabbing the cloak, she flung it over her shoulders, and looked around.

Nothing. Screwing up her eyes, she peered into the trees skirting the lake. This time her shivers were nothing to do with excitement and everything to do with the dark shape now emerging into the light.

A man. Tall, and in peasant’s clothing. A felt hat hanging from his back. Stout boots on his feet. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, head sweeping from side to side, missing nothing as he surveyed the scene.

Princess Lania eyed her clothes, lying discarded at her feet and carefully, she stooped to retrieve them and hide them safely under the cloak.

Unfortunately, the man saw them too and in two strides was upon them and lifting them up, a puzzled expression clouding his features. He brought the bundle to his nose and gave a deep sniff. Then he sniffed the air and a slow smile formed on his lips. Putting out a hand, he batted the air between them.

Princess Lania ducked away from the probing hand. She’d almost cried out when he’d tested the air between them and pressed her lips together to stop herself making a sound.

Don’t panic. He can’t see you. You can easily skirt him and get back to the palace unharmed. But only if you don’t panic.

She would worry about explaining the loss of her gown later. Carefully, she stepped away, too late realising she should have been watching where she stepped in her bare feet. A sharp thorn pricked her heel and she couldn’t help the gasp of pain.

The man’s head turned towards the sound. He sniffed again.

Princess Lania froze. Perhaps keeping still was the better plan. The man would grow bored, realised there was nothing here and leave.

Then she heard a low chuckle followed by a soft curse.

Looking down, she saw herself as plain as day. The cloak had indeed been low on magic charge. She was standing, naked as the day she was born out in the world without an escort and being ogled by a man with the most compelling eyes she’d ever seen.

Not good. Not good at all.

Of course, being a princess, she was well equipped to cope with such emergencies. Straightening her spine, she held out her hand.

“My clothes, if you please.”

“You want these?”

The man held up the bundle, his gaze never leaving her. How dare he ogle her so openly. She would have him thrown into the deepest dungeon for this.

Lifting her chin, she said, “Do you know who I am? Hand me my clothes this instant.”

The man shook his head. “Think I prefer you without them,” he said, opening the pack slung over one shoulder. “A woman like you shouldn’t wear clothes.”

“How dare you. You insolent…” Lunging at his pack, she attempted to wrestle her gown from his grip. He held her off easily, circling her with an arm hard as an iron band and pulled her against the wall of his chest.

“Let me go,” she demanded, in a voice more shaky than she would have liked. This close she had no doubt of his superior strength. How foolish she’d been

“My father will pay a good reward for my safe return. Take me back to the palace and I’ll see you receive riches beyond your wildest dreams.” Tilting back her head, she struggled to look up into his face.

“Now, what would I do with a reward?”

“Spend it on someone to wash your clothes, for a start,” she returned tartly. “You smell like an old fur rug.”

His rumbling laugh sent shivers racing over her skin. “Got all the reward I need right here,” he said with another laugh.

“You sir, are not a gentleman.” She couldn’t even kick him, for even if she could move, he was so hard and solid he would not feel it.

“No, mistress, I am not.”

He let her go, sliding her down his big body, but keeping fast her hand in his enormous paw.

She looked at him, then. Into eyes that were even more startling close up. They seemed to glow a deep amber, catching the sun, reflecting the light in a way she’d never before seen.

Her clothes landed at her feet.

“Dress yourself,” he ordered. “Before…just dress yourself.”

She couldn’t get into her chemise and gown fast enough. Laced the bodice with shaking fingers and slid her feet into her slippers. He bent and picked up the cloak.

For a moment she thought he meant to steal it and panic gripped her. The court magician would be madder than a scorched frog if he found his precious cloak missing.

“You’ll be in trouble if you don’t return this.”

She accepted it gratefully, feeling a little less vulnerable now she was clothed. Those eyes were still watching her, seeing right through her, but the earlier air of menace had receded.

“Do I have anything to fear from you, sir?” She might as well find out her fate now.

“You do not. But perhaps a princess should have more sense than to come out here alone. There are worst things than me in the forest.”

“Will you walk me back?” He was right. Without the cloak, she was like a sitting duck to a huntsman.

“I’ll see you safely back, don’t you worry about that.”

He touched two fingers to his forehead and then to her surprise, turned and melted back into the trees from which he’d appeared. One moment he was there, the next she was alone.

She broke into a run. Damn the man. If he wasn’t going to be a gentleman, she would just have to get back on her own. Then she would return the cloak and then she would sit in the sun until her hair dried. How she would explain wet hair to her nurse, she had no idea.

The homeward path was, thankfully, deserted. She looked over her shoulder more than once, convinced that she was being followed. But when she turned, the road behind her was empty. She quickened her pace.

When she reached the secret gate, she turned once more to make sure she was alone and then she saw it. The large white wolf standing beside the ancient oak. It nodded twice, then spun around and disappeared into the forest.

And she knew, she just knew she would be seeing it again.

Flash Fic, Coming Home

Reposting a few of my flash-fics. One of my hobbies is being a paranormal investigator. Last week I spent the night in a haunted victorian school turned nursery where we had phantom footsteps on the stairs, fans and cd players turning themselves on and things thrown. And for some reason while I'm there, doing it, I'm usually quite brave. Although I didn't volunteer to be the one to check out who was moving furniture in the empty room above us. Anyhow, flashfic with a little bit of spook.

Coming Home

The bike was a beauty. A 1958 Harly, duo glide, if she wasn’t mistaken. And she rarely was.
The guy had even come in period gear. Hair quiffed and slicked back, Lewis leathers. On his feet a pair of classic Thor 50/50 motorcross boots. The guy had surely ridden straight out of her dreams and into this field.

As if he’d read her mind, the guy looked up and a prickle of excitement danced its way along her spine, made the fine hairs on her arm tingle. Something about his eyes, the way he seemed to look right through her. The way he sat the bike, as if he were almost a part of it.

She couldn’t have stopped herself crossing the field if she’d wanted to. The chatter, the noise of the bikes that had gathered here to celebrate the biggest, the fastest and the best, all faded to a background rumble as she walked past them towards the vintage Harly and the rider with the most mesmerising eyes she’d ever seen. Raising a hand, he crooked a finger, beckoned her over and pointed to the pillion-seat.

“Want to ride?”

The rich velvet of his voice melted something deep inside of her. Was he kidding? Of course she wanted a ride. Reaching for the spare helmet, she said, “Didn’t see you arrive.”

He shrugged and reached for his own helmet, kick-started the bike and braced it steady. “Few do. Get on.”

Not a man of many words, she noticed. But then when you looked like him, who needed words? Settling herself astride the seat she lifted her feet onto the foot-pegs and secured her hands on the grab-rails. He smelled of leather and some exotic after-shave she couldn’t place.

“Ready,” she said above the grumbling hum of the bike. Opening the throttle, it pulled away, smooth as butter, past the other bikes and out through the farm-gate. No one seemed to notice them go, or show any interest in the beautiful machine and its enigmatic rider. But then the field was filled with vintage dream machines. This was just one of many.

Man, but there was nothing better than being on the back of a bike. The open road, a hot guy driving. She smiled, wishing Karen had seen her go. The highway flashed by, fields, Brenner’s farm. The biker took a left, left again, turning them back towards the field where they’d rejoin the rally and where hopefully Karen would be waiting and watching open-mouthed as she drove past.

Ahead was the field, filled with bikes, men and women in leathers milling about, admiring the rides, the custom paintwork. As they ground to a halt, she noticed it had been raining. The ground was soft, the wheel-ruts filled with muddy water. And as she took off her helmet and shook out her hair she heard Elvis crooning, When My Blue Moon Turns Cold Again.

She loved that song.

“Thanks,” she said as the biker turned around and gave her a heart-breaking smile. “That was…awesome.”

There was that prickle along her spine again. The biker pulled off his helmet and placed it carefully on the handlebars. “Yours is a cherry-coke, right?”

She cocked her head, wondering why the guy looked suddenly very familiar. “How did you know that?”

“It’s what you always drink. Come on.”

Bemused, she followed him. They were in another part of the field,and the music was live, she realised. A pretty good Elvis impersonator strutted his stuff on the stage.

“He’s good,” she said to her companion.

“The best,” he replied. “We were lucky to get him. Knows the guy who owns the farm. Appearance is a personal favour by all accounts.”

“Cool.”

“So, what’s your name, pretty lady?”

Oh lord, she thought. Flattery like that is going to get you everywhere.

“Sue,” she answered, casually as she could. “Yours?”

“Daniel, but most folks call me Dan.”

“Been coming here long?”

He leaned a casual arm against the bar. “Since ’58. You?”

She couldn’t help frowning. “My first rally was 2005. What did year did you say?”

“Since ’58. Been doing this circuit for the past five years. Ever since I finished my stint in the army.”

Now it was getting freaky.

“Hey,” he said when he saw her shiver. “Here, let me.” Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he reached around her and draped it over her shoulder. “Better?”

Hugging the jacket to her, she relished the lingering warmth and then turned, startled as someone behind her gave a loud cry. The woman held the pocket radio away from herself as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“Oh god, I can’t believe it.” The woman raised stricken eyes to the gathering crowd. “They shot the president. Kennedy’s been shot.”

Sue gripped at the bar to hold herself up, because her legs had suddenly stopped working. She felt Dan’s arm solid around her back, holding her. “I got you,” he whispered. “It’s a terrible shock. Just breathe.”

Around them the crowd fell silent as they listened to the announcement. Leaning against Dan’s solid warmth, she looked around and realised that everyone was in period dress, except her.

This was no dream, that was for sure.

“It’s okay,” Dan whispered. “You’re home now and I’m never losing you again.”

“Home?” Raising her face, she gazed into his deep blue eyes, that familiar mouth and suddenly, she remembered where she’d seen him before.

“Dan?”

He smiled and leaned down for a kiss.

To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell

For Valentine's Day, my favourite love poem, part of which I used in my short WW2 romance, Waiting For Eternity.

Waiting For Eternity is a free read on my Candy / Alexandra Yahoo forum.
http://uk.groups.yahoo.com/group/CandyandAlexandra/

Excerpt

“She's coming over, mate.”

“Oh, bugger. Look, tell her I had to visit a sick relative or something.”

The improbably blond airman reached for his jacket and cap. One arm in, one arm out, he stumbled over his chair and looked around for a fire exit or another door. Anything rather than face the wrath of Jen Saunders, who was advancing on him with a face that said she wasn't about to let him go until she'd had her say.

“Hey, you, don’t you dare leave.” She sidestepped him neatly, blocking his escape. “Wait for me, you said. Don’t move from that spot. Where the hell did you get to last night?”

“I… I… “Mitch backed into the wall, distracted for a moment by a blonde curl that had escaped the confines of her nurse’s cap. It bobbed against her cheek when she moved, lending her an endearing air of vulnerability. Take your cap off, he wanted to say. Let me see you with your hair down. Wisely, he kept his mouth closed. Jen placed a flat palm on his chest and pushed him back, very lightly. Mitch stumbled dramatically into the wall and widened his eyes in mock-fear. A hint of a smile flickered across Jen’s mouth.

And that was it. The moment he fell in love with her. Of course he didn't know it at the time; that's what hindsight's for…

To his Coy Mistress
by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

 But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Saturday Snippets, this week's theme - Touch.

This week's Saturday Snippets theme is touch and I'm bringing you three snippets, one from each book in my Moon Child Series.

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The Moon Child's Wish
Book 1 in the Moon Child Series


A love so alien, it could only be achieved by magic.

When taken by slavers, Moon-Child Carine sees her best chance of survival in the Eagle Warrior who lies dying in the corner of the dirty slave cage. Trained in magic, she uses her Wish-in-Hand to save his life and then bonds with him, despite the fact that Moon-Children and the Tribes of the Eagle are natural enemies.

Ancel, famed Eagle warrior and champion of the tournaments, is furious when he realises what she’s done and vows to resist the pull of the Bonding, even though his honour requires that he repay the gift of his life by protecting her.

Carine promises that if he gets her to safety, she will find a way to release him. But the Wish has chosen well and as time passes Carine realises that their feelings for each other are not just based on magic. She must decide exactly what she’s willing to sacrifice for this man who has come to mean everything to her. Is their love real, or just a madness brought about by the Bonding? And if it is, just what is she prepared to do in order to set him free?

Snippet

“If you kill yourself we'll both die.”

“It's called irony.”

“You wouldn't-

“Try me.”

She wanted to slap him. And then kiss the mark made by her hand. Wipe that smirk off his face, then put it back there by touching him all over until he begged for mercy. Love and hate? At that moment he was the very embodiment of ultimate desire and infuriating frustration. Something which he proved when the cart lumbered under the huge stone archway that formed the North Gateway.

Behind and in front of them the large metal-studded doors rumbled closed, plunging them into darkness. The scanning process took only a few heartbeats, enough time for a large calloused hand to steal briefly over her knee and linger lightly on the inside of her thigh. The scan-light illuminated them one by one, logging their profiles and Carine fought the urge to reciprocate. Scan complete, the inner doors creaked open and the cart jolted forwards. The imprint of the warrior's hand burned her skin and silently she begged him not to do anything stupid. Moon-Children were survivors, and the Eagle clan idealistic and reckless. For him, dying would be a matter of honour. For her it would be pointless and stupid. Their death would not change the order of things. All they could do was endure, until an escape opportunity presented itself.

---

Lupine.
Book 2 in the Moon Child Series

Carine struggles to keep the truth about her soul from Ancel, but now eight years later, it seems the Goddess has truly abandoned her. And the Lupines, wolf/man shapeshifters who hold the secret of the Soul Cleansers, have been hunted out of existence. Or have they? One day a man with eyes the colour of gold appears, badly injured, at the Settlement walls. As they battle to save his life both Carine and Naima, Ancel’s daughter, realise that he’s a throwback to a time they thought long gone. Perhaps the key to Carine’s salvation.

Finn has spent his whole life in captivity. Born with a special gift, he has been kept a slave and paraded for the amusement of the crowds. Until the day he makes his glorious bid for freedom. On the verge of death, he finds himself at the walls of one of the Settlements and is saved by a young woman called Naima who is determined to keep him alive.

Finn and Naima dream of a future together, but as he reveals his true identity, they realise that their happiness might have to be put aside for the greater good. Finn must heed a higher calling, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, he is bound by the will of the Goddess.

Does he choose a life with Naima, or fulfil his destiny, knowing he might never see her again? And will Naima find the courage to let him go?

Snippet

Shivering, the woman looked around, eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. She grasped the hand of the sleeping body once more and reapplied herself to her mission of keeping him alive.

Never had anyone cared for his welfare as she did. He’d been a commodity to be traded, gaped at and recoiled from. Caged, with only the barest of essentials to comfort him, he’d grown used to a life empty of compassion. Violent beasts didn’t deserve love. He was something to be feared, not someone who would inspire this inexplicable dedication. This woman they called Naima had become his anchor, a reason to stay in this world.

As often happened, she fell asleep, her head close to his on the bed. Outside the room, the guard paced back and forth.

The spirit-man dared to touch her, light fingers on her hair, her face. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck and inhaled deeply. She shifted, and sighed, angling her head to give him better access. He kissed her again, marvelling at her easy acquiescence. Most women ran screaming from him when they knew what he was, their fear feeding the beast inside him. She would too, if she ever saw his other face.

“Naima.” He said her name and watched her mouth curve into a smile. Ran his fingers along her spine and was rewarded with a shudder and a breathy sigh. The woman shifted restlessly and rubbed her cheek over the sleeping man’s hand.

The give and take of pleasure was a dance of which he had little understanding. Her responses to his tentative explorations fascinated him.

---

Tian's Guardian
Book 3 in the Moon Child Series


Tian is the Goddess's little secret. A Lupine hidden from the world, she knows nothing of the ways of men other than the terrible tales her mother told of the father she has never met. A wolf/human shifter, Tian wants only to continue to live a life of freedom in the mountain hut she calls home. When her mother dies the magic that protected and cloaked Tian from the world dies too, leaving her vulnerable and alone. With no connection left to humanity, Tian decides to become the wolf and live out her life on the mountains she loves. But the Goddess has other plans for her. Plans that involve sending Sol, her most trusted Guardian, to claim Tian as his own. When Sol hears about Tian, he is more than peeved to find that he wasn't told of the Goddess's little secret, hidden in the mountains for so many years. He rides with all speed to claim her and offer his protection, but Tian has other ideas. She doesn't need protecting and certainly not by a man. With winter taking hold and threats looming on the horizon, Sol must find a way to win Tian's trust and convince her that that she is as much woman as wolf. And that not all men are evil. Will he succeed before the threat closing in on them becomes real?

Snippet

“Ahh!” Sol hunched his shoulders when Tian’s fingernail caught on a piece of torn skin. With a wan smile, he nodded her to resume. Her fingers stilled.

“You wish me to continue?”

He twisted and offered his back. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, putting aside his warrior’s pride in order to prolong the contact. The dark fall of her hair brushed his arm as she leaned into her task and continued to work in the salve. He sensed in her a growing detachment from the task. As if she wanted it over so she could leave. She huffed out a breath and muttered quietly to herself.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t see properly,” she snapped back. “Stop fidgeting.”

“You wolf won’t co-operate?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He heard the soft thunk of the pottery salve dish on the wooden decking. “Is this the life you’re offering me? One where I will be constantly at war with myself? Blind and helpless? A wolf cannot live with humans. It doesn’t want to live with humans.”

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Read long excerpts from these stories on The Moon Child Series Page.

Vampires for Valentines Giveaway Hop

The winners of the Vampires For Valentines Giveaway Hop are: 


Erin Arnold
Krysykat 
Sarah Bibi Setar


Congratulations! I'll be emailing you soon.

February is the month of love and what do we love more than hot, sexy, dangerous and seductive vampires? Vampires For Valentines Giveaway Hop is all about spreading our love for these supernatural creatures. This Hop runs from 12:01am February 10th through to 11:59pm February 16th 2012, and is hosted by Felicity Heaton (Paranormal Romance Author) and Bitten by Paranormal Romance.

PRIZE ON OFFER:

Three winners will receive one eBook copy of my historical vampire novel, Can I Keep You.
This contest is open internationally.

Excerpt

Kane didn't give her time to think. Crushing her hand in his he pulled her along the alleyway to his waiting carriage and pushed her inside.

He'd told her his name, something he never did. No matter. She sat across from him pressed back into the plush seat, arms wrapped around herself. Looking around the carriage at anything, but him. What did it matter how much she knew about him? In a few hours she'd be dead.

Or maybe a few days. Kane leaned back and watched her through half-closed eyes. Something about this one made him wonder if perhaps he might indulge himself a little. A long time since he'd kept a human. They were so fragile, so sensitive and died far too easily. He licked his lips. Not his fault. He was merely trying to survive. Like the woman sitting opposite him.

Yes, why not. He would make sure Miss Laura died with a smile on her face and his name on her lips.

When he'd had enough of her - that was.

* * * *

Neither of them spoke as the carriage clattered through the night. Soon Laura was aware that there were fewer houses and they'd left the town behind. Lights no longer shone comfortingly from parlour windows. She huddled further into the corner of the padded seat, a terrible sense of foreboding settling over her.

The man called Kane, her dubious rescuer, sat opposite, little more than a dark shape. His features were obscured by shadow, but she felt him watching her, as if by some diabolical means, he could see in the dark. Hadn't she already thought him the devil back in the alleyway when he'd killed the sailor? Snapped his neck as if it were a mere twig?

The memory made her shrink back and pull her torn dress together to hold it in place. Perhaps she wasn't imagining his quiet scrutiny. Slowly, she shifted her legs so they no longer brushed against his while he sprawled comfortably back. When he made no move to touch her she closed her eyes and steeled herself for the task ahead. A task she had never imagined would be so difficult...

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Write from the heart or What Sells?

It's a really hard question. The artiste in us wants to write from the heart, the bills say write what sells. I used to think it impossible to write anything but from the heart, and it is different for everyone, but lately I do think with experience it becomes possible to utilise a mixture of style and commercialism to achieve our writer goals.

Authors approach this in different ways. Some start in a genre, carve a niche and stay there. Barbara Erskine comes to mind. Some see what genres are selling and sit down to write the same. Others start writing what they love and gradually choose to move towards more commercial genres. Yet others are lucky enough that present commercial genres are what they write anyway. If you want to make money you have to look at the market, look at what's selling and sometimes make an abrupt U turn. A lot of NYT bestselling authors moved from historical to paranormal/urban fantasy, historical to comtemporary women's fiction. And others straddle a few genres, getting the best of all worlds.

Looking around, seeing what's selling and seeing what how you can make that work for you is smart and savvy and something authors should be doing constantly. There will be genres you can't easily move into because they're so way out of the comfort zone and that's a pity, and would probably be a disaster anyway if you tried it, but if it's a genre you could feel comfortable in and you see it selling well, as an author you'd be crazy not to try. It's just important to remember you need to feel comfortable in the genre (for example I would never write YA, despite having raised two sons because I don't have the contemp language to make it sound convincing, but even having said that I could twist it to give it a fantasy edge and worldbuild myself into the genre). Some genres I could probably write, but they'd need a heck of a lot of research to make convincing, so I factor that in when choosing where to go. An example here is Amish romance. You don't have to be Amish to write it, but I bet it helps, LOL. Contemporary romance is selling well right now and we all have some contemorary location we know well so that genre is wide open to all of us. Historical, that depends again on the amount of research an author is willing to do in order to write convincingly. And probably their academic background and interests. Fantasy romance, paranormal and urban fantasy, I think these are more genres that are wide open to everyone because they're based on...fantasy. A skilled world builder can create the whole framework for their stories right out of their heads. The only rule here is to keep your worldbuilding consistent and logical. It's your world. Just make it work and people will believe it. Sci fi and space opera is a little more tricky, but even here you're mostly in the realms of fantasy so again, as long as the world is a logical one it will work.

And now for a quick caveat. If you are going to hop then hop and stay a while. Maybe write a series or a set of linked books. It's better for audience building. But even as I say that authors come to mine who hop around the genres quite happily and their readers follow them because they love the style rather than the particular genre.

As Konrath always says, don't be afraid to experiment. If other people are doing well in a genre there's a chance you might, too. But if you don't take that chance you'll never know. Even if it's just one short story to test the waters, you owe it to yourself to be the most successful author you can. And never be intimated by the success of others, thinking you'll never be able to replicate that. If one person can do it, then two can and three and so on. John locke, million seller on amazon wrote a book basically saying I did it and you can too. If he didn't think others could replicate his success he wouldn't have written that book telling people how he did it. It's not a race, there's plenty of room for all of us, but successful people are out there being an example of what is achievable. And that's how I hope they see themselves.

I'm lucky that I feel comfortable writing paranormal romance and contemporary and can easily move between that and my first love, fantasy romance. Nice as it is to write what we want, fantasy romance isn't a big seller and I do need to put the energy where the return is. So this year I'm back with the paranormal as Candy Nicks (to add to my historical vampire story Can I Keep You and my contemp vampire Interview Series) and as Alexandra Marell I'll be writing lighter contemps with mystical elements set in Italy. There I'm using a setting I know well, the town I was born in. My niche isn't a deep one, but I'm reining it in a bit in order to carve at least a nichette for the next few years.

But, before all that I need to finish my fantasy series Lords of the Dark Fall. I'm on book two, Marcellus right now and nearly 80, 000 words in. The first came in at 110, 000 and this one looks to be doing the same. It's only a two book series, but two long books. Hope they'll both be out in spring with only a short gap in between.

So, what's the message from this ramble? if you see something or someone doing well and think you can do it too, then try it, even if it's just a testing the waters short story. If it doesn't work, nothing lost. That's not genre-chasing, that's savvy marketing. If your niche is working for you, then carry on. If not, don't let anyone tell you something is out of your league and don't let anyone tell you you'll never replicate their success. As I said, it's not a race, but you might even find yourself whizzing right on past them. Just remember to wave when you do.

Saturday Snippets :: Taste

Today's Saturday Snippets theme is Taste so here are Cassandra and Marcellus on a trip to the supermarket in my latest work in progress, Lords of the Dark Fall - Marcellus by Candy Nicks. (Book Two of the Lords of the Dark Fall series) This is an unedited draft.


The brightly-lit supermarket hall paled in comparison with the great markets in his capital city of Brenna. What a soul-destroying experience to wander the sterile aisles devoid of scent and smell, the fruits and meats all neatly portioned and wrapped. To listen to the insistent sound laughing referred to as music. To follow the sheep-like tide of humanity to the place of payment.

“How do you live this boring life?” He hefted the shopping into the small boot of her car. Shoved the cart away.

“No, don’t do that.” Cassandra pointed to a small shelter, under which were parked more carts. “Park it over there and get the deposit back. And for your information, my life so far has been fulfilling and interesting. I have no complaints.”

“I mean this place. It has no…soul. Food should be bought with the senses. It should speak to us, seduce us with scent and taste. The markets on my world. I wish you could see them. So much colour and noise.” He raised his eyes to the gloomy sky hanging heavy above them. “Your world is so grey. No wonder everyone looks miserable.”

“Miserable? Well, it’s winter. Everything’s dead. But you wait, come next week they’ll be stringing fairy lights, singing carols and everyone will positively explode with jollity.”

“This is the festival of winter?”

“We call it Christmas here. I’ll explain it all to you sometime.” She took the cart herself, sensing he wasn’t about to demean himself to collect the small coin they’d used for its hire. Such trivial matters were beneath him. While waiting, he cracked the crusty loaf in half and tore off a bite. Utterly tasteless pap. The cheese fared better. Crumbly and sharp, he’d polished off the whole square by the time she returned.

Guiltily, he wiped crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “Tell me there is better fare to be had than this. I would feast with you, Cassandra. Celebrate our alliance in style.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of oxen,” if that’s what you had in mind. And if it’s colourful markets you’re missing, we’ll see plenty of those in the New Republic. Get in, it’s starting to rain.”

Lords of the Dark Fall, Book One Fabian will be available this spring. Book Two, Marcellus will follow shortly. I'm writing both of these together so I can get them out with only a short gap in between.

Books now available at Smashwords, Barnes and Noble..and more...

My books are now available at Smashwords, Barnes and Noble (nook), the Sony Store, Kobo, Apple and Diesel.