Monday, April 17, 2017

To Thine Own Self, Be True

With Angel: The Mithista Incident released, I have a bit of a breather. Not much, as the promoting aspect of this job is a never-ending task, but I have a little time before I return to Tal'Avern and get back to working on the last book in the Chronicles series.
 
As I sit here looking to my left where a paperback copy of Angel: The Mithista Incident sits, the reality of the past six months of work sinks in. With it comes the usual bouts of excitement that I've published another book which I hope people will enjoy, along with trepidations... nervously hoping that people will enjoy it.
 
Every artist goes through these feelings. That mixture of excitement and nervousness is universal, and it occurs to me that much of the reason behind those feelings boils down to something that can be summed up in a single word: style.
 
Every artist, whether musician, painter, sculpter, writer, actor, or any other which I haven't named, has their own style, their own unique flair. It's what sets them apart from all the others, after all. I suppose that's why I felt the need to write this, because that unique flair is what distinguishes each and every one of us.
 
If every musician played the same, we wouldn't be able to tell them apart when we heard their songs on the radio. If every actor used the same gestures and inflections in their dialogue, the only difference they'd have would be in their appearance. If every painter used the same kind of brush, canvas, colors, and methods, the only way we would be able to tell one painting from another would be by their signatures. And if every writer told their stories the same, the only difference from one romance to another, one fantasy to another, one sci-fi to another... would be the covers and authors' names.
 
What makes every artist unique is their own personal style. As a writer, like every other artist, I have my own unique style which is most easily seen by the amount of descriptiveness I use. In some places, my descriptions are full and precise, like watching a show on TV where everything is handed to you on screen, silently saying "this is how it is." In other places, my descriptions are very basic, almost like I was given a task and just did the bare minimum required to get that task done.
 
Why do I do that? Why am I very descriptive in some places and not in others? Shouldn't I keep things constant? Why not describe every blade of grass, every leaf on every tree, in order to give the reader that TV image in their mind? The reason is simple, and it's something which I've said quite often, which some will surely recognize:
 
 
I almost broke from my style with Angel: The Mithista Incident. I came close... closer than anyone will probably ever realize. For example, Dani, the main character, has blue eyes. I thought I needed to be more descriptive, so I looked up 'How to describe eye color' to get ideas. I found over a dozen ways to describe blue eyes based on the different shades from light to dark.
 
I started to look at the various descriptions. There was icy-blue, sky-blue, ocean-blue... just to name a few of them. As I sat at my desk trying to decide which would be the best one to use, it occurred to me that even those descriptions were vague. Icy-blue? That could be mostly white with just a hint of blue, to almost blue with a hint of white. Sky-blue? Which one? The morning sky that's very light? An afternoon sky that's a strong but beautiful medium shade of blue? What about right before the sun drops below the horizon and the sky turns a midnight blue?
 
At that moment, I realized that despite all the opinions I'd come across insisting eye color should be descriptive, doing so would change my style of writing - and I wasn't going to do that. So I decided not to follow those opinions. Not because I couldn't do it, but because that's not my style of writing.
 
Dani's eyes are blue. No more, no less. Why? Because that's not my part of the story to decide. It's the reader's. What one reader pictures could be the color of an afternoon sky. Another may see a deep ocean blue. Still another may think of the beautiful light blue eyes someone close to them has and so in their mind, Dani's eyes become that particular shade. I breathe life into the characters. But it's the reader who gives them their souls.
 
I almost stepped off that path. I almost took away one of the things that I hold so dear - my readers' ability to give the characters their souls... because I thought I needed to change my style and be more descriptive throughout the entire book, not just in some places.
 
It's that lack of description in places which allows my readers to see the story, not as I see it in my mind, but how they see it in their minds. This is my style. This is what creates an invisible, unbreakable bond between myself and my readers. What makes every writer different is that we each have our own unique style. Some will love a writer's particular style, others won't. That's just the way it is, and nothing can or will ever change it.
 
So to my fellow authors: Whether you describe every blade of grass and every leaf that falls from a tree or you give nothing but a basic description when you introduce characters on one page, since they just die on the next because they were wearing red shirts, never change your style. You can always improve your writing, but don't change your own unique, personal style. To thine own self, be true.
 
 
 
To my readers: I want to give you my most heartfelt thank you... not only for your continued support, but for making those decisions when the opportunities present themselves and seeing what you want to see in your minds. In so doing, you give the characters their souls.
 
 
 

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Angel: The Mithista Incident

 
 
 
Angel: The Mithista Incident (Aetherian Chronicles, Book One)
Genre: Urban Fantasy
 
Official Release: April 15, 2017
Official Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/1sEqYh57Wjk
 
Digital (Kindle) Pre-order: hyperurl.co/3mwqr7
 
 

The Story


Twenty-three year old Dani Taylor has a job, an apartment, and bills. She’s single. She loves pizza, ice cream, and hanging out with her two best friends. At the end of the week, she likes to go out with them both to unwind and have a night of fun at their favorite dance club. She has a typical, normal life.
 
That’s about to change.
What starts as a headache becomes an image burning in her mind that she discovers is no figment of her imagination. It’s a repressed memory. And there’s a reason why it’s suddenly been recalled.
What do you do when a repressed memory isn’t all that’s come back? When there’s a deadly Haragan alien hunting for you, and a mysterious, shadowy organization also wants you dead?
When you’re Earth’s only hope for survival, do you hide who you are? Or do you choose to fight, to embrace your true self…
And be the superhero the world needs you to be?
 

Breaking the Superhero Mold

 
She doesn't wear a cape or costume. She doesn't have a mansion or millions of dollars. She doesn't change her hair style, put on fake glasses, or change her voice. The traditional comic book superheroes do that. This isn't a comic book, and Dani's not your traditional superhero.
 
*   *   *
       
       “I can smell your fear, Aetherian,” Mithista growled, baring razor sharp teeth as Dani backed away and moved onto the dance floor. Mithista followed, flexing her clawed fingers with anticipation, and then charged forward faster than Dani thought possible.
       Mithista hit her with such force that Dani was knocked backwards across the entire length of the dance floor. She cried out in pain as she struck a support pillar with a bone-jarring crunch that sent bits of plaster raining down around her.
       Before Dani could recover, Mithista charged forward again and grabbed one of her legs. Spinning around, she sent Dani sailing through the air once more, sneering with pleasure when she cried out again as she slammed up against the bar and then fell to the floor on her hands and knees.
       Dani’s entire body felt as if it were on fire, the pain running through it was so intense. Gasping for breath, she attempted to stand as Mithista changed back into the human form she had taken and walked casually across the dance floor.
       “How many others from your world are here with you, Aetherian?” Mithista asked as she stepped up to the bar and put her hand around Dani’s throat, lifting her up as though she weighed nothing.
       “Dozens,” she gasped, fighting to breathe as the Haragan squeezed her throat with an iron grip. “The others will be here any minute.”
       Mithista’s eyes narrowed angrily. Leaning forward until her face was a hair’s width away from Dani’s, she inhaled another deep breath in through her nose - and then laughed.
       “You’re a terrible liar. There aren’t any other Aetherians on this world. You’re all alone here.”
       “I may be the only Aetherian,” Dani choked out. “But I’m not alone.”
       With all the strength she could muster, Dani flapped her wings as forcefully as she could. Not expecting the sudden move, Mithista quickly loosened her grip around her throat.
       But Dani was quicker. She grabbed Mithista by the wrist as she shot up into the air and then spun, whirling around several times before letting go.
       Mithista screamed with unbridled fury as she went careening through a large mirror on the wall to the left of the bar and into the security room that was hidden behind it.
         Every light in the club went dark and the pulse-pounding music stopped abruptly as Mithista crashed into the club’s main electrical box.
       Dani fell back down onto the floor on one knee, clutching her stomach and biting back the excruciating pain that was ripping throughout her entire body.
       After a minute, she slowly got back to her feet and on shaky legs, started to make her way toward the front doors of the club. In the distance, she could hear sirens coming closer with every passing second.
       As she neared the doors, Mithista came out of the darkness in her natural form once again and hurled into her from behind. Dani barely had time to throw her arms up in front of her eyes before she flew through one of the doors, shattering the glass and sending razor sharp shards everywhere.
       She cried out as the glass cut into her arms and legs and then hit the hard, unforgiving pavement of the parking lot and rolled like a tumbleweed for several yards before stopping.
       “Turn over, Aetherian,” Mithista growled, stepping through the shattered door and stalking over to where Dani lay on the ground. “In these final seconds of your life, I want to be the last thing you see. Every human is going to know that it was Mithista who destroyed their only hope!”
 
*   *   *
 
 
There's plenty of action, unexpected twists, humor, and some language (no F-bombs).
And of course, a kickass female in the leading role.  Welcome to Angel City.
 
#TeamAngel