Just one week

 This is the end of a long road. Who knew that I'd be telling one story across three books, for three hundred thousand words? Give me just a moment to say, "I'm amazed."

Join me next Friday for the release! In the meantime, pre-order your copy here:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Dragon-Soaring-Shadows-Book-ebook/dp/B0B7KR3NBM/

An even dozen queries

"How's the querying going?"

No one's saying that to my face, but I'm thinking it constantly. Since my last post, I bit a pretty hard bullet and subscribed to Publishers Marketplace. It is possibly the ugliest website in the western world, but it has a lot of information to give you--for a price. 

I got a big fat list of agents who said they represent fantasy, then culled the list down to those who SERIOUSLY represent fantasy, and ended up with about 50-60 names. I've been attempting to query at least three names a day, except for weekends and last week when I was on vacation.

In addition to the three I started with, I've now queried a dozen agents. Two said no. One requested a full. I'm heartened by the "full" request, but I have concerns. 

One is that I am tempted to run through as many of these agents as quickly as possible, because the faster I get rejected, the faster I can self-publish this book and get it all out to you. I want you to read it.


via GIPHY

The second concern is that I'm not hungry for the traditional contract (as you can tell from Concern #1). What if I get a delightful agent who works their tushie off and gets me a deal that they believe is spectacular, and my reaction is, "Yeah, but what about the publicity?" Am I labeled an ingrate who has burned her traditionally-published bridges?

I'm giving it all a deadline of November before I start the self-pub production cycle. That should give me enough time to get everyone queried and get responses back. 

In the meantime, here's a teaser of what awaits. (Note to my readers: this is an R-rated book, unless I get an agent who makes me take all the sex out. Just think you should know.)

BLOOD DRAGON RISING

When I was six years old, a dragon killed my uncle. My parents told me it had been an intruder, an assassin who snuck into our castle in the darkness of the waning moon. Dragons don’t exist, they said, except in bad dreams.

But I was there. After killing my uncle, the dragon came to me. I tried to scream and run, to at least squeeze my eyes shut, but I couldn’t. He was terrifying—and mesmerizing.

The size of a horse, he was crimson and black, with a line of golden spikes down his back to his tail, which he whipped about like an annoyed cat. His coat looked feathered and silky. If I hadn’t been so frightened I would have reached out to stroke it.

His body was a curious mixture: stocky, yet lithe, with enormous lion-paws in the rear. His thick front legs ended in something like hands, bony as bird legs, but covered with feathers like fancy gloves. At the end of each “finger” was a long, curved talon. I could see the lines of his wings, attached to his wide shoulders and tucked against his body.

His head was almost delicate in structure, with the large liquid eyes and wide nostrils of a high-bred horse. The ridge above his eyes drew a line to the two arched horns between his perked ears.

As he sniffed me, the crescent-shaped pupils of his eyes glowed silver. His breath smelled of ashes. He brought one of his oversized “hands” to my chest, pressing me against the wall. Tremendous talons wrapped around my head and shoulders, their tips threatening to pierce me.

I can still feel the cool hardness of claw on my cheek, and the bony pad of his hand on my breast. My heart pounded so violently his hand pulsed to the beat. Tears streamed down my face, but I lifted my chin and glared at him with all the anger and haughtiness of a six-year-old daughter of nobility.

After some moments of what I can only describe as a combination of terror and excitement, he backed away. I stood in awe as he unfolded his enormous wings and revealed his terrifying beauty. He turned and flew, with a cry expressing both anguish and victory. Even if I could have forgotten the smell of his breath, the feel of his talons against my skin, I could never forget that scream.

Now, on the eve of my 18^th year, I am a grown woman, preparing to be a bride, and leaving my childhood behind. Still, there is a corner of my heart always keeping watch, both fearing and hoping to see another great beast of fire and claw.

Mrs. Carline Builds Her Dream Dragon

I'm spending today waiting for my new floors to arrive, watching the Turner Classic Movie channel, and working on the next book. (Side note for new authors: working on the next book keeps you from thinking about what is happening with the book you just completed. Mine's with beta readers.)

TCM is showing "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House", thus the title for this post. Cary Grant and Myrna Loy are a New York city couple who buy a dilapidated house in Connecticut and decide to fix it up, instead of razing it and starting anew. As you can imagine, hilarity ensues.

This is exactly where I am in the new book, although I'm not certain that hilarity will follow. I started writing a fantasy about a girl pirate some time ago. It began as a riff on "The Count of Monte Cristo." A young girl is betrayed by her friends and is carried off by pirates to be sold to a wealthy psycho. She avoids her fate, becomes a wealthy pirate, and returns home to collect her pound of flesh from her so-called friends. 

When I started writing, the book was in third person, and the young noblewoman, Lisette, is betrothed to another noble, but is more attracted to the village farrier. The farrier is teaching Lisette to fight with a sword, much against her mother's wishes. Lisette is an independent girl, straining at society's leash, but aware that her obedience is necessary to serve the family she loves.

My first change of heart was with the voice of the book. I've decided first person would be better. The reader needs to bond with Lisette. I went back through what I'd written and edited it to reflect "I, me, mine" instead of "she, her, hers."

Then I dreamed of dragons. I'm writing a fantasy - shouldn't there be dragons? Not just dragons for dragons' sake. My theme is revenge. Its cost. Its rewards. Vengeance is a favorite topic at the moment, if you read the news. But does the prize justify the price?

I invented a new myth, the myth of Blood-dragons. In my myth, blood-dragons are horse-sized creatures, and were once human. If a human has been wronged egregiously (either murder of a loved one or personal ruin), and cannot get retribution, they can appropriate the blood of one of these creatures. One drop on their lips will turn them into a blood-dragon.

They remain human during daylight, and only morph (dusk til dawn) for the 10 days from the waning crescent to the waxing crescent of the moon. To defeat their enemy, they have tough skin, long talons, fire breath, oh, and a little bit of magic, mostly in the form of hypnosis and mind control. And while they are a blood-dragon, they are immortal.

Once a blood-dragon either avenges their wrong or no longer feels the need for revenge, the spell is broken and they return to their mortal, normal human state. They have one year to fulfill their thirst for revenge. If they fail, or if their heart is still black with hate, they will remain a blood-dragon forever.

All this means that I must raze the old story and build a new one. Good thing I've got all day to wait for the new floors to arrive.

These have a general look of the dragon I'm dreaming about, with some changes.

What do you think?