Sheri

Happy New Year!
 
This month I've been musing about everything, or so it seems! Mainly, I've been giving the coming year a bit of thought. The New Year is a time to reflect upon the old year as it departs and embrace the hope the new one offers. We look at it as a sort of changing of the guard, a new beginning.
 
Many people make resolutions. I don't anymore. I use to, but discovered I rarely kept the promises I made to myself and always felt like a failure when I did break the resolution. So, I guess, in a way I did make a resolution: I resolved to make no resolutions.
 
Having said all that, I have been musing about 2009 and what I want to accomplish. I'd like to find a comfortable medium between self-promotion and my conscience. While I realize it has to be done, it feels rather like I am begging, and well, that makes me uncomfortable. I'd like to finish a novel I started some time back. Hole in the Sky. I'd like to make time to read more of others work, not allow my energy to be so totally consumed by the day's events that I have nothing left, no spare energy to just read. Or to write.
 
Speaking of reading and writing. I did manage to finish a chapter about fairies for a paranormal guide. My fingers are crossed it is accepted. As to reading? I just finished The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman. Even though there were some things I felt could have been or should have been explained deeper, I truly enjoyed this book. The whole notion of a living boy being raised by the dead intrigued me. Imagine it…a living child given sanctuary by the dead and granted all the privileges of the graveyard. A living child who could, for all practical purposes, do things only spirits should be able to do.
 
Nobody Owens, Bod for short, raised from a toddler, protected from the outside world by the graveyard and hidden away from the man who killed Bod's family and still wants to kill him. The Graveyard Book made me ponder things and that isn't a bad thing at all. Pondering leads to notions, notions lead to ideas, and, hopefully, those ideas lead to stories.

Not a bad thing at all.

This is an excerpt from Summersong, originally posted for others to consider for the PEARL nominations, but I thought I'd share here. I hope you enjoy, Sheri

TWICE UPON AN EVENTIDE
By Shannah Biondine and Sheri L. McGathy
ISBN-10: 1554045738 / ISBN-13: 978-1554045730

Award-winning fantasy authors Shannah Biondine and Sheri L. McGathy team up again, delivering twice the mystical adventure in this enthralling duet, Twice Upon an Eventide. Here are faraway worlds of danger and intrigue, where dark mirrors hold strange and dark secrets.

A Varlet's Bond (Shannah Biondine)
Captain Praxis, wyvern rider, former slave turned royal reeve and bounty hunter, has never forgotten her brief partnership with Prince Zavend of Glacia. Years have passed and now find Praxis a wealthy woman and sometime comrade of Zavend's disreputable brother, Vitus. A twist of fate draws all three back to the heart of Glacia, where an evil is spreading across the land. Can anyone or any sworn oath be trusted? Will Praxis find her heart soaring higher than a wyvern or crushed once and for all?

Summersong (Sheri L. McGathy)
Summersong, a magical border Keep created to maintain the fragile peace between Man and Faery, has lost its glory, its grandeur, and its loyal guardians. The land is dark, filled with turmoil. Yet, one bright glimmer of hope still exists. Long ago, Myree, daughter of a proud nobleman, made a childish vow of undying love in a secluded garden to heroic young Connair. Now grown, Connair has not forgotten that pledge. When Myree is abducted into a realm of shadows, he risks everything in his quest to save her and recover the heart of Summersong.

Excerpt

Summersong By Sheri L. McGathy

Long after the wizard completed his tale, the old storyteller remained quiet. He stared into the fire, but his gaze was far away, focused on something only he could see. Firelight danced in his eyes as he finally spoke, his voice soft and wistful, "Once, long ago, there was an ancient border Keep that dwelled between the realms of Man and Faery.

"They called it Summersong–a place of light and heart, peopled by those born of stardust, a gift from the winds of forevermore. Yet, Summersong was also a place where shadows lingered just beyond your sight, ever waiting for a chance to swallow the light and silence the beating of its heart."

The old storyteller leaned back against a fallen tree trunk. As he stretched out his long legs, he added, "Few ever knew the secret that Summersong kept or the real purpose it served.

"But evil, as evil is wont to do, befell Summersong and the Keep's true intent was soon forgotten by even those few.

"This is Summersong's tale. . . ."

Prologue
Summersong Silenced

She stood motionless within the silent bailey, with only a tear to show her grief. Nothing stirred. No mournful cries reached her ears. Summersong had been abandoned. Death stalked its lifeless halls. The great bloodline of the Far-mura stood sentinel no longer. Now only shades guarded the border between Man and Faery. She would find no solace here.

The stench of death nearly choked her, yet she refused to look away. The barrenness of the place matched the emptiness of her soul. Summersong's sorrow mirrored her own. Each had lost much this day, their hearts torn asunder. Summersong's heart lay cold and still upon the bloodied cobblestones while hers lay locked away in a horse-drawn carriage with her child–a child taken from her before drawing a single breath.
 
"My lady." Her handmaiden laid a hand on her arm. "Death reigns here, 'tis no place for the living. Come away, now. Let us seek shelter elsewhere."

When the lady did not move, the handmaiden glanced nervously over her shoulder before renewing her urgings. "We must be gone before others arrive to lay claim. They will surely blame us for this massacre if we are found here. The fragile peace of our two peoples will shatter. They will no longer trust our kind. Please. My lady, come away."

"Trust is fleeting," the lady said, her voice flat and emotionless. "Allegiances change as quickly as the seasons and all memory of former ties easily forgotten with no thought given to those who may be harmed." She shook her head as she gazed out to the dead. "Yet, compassion should never be forgotten. It is what makes us whole."

She tightened her fingers over the handmaiden's still grasping her sleeve. "The Far-mura knew this. They showed our people great kindness at a time when few would. I cannot repay them by leaving their spirits to an earthly limbo. The death rites must be performed. Their spirits must be set free. No pure trueborn Far-mura remains to see this done, so I shall do it for them."

"My lady, the others, they–"

"They do not tolerate what they do not understand, nor will their nature allow them to seek beyond what is shown to the truth that lies beneath. If we leave now, they will bury the Far-mura within the earth as they do their own, thinking it a kindness. Yet, without the words to set their souls free from their now useless flesh, the spirit of each Far-mura will be bound to the earth, unable to touch the sky or blend their voices with the ancient song of the wind. The spirit of Summersong will be silenced forever."

A visible shiver raced along the handmaiden's arm.

"It is too risky, my lady, you are too weak. The chants will tax you further. You will surely perish–"

"Nay, it is the right thing to do, regardless of the risk involved. Do not question my judgment. I will sing the words. Then," she said, as she pulled her cloak tight about her, "I will seek out those who have done this dishonorable deed and exact revenge for those who cannot."

The handmaiden sighed before saying, "Then you must lean on me, my lady, I will give you what strength I possess." She signaled to two burly warriors standing near the gatehouse wall. "Come, our mistress requires your aid."

Not waiting for the strength of her warriors, the lady leaned heavily upon her handmaid's arm as she raised her face to the sky and sang, "Hear my pleas, Father Wind, spoken for those who no longer have voice. Come, carry their souls to the homelands of old so that their spirits may return to the night skies and shine anew."

A gentle caress from a warm western wind wiped the sweat from her brow and eased the song from her lips. The sacred words of the Far-mura death chant echoed throughout the Keep, the solemn notes made all the more lonely by the unnatural silence hanging over the place. Soon, her voice merged with the mournful wails of Far-mura spirits as they abandoned their earthly vessels and soared skyward to join the wind in its ethereal dance.
 
The sun had set by the time the last spirit was set free and silence claimed the Keep once again. Exhausted, she sank to her knees upon the still warm cobblestones and let the evening breeze cool her fevered skin. As her handmaid had warned, the task had nearly drained her of her life force. It would be many days before she recovered, if she found the will to recover at all. She was no longer sure she wished to live in the light.

Her thoughts strayed back to her lost child, to the pain that crippled her will. As a sob tore from her throat, a weak cry echoed across the bailey. A child's cry.

She struggled to her feet. "Did you hear that?"

The warriors and the handmaid nodded. One of the warrior's pointed toward the far end of the bailey. "The sound came from within the Keep."

She motioned for silence. At first, she heard only the eerie wail of the wind as it swooped down upon the lifeless bailey, and then, faintly, almost without hope that someone would hear, the cry came again.
She stretched her hands out. "Take me there, now."

One of the warriors scooped her into his arms and carried her into the Great Hall. Death greeted them, yet a spark of life lingered in its dark midst.

"There," she said, pointing toward the grand fireplace at the far end of the room.

As they drew closer, the truth was revealed. On the floor, covered in her own blood, lay a lady of Summersong, her newborn child suckling her lifeless breast while resting a hand against the dagger hilt that had pierced the mother's heart. Pieces of dark glass clung to them both. Near them, his body littered with more of the strange dark glass, lay a Far-mura guardian, dead by his own hand, his fingers still curled about the dagger's hilt. A smile haunted his pale lips.

With shaking fingers, she lifted the child from the dead mother's arms and offered her own milk-heavy breast to suckle. As the babe clung to her, the light of hope renewed within her grieving heart.

"I claim this foundling for my own," she whispered against the softness of the child's hair.

"My lady," her handmaid said, "if you take the child, those who sought to destroy the Far-mura down to the last man, woman, and child will know they have failed. When the child's body is not found, their evil gaze will turn toward us."

She wrapped the child in the hem of her skirt. "Then I shall offer my own child in exchange so none will be the wiser." She met her handmaid's concerned gaze. "And none save us shall know the truth. I will have your words on it. The truth will remain here with the dead for the dead know how to keep their secrets."
 
As each nodded in turn, she added, "This child I hold in my arms belongs to the living, while the child of my flesh now resides with the spirits. I do no more than leave behind a reflection of what could have been while offering to another the promise of what could one day be.

"Come," she said as she stood, the child nestled close to her heart. "Let us fade from this world until the memory of the Far-mura is but a distant dream."

This is a reprint of a musing I posted in 2006, with modifications. I thought it still fitting! Sheri

This month I've been musing about Samhain, pronounced "Sow-ain, Sow-en, or SAW in," more commonly known as Halloween or All Hallow's Eve though Samhain was believed to mark summer's end rather than signal our little spooks and goblins to run door to door giggling as they try to scream, "Trick-or-Treat."

There are many, MANY references alluding to Samhain, which, of course causes me to muse. I don't know the true origins of the Halloween we celebrate today though I've heard many different accounts. I've read that the ancient Celts believed Samhain was a time when the old year died and the new one was born again on November 1st. Samhain said goodbye to summer and ushered in winter.

The references I find the most fascinating are those that state that Samhain is a time of transition, from old to new, death to life/life to death, the known to the unknown. It is said that the veil that separates the world of the living from that of the dead is at its thinnest at this time . . . allowing the souls of the dead to cross back into the land of the living, if only for a short while. In preparation, the living would offer fruits and vegetables and light hilltop bonfires to serve as a guide for these souls. The bonfires were kept lit all night not only as beacons, but to frighten away evil spirits and protect the living from harm.

I've always believed Halloween a magical time, a moment when the impossible becomes plausible and reality blurs. Plus, it means November 1st isn't far behind, which never fails to make me smile. If you think you know why November 1st is special to me, post a reply to this blog before November 15th with your answer as well as why you like Halloween, and I'll place your name in a hat for a chance to win a signed copy of OMNIBUS.

Happy Halloween!

Sheri

As summer slowly ebbs, and fall looms, I find myself once again musing about beginnings and ends, life and death, and the mystery of it all. In fact, for the last few years, death has never been far from my thoughts. It sneaks into my musings when least expected; it haunts me. It could be the time of year that makes it sharper as September and October are months that remind me of my own personal losses.

I lost my dad in September 2005 to natural aging, and my only brother/sibling in October 2007 to cancer. For me, there was barely enough time to come to terms with one loss when another occurred. Dealing with my own beliefs, sadness, and loss, has forced me to face many of my hidden or unfaced fears about death. Thus, death haunts me.

In my mind, death is the ultimate journey, a step into the unknown, a journey that the living cannot follow. Many claim to know what lies beyond, some, actually from dying, if only for a moment, some because they have the ability to look beyond that mysterious veil that separates the living from the dead. Still others claim to have had loved ones return to reassure them that all was well. For most of us, there are no assurances.

Religious beliefs, I feel, ease some of the worry for their loved ones as they travel beyond this realm. Faith that they are in a better place helps the living accept their loss without trepidation. They still feel the grief, but they accept death with far better grace than those who hold the belief that it is, in truth, the end.

Many, confused and afraid of that loss, seek others who claim to be able to contact the departed, the living desperately needing to know that a loved one is fine, before the living can move on.

I recall worrying about my dad after he died. Was he okay? Comfortable? Happy? Did his mom and dad and all his siblings come to meet him? Did they embrace, shedding tears of joy even as the living shed their own tears of loss? Would he be reborn into a better life than the one he left behind? And my brother? Did the family once again gather to embrace him? Shed their tears? I hope so, I certainly want to believe it is true, but I don't know.

Death still scares me; it is a thief in the night, an unknown that defies answers, regardless of my personal beliefs. I recall as a child being carted off to some family member's funeral, where the departed actually was laid out in the family parlor and they had a wake. It was probably my earliest memory of death, and one that has never faded. I stood there, my eyes barely level with the table the departed had been laid out on, and as I pondered the whole notion of death through youthful curiosity, the man on the table actually sat up! No one in the room seemed to worry to awfully much about it, the man's wife just pushed him back down and the wake continued. At the cemetery, as they lowered him into the ground, I recall the horror I felt that they were burying this man alive though the adults in my life assured me they were not. Now that I am grown, I understand why he sat up, but it was that single moment in my young life that started my own quest for understanding knowing there would be no certainties until the day I myself must take that journey.

One thing I've learned and come to accept through my own personal losses is that death requires, no demands, your attention. You have to deal with it, come to terms with it, and face the reality of it regardless of your uncertainties and fears. I've learned that, in time, you do come to accept death, even though you never truly get over the pain of the loss.

You have to give death time, for the grieving, the sadness, the emptiness, and eventually the emergence of fond and even happy memories. And memories come, hitting you in waves of nostalgia easily summoned by a song, a smell, or a whispered word said just the right way. When this happens, the memory of the loss returns, in force, and you are swept up in emotions you thought you had finally laid to rest. No warning. It just happens. And for a time there, as the memories overcome you, both good and bad, those who have left us, live again.

Hi Sheri! 

Thanks for letting me come by. I Love the look of your site. You did a wonderful job covering all the information on Death Masks and Firestorm of Dragons these past couple of days. I appreciate that a lot. If anything, this virtual book tour has been good for my ego. Grin.  Seriously, I've received so much positive feedback that I'm inspired to spend a lot more time on the two books I'm revising and the handful of short stories I'm working on.  It's humbling and exciting at the same time. Y'all be sure to leave your comments and questions. I'll bop in to answer them and each one counts as an entry for the prize drawing. We have one left to do. It's a chance to win a copy of either book, a tshirt or cd from the metal band who is featured in the Death Masks video book trailer.

Recently, I had the chance to read Kim's DEATH MASKS, as well as her short story Dragon Fruit (a fantasy) from the anthology Firestorm of Dragons published by Dragon Moon Press.

Let me start out by saying, I'm not very good at summing up or reviewing anything! If I were, I wouldn't sweat the blurbs when I have to write them for my books, so, having declared this little truth, I'll just say this:

Dragon Fruit was an inventive twist on the old legends where once a year, or seven years, or whatever the legend demands, lots were drawn so a virgin could be selected and sacrificed to some menacing dragon. That way, the dragon would leave the town in peace.

Though there are elements of the Old World legends within Kim's story: the lottery is mandatory, and only virginal girls of the village are required to participate (never boys, always wondered about that!), there are small differences and new twists to the old tale. Twists I found quite surprising and really enjoyed.

If you get a chance, pick up a copy of FIRESTORM OF DRAGONS and read Kim's story, Dragon Fruit.

Now DEATH MASKS was a bit of a different read for me. I rarely read full out mysteries, though I stand firm in my belief that all stories hold a mystery. Having admitted that I don't read them, I found I did enjoy this story, almost as much as I liked the dragon tale. Kim has a storyteller voice, something I like, and she was able to draw me in and make me want to read to the end.

I have to confess, though, that I guessed the murderer early on. Yet, in defense of the tale, I admit I like to puzzle and plot and play "what if" when I write and read. It does, at times, cause me to figure out the direction the author is going long before I should and I get bored with the tale. Which says a lot for Kim's storytelling skills, since I wanted to keep reading despite figuring it out early. And do read to the end, even if, like me you guess correctly early on, because the motivation behind the murders is truly fascinating as the truth unfolds.

So, there you have it, my musings on the stories. I warned you I was not very good at summing or reviewing.

Kim will be here all day June 29th, to answer any questions you have or to just chat.

I leave the floor to her with this invite: Kim, please tell us more about your work!

What is a death mask?
Throughout the ages, man often made masks of the deceased faces. It is a way of honoring the dead and, before photographs became available, to preserve the visage of the deceased person for the living to view. There are many in museums around the world including some famous people such as Agamemnon, Cromwell, Edison, Newton and Volaire. During my recent trip to Germany I discovered several in museums including the last Teutonic Knight Hochmeister, Archduke Eugen, and two rulers: Frederic II and Frederic Wilhelm IV.    

I made a plaster cast of my own face to use for promoting Death Masks and the detail of the features surprised me. The death masks I had the opportunity to see also had great detail. FYI: the one I did of myself is technically called a Life Mask since I am still living.

What does a death mask have to do with the book?
One thing many serial murderers have in common is collecting something from their victims. In this story the killer makes a death mask of each victim. It’s also intended to be a play on the words since there is something unexpected about the murderer revealed at the very end so the fact that the identity remained hidden is a kind of mask.

Why did you decide to write this book? What inspired you?
I wrote the first draft while living in Ohio, across the street from a metro park. Having come from the wide open spaces of New Mexico, the dense trees of Ohio and steep areas struck me as places to dump a body. Often in the news, people were found days after driving off into one of these areas. I did talk with the park rangers near me and found out they try to keep any assaults or other problems occurring in the parks under wraps so that people will feel safe in coming there.

!!(SPOILER ALERTS)!!

Why a story about a serial killer? Aren’t those overdone (SPOILER ANSWER)?
I decided early on I wanted my protagonist to be someone different than those you find in a lot of thrillers. Bill is an IT computer support tech instead of a detective or someone with law enforcement experience. His curiosity keeps him on the trail but his lack of experience causes him to make mistakes.

The murderer is female. Her sex isn’t revealed until the last chapter. In the opening scene it is left unclear she is even human.

Why a female murderer? (SPOILER QUESTION)
Women serial murderers tend to be better at killing than their male counterparts. They go for longer periods of time before being caught, with higher body counts for several reasons: they seldom talk about their crimes to anyone, they tend to take choose less violent ways of death, and for women—many of their killings are viewed as mercy deaths and therefore more acceptable to society. For example: the woman whose elderly relatives die in her care. The rest of her family may not realize she poisoned them, thinking they passed on of old age. I find that concept extremely chilling.

Why did you decide to publish Death Masks with an e-book publisher (Eternal Press)?
I find every path to publishing valid in one form or another. My first book came out as under a print on demand format because I had the opportunity to do it free. I do editing for Eternal Press and so took the opportunity when offered to me to try my hand at an e-book. It may not be the best choice for every book but I believe a good one for this story. I prefer to form my own opinions about such things with a little of my own experience.

Tell us about the trailer?
My fiancé, William Gilchrist filmed it for me using ideas we brainstormed together. The music is from a death metal band from my hometown of Roswell, New Mexico. I wanted a rougher sound since this is not a happy, fluffy story. The neat thing is the band, Children of a Lesser God, and I are working together to promote ourselves. It’s opened up some interesting opportunities. They will be taking touring all summer and Death Masks goes with them.

What else have you published recently?
August of 2007 saw a book called The Complete Guide to Writing Science Fiction released from Dragon Moon Press. I wrote the chapters on world building and sub-genres. Presently I am writing a chapter for the same editors on Celtic Magic for a book on writing fantasy magic expected for fall 2008 release.

April 2008 Death Masks came out, and towards the end of the month, an anthology of dragon stories titled, Firestorm of Dragons. Firestorm is from Dragon Moon Press. I have a story in this one about what dragons really do with all those maidens who get sacrificed to them.

Then in the fall of 2008, I have an entry in a Twisted Twins horror themed desk calendar. Yep. I got the January 1 spot!! It’s the New Year’s Resolutions of a serial killer (intended to be funny).

What are you working on now?
I have a horror novel tentatively titled, Holy Blessed Homicide, which I am revising. It is also out in submission.

I am also in the first rewrites of a story about the Amazon warrior women from the region of Turkey. It was my 2007 nanowrimo project but I have two more in the series planned. The first of which is brainstormed and the first few chapters written.