Why Third Person is My Writerly Comfy Blanky

I love writing third person. To me, it is so freeing. I love bouncing around from one character's head to the next. (Sometimes a little too much, as can be witnessed from the earlier drafts of Heirs of War). I've always written in third person. Maybe this habit stems from my first ventures into writing being in the form of scripts, or maybe I just enjoy pretending I'm the ever-omniscient (and in no way benevolent if you ask my characters) god of the world I've created. Who knows?

Either way, third person is definitely my preferred POV when writing. Which is exactly why I decided to write my new WIP (Altar of Reality) from the POV of the main character. Big deal, right? Oh, did I mention the main character is a teenager?

Before my beta readers remind me that Zelene and Ariana were both seventeen when Heirs of War started, I would like to stress that this teenager (sixteen, to be exact) is just your normal run-of-the-mill kinda gal. Biggest problem she has is epilepsy. That changes as the story moves on, but the point is she has no reason to be more mature than any other sixteen year old like Zelene did and like Ariana was forced to become with a quickness.

So, yeah...totally outside my comfort zone right now. And for the first time in my entire life I am having to force myself to sit down and write. With HoW, I had to force myself to stop. 10k days were pretty common to me. But this WIP is just supposed to be a much simpler tale in comparison, and yet it is so much harder to write.

I've been trying to figure that out as of late. I think it boils down to the same reason I don't blog a whole lot. It's not that I don't like talking about myself (well...mainly I just don't have much to say on that front. I write. A lot. The end.), but my personal story is so much more narrow than what I like. I love stories that are rich with characters, and I find that very hard to do with just one character telling the tale. Is it possible? Sure. I loved The Hunger Games and Vampire Academy, both of which have very lively worlds and characters with the story all told from one character's perspective. The question is: Can I do that?

Time (and beta readers) will tell. But for now, the moral of the story is this: Although the comfy blanky is, indeed, comfortable and safe, sometimes you really need to weather the storm without it. Because only then will you be faced with the questions I've talked about here, and only then will you start to grow as a writer.

Kiya: Inside the Egyptian City of Amarna

World-building is such a huge part of what we, as writers, do. Sometimes the city in which our story takes place can take on a life of their own. Just look at Tolkien's Middle Earth or the world of Hogwarts from the mind of J.K. Rowling.

Sometimes, though, they can be plucked right from history. I'm not sure which is harder--starting from scratch or doing the research for a real place. Katie Hamstead is here to show us the end result of her hard work for her novel Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh (available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble) by giving us a brief tour of the Egyptian City of Armana as seen by her main character.

Be sure to check back here for a guest post from Katie! Until then, you can follow her on Twitter or check out her blog!

The city of Amarna, built by Pharaoh Akhenaten’s decree and under his direction, was a short lived capital of Egypt. But, it is the city in which Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh is set. So, I’m going to give you a guided tour through Kiya’s eyes.

The city was centered around the main city, with suburbs built to the south.

“…and I beheld for the first time the city of Amarna. Long, white walls ran along the eastern shoreline, with a wide gate framed by pillars that faced the stone wharves. To the south of the main city, I saw smaller enclosed areas made from darker stone—the residential districts.”

Kiya, having grown up in Thebes, which was considerably older, not to mentioned designed for more than just one god. As she moves through the city she observes:

“I saw open streets and courtyards. The white walls of the buildings reflected the glare from the sun; the architecture looked modern and stylized, with hieroglyphs depicting the great Aten over each doorway. The men led me toward the palace down a wide, busy road, where people stopped and moved aside to watch us.

We passed under a covered bridge that led from a large, elaborate house into the palace, which had windows cut out along the middle.”

The city itself was used by later Pharaohs as construction material and torn down, so what is left now is mostly foundations which were buried by the desert. As a result, I couldn’t find much information on precise details. All I knew was the palace was located to the north, with the royal residences also in that vicinity. So, also knowing that the Pharaoh had many wives and concubines, I thought that they’d all be placed together in a protective, enclosed structure.

“The women's wing was poorly named. It was not so much a wing as a dormitory. A large common area lay before me, with a pool in the middle. From this common area, several corridors branched off. Like everywhere else in the palace, the common area and corridors remained uncovered, but I could see that the corridors' rooms had roofs.”

To find out more about this city, check out these websites:

http://amarnaproject.com/

http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/700792/Tell-el-Amarna

http://www.world-archaeology.com/great-discoveries/tell-el-amarna/

As well as, of course, your local library!

My Husband, My Writerly Hero

I should get him a cape. Seriously.

You see, a couple of months ago, I dropped my laptop. On my arm. I know, I know, it's hard to picture, but somehow I accomplished this. My wrist was braced at the time (suspected carpal tunnel) and I was trying to stick it in my book bag one handed, using the injured arm to hold open the bag. It slipped from my good hand and landed straight on my arm, giving me a nice bruise the size of...well, something damn big.

I was more concerned for my laptop than my arm at the time, but the laptop seemed fine. Soon enough, my arm didn't. After doing my best impression of the one-armed cashier (and still managing to be faster than everyone else--seriously. My IPMs rock.) for a few weeks, I sucked it up and went to the doctor. Verdict: No break or fracture, but the mother of all contusions (essentially). So life went on. And CampNaNo was about to start right when I seem to have made a full recover. Win? Win.

Wrong. Funny thing started happening around the time I posted here saying I'd be participating in CampNaNo. I discovered that my hands felt really hot from typing. Really, really hot.Then I realized my laptop was awfully quiet. After closer inspection from probably the least observant writer in the world, it finally came to my attention that my exhaust fan had stopped working.

Panic ensued. My husband tried to set me up on his laptop and I tried to use my tablet. I fought with SkyDrive to show me the most updated version of my WIP (to no avail). I played video games and took out my frustrations on every baddy that crossed my path. But I felt naked--nay, empty, without my laptop.

My husband must have sensed my distress (or possibly took note of how much I was yelling at the electronics in the house), because he came to the rescue. He ordered a new fan, certain the old one had burned out, and spent an entire afternoon slaving over it until he found the vicious culprit responsible for the demise of my precious. 

Yup. A centimeter-long piece of plastic has kept me from any real writing (and peace of mind) for the past couple of weeks. Just goes to show you that even the smallest of obstacles can create a road block (or writerly block, as in my case) if you let it.

Cover Reveal! Katie Hamstead's Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh

I've got yet another book for you guys to add to your readerly exploits! Katie Hamstead is set to release her book Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh April 30th by Curiosity Quills Press, and I've got the cover and blurb ready for you guys! Be sure to add it on Goodreads and check out Katie's blog for more information on Kiya and her other writerly exploits!

To save her younger sisters from being taken to the cruel life of the palace, Naomi intervenes and gives herself to be a wife of the erratic Pharaoh Akhenaten.

In the palace, Naomi finds herself thrust into the intrigues of the royal family, and has her name changed to Kiya. She becomes beloved by the Pharaoh, who declares that she will bear him his heir. But the Great Queen Nefertiti, furious with jealousy, schemes to destroy Naomi and even brings her fidelity into question, which could cost Naomi her very life.

Naomi must play the deadly game carefully. She is in a silent battle of wills, and a struggle for who will one day inherit the crown. And if she does bear an heir, she will have to fight to protect him as well as herself from Nefertiti who is out for blood.

Excerpt from The Charge by Sharon Bayliss

Sharon Bayliss is a pillar in the indie author community. Her work with The Haunted Writing Clinic & Contest and organizing multiple blog tours for indie authors of all walks is inspiring to say the least. And now her new book, The Charge, is available for purchase and I could not be more excited. The cover looks amazing, the blurb fantastic, and the excerpt I am about to share is bound to hook you! I'm still trying to scroll down and find the rest of it. To save you that trouble, you can find The Charge available for purchase at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

When King of the Texas Empire kidnaps Warren's brother, Warren embarks into a still Wild West to save him. On his journey, he makes a discovery that changes his life forever—he and his brother are long-lost members of the Texas royal family and the King wants them both dead. 

He gets help from an activist Texan named Lena, who's itching to take on the King and happens to be a beautiful firecracker Warren can't stay away from. Convincing her he's not one of the bad guys becomes harder when a mysterious energy stirs in his body, turning his brain into a hive of emotions and memories—not all his own.

A legacy of violence is not all he inherited from the brutal Kings of Texas. The myth that the royal family possesses supernatural powers may not be myth at all.

Gone are the days when choosing a major was a big deal. Now Warren must save his brother and choose whether or not to be King, follow a King, or die before he can retire his fake ID. 

 Excerpt:

Will Cole sat on the couch and put his head between his knees. He listened carefully for the sounds of the elevator so he would have time to compose himself before the door opened. He figured all guys feared introducing their girlfriend to their mother. But not all guys had the President of the United States for a mother, and a girlfriend on the terrorism watch list.

He heard the sounds of the elevator moving closer and before the ding sounded, Will stood and posed with a smile. His girlfriend, Lena Lowell, along with several armed members of the Secret Service, exited the elevator. Apparently not fazed by the small army around her, Lena approached Will and kissed him like they had met at a café for brunch.

"You look really pretty," Will said.

"Is this outfit okay?" She brushed invisible dust off the shoulder of a royal blue dress that hugged her curves pleasantly. The blue made the ample helping of red in her blonde hair look brighter.

"It's perfect. I hope it wasn't too expensive. I didn't know you were going to buy something new. You should have told me, I would have bought it for you."

"Well, I wasn't going to wear a Texas Freedom T-shirt."

Will eyed the guards cautiously, but they didn't react. Secret Service knew all about her affiliation with the radical Texas Freedom Campaign, but he wished she would let the elephant in the room sit quietly.

"Besides, you know how I feel about you buying me things." She leaned close to him. "You're nervous. You have those little red patches at the base of your neck that you get when you're nervous."

Will rubbed his neck. He hated having a tell. The guards must have gotten some instruction in their earpieces that Will couldn't hear, because they re-entered the elevator with a sudden lack of concern for the possible terrorist in the President's private quarters.

Will wouldn't miss the White House. Living in the most securely protected home in the United States made it hard to have any fun. The same army of guards that kept invaders out had also kept Will in a painful state of good behavior. And if he did manage to sneak past them, an even more frightening army of paparazzi waited outside. He had just turned eighteen, and would move out in the fall to begin college. It couldn't come soon enough.

He might live in the White House again one day, but when he did, the Secret Service guards would work for him.

"I'm not worried," Will said. "You and my mother actually have a lot in common. I'm sure you'll get along great."

"That would be a little creepy if I thought it were true," Lena said.

Will's phone vibrated against his leg and he jumped.

The word Mom flashed on his phone.

"She's not coming," Will said. He let out an audible sigh of relief.

"How do you know? You didn't even answer it yet," Lena asked.

The low, gruff voice on the other line surprised Will. "Mr. Cole?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Everett Ward, Secret Service. Your mother regrets that she cannot attend lunch with your lady friend. She is preparing to make a statement."

"About what? Did something happen?"

"She asked me to tell you not to worry. Everything will be okay."

"What's going on?"

"Just turn on the television."

"Which channel?"

"All of them. Good afternoon to you, sir."

Guest Post: A Peak Inside the World of Disciple by L. Blankenship

Today we've got another stop on the Disciple: Part II blog tour. L. Blankenship is popping by to give us some insight into the world she built for the world of the Disciple series. She's here to discuss medicine in her fantasy world. Without further ado, I'll leave it to L. Blankenship to show you guys the ropes of medicinal world building! Be sure to check out her book on Amazon (for the Kindle or paperback), Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and Kobo.

Primitive First Aid

Let's say you're building a fantasy world with a pre-industrial level of technology. Let's say you don't want to rely on healing magic to patch your characters up when they get into trouble. This post aims to help get your brain burbling about what your characters will need.

What do people in your fantasy world know about medicine? What misconceptions are they carrying around? That's up to you. There are, however a number of things which it's quite reasonable for even primitive people to know about when it comes to treating injuries.

Cleanliness and health

General cleanliness is one of the easiest ways to improve one's health -- and one of the most variable aspects of a pre-industrial world. Is being clean considered important, in that culture? Do most people have access to soap and water? How long does it take to heat water, or must they settle for cold baths? Are they healthy enough to not catch a fever from taking cold baths?

Do most people get enough to eat? Is it fairly nutritionally balanced? Where can they get vitamins when fruit and veggies are out of season?

First aid kit

What's reasonable to put in a pre-industrial first aid kit?

Clean bandages, whether rags, hemmed fabric, or custom-woven. Two or three inches wide and maybe two feet long.

Curved needles and suturing thread. The thread can be any number of things: catgut (made from sheep intestines, actually) has been used since antiquity as a naturally absorbing (though it may also be scar-producing) suture. Silk was also popular, where it was available. Wool can be used, too. Those stitches will need to be removed later, though.

Scissors/shears. Primitive scissors tend to look more like shears.

Scalpel. The smallest, finest blade that blacksmiths can manage.

Tweezers. How fine-nosed they are will depend on the smiths.

Person should know how to set a bone, pop a joint back in, lance an abscess, and stitch wounds.

Also include a wound-cleaning method (see next point)

Simple ways to clean a wound

Whether your people even realize a wound needs cleaning is an entirely different argument. But assuming you've worked that out, bear in mind that none of these are as effective as modern topical antibiotic creams, rubbing alcohol or iodine, but they will increase the survivability of a wound. Which of these is most appropriate for your characters to have at hand depends on technology, environment, and cost.

Soap and water

Vinegar

Distilled alcohol

Witch hazel

Not Helpful

Should we pour boiling wine on the wound? Let's look at this logically: modern table wine is up to 14% alcohol, so it's 86% water. Alcohol boils at a lower temperature than water does, so by the time wine starts to boil the alcohol content has already dropped. So then you pour this boiling liquid onto an open wound and add a burn to your list of problems. You've now definitely killed the tissue around your wound, making it more hospitable to invading bacteria -- and giving your body more healing to do. Great idea.

Which does not mean that people won't do this, of course. There's a long history of medical practices that did at least as much harm as good, out there. But the writer should know the truth, as much as possible.

There's magical healing in my novel Disciple, but when the magic runs out they fall back on primitive medical techniques to keep their patients alive. Kate is a physician, so she is right in the thick of the stitching and bone-setting, but all the gore she sees is because she's there to help.

Back cover of Disciple, Part II

The prince first kissed Kate Carpenter for fear of missing the chance if they didn’t survive the journey home through the monster-prowled mountains.

Now that kiss seems like a fever dream. It’s back to work for her, back to the fellow physicians jealous of her talents and the sneers of an infirmary director who wants her shipped off to some tiny village. Kate means to be on the front lines to save lives. She’s worked too hard to overcome her past to let them deny her the chance to serve her homeland when the enemy’s army reaches their kingdom.

The grand jousting tournament is a chance to prove she can manage combat wounded, and at the royal Solstice banquet Kate means to prove she isn’t an ignorant peasant girl anymore.

But the prince’s kiss still haunts her. Their paths keep crossing, and the easy familiarity they earned on the journey home is a welcome escape from their duties. It’s a small slip from chatting to kisses.

This is no time to be distracted by romance -- a vast and powerful empire is coming to slaughter anyone standing between them and the kingdom’s magical fount.

Kate ought to break both their hearts, for duty’s sake.

Disciple, Part II on sale now

along with Disciple, Part I

at all major online retailers

More information, updates, and extras at Disciple of the Fount

Sample of Part I • Sample of Part II

Disciple, Part III coming in late 2013

Disciple is complete in six parts and will make a lovely doorstop

when all 400k words have been published.

Goodreads links:

Disciple, Part I • Disciple, Part II

Disciple Part II Excerpt

L. Blankenship has been busy at work since she last stopped by the blog for her Disciple Part I tour. How busy? Busy enough to have already cranked out Disciple Part II! Today, I have an excerpt from the book to share with you guys. On the 10th, L. Blankenship will be here to discuss medicine in the world of Disciple. Until then, check out Part II at Amazon (for the Kindle or paperback), Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, and Kobo.

The prince first kissed Kate Carpenter for fear of missing the chance if they didn’t survive the journey home through the monster-prowled mountains.

Now that kiss seems like a fever dream. It’s back to work for her, back to the fellow physicians jealous of her talents and the sneers of an infirmary director who wants her shipped off to some tiny village. Kate means to be on the front lines to save lives. She’s worked too hard to overcome her past to let them deny her the chance to serve her homeland when the enemy’s army reaches their kingdom.

The grand jousting tournament is a chance to prove she can manage combat wounded, and at the royal Solstice banquet Kate means to prove she isn’t an ignorant peasant girl anymore.

But the prince’s kiss still haunts her. Their paths keep crossing, and the easy familiarity they earned on the journey home is a welcome escape from their duties. It’s a small slip from chatting to kisses.

This is no time to be distracted by romance -- a vast and powerful empire is coming to slaughter anyone standing between them and the kingdom’s magical fount.

Kate ought to break both their hearts, for duty’s sake. 

Excerpt:

After spending the day debriefing the king on the results of their mission, Prince Kiefan leads Kate into a quieter part of the castle...

He still held my hand. No voices, nobody nearby to see us. I swallowed a nervous lump in my throat, wondering where he meant to take me. And what he meant to do there. Surely I didn’t have to worry whether anyone would hear me scream… was there anything he could do that I’d need to?

My cheeks warmed.

Slim pillars held up a graceful stone arcade. Between them, we walked onto frost-burnt grass. A gnarled apple tree, leaves golden and half fallen to the ground, stood ringed by a waist-high juniper hedge. Beyond, the castle wall rose sheer and seamless. To either side, the watchtowers bulged from its face and spiked up like smooth horns. I had to crane my neck to find the tips, and in doing spotted the catwalks that connected each tower to the roof of Castle Kaltkern. The garden lay below the keep, hemmed in by saint-cut cliffs on both sides.

A crescent garden, I saw now. To either side, more fruit trees dropped their leaves, and the rose bushes had gone bare for the winter, but the juniper hedges held their green. Under the central apple tree waited a broad wooden bench. By my hand, still warm in his grip, Kiefan led me toward it and a tangle of hopes and fears snapped tight around my heart.

He didn’t sit, though. He stood under the tree and looked up. “Sometimes I can get some quiet here,” he said. “When Mother isn’t seeking solitude herself.”

I looked up, too, into golden leaves and dark branches. Blue, beyond. “It must be lovely in the spring.” I could imagine the trees hazed by white blossoms.

“And in the summer, when the roses are out, the scent hangs like a fog between the walls.”

He still held my hand. My nerves eased, I sidled closer to his shoulder. He smelled of sweat, under his layered woolens. “You spent the afternoon at swordplay?”

He nodded, bringing his gaze down to me. “I thought he would send for the captain, but Woden tossed me a sparring sword himself. I nearly dropped it when he chose one and stood at guard.”

“You sparred with a saint?”

Kiefan shook his head, disbelieving it himself. “I saw him spar with Captain Aleks, once. She said it was her most valuable lesson.”

“You lived to tell. You didn’t ask him to give you quarter?” I risked a smile.

A chuckle. “He gave none, that’s true. I won’t know how many bruises I have until morning, I’m sure.” He tugged out the collar of his cote to feign checking inside. “We spoke about the lamia, and he told me I was using my kir to keep their teeth off me despite the close quarters. The beginnings of a kir-shield. With training, I’ll be able to control it more.”

“We all learned something out there.” I looked up as a chilly breeze sent a few more leaves spinning from the branches and caught a wince on Kiefan’s brow. “Are you hurt? A headache?”

“A little.”

I knew what that meant. I put my hand on his fresh-shaven cheek and turned his head toward me to call his kir. It glowed in answer, revealing a few tangles on his meridian, but I got no further in checking him.

Kiefan leaned over and kissed me, wrapping me in both strong arms. Coaxed my mouth open to spar with his tongue. He left me breathing harder with my palm still on his face.

I combed my fingers over the ridges of his Blessing at the back of his neck and pulled him down for another. His arms tightened on me. His lips made their way to my throat and his tongue tracing the hollow there stabbed a shiver into my spine. My pulse surged.

With a hard breath, he buried his face against my neck and squeezed me till I squeaked. I clung to his shoulders, my feet lifted an inch off the ground. He held me warm and safe, despite the cold breeze.

“You must come to Prohzgrad with us,” he said against my neck. “Cure me with a kiss each night.”

I swallowed a sudden lump. “You’re going away?” I managed to ask through his grip.