Asha is the Queen of the Fey, genetically engineered immortal humans who feed on human souls to survive. But she’s running from her people. When she is found by her enemy, one of the Hunters of the Fey, she expects to die. Yet he’s oddly intrigued by her, and Asha finds herself falling in love with him, hoping she can find safety and the home she’s been seeking. Then she’s kidnapped, and everything changes.
Fallon is a Hunter. She’s looking for her long-lost sister, using an addictive drug to search through the stream of time. Her addiction leaves her dangerously exposed to her enemies but, consumed by her search, she doesn’t care…until her fellow Hunters start dying from a mysterious illness. She is torn between duty and desire, and must find an answer before they all die.
What Fallon doesn’t know is that Asha might just be the key to saving them all, if only she can find her.
And time is running out.
PLEASE NOTE that this book contains explicit language, explicit sex, and graphic violence and is not suitable for those under 18.
I feel really good about this book. I worked hard on it and I absolutely love some of the twists I came up with. Why yes, I am quite brilliant. But seriously, it feels right, you know? Like I was meant to do this and everything I’ve done ever has been leading up to this day.
Wanna hear a freaking secret?
One day I was lamenting my lack of submittable novels (this is for an agent, which has been the goal since 2008), and I was in the shower, feeling pretty depressed about it. Pirouette just wasn’t there yet, and I had more work ahead of me, and it felt so daunting.
But I had a moment of foresight. This is WAY before I even thought of self-publishing, so there’s NO way I’d ever know that I’d do this in the future. In fact, I was dead set against the idea at the time. So this thought hit me — no, more like slammed into me, I was stunned:
I will be published by the time I’m 37.
This was 3 years ago, folks. Remember, self-pubbing was not in the equation.
Well, guess what? I’m fucking 36 now. Almost 36 and a half, if you wanna get technical and split hairs.
I was RIGHT. And with all my little psychic moments (the women in my family are really psychic, no joke), it happened, all right. Just not in the way I’d planned.
But I don’t regret this at all. It’s actually the best thing for me right now. I’ve got the freedom to set my own deadlines, make everything just the way I want it, have a hand in my own cover art….and technically, self-publishing royalties are higher than with traditional publishing. Except you don’t get the advance. But that’s a fair trade-off for what I get in return. I’m very happy with this, and plan to self-publish a lot more. Possibly even Pirouette, if I can whip it into some type of shape I can live with.
Oh, book of my heart, you wound me.
I’ve kept my first proof on my desk since I received it, a constant reminder that, hey, I did this. I made that book — every word in it is mine, and I was brave enough and proud enough to put it out there. Like it or not, it’s in the wild. I hope people will enjoy it. And to date, it’s one of the funnest stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of writing.
Tomorrow, it’s Grave Touched.
I’ll leave you with a little quote I heard years ago, spoke by a deaf contestant at the Miss America pageant: (and she signed it, too):
Never give up your dreams,
Find them and make them yours,
And all through your life,
Never let them go.
Sometimes it’s not the dream itself — although that’s very important too — but the strength of a dream. The sheer determination that you will make it reality. Despite difficulties, people naysaying, despite ridicule, despite disrespect, despite the bone-crushing fatigue, despite feeling like you’re slowly moving uphill forever with no end in sight….despite harsh critiques and jealousy, despite people who just don’t get it, despite people who think you can just give it up like a bad habit, despite repeated failure. Despite losing the confidence, despite losing your way. Despite losing your muse. Despite poor health.
Despite the world seemingly out to keep you from your fragile dream. But you hold this dream in your heart, and you nourish it, keep it breathing. And you love it, and care for it, and when it’s time…you fly on the wings of that perfect dream.
And then you know it was all worth it in the end.
(Except there’s no end, because hello, more books!)
(More wings to fly with.)
And that, my friends, is victory.