Childhood Chills Story Links!

Hi, imps! Below are a list of links to the various blogs participating in the Childhood Chills Blogging Story Challenge. If you have one to share, do email the link to me, and I will add you to the list--which will probably be getting updated throughout the day.

Anne Elisabeth Stengl--THE HAG
Rohan de Silva--WHAT IF IT COMES BACK?
Jill Stengl--SUNNYSIDE
Meredith Burton--THE MONSTER THAT CAME FROM NOWHERE
Jenelle Leanne Schmidt--UNDER THE BED
Amy Green--THE DOLL WITHOUT A NAME
Ashley Willis Leakey--THE HUNT
Daniel Whyte IV--NIGHT OF THE SOUNDLESS SCREAM
Chandler Birch--PRINCE OF GRAVES
Chandler Birch--A DREAM OF SMILES


Enjoy the spookiness!

Childhood Chills: The Hag

Happy Halloween, dear imps! As promised, here is my contribution to the Childhood Chills blogging story challenge. For those of you who don't know, the challenge was to write a short story (under 2000 words) about a childhood fear . . . ending on the moment of highest tension and offering no resolution! Just like a classic ghost story. Here is my story dealing with my personal childhood monster. Enjoy!

Did you write a spooky story to share as well? If so, email me the link to your blog post (aestengl@gmail.com), and I will add your story to the list!

The Hag

By A. E. Stengl

 

She lay unmoving in her bed, and the clock clicked the red-digit minutes by, one by one. Only five minutes until midnight. She watched the clock, waiting, counting out seconds with her breaths.

Click.

Now it was four minutes to midnight. Still she dared not move.

She knew, somehow, that she must rise. She must get out of this room. It was a simple thing really. Slide her arms out from under the duvet—the heavy duvet that felt like lead atop her, but which was stuffed only with downy feathers and worked with elegant needlepoint. Slide her arms out from under the duvet, fling it back. Swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Her robe lay across the footboard. She could grab it, pull it round her shoulders. It would take only moments, and she would be out of the room, down the hall. Flicking the light switches as she went.

So simple. And yet she lay where she was.

Click. Three minutes now to midnight.

This was ridiculous. There was no reason for her to lie here, staring up at the dark ceiling above. There was no reason for her to watch from the tail of her eye as the clock ran up its tally.

And there was nothing, absolutely nothing for her to strain her ears after. No sound save for the distant susurrus of nightly traffic beyond the complex. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.

Hush. Hush. Hush.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid. What was she listening for anyway? There was only traffic. Traffic and silence. There was no breathing in the shadows beyond the footboard.

Amazing how—

Click.

Two minutes to midnight.

Amazing how the shades of evening will render a grown and rational mind childish once more. Amazing how fears, long since believed vanquished, will rise up from oblivion so soon after the sun has set.

When she was a little girl, she knew a blind hag stood at the foot of her bed each night. If she moved, even a toe, even finger, the hag would hear. The hag would turn. And then the hag would devour her. It was beyond rationality, but it was as true, as vital, as real in her brain as any other belief. As real as the changing of seasons. As real as a round earth. As real as God Himself.

As real as the count to midnight.

Click.

One minute now.

She should get up. It was such a stupid waste of time to lie here wide awake. There were things she could do with the lights on. Why not, if nothing else, put on the bedside lamp and read? It would be better than staring at the ceiling!

But the hag would see her if she moved.

There was no hag. There never was a hag. Long ago, she outgrew the hag and filed it away along with Santa Claus, fairies, and all those other childhood imaginings, both dear and dreadful. There was no hag waiting, poised, ready to turn and fix sightless white eyes upon her the moment she shifted where she lay. There was no need to hold herself rigid as a corpse.

She should turn on her light. That’s all. Nothing more. Just turn on the light. Slide her arm out, through the darkness, find the switch, and put it on. Just a light. Nothing more. Just light.

She slithered her hand out from under the duvet.

The hag turned her head at the sound.

Click. . . .

Childhood Chills: What If It Comes Back?

Didn't I promise you that Rohan had written a story to contribute to the Childhood Chills story challenge? Thus he makes his creative-writing debut! Do you have a spooky story to share as well?

What If It Comes Back?

By Rohan de Silva 

“Can’t you stay?”

His young voice desperate, Tim turned a stricken face imploringly, almost desperately, up to his father.

“Now, Tim, you’ll be just fine.” Tim’s father spoke in that tone of someone trying to be patient. “Mum will be home in fifteen minutes, and you’re perfectly safe. It’s not like you’ve never been home alone before. You’re quite old enough.”

 “But that was before . . .” Tim stopped, and his eyes widened at the too-recent memories. “What if it comes back?”

His father sighed, a resigned expression on his face, and gestured to Tim as he walked out of the living room on his way to the kitchen. “Come with me.”

Tim followed. Up the three stairs that led to the dining room, left into the pantry, and through the door into the formal kitchen. Unhappily, he walked the length of the kitchen to the back door, set between windows that were always kept open to allow the breeze to blow through the house. Tim felt the welcome draft on his face and reminded himself that he did now live in a tropical country. The open windows were necessary for cooling the house, since there was no air-conditioning in these older houses.

“See?” His father drummed his fingers against the fine metal mesh on the windows. Tim hadn’t noticed the mesh as his view of one window was partially obscured by the refrigerator, and the other window was beyond the sink and the drying rack which was piled high with clean plates, bowls and dishes, just needing to be put away. No doubt he would be asked to do that later this afternoon . . . another, albeit less unhappy thought.

“Nothing’s getting through that,” Tim’s father said confidently, tapping the mesh a last time. Then, glancing at his watch, he steered Tim back out to the living room. “Now you just go on playing with your Legos, and Mum will be home soon.” So saying, he ruffled his son’s hair.

Then he was gone.

Tim looked dismally at the Legos in front of him then warily behind him toward the kitchen. The mesh would be fine. The mesh was good.

There wasn’t mesh before, when it had gotten in.

He had seen its tail out of the corner of his eye, disappearing behind the sideboard in the dining room, and wondered if he had imagined it. He had gone to investigate only to discover, to his horror, that it was really there! He had screamed, flown up the stairs and stood shivering and peering down from there as his father and mother, armed with brooms and yells, had chased it out. His father had said it probably wasn’t even one of the poisonous ones. As if this was something to be pleased about!

Tim glanced at the clock. It had only been five minutes since his father had left, yet it felt like days. He pawed listlessly at his toys, sneaking glances every now and then over his shoulder.  He was just beginning to develop a story for his Lego men, when he heard it.

It wasn’t loud.

It could have been a tree outside, its branches and leaves rustling in a sudden gust of wind.

He decided that must be it, and went on playing.

A small clang sounded from the kitchen. No doubt one of the utensils had slipped off the drying rack. With the way his father liked to pile them up when he did the washing, it was a wonder that they didn’t all slip and fall.

Tim glanced at the clock. Only five minutes more and his mother should be getting home. There was no need for him to go to the kitchen to check, was there? No, no need at all.

Crash!

The initial sound was followed by a long drawn out dissonance, and Tim could see in his mind’s eye the round metal serving tray falling from the drying rack, hitting the floor, rolling, and finally making those little wobbling adjustments; like a coin hitting the floor and taking its time to come to rest. The awful noise continued for ages, it seemed to him, until finally, all was deathly still.

He had to look. It would be better to go see. Better to prove to himself that it was only his father’s bad placing of the cutlery and crockery. Nothing more. Better not to think about the fact that those same plates and bowls had been sitting there since this morning.

Not to think about the fact that something might have knocked them off.

He peered around the corner.  There was the round metal tray, lying in the middle of the kitchen. A few more steps. There was the spatula, lying close to the sink. From this angle, he could clearly see the window beyond the refrigerator. All looked well.

He took a few more steps in, and bent to pick up the plate. As he straightened up, he glanced beyond the sink, beyond the drying rack to the window on that side of the room.

There was a hole in the mesh.

Interview Feature: Jessica Greyson

Dear imps, you know I'm always on the lookout for new novelists--fantasy, YA, or just plain fun--to feature on this blog. Well, a little while back, I started seeing a pretty cover cropping up here and there across the blogging world. Then, a few weeks ago, I happened to exchange emails with the authoress who wrote the story behind that pretty cover. And I thought, hey! Why not introduce her and her work to all of you?

So allow me to present the author of Annabeth's War, Jessica Greyson.



Jessica Greyson, a homeschool graduate loves words, first as a hungry reader, and now as a passionate writer. She seeks to write for the glory of God, and be the writer He has called her to be. When she is not writing, Jessica is daydreaming, serving coffee and lattes at her job—while people watching, spending time with her wonderful family, taking pictures, listening to music, and trying to keep up with all of her amazing friends.

You can learn more about Jessica and her books at
jessicagreysonauthor.blogspot.com or her personal rambles at safirewriter.blogspot.com.

And here is that pretty book cover I mentioned!


With King Harold away at war Lord Raburn has his eye on the throne. Those who dare to stand in his way fall beneath his power. All but one. A girl named Annabeth. Can a commong, ordinary girl, with love for king, country, and her father, achieve the impossible?

Trained by her father, a master swordsman, outlawed Annabeth has only her sword, her wits, and her disguises to keep Belterra from falling entirely into Lord Raburn's  clutches. Can she rescue her captured father and Prince Alfred? Will one girl keep the kingdom from falling?

 I hope you'll enjoy this interview an a chance to learn a little more about Jessica and her work. And be certain to check out the fun giveaway she's offering at the end of this feature!

Interview

 

Welcome, Jessica! To break the ice, how about telling us a little about yourself? What’s your favorite hobby? Introvert or extrovert? Any pets? Coffee or tea?

 

Jessica: Writing and reading are certainly on the top of the hobby list. Though currently, I am dabbling a little in watercolor painting, alongside my graphic art business. Definitely, in introvert, though I’ve picked up some extrovert tendencies from my family.

 

I’ve always loved animals and wanted to keep a menagerie but those plans never quite worked out. We have one dog. Bridget, a West Highland Terrier, who is adored by all and keeps us entertained with her squirrel hunting antics.

 

Tea if you please, with two lumps of sugar and some cream, or a chai tea always hits the spot.

 

What led you into the writing life? Were you always a storyteller?

 

Jessica: I’ve always been a story lover, and would lay awake at night inventing stories for myself or acting them out with my dolls and stuffed animals in the dark. (I have been a night owl since I was a wee thing). I came into voracious reading a little later than most of my friends, but once I fell in I was hooked for life. Writing came later, and I started scribbling my first stories in earnest around age twelve. I asked God for something to do, something I could do all of my life for Him and He called me to be His ready writer and my books have been the result of that call.

 

Tell us a little about your debut novel, Annabeth’s War. How long did you work on this story? How did the idea come to you? Is it part of a series?

 

Jessica: Annabeth's War is a stand-alone novel at present. It is the result of an old story spark reigniting with a twist and the passion to portray a strong heroine, who still retained her feminine side.

 

The whole process for Annabeth's War to come into full-fledged book, from first words to published finish, took 23 months.

 

Can you pick a favorite character from this story?

 

Jessica: Oh, it's really difficult to choose. I love Annabeth for who she is, and Ransom for who he becomes.

 

 

What inspires your work? Where do you turn when you need a renewal of inspiration? 

 

Jessica: There are a wide variety of things I like to glean from. Movies, reading other peoples works, music, pictures, being creative in a different artistic mediums, or simply a day off. No writing, no word count no perfection just a day of living and being with the people I love sometimes is the best place for renewal and finding inspiration. The other day my family took a trip to a waterfall we’d never been to, and as my sister (who is aspiring to write) and I climbed up into a rock crevice behind the waterfall we started talking about how we could use it in a story.

 

 

What are your favorite and least favorite parts of the writing process?

 

Jessica: My favorite is the spark of a new story. Fresh words and characters tumbling from my fingertips.

 

The least favorite is probably editing, and saying goodbye to my characters for the last time.

 

If you were forced to pick a single favorite author, who would it be?

 

Jessica: Without it doubt it would be Elizabeth Ender. Though she only has only one work out, I have had the privilege of reading some of her yet to be published works. She has a way of creating characters, worlds, and touching heart issues as I have yet to find in another author. Her writing has touched my life and inspired me in a way no one else has.

 

 

So what is next on your publishing horizons? Can we look forward to a sequel to

Annabeth’s War? Or do you have something completely new in the works?

 

Jessica:

Captive of Raven Castle, is the next book slotted to be published, hopefully releasing sometime in November. It’s along similar lines as Annabeth’s War, being in the Middle Ages, and a struggle between kings, and it is a standalone novel.

 

What are you actively writing right now?

 

Jessica: Its work in progress title is Becoming Hannah, and is the sequel to Sufficient Grace the next book I’ll be working on publishing once Captive of Raven Castle is happily established. It’s a change up in genres as I go from being in the middle ages to out west in the 1800’s.

 

Would you share a short snippet from Annabeth’s War?

 

Jessica: I would be delighted to!

 

Snippet from

Annabeth's War

 

 

Ransom rolled over to face her. “You are making a mistake.”

“I am saving your life,” she said, sinking his dagger deep into the tree above her head and well out of his reach. Then, taking his sword belt, she climbed up into the tree and hung it also out of reach before dropping to the ground.

Ransom glared at her and a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Godspeed to you, sir. May He keep you and your noble sword safe. Thank you for everything you did, but I cannot accept your help. This is my war and I must live or die by the results.” 

 

 

Thank you so much Anne Elisabeth!

 

_____________

 

You're very welcome, Jessica!

 

And now, dear imps, Jessica is offering a print copy of Annabeth's War to one lucky winner. Be sure to enter your name below, and take time to congratulate Jessica on this wonderful new story!

 

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/0cd52418/" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway



A Numb Sort of Happiness

I just typed, "The End."

It's not really the end. In some ways, it's still just the beginning. There will be rewrites, line edits, revisions, type-settings, more line edits, typo-checks, more revisions, more edits, formatting, and so forth. There will be times when I love it, and times when I absolutely despise it.

And then it will go out to the reading public, who will also love and despise it. And I can't control one any more than the other.

But for the moment, I'm not going to think about that. I'm going to look (not too closely, 'cause I'm not ready for revisions) at the enormity of this manuscript which is now written. Not finished, perhaps. But written. Beginning, middle, and "the end."

As many of you know, I proclaimed this last week "Crazy Week," because I was determined to meet my deadline and finish this manuscript by the end of October. Would it have hurt anything to creep a little into November? No. Not really.

Well. Maybe actually.

When I sat on the brink of Crazy Week, looking ahead at what all had to be done before I could call this draft complete, I realized something. I would never be ready to write those last chapters. I would never be ready to write that climax or figure out that resolution. It was too big. Too hard. We're not talking epic here. I've done epic. I've done epic in my sleep. I can handle epic.

We're talking cosmic.

We're talking Marduk and Tiamat--but I am no ancient Babylonian poet.

We're talking Paradise Lost--but I am no Milton.

We're talking concepts and images and themes I barely understand, and definitely do not feel qualified to write. So, last Sunday, I faced the big moment: I must either take the plunge, not waiting for that elusive muse of inspiration, and write what I am not prepared to write . . . or I pack up and call it quits.

It's been very tempting many times to call it quits with this book. It's by far the longest and most complicated story I've ever written, aside from that cosmic climax. And besides all of that, this book will be published by a new house. That's right, dear imps . . . I will no longer be a Bethany House author after Shadow Hand, but will be publishing book 7 through a new venue.

And that venue hasn't even been decided yet, nor even a specific release date. I hope to release this story to the reading public by autumn 2014, and if all goes as I currently anticipate, that will still happen. But I don't know. Not for certain. Probably won't know until the end of this year. In the meanwhile, I must wait.

And wait, and wait.

Anyway, all of that to say Crazy Week has come to its end. I have clocked in a total of 35,000 words in one week, which might be a new record for me. Rohan says we should celebrate with cake. I would be all right with that.

Okay, technically, this is still a secret, since I don't even know the release date yet . . . but I really want to celebrate with you guys too! So I'm going to go ahead and give you the title and teaser for this story early:

 

What do you think? Does it look like something you might like to read?

The Last Enchanter Blog Tour!

Welcome to the official blog tour for 

THE LAST ENCHANTER, 

Book II of The Celestine Chronicles, 

a fun-filled fantasy adventure series for middle grade readers!  

_______________________________________________________________

In Book I, THE ROCK OF IVANORE, enchanter's apprentice Marcus Frye and five other boys set out on a dangerous journey to locate the Rock of Ivanore and bring it back to their village.

In THE LAST ENCHANTER, months have passed since they succeeded in

their quest. One of the boys, Kelvin, is living as royalty in Dokur,

and Marcus is studying magic with Zyll. When Lord Fredric is murdered and Kelvin

becomes king, the Enchanter Zyll and Marcus head for Dokur in hopes of protecting Kelvin from

meeting the same fate, though it quickly becomes apparent that none of them are

safe, and Marcus has had disturbing visions of Zyll's death. With the help of

his old friends Clovis and Bryn, joined by new friend Lael, a feisty girl in

search of her mother, Marcus uncovers a powerful secret that will change the

course of his life forever.

In addition to THE LAST ENCHANTER being released on OCTOBER 15th in hardback, THE ROCK OF IVANORE is also now available in paperback! Both titles can be purchased at bookstores nationwide and online at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and Indiebound. They are available as E-books, too.

To celebrate the release of her newest book, author Laurisa White Reyes is giving away a brand new 16 GB NOOK HD!!!  Details on how to enter the giveaway can be found at the end of this post. In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt from THE LAST ENCHANTER followed by an interview with the author, Laurisa White Reyes.

Laurisa's Website

Laurisa's Blog

Facebook

Twitter 

 

EXCERPT from THE LAST ENCHANTER

 

 

Marcus waited until he heard Zyll turn the lock in his door

before heading back down the corridor. Zyll had told him to do what he thought

was best, and that’s exactly what he would do.

He passed several armed sentries, one at every door, as he

made his way through the lower level of the Fortress. Kelvin was determined not

to let the Agoran rebels get inside again. Maybe Marcus shouldn’t worry about

his brother. With all these guards around, Kelvin was far safer than Fredric

must have been. Still, he deserved to know how their grandfather died. Secrets

had nearly destroyed Marcus and Kelvin’s relationship during their quest eight

months ago. There would be no secrets between them ever again.

Marcus didn’t want to go back to the dining room. Kelvin and

Jayson were probably still arguing over dinner, and what Marcus had to say was

private anyway. He would go instead to Kelvin’s council chambers and wait for

him there.

Other than the sentries, the interior of the Fortress was

quiet. Most of the servants had already retired to their rooms for the night.

Marcus hurried across the vast entry hall toward the east alcove where the

offices were located. He had made it halfway when he suddenly had the feeling

that he was not alone.  He turned and

looked behind him, but there was no one beside the guard standing at the

Fortress’s main door. The light from several oil lamps left the corners of the

room hidden in darkness. Someone could easily conceal himself in one.

This is silly, Marcus thought. I’m letting my mind play

tricks on me. Still, he walked the rest of the way as fast as he could without

actually running.

The door to Kelvin’s council chambers stood just inside a

narrow alcove. To Marcus’s surprise, the sconces on the wall were not lit. The

alcove was dark except for a weak glow from the lanterns in the great

hall.  He had expected to find a guard

here, too, but the alcove was empty—or was it?

Near the door to Kelvin’s chambers Marcus saw a large, dark

clump of something on the floor. He approached cautiously and touched it with

his foot.  An arm fell forward, hitting

the floor with a dull thump. Marcus stepped back, his breath quickening. The

dark clump was a sentry. In the dim light, Marcus couldn’t tell if he was

unconscious or dead.

Behind him, Marcus heard the sound of footsteps which

stopped abruptly.

“Hello?” Marcus called out hoping it was one of the other

guards. “There’s a man here,” he said. “I think he’s hurt!”

When no one replied, Marcus realized once again that his

imagination was running away with him. But he did need to find help for the

sentry. He was about to leave when he heard a new sound coming from inside the

chambers: an unmistakable rattle as if something had fallen and rolled across

the floor.

Marcus stepped over the guard’s body and took hold of the

door handle. Slowly he turned it, pushing open the door just an inch.

Candlelight spilled through the narrow crack into the alcove. Marcus saw now

that the sentry’s eyes were open, staring dully up at nothing. He was most

certainly dead. And Marcus suspected that whoever was inside the room had done

it.

Pushing the door open a little further, Marcus stepped

inside. Large tapestries hung floor to ceiling against the walls. Three stories

above, the stained glass ceiling looked like a patchwork of black and gray.

Charred remains of a log stood cold in the fireplace, though six candles burned

in an ornate candelabra beside Kelvin’s desk. On the floor lay an ink bottle,

dark liquid trailing from it like a tail. This must be what had made the noise.

Marcus bent to pick it up. The glass bottle felt warm to the touch.

The air in the room was chill. So why would the bottle be so

warm? Someone must have been holding it, Marcus thought, but who?

As he set the bottle back on the desk, he noticed movement

from the corner of his eye. A tapestry fluttered ever so slightly. Marcus’s

heart raced. He reached for his knife, but then remembered he had left it in

his room for he had thought he was just going to talk to Kelvin. What would he

have needed it for? He reached for the tapestry with trembling fingers and

jerked it aside, but the only thing behind it was a bare wall.

All of sudden, something heavy hit him from behind. Sharp

pain exploded across his shoulders, and Marcus’s face smashed into the wall. He

felt drops of hot blood trickle onto his lips. Licking them, he tasted copper,

and he wondered if the loud crack he’d heard had been his back breaking or

something else. He turned and saw Kelvin’s chair in pieces behind him on the

floor. Someone had thrown it at him! He had only a second to think before

something else came flying at him, but this time it was a man.

The man yelled. Marcus caught the glint of a blade in his

hand just before it came down on him. Marcus twisted away just in time, the

blade grating instead against the stone wall. But the man did not stop. He

sliced his dagger wildly in every direction. Marcus jumped and slid his way

across the room, doing his best avoid the attacks. The man was slender, almost

frail-looking, and yet was surprisingly fast and strong. He lunged at Marcus,

not with the dagger, but with a set of blood-stained claws extended for the

kill. It wasn’t a man at all, Marcus realized. It was an Agoran.

Marcus grabbed the candelabrum. As he swung it in an arc,

the candles flew off. Two went out as they hit the floor, but the other four

stilled burned, casting long, unnatural shadows onto the tapestries. One lit

the corner of a tapestry on fire, the flames soon licking the woven patterns

like a hungry snake. The candelabrum hit the attacker with a force that would

have knocked most men to their knees, but this one didn’t even flinch. When the

Agoran took hold of it, Marcus expected him to yank it out of his hands. Instead

he thrust it forward, pushing Marcus off balance. He fell onto his back,

sending a fresh tremor of pain through him. A second later, the attacker was on

top of Marcus, holding the point of a blade to his throat. Damp tendrils of

long, shaggy hair clung to his face. His pupils, narrow like a cat’s, peered at

Marcus, recognition slowly dawning.  The

Agoran and Marcus stared at each other, both remembering the day months earlier

when they had first met.

Just then the door to the chamber flew open. A guard rushed

in, his sword raised. Behind him came Kelvin and Jayson. The Agoran leapt off

of Marcus and crossed the room in half a breath’s time. The guard ran after

him, but the Agoran tore the burning tapestry free from the wall and flung it

at him. The guard screamed in pain as fire engulfed his uniform. The tapestry

dropped to the floor, the flames trapping the Agoran at the back of the room.

Marcus managed to roll clear of it, though he felt his skin blistering with the

heat and smelled the guard’s scorched flesh.

Jayson ripped the burning fabric from the guard’s body as

Kelvin picked up his fallen sword. Kelvin slashed at the tapestry, trying to

make a path through the fire. As he broke through, Marcus looked up to see what

would happen next, but to his and everyone’s surprise, the Agoran was gone.

 INTERVIEW w/ LAURISA WHITE REYES

What books influenced you most when you were growing up?

My favorite series for years was the TRIXIE

BELDEN MYSTERIES. I still have the entire set of books in a box in my

garage. Some of my other favorites included ROBINSON CRUSOE, OF MICE AND

 MEN, GONE WITH THE WIND, WUTHERING HEIGHTS and ROOTS.  Heavy duty stuff

 for a kid, I know, but I loved them. Still do. As an adult I learned

more about writing from Dan Brown (THE DAVINCI CODE, ANGELS &

DEMONS) than anyone else. He is a master of suspense, every chapter a

cliffhanger so that you just can’t put his books down. Period. And I

love how he weaves multiple points of view together until they all

collide at the end. I wish I could write like that.

What gave you the idea for your book series The Celestine Chronicles?

I’ve always enjoyed reading to my kids at

night before they go to bed. When my oldest son was about 8 years old,

he asked me to make up a story instead of read one. So I told him about

an enchanter’s apprentice who botched his spells. Each night my son

would tell me what he wanted to hear that night, whether it was dragons,

 or magic, or sword fighting, and I’d weave it into the story.

Eventually I started writing it down. A year later I had a completed

manuscript of THE ROCK OF IVANORE. I wrote THE LAST ENCHANTER two years later.

What is your writing day like?

I don't have a typical writing day. As a mom of five kids, I actually have very little time to write. Years ago I used to stay up late at night to write, but I now I try to wake up an hour before the kids do and get a little work done then. On a good day I might write 1,000 words -- the equivalent of about 5 printed pages.

Who are your favorite characters in THE LAST ENCHANTER?

That's a tough question. While I like all the characters (I wouldn't write a character I couldn't like) Lael is new to this book. She wasn't in Book I. Lael is Marcus's age but wasn't included in the original quest because she is a girl. She really proves herself, though. While the boys use swords and bows and arrows, Lael is adept with the sling. Also, Bryn (the Groc who parades around in the form of a little boy) is particularly fond of her. And any friend of Bryn is a friend of mine.

Will there be a book III in The Celestine Chronicles?

Yes. The Seer of the Guilde is tentatively slated for 2015. However, in the meantime, I am working on the parallel series called The Crystal Keeper, which chronicles Jayson's years in exile in Hestoria. Anyone interested in the story of Jayson and Ivanore will want to read it. In the meantime, I hope everyone will enjoy THE LAST ENCHANTER.

 

GIVEAWAY TIME!!!

Laurisa White Reyes, author of THE LAST ENCHANTER, 

is giving away a brand new 

16 GB NOOK HD!!!  

There are many ways to win:

1) Take a pic of you and your copy of THE LAST ENCHANTER - post it on the web (Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, a website, etc.) and email the link to:  laurisawhitereyes(at)yahoo(dot)com

2)  Follow Laurisa's blog and/or Facebook page

3) Tweet about this giveaway

4) Leave a comment below

The winner will be chosen at random via Rafflecopter. 

To enter the giveaway, fill out the form below. 

U.S. residents only, please.  

This giveaway will end on November 6th. 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway