UPDATE: The winner is…Dana Zamora!
Spring has sprung—at least here in Northwest Georgia! The flowers are going crazy. There’s green as far as the eye can see, and of course, the yellow haze of pine pollen coats everything. We’re joyfully wheezing and sneezing our way through the days with runny eyes and runny noses as we embrace the wonder of spring.
Here on the farm, spring means BABIES! Our first calf dropped last night—a little late, but better late than never. We have four new chicks that will augment our four old ladies who supply us with eggs. Piglets should be coming in another few weeks. The energy of spring is like nothing else. It just lifts your soul when you walk among new life, full of possibility and hope.
I think creating a story is like that too. It starts as a baby idea, a kernel of thought. Then, it starts to grow, sometimes not even consciously, until it defines itself. Sometimes, it rises in my brain, fully formed with crystal clear images and parades around like a gaudy Vegas side-show until I give it my attention. Other times, it whispers and nags, slipping into my dreams as half-formed ghosts, only revealing itself clearly when I focus solely on it.
Then, the magic starts. Just like that buzzing lift of spring, the story takes root and blooms—and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. It’s why I’m shamelessly addicted to writing! Like any infant, you don’t know what it will be when it grows up, but breathing life into a story is like experiencing spring over and over!
One of my book babies releases today! Thank you, Delilah, for letting me drop by and celebrate with you wonderful folks!
Pure Magic Contest
I’m offering a giveaway of an ebook copy of Pure Magic, a multi-author anthology that features my story—Hecate’s Hand-Me-Downs. To enter, leave a comment about your favorite part of spring! I’ll pick a winner on May 1st!
Hecate Rigby wants nothing to do with magic or being the witch she was raised to be. But, when Cate’s forced to return to Ravensdale after her Grandmother’s death, she soon finds out her Grandma led a double life—one that will change Cate’s life forever. The Hammer of the Gods is missing, and Cate was the last one to have it. Will she step up, embrace her powers and her heritage, and find the hammer before it falls into the wrong hands and plunges the world into war?
Grab your copy here: https://books2read.com/pure-magic
Here’s an excerpt from Hecate’s Hand-Me-Downs:
Rook squawked and puffed his feathers up.
In a voice that shook the walls, he announced, “Behold, the God of the Forge.”
He flew down from his perch and landed in front of the door, bowing his head with one wing spread out to the side.
I spun around to see a man shuffle into the store and stop short of the mess. Despite his twisted legs, he towered over me and seemed to suck up all the available space. His t-shirt read ‘Save an Anvil, Bang a Blacksmith’ and stretched to its limits over his massive shoulders and muscular chest. I glanced down at his legs. His knees touched, and his pigeon toes canted in at an awkward angle.
The dichotomy of his top and bottom halves would have distracted me, but his bedroom brown eyes snagged my attention.
Goddess help me, but I’m a sucker for a brown-eyed boy.
The man wore his dark brown hair long and pulled it back in a simple ponytail gathered at the nape of his neck. His body screamed bad boy, but his eyes whispered tenderhearted dreamer.
Rook squawked and pecked my ankle. “Show some respect.”
“What?” I gave myself a little shake and put a smile on my face, reminding myself that it was bad manners to stare.
“Hello, Mistress Rigby.” He nodded at me as his gaze swept over the disarray in the shop, and his mouth turned down with a frown.
I drew a breath to launch into my ‘we’re closed’ speech, but he cut me off.
“I’ve come for the hammer. Bring it to me, please.”
The command in his voice was unmistakable, and my patience, brown eyes notwithstanding, found its end. I didn’t like his tone.
“The hammer isn’t here. A tall, beautiful, scary lady beat you to it.” I put my hands on my hips and mirrored his frown. “As you can see, we’ve had a bit of a…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say. Finally, I just said, “We’re not open.”
“Rowen Rigby, Sentinel and Guardian of the Crossroads, do not play games. I will have the Hammer of the Gods as I am its rightful owner.” The man seemed to get bigger, and his voice filled the shop.
Magic crackled in the air. Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
Rowen had not been remiss in my arcane education. I knew mythology as well as spell casting, herb lore, and healing magic. Though I hadn’t embraced the craft after leaving home as an adult, the lessons still lingered in my mind. The Hammer of the Gods, Rook’s announcement of the God of the Forge, and the man’s palpable power all came into focus. Impossible as it was, Hephaestus, Son of Hera, God of the Forge, and Olympian outsider, stood in my shop.
Stalk me (it’s not as kinky as it sounds!) for more giveaways, games, and fun: https://linktr.ee/andycarley