It's time for another exciting cover reveal, this time for the YA fantasy, The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale, by the ever talented Danielle E. Shipley. It's book one in her new series, The Outlaws of Avalon.
And now, may I present...
The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book One)
The Outlaws of Avalon trilogy is my baby, so I knew its faces had to blow me away. For Book One’s cover, there were a couple elements I for sure wanted to highlight: 1, the forest (because SHERWOOD), and 2, the lute (because Allyn-a-Dale). The rest, I mostly left up to my designers – photographer Lars van de Goor, and his son Milan.
A couple drafts later, this was the gorgeous result. The elegant swirls! The delightful rosette on the spine! Of all the darling touches – a ROBIN perched over “Ballad”s second A! And, of course, the must-have lute sitting sedately amongst the trees.
The minstrel blue, the greenwood green, the magical splash of sunlight… This cover doesn’t just say “The Ballad of Allyn-a-Dale”: Itsingsit.
Novel Summary
Welcome to Avalon, a Renaissance Faire where heroes
of legend never die. Where the Robin Hood walking the streets is truly the
noble outlaw himself. Where the knightly and wizardly players of King Arthur’s
court are in fact who they profess to be. Where the sense of enchantment in the
air is not mere feeling, but the Fey magic of a paradise hidden in plain sight.
Enter Allyn-a-Dale. The grief of his father’s death
still fresh and the doom of his own world looming, swirling realities leave the
young minstrel marooned in an immortal Sherwood Forest, where he is recruited
as a member of Robin Hood’s infamous outlaw band. But Allyn’s new life may
reach its end before it’s scarcely begun. Their existence under threat, the
Merry Men are called upon to embark on a journey to the dangerous world Outside
– ours – on a quest which must be
achieved without delay, or eternity in Avalon will not amount to very long at
all.
Excerpt:
Allyn would have known Will Scarlet for a relation
of Robin Hood’s even had he not been introduced as his cousin. Though
clean-shaven, younger, and framed by thick locks of gold tinged with the color
of his name, Will’s face was patently similar to Robin’s, with the same blue
eyes that sparkled cheerily at Allyn when the two were presented to each other.
“And
where’d you pick this fellow up, then, Robin?” he asked blithely.
“In
my tent,” replied Robin, “with Marion.”
Will’s
brows leapt toward his crimson cap’s pointed brim. “Wish I were Allyn!”
“Will…”
“Joking,
joking,” Will waved aside Marion’s halfhearted rebuke. He coughed. “…Mostly.
So, Allyn-a-Dale — looking to join the Merry Men, are you?”
“I
don’t really know,” Allyn said doubtfully. “What are the Merry Men?”
To
Allyn’s heart-thudding dismay, Will answered, “We’re an infamous band of
outlaws.”
“Not
really,” Marion hastened to jump in.
“Not
anymore,” Little John amended.
“It’s
complicated,” said Robin. “But we’re really not at liberty to tell you much
more about it until we’ve spoken to Merlin.”
“That
would be King Arthur’s chief counselor and illustrious wizard,” Will said in
answer to Allyn’s questioning expression. “He literally runs the show around
here, so—”
“No,”
said Little John, his gaze a grim weight on Will Scarlet.
“Oh,
would you chillax, you pedant?”
Will huffed, facial muscles ticking with minor irritation. “I know you think
the Outsiders have been using the word with nary a care to its meaning, of late,
but I know what ‘literally’ means, and in this case, I literally meant ‘literally’!”
The
marginal lowering of Little John’s brow silently warned what he would literally do to Will if he said that
word but once more.
“And
they’re off,” said Robin, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, Allyn, they only
bicker like this when they’re both breathing.”
Allyn’s
lips twitched toward the beginnings of a smile, but froze halfway, his mind
only just now becoming fully conscious of what he’d heard. “Robin,” he said, fighting
a sudden swell of anxiety. “Did Will just say we’re off to see a wizard?”
About the Author
Danielle E. Shipley is the author of the Wilderhark Tales novellas, the novel Inspired, and several other expressions of wishful thinking. She has spent most of her life in the Chicago area and increasing amounts of time in Germany. She hopes to ultimately retire to a private immortal forest. But first, there are stories to make.
Today I present a Fireside Chat. Our intrepid Richard Dale interviews Elizabeth Young, one of the characters of the story Date Due by Danielle E. Shipley. Date Due is included in the paranormal anthology, Beyond the Wail. Be sure to scroll down past the interview for a giveaway, book trailer, and a listing for the book's wonderful blog tour.
Fireside Chat with Elizabeth Young
“Welcome everyone, to
another Fireside Chat. I’m Richard Dale, your host. Today, our guest is writer,
Elizabeth Young.” Richard nods to the woman sitting opposite to him. “Welcome Ms. Young.It is a great pleasure to have an author of your immense talent here
today. I’m quite the fan. I’ve read most of your stories and essays, and look
forward to reading your first book.” He smiles broadly, positively gushing.
“Why don’t you begin bytelling our audience a bit about yourself.”
“Well.” Elizabeth’s brows rise, gentle black arches in a round
brown face. “Isn’t that interesting. Here I’ve thought myself to be relatively
unknown, only for your interview invitation to arrive scarcely an hour ahead of
an e-mail from a publisher expressing interest in my work. I can only suppose
an imminent change in fortune. Ahead of that, there’s little enough to tell
about me. Or perhaps it’s only that the price an author pays for the crafting
of fiction is the famine of words left to speak of themselves. Still, I have
managed to scrape together a professional bio.”
She leans back in her seat, her low voice gone huskier as
she speaks as if weaving a tale. “ ‘Elizabeth Young has not always considered
herself a writer. But from as early as she knew that words come together to
make stories, she has loved them both. She finds herself drawn to fictional
worlds where the ordinary and extraordinary live in subtle harmony –
paranormal, contemporary fantasy, anything with an underlying magic that makes
her blood sing. A current resident of the American Southwest, in the hours
between grading the papers of her community college World Literature class, she
fills her own pages with dreams.’ ”
“You are too modest. You
have many fans, myself among them.”He
smiles. “But I’m sure you want to get on
with the interview, not hear me prattle.” His expression changes slightly,
becoming more serious. “The life of a
teacher must be fulfilling.As must
be the life of a writer. Tell me, what would you most like your readers to gain
from your work?”
“Oh, nothing so grand.” Her full, red lips pull into a
slight smile. “I only wish to grant them the temporary divorce of body from
soul. These forms are so limiting, are they not? Restricting us to little more
than what we can see, taste, touch, and so forth. A good story will take you
out of yourself. Allow your spirit into others’ minds and hearts. Your world
expands, immeasurable. You live a thousand lives. That is no small magic, and
I’ve found I have the knack.”
“A great knack, I
assure you. Who are your personal inspirations and influences in the world of
literature?”
“Most anything with atmosphere, something providing a sense
of place so present, you can almost feel its nearness brushing up against your
skin. I’ve found it often enough in prose, though poetry does a fine job of it,
too; I love a thoughtful haiku – the whole of a hymn in the space of a breath.
Hmm, naming names… Francis Hodgson Burnett’s secret garden. L.M. Montgomery’s
tales of Prince Edward Island, and Tolkien’s of Middle Earth. The folklore of
Russia, Ireland, China… And Poe,” she reflects. “I have long felt drawn to
Poe.”
“Fascinating. I too,
enjoy reading Poe. Such an interesting author, with a intriguing life. And
speaking of intriguing, what is the oddest thing that has ever happened to
you?”
Elizabeth pauses to consider, her eyes on the ceiling,
nostrils softly flaring outward with every measured exhalation. A finger idly
strokes a dark twist of hair fallen over her shoulder. “Aged five or so,” she
recalls. “Visiting with my father’s parents – both of them writers, too, as it
happens. I was going through the books on their shelves, looking for words I
was just beginning to learn how to recognize. But they wouldn’t stay still on
the page. The letters shimmered and danced, seeming to drift out of alignment,
toward my hands. I was at once alarmed and bespelled.
“My father blamed ocular problems, my mother blamed
dyslexia. They allowed my grandmother to school me through much of my
adolescence; she had experienced the same phenomenon, growing up, and so knew
how to help me through until the printed word stayed where I wished it to. I’m
very grateful to her being there, to keep the experience from scaring me off of
reading. I think of her every time I come up for air from a story that’s held
me enchanted, or whenever I see a word seeming to shimmer out of the corner of
my eye. I owe her the greatest part of me.”
He leans forward, an eyebrow raised. However, as Richard is
about to reply, they are interrupted by the arrival of a gentleman carrying a
tea tray. He leans back with a smile. “Oh,
I believe it’s time for our tea break. Thank
you Jenkins.” Richard nods as Jenkins sets the tray down and waits. “Care for a cup? It’s an excellent Earl Grey.
We also have lemon cake.”
“Yes to the good Earl, if you please.” Elizabeth sits up at
attention. “I can never refuse a cup a tea.”
Jenkins pours two cups, serves both tea and cake, and then
retreats. Richard Dale takes a sip from
his cup, and asks, “As one who has
brushed the paranormal, I must broach the subject with you. What are your views
on things beyond our reality, such as magic, or ghosts?”
Elizabeth’s eyes regard him mildly over the rim of her cup,
kissed with lipstick. “I’m none too certain they are so very far beyond. An
author of fiction encounters many things, having opened their mind to
possibilities so often dismissed as unreal. For better and worse, there’s a
good deal more magic beneath the surface of things than the average person
suspects, I think.”
He sighs. “I have to
agree with you there. Strange things abound, closer than one cares to know.”
He clears his throat, and changes the subject. “On a slightly less esoteric subject, what is your idea of perfect happiness?”
A faint crease appears between her brows. “It strikes me as
unattainable. Everything comes at a cost of one kind or another, so you’ll
always come up shy of perfection.” Her lips twitch into a smile. “That’s just
something you resign yourself to after a fruitless quest to write ‘the perfect
book’. Still, I believe perfect contentment
is possible. It all comes down to whether you determine that what you’ve gained
is worth the price you’ve paid.”
“And in that vein, do
you have any hobbies to aid your contentment?”
“Outside of reading? I enjoy traveling, particularly to
places a bit off the beaten track. Walks in the woods are ever inspiring to me.
A ramble through the sequoia giants of Yosemite in early winter…” Her gaze
drifts faraway, voice turned wistful. “The trees’ breath mists same as ours, in
the cold. Tumbles from the trunks like smoke. They look like dragons.”
“What a charming
image.” Richard sets his teacup down.
“What is your most prized possession? Why do you value it so much?”
“My own person. It may not be much to look at, as bodies go,
but it is essential. It… anchors me. Provides a point of contact here, in this
world, so my spirit can wander through worlds of imagination without the worry
of drifting out of reach. For all my fondness of travel, I do like returning
home again.”
“Yes, no place like
home as they say. One last question. What would you consider to be the best
quality of human nature?”
“Its courage,” she says, without hesitation. “It takes such
bravery to be human. So much to fear. So much to dare.”
“Well thank you Ms.
Young, for agreeing to this interview. It has been a rare delight.”
“The pleasure’s been mine, Mr. Dale.” She extends a hand for
a farewell shake. “Perhaps the next time we meet, I’ll have that first novel
written.”
Richard shakes her hand warmly. “I look forward to reading it, Ms. Young, and another meeting.”
~*~
Beyond the Wail
What is it about fear and the unknown that pulls so passionately at the human heart? Perhaps we are drawn not to the darkness itself, but to the resolution, the overcoming of what we most deeply dread. After all, the more terrible the struggle, the greater the victory when it comes at last. Presented in this anthology are twelve remarkable stories of the darkness that overshadows us, and the resolution that may be found beyond them. They are stories of fear and oppression, but ultimately stories of hope, stories that will take you BEYOND THE WAIL.
Today I have an extra special treat, with the cover reveal for the seventh and final Wilderhark Tale by talented author Danielle E. Shipley. This book, The Story’s End, releases October 13, 2015, but today you get a sneak peek.
And here it is, Ta Da!
Another gorgeous cover for this series.
The Story’s End
Book Seven of The Wilderhark Tales
For Gant-o’-the-Lute, “ever after” has been less than happy. With the last of Carillon’s charm over him gone, the minstrel-king puts royalty behind him in pursuit of the music he once knew and the lifelong dream he let slip through his fingers. But dark whispers on the wind warn that time is running out – not only for Lute and the apprentice in his shadow, but the whole of earth and Sky.
An enchantress’s curse turns a spoiled royal into a beast; a princess’s pricked finger places her under a hundred-year spell; bales of straw are spun as golden as the singing harp whisked down a giant beanstalk – all within sight of Wilderhark, the forest that’s seen it all.
You’ve heard the stories – of young men scaling rope-like braids to assist the tower-bound damsel; of gorgeous gowns appearing just in time for a midnight ball; of frog princes, and swan princes, and princes saved from drowning by maidens of the sea. Tales of magic. Tales of adventure. Most of all, tales of true love.
Once upon a time, you knew them as fairytales. Know them now as Wilderhark’s.
You can check out The Story’s End at its page on Goodreads:
Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. …Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble. When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing, publishing, and all that authorial jazz, she’s probably blogging about it at www.EverOnWord.wordpress.com.
Today I'm participating in the big cover reveal for the young adult book, The Sky Child and Other Stories by Danielle E. Shipley. This book is the latest addition to The Wilderhark Tales Collection, and will be released July 7, 2015. There's also a delightful excerpt from the book, so read on and enjoy...
The Sky-Child and Other Stories (The Wilderhark Tales #6.5)
by Danielle E. Shipley
Born into a world his heart knows as beneath him, an extraordinary boy becomes a man of music, hopeful that someday he’ll find a way higher.
As the first day dawns, a world comes awake, order and disorder striking a dangerous balance.
Under the stars, a princess and tailor trade age-old lore, little dreaming of the future that could trap them in the past.
All of it in, around, and far above the timeless trees of Wilderhark, the forest whose secrets reveal themselves slowly, if ever at all.
Tales of beginnings. Tales of quests for belonging. Most of all, tales of true love.
Once upon a time, you knew something of Wilderhark’s tales. Now for the stories that fall in between.
The Sky-Child and Other Stories
A Wilderhark Tales Collection
You can find The Sky-Child and Other Stories on Goodreads
EXCERPT FROM THE SKY-CHILD AND OTHER STORIES
A
farmer’s life was irreconcilably different from that of a traveling
entertainer. It was the sort of life where years were marked in seasons, not in
miles; a life of sameness where, rising morning after morning on the same piece
of land, one got to know that piece of land as well as one’s own self.
…Assuming, that is, that one could be induced to take any part in the
never-ending tilling and sowing and growing and reaping – all tasks in which
Jackillen took no interest whatsoever.
For
the most part, his adoptive father would let him alone. Not so at harvest time.
During the late summer and autumn months, virtually every creature breathing
was called upon to do its share. And though Jackillen may have been able to get
by well enough with little food and sleep, breathing was an essential he was
unprepared to go without.
Jeromey
first assigned Jackillen the simple task of helping to dig up the ripe root
vegetables, but soon observed with dismay that the youth appeared to wilt a
little more with every row.
“It’s
this business of rooting about in the dirt,” Jackillen said droopily, when
questioned. “Everything focused down, down, and farther down… It’s torment. I
don’t want to burrow deeper into the earth, I want to be free of it – I want to
fly!” He tipped back his head to
stare with longing at the vivid blue expanse above him. “What I wouldn’t give
to reach the sky…”
In
all truth, Jeromey Gant understood his son as little as Jackillen did him, and
was at a loss in trying to comprehend how such a lively, sturdy body and
personality could coexist with such a strangely sensitive spirit. Whatever the
reason, it was at least clear that this particular aspect of the harvest did
not at all suit the lad, so Jackillen was reassigned to the barn, under
instruction to thresh the freshly harvested grains.
Hours
later, Jeromey thought he had better go see whether the boy found his new chore
to be more to his liking, or if he considered the dust of the beaten wheat or
the confinement of the barn to be killing him by inches. He got as far as
poking his head around the door. Then he froze, mouth agape, eyes blinking
repeatedly as they attempted to make sense of the sight before him.
Everything
in the barn was in motion. The grain swirled through the air in a golden
cyclone. Twirling in the center of it all, smiling and laughing with delight,
was Jackillen, a stout wooden staff a whirring blur in his hands. The spinning
staff stirred the air, holding the grains aloft, and rapidly rapped out again
and again, beating the wheat as it whirled past.
The
late afternoon sunlight slowly waned as the implausible scene continued until,
upon some variation of Jackillen’s extraordinary dance, the wheat rode the air
into the harvest sieve, the edible grain separating from the unwanted chaff.
Then at last, his work completed, Jackillen let the air go still and lowered
himself to one knee, visibly fatigued, but just as visibly pleased.
He
gave no sign as to whether Jeromey’s presence was a surprise or had been long
since noted, only announcing cheerfully, “Threshing’s done.”
Jeromey
stared at the boy in silence for another moment before remarking, “Most people
can’t do that, you know.”
Jackillen
grinned, the color of his eyes brighter and more erratic than ever. “Oh, yes, I
never doubted that. But I am not most people: I’m Jackillen Gant.” He leapt to
his feet and breezed through the doors past his father, turning to add in
casual afterthought, “I can do anything, you know.”
No,
Jeromey hadn’t known. And “anything”
was a big enough word that he wasn’t prepared to admit he knew any such thing
even now. However, he thought it reasonable to assume, if ever there were someone capable of anything, that
one would most likely be Jackillen Gant.
~*~
About the Author:
Danielle E. Shipley’s first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. …Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof. When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She’s also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble. When she’s not living the highs and lows of writing, publishing, and all that authorial jazz, she’s probably blogging about it.
Writing credits include: “Inspired” (a novel); short stories in paranormal, fantasy, and Steampunk anthologies via Xchyler Publishing; and, of course, her series of fairytale retelling mash-ups, “The Wilderhark Tales”.
Today I'm again featuring the newest book in The Wilderhark Tales, The Surrogate Sea. Author Danielle Shipley has provided, for your reading pleasure, a delightful drabble, (which is a teasing prequel to the book), plus some book info, excerpt, and a giveaway over on her website.
Smarter, Wiser,
Better
A daughter.
The South Wind
eyed the newborn. Though he’d not especially wanted a child, neither did he
begrudge the Great Sea’s desire. But why couldn't
she have the sense to birth a son?
The Sea lifted the
baby toward her rolling surface. “Will you hold her?”
Wiser not to.
Smarter to maintain distance. Head shaking refusal, he turned to fly, but the
child’s cry slowed him.
Less a cry than a
song, and sung for him. The sound ensnared his heart.
Alas: He loved
her.
Wiser to go.
Smarter, too. But not better, he
thought, and held her close.
Today is the big day for the cover reveal for Danielle E. Shipley's new YA book, The Surrogate Sea (Book Six ofThe Wilderhark Tales), and I'm pleased to be one of the participating blogs. So with no further ado, I present...
The Surrogate Sea
The Sea’s storm brought them together, and the Sea’s rules will keep them apart, unless the mute but melodious Muirigan can find another to take her place, freeing her to pursue the human man she loves. But when her plan collides with the schemes of the sly South Wind, a princess’s agenda to look for love in all the most fantastic places, and a prince whose head and heart have been long years at war, the result is a tragedy of errors from which the world might never recover.
The Surrogate Sea (Book Six of The Wilderhark Tales)
<> ~ <> ~ <>
An enchantress’s curse turns a spoiled royal into a beast; a princess’s pricked finger places her under a hundred-year spell; bales of straw are spun as golden as the singing harp whisked down a giant beanstalk – all within sight of Wilderhark, the forest that’s seen it all.
You've heard the stories – of young men scaling rope-like braids to assist the tower-bound damsel; of gorgeous gowns appearing just in time for a midnight ball; of frog princes, and swan princes, and princes saved from drowning by maidens of the sea. Tales of magic. Tales of adventure. Most of all, tales of true love.
Once upon a time, you knew them as fairytales. Know them now as Wilderhark's.
The release date for this romantic, young adult, fairytale fantasyis:
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Author Bio:
Danielle E. Shipley's first novelettes told the everyday misadventures of wacky kids like herself. ...Or so she thought. Unbeknownst to them all, half of her characters were actually closeted elves, dwarves, fairies, or some combination thereof.
When it all came to light, Danielle did the sensible thing: Packed up and moved to Fantasy Land, where daily rent is the low, low price of her heart, soul, blood, sweat, tears, firstborn child, sanity, and words; lots of them. She's also been known to spend short bursts of time in the real-life Chicago area with the parents who home schooled her and the two little sisters who keep her humble.
When she's not living the highs and lows of writing, publishing, and all that authorial jazz, she's probably blogging about it at EverOnWord.wordpress.com.
