Name:
Rayna Noire
Louisville, KY
Series:
Pagan Eyes
Genre:
YA with touches of paranormal romance and urban fantasy.
Writing Style:
Talk it to death, write, research, think about it, write some more, decide I should have planned it out, but power through it anyhow.
What made you decide to write this series?
I wrote Pagan Eyes Series for Pagan teens & adults or those open to alternative faiths. Too often, witches or Pagans get shabby treatment in stories. They’re usually the villain. I thought it would be nice to have some positive models and Pagan-friendly books too. When I started writing the series, a close friend also suggested lesbian witch romances as another niche market. I’m considering it.
Do you have an editor, cover artist…
I have a wonderful cover artist in Dawne Dominque. I also have wonderful editor who knows my tendencies to overuse certain words. Thank you Larriane. Most recently, I’ve obtain proofing services from Magic Wand Editing.
Favorite Author
Chelsea Quinn Yarbro because she respected the legend of the vampire in crafting her novels. None of this I want it this way; therefore, I’ll ignore everything that went before. A good author and storyteller can write around obstacles. She writes horror, fantasy and suspense. No surprise, she’s up for World Fantasy Life Achievement Award this year.
Writing Challenges
Time is my major one. I have two different pen names, which keeps me busy. Then there is that issue with life happening at inconvenient times.
Do you create your characters or do they create themselves?
I sketch out the major bits, but traits pop up I never planned. Several secondary characters stroll into the story and make a place for themselves. I’ve rewritten an entire story to include a demanding character who was only supposed to be a walk on.
Is writing a full time job?
Writing could be a full time job, but currently I’m still working in the outside world to afford the conferences, workshops, swag, and all the books I give away.
If you could go back in time and meet one famous person...
I would be interested more in going back in time to when people first started organizing communities. I’d be more curious to see what society was like when they worshipped a goddess deity and lineage came through the mother as opposed to the father. We can only speculate right now.
As far as famous people, I’ve always been interested in George Sands.
What makes your book different than YA books already out there?
Number one, the family has issues, but they stick together as a unit. Most YA books flip flop between parents who never wonder where their children go in the middle of the night to very restrictive parents. There’s a lot of variety in the characters from the aloof Nora to the social butterfly Ethan. Besides being positive Pagan, each story combines several elements as opposed to a genre-specific story.
As an Indie author, what marketing works best for you?
Other authors are my helpers from blog hops to telling me what conference to attend. I appreciate the help bloggers and even fans give me. Apparently, they know more what is going on than I do.
Get your Free copy on Smashwords, use this code QB34E.
Come meet the Carpenter family. They're my neighbors . Maybe they're not your average neighbors, but they keep their grass cut, their house fixed up and the noise down. Sure there may be a car parked in the driveway with a Friend of the Fae bumpersticker. Not as bad as some of the bumperstickers, I've seen. Nana might be a little more colorful than most grandmother's with her broomstick skirts and jangling bracelets. She's the one you don't want to cross. The rest of the family is soft spoken and well mannered. They do have a tendency to disappear for days, then reappear again with explanation that they were sick.
Can't say that one always fly. Now and then, a whole bunch of people visit at once bringing hot dishes. Must have been someone's birthday. I would love to get into that house and find out what's going on, but I can't. I haven't been invited. You can though with the first book, Initiation, which tells the Leah's, the youngest daughter's story,
EXCERPT
The smell struck her first. The acrid, smelly odor reminded her of her fourth-grade field trip to a pioneer village. The candle maker had intrigued her by dipping wicks in what she had assumed was wax until the woman explained it was made of animal fat from butchered animals. That’s what it smelled like, along with the campfire aroma of burning wood. In the misty night sky, a clouded crescent moon shed meager light on the surroundings. Turning slowly she examined the primitive thatched hut behind her.
In the small front garden, a split log supported by two stumps served as a bench. An oaken bucket sat by a door that flew open. An elderly woman hobbled out, dressed in a black cloak. The woman reminded Leah of her grandmother, but instead of a look of fierce determination, terror pulled her face into an anxious mask. Reaching Leah, she tugged on her clothes, pushing her toward the woods.
“Flee, flee, they come. Smell the torches.” The woman pointed to a path winding toward the east. A dim glow was coming from thatdirection, along with the sounds of voices and snapping branches as dozens of feet marched in their direction. An overwhelming desire to run after the unknown woman came over her. Another part of her wanted to see who was coming down the path. It was only a dream, right?
People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest. A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards. Held high the flickering torches illuminated a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the Grim Reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.
“Here, over here.” The voice came from overhead. Staring up into the canopy of leaves, she saw a small hand motioning to her. Of course, hide in the trees. Why didn’t she think of that? Grabbing the lowest limb, she pulled herself into the leafy covering. In the dark, she felt for the branches, climbing higher. Eventually she grabbed an ankle or calf, and received a hand up for her trouble, helping her climb higher.
Good Goddess, how many people were in this tree? She held her breath as the light and noise came closer. The few men below argued about which way to go, while a woman waded in with her opinion. “Samuel, let the witch get away. Mayhap he uses the witch for his own purposes.”One of the front-runners denied the accusations. “Martha seeks to harm my name, because I did not plight my troth with her.”
The argument moved on a little farther away from the tree. Leah exhaled in a whoosh, thanking the stars for the scorned woman and lack of dogs. As if hearing her silent prayer, a long canine bay rent the air.
People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest. A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards. Held high the flickering torches illuminated a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the Grim Reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.
“Here, over here.” The voice came from overhead. Staring up into the canopy of leaves, she saw a small hand motioning to her. Of course, hide in the trees. Why didn’t she think of that? Grabbing the lowest limb, she pulled herself into the leafy covering. In the dark, she felt for the branches, climbing higher. Eventually she grabbed an ankle or calf, and received a hand up for her trouble, helping her climb higher.
Good Goddess, how many people were in this tree? She held her breath as the light and noise came closer. The few men below argued about which way to go, while a woman waded in with her opinion. “Samuel, let the witch get away. Mayhap he uses the witch for his own purposes.”One of the front-runners denied the accusations. “Martha seeks to harm my name, because I did not plight my troth with her.”
The argument moved on a little farther away from the tree. Leah exhaled in a whoosh, thanking the stars for the scorned woman and lack of dogs. As if hearing her silent prayer, a long canine bay rent the air.
Watch the trailer:
Purchase on Amazon:
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please no nasty or hurtful comments. This is a site for helping, not hurting.