**Darkling** Dark Fantasy! Book Blast!

 

Check out the dark fantasy novel, Darkling, by our guest, K.M. Rice!

Book Description

Publication Date: June 25, 2013

Midsummer used to be a day of feasts and dances and bonfires. A day when cares were set aside for the joy of grass between our toes, warm hands in our palms, laughter in our hearts. Our celebrations dimmed with the light. Our ancestors said our bonfires asked the sun to keep burning beyond the solstice. But something has upset the balance of our woods. Something so deep that even our bonfires can’t lure the sun back. And he has something to do with it. Of that we’re sure now, which is why I’m being given to him.

Review: 

By, D. Beckmann

Cupid and Psyche (or better, Till We Have Faces), a bit of Wuthering Heights, a good dose of Jane Eyre, and a lot of The Sixth Sense, all mixed together in an imaginary world where the lines between life and death, the physical and the spiritual, barely exist.

A young woman believes she must give up her life to save her family - even her whole village - from a mysterious evil darkness that is leading to their ruin. But in her act of self-sacrificial giving - an important theme in the story - she initiates a train of circumstances that leads to dramatic insights concerning the people around her and about herself.

Miss Rice has done a good job composing a complex plot that gives scope for reflection upon human nature. The story is scary and a bit steamy in one place - though not in a degrading or defrauding way, thankfully - and therefore is for mature readers. There is a surprise revelation - I will not say where! - that is almost too much at once, but it is not a long novel; progress in the plot needs to be made. However, the revelation does work in the world she depicts and it sets the stage for an unexpected, and I would say solid and pleasing, resolution to the story.

Stayed up til 3:00 a.m. reading it. It's better than The Woman in Black. If you like something a bit on the Gothic side with a vein of redemption, then get the book.

An Interview with Author, K.M. Rice!!

Meet guest author, K.M. Rice! First she completed the challenge and gave us Rainbow Worm, now she talks about her journey to becoming an author!

Where are you from?

Felton, California – a small town in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California.

What inspired you to write your first book?

Given that I was in Kindergarten, I’m not sure other than I loved books and wanted to make one, so I wrote and illustrated a story called “The Haunted House.” Fast forward two decades and I had a dream about wandering into a haunted house and helping the spirits there… that became my inspiration for my first published novel, Darkling.

Do you write full-time or part-time? How do you balance your writing life with your family/work life?

I am blessed to have the support of my family and as such, am able to write full-time and earn a modest income. Balancing writing with a social life can be tricky because I tend to hole up with my characters until their story is told. Thankfully, I have wonderful friends who know to knock on my door anyway!

What jobs have you held that influence your stories?

Being a nanny for years and a care-taker of the elderly has given me a lot of insight into the beginning and end of life – two extremes that often have similarities. I hate self-aware children in books, because that’s just not realistic. I’ve noticed that I often write stories wherein an elderly woman is a sort of helper/guide. Children and old people often know the most about living. Children are full of wonder at the sun and clouds and acorns, while the elderly can sift through all of their experience and focus on the important things in life, like good food, births, and happy memories.

What fulfilling work experience you have! 
Do you have a specific writing style?

I often write in a different style to give myself the challenge of learning. That said, I do have patterns. All of my stories contain a touch of whimsy and brave young women. I will not say “strong female characters,” because I feel the inference there is that females are inherently weak, so the ones that stand out must be quantified with “strong,” which is entirely not true.

How did you come up with the title?

Keats! In his poem “Ode to A Nightingale” there is a line that reads “Darkling, I  listen…” as he describes listening to a nightingale in the coming dusk. The word is used to describe events that occur in the night or under the cover of darkness, which made it perfect for my story.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I don’t believe in writing for the sake of delivering a specific message or theme. If one emerges as you go, then that’s great. Otherwise, the writing often comes off as preachy. I definitely see strong themes of sibling love in Darkling, along with grief, for every character in the book has lost a loved one and is dealing with it in a unique way. Mostly, however, it is about maintaining hope and the ability to love even in the face of pending loss.

How much of the book is realistic?

Given that it’s a paranormal fantasy, “realistic” is a relative term! However, I do try to keep my characters as grounded in the elements of their worlds as possible. The emotions of Darkling are probably the most compelling and realistic aspects of the story.

Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

Friends and family are always trying to trace my characters back to people I know, but thus far, that isn’t possible. Everyone important to me, however, is certainly present in my books, for they have all taught me different aspects of what it is to be human.

What books have most influenced your life most?

The works of Tolkien have been a large influence on my life, for Middle-earth is a place I love to escape. I certainly share the Professor’s love for environmentalism and that comes through in my work. The books that have most influenced me as a writer, however, are probably Treasure Island, The Three Musketeers, His Dark Materials, The Hunger Games, and Little Women.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

Louisa May Alcott reached me across over nearly 150 years of time with Jo March. Little Women has had a huge impact on my heroines and identity as a writer, for reading about Jo taught me a great deal about myself.

In terms of the present day, my screenwriting Professor Barnaby Dallas and screenwriting mentor Joe Mallozzi, both wonderful writers in their own right, were stalwart educators and supporters as I studied my craft. What I learned of story and structure from them and screenwriting has helped me a great deal with my fiction. Nick Taylor, my thesis advisor and fiction professor, was also a great help in graduate school, for he always encouraged my unconventional stories.

What book are you reading now?

Tom Barry’s Guerilla Days in Ireland and War Horse because of reasons ;)

The Guerilla Days in Ireland sounds very interesting! I'll have to check that out.

Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?

Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games  and Christopher Paolini’s works certainly draw me in, even if they are polar opposites!

What are your current projects?

Right now I’m working on an adult trilogy tentatively titled Afterworld. The books have a strong Irish influence and the first novel blends a contemporary setting with a Victorian mystery.  

Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members.

Santa Clause.

Do you see writing as a career?

Yes, I certainly hope so, though at the moment, my focus is on building a readership by telling the best stories that I can.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

No, but if I had to… as an e-book, I could, and you would never know. Mwuahaha!


Very true!
Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

I wrote and illustrated my first book for fun in kindergarten. When the teacher asked me to show it to the principal, I thought I'd done something horribly wrong until the principal smiled with her red-painted lips and pressed a sticker to the cover, telling me how much she enjoyed my story about a haunted house. Though it took me some time to realize that writing was my preferred form of expression, I have had a drive to tell stories my whole life.
 
Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Writing about the mundane and the here and now has always been a challenge for me. It is so much more fun to create your own worlds and rules! However, I adore basking in the beauty of our flaws and the little, mundane oddities that make us individuals and human beings, as well as our grander aspirations.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

Louisa May Alcott has, as I already mentioned, played a large role in the shaping of my voice. I feel like she and Jo March are kindred of mine, and the truth and honesty with which she wrote in the 1860s is gripping. The sad part, of course, is that even nearly 150 years later, some women are still just as trapped and “unconventional” as Jo.

Do you have to travel much concerning your book(s)?

I haven’t yet, but I certainly would love to travel and meet readers!

Who designed the covers?

My sister is a very talented photographer. I showed her covers with a similar idea to what I wanted mine to look like, then we went out and shot it! We worked on the photo editing together and are still very pleased with the end product. If you want to see more of her work, please check out: https://www.facebook.com/AlexandraRicePhotography

What was the hardest part of writing your book?

Exploring Willow’s grief over her sister’s death. My sister is my other half, and having to imagine what it would be like to lose her was gutting and visceral.

Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?

I didn’t realized I’d written so much about grief until it was finished, but even then, it is not a dark message. You get to a point in your life where you have said so very many goodbyes and wonder if it’s all worth it. Like Willow, we all must go through the journey of questioning our pain and suffering, emerging stronger and brighter with the courage to love as much as we can, no matter how many goodbyes lie in our futures.
 
Do you have any advice for other writers?

Write! Spend less time talking about writing (unless it’s discussing a plot) and more time doing it. I can’t tell you how many people I have met who say they’re a writer then when I ask them more about their work, they reveal, “well, I haven’t written it yet, but I have this great idea in my head.” Writers write. It doesn’t matter if you never show it to anyone or throw it out, or publish it, just write so that you will learn. Hand in hand with that is reading. The more you expose yourself to styles and ideas and structures, the more you will absorb them and incorporate them into your own work.
 
Excellent advice.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

I want to thank each and every one of my readers. You gave my book your time, which is the most precious thing you have.

What were the challenges (research, literary, psychological, and logistical) in bringing it to life?

I worked on Darkling over a period of 20 days, but only wrote on 15 of those days. Needless to say, I was writing like a madwoman!

Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! That is incredible. Good for you!
What do you think about e-publishing versus technical publishing?

While there are certainly pros and cons to both, I do enjoy the simplicity of e-publishing. I am my own boss and can deliver my book almost instantaneously to my readers. The downside, of course, is that all the publicity also falls to me, and there is only so much I can do on my own. As such, I am always open to new opportunities. The world of print has been going through some massive changes in the past ten years, and I am excited to see what new opportunities arise because of it.

Do you have an agent or publisher? How did you go about finding one?

At this time, I am not represented by anyone.

If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

In the mountains where I am now! Though I would love to visit New Zealand.

Good choice!
If you could have any super power, what would it be?

Like most people, I would love to fly. Though mostly, I would want an Alfred. Life would be pretty cool with an Alfred (preferably Michael Caine) to watch over you.

 For More on K.M. Rice:
Website
Facebook
Darkling

Writing challenge with author, K.M. Rice!

Introducing the author of Darkling, this week's guest, KM. Rice!

The Challenge:

In 3000 words or less, write a story about a girl that has been forced to live with her odd aunt and uncle. What secrets does she discover and how does she escape?

The Result:

Rainbow Worm

By K.M. Rice

Leila had expected the time with her aunt and uncle to pass slowly while her parents were away on a cruise. After all, Marietta was significantly older than Leila’s mother, and as such, visiting the home she shared with her husband, Benjamin, often felt like paying respects to grandparents. What Leila hadn’t expected, however, was that the doilies on the backs of the armchairs and cantaloupe-smelling kitchen hid a deep, dark secret.

“Pass the salt, please, Benjamin,” Marietta said at the breakfast table one fine summer morning in mid-July. Leila chewed her scrambled eggs cautiously, having learned from experience that her uncle’s shaking hands often left behind pieces of the shell.

As if his wife’s request had just reminded him of the presence of the seasoning, Benjamin grunted as he grabbed the shaker and attempted to salt his eggs. Yet, true to form, his hand shook so much that Leila wondered if his breakfast was even palatable by the time he was done.

Marietta glared and swiped the shaker from him, her penciled-in eyebrows furrowing. Leila pretended she hadn’t seen at thing. At fifteen, she was usually good at negotiating other people’s moods, but her aunt and uncle’s constant bickering made her feel awkward, as if they’d forgotten she was in the room.

“This is great,” she offered with a small smile. “Much better than FrootLoops.”

“It’s too salty,” Benjamin griped.

Marietta sneered at him before giving the salt a good shake, sending it spraying into his face. Benjamin gasped and leaned back in his chair so far that it fell over, causing both his wife and niece to bark in surprise. Being the most agile of the three, Leila scrambled to her feet first and hastily knelt to help her uncle back up, the floorboards squeaking below her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“That witch,” Benjamin hissed as Leila took his hand. Marietta merely continued to eat her breakfast as if she hadn’t just caused her husband to narrowly miss a concussion. “She knows I hate it when she does that.”

“You mean it happens often?” Leila asked as she hauled her uncle up by the forearm, the tip of her sneaker pressing down against a weak board.

“He deserved it,” Marietta mumbled. “It’s his fault that we’re in this mess to begin with.”

“What mess?” Leila straightened her uncle’s chair and felt the toe of her shoe sink again. Testing the board with more weight, she realized that it wasn’t just weak, but loose. Like the kinds of loose floorboards that hid sacks of gold in castles and magical medallions in palaces.

“Something wrong with your foot, dear?” Marietta asked.

Leila met her eye and found her aunt fixing her with a peculiar gaze. It was enough to make the girl slide her foot off the board. “My shoelace got stuck,” she lied before she could even figure out why she had the compulsion to do so.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Benjamin whined. “My eggs are covered in salt!”

“That’s not from me, that’s from – oh, never mind, you dunderhead!”

Leila was hesitant to resume her seat between the two of them who were locked in a silent staring contest. With her uncle’s bulbous eyes and her aunt’s upturned nose, it was quite the sight to see. In fact, looking at her now, Leila saw very little family resemblance between her mother and the woman at her side. Marietta’s hair was fiery red (albeit dyed) and her features were sharp and delicate. She was an odd sight when paired with Benjamin, who from most angles looked like he was melting.

Once the dishes were cleared and her aunt and uncle had left the kitchen, Leila eyed the floor. What could the two be hiding under there? Marietta had wanted to divert her attention, surely, so it must be something. Kneeling beside the loose board, Leila attempted to catch the end with her fingernails to pull it loose, but it only gave so much. She would have to get a crowbar or something else to use as leverage. If only she had… wait. What was that splash of color?

Barely visible on the side of the board was what appeared to be hand-painted writing. Vibrant letters in all shades of the rainbow peeked out at her from the dull oak. If she could pull it up farther, she could read what they said.

“Leila!”

Startled, Leila shoved the board back into place then hurried into the living room to answer her uncle’s shout. “Yes?”

“We’re heading down to the senior center for our water colors class. Grab your permit and you can drive.”

Leila’s face split into a grin. Forgetting the board, she dashed upstairs and headed back down with her wallet and learner’s permit.

The senior center was only five blocks away, but Leila felt very adult as she parked and turned off the engine. A senior citizen’s watercolors class wasn’t exactly her idea of an afternoon well-spent, but she didn’t have any friends who lived near her aunt and uncle, anyway.

Once in class, Marietta and Benjamin decided they liked each other again and began teasing and elbowing each other as they painted. Leila couldn’t decide what to paint, so she watched her aunt’s hands bring to life the colorful curves of flowers. At first she thought Benjamin had picked the same subject, but instead, his alleged flowers took on squiggly legs and antennae. Bugs.

Biting her lip, Leila turned her paper this way and that until she decided what to paint. Drawing upon her memory of what she had seen, she dipped her brush first in the red, then in the blue, pink, and yellow as she mimicked the writing she had glimpsed on the side of the floorboard.

“All right, class,” the instructor cheerily addressed the audience after their hour and a half was up. “Time to finish. Why don’t you share your paintings with each other?”

Leila glanced around the room. Half of the participants ignored the instructor and continued to paint, while several more were asleep and the remaining few looked as if they were shocked to suddenly discover their whereabouts.

“Roses, what a surprise,” Benjamin chuckled as he looked over his wife’s watercolor.

“About as original as yours,” Marietta quipped with a wink. “How about you, squirt?” she asked Leila.

Leila slowly held up her painting.

Benjamin narrowed his bulbous eyes. “Are those worms?”

“They’re letters,” Leila corrected. She kept her eyes on her aunt’s face, gauging her reaction.

The red-headed woman merely adjusted her glasses and peered at the painting before arching a brow. “Letters, huh? Don’t look like any letters I’ve ever seen.”

“They’re only half finished,” Leila pressed.

Marietta sniffed and looked away, admiring her own art instead. Leila peered at her work as a chorus of oohs and ahhs rose around her as several of the other participants shared their paintings with each other.

On the drive home, Leila’s aunt and uncle were so busy arguing over how to best get back to the house that neither noticed Leila’s near-silence. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe the board she had found was just recycled from a painted structure. After all, Marietta hadn’t even reacted to her watercolor.

The three ate at a local diner that night, and when they returned to the house, Leila realized that she’d left her artwork in the car. Benjamin spotted her coming down the stairs. “Looking for a midnight snack?”

“I’ll be right back!” Leila chirped as she headed outside and to the driveway. Opening the car, she spotted two drawings instead of three. Furrowing her brow, she snatched them up to find Marietta’s flowers and Benjamin’s bugs. After looking under the seats and by the console, she gave up and headed back inside.

“Loose something?” Marietta asked.

“My painting,” Leila said, handing the two surviving pieces over to her aunt. “It’s gone.”

“Hmm,” Marietta said without a hint of surprise. “Must’ve blown out the window.” The older woman shuffled the paintings and carried them out of room. Leila knew when she was being dismissed, and was filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety over having, apparently, struck a nerve.

So, her aunt had gotten rid of her painting, had she? Two could play this game.

Leila decided to wait until the couple went to bed before she would try to once again discover what was under the floorboards. The problem was, they both had a habit of falling asleep in front of the TV until the wee hours of the morning when one or the other’s snoring would inevitably awake them and they’d shuffle off to their room. As the TV blared downstairs, Leila laid awake in bed. By midnight, she was convinced that her aunt was actually a witch and the writing on the board was a protective spell. Breaking such a magical seal could cause her to become cursed, but Leila was willing to risk it.

In an attempt to hurry along her aunt and uncle’s bedtime process, she first got up and listened for a lull in the conversation on the crime drama then flushed the toilet, hoping the noise would stir one of the two. Nothing happened. Pursing her lips, Leila tried again, this time faking a stumble down the stairs, stomping the whole way. Benjamin twitched but that was it.

Realizing that the TV was making enough noise to mask any sounds that she would create in the kitchen, Leila gave up on trying to shoo the couple to bed and instead grabbed a hammer and headed for the floorboard. Wedging the end of the hammer claw into gap between the loose board and the others, she hesitated.

This could be it, she thought. My last breath as a human. For all I know, I’m about to be turned into a toad.

Toads weren’t so bad. In fact, she’d always thought they were kinda cute. And so, she gripped the handle of the hammer and yanked.

The board squeaked and gave a little, once again revealing part of the colorful writing. Waiting and listening to make sure she hadn’t disturbed her aunt and uncle, she yanked again, prying loose even more of the board. She could now clearly see the writing and furrowed her brow as she read. Sharp be spine and wet be slime, it read.

Repositioning the hammer, Leila gave another yank and pried the board free. Wincing at the squeak, she trained her ears on the other room for movement, but there was none. Rotating the board in her hands, she read the continuation of the writing.

With this ball, you are mine until whensoever you wish to end your time.

“I guess that rhymes,” she muttered, her knuckles white against the wood. A ball? Could it be a golden ball like in the fairy tale about the princess and the frog? Or possibly a ball of golden yarn like in the story of Rumplestiltskin?

Gently setting the enchanted board aside, Leila peered into the hole… and saw nothing. Deciding that it must be too dark, she tugged a lamp off of the mail table and set it on the floor beside her before switching it on. In the rush of light, she was able to see the dirt beneath the house, and nestled amongst it, a brown ball!

Grinning, Leila snatched it up, surprised by how light it was and the amount of dirt and plant matter that had stuck to it, as if it had been beneath the house for a very long time. Picking the debris off, she frowned as it began to crumble in her hand. Just then, the lights switched on. With a gasp, she looked over her shoulder, the crumbled ball in her hands, to spot her aunt and uncle glaring at her from the doorway.

“I can explain,” Leila sputtered. “I heard a rat and –”

“I said we should’ve just told her,” Benjamin griped. “Said it from the start, I did.”

“Hush, you dunderhead,” Marietta snipped.

“Told me what?” Leila asked.

“Do you have any idea what you’re holding?” Marietta asked. Leila looked down at the flaking plant matter in her hands and shook her head. “That’s a ball of horse poo.”

“What?” Leila hissed, flinging the substance from her. “Why the heck would you have horse poo buried under a floorboard?”

Sighing, Benjamin shuffled into the room. “Take a seat. I’ll make us some tea.”

“And wash your hands,” Marietta added.

Baffled, Leila did as she was told. Ten minutes later, the three of them sat at the kitchen table with steaming mugs before them. No one spoke.

“Sooo…” Leila ventured.

“You ever hear of the Salem Witch Trials? Or seen Wizard of Oz or Hocus Pocus?” Marietta asked.

Leila nodded, her eyes growing wide. “So you are a witch.”

“Oh, hell no,” Benjamin said with a chuckle. “One of those brazen bitches did this to us.”

Leila leaned back in her chair a little, both from what her uncle had just said and from the fact that he swore.

“Back in 89, I was young and lonely,” Marietta began. “Until your uncle came along. I had thick skin, you know. He was the first person I ever really felt.”

Benjamin gazed at his wife lovingly and rested his hand on hers. “And you were so beautiful, with those red flowers on your head.”

Leila tensed. If her uncle felt loose enough to swear, who knew what else would come out of his mouth next and their story was growing personal.

“You loved those flowers, so much.”

“They were delicious.”

Leila furrowed her brow and looked between them. “Wait, you ate them? Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

“Sweetheart, I was different back then,” Benjamin explained. “Oh so very different.”

“How were you—”

“He was a slug,” Marietta stated. “And I was a cactus. We were so in love that when a witch happened by and asked if we’d like to be of the same species, he agreed. We just didn’t know that we’d be stuck as, well, you know, hot dogs with legs.”

There was so much wrong with what had just come out of her aunt’s mouth that Leila didn’t know where to begin, and all that came out was “Hot dog with legs?”

“Humans,” Benjamin clarified. “We’d thought she’d make us both cacti, or slugs.”

“But….” Leila dug her hands into her hair. “What do you mean a witch just ‘happened along’?”

“Happening along is what they’re good at,” Benjamin said. “Keep your eyes peeled for one happening along by you one day.”

“That ball of horse poo was chosen because it is symbolic of the strength of our love: it feeds both the plant and the terrestrial gastropod mollusk.”

Leila arched a brow. “An alien?”

“Slug, dear. That means slug.”

“It’s why she punishes me with salt,” Benjamin explained. It doesn’t hurt me anymore, but it’s a fear that’s hard to ever really shake…”

“And your red hair…” Leila whispered, going unintentionally cross-eyed until she shook herself out of it. “Why don’t you like being humans?”

“It’s exhausting,” Benjamin groaned. “So much talking and walking and doing.”

“Not enough being still and just, well, letting yourself and everything around you be,” Marietta added.

Leila pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully. “Does my mom know?”

“You really think she’d believe us if we told her?”

“Then where does she think you came from?”

Marietta sighed. “An orphanage.”

Leila looked down at her mug. “And the horse poop?”

Her aunt and uncle exchanged a nervous glance. Leila furrowed her brow.

“You probably shouldn’t have touched that,” Marietta offered. “It was supposed to turn us back when we were desperately done as people, but –”

There was a loud poof and a puff of purple smoke. In the chair where Leila had sat was now a rainbow-colored worm.

The two senior citizens leaned over the table to peer at their niece’s new shape.

“Ah, the hell with it!” Benjamin declared before snatching up what was left of the horse poo and popping it into his mouth. Marietta did the same. Two poofs of purple smoke later, and a worm and slug were crawling on a cactus, and Leila and her aunt and uncle were never seen again.

For More on K.M. Rice:
Website
Facebook
Darkling