Another Spring Freebie - PenTangle: Five Pointed Fables

     Spring always jump-starts me. The winter doldrums get packed away along with the woolies, and inspired by emergent beauty I become energized and impatient. I have half a dozen unruly writing projects tugging at my virtual skirts, each clamoring for my full attention, plus a house that will never ever be the clean and orderly haven it could be if I didn't write. Between divvying out quality time among the brain-brats and attempting to confer a modicum of order on my cluttered and chronically maintenance-deferred domicile, I try to fit in some advertising of my various inked wares. 
     I'm almost invisibly discreet when it comes to pluggery, therefore I thank very much the many ebook sites that got the word out and helped me give away ~7000 Kindle copies of Wysard and Lord Brother during my March promotion. I also thank everyone who downloaded either or both books, and the many kind people who purchased copies when the promo ended. Being read is truly a humbling wonder, and I'll never forget to be grateful.
     My latest giveaway is PenTangle: Five Pointed Fables, a collection of short fiction. All of the five stories save one were previously published in ezines; I didn't seek a venue for The Heart's Desire because it wasn't the sort of thing I normally write, although some people might think it the best yarn of the lot. 
     I created the cover of PenTangle myself, using a divine free program called PhotoScape and five of my favorite fountain pens that wouldn't hold still for their photo until I applied two-sided tape. I love the retro snazz of the end result:

The stories in PenTangle: 

     The Kind Gods - Did the old gods really die? A warrior seeks answers at the burial-mound of his greatest enemy. A Norse-themed elegy, first published in Bewildering Stories.    
     The Heart’s Desire - A government scryer's life is a prison until she and her bodyguard discover the ultimate secret language. This story is my first attempt at near-future slipstream, and I loved writing it. 
     Last Laughter - A cautionary tale about a wicked court jester and his comeuppance, first published in Silver Blade Fantasy Quarterly. 
      Regenerated - Cela always hoped she’d find Jorgen again someday…but was this really Jorgen? A tenderly bitter tale of love and giant lizards, first published in Quantum Muse. 
     Everafter Acres - Happily Ever After isn’t always perfect, but dark knights can be illuminating. A wry autumnal satire first published in Luna Station Quarterly.

The giveaway ends Wednesday, April 18. Namaste and happy reading,


CK

Giveaway Goodness

My Kindlebook freebie fest continues through Friday. Wysard and Lord Brother have received far many more downloads than I expected, placing high on the Epic Fantasy listings. I thank everyone who's taken advantage of the giveaway, and encourage readers who haven't yet to act fast!

             

  

My newest book Queen of Time, contemporary magic realism, is currently free at Smashwords. Just use the coupon code RE100 at checkout. Click the cover to access the listing.

Namaste,

CK

Up, up, up...

It's Read An E-Book Week, and I'm celebrating for several wonderful reasons:

1. I'm the proud owner of a Kindle 2 that I purchased with the first royalties I ever earned from the digital editions of my fiction. My device now holds 500+ books, many of them free classics from Amazon and Project Gutenberg. I simply adore it.

2. Free All Week: My epic fantasy duology Wysard and Lord Brother, the original books that I later combined and expanded to create The Ryel Saga: A Tale of Love and Magic. This giveaway is a Kindle Digital Publishing Select promotion, and Kindlers can choose between single books or the combined version. Click the covers to access the listings.

             

  

3. Queen of Time is free at Smashwords. Just use the coupon code RE100 at checkout. Click the cover to access the listing.

 

Wysard and Lord Brother are currently Best Sellers in Epic Fantasy at Amazon. I'm one happy scribbler.

Namaste,

CK

Celebrate!

By happy coincidence it's World Book Day and I'm spotlighted on D. P. Prior's blog! Check it out at http://dpprior.blogspot.com/, and while you're there enjoy Derek's entertaining posts and links to his well-reviewed fantasy fiction. Please feel free to buy one of our books in honor of the holiday... :-)

 

Absolutely Favulous

See anything different about my blog? (Hint: it's on the address bar.)

I'm having fun with favicons lately. Blogger has a generator of its own, but it's easy to make a personal version for your website. Just visit this favicon generator and watch it create your tiny picture and the code to go with it. My own favicon, seen up close, looks like this:

It's a stylized plum blossom (ume), and it ties in with my love of things Japanese and the word 'kari,' which in the kanji for plum means 'pure.' Kari is my nickname, and I used to sign the the 'i' with a five-petaled flower (still do, now and then). I may change the design later on in favor of something with a letter K, but for now this will work charmingly.

Precious Sails

"Lutes, Laurels, Seas of Milk, and Ships of Amber." ~Belvidera in her mad scene, from Thomas Otway's tragedy Venice Preserv'd (1682)

      As with the duck of the adage, there's been a lot of flurry beneath the seeming serenity of my life lately. I've been writing and publishing other things besides this blog, which explains the long stretch since my last post. The Ryel Saga, having garnered many readers as an e-book, has finally been birthed into a paperback with the inclusion at long last of a map of my protagonist's world.
       Queen of Time, my foray into contemporary magic realism, is likewise now available as both an e-book and a paperback. Unlike The Ryel Saga it's on the slender side (230 pages), takes place in the here and now, and is sometimes overtly autobiographical. It's also even more timely than I'd intended, since the story's mention of a Mayan Ragnarok had been written well before the coming event was world knowledge.
       The other day I dusted off a work in progress that made me think of the quote that heads this post, which in turn led me to recall the Schatzkammern, Wunderschranken, and cabinets of curiosities that were popular in England and northern Europe during the 16th through the 18th centuries. I've always loved such collections, and make a point of seeking them out when I travel. By far the most memorable--breathtaking, really--have been the fabulous Green Vaults (Grünes Gewölbe) at the royal castle in Dresden. Never before or since have I encountered so many precious things gathered in one place--the most lavish, glittering, gorgeous assemblage of objects, truly 'beauty too rich for use,' since every item is meant to be admired solely for its combination of costly materials and exquisite workmanship.
      The driving force behind the Green Vaults was Augustus the Strong, a cultivated lover of the finer things who spent immense sums on art, palaces, and amours (he was said to have enjoyed more than three hundred mistresses, and kept a gallery of their portraits to record his conquests). His penchant for magnificence coincided perfectly with the opulent age in which he lived, and under his direction the Green Vaults filled with masterpieces of the Baroque wrought in gold, silver, enamel, jewels, and other precious materials. I don't remember a ship of amber, but there was one of ivory.

      The pride of the Vaults is The Court of Aurangzeb, a masterwork in precious metals, enamel, and gems depicting the enthroned sultan surrounded by his entourage. More than a hundred tiny figures, all about three inches high, are depicted in exquisite detail. It took eight years to make, and cost the price of a castle. Click the image for a larger view.

    Here's a delicious detail:

      As I examined the gorgeous toy--or rather knickknack, since it had no earthly use save to be marveled at--I thought of Augustus' legendary cousin King Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, and how that energetic, impatient, intelligent young soldier might have reacted to such wanton extravagance. Compared with Augustus' lush wigs, gemmed silks, rampant libido and reckless excess, the celibate Charles with his cropped hair, stark uniforms, ascetic nature and unswerving purpose was an object lesson in the virtues--and hazards--of severity. My novel will describe those two remarkable and entirely opposite men, and I'll definitely include a scene in which Charles gets a tour of the Green Vault; he once paid Augustus an impromptu visit in Dresden, blithely disregarding the fact that he and his cousin were then at war with one another. Augustus, ever the gentleman, greeted Charles cordially, and let him depart unhindered.
      Since I haven't the means to construct a Schatzkammer of my own, I keep one in the domed vault of my cranium. As with Augustus' collection, not much of mine is really useful, but it's a constant and ever-added-to trove of marvel and delight. Ideas and images from every place and time, all sorts of odd bits of information and out-of-the-way anecdotes, poetry, history, art, myths and legends, theater, music, languages, journeys, loves and passions...infinite riches from years of observation and countless books, that make my writing what it is. All my life I've been careful about what I stick in my brain, and now, in times like these, I cherish my mind-hoard all the more.

To Boldly Glow

Will you wear orange, my dear oh dear,
And will you wear orange, Jenny Jenkins?
No, orange I won't wear, and it rhymes, so there!

Jenny wasn't alone in her antipathy. According to a study, orange is one of the least popular of hues. Observe the pie:

 

White, grey, and brown are disliked even more than orange, which isn't surprising; they seem to be most preferred by monks and winter. Still, I can't understand the animus toward orange, because to me it embodies optimism. It paints the hope of sunrise and the promise of sunset. It's the standout color of this my favorite month, figuring in pumpkins (away with those trendy pasty ones!), gourds, squash, and blazing leaves. It's wonderful to have such a gorgeous glut of the hue, braving the barren onset of November.

Some of my leaves from yesteryear.

 

Red and yellow, which combine to form my beloved color, 

can be a bit trying on their own.

 Then again, they can be stunningly splendid. 

(For more examples of uchikake, see my blog post Imperial Opulence.)

 

I'm always wary of "What your favorite color says about you" articles because they tend to over-accentuate the positive, and sweetly assure you that you're introspective and outspoken rather than narcissistic and obnoxious. However, one analysis that I came across the other day seemed eerily spot on:

"Orange: This color of luxury and pleasure appeals to the flamboyant and fun-loving person who likes a lively social round. Orange people may be inclined to dramatize a bit, and people notice them, but they are generally good-natured and popular. They can be a little fickle and vacillating, but on the whole they try hard to be agreeable. Orange is the color of youth, strength, fearlessness, curiosity and restlessness."

A decade ago I'd have agreed entirely with that assessment, but I've become reclusive since then for reasons that I hope will prove temporary, and my patience is mightily strained at times. Still, in my heart and in my writing, the traits described are still very much alive, although the passage of time has made me prefer the darker shades like cinnabar, persimmon, and (most apropos) bittersweet.

Another color I've become fond of is the deep purple I associate with wine, but which is more often called maroon. It's a popular color in India for bridal saris, perhaps because it's both regal and restrained.

I didn't quite know what motivated my affection, but the article previously cited had some answers:

"Harsh experience has probably matured the Maroon person into someone likable and generous. It is often a favorite color of someone who has been battered by life but has come through. It indicates a well-disciplined Red personality—one who has had difficult experiences and has not come through unmarked but who has grown and matured in the process."

The hesitant prophecy of the first sentence is, I hope, true in my case; the other conditions certainly seem to fit. When I look back on my writing--I recently unearthed a trove of stuff written in my teens that I'd entirely forgotten about, with mostly good reason--I'd have to agree that what I'm now working on is rich in the fruits of experience. It's not purple prose, but definitely autumnal. Most of my short fiction is set in the fall, a time of reflection, meditation, and harvest. Ripeness really is all.

Namaste,

CK

At The Core Of The Happy Apple: A Mystery Solved

Let me begin by stating that I'm careful with things. Like an Entwife, I prefer order, and plenty, and peace. Wanton destruction is something I can't remember indulging in even once in my entire life, and I make the following confession with a contrite heart. Caution: this post contains possibly disenchanting revelations. If you have fond recollections of the Happy Apple and prefer to let its inner workings remain an enigma, please don't read on.

Some background first. The Fisher Price Happy Apple was a wobble toy from the early 1970s, and countless babies loved it for its cheery face and soothing chimes reminiscent of a gamelan. They also enjoyed its invitingly chewable and easily detached stem and leaves, features typical of playthings in that less-regulated era. Fisher Price shortened the stem later to discourage teething, and here are the two versions:

Chipper, aren't they?

Fisher Price retired the Happy Apple after 1974, which is odd considering the toy's popularity, and sad because quiet lovely sounds are always good for people no matter what their age. Although it was made to be patted, batted, and swatted by tiny flailing hands, the Apple is best savored when held close to the ear and just barely shaken. If Fisher Price could make a minimalist version for the present day, unencumbered by perilous foliage and minus the rather overly-insistent grin, they'd sell jillions. I'd buy one in a heartbeat.

And now for the regrettable part of my tale. Always keep in mind while reading further that my Happy Apple was nowhere close to mint condition when I acquired it at the local Goodwill some months ago. Shorn of its stem and greenery and covered with a heavy patina of scratches, it looked all of its nearly forty years, but from its secret depths emerged the most lovely celestial harmony. Many people are that way, with a world-worn exterior masking inner resonance. The poignancy of the notion moved me, and the 99-cent price tag seemed a killer steal.

After I got Happy home and gave it a scrub, I kept it on the table next to the sofa where I like to write, and at intervals when I required inspiration I'd rock it and swirl it, letting its soft tolling like distant temple bells imbue me with serenity. What a wonderful toy this must have been, imparting to a child the lesson that the more gently something is handled, the more its beauty will appear! The Happy Apple could have fallen from Buddha's bodhi tree.

But the serpent had entered the garden. Peace fosters the spirit of inquiry, and eventually Happy's deep delicate tones caused me to muse "what's inside this battered tchotke creating such an exquisite, angelic sound?"

Not wishing to expend effort that would destroy the object, I looked all over the Internet for an answer but found none, which astonished me. People are always tearing stuff apart, so I expected to find at least a few YouTubes or gleeful accounts of someone taking a sledgehammer to a Happy Apple, but no. The toy had existed long before the Internet, and had achieved a venerable prestige. The few YouTube videos that chanced to feature a Happy Apple tended to show closely-watched infants interacting with what was clearly considered a cherished family heirloom.

Still, Happy Apples aren't all that rare since they were produced in the many thousands during their brief time of flourishing, and I was relieved to find that they can still be readily acquired online, stem and leaves intact, for a nominal price. Reassured by their availability and unable to control my curiosity any longer, yesterday I took a compass saw and went to work, severing the fruit along the weld line in the middle.

Happy turned out to be a toughie despite its disarming smile. It's hefty, about the size of a small cantaloupe, so it wasn't easy to hold steady on its side. To add to the difficulty its plastic was as thick as harness leather, which meant I had to saw around the complete circumference before the halves finally came apart. As I worked, I frequently stopped and gave the Apple a shake to make sure I wasn't wrecking the mechanism within, and it always chimed reassuringly. As I got closer and closer to my goal, however, I began having trepidations. What if I accidentally cracked open a hidden chamber of mercury, spilling it everywhere? What if it for no reason at all the thing caught on fire? What if what lurked inside was really a malevolent alien being who'd been waiting nearly forty years for liberation? The chances were remote, but you never know. Worse than any of those possibilities, what if  I ended up destroying whatever caused the beautiful sound? I began to feel a bit like Eve must have when she handled her apple.

But none of those dire mischances occurred, and here's what I found. Click the image for a larger view.

The Happy Apple's core exposed.

 I'd never have guessed that the mechanism was so simple. I'd envisioned spheres within spheres, delicately balanced and calibrated, only too capable of falling apart beyond any recovery once the Apple's secret was unlocked. Instead, I found a little circle of eight metal rods in different lengths in the lower part, struck by a swinging metal disk suspended from the top section, very much like a fixed set of wind chimes. The components of this ingenious gong were of springy steel tough enough to withstand the wear of decades.

And there you have it, another of life's mysteries solved. While I regret sacrificing a vintage treasure, I take heart in knowing that my discovery may save countless other Apples in far better states of preservation from a similar fate.

Since my Apple's aesthetic appearance, if it can really be said to have had one, is now impaired, I plan to remove the mechanism and house it in something made of natural material like wood or bamboo or gourd. That way I'll be able to enjoy its lovely harmonies in a form rather more dignified and decorative than a plastic fruit with a goofy grin. Still, I'll always remember Happy.

CK

Five For Free

I've put the first five chapters of Queen of Time on my website. Just click the link at the top and enjoy, with my compliments.

Moreover, I've installed a Facebook button on the left side of my blog page. Click it to fan me! Thanks.

CK

Queen of Time, Here and Now

Queen of Time, my long-awaited contemporary magic realism novel, is now available at Amazon Kindle, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, and other online booksellers. The length is a slim 200 pages, but as is always the case with my writing, I try to make every word count.

And as with everything I write (and read), Queen of Time is meant to both entertain and reach deep, moving past genre designations and expectations into someplace bigger. The story starts out quietly, building momentum by deliberate stages until events achieve critical mass and all hell breaks loose in the most literal of ways.

At the story's core is the tense triad formed by three faculty members of a second-tier Midwest university, leading seemingly pedestrian lives that mask a disturbing shared history spanning centuries. Plain and socially awkward Lucasta Hilary, whose expertise in classical literature has never brought her the recognition she deserves, senses that past only in premonitions. However, her colleague Dunstan Lightner and military historian Byron Steele are fully aware of their mutual eternal enmity, and are instrumental in a quirk of fate that brings Lucasta fame and a Faustian bargain that makes her beautiful. The three are soon drawn into a web where temptation, damnation and redemption are inextricably entwined, in a struggle that ranges from the bleak remnants of Hadrian's Wall to the lush jungles of the Mayan highlands to the very edge of existence.

Hard to resist, no? Read the first two chapters at my newly-renovated website.

Note: While nothing in Queen of Time is overtly and/or gratuitously graphic,  especially as books go now, I wrote the story for adults.



CK