Interview with a character

Emily David’s Interview Notebook

3 October 2018


Full name: Zac Hall

Age: 16

Appearance: Black unkempt hair. Light brown eyes. Lightly tanned skin.

Book:  The White Wolf Trilogy – The Stray

First impressions: Overall, Zac seems somewhat curious and nervous as to why I have requested to interview him but at the same time, he acts oblivious to the fact that he has a book written about him. Maybe he does not know? Oooh, plot twist!

Things to remember about the book: Woof woof a.k.a man’s best friend.

Note to self: Try not to make many werewolf jokes 😛


EMILY: So Zac, how would you describe yourself?

ZAC: I don’t usually get the chance to introduce myself, being from a small town, everybody already knows me. And I’m usually with my father if I meet anyone new so he introduces me.

EMILY: Well, you are doing quite well so far. You seem very polite. Do you have any allergies, diseases, or any other physical weaknesses?

ZAC: I had a peanut allergy when I was little but I grew out of it. I still kind of avoid them though, just in case.

EMILY: *Note to self: check if Zac carries any silver. Are werewolves allergic to silver??*

EMILY: Are you right- or left-handed?

ZAC: Right handed though I sometimes practice with my left hand so that I could use it if needed.

EMILY: *Note to self: hmmm… I wonder if he is a werewolf?*

EMILY: You have a unique voice but for our readers, how would you describe your voice?

ZAC: My voice is deep but sometimes squeaks in response to human puberty.

EMILY: What do you currently have in your pockets?

ZAC: Wallet, keys and phone. Was I supposed to have anything else?

EMILY: *Note to self: Zac’s keys might be silver? Maybe he isn’t a werewolf?*

EMILY: What is your favourite and least favourite climate?

ZAC: I always liked spring best. My town always looks so pretty with the trees and forests so full of life.

EMILY: Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

ZAC: I’m often told that I run my hands through my hair when I’m nervous. I also always arrive late to important things.

EMILY: *Note to self: Zac’s hair currently looks unruly.*

EMILY: Who is your role model? Do you aspire to be like anyone?

ZAC: I don’t really have a role model but I do want to be drafted for a college soccer team when I graduate. Hopefully I can play through college and then be picked up by a team after that.

EMILY: What sound or noise do you love?

ZAC: I always loved the purring of content cats. It’s so soothing, when Dylan’s cat sits next to me and purrs.

EMILY: *Note to self: don’t make howling noises, resist the urge.*

EMILY: What sound or noise do you hate?

ZAC: I absolutely hate the sound of Styrofoam rubbing on something. Like pulling it out of a cardboard box and it makes that squeaking noise.

EMILY: What is your spirit animal? And why this animal?

ZAC: I thought it would be like a border collie, they’re always so happy and ready for anything.

EMILY: What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

ZAC: I think it was that one time I slipped over on my way out of the showers in the locker room after gym. My towel fell off and the whole class laughed at me.

Is that all your questions? Because I really need to get back home.

EMILY: Yeah, that’s it, Zac. Thank you for your time.


Overall, Zac really has no idea he has a book written about him and I am still not sure if he is a werewolf or not. This remains a mystery.


ebook coverThis has been a fictional interaction between Emily David, a journalist intern who writes for Mystic magazine from the upcoming novella by Antonia Bryan, and Zac Hall from The White Wolf Trilogy – The Stray by Amanda Geisler.

To find out more about Zac Hall, get your hands on a copy of The Stray today!

~ Antonia Bryan





Published in: on October 9, 2018 at 2:29 pm  Leave a Comment  

Ten Years Later

If anyone knew me from my early teen years (okay so not many people were aware of me writing back then) they would know that a decade ago, I decided to move on from writing roleplaying by moving onto my own personal projects.

Now first off… yes, I did a lot of written roleplay. I look back at some of the old stuff and it’s just cringe – and no, I will not be showing anyone.

But on a serious note, after taking my adventure away from roleplaying, I had three friends that I was close with while going through school. If they’re reading this, they know exactly who they are. Now, I wouldn’t try to base my characters in my stories on my real-life friends because I like to bring life to my own characters and it prevents constant requests, but back then was a different story (pun unintended).

efireI began writing my Sacred Stone series, which originally started with a title called Rising Winds. I had grand plans and before I really got to know my characters, I may have drawn a little on people I knew in real life! The series was going to take off with the characters already grown up and established, and include a prequel at the end to explain their backstory. Later I realised that this backstory was important and really needed to be told first.

The difference between these two ‘first’ books, Reflection of Fire and Rising Winds, was… basically everything! I had different protagonists; Laria Alfero is RoF’s because the protagonist of RW was someone I didn’t like. I mean, she was okay, but overall she was rather bland. The storyline was vastly different compared to the original, having the story based on two races fighting for a land away from the humans (on a side note… I still find this concept interesting, so who knows?). In my current version, the story is about reuniting a mysterious stone and everyone is forced to face the worst parts of themselves. Each of my characters has changed significantly. Originally, Laria’s first love interest was to be her childhood friend (shock factor) and back then she had more of an open mind as opposed to her now stubborn self. The me of ten years ago could never have guessed how much she and her cast would change.

Despite the differences, I tried to make sure that I followed the original plan – people with the ability to turn into animals. Werewolves were most certainly out of the question, as I had intentions of writing a future trilogy (which is still within reach – it has potential) so I went with shape shifters. The character of Lesley has technically been one of the few things that haven’t changed – her fate has stayed the same across all versions. Maya, Brodie, Jason and Jenna were all in the original version with different names and they were all shifters. The difference became obvious when I discovered I liked writing the interesting plot twists and surprises, that included killing off beloved characters that I’ve learned to love. I never would have done this in roleplaying, and I never would have guessed how much I love the characters that had grown to be my own.

But in the end, while Rising Winds never became the success that I dreamed of, I’m glad that Reflection of Fire was able to take this place. Ten years has gone by so fast and I know for a fact that I would never be here if it wasn’t for those early stories that lifted me up.

If I were to advise anyone about writing, if you finish your story but find it off – rewrite it. Just remember you are not writing to please everyone. Writing is the one industry you’re allowed to be selfish because I can tell you that someone will like it, even if it’s 1 person in 1,000,000. I couldn’t count the amount of times when I had to rewrite my stories simply because it wasn’t right. I’ll casually ignore the virus deletes… those were dark days my friends.

Even now, I’m finally finishing off the series. My final book, Pride of the Light, has literally been the hardest thing to write not because I am terrible with closing, but because I have to say goodbye to the characters that have been with me for ten years.


~Annalise Azevedo

Published in: on September 22, 2018 at 2:31 pm  Leave a Comment  

Review of Akarnae by Lynette Noni


Lynette Noni is an Australian author that has written a fantasy series titled The Medoran Chronicles. It is a five-part series that follows the journey of a young girl that falls into another Earth-like world called Medora. The following blurb is on the back of the book.

ImageHandlerWith just one step, sixteen-year-old Alexandra Jennings’s world changes – literally.
Dreading her first day at a new school, Alex is stunned when she walks through a doorway and finds herself stranded in Medora, a fantasy world full of impossibilities.
Desperate to return home, she learns that only a man named Professor Marselle can help her… but he’s missing.
While waiting for him to reappear, Alex attends Akarnae Academy, Medora’s boarding school for teenagers with extraordinary gifts. She soon starts to enjoy her bizarre new world and the friends who embrace her as one of their own, but strange things are happening at Akarnae, and Alex can’t ignore her fear that something unexpected… something sinister… is looming.
An unwilling pawn in a deadly game, Alex’s shoulders bear the crushing weight of an entire race’s survival. Only she can save the Medorans, but what if doing so prevents her from ever returning home?
Will Alex risk her entire world – and maybe even her life – to save Medora?

I purchased this book from Supanova on the Gold coast earlier this year. I had heard a lot about the book and have met the author on a few occasions and writing conferences here in Brisbane so I was keen to give it a chance.

In the beginning of the novel, it is a little slow to move as it brings you into the world of Medora and starts to explain what is different in this world compared to our Earth which is where Alex is from. As the story progresses I found excellent character development between the three heroes you will come to know if you choose to embark on your Medoran journey. If you are an avid fantasy reader and enjoy the books we have to offer at Ouroborus Books you are sure to enjoy this series as it progresses.

The bonus side to starting this series… there are five books with the fifth coming out in February 2019 so it is a ready to read series and you don’t need to wait long for the concluding novel. I finished the first book early last week and have almost finished the second which is still very good. I am interested how this one ends as I near its closing chapters. Thankfully as of last Saturday I have the third and fourth books on my shelf and ready to read.

The only negative I have to say for this book is that I have managed to guess some plot points before they presented themselves and I usually prefer novels that surprise me with their hooks. That said, there are also many plot points that I didn’t see coming or details that I didn’t expect along the way to a part that I suspected.

Overall and without giving away any spoilers I would rate this book a strong four out of five, with the mark down being because of the instances of being a bit predictable. Maybe this is because I write too and I’ve spent so long analysing the hows and whys of an author’s work to help improve my own abilities. Jump on to my personal blog or respond to the one here on Ouroborus and let me know what you think of this series.

~Amanda Geisler

Useful Links:
Dymocks (Image used in this post)
Lynette Noni’s Website
My website and blog
Published in: on September 9, 2018 at 3:50 am  Leave a Comment  

Pursuing Passion Despite Pain

All my life I’ve had to struggle with mental illness. On occasion it’s been hard to get out of bed in the morning. I’ve lost entire days, weeks, months of my life to my issues but I am aware that the world doesn’t stop for me. I’ve still had to write, publish, market and sell my work to the wider world as well as little things like food and rent. In addition to the normal problems of a writer in a saturated market I’ve also dealt with many pains all my own. I’d like to talk about them but that’s not my usual MO. I like to help if I can.

Here’s some of the advice I’ve managed to assemble over the years on how to deal with my own issues in the hope that no matter your problems and passions you won’t have to let your disability get in the way too much.

Lesson One. ‘Too Much’

imagesExpecting, allowing or even hoping for the idea that your disability isn’t going to impact your passion is painfully naïve. I’m sorry, I know that’s upsetting and it certainly was when I realized it but that naivete opens you up to being hurt later. Spending too long wondering when your disability will get out of your way and allow you to work will stop you from ever getting it done and nothing will end up disheartening you more than having a few good days and thinking it’s finally going to get out of your way and having that fall apart on you.

Trust me.

Keeping a realistic idea of what you can do might be a difficult compromise to come to terms with, but it’ll be good for you in the long run.

Lesson Two. Keep a Schedule.

Schedule Finder

Yes, it’s boring but it’s also necessary. Having scheduled times to follow your passions and managing your expectations and behaviour patterns and work around them. I realize this can be difficult for some people but if you search you can find things that’ll work for you. Whether it’s voice recognition, special art supplies or whatever equipment you need for your passion an ounce of preparation is worth a pound of effort.

Lesson Three. Accept Help

20721728_1495994254.6772_funddescriptionThis one was the hardest for me. I was raised to be proud and do my best to stand on my own two feet. That’s not easy when you’re hurting. When it’s hard to go outside and provide for yourself it’s sometimes hard to be proud and sometimes it’s harder not to be. Giving up a little of your independence in exchange for a little help can feel like handing over a lot but remember these measures are in place to help you.

Whether it’s government programs, or the friends and family who love you, you might need to put aside some of the pressures society puts upon you to make you earn, to make you feel less than for your disability. Don’t believe that for a second. It’s okay to need help.

It can be hard to accept limitations, but you need to acknowledge them in order to transcend them. There’s no reason you can’t be a disabled artist. You can chase your dreams living with a disability especially if you’re truly passionate about it. People with disabilities have a harder time finding room for our passions, but for some of us our art is reason to get out of bed in the morning. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice that.

~Robert J Barlow

*please note: all advice given is not in lieu of medical advice. If you are having issues with mental health please reach out to Lifeline, Beyond Blue, Kids Help Line or Headspace in Australia or find a local hotline from your country here.
Published in: on August 25, 2018 at 11:10 am  Leave a Comment  

Method – Procrastination Be Thy Name

download (3)Some people have commented that they are amazed at how much work I get done despite being constantly plugged in. I watch movies while I paint, I flick between editing, Facebook, writing, YouTube, book formatting, digital jigsaw puzzles (my guilty pleasure, I’m not ashamed) and a plethora of timewasting online goodies, while I should be doing anything but that.

553Some say I need to switch off, be internet-free for a few days, work without Facebook Messenger pinging in the background while I work, but for me I need that distraction. I need a quick interruption sometimes when editing to re-buffer my brain, clear it out so that words I know are spelled correctly don’t start looking wrong. When I write I need bursts of YouTube, of music, of colour, newsfeeds and Instagram to reinvigorate my mind. When I paint, listening to the droning of horror stories being read from Reddit keeps my mind flowing. I also have tinnitus and an overactive brain so too much silence and monotony drive me just a tad bonkers.

But sometimes, it is just procrastination, and that’s okay. Because I don’t plan any of my writing – I’m a pantser through and through – if the characters aren’t talking to me and I finally have time to write between editing jobs (a rarity at the moment), sometimes I need that distraction for more than invigoration. Sometimes it’s a space filler and hell, if I’m honest, it’s an excuse, at least to myself. It’s the theme tune to my writer’s block.

NOV14_20_writing1But for me there is no point in forcing it. I know if I force myself to write it will be subpar work. So, I go back to my routine of painting and movies, designing book covers and conspiracy theory videos, and soon, that procrastination becomes creativity. That creativity becomes my muse. My characters wake up and finally get themselves out of that locked room, or the forest they’ve been wandering in for five months (I’m looking at you Everdark Realms part 3), or sometimes some new character will raise their little hand from behind all of the mess and jumble in my brain and say ‘Hey, over here! Have I got a story for you!’

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is sometimes it’s okay to procrastinate, to fill that time with bursts of other things, distractions, other creations or even just sit back and binge a series on Netflix. It’s okay if you need noise and distraction to create. It’s okay to be connected and online 24/7 if that works for you. And if it doesn’t, that’s cool too. In the end method is as method does – do what works for you.

~ Sabrina RG Raven

Published in: on August 11, 2018 at 2:35 pm  Leave a Comment  

Sneak Peek: Inner Reflection by J.J. Fryer

inner reflection coverF.jpg1: A HORRIFYING WORLD

Today was the day that I entered a new, horrifying world: high school. Not just any high school but my new school. I never imagined a horrifying world with a rainbow coloured Australia as its logo. According to the sign at the front of the school, the name of my new world was Opal Creek High School.

As far as I could see, it didn’t seem that large at first. I could see a waist high wire gate in front of me, another building that looked like the administration building to my left, the school oval, that I immediately decided I was going to try to avoid, and a building that was surrounded by kids that I didn’t think were within my age group.

I could feel the chilling wind wrapping my body in goose bumps. The typically blue sky was blanketed in clouds; the gloominess of it was almost suffocating as I walked towards the front gate of my new prison. But was I going to let that stop me? Probably, I don’t know, there were so many thoughts swimming through my head. What will the other kids think of me? Am I Opal Creek material? How do I find new friends when I had to leave my other friends in Perth? Actually, I rarely made friends, not just in Perth but everywhere I went because I wasn’t good at figuring people out. I knew I wasn’t like other people because I have Asperger’s Syndrome.

I saw that every one of the students was wearing their school uniforms except me. The trees lurched ferociously in the wind and so did my short, hazelnut coloured hair. I tied my hair away from my face and decided that maybe reading might help settle my first day nerves. I slipped my beige backpack off my aching back, scoping around for a seat and there was one inside the school grounds nearby. Before I did something that I would later regret, I slowly pulled my backpack on again. I cupped my hands and allowed my face to fall into them. I started repeating the same thing over and over in my head, why do I have to be so awkward and out of place? I kept doing this for a few minutes, occasionally peeking through my fingers to see if anyone was observing my childish behaviour. I felt a shred of relief that even though some people were, more people were not.

I stared down at my purple t-shirt that had the symbols of the Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Greece in a circle. ‘Give me strength,’ I whispered to myself. I turned the opposite direction to the front gate and began to walk from it. Then I heard a high-pitched sound that I knew I recognised but could not place. I turned around to see if I could identify it.

As I turned back to the gate, I noticed that the front gate was ajar. I was beginning to question the logic of how the gate had opened within a few seconds; someone must have either entered or exited the school. Just as I thought my morning could not get any more peculiar, a gust of wind somehow took control of my body, pushing me back towards the gate. The wind decided to force me through like a charging bull. I saw some students in my way, so I warned them to move, which luckily, they did.

The wind finally released me and I collided with a red-haired boy a little bit taller than I was but before I could apologise, or say anything for that matter, the bell rang for class. The boy was a few paces away from me now.

‘Come on slow poke, class is about to start,’ he called.



His rough arm grabbed around my fragile body. I was feeling extremely uncomfortable. I twisted my neck around and for a second the trees were standing still but then the roots jumped from the ground and cracked the footpath as they stalked toward me. My brow creased at the concept of trees freely walking around being an impossible occurrence. I closed my eyes and shook my head. The trees were no longer walking and were back in the same place as before.

After I realised that, the red-haired boy dragged me across the snaking footpath. I gazed into the classrooms that we were passing by. A crowd of white shirts that were splattered with colour like fireworks exploding across a blank canvas, the sounds of screaming teenagers, and markers squeaking across the whiteboards were overwhelming me.

I paused at a pond that was shielded by lilies; adjacent to it was a metal, green-painted table and chairs. I tore my backpack from my back and placed it down. Swiping the zipper across the bag, I burrowed through my belongings.

‘By the way, I’m Fletcher and you are?’ I plucked my timetable out of my bag as Fletcher craned his neck around my arm and saw my name printed on my timetable. ‘You must be Anastasia, right?’

 ‘You must be psychic,’ I said sarcastically. I looked at my timetable and it stated my maths class started two minutes ago. I tensed up and my facial expression showed that when I looked at Fletcher. He responded by shrugging his shoulders and pressing his pale lips together. I stuffed my timetable in my bag, zipped it up and it wasn’t until I had run a few steps that I realised I had no idea where I was going. I lined up my rage fuelled eyes to Fletcher’s and he raised his hands in surrender and mumbled. ‘Okay, Okay.’

We were powerwalking past what appeared to be the chemistry classroom and the library. ‘Can we stop for a minute please?’ Fletcher panted, as he fell to his knees.

‘Urgh, no,’ I snapped. I twisted around on the balls of my feet. Fletcher was heaving like bellows blowing into a fireplace. ‘You have been acting like a child and distracting me from getting to class so no I am not going to stop for you.’

I turned sharply on the spot and kept walking, leaving Fletcher behind. I heard his footsteps clomping alongside me. ‘So, you must be a brainiac with all the subjects you’re taking on, right?’

I sighed. ‘Not really. Do you always ask this many questions?’

‘Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly.’

Finally, we reached the maths classroom. I gazed inside to see what was scribbled on the whiteboard; it looked the Pythagoras theorem. The back row of students were trying to text without being caught. But lucky for them they weren’t the focus of the teacher’s gaze. I opened the door nervously and Fletcher followed.

 ‘Can you give a valid reason for your unpunctuality Mr. McGregor?’ the teacher asked sternly, the whiteboard marker scratching at the whiteboard.

‘I… I am responsible, Miss,’ I answered hesitantly. The teacher looked into my eyes with her prison guard stare. The classroom fell into an anticipated silence. All eyes were on me and the teacher.

‘Are you going to just stand there or are you going to take your seats?’ I was a little baffled by her response. I mean for someone who was dressed in a very sophisticated, grey, pin-striped suit and had her fading brown hair in a tight bun I’d expected her to go all angry drill Sergeant on me but no, she was as cool as a cucumber. We tip toed around the teacher like she was a mine about to explode, sitting in the only unoccupied seats in the classroom.

The teacher carried on with the lesson and as I was jotting down notes, I felt like everyone was burning judgemental stares into me. Was I even going to survive the rest of the day?




As my first day at Opal Creek High progressed, things were looking up.  Fletcher escorted me to every one of my classes; I learned about ancient civilizations, Victorian England and so much more. Fletcher even invited me to have lunch with him. For the first time, in a long time, I felt happy; happy that I was not being forced to do something that I never wanted to do. As the high-pitched ringing of the bell rang to start my final class of the day, Fletcher walked me inside to the lockers. I didn’t feel as nervous as I had this morning. Maybe that gush of wind pushing me through the front gate helped me after all.

 I walked into my final class with a spring in my step. I was not going to let anyone bring me down. I walked to the back of the classroom with Fletcher trailing behind me. We took our seats but while I was feeling on top of the world, I could sense something was bothering Fletcher. I directed my attention away from his troubled face and to the mysterious weather which now was no longer overcast. The sun was breaking through the grey and white cloud barrier. I took a moment to soak in the sun’s warm and gentle rays.

When the sun disappeared behind the clouds, I snapped my eyes open and I saw a handful of perfectly manicured, fake fingernails rising and falling onto my desk. I guessed the irritating noise that they made wouldn’t stop until I looked up at the person attached to the nails.

My eyes slowly ascended up the figure, and soon I saw the face of person that was making the irritating noise. The most obvious thing about the figure was that it was a female that clearly thought she owned the school. Which would be impossible, I think. Her less irritating arm was perched on her left hip. Dark red curls were sitting on her shoulders and her eyes were so dark that she could see into your soul.

 Another noticeable thing about her was that she made everyone around her, especially Fletcher, cower in fear. All she needed was snakes for hair and she would basically be Medusa.

 ‘Hey, newbie, out of my seat,’ she demanded. Gesturing to make us go elsewhere. Fletcher was about move to another seat, but I raised my hand and he stood dead in his tracks.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said MOVE!’ she demanded again.

‘No, I’m fine just where I am,’ I replied.

‘Why you little…’

 The teacher walked in just in time. He saw the girl looming over me as he placed his briefcase on the wide, rectangular desk. He was a very young man about twenty to thirty years old, his hair and scruff golden as the sun and he was tall and lanky. I saw him start walking towards me, and at that moment I knew that I was in trouble. However, he was actually staring at the girl who was harassing me.

 ‘I suggest you take a seat, Margaret,’ insisted the teacher.

 ‘It is Maggie, Sir,’ she said irately.

‘I do not care what your name is,’ he explained. ‘You are still one of my students in my classroom, so I strongly suggest you take a seat.’

 ‘But she’s in–’ Maggie began.

‘Not buts,’ the teacher interrupted.

Maggie growled and stormed to the front of the classroom and collapsed into an empty chair. Finally, the teacher could commence the lesson. Fletcher gave me a nudge, and I observed him laughing quietly to himself. I also saw Maggie’s eyes boiling over with rage. It wasn’t until this exact moment that I started to regret what I’d just done.

 The bell rang indicating the end of my first day at Opal Creek High. Fletcher and I were about to go to his place to study. As we were halfway across the road someone pushed Fletcher and me onto the bitumen. We scraped ourselves up off the road and to our feet brushing off the morsels of tar. I turned to see Maggie and a couple of her friends looming over us like shadows.

We were surrounded. They began to slowly close in on us. Maggie was furious and apparently her friends were as well. Fletcher and I gazed deep into each other’s eyes and exchanged the same looks of sheer terror.

Maggie started accusing me of not being obedient to her. Which was true but accusing me was putting it strongly if you ask me. It wasn’t until the next statement that I felt rage coursing through my body. She started calling me names like retard and a joke. Fletcher then started poking me on the shoulder. At first I ignored him, but I finally glanced at him now shaking his hand as if something had either burned or electrocuted him, which both seemed impossible. The clouds above me were rolling in and deepening in colour like food colouring pouring into water. I felt my body levitate itself a few inches off the ground. Fletcher’s mouth dropped with a shocked expression scribbled across his face.

Maggie folded her perfect, pale arms across her thin chest and she just stood there acting as if she owned the road we were standing on. Her friends on the other hand were shaking all over and their teeth were chattering from the rope of wind that was tearing through the dramatic tension.

I could feel static electricity making my hair stand up. ‘I have known you for an hour and already, I’m over you.’

 Maggie’s friends were shuffling away. I pushed my hands aside in opposite directions like I was opening a pair of curtains. Huge gusts of wind swept down, and Maggie’s friends flew to opposite sides of the road. They collapsed to the ground like rag dolls. The expression on Maggie’s face when she turned to see her friends lying helplessly on the ground was priceless. For the first time today I saw a whole new side of Maggie. She fell too, scuttling away from me. She ran her hands over the asphalt surface, until she could feel the rubbery texture of a tyre, she then pushed her back into the front of a ‘70s Mustang, trying to get to her feet.

 Lightning cracked across the sky. My burning eyes were still filled with rage. A bolt of lightning smashed in front of Maggie. Her body was shaking as she fell to the bitumen again like a domino. I walked back to Fletcher, who was lost for words. The storm clouds were beginning to separate just when I was beginning to calm down. Almost immediately, a silver Pajero screeched only inches from hitting Fletcher and me. A man and woman emerged from the car, shock smudged across their faces. The man ran to Maggie to try and settle her nerves as the woman looked curiously at me and called for an ambulance.

Published in: on August 8, 2018 at 3:52 am  Leave a Comment  

The Power of Words

157195302Recently, I attended my friend’s birthday party. There were people going to be there that I hadn’t seen in a long time. I got chatting to someone I hadn’t seen in over twelve years. She said to me, ‘Are you still writing?’ I said, ‘Yes, I’ve got three books out and I’ve submitted my fourth.’ She was surprised. She reminded me that I had given my early work to her to read all those years ago. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t remember it, or what I had given her. She said it was a short story, and at the end the wife lays her head on her husband’s chest and listens to his heart beating. She said she remembered that since she had read it and it really resonated with her. Now that she’s married with several kids, she does that – listens to her husband’s heartbeat.

71R0PRLJi5LI have no idea what book that was from; I have a vague idea, but I’ve written so much in twelve years it may be on my old computer that died a few years ago and I lost a few short stories. It got me thinking of the power of words. A scene I wrote was remembered twelve years later and really struck a chord with someone. It meant a lot. I started to think of all the books I had read and which ones I remembered. Which scenes were the most memorable for me? Stephen King’s The Shining didn’t stick with me as much as the movie did, however his other book Gerald’s Game has remained me for nearly fifteen years due to the very end scene. I remember being scared out of my wits at night trying to finish it. Graphic novels like Essex County by Jeff Lamire have had an unexpected impact. Its powerful, heart-wrenching storyline has affected me in ways that no other comic book has.

When writing, I’m not looking for scenes to write that will be memorable, I’m looking to write a whole book that has a feeling of accomplishment, not only for me, but for the reader as well. What’s the use in reading a whole book if it didn’t entertain you for a few hours, or days? I’ve read far too many books where the writer was floundering for the first half of the book till the storyline kicked in and then it was wrapped up in a hundred pages. To me, that’s not good story writing. I don’t want to read about nothing until you’ve come up with the plot. Give it to me from the very start.

6fcb98f63717a44fe466782d098d17aaThe book I’m writing at the moment, Elephant Stone, has scenes of dreams in it that won’t appear till book 3. The very opening sequence won’t be explained till book 2. Reading it, the reader won’t ask questions because I’ve tucked it away nicely so that it is forgotten until they read book 2 and then they’ll remember ‘Oh, that was the start of book one.’ I like hidden treasures like that; it makes the reader think that I’ve actually put thought and process into my plot development. Hopefully they will read it and say it’s a good book and the payout will be linking scenes together through the four books series.

The power of words comes from the reader relating to scenes, relating to characters and falling in love with people that don’t actually exist. The reader is with them, beside them and they feel attached enough to believe they know them. When writers abuse that power, the reader reacts in a way that would indicate that character was real, and in a way, they are.

~Mitchell Tierney

Published in: on August 2, 2018 at 3:36 am  Leave a Comment  

Book Review: Banished Spirits by Jacinta Maree

29964717Banished Spirits by Jacinta Maree brings possession to a whole new level. When Rachel visits her father in Whitehaven, she arrives to find that his recent descent into madness has consumed his body as well as his mind and his death is eminent. Though what she does not expect is that when she loses her father the burden he bore would become hers.

Lock is a banished spirit who must latch himself onto a human host in order to survive and hide from those who are determined to drag him back to hell. Though when Lock attaches himself to Rachel he finds more than just a host, he finds an ally. Together they must defeat the seven sins and find Lock safe passage into the Third Realm.

This YA book is amazingly written and captivates you instantly. Jacinta has amazing attention to detail and story flow that you can’t help but fall in love with her imagination.

Rachel is a courageous and compassionate character who shows strength and conviction when thrown into a world of spirits and darkness. Lock grows on you; when you first begin the story you just want to slap his arrogant handsome ghost face but as his personality and past unfolds you learn how he and Rachel perfectly balance each other.

This is a must read story as Jacinta is an amazing story teller, I admire and envy her way with words and can’t wait to read the next book The Reapers. This is a three book series you MUST get your hands on.


~ Danica Peck

Published in: on July 18, 2018 at 3:19 am  Leave a Comment  

Finding Your Editor

On a sunny summer morning at the very end of 2013, I met my editor. We met at a local café and I ordered wedges. I mean, I don’t specifically remember the wedges, but I know that’s all I eat at that place, so it must have been what I ate. We ate and talked about my book, because in those days, Chosen and Scarred were one single gigantic Word document and Unbidden was an unnamed pet project, and Sabrina – that’s her name, my editor – had the unenviable task of suggesting to her newest client – me, Shayla – that I make changes to my book. *gasp*

SHAYLA.jpgFast forward five years and I not only have my first three books in print thanks to Sabrina, but a whole new career she inspired me to follow without even meaning to, and I find myself compelled to tell the story of how important my author-editor relationship has been to both my writing and my life. In an age of instant communication, increasingly accessible self-publishing options and changing understandings of literacies, I can see how easy it would be to discount the value of an editor, but I can guarantee I wouldn’t be sitting here typing this, living the life I’m living now, without the ups, downs, challenges and windows of opportunity granted to me through the professional and personal relationship cultivated between me and my editor.

In keeping with a narrative theme, Sabrina is honestly a fairy godmother. What does that make me? I don’t know – princess? It’s definitely been said before, meant in an entirely flattering way I’m sure. Sabrina runs her own indie press, a small publishing imprint called Ouroborus Books, and with her near-magical skills of editing, formatting, graphic design and tech-wizardry, she turns people’s unreasonable 200k-word manuscripts into two beautiful, coherent, saleable books. Well. Your book mightn’t be 200k words and in need of a tidy split, but mine certainly was. Not that I necessarily wanted to hear that, because, you know, I’m a writer, and writers don’t need editors telling them what to do, because they already know their work is perfect. Ahem. So, there was me, a relatively newbie teacher with an oversized manuscript and a publishing dream, thoroughly impressed by Sabrina’s CV of skills. I wish I could smugly say I knew what all of those were, but as we talked I became aware of just how much I didn’t know about this process I wanted to take my book on and how valuable someone like Sabrina would be to have onside. She could help me make my dream real. Thus began my professional relationship with my editor.

184928153-57a5555a3df78cf459a45874It also started something else – a newfound fascination with the publishing industry. But it came about through some less-than-fairytale moments. It’s a well-kept secret that I am, in fact, a control freak, well-accustomed to running a classroom of wild, magical children and getting to decide everything from what colour poster paper you get to how far we can stretch free writing time out to. So, like for most writers, it’s quite terrifying to hand over your precious creation to a relative stranger – or, in fact, anyone – and allow them to judge your work, but for me there was this other layer of twitchiness, this silent fretting of “What’s she doing to the book that I can’t do?” It became an obsession, constantly wanting to know, every step of the way, and wanting to do anything that remained in my power to do. And wanting all the power. Wanting to view every single change to the cover. Wanting it explained why a cover feature had shifted due to spine thickness, which in turn was due to word count. Wanting double quotation marks because that’s how I was taught, and silently seething when I was told that it was non-standard practice and would make my book look unprofessional. Sabrina, accustomed to handling this whole process on her own, got an opportunity to practise tactfully managing an overbearing author, an opportunity I’m sure she much appreciated. I got an opportunity to practise compromise. It’s not very fun. I recommend either tennis or calligraphy instead.

Regardless, the first book was born, and when I unpacked the first box in Sabrina’s driveway and held Chosen in my hands for the first time, I realised quite suddenly what this professional relationship and all this practise at compromising had brought me. Not just a book. Not just a whole box of books. A better book. And a new understanding of how it got there. With her skills, talents and no shortage of patience, Sabrina had guided me to this moment and made it real.

Here’s the link to the video of that moment, so you can see the enlightened joy in my eyes for yourself, along with how nice my hair looked that day.

When we started work on the second book, I knew a bit better what to expect – what I would be able to help with, what kind of quotation marks I would have to live with – and Sabrina knew a bit better what to bring me in on. Things fell into place, things got moving, and then suddenly there was a second book to join the first. Physical proof that Sabrina’s initial careful suggestion to split my manuscript was a very sound idea, since holding Chosen and Scarred in the one hand and pretending like anyone would buy a debut book that size is just silly. Very glad she persevered in pushing that agenda with me way back when, and glad I wasn’t too stubborn to agree.

Two other things changed around this point, too. The first was that my fascination with the process Sabrina has guided me through, and my emerging awareness of how undoubtedly irritating I’d been in my ignorant determination to be involved, led me to the door of the path of a Graduate Certificate in Editing and Publishing. I was really just eager to learn and be more involved and helpful to Sabrina and my books, but a Grad Cert led to a Masters, which led to both a thesis and a group project to start our own publishing collective to publish other people’s books, which led to freelance editing work. The thesis led to a Doctorate, which is where I find myself now. I’m still not entirely sure how I got here. Pumpkin carriage?

typed-manuscriptThe other thing that happened was that along the way of testing one another’s patience and tolerance, challenging each other to justify and explain our every decision on Chosen and then Scarred, toiling together to make them the best they could be and to bring them to the world, Sabrina became my friend. I learned to read between the lines of her editorial comments and know when she was being firm and when she was being funny. I learned how best to ask for advice as a new editor, because I know now that she’s straightforward and grounded and knowledgeable. We can agree and disagree very comfortably now. When we took Unbidden through the same processes as we had the first two books, it was all smooth sailing, and when Sabrina asked me to edit her debut novel, Blank, the open professional and personal relationship we had developed over so many years ensured the sort of honest, positive conversation that kept the success of the book at the forefront of our minds. I knew when a protagonist’s mentor betrayed her that it was a plot decision Sabrina wasn’t happy with – I knew her well enough to be ableebookBlank Cover final to tell from her prose, and I could suggest ways of rewriting that motivation to iron out the plotting that had forced her into that scene. Our boundaries were already established, so it felt perfectly natural to intersperse editorial comments with personal reactions (like, Lol, ‘as’ has one ‘s’, or KILL THIS CHICK I HATE HER!!!) the way Sabrina does with mine. And I knew, from my time spent on the other side of the fence, how terrifying this process was to a writer having handed over the reins to her editor, and how much trust and faith was involved. We had learned that trust and faith from each other. Together, we made Blank a better book. Go buy it. It’s cool.

A few weekends ago, on a fine wintery day otherwise reminiscent of that first meeting, Sabrina and I met a Masters student at a Brisbane café to discuss our relationship as editors and authors for her thesis project. That frank and open conversation reminded me both of how far we’ve come in five years but also of how valuable this relationship has been to me and my growth. Working with my editor and cultivating our two-way editor-author/author-editor relationship has not only made my books better; it’s taught me to look at writing in a more objective and professional way, it’s sent me on a whole new career trajectory, and, very importantly, it’s given me a fabulous package deal: a professional contact and a friend in one. Thanks, Sabrina.

~ Shayla Morgansen

Published in: on July 1, 2018 at 3:28 am  Leave a Comment  

Living the Dream

If you’d asked me what my dream was my entire life up until a year ago I would have responded the same way. Something along the lines of the fact that I like telling stories, and ultimately my goal was to publish a book one day.

I never really thought it would happen; it was just a dream I kept in the back of my head, to take out and look at when I needed it. Sometimes the dream would be fame and fortune, other times I just wanted the acclaim and satisfaction of having a few people who loved seeing me do what I love. I imagined the pride I’d feel looking at my work and saying ‘yeah that’s mine. I did that.’

coverfrontNow I’ve done that. My life’s dream has been accomplished which, as you can probably guess, is a much more complicated thing to have happen to you than it might seem at first glance. So I thought now would be a good chance to look at what got better, what got worse and what got weird.

What Got Better

The obvious is probably the best place to begin: I now have a book to my name, which is about the strangest thing to have happen. I still occasionally get a little flush of quiet accomplishment knowing that I’ve done something I always wanted to do. I talk to people and hear that they’ve always wanted to write a book, how they’d always had a story in them. I love the idea of being a positive example rather than a cautionary tale for once, and every time someone quotes my work on Facebook or tells me they recommended it to a friend I feel a happy buzz.

I got what I wanted most from life – so many people never get to do that, so I won’t pretend I’m not lucky, and I’ll never forget what it was like to open up my first box of books.

What Got Worse

writers-blockI’m only twenty-six years old and I’ve already done the only thing in the world I’ve always wanted to do, which is a confusing situation to be in. I love writing, but I now have a much greater mountain to climb to reach my next potential step. Living off my work is something a lot of authors never achieve, and having already lived my dream I have no overriding goal to accomplish.

It resulted in a sense of malaise that lasted months after I got my first book out there. The fact that not everything changed when I did the only thing I had ever wanted to do was difficult to deal with. My world didn’t turn on its head and honestly, I kind of expected it to.

The world seems so much bigger now, and apparently that’s where things begin. I now have cons, promotion, marketing, trying to meet the right people and get my name out there which are things I have no idea how to do. Something I loved is a job now, which takes something away from the favourite hobby I once had.

Where to go from here?

I know how monstrously self-indulgent this sounds. I’m droning on about how my life changed when I got everything I wanted but the idea that twenty-six might be my peaking achievement is so strange. I don’t know if this is a thing most writers go through, but there’s a possibility. For so long my entire life, and maybe yours, has been about doing this one thing we’ve always wanted to do and once that’s done we end up with a sense of aimlessness that takes some considerable getting over.

My Advice to Other Writers

downloadIf you feel like I feel my best advice is to find another goal to work toward quickly. It doesn’t have to be ‘live off my writing’ (which mine is, as insane as it sounds to write that down.) It might be to find a way for writing a sequel to fit into your life or building more effective writing habits. It might be to write something outside of your usual genre, or write something that impresses and pleases you on a level your current work doesn’t.

If all else fails, work on your magnum opus. It’ll never be good enough to satisfy you, but it’s a lot of fun to try.


~Robert J Barlow

Published in: on June 16, 2018 at 2:32 am  Leave a Comment