Guest Author: Miriam Newman

Please help me welcome Dark Castle Lords author Miriam Newman as she celebrates the release of her novella, SPIRIT AWAKENED!

In a pre-medieval land recently torn by war, a woman with no speech and no memories struggles to survive. Drawn to a small farm, she encounters a man equally in need, though for different reasons. They are each other's only hope, and the future for their land. In a time of spiritual awakening, can they and their country survive? Or will the twin enemies of fear and persecution triumph?

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What led you to write this book?

The book originated with a mental image of a girl who is pregnant, unable to speak or remember, but who knows that she is in a dangerous, war-torn place. Thrown back upon basic instinct, she barely manages to survive until the birth of her child and then, despite her fears, has to find a way to ensure both of them will live.

What makes this book so unusual?

One of the things that made it such a challenge is that it's 46,000+ words about someone who never regains her memory or much speech. Personal influences shaped my ability to even write a book, which has no dialogue for the first three chapters! After a serious head injury in my late teens, I suffered from amnesia. Subsequently, when I worked in various aspects of psychiatric social work and was employed by a home health care agency, I had occasion to work with clients who suffered from receptive and/or expressive aphasia--that is, they were unable to understand speech and/or to process speech in order to reply. It is an extremely challenging condition. Next I had to imagine a man who would be able to deal with this in a pre-medieval society. And then I had to get him down on paper!

Sounds like a challenge! How long did it take you to write this?

The draft was finished in approximately 90 days, and then a brave lady from my writers' group critiqued the whole thing. She did that in the course of about six weeks. I started to have members of another critique group go over it, too, but by then I had spilled the beans to my publisher and she wanted to read it.

How long did it take her to accept it?

One day.

Wow--a lady who knows her own mind!

She certainly does.

Did it require much research? Ninety days isn't a lot of time!

No, it isn't, but another unusual thing about the book is that it's a fantasy historical. Even though aspects of pre-medieval Europe are recognizable, they are mixed with elements of world-building that characterize fantasy. I have created my own world, containing the European influences I have mentioned, but laced with lore from the Golden Horde of Genghis Khan, Tibetan and Native American myth and custom. And those are areas in which I was already well-read.

Have you done this before?

Yes. My "Chronicles of Alcinia"--The King's Daughter and Heart of the Earth--are also fantasy historicals. For those, I drew heavily on of Romano-British, Celtic and Viking history, myth and legend. And I wrote them while I was in Ireland, which was a vast and incredible influence on the books.

Any such plans for your future books?

I honestly don't know. When I sit down with the idea for a book, I never know if that's what is actually going to come out on the keyboard. It's like some inner force starts typing and sometimes I don't even get the book I had in mind. Talk about a pantser!

Do you have forthcoming releases?

Two. Sometime later in the summer I should be announcing a release date for Scion: House of Bardin. It's a futuristic in which you will not have to look far for the influences of Ancient Rome, even though it is set on another planet.

And then in November, Dark Castle Lords will release a Christmas anthology titled Season of Love. I have joined three other DCL authors in a sampler of contemporary, paranormal and science fiction romance. My story there is titled "Peace on New Earth," and I didn't actually realize until I had finished it that American Colonial history was at work in that one. It's a light romance, sort of Pilgrims meeting natives on a far distant planet. Unfortunately, the pilgrims have infected their hosts with a nasty, deadly virus. So peace for anyone may be very short-lived, because these natives aren't going without a fight.

Any plans beyond that?

I don't know, but the year 1066 keeps rolling around in my mind...

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Thanks for stopping by today, Miriam. Best of luck with your work!

Readers, are you curious about SPIRIT AWAKENED? If so, leave a question or comment for Miriam. I'll draw a winner at random next Sunday. Best of luck!

Excerpt Thursday: Miriam Newman

Thursdays on Unusual Historicals mean excerpts! This week we're featuring a sample of Dark Castle Lords author Miriam Newman's latest release, SPIRIT AWAKENED, a fantasy historical novella! Miriam will be joining us on Sunday for a Q&A, where we'll be offering the chance to win a free copy. Be sure to stop back!

In a pre-medieval land recently torn by war, a woman with no speech and no memories struggles to survive. Drawn to a small farm, she encounters a man equally in need, though for different reasons. They are each other's only hope, and the future for their land. In a time of spiritual awakening, can they and their country survive? Or will the twin enemies of fear and persecution triumph?

***

In the twilight, Caln hunkered on his thighs perhaps ten feet from the girl, feeding her pieces of beefsteak that she picked off his knife. Usually he had venison, but a brainless young heifer had broken a leg and he had been forced to cut her throat. For the moment, he had rare and precious beef which he cut into pieces from a platter on the ground beside him. He would not give the platter to the girl, but made her stay, dependent on him for each bite. It was a subtle lesson. He would feed her, but only on his terms.

She had pretty eyes, not the usual blue or gray of Westenian girls. There was barely enough to light to see that hers were hazel-green, the color of growing things, and watched him warily.

"You shouldn't try to go up the cliff in the dark," he said, feeding her. Although she gave no indication that she could understand him, he was convinced that she did. Why she didn't answer was another matter. But he was satisfied just to have someone to talk to and he laughed gently at her look of discomfort.

"Yes, I know you live in the cave," he confirmed. "We all know you're there, but unless you steal from the other farms, they won't trouble you. I don't care if you steal from me. I have enough. But the others are very poor. If they catch you, they'll abuse you and take you downriver to the town where your people are living. It's not a nice place. You should stay close to here. Tonight, you may sleep in the barn. I will give you a blanket. You can go when you want to."

"Or you can sleep in the cabin if you like," he added, oh, so off-handedly. She gave him such a wry look that he knew then she understood his speech. She understood everything.

"I know men have hurt you," he admitted. "I wouldn't hurt you."

The girl sat with her back against the tree, regarding him steadily. Chica, beefsteak, the offer of a blanket...and a bed. She had finished the steak and she stood up, in a defensive posture.

Caln smiled. "I will bring you a blanket."

Guest Author: Georgia Evans

Sundays on Unusual Historicals mean new books! Guest authors! Free books!

This week we're featuring Georgia Evans as she celebrates the release of BLOODY GOOD, the first of three WWII-era paranormals set in the fictional English town of Brytewood.

At the height of the Battle of Britain, a lady doctor has more than enough trouble to keep her busy even in a sleepy hamlet outside London. But the threat is nearer home than Alice knows. German agents have infiltrated her beloved countryside--Nazis who can fly, read minds, and live forever. They're not just fascists. They're vampires.

Alice has no time for fantasy, but when the corpses start appearing sucked dry, she'll have to accept help from a lowly Conscientious Objector, an able-bodied young man who says he's no coward though he refuses to fight. And, of course, from her grandmother, a sane, sensible woman who insists that she's a Devonshire Pixie. Indeed, whatever it takes to defend home and country from an evil both ancient and terrifyingly modern.

***

Peter hadn't meant to accept a lift home, but by the time he'd settled the drowsy child on a nest of blankets on the back seat, Black had swung both bicycles up in the back of the shooting brake.

Seemed downright churlish to yank them out again so Peter hopped into the passenger seat, reminding himself he was quite possibly going to be working with this woman for the duration of the war and lust was out of the question.

Even if it had taken possession of his brain.

Sitting this close in the dark was nothing short of painful. At least it was dark. It was only five minutes back to Sergeant Pendragon's cottage. And there was a child on the back seat. Who was right now snoring. No doubt needed her adenoids out.

"It never ceases to amaze me," Alice--Dr. Doyle he reminded himself--said, "how a child can sleep like that after a night of trauma. But she's been taken care of, rescued, stitched up and tucked up. The grown ups are looking after her." She sighed and Peter was about to comment that things weren't that secure for many children when Alice went on. "She'll not worry until she wakes up, and wonders where she'll end up living now, if she'll be with her friends, and if she'll be late for school tomorrow."

"Or if you're going to get bombed again tomorrow night."

"Or the Germans march up the gap in the Downs. They haven't put up all those pill boxes and dragons' teeth barriers all over the place just to complicate the harvest."

"They've got to get here first." He hadn't expected to be talking about the war and invasion with her, but it was safer than say what really was on his mind. Nothing like a bit of worry to take care of his urges. "Although I suppose nights like tonight are meant to soften us up so we just roll over when they tramp up from the beaches and head for London."

"Judging by the mood in London, they're more likely to be met with carving knives and knitting needles."

"And pitchforks and scythes in these parts."

She glanced at him in the night, then set her gaze back on the road. One blinkered headlight was not enough to see well in the twisting lane. "You'd take up a pitchfork or a scythe, Mr. Watson? How does that reconcile with your CO stance? Sorry!" She glanced his way again and shook her head. "I had no right to ask that."

"You put it a lot more tactfully than most people do. 'You'd sit by and watch your sister get raped by a German, would you?' is one of the favorite lines." Why was he telling her this? Had to be a combination of tiredness and the odd isolation of the dark.

"Do you even have a sister?"

"Actually, no. I've two little half-brothers, and if anyone laid a hand on them I'd plant him a facer and then attack below the waist." He sensed her smile in the dark. "It's a long story, but I can not, will not pick up a gun. The board accepted that." And he hoped to hell she did.

She'd stopped the car.

They were back at his cottage.

Just as well. Another half mile he'd no doubt have spilled his whole hideous past. "Er...thanks."

He hopped out of the car and went around the back to retrieve the bicycles.

She was there too, turned the handle and opened the back for him. "Try to get a few hours sleep, Mr. Watson. And this is a doctor talking. We still need to start at nine in the morning. Gloria will need help with the home visits and we need to find out what to do all the children, to say nothing of the with the Arckle boys."

The Arckle boys? "You mean Dave and Sid."

"Yes. The billeting committee are going to have their hands full. I can't keep them all in my place indefinitely."

"No." Not that he remembered much about her house or how anyone would find places for all those children.

He reached for the Sergeant's bicycle, at precisely the same moment she did and their hands closed on the handlebars together. And just about undid all his brilliant efforts at self control. Her hands were warm, smooth and darn strong as she grasped the handle bars, and his hand, for a split second before drawing back.

"Sorry. You want to get that one?"He did and the other actually, but she swung his down with little effort, and wheeled it beside him up the path.

Ignore the blackout, their exhaustion and the injured child sleeping in the car, and they might have been returning after an afternoon spin across the Surrey Hills, stopping off for a picnic by some river and now he'd be getting ready to ask her in for coffee.

He almost laughed out loud.

Seemed stress and fatigue made his imagination run riot.

"...Er...excuse me..."

She'd been talking to him, or trying to, while he was verging on impure thoughts. "Sorry."

"That's alright. I'm the one needs to apologize." She leaned the bicycle against the side of the house and looked up at him. Her face was a pale shape in the darkness. "I'm not good at apologizing. Never have been. But I own you one. That first afternoon, I made some very rude, unjustified comments. I'm sorry," she paused as if to catch her breath. "You're not a coward. Tonight proved it and I had no business to make such a sweeping judgment without knowing a thing about you."

He shrugged, unsure how to reply. "Tonight, I just did my job." With a lot of help.

"Without you, those two brothers would have been buried alive and no doubt dead buy the time they dug them out. "You saved their lives."

"I didn't do it alone. Sergeant Pendragon..."

"Is an old man. You went down into the cellar, he told me that. You went looking for them not knowing if you'd be able to get out again, That, Mr. Watson, is courage in my book." He ought to tell the truth, that Sergeant Pendragon held up a wall and the stairs on his shoulders but she'd think he was out of his mind. Perhaps he was. "Thank you," she went on, "and I look forward to working with you."

She offered her hand.

He took it.

His earlier impression had been dead on. Her skin was warm, even in the chilly night, her grasp strong and he might sense rather than see her smile, but he just knew it crinkled the corners of her blue eyes. Which must sparkle with life and beauty and...

Oh, dash it all!

Holding hands was nowhere near enough. Why waste the night and the moment?

He put his arm on her shoulders, drawing her closer. To his utter amazement and delight, she stepped into him, looking up at him. This close he could almost see the soft curve of her lips. He felt the warmth of her breath as he lowered his mouth and brushed her lips with his.

That was all he intended, a reckless, stolen kiss that they could both forget in daylight.

If they had any sense. Which they obviously didn't.

Instead of stepping back, she leaned into him, warm and soft against him , and tilting her neck, opened her mouth and wrapped her arms around him.

***

In lieu of our regular Q&A this week, we're doing something a little different. Georgia will answer the first ten questions you post in the comments. You direct the interview! Leave a comment or questions for your chance to win one of two signed copies, which will be chosen at random next Sunday. Good luck!

Guest Blogger: Jacquie Rogers

Jacquie Rogers is the author of DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES, and you can read an excerpt posted on Unusual Historicals last Thursday. Her previous release was FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES, for which all royaties go to the Children's Tumor Foundation, ending neurofibromatosis through research. She has been with Unusual Historicals since its inception, and presents an online class on writing at Texty Ladies every Monday.

DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES is narrated by a mule named Socrates. Why did you write the book that way?

I'm not so sure I had a choice. Socrates is rather pushy, you know. When I first set out to write this book, I was trying to write for the market, but characters have a tendency to see the market in their own ways. Socrates, for instance, thought he should be the star. He's a performer and quite a handsome mule, so no reason not to. Besides, he made me laugh. He's rather persistent when he wants something, even having his own email, blog, Facebook, and Myspace page. His next goal is to get his own Hollywood Star.

Tell us a little about your background and why this book is so authentic.

I grew up in southwest Idaho where rodeo is extremely popular and lots of people there participate in the sport. Fast forward many years, and our family became friends with Jim O'Keefe, a retired rodeo clown and bullfighter. So I've been a fan my entire life, even dabbled in barrel racing myself, and then the extensive discussions I had with Jim on every aspect of bullfighting, cowboy protection, and clown entertainment just made me need to write this book.

Jim's claim to fame wasn't a mule, it was a moose, believe it or not. But another famous bullfighter and rodeo clown named Leon Coffee did have a mule, and the two of them were hysterically funny. That man was truly astonishing--he could make anyone laugh, but then the next minute he's risking his life by putting his body between a beat-up cowboy and a 2,000-pound bull. He was incredibly athletic, and a heckuva good entertainer.

I never did see Jim O'Keefe perform, so I actually based a lot of Brody's fancy moves on Leon, but then all the particulars, like how to get a cowboy released when he's "hung" on the bull rope, that sort of thing, came from Jim. He explained things two or three times until I understood. To tell you the truth, I don't think anyone who hasn't stood in front of a charging, snorting bull can understand. These men are beyond gutsy.

So everything in the book is made up, as are the characters, but the actual rodeoing scenes are based on the real deal, all the way from the Grand Entry, to the dance after the show.

This book is a drastic departure from FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES, which was ten short stories, from medieval to futuristic. What exactly do you write?

My genre is lighthearted romance, and I don't care if it's fantasy, western, or Mesopotamian. Same with my reading. If you make me laugh, I'll buy your books for life. Why? Because I think laughter is the second most important thing we do each day--the first being hugs. Laughing while hugging is even better yet! My goal is to put a few hours of sunshine in your life, a few hours when you don't have to think about the bills, the kids, the mother-in-law, or any of the bazillion stressful things that can bog down our world. Laughter feeds your soul in a way nothing else can.

How have your books been received?

Very well. DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES has received PNR Staff Top Pick from ParaNormal Romance, and won the TRS 5-Heart Sweetheart from The Romance Studio. FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCE has finaled in several contests. One story, "Faery Good Advice," won the 2006 PEARL Award, and another story, "The Duchess and the Dirtwater Faery," finaled in the 2007 PEARL. FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES was also the Fall 2007 NOR Award winner for Best Print Sci-fi/Fantasy Romance.

So is your next story more like DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' MULE BLUES, or like FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES?

Neither. I'm currently writing a dragon-shifter, then I'm writing a pirate story, and meantime I'm working on a series that I'm writing on spec. So every project is completely new and different to me (yes, I have a short attention span), except they all are light in tone, all are romance, and all have a guaranteed Happily Ever After.

Speaking of short attention spans...

Yes, yes, I know. It's time for the contest!

Any commenter this week will be eligible to win an autographed copy of FAERY SPECIAL ROMANCES, along with a DOWN HOME EVER LOVIN' BLUES T-shirt. Plus, my sister is a shopaholic so you never know what else she'll throw in the box. Good luck!

And where can readers contact you?

Here are links for my Webpage, Contest & News Group, Myspace, Facebook, Twitter, and IWOFA.

Thanks for inviting me to be Unusual Historicals' featured blogger today. I'm really happy to be involved with such an informative blog--I look forward to each day's post because there's always new and fascinating information.