Three Books on A Desert Island Question For Readers and Writers

Have you ever been asked that question? You know, the one about which books, if you could take only three, or one or five, would you take with you to a desert island? Ah the seriousness of it all, the conundrum. Which books to take? Rack  your brain. Think, think, think.

Well, I’m a long time reader and writer and I have an answer. Nope, not a list of which books I’d take and a lengthy explanation as to why I chose those particular books. It’s much simpler. I’m not big on clutter or complications.

Here it is.

I’d take along an Ebook reader – and a solar charger.  In my case that would be a Kindle Fire, but for others it would be something else. Whatever. The Kindle plus solar charger would take up less space (if that’s an issue) and provide a whole lot more than the basic few books. In fact I could load it up with my old favorites that I like to read more than once and then hit Kindle for lots of freebies I could add to the memory and catch up with discovering new authors. That’s not to say I couldn’t purchase a number of books I’ve been meaning to read along the way as well.  How about Game of Thrones, the complete set? That would keep me busy for quite a while and take up little space on the reader. Whohoo! Just don’t hit any ‘delete’ button accidentally. There’d be no recovery.

And the reader, if it’s more of a tablet, would let me take a few downloaded movies and/or music along as well. Ah, the modern age. The wonderful world of digital. The other nice thing is I could read in the dark. Most screens are backlit so I wouldn’t be forced to attempt to ready by torch light or candle or something.

Only downside is if anything happened to the reader/tablet/Kindle/whatever, or the solar charger, there would be no ‘hard copy’ books or anything else to read, listen to or watch.

Sigh.  Well, we can’t have everything (though I’m not quite sure why not…it’s just that my Grandmother said…well, you know).  Maybe I could then pound palm leaves into some sort of paper and use charcoal from burned out palm stumps to write my own books. It’s a thought.

Anyway, that’s my answer. I’d risk it. Hopefully if it was a castaway situation I’d be rescued before something untoward happened to my electronics. 

From the Beginning – Five Writer’s Gripes About Novel Starts

I’m a writer, but I’m also a reader. Even if you aren’t both I’m sure there are things about the beginning of a book, the very first sentence that just bug the heck out of you.

Seriously. Me too.

So I’m going to talk here a bit about beginnings – specifically the very beginning – the first sentence of a novel which ideally is supposed to grip the reader by the eyeballs and not let them go.

Um, yeah. So here are five ‘do-nots’ from my perspective as both writer and reader.

First, it’s the beginning. I know nothing of what’s going on so let’s not start with a really long sentence. Those usually aren’t too good anywhere in the book, but at the very beginning they can be killers. A long sentence provides just too many ideas and bits and pieces of information all randomly connected for the reader to make any sense of by the time the sentence is finished. And this, as the very first sentence…not a good idea. Way to turn off the reader. Come on! It’s the first sentence.

Second, I’m not wild about books that start right out with dialog. I mean at this point, need I reiterate, it’s the beginning. The reader isn’t acquainted with any of the characters, knows nothing about the plot, where they’re at or what they are doing or intend to do. So why would the reader care what someone is saying at the very inception of the book? When I see a start like that I suspect it’s a sort of a gimmick the writer learned somewhere. I know I know, “it’ll all make sense later”. Probably not for me because that second sentence better be a doozy to keep me reading beyond that first, “So you wanna go to the park?” dialog bomb at the beginning. A beginning like that doesn’t tweak any questions or raise any interest in my brain. Just lost interest. On to something else.

Another thing (I guess this is the third) that gripes me is the revelation the whole opening was a dream or maybe a flashback or maybe a visitation from another dimension. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather keep on track. Diversions can occur later, but I want that first sentence hook to really give me something. It’s supposed to be a hook, remember?

Okay, next. The fourth gripe on my list. Since this is the beginning and I as a reader have no idea what is happening, why would I care where it’s happening? I mean a writer showing off some purple prose in the first sentence without connecting how it’s relevant to the story is probably going to lose readers. Fast. Readers are in it for the story, not a detailed description of the scenery. As the story evolves the reader might well enjoy a vivid description, but please, make that description relevant. This is not a showcase for the writer’s vocabulary.

And the fifth and final frustration on my novel beginnings

list is the excruciatingly ordinary start. You know, something like: At six in the morning, on March 2, the start of his thirtieth year, John Snow climbed out of bed. There are exceptions of course and writers who can pull this off, but mostly what is there about an introductory sentence like that that would catch the attention of a reader?

So those are my gripes. Have you got any novel gripes that really bug you? Either a beginning or something else? Things that might make you just close a book and forget it. Toss in a comment below if you do…or if you disagree with any of my complaints. Go ahead, you know you want to. 

From Writer Peggy Bechko - A Sample of Romance Cloud Dancer

This week I'm posting a sample of my romance novel Cloud Dancer. It's laced through with history in the southwest US in a time before the 'wild west'; a time when the Native Americans were beset by the arrival of the  Spaniards. It was a time of culture clashes and war and it was great fun researching and writing this novel, one of my favorites to date.  

Cloud Dancer has gotten some nice reviews and 5 star ratings on Amazon.

Enjoy the sample! 

 

Prologue November 30, 1598 Beneath the vast expanse of the shimmering blue sky, Juan de Zalvidar and his thirty soldiers rode hunched against the biting cold of the New Mexican winter. The wind, relentless, blew out of the east. The rhythmic scrape and thud of the horses' hooves was a familiar sound of comfort to the men as were the soft jingling of bridles and the clank of armor. There were no clouds this day, but already in days past the men had seen white patches along the river, and the smell of snow was upon the air. As he rode at the head of the column, Juan de Zalvidar's stature and carriage easily marked him as the leader. At twenty-eight, his air of authority floated about him like a cloak; there would be none who would dispute it. He and his brother, Vicente, had already done much to explore and begin to tame this wild land. They were backed by the power of their uncle, Governor Onate. Juan's thoughts strayed as he rode. His tanned face creased in a smile as he remembered the tales his younger brother, Vicente, had told of his own attempts to capture the buffalo herds in cottonwood corrals built near a river. Vicente had returned after fifty-four days of travel to and from the buffalo plains with none of the beasts. When Juan had taken his leave of his brother, setting out with his thirty soldiers to reinforce their uncle in the west, Vicente had still been good- naturedly swearing that he would not give up so easily; he would try again to capture the buffalo. Putting aside the thoughts of his brother, Juan turned to the young soldier at his side. "We will reach the pueblo of Acoma soon. There we will get corn for our horses and meat for us. The people of these pueblos raise turkeys in great numbers. We may even have a feast!" His companion chuckled against the chattering of his teeth. "I relish food in my belly," he admitted, "but I relish even more the thought of being warm once again! I will barter for blankets and firewood as well! There is so damned little of it in this godforsaken country. I want a large, roaring fire. How these people can manage with such tiny fires to warm their homes I don't know!" "They are used to this miserable cold," Juan de Zalvidar pointed out, bowing his head against the chilly breeze that had suddenly sprung up out of the north at cross-purposes with the wind from the east. "They were born here. They were not softened and spoiled by the gentler climes to the south," he said with wry amusement at his own discomfort as well as that of his men. He could afford to laugh, for soon they would know full bellies and warmth again. The Pueblo peoples were tame Indians, who would provide all that was needed. The king of Spain had ordered his armies not to steal from the simple natives, but to trade instead, so Zalvidar's party had brought along plenty of items, hatchets being of particular appeal, to negotiate with the Indians. But the Pueblos had recently begun to balk at trade. At first they had been open and friendly with the Spanish, but now they seemed reluctant to give up their corn, deerskins or blankets. Still, Juan was not worried. Should it become necessary he had a great enough force with him to take what was needed from the Indians. After all, the king of Spain was not riding at the head of a column of cold, hungry soldiers. These Pueblo Indians were easy to manipulate or coerce. Onate's colony had arrived too late in the year to build or plant in preparation for winter, so the colonists had traded for and taken what they needed from the Indians. Already they had dispossessed almost the whole pueblo of San Juan to obtain shelter from the bitter cold of the New Mexican winter. A few of the Indians of San Juan had stayed, making themselves useful in carrying wood and water for the colonists in exchange for being allowed to remain in their homes. Juan knew that his uncle had stopped at Acoma on a past exploratory trip; the Kere of Acoma had been no more difficult than the other Pueblo Indians. And while Juan had no intention of bullying the natives unnecessarily, he and his men would have what they required to continue their trip to meet Governor Onate at Zuni. "There!" The soldier beside Juan jabbed his finger in the direction of a great rock in the distance, thrusting into the sky. "There is Acoma! Soon we will be there." Juan laughed. "Distances are deceiving here, my friend. We will camp tonight at the foot of Acoma. Tomorrow we will climb to the heights and obtain our supplies." A wave of curiosity, excitement and apprehension swept through the Pueblo of Acoma when the report came that Spanish soldiers could be seen at the foot of the mesa. For months they had talked, planning what they would do if the Spanish arrived again demanding the food and blankets that the people of Acoma could ill spare with the long winter still ahead. Standing with many of the Kere, Cloud Dancer peered down from the heights at the strangers. "They have come again," she said to her sister, Woman of the West Wind, who stood by her side. "I had hoped they would not." Her sister nodded slowly in agreement. "I think we all hoped they would not come again." She touched Cloud Dancer on the arm. "Come, we must move away from here. Chief Zutucapan and the men will handle the Spanish, and they have said we should not stay outside." Cloud Dancer nodded her agreement, but found she felt more than a little reluctance to be tucked away in a kiva or hidden inside one of the mud houses. Why must they always do what the men decided? She sighed and quashed the rebel­lious thought, returning with her sister to their home. Both daughters approached their mother in respectful sience as they entered, for she was working the clay. Woman of the Willows smiled her greeting, her hands moving swiftly, dexterously about their chore, smoothing and shaping the clay into a vessel of great fineness and beauty. It was the Kere custom to work the clay in silence with respect for the spirit that it contained. When Woman of the Willows finished, setting the pot aside to dry, Cloud Dancer informed her quickly, "The Spanish have returned." Woman of the Willows's eyes darkened and her mouth set in a tight, grim line. Her eyes went to the small doorway open to the outside, searching. "Your father will be with the others. We must remain here." "But what are they going to do?" Cloud Dancer demanded, forgetting her woman's place in her agitation. Woman of the Willows smiled indulgently at her younger daughter. Cloud Dancer always had been the impatient one, always questioning, never satisfied with the way things were. "Your father has said it was decided we would give no more supplies to the Spanish. We will trade with a few old blankets and skins if they so desire, but they will have no cornmeal, pumpkin, pine nuts or other important stores. If we trade those, our people will go hungry when the deep snow comes. If the Spanish demand what we cannot willingly give, our men will attack." Cloud Dancer's face glowed. Her older sister's paled. "Good!" Cloud Dancer exclaimed. "The Spanish must be taught they cannot take whatever they wish from us." "It is very dangerous," Woman of the West Wind murmured. "It is very dangerous," her mother agreed. **And if you'd like a bit more of a sample,  head on over to Amazon and read a larger sample for free.

Stormrider - A Sample of the Book Right Here

STORMRIDER

       Trust The Wolves 

       Save  A World

CHAPTER ONE           

         Stillness, galvanizing in its intensity, overwhelming in its suddenness, a stillness not her own, surged from some inner repository, filled Tanith, pushed all else aside.

            Her head jerked up.  The important work of gathering plants for food and medicine was forgotten and the stillness transformed into an unmistakable, undeniable pull.  Her heart took up a skipping rhythm.  Ears buzzed with silence, a void soon filled.

            Come, it beckoned, rippling softly through her mind, disturbing the great stillness.  Come.

            Tanith Aesir grasped her collecting bag tighter and bolted to her feet, rising from the mottled forest shadows into brilliant sunlight.  Tension snapped through her body like a whip crack as a sudden breeze surged, swaying the surrounding trees.  Their movement dappled the sunlight, flickering shadows impairing her focus.  The grove’s serenity evaporated in an instant.

            Expert training strained to the fore.  Years of it.  Green eyes rapidly swept her surroundings, adjusting, that adjustment delaying her only a moment while she analyzed the throbbing quietude about her.  Barest moments of time were swept away on an indrawn breath and then she began to run.

            She ran not with the small, mincing steps of a maiden, but with the long, athletic strides of a female warrior, muscles flexing, blood heating.   Her hair, the color of rich, well-aged Octurian brandy, streamed unbound in a silken wave behind her, caught upon the chill wind of her passage.  Her stomach wanted to knot but she forbade it, calling upon iron control as she sought to hold firmly to that mind-touch which drew her. 

            More urgently now—he voice; the thought; rippling across her mind–come, swiftly, come.

            Not words precisely,  more like impulses of knowledge threaded through with an urgency she had never felt before, crashing over her with the power of cascading waters.  She had a general direction, but no more.  It drew her on with its power, its compelling urgency, this voice, this presence in her mind.  She no longer feared it as she had at the very beginning when first contact had been initiated; instead she feared for it.  This was not a normal contact.  This was something very different with something very much more deadly underlying the summons.  And there were plenty of things here in Nashira which were deadly.

            The mind-touch held and Tanith increased her speed.  Her chest burned inside and her extremities felt the chill of blood loss as it was diverted to her laboring heart and lungs.  Hide gathering bag clenched in one fist, half-blunted digging knife in the other, she answered the anxious call--without words, but answered nonetheless.

            I’m coming, coming - let me feel you–where?

            She ran, direction determined by those impulses throbbing through her soul.

            Her feet clad in leathers, soft wraps nearly to her knees, hardened sole pounding softly, nearly soundlessly, against pliant soil, she swept on.  With the wind at her back, she ran.  Blood pumped heatedly through veins and sweat misted her forehead in a fine, gathering sheen.  Mind tried to take over, threatened to imagine all kinds of disasters to foster such an urgent call.  Fear threatened to blossom, but, with the years of studied discipline at her beck, she deftly turned the imaginings aside and pressed on.

            Suddenly the silent communication was lost.  Link broken.  In its place, echoed the familiar, wolfish, yips and howls of Strongheart, Littlefoot and One Eye.  The three wolves, sensing her nearness, had begun vocalizing, beckoning to her, giving her more than the power of the bond to draw her on.  Understanding her need better than she did herself, the sound of the haunting chorus brought the hair at the nape of her neck to attention along a rippling wave of goose-flesh.

            But there was more; a texture of sight, sound and roiling impressions; mental chaos.  Images, isolated, which made no sense.  For a moment she was aware of fang and claw, then a man, bloodied, replaced it.  Guided confusion.  Order in chaos.  Tanith fought to assimilate it and understand, but gave that up as futile.  And helplessness was not a condition she was willing to accept.

            She turned.  Carried by the wind as it shifted came growls, animal screams, moist, guttural snorts and snarls - the rough bellowing of another.  By the Gods and Goddesses!  It was a fight she was hurling toward like a juggernaut, and she had no weapon with her save her digging knife!

            She swung around the thick bole of a split-leaf tree, and nearly tripped over a body.  She had no time to analyze what lay before her except to note the bloody, mangled body was most assuredly dead; that it wore, in tatters, the leathers of The People - and that other clothes (more familiar clothes) lay in a balled-up heap nearby, nearly concealed by leaves.

            ENEMY!  The alarm exploded instantly inside her head.

            ENEMY HERE!

         Anxiety added to chaos.  If the enemy was here…if they knew of the golden torque…if they stopped her…so much would be lost…so much.  She had heard the mechanical roar of war in simulation.  She had no desire to experience it first-hand.

            A hideous roar of a different kind shook the ground, drove the birds from the trees and silenced, for the moment, the apprehensions clamoring in her mind.  Those could be confronted later.  Now she must reach the trio of wolves because whatever it was they had found to tangle with would not wait.  Urgency in her mind from Strongheart.

            Picking up the thread, she dove through the trees once again, noticed them thinning abruptly before she was spilled unceremoniously onto the edge of an immense clearing.  Soft grasses rolled before her feet.  Sunlight,  painfully bright, made the green all around throb iridescently.  Deep, cool shadows cast on either side by limbs intruding into sun's space moved, and seemed almost alive.

            Chest heaving, hair in a tangled mass, eyes wide, she allowed the sight to wash over her, through her, absorbing what she needed with the speed of her sense functions.  Even thoughts took longer than impressions.

            Legs spread to steady her balance,  moccasin-clad feet planted firmly upon the ground, she gaped while the sounds of her own blood rushing filled her ears.  She couldn’t help staring, but she couldn’t spare the time for it.

            There, before her, Strongheart, magnificent in battle, wore his great silver ruff stiffened across massive shoulders like a cape.  Head down, ears up, lips peeled back from impressive white teeth in a deadly, liquid, gutteral snarl, he challenged the enraged bear for possession of his victim--a man (a rather torn-up man), caught between bear (who seemed prepared to make short shrift of him) and wolves (who undoubtedly seemed not much different than the bear to the man).  Already battered and bloodied far more than any man should be and remain standing, that hardy soul stared warily from beast to beast to beast, his lips peeled back in a rictus of a man-snarl, his body half crouched in readiness, but bleeding, weakening, swaying on his feet.

            Readiness - readiness for that?! The bear towered over

them all, standing a solid twelve feet tall if he was an inch. 

            The Goddess only knew what he weighed!  Staring, gauging, Tanith translated all that poundage and fury into physics of force and momentum - the damage just one paw swipe could do – and shuddered.  The wolves were all crazy!  She was crazy!  Her eyes flicked back to the wreck of a man.

            He flinched every time Littlefoot or One Eye followed the choreography of a master; entering the dance as Strongheart directed with impeccable timing.  It was a stunning stand-off, for the moment.  One Strongheart fully expected her to break.

            In the space of a heartbeat, she watched in horrified fascination as both Littlefoot and One Eye dashed in to harass the bear.  Littlefoot, less aggressive but quick and protective of the pack, moved like lightning.  Sharp teeth sank momentarily into ankle or leg and then she was gone, wind rippling across her bloodstained muzzle. 

            One Eye, blind on one side, flew to the attack with brutal ferocity.  Teeth snapping he leapt high, raked the bear's golden pelt above the hip, turned, raced between the animal's massive legs, and went for the hamstrings.  But for all his bulk, the bear, too, was swift in retaliation.  One giant, sickle-clawed paw descended to rid himself of the annoying pest.  The bear missed One Eye and the wolf flowed clear, dodging the tottering man, eye fixed momentarily on Tanith before jaws snapped in final assault.

            Heart in her throat, Tanith slid smoothly to one side, out of the bear's immediate line of concentration.  She gripped her dull, pitiful knife tightly, feeling the direction of the fight, sensing Strongheart's intent as he lunged forward - deflected most of the force of the bear's blow while One Eye dashed clear - and powerful jaws tore out a piece of bear hide in his passing.

            Hammered by the impetus of One Eye's flight, the man, badly leaking blood everywhere, fell with a disturbing finality arms pinwheeling past Littlefoot who slipped into the fray again.  At first she went unnoticed.  Then sharp teeth scored where intended and the ground-shaking bellow of the great bear once again rocked the earth beneath Tanith's feet.

            She felt the direction of Strongheart's plan; knew she had to move swiftly.  The delaying action thrown up by One Eye and Littlefoot could not last much longer.  The bear was clearly the superior force and definitely was not willing to be turned from his goal:  the man now prone on the raw turf.  She was the deciding factor.  She was the tie-breaker.  By the Goddess she was good! But this was not the kind of fighting she had been trained for.  Nonetheless, it was the kind she would do.  Attention spread thin, she glanced again at the prone man.

            He was not important.  He was a stranger, possibly an enemy, though Strongheart was rarely wrong in his impressions of people and would not have bothered to defend an enemy.  Still, her primary concern was for the wolves, her pack.  Death would be swift if one of the bear's paws connected directly.  Plainly, the wolves did not intend to disengage and leave the man to the bear with the bloodied muzzle, ragged plain-leaf ears and fetid breath.

            And she could not leave them.

            She projected anger, gathered her resources, suppressed a new shudder, and thought of the things she would have to say to Strongheart once this was over and the sour sweat of fear had dried.  This was not for food, nor was it for the safety of the pack, this was something else!  Something beyond her meager experience of the pack.  She would demand an explanation from Strongheart.

            He and his companions danced expertly with the bear, baiting it, holding it, positioning it.  Strongheart directed and protected.  He sent One Eye against the bear in such a way as to protect him from his own blindness, then exposed Littlefoot to less frontal attack, taking into account her weakness:   the deformed back foot.  They worked smoothly, as a team.  And Tanith was one of the pack, expected to do her part or the functioning of the pack would collapse, bringing disaster.

            All right! So be it! Her finely conditioned body hummed with expectation as she rushed the bear's blind side, the wind carrying his noisome scent to her nostrils but not hers to his.  Leverage, surprise and power.  She had to use them all and use them fast.  Despite years of training and the experience of having faced deadly adversaries, her belly churned and her mouth felt parched as she launched herself.

            She went in swiftly from behind as Strongheart directed the diversion in front.  She hit the massive bear with all her strength, clipping him just behind the knees, and slashed downward, tearing the hamstring of the leg nearest her with her digging knife.  Blood spurted hot and sticky.  The bear gave a thunderous roar and began a long, slow, collapse.  Tanith's heart convulsed.  It didn’t appear she was going  to make it clear.  She sent a brief prayer to the Goddess.  If she died now she will have failed.  Her quest to regain the amulet would be ended.  Something flashed past her.

            Strongheart plowed in.  Everything started to come apart.  Jaws agape, canines flashing wetly in the bright afternoon light, he dove for the bear’s throat, leaping over Tanith in a cannonball assault.  She witnessed the rest in a blur.  Wolf charging.  Bear falling.  Those terrible sickle-like bear claws swinging in a wide arch.  She ached, her bones fairly shrieked with the knowledge it was going to be a close thing, a very close thing indeed.

            The ground leapt up to slam into her shoulder and hip as Tanith pressed away.   No good!  Not fast enough!  She flailed as an icy finger of near panic caressed the length of her spine and the bear's heavy paw passed so close claws caught her in a glancing swipe.  Fired ice followed the course of the bear's claws running up her left breast and over her shoulder.  A numbing shiver rippled through her body.  Despite the muted power of the swipe of that great paw, it delivered hot agony.  Tanith kept moving; tumbled, tumbled, chewed grass and rolled clear. She heard, more than saw, Strongheart take the bear's throat in a single savage pass.

            Gurgling sounds bubbled from the bear's torn throat as he thrashed wildly, tearing up the fragrant grasses in his death throes, bringing Tanith's earlier meal to her throat in a much less pleasant form than the one it had been consumed in. His throat gone, the mortally wounded bear could not even roar his agony and anger.  A ground-tremoring shudder, a deep wheeze and then silence.  Profound and complete.

            Tanith rolled slowly over onto her back, stared up into the incredible blue of the sky's vastness and in her heart asked the deities of this world for their forgiveness in the taking of this bear's life.

            She gave a quick glance up at Strongheart who had come to plunk himself down at her side, panting heavily,  reeking of bear and blood.  He looked down at her sprawled in the grass from his elevated, sitting position and gave her a quizzical look, tongue lolling from his mouth.

            His mind touched hers, telegraphing thoughts.  Why do you feel you need forgiveness for making the only choice for a being of flesh...?

            Tanith breathed heavily, willing the incredible tension of battle to drain away from her body into the cool earth beneath her back.  It took a little time for the pounding roar of her blood to calm so she could consider Strongheart’s question.

             “It was not by my choice, it was yours - and we destroyed a living thing by it.  For what?”

            In defense of another living thing - choices all choices.  To live in the world of flesh choices must be made.

            Tanith sighed.  “Are you going to confuse my life further by becoming a philosopher as well as bond-mate?”

            Strongheart panted a little less heavily, expelled a forceful breath and licked his nose with a quick swirl of pink tongue.  I was what I was before the pack was joined.

            Tanith rolled to her knees, slowly.  It wasn’t every day one tackled a bear with success and  everything seemed to hurt.  Tanith swept straggling hair back from her face and had a look around.   “Well good.  Great.  Me too, but looking back I’m not sure what that was, so give me some time to get the hang of this, all right?  How are the others?  Any damage?”

            A11 is well.  The softness of Littlefoot, at about eighty pounds, the smallest of the pack.  She was nursing a deep, bloody furrow across her shoulder.

            I will live.  This from One Eye, limping badly, but unperturbed.

            Only the man needs your help now.  Strongheart was on his feet, first shaking out his matted pelt with great vigor, then moving toward the man sprawled only a few feet from the dead bear.  There was not so much difference between them save the fact the man breathed.

            “And if he is enemy...?”

 END SAMPLE

Read on! Grab a copy in digital or paperback edition today. Honest reviews most welcome. Check out the Stormrider Page on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/StormriderTheBook

Learn more about the author at www.PeggyBechko.com.

Join author Peggy Bechko on Twitter at http://twitter.com/PeggyBechko 

And Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/PeggyBechko.Writer

Wolves and the Writing of Stormrider

Wolves. 

 

Amazing creatures. Family oriented, intelligent and loyal, which in my estimate puts them heads and shoulders above lots of people I’ve known. 

Today I decided I’d talk a bit about one of my favorite books to write, Stormrider, what went into it and how it came to be.

 

I’ve always loved nature and animals and wolves have had a tender spot in my heart for as long as I can remember. 

A friend had a hybrid wolf-dog which was more wolf than dog and it was fascinating being around her. The wolf, Bonita, was certainly not docile, but neither was she vicious. It always seemed though that she was most definitely in charge. From her I extrapolated my main character, StrongHeart who was the ‘gentlemanly’ leader of the pack of Nashirian wolves in Stormrider. The pack would be considered misfits, each with a draw-back, a hinderance (StrongHeart an outcast from his pack, One-Eye blind in one eye, Little Foot with a deformed paw), but all supporting one another. And there is one more member of the pack, Stormrider, aka, Tanith Aesir, a Janissary, warrior woman and protector of the weak, she finds she had a mental link and emotional tie with the wolves, a gift of the amazing planet on which she dwells, and is drawn into the pack. But even then she can’t give up her quest to bring peace to her war-torn world and put a stop to the crazy man who wants to rule. So, the wolves join their strengths to hers in her quest.

Now, admittedly ‘normal’ wolves can’t talk, mentally or otherwise (though their howls are amazing communication between them), but on Nashira they can. Not only that, but they can be smart-alecky, snarky and irritated, yet there is unwavering loyalty between them – including their human pack member. 

All that is patterned on actual wolves and their habits and behaviors. If you take the time to watch a few videos or a movie like Never Cry Wolf, or National Geographic’s page on wolves  or NOVA’s site on wolves you’ll get a general feel for their behaviors which inspired the creation of the three powerful wolves in Stormrider. 

Creating them as characters with distinct personalities in the novel I wrote, Stormrider, I used such resources as mentioned above to spin each wolf’s individual personality. Obviously I stretched things and created new twists, but it’s the research that provided the backbone and the jumping off place of where to begin. When I begin a book such as this it’s always best to know some solid facts before beginning to fantasize a tale. Grounding the story in reality, even when it’s a science fiction or fantasy story, makes it stronger and breathes more life into the characters and the background, hopefully making it a much more enjoyable read, one that draws the reader into the story and doesn’t jostle them out.  

The research for the book also unearthed things like wolf howls that I used in creating the accompanying book trailer http://bit.ly/12jDKmP to create a more in depth feel of being there.

Come on into a writer’s brain and read a sample of Stormrider  and see how the reality of wolves can blend with the fiction of an adventurous story. 

Stormrider Book Trailer 

Stormrider Facebook Fan Page

 -come visit, like, and stay tuned for Stormrider give-aways 

Interesting Wolf Facts 

Wolf Sounds – audio 

Wolf howls – audio via YouTube