Liars and Thieves: Book Launch for Diana Wallace Peach

Welcome to the launch! Today, I’m proud to present the newest book — Liars and Thieves — by my friend Diana Wallace Peach, an extremely prolific and gifted author of dark fantasy, and a great supporter of independent writers. She’s written a new series, Unraveling the Veil, and I’m happy to shout it out.

Book One: Liars and Thieves

Behind the Veil, the hordes gather, eager to savage the world. But Kalann il Drakk, First of Chaos, is untroubled by the shimmering wall that holds his beasts at bay. For if he cannot cleanse the land of life, the races will do it for him. All he needs is a spark to light the fire.

Three unlikely allies stand in his way.

A misfit elf plagued by failure—

When Elanalue Windthorn abandons her soldiers to hunt a goblin, she strays into forbidden territory.

A changeling who betrays his home—

Talin Raska is a talented liar, thief, and spy. He makes a fatal mistake—he falls for his mark.

A halfbreed goblin with deadly secrets—

Naj’ar is a loner with a talent he doesn’t understand and cannot control, one that threatens all he holds dear.

When the spark of Chaos ignites, miners go missing. But they won’t be the last to vanish. As the cycles of blame whirl through the Borderland, old animosities flare, accusations break bonds, and war looms.

Three outcasts, thrust into an alliance by fate, by oaths, and the churning gears of calamity, must learn the truth. For they hold the future of their world in their hands.

Unraveling the Veil series

Three outcasts, thrust into an alliance by fate, by oaths, and the churning gears of calamity, must learn the truth. For they hold the future of their world in their hands.

Diana, how do you define success?

In all parts of my life: Happiness. We only get this one life; there are no second chances, no do-overs. We are each miracles, here through the perfect alignment of billions of years of evolution, choices, and chance. It’s not a gift to be wasted. Happiness means different things to different people, but for me it’s choosing an attitude of kindness, care, and compassion and acting on that choice. Writing is something that brings me joy, no strings attached.

Diana’s very creative trailer, well worth watching:

Author Biography

D. Wallace Peach

D. Wallace Peach started writing later in life after the kids were grown and a move left her with hours to fill. Years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books, and when she started writing, she was instantly hooked. Diana lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two dogs, bats, owls, and the occasional family of coyotes.

Diana’s Links:

Website/Blog: http://mythsofthemirror.com

Website/Books: http://dwallacepeachbooks.com

Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/D.-Wallace-Peach/e/B00CLKLXP8

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Myths-of-the-Mirror/187264861398982

Twitter: @dwallacepeach

Thanks, Diana, and may you have much success with this new series!

Ordinary Handsome: The night

Excerpt from Ordinary Handsome. Available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P46ZPA0

***

But the stress of the night piled on me like scar tissue. It had to be resolved, whatever that meant. So I went back.

It wasn’t an easy decision, but it wasn’t particularly difficult, either. It was meaningless. The feeling of pity wouldn’t leave, and I couldn’t just leave you. That night was the closest thing I’d seen to a traffic jam on Little Route, so I wasn’t worried that the road would be cordoned off.

I tossed a shovel and pick-ax in the trunk. I wasn’t expecting anything other than a corpse.

Ordinary Handsome: Pine

Excerpt from Ordinary Handsome. Available at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00P46ZPA0.
Dark reading for a cold night.
***
Memories came in a heap, shovelfuls of images, tangled moments that defined who you were:
Sitting at the kitchen table and drawing, your dad sitting beside you, and you drank lemonade and ate half-burnt butter cookies. A singular slant of sunshine that hit the pavement one early spring morning, glorious for its fractured, fragile light. The first girl who kissed you and you wondered if you’d ever kiss like that again. And, well, if you didn’t marry that girl and share plenty of kisses with her. Sometimes, life was kind.
But those dark days of grief… sometimes they still, even now, eclipse everything else.
That night stands alone as the darkest. The boy did not come back. And you weren’t sure you wanted him to. Dying seemed simpler.
You never tried to find out where Dwight P. Ford came from, and you harbored him no ill-will. He was there for a time, and he helped you survive. You hoped he held onto his kindness.
You were hanging onto an old pine tree that night, not daring to lie down, or even move. You stood until the first hint of dawn, feeling as solid as ironwood, hoping your one good leg could stand it. You hugged that tree hard, literally hugged it, tapping whatever strength it had into yourself. For ten or more hours, you stood, determined not to die.
When the first handfuls of daylight started to claw through the dark, you found that pine branch crutch and walked, as unsteady as an infant. You walked towards Handsome for almost an hour before someone picked you up and took you to a hospital.
You swore you’d never go back. But of course you were weak back then.

Continue reading Ordinary Handsome: Pine

Thank you

… to all who commented on, reblogged, or took the time to read my interview in the 2K International Writers’ Blog Tour hosted by Kate Evans & Kate M. Colby. The comments have been wonderful and very encouraging, and I’m very appreciative to have taken part in the Tour. And it’s not over yet! There are other writers scheduled for February, each deserving and needing encouragement and, of course, recognition (and a few book sales wouldn’t hurt. 🙂 ). The two Kates have been very generous with this project, allowing diverse writers tell us about themselves and their passion for the written word. And it takes a certain amount of vulnerability to let people know what makes them tick and what drives them to create. Writing is a solitary endeavor. We struggle to express that little voice inside… those strange characters, that non-existent place we’ve created from imagination. For a writer — or any artist — those things exist only in ourselves; hence the need to bring it outside and share it with others. A voice, a dream, needs an outlet. We have our loved ones, our friends and family who encourage us to keep going, but when a kind word or a small encouraging message from a stranger finds its way to us, it has an amazing impact.  So keep writing, painting, singing, photographing, and keep enjoying the gifts of those who do likewise.

Thank you again,

Steve