Guest Post by Livia Quinn
My mother worked for NASA when I was a kid, so I met astronauts and dreamed about going to outer space. I’d sit in my over stuffed reading chair and devour Astronomy books, Tom Swift, and all the Justice Leaque heroes. So when I started writing it was only natural that my contemporary stories took on a paranormal twist.
When I read, I want to escape. And while I read all genres, the best escapes for me are those magical realms that can’t possibly exist—or can they. I mean, what if my boss is really a dragon? Or a vampire? Think about it, whether it’s fairy tales or vampires, shifters or zombies, light or dark; whether we call it paranormal, urban fantasy, or science fiction, it’s all the stuff of our fantasies. It takes us away from our real lives. It’s pure escape since we’re pretty sure that paranormal beings don’t exist. (Personally, I’d love to explore the possibility of meeting Roarke and taking a trip in his personal jet to his Olympus resort. Yes!)
There’s something for everyone in this big paranormal world. Look at the variety on screen – Supernatural, Thor, Grimm, Sleepy Hollow, the Walking Dead, Bitten, Witches of Eastwick, The Avengers, Once Upon a Time, Vampire Diaries…
Someone said when they found out I was going to see Avatar for the third time, or Star Wars, “That’s for kids. Why don’t you grow up?” I feel sad for them because although there’s a side of me that is very practical, the other side is stimulated and energized by the dream of other worlds, other peoples, and other realms. By the magical possibilities. Why would I give that up?
Why do you love fantasy? What’s your favorite sub-genre?
My Destiny Paramortals series set in Destiny, Louisiana began with my fear of severe weather, which was always a problem for me while delivering the mail. Writing about the Paranormals has been rather cathartic since my heroine is a storm witch. Here’s the blurb for the book 1, Storm Crazy.
Destiny – is it Mayberry or Middle Earth?
My name is Tempest Pomeroy, and my human job is delivering the mail in Destiny, Louisiana. I’m also a Paramortal like my family, or I’m supposed to be. If I didn’t have a few little talents, I’d think I was adopted. It’s just two weeks until Mardi Gras, and I’m having a bad day. That’s like saying Katrina dropped a little rain on the Gulf Coast.
First, River’s amphora went missing—that’s genie bottle to you mere-mortals—and on my first delivery, a handsome scantily clad doctor triggered some sort of hallucination, with just a touch. Pheromones? Then, one of my customers had a stroke while reading me the riot act over a piece of mail, but I saved the old fart with a zap of my Zeus juice! It was the first time I’d actually called my power on purpose, and Destiny’s hunky new sheriff almost saw me use my magic—big no-no—when he responded to the call.
He showed up again when the local florist filed a complaint against me for dropping a seventy-five-pound box on his foot. Yeah, I did it, but it was kind of an accident. He put his hand where it didn’t belong, and my fingers… sorta slipped. Then, things got worse. I discovered a dead body in the clubhouse and rescued my brother’s amphora from a locker, bashing it in with a Greg Norman wedge.
Guess who showed up? You guessed it.
I’ve denied my heritage for too long. Now, my brother is missing, my mother’s out of pocket, and the sheriff and my ex-lover are squaring off like yard dogs staking a claim over a poodle. I am no one’s poodle. Is it any wonder I’m calling this the worst M.A.L.E day of my life? My friend Aurora says all the chaos is a sign of my quickening Tempestaerie power, and more changes are on the wind.
Oh, and the sheriff? He thought he’d settled in a normal small town to raise his teenage daughter—like Mayberry?! We’ll see how that turns out…
Things better settle down soon, ‘cause I’m about to go... Storm Crazy.
Excerpt: Tempe calls her power for the first time.
“ETA is eight minutes,” the dispatcher said in her calm, almost bored voice. “Can you give me any information for the EMTs?”
Eight...friggin’… minutes. “Mid-eighties...he had some kind of seizure and he’s not breathing.”
Seconds ticked off as I continued to pump his chest. I stopped, put my fingers to his mouth. Nothing.
“Oomph,” I sat back. He wasn’t going to make it. Unless… Maybe there was something I could do, but then I’d never actually attempted it. Usually it just happened when things got out of control. Well—not things—me.
Part of the problem was I’d be in clear sight of anyone looking this way from their front yard or driving down the street, but if I didn’t try something before the EMTs arrived, he was going to die. I looked around. It had to be now. I wondered if my little zapper would have enough zip.
Mr. Jackson’s tirade had miraculously not drawn any attention. The street was deserted. A squirrel bounded onto the road nearby, swished his tail madly and took off toward a large oak. At least he couldn’t tell.
Extending my hand out in front of me, Palm up, I concentrated, willing the power inside me to obey.
Nothing. I squeezed my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and whispered hopefully, “Come to me.”
Blast! I sounded like a bad vamp movie. Separating my index finger, the one with the tiny tattoo-like image on the tip, away from my other fingers, I turned it up toward the darkening sky. The cells in my body began to vibrate. Like an energy solar panel, menori tapped the unstable air and focused it like a laser through the tattoo, accumulating until my head felt like it would explode.
The rumble beneath my feet was the only notice I had of the electric strike that rode straight up my legs, curling in my midsection and crawling swiftly along my right arm to produce my own version of a Fourth of July sparkler, emanating from that fingertip. Then the sparks changed. Brilliant bolts of crackling white light spit and sizzled in my palm, sending jagged streamers of hot blue fire ten feet into the air.
I gawked.
A car entering a nearby street freed me from the mesmerizing light display. This was different from any of the charging I’d previously experienced. Bigger. Usually it just sort of replenished on its own. Panicked, I looked over my shoulder, and exhaled. So far so good.
Now what? I needed to command the fire in my hand to... what? Before I could say, “Be gone,” or “Go thither,” the light subsided to a small crackly glow. That was it then.
Instinct took over. I knelt beside Mr. Jackson and placed my glowing index finger against his chest. With a single szzwaattt, I zapped him, right in the heart. His chest arched up only the barest of seconds as it met my magical defibrillator, then his body relaxed.
Momentarily deafened and somewhat addled as my faculties came back online, I groped for the pulse in his neck. For a second I thought I’d failed. But then, his tired, smoke glutted organ started beating.
Thank the gods.
Only the slight whiff of burnt flesh remained on the wind. Drained of energy, I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. And saw the mark.
“Zeus’ rechargeable bolts! That better be temporary.”
Centered on the spot where I’d zapped him, a pale image was forming. It looked like a pale, mini version of… well… me.
-----
Buy Links-
Storm Crazy is available on all retailers:
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L02VHE0
ARe https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-stormcrazydestinyparamortals-1959040-140.html
Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940152782684
Createspace https://www.createspace.com/4781807
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22734226
iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/storm-crazy/id1071736239?mt=11
Kobo https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/storm-crazy
Scribd http://www.scribd.com/book/294539327
Page Foundry http://www.inktera.com/store/title/62c704b0-4e11-4935-9fe6-c5728d86e89d
----
Find me on
Website http://liviaquinn.com
Email: liviaquinnwrites@gmail.com
Twitter www.twitter.com/liviaquinn
Facebook www.facebook.com/liviaquinnwrites
Pinterest www.pinterest.com/liviaquinn
My mother worked for NASA when I was a kid, so I met astronauts and dreamed about going to outer space. I’d sit in my over stuffed reading chair and devour Astronomy books, Tom Swift, and all the Justice Leaque heroes. So when I started writing it was only natural that my contemporary stories took on a paranormal twist.
When I read, I want to escape. And while I read all genres, the best escapes for me are those magical realms that can’t possibly exist—or can they. I mean, what if my boss is really a dragon? Or a vampire? Think about it, whether it’s fairy tales or vampires, shifters or zombies, light or dark; whether we call it paranormal, urban fantasy, or science fiction, it’s all the stuff of our fantasies. It takes us away from our real lives. It’s pure escape since we’re pretty sure that paranormal beings don’t exist. (Personally, I’d love to explore the possibility of meeting Roarke and taking a trip in his personal jet to his Olympus resort. Yes!)
There’s something for everyone in this big paranormal world. Look at the variety on screen – Supernatural, Thor, Grimm, Sleepy Hollow, the Walking Dead, Bitten, Witches of Eastwick, The Avengers, Once Upon a Time, Vampire Diaries…
Someone said when they found out I was going to see Avatar for the third time, or Star Wars, “That’s for kids. Why don’t you grow up?” I feel sad for them because although there’s a side of me that is very practical, the other side is stimulated and energized by the dream of other worlds, other peoples, and other realms. By the magical possibilities. Why would I give that up?
Why do you love fantasy? What’s your favorite sub-genre?
My Destiny Paramortals series set in Destiny, Louisiana began with my fear of severe weather, which was always a problem for me while delivering the mail. Writing about the Paranormals has been rather cathartic since my heroine is a storm witch. Here’s the blurb for the book 1, Storm Crazy.
Destiny – is it Mayberry or Middle Earth?
My name is Tempest Pomeroy, and my human job is delivering the mail in Destiny, Louisiana. I’m also a Paramortal like my family, or I’m supposed to be. If I didn’t have a few little talents, I’d think I was adopted. It’s just two weeks until Mardi Gras, and I’m having a bad day. That’s like saying Katrina dropped a little rain on the Gulf Coast.
First, River’s amphora went missing—that’s genie bottle to you mere-mortals—and on my first delivery, a handsome scantily clad doctor triggered some sort of hallucination, with just a touch. Pheromones? Then, one of my customers had a stroke while reading me the riot act over a piece of mail, but I saved the old fart with a zap of my Zeus juice! It was the first time I’d actually called my power on purpose, and Destiny’s hunky new sheriff almost saw me use my magic—big no-no—when he responded to the call.
He showed up again when the local florist filed a complaint against me for dropping a seventy-five-pound box on his foot. Yeah, I did it, but it was kind of an accident. He put his hand where it didn’t belong, and my fingers… sorta slipped. Then, things got worse. I discovered a dead body in the clubhouse and rescued my brother’s amphora from a locker, bashing it in with a Greg Norman wedge.
Guess who showed up? You guessed it.
I’ve denied my heritage for too long. Now, my brother is missing, my mother’s out of pocket, and the sheriff and my ex-lover are squaring off like yard dogs staking a claim over a poodle. I am no one’s poodle. Is it any wonder I’m calling this the worst M.A.L.E day of my life? My friend Aurora says all the chaos is a sign of my quickening Tempestaerie power, and more changes are on the wind.
Oh, and the sheriff? He thought he’d settled in a normal small town to raise his teenage daughter—like Mayberry?! We’ll see how that turns out…
Things better settle down soon, ‘cause I’m about to go... Storm Crazy.
Excerpt: Tempe calls her power for the first time.
“ETA is eight minutes,” the dispatcher said in her calm, almost bored voice. “Can you give me any information for the EMTs?”
Eight...friggin’… minutes. “Mid-eighties...he had some kind of seizure and he’s not breathing.”
Seconds ticked off as I continued to pump his chest. I stopped, put my fingers to his mouth. Nothing.
“Oomph,” I sat back. He wasn’t going to make it. Unless… Maybe there was something I could do, but then I’d never actually attempted it. Usually it just happened when things got out of control. Well—not things—me.
Part of the problem was I’d be in clear sight of anyone looking this way from their front yard or driving down the street, but if I didn’t try something before the EMTs arrived, he was going to die. I looked around. It had to be now. I wondered if my little zapper would have enough zip.
Mr. Jackson’s tirade had miraculously not drawn any attention. The street was deserted. A squirrel bounded onto the road nearby, swished his tail madly and took off toward a large oak. At least he couldn’t tell.
Extending my hand out in front of me, Palm up, I concentrated, willing the power inside me to obey.
Nothing. I squeezed my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and whispered hopefully, “Come to me.”
Blast! I sounded like a bad vamp movie. Separating my index finger, the one with the tiny tattoo-like image on the tip, away from my other fingers, I turned it up toward the darkening sky. The cells in my body began to vibrate. Like an energy solar panel, menori tapped the unstable air and focused it like a laser through the tattoo, accumulating until my head felt like it would explode.
The rumble beneath my feet was the only notice I had of the electric strike that rode straight up my legs, curling in my midsection and crawling swiftly along my right arm to produce my own version of a Fourth of July sparkler, emanating from that fingertip. Then the sparks changed. Brilliant bolts of crackling white light spit and sizzled in my palm, sending jagged streamers of hot blue fire ten feet into the air.
I gawked.
A car entering a nearby street freed me from the mesmerizing light display. This was different from any of the charging I’d previously experienced. Bigger. Usually it just sort of replenished on its own. Panicked, I looked over my shoulder, and exhaled. So far so good.
Now what? I needed to command the fire in my hand to... what? Before I could say, “Be gone,” or “Go thither,” the light subsided to a small crackly glow. That was it then.
Instinct took over. I knelt beside Mr. Jackson and placed my glowing index finger against his chest. With a single szzwaattt, I zapped him, right in the heart. His chest arched up only the barest of seconds as it met my magical defibrillator, then his body relaxed.
Momentarily deafened and somewhat addled as my faculties came back online, I groped for the pulse in his neck. For a second I thought I’d failed. But then, his tired, smoke glutted organ started beating.
Thank the gods.
Only the slight whiff of burnt flesh remained on the wind. Drained of energy, I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. And saw the mark.
“Zeus’ rechargeable bolts! That better be temporary.”
Centered on the spot where I’d zapped him, a pale image was forming. It looked like a pale, mini version of… well… me.
-----
Buy Links-
Storm Crazy is available on all retailers:
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00L02VHE0
ARe https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-stormcrazydestinyparamortals-1959040-140.html
Nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/2940152782684
Createspace https://www.createspace.com/4781807
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22734226
iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/storm-crazy/id1071736239?mt=11
Kobo https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/storm-crazy
Scribd http://www.scribd.com/book/294539327
Page Foundry http://www.inktera.com/store/title/62c704b0-4e11-4935-9fe6-c5728d86e89d
Find me on
Website http://liviaquinn.com
Email: liviaquinnwrites@gmail.com
Twitter www.twitter.com/liviaquinn
Facebook www.facebook.com/liviaquinnwrites
Pinterest www.pinterest.com/liviaquinn
Thanks for letting me reminisce, Claire. I'd love to know what, if anything, turned readers into lovers of fantasy. Was it escape, some external event like in my case, or a Tolkien kind of imagination...
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