The Perfect Silence of the Night - #fridayflash - Vipunin becomes a vampire...

This is part two of the story of the vampire Vipunin. The first episode was published for #fridayflash on September 23rd. Read it here...

The Perfect Silence of the Night

Fingers of vapour misted above the distant mountains, dancing on the air.

Aware only of themselves, the humans feasted on their wine and cheese and each other, their voices wrapped in the mist.

Vipunin watched them from his hiding place at the edge of the forest, scarcely aware of his friend Cuchulain rustling impatiently by his side.


The humans had conjured up visions Vipunin had tried to forget, visions of long ago when he was a man, not a monster.

***

His life had been as perfect as a man’s life could be.

How could he have been such a fool?


But how could any man resist Alliyra?


Yet…if he had been strong…he would be dead…long ago…instead of standing in the Verdant Valley centuries later.


Ah, Vipunin sighed, that night! It came back to him in a flash like it was yesterday…

Read on...

I have made a space especially for #fridayflash and other flash stories. If you hit Read on, it will take you there...http://flashquake.blogspot.com/

Aussie Book Review #4 - The Shifting Fog/The House at Riverton, by Kate Morton

The Shifting Fog by Kate Morton (titled The House at Riverton in some countries)

Gaiety, glamour and tragedy in the grand country houses of Edwardian England.


Writing fiction is a game of chance. We write, we publish (what are the odds?) then where do we go from there? Plenty of places for some…


Who would imagine that a 29-year-old Queensland writer would publish a first novel, sell it to 11 countries, produce a deal worth close to $1 million and then spark interest in a movie by one of the makers of The Da Vinci Code? Heady stuff, Kate Morton.


The movie is mostly speculation at this stage, but the chances of Hollywood success are good, because the plot of The Shifting Fog contains the details necessary to discerning directors of period drama. The story revolves around two stunningly beautiful heroines (blonde sisters – do I see a smouldering Scarlett Johansson and a chipper Gwenyth Paltrow?) who are the last descendants of an enervated but glamorous and ancient family, and are both in love with the same man, a poet. But in the summer of 1924, on the eve of a glittering Society party, by the lake of a grand English country house, the young poet takes his life.


The story begins in the winter of 1999. Grace Bradley, 98, one-time house-maid of Riverton Manor, is visited by a young director making a film about the poet's suicide. Ghosts awaken and memories, long consigned to the dark reaches of Grace's mind, begin to sneak back through the cracks. A shocking secret threatens to emerge; something history has forgotten but Grace never could.


The Great War is over. The story is set as the war-shattered Edwardian summer surrenders to the decadent twenties. The Shifting Fog is both a thrilling mystery and an engrossing, passionate love story full of secrets and lies. The English aristocratic family is in terminal decline (surely not), living in an elegant and outdated country house where Picassos hang in lost corners and an unseen army of loyal servants toil day and night so the heroines never have to lift anything heavier than a cigarette holder, lucky girls.


These servants, despite their devotion to the family, have troublesome Real Lives, which inevitably intersect with the fates of those upstairs. Cue tragedy, chaos and a surprising amount of shorthand. Throw in a brooding poet (who could that be? will Johnny Depp do?) with whom both the sisters fall in love, a rich American who marries one of them, and, as the back cover describes it, "a shattered Edwardian summer", and the atmosphere of elegiac romance and nostalgia is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The only witnesses to the tragedy, sisters Hannah and Emmeline Hartford, will never speak to each other again.

This story may not be everyone’s cup ‘o tea, but the reality is that many people - me included - absolutely love this stuff, which is why The Shifting Fog became an instant hit. Give me a story containing doomed love, a large staff and a wide selection of flapper dresses, and I'm happy. The problem here, however, is that this ground has been so well covered by such gifted writers as Mitford and Waugh, Fitzgerald and Coward, so you must be brilliant to stand out - and The Shifting Fog is some distance from brilliance, but eminently readable.


I recommend this book. We’ve read Fitzgerald et al, now let’s read a modern take on the flapper era.

To read some more fair dinkum Aussie Author Reviews click the kangaroo.

May I break into your day with a couple or three newsflashes? Quinn's 100 Follower Giveaway, My 200 follower confusion and Alex J Cavanaugh's pre-release shout out for CassaStar.

 Quinn is having a Giveaway over at Seeing, Dreaming Writing to celebrate reaching 100 followers. He is giving away a $40 Amazon Voucher which I think is very generous. Pop over to Quinn's blog and check it out. You never know, you might be the lucky recipient. Contest ends this Saturday night, so hurry. I already know the books I want and could use Quinn's voucher for - I've been enjoying Nora Robert's Circle Trilogy and need to get: Morrigan's Cross and Dance of the Gods. Who knows? I might get lucky! And I'm trying out my Amazon Associates link. If you click on Nora's books and buy I warn you, I might get a commission.


Morrigan's Cross (The Circle Trilogy, Book 1)
Dance of the Gods (The Circle Trilogy, Book 2)


Quinn gathered 80 followers in a week, so he must be doing something right! He'll be celebrating 200 followers soon, no doubt.




Which reminds me: I am approaching 200 followers and have been sweating over what to do. I'd like to do a blogfest, but with so many blogfests around I doubt I can do it before NaNoWrMo kicks in on Nov 1. I know the blogfest I want to do, but it may have to wait for 250 followers. What do you think?




Also, Alex the Great, or Alex J Cavanaugh as he is now known, has a book release on October 19th. I, and many other bloggers, am helping Alex with some pre-release publicity. Here are the details of his book. Prepare to be inundated on the 19th. 


CassaStar by Alex J. Cavanaugh
October 19, 2010 Science fiction/adventure/space opera
ISBN 9780981621067 Dancing Lemur Press LLC

To pilot the fleet’s finest ship…

Few options remain for Byron. A talented but stubborn young man with a troubled past and rebellious attitude, his cockpit skills are his only hope. Slated to train as a Cosbolt fighter pilot, Byron is determined to prove his worth and begin a new life as he sets off for the moon base of Guaard.

Much to Byron’s chagrin, the toughest instructor in the fleet takes notice of the young pilot. Haunted by a past tragedy, Bassa eventually sees through Byron's tough exterior and insolence. When a secret talent is revealed during training, Bassa feels compelled to help Byron achieve his full potential.

As war brews on the edge of space, time is running short. Byron requires a navigator of exceptional quality to survive, and Bassa must make a decision that could well decide the fate of both men. Will their skills be enough as they embark on a mission that may stretch their abilities to the limit?

“…calls to mind the youthful focus of Robert Heinlein’s early military sf, as well as the excitement of space opera epitomized by the many Star Wars novels. Fast-paced military action and a youthful protagonist make this a good choice for both young adult and adult fans of space wars.” - Library Journal


Sounds great. So all the best Alex and I'll be back on the 19th October!

Bad News blogfest - They're People Too! blogfest below this one.

BAD NEWS BLOGFEST

Okay, two blogfests in a day! I hope you'll read both.

This is a possible ending to a story I published for the Secrets blogfest. If you want, you can read it here. Some commenters hoped my lady wasn’t going to die. Hmm. What do you think? Did she?

I apologise for the formatting. It had a mind of its own and I couldn't change it without a lot of fiddling, so I hope you don't mind the set out, grr...

She remembered that night with a terrible remembering.

The phone call had woken her in the middle of the night. It had been Frank Mangin, Jack’s boss.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sandilands, I have bad news.’ He’d hesitated. ‘Jack has had a heart attack. It was sudden. There was nothing anyone could have done. I’m sorry.’

Her face had frozen solid in that instant…she couldn’t speak…she’d dropped onto the bed where she’d laid, suspended in time…

Frank had droned on. She’d heard his words coming from somewhere…

‘It happened just as we were tidying up the paperwork. He wasn’t alone.’

That had been something, Charlotte had thought at the time. No one should die alone.

‘Are you there Mrs Sandilands?’

Charlotte had tried to speak. The poor man had sounded so worried. But her throat just wouldn’t work.

‘Could I ring someone for you? Someone you’d like to come around?’

That was the last thing Charlotte had wanted. She and Jack had been tight. Neither had any family. Always just the two of them. Enough. A plethora of richness.

‘Uh, no,’ she’d groaned, ‘I’ll be fine. I’ll just sit up. Please give me a moment.’ She remembered lurching from side to side, but there had appeared to be a weight pinning her down. Her hands had refused to work. The cordless phone had thudded onto the floor with such a loud clunk that it had restored some of her wits.

Frank had sounded alarmed. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Sandilands?’

She recalled how tinny Frank’s voice had sounded, how panicky, disembodied, or that might have been her.

‘Are you sure I can’t ring someone?’ he’d begged.

‘No, no, NO!’ Her world had exploded, sending fragments scattering throughout her head. She was shattered into tiny pieces. How could anyone help put her back together?

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…

…She’d begun to chant and rock her head from side to side…

…Humpty Dumpty had a great fall…

Tears burst from her eyes…little pearl droplets that felt like ice.

She could tell Frank was beside himself with worry as she continued her childish, watery chant, blocking her ears, retreating to the carefree days of her childhood, oh, so many years ago...

…All the king’s horses…

‘Mrs Sandilands?

…All the king’s men…

There was just one more thing I have to tell you.’ Frank had continued at the end of that dreadful conversation. The poor man had been so nervous. ‘Jack had a message for you. He whispered it just as he, er, was, er, passing.’

…Couldn’t put Humpty…

‘What?’ she’d croaked, when he didn’t go on. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said, and I wrote it down straight away so I’d get it right. I knew it would be important to you.’

‘Go on, go on,’ she’d urged, impatient now. Her heart was skittering all over the place. She would have something to hang on to...thank you Lord.

‘He said ‘Tell Charlie to come to the shack.’’

‘Are you sure?’ she’d asked.

‘Yes, I’m sure. I thought it was strange because I know your home at Gulliriviere is long gone. I couldn’t figure it out, but that’s the message.’

‘Thank you Frank. You have no idea how important that message is to me.’ 
Her voice had trembled with emotion, emotion that had hit her already fragmented head with another blow, but she'd felt the first glimmer of hope.

If Jack wanted her at the shack, then to the shack she would go…

***

She could smell the sweet fragrance of the red roses whirling around her. She ran through the tall grasses, trailing her hands over the white silky flowers. The creek was just ahead, just beyond the white houses. She could hear the gentle lapping of purest water. She longed to touch it.

Ah, there it is!

The stand of weeping willows stood as they had before time, their lush tendrils like dishevelled hair caressed the water as it flowed by, gently, gently.

Then—she saw him—there he was—her Jack, dancing through the weeping willows, moving aside the graceful drapery of elegant foliage as he passed through.

Throwing aside the last green veil, he hurried towards her on angel’s feet, arms outstretched, welcoming her home.

They were together again.

THE END

Hope you liked it. Please drop me a comment then read more Bad News stories here.

©DeniseCovey2010

They're people too blogfest

This blogfest had me truly beat. I was going to contact Tessa, the host @Tessa's Blurb to ask her to delete me from the list. However I got an idea when blogging around one day, so I’ve had hilarious fun writing this cliche-ridden little piece of dialogue full of Aussie idioms. 

DOWN BY THE BILLABONG

Australian Billabong - courtesy of pacificbliss.com

‘What are we going to do with Slasher?’ Baggie asked. ‘He is off his food lately.’

‘Fair dinkum, Bags, you are a typical first-time mother. You worry too much.’ Ferrous replied.

‘Yes, Ferrie, but he looks like he’s losing weight. It’s a medical condition. It’s called ‘failure to thrive.’’

‘Oh, fiddle-de-di, Baggie! Let the kid eat grass for all I care. He’ll get over it. There's no vegemite sangers here. He’d better get over his fussing if he’s going to be a part of this family.’

Ferrous stomped his fat feet and shot away. He couldn’t stand his whiny female at times. She drove him to the drink.

Baggie tried again. ‘Come here Slasher,’ she cooed. The poor little kid had been hiding in the bushes, listening to every uncaring word his father had said.

Her tiny son poked his dirty pointy nose from under the rough grass.

‘Oh, mummy, I’m sorry, but I just don’t like that food you give me. It’s too tough. It tastes like shoe leather.’

‘Food’s short at the moment Slashie. You know how I told you about the domino effect?’

‘Y..e..s, I remember. But what has tough food got to do with dominoes?’

‘Well, our main food supply is reliant on the tourist industry. Now, listen up,’ she scolded as Slasher began to wriggle away, bored at the lecture that he knew was coming. Sometimes his mother was like a broken record. No wonder his father spent all his time in the drink.

His mother continued, regardless. ‘No tourists, Slasher, affects our food economy. It means not much tucker on the table. We have to eat from the leftovers we’ve put up in the boom time.’

‘So now we’re in bust times, aren’t we Mummy?’ He thought about it, ‘But why aren’t the tourists coming, Mummy? You said Australia’s economy is pretty strong compared to the rest of the world. You told me only yesterday that our dollar was close to parity with the mighty American dollar.’ Slasher was truly puzzled.

‘Well, it's what is called a media beat up, Slasher. The media loves a sensational story and they make sure everyone knows about a family of particularly vicious crocodiles that hang out in this area. The Tourist Advisory Board advises the tourists to stay away from here after the latest death by crocodile. You know, that young fella from Norway who was taken very close to here.’

‘Oh, then what will we eat, Mummy?’

‘Don’t you worry about that, Slashie. Those silly tourists never listen to anything they’re told. They think they're immortal. They’ll be back, you mark my words. Crikey, they always think it won’t happen to them. Fair dinkum they're so ignorant.’ She tossed her head in disgust and smiled her biggest toothy smile at her boy.

‘And we’ll be waiting when they come back, won’t we Mummy?’ Slasher winked his big brown eye with killer lashes, getting into the spirit of things.

‘Yes, Slashie. Daddy’s already down in the river, hiding under those pretty waterlilies the tourists love so much.’

‘Oh, and Mummy, when they lean over real close with their big cameras Daddy will snap one, won’t he?’

‘He sure will, clever Slasher. You’ll never go hungry again!’

THE END

Hope you’re not too grossed out. I enjoyed this way too much. I hope Tourism Australia will not be onto me! Ha! Ha!


I would appreciate it if you could tell me at what stage you knew what I was personifying. 

Now please read some more They're People Too blogfest entries by clicking on Tessa's link at the top.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS:

Baggie - short for 'handbag', of which many are of crocodile skin made
Fiddle-de-di - a cry used by one Scarlett O'Hara from the most excellent book Gone With the Wind
'You'll never go hungry again!' - a play on dear Scarlett's words in the most excellent GWTW
Billabong - a pool of water in the bed of a stream that flows intermittently
The drink - a pun, meaning both 'alcohol' and 'river/billabong/ocean' etc
Ferrous - a play on the word 'ferocious', of which many a crocodile is, especially when confronted by a tasty human
Slasher - crocodiles have many a razor sharp tooth to eat you with, just like Grandma
Vegemite sangers - Black greasy vege substance peculiar to Oz spread onto bread. Travelling Australians miss it with a passion - can I send any expats a bottle?

©DeniseCovey 2010