13 to Life Blog

ZooooOOOM! Summer's Flying By!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 22 Jul 2011 13:21:00 +0000

I don't have much time for blog posts right now since I'm deep in the writing of the 5th novel in the 13 to Life series, but I wanted to let you all know a couple things.

First: St. Martin's Press was gracious enough to allow a special price break on 13 TO LIFE in its e-book format (it's only $3.99!) until the release of BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS on August 16. So if you have a Nook or Kindle, now's a great time to check out 13 TO LIFE.

Second: I'll be giving away signed copies of SECRETS AND SHADOWS every Wednesday and Friday from now until the week before B&B releases. You can find the giveaways going on at my Twitter feed (@Shannon_Delany), my personal FB page and the FB Fan Page for The 13 to Life Series by Shannon Delany.

Third: If you keep your eyes peeled, you'll see some giveaways of ARCs of BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS thanks to the generosity of St. Martin's Press and participating bloggers. Enter and maybe you'll win! If you are an aspiring author, one of the coolest things is to get an ARC and then the official copy of a novel and do a comparison between what's in one and what's in the other.

I hope you're all doing well and enjoying summer (and reading and being creative)!
~Shannon

The Big Apple, Baby! :) RWA 2011

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 11:04:00 +0000

Today a lot is going on--A LOT!!! I'm heading into NYC for RWA '11, and reading and writing and trying to get my life back in order. A tech's traveling with me and working on correcting an oversight I made in an upcoming project of historic proportions (he's learning code as fast as fast can be) although I'm still holding out hope for the project's delivery from the planned source.

So it's: hop a train, get to NYC, get my registration packet for the conference, enjoy the city, enjoy good company, decide on which workshops to attend, prep for my signing--free copies of SECRETS AND SHADOWS are being given away to attendees at 3pm Thursday--and hope destiny leads me to the workout room or hot tub. Or both. Ah, destiny, be kind! :)

Quick updates: DESTINY AND DECEPTION's revisions have been accepted, rights to BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS have been sold to France, reading two books I've been asked to blurb, and I'm thick in the writing of a science fiction short story for an anthology that wants it. Wish me luck, kids, I'm juggling as fast as I can!

~Shannon

Teaser Tuesday: Bargains and Betrayals

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Tue, 17 May 2011 12:18:00 +0000

I have been gone a looong time and I apologize for my absence. The last post here was 2/17/11--2 days before I had a big car accident (flipped my Jeep in bad weather conditions, crawled out the passenger side window and still tried to get to a scheduled book signing--those of you who follow me on FB or Twitter know all that, though).

In my time away from here I've been writing (book 4!!!) and doing a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking. But enough about all that! It's Tuesday and it seems I should do a TEASER TUESDAY post.

So. BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS hits bookstores nationwide on August 16. It's the first book in which a character other than Jessie speaks his mind and shares with readers HIS POV. It was scary for me to write (at first) but I've come to love him even more since being so firmly wedged within his head. I won't tell you which guy's POV this is in, maybe you should guess... But this is a small bit of Chapter Eleven in BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS.

"Any advice?" Pietr asked me.

"Da. Tell me to turn the car around."

"I can't do that."

"I do not think you know what you're getting into, little brother," I whispered, reaching across to open the glove box.

Pietr barely twitched when I pulled out the gun. "If they find that on you--"

"I guess we're both taking some risks." I popped out the gun's clip, slid my finger along the slot windowing the rounds, spinning each a quarter turn, reassuring myself. This was all about things going smoothly. I chambered the first round. "They'll want a show. Things will get bloody."

From the corners of my eyes I noticed the way his Adam's apple slid in his throat as he swallowed, taking in my words. Nervous. If I noticed, they might notice, too.

It would be like blood in the water.

Okay, so there's my teaser. Hope you--umm--enjoyed it? B&B is available for pre-order at a bunch of places already and I'd LOVE it if you decided to pre-order it ESPECIALLY through your local independent bookstore. :) There will be two more books in the 13 to Life series, bringing us to a total of five for this, my debut series.

AND, we're being carried in Turkey, Hungary, Brazil, France, Germany, the UK and Canada.

AND, we have some cool merchandise for those of you who are fans and want to show your love--check out this site: http://www.zazzle.com/13tolife

One last thing... This will probably be my last full post here since the www.ShannonDelany.com site has a blog (which will be updated with this post later today). I encourage you to join me there for fun activities, an occasional newsletter and the blog. *HUGS*

Take care!
~Shannon

Blogger Prize Packs Are Back!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Thu, 17 Feb 2011 15:40:00 +0000

Those of you who met me at RT Booklovers Convention or RWA or BEA know that I love to give bloggers little 13 to Life-related prize packs that you--the bloggers--can then use on your site to reward your readers and fans.

Well, it's been a while but I'm starting that back up. And this time you don't have to meet me in person (though I'm quite charming ;).

The picture shows what's included (2 signed bookmarks, a signed postcard, a signed mini poster, a glow-in-the-dark pin, a signed 3-cover postcard, 3 3-cover reminder cards.

What do you have to do to get a prize pack to share with your blog's supporters?

Email me at: info ((AT)) shannondelany [[DOT]] com .
Include in the header: Blogger Prize Pack Request
Include in the email a link to your blog (your blog must have at least 100 followers to get a prize pack--unless you participated in my blog tour in the past, tell me either way, please).
Include your physical address.
Tell me how you'll disperse the prizes and approximately when (it may take a solid month for prizes to arrive so plan accordingly).
Let me know if you need anything else from me--interview or whatever.
Promise to remind me (either through email or Twitter) a day before you start giving away your prizes (and include a link) so I can try and support you.
Be prepared to wait a solid month because shipping out here (and swag supplies) are crazy things.

~Shannon

Personalized Novels For Internationals!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 20:17:00 +0000

That's right, Michele at The Green Toad has GRACIOUSLY decided to ship copies of my novels abroad. YES. Now my fabulous international fans can get personalized copies of my novels. :)

Go to this post and contact Michele through her email. AND--if you place your order and pay today (2/14) or tomorrow morning (the morning of 2/15) I can sign your copy at tomorrow night's book birthday party in Oneonta, NY (AND if you'd like, Pietr can sign tomorrow night, too). :)

YAY!

Secrets and Shadows is Nearly Here...UPDATES!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 15:32:00 +0000

Wow-wow-wow!

Secrets and Shadows officially releases on 2/15 but reports have been coming in already about bookstores stocking and releasing copies early. Even Amazon.com has started shipping pre-ordered copies--I'm hoping that means people who ordered from them actually get it on release day...

Friday at The Voracious Reader in Larchmont, NY I got to do my first signing for Secrets and Shadows (and I still don't have my author copies yet--and neither does my editor!). So I got to pet the books, love 'em a little, sign and send them out but none were left to come home with me! I even signed some to be shipped to other states--yes, people had called in to get me to sign them there! I LOVE that!

Tuesday (2/15) is the Book Birthday Party at The Green Toad in Oneonta, NY (7pm). And this is the store where I do most (I guess I can't say all now, after The Voracious Reader, can I?) personalized copies. SO. If you can't meet me in person but you want copies of the 13 to Life novels personalized, contact The Green Toad. If you contact them before the 15th, Michele can get me to sign them the night of the party and may be able to ship them on the 16th...

Then Saturday (2/19 at 1pm) is the Book Release Party at Colgate Bookstore in Hamilton, NY. We'll kick the day off at 8am with a Red Cross Blood Drive (and participants get 20% their total bookstore purchase that day AND if you sign up in advance you'll be entered to win a special prize pack).

Sunday (2/20) at 1pm I'll be joining author Nancy Holzner (the Deadtown series) at Flights of Fantasy in Colonie (Albany, NY) for a signing and talk. Sunday the local NPR show Telling Tales also hosts an interview and reading with me.

Saturday 2/26 at 2pm I'll be in Ithaca at the Borders there talking about writing, publishing and my books (and signing them, of course).

Saturday 3/5 I'll be back in Albany at The Little Book House in Stuyvesant Plaza to chat and sign starting at 3pm.

There may be one last NY stop in nearly mid-March and then I do Lunacon, well--maybe? (Rye Brook, NY), Noobiecon (Utica, NY), BEA (NYC), TBF (Teen Book Festival in Rochester, NY), and RWA (NYC). During all that books 4 and 5 get written and revised.

Then Bargains and Betrayals releases 8/16/11 (it's already available for pre-order) and I do more touring/signing.

Can't Make a Signing? Get Novels Signed Anyhow!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Tue, 08 Feb 2011 13:54:00 +0000

Sure, sure, everyone wants to hang out with me at a signing or event (there are often things like cake or pizza or swag available, so who wouldn't?) but maybe the distance or timing just won't work for you to meet me in person and get your books signed by me.

Never fear!

I'm very excited to announce a partnership with The Green Toad Bookstore in Oneonta, NY which will allow readers who can't make it to any of my signings to still get novels in the 13 to Life series personalized!

At this moment we're still hashing out details for international fans, but US citizens can either call the store: 607-433-8898 or email the store at: michele [AT] greentoadbookstore (DOT) com. Shipping is a flat rate of $3 per book and you'll be able to get your book with 7-14 days of purchase (after the release date, of course).

Either way you make contact, be prepared to give your name, address, payment information, titles you're ordering and who you want the book made out to (and the proper spelling so I don't mess up!). IF there's special information you want me to know to better personalize the book(s) feel free to make those suggestions, too, and I will see what I can do. :)

If you want your books personalized by me, please, please contact the Green Toad now so I can sign your books on the 15th and Michele can ship them the next day.

I wish I could meet you all, but I'm glad I can at least give you another option for getting your books personalized. :)

~Shannon

MAX-imum Exposure Blog Tour Schedule

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 04:43:00 +0000

Holy heck, it's Blog Tour time again! Below you'll find the scheduled blog host sites for the MAX-imum Exposure Blog Tour.

What's so special about this blog tour? This is the first time you'll get to hear--yes--hear the Rusakova boys (and me!) in interviews. Each blog chose a couple questions to ask and each has an MP3 of the resulting interview as well as a "script" they'll post.

So you have choices: read or listen.

And don't worry--I'll keep updating links here so you all can follow along! You can also watch Twitter for updates through the #MAXtour hashtag!

Tuesday..........2/1/11: Join Aly at Kid Lit Frenzy as I interview BOTH boys using her questions.

Wednesday.....2/2/11: Join Stacey at Page Turners for an interview with Max.

Thursday........2/3/11: Tania interviews Pietr at Literary Cravings.

Friday.............2/4/11: Selene interviews Max at In My City of Glass.

Saturday.........2/5/11: DJ interviews Pietr at DJ's Life in Fiction.

Sunday...........2/6/11: Cynthia interviews Max at Cynthia Reads.

Monday..........2/7/11: Molly interviews Pietr at Books Over Boys.

Tuesday..........2/8/11: Lynsey interviews BOTH boys at Narratively Speaking.

Wednesday.....2/9/11: Veronica interviews Max at Romance Bites.

Thursday........2/10/11: Jenn interviews Pietr at Girls Just Reading.

Friday.............2/11/11: Colleen interviews Max at Lavender Lines and Shannon heads to Larchmont, NY for the Be My Paranormal Valentine event at The Voracious Reader!

Saturday.........2/12/11: Hear both boys LIVE on BTR and call in with questions for Shannon and the boys! Also Saturday, check out additional interviews of Pietr with Julie of A Tale of Many Reviews and with Mina at Flying Maverick.

Sunday............2/13/11: Amy interviews Pietr at Simple Love of Reading.

Monday...........2/14/11: Kate interviews Pietr at Verb Vixen.

Tuesday..........2/15/11: SECRETS AND SHADOWS hits stores!!! Katie interviews BOTH boys at Mundie Moms and Shannon and Pietr hit a book birthday party at The Green Toad in Oneonta, NY!

Wednesday.....2/16/11: Cade interviews Max at Braintasia Books.

Thursday........2/17/11: Maria interviews Pietr at The Serpentine Library.

Friday.............2/18/11: Candi interviews Max at Muse Tracks.

Saturday.........2/19/11: Courtney interviews Pietr and Shannon, Max and Pietr head to Colgate Bookstore in Hamilton, NY for a Red Cross Blood Drive and book release party!

Sunday............2/20/11: Jamie interviews Pietr Writers Write, Right? and Shannon heads to Albany, NY to Flights of Fantasy for a book signing.

Monday...........2/21/11: Jen interviews Max at What's On the Book Shelf and the blog tour wraps up!

Saturday.........2/26/11: Shannon heads to Ithaca to the Borders for a book party!

Saturday.........3/5/11: Shannon's at Albany's Little Book House for a signing.

Sunday...........3/6/11: Shannon collapses into a whimpering ball of humanity and begins planning the blog tour for Bargains and Betrayals which releases in August!

A Note from Jessie Gillmansen of the 13 to Life Series

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 20:46:00 +0000

So, Jess isn't taking part directly in the upcoming MAX-imum Exposure Blog Tour (let's be frank, the girl gets plenty of time to speak her mind as narrator of the books). But she does have a little something she'd like to share--and who am I to stop a girl like Jess from speaking her mind?

I'm not Buffy and I'm not Bella. And it helps that my sometimes-boyfriend Pietr isn't a vampire. But he is a werewolf. A hot, Russian-American werewolf with more than a few enemies.

The CIA wants him (though I'm beginning to wonder if our government's seriously using taxpayers' money to finance werewolf hunts).

The Russian Mafia wants him.

My best friend Sarah wants him.

And now it seems there may be one more player in this crazy game. One more wildcard stacking the deck against us...

And I want Pietr, too, but for my own reasons.

Unfortunately, as wanted as Pietr is, he still has to figure out what he wants...

...and stay alive long enough to have a shot at getting it.

Sekrit Project and the Changeable Nature of Junction

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Tue, 25 Jan 2011 12:36:00 +0000

Some of you may have seen me mentioning a "sekrit project" I've been working on with a very clever tech. Today you can check that out personally if you have a printer and a web-cam and jump over here.

That's right, we're talking about technology and book promotion (and if your eyes are tired as mine are already this morning just download the audio--yes, you can hear me now--and come back to that site to print out the PDF and try the bookmark).

I blame Anthony Mincarelli, of the very young and local company Digital Reality, for sparking my interest in Augmented Reality or AR. He did an amazing (and entertaining) presentation on AR at Triplecon 2010 which got me thinking. With Anthony's guidance and expertise we devised a fun bookmark that's much more than a bookmark if you activate it in front of a web-cam at a certain site in a well lit room.

You'll see how truly changeable things are in Junction... ;)

What you'll see is just one fun application of AR, but between now and the release of Bargains and Betrayals in August you'll be seeing more from us--it's too much fun for me to not let you play with.

So go check it out and while you're there, participate in the contest and experiment the site's hosting--it's going to be interesting! :)

~Shannon

Timing is Everything

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sat, 22 Jan 2011 16:49:00 +0000

The grandmother of a friend of mine just passed away this week and it got me thinking about death again. Those of you who truly know me know death—mortality—is never far from my mind, especially since the death of my mother. Although his grandmother’s death didn’t seem to come as a huge shock there wasn’t time to prepare and getting to the funeral looked to be an impossibility. I don’t like impossibility. I’m a “where there’s a will there’s a way” sorta girl. And that mentality—or stubbornness—has gotten me far.

Some claim the realization of one’s own mortality and that of those around you is a mark of the onset of “middle age”. If so, I’ve been middle-aged since 9th grade when a boy who briefly sat near me in Latin lost his fight with Leukemia.

Death stops me in my tracks at the oddest times—the pang of possibility I may lose someone else and am helpless to stop it. When one of my ewes died suddenly a few weeks back it wrecked me for an entire day. Her dying with me right there and with me unable to do anything to stop it took me right back to my mother’s death and the helplessness I felt then.

And if you truly know me you know helplessness freaks me out.

I’m an admitted control freak.

The 13 to Life series deal a lot with death. It’s what severed Jess’s mom from the Gillmansen family. It’s the sword of Damocles hanging over each Rusakova--ready to fall way too soon.

Death’s the great equalizer, right? And depending on your belief system—your code—death’s not a big deal. It’s to be embraced.

I was like that once.

Now I have far too much to accomplish—to much to see and do yet—to embrace death. It’s selfish in a way, really—I’ve lived and seen a lot in a relatively short time.

And this is probably the worst possible time for this blog post:

Valentine’s candy and cards spatter store shelves like romantically lobbed pink and red grapeshot and everyone’s thinking about the coming of spring and *love* and I have a book releasing right after Valentine’s Day that deals with some definitely romantic stuff...

But maybe this post is some weird way my mind’s acknowledging the sheer inconvenience of death. And love. Neither takes into account your schedule, you know?

So I started writing the following stuff Wednesday in a chilly Jeep on my way to the neighboring farm. It was before I knew if I’d be driving this friend to a spot that he could get to his grandmother’s funeral or not—timing, right? Also a theme of 13 to Life.

Bear with me, please.

There is a certain grace to a killer like cancer. And I feel only someone who has watched a loved one die at its greedy claws—gnawed to nearly nothing but spirit and spark—can dare make such a claim. It’s a murderer—true—a thief of the cruelest sort—yes—but a diagnosis of end stage cancer comes with a timeline and a certain grim understanding that this may just be your last fight. At least that’s how it seemed for my mother.

Mom was a southerener, born and bred. A Daughter of the Revolution (and later the Confederacy), her people landed in Philadelphia and made the journey south through the Shenandoah Valley with little more than their fierce Scots-Irish spirit and their dogs. They settled in western North Carolina, established a breed of hounds based on those dogs of theirs and lived a simple salt-of-the-earth existence. They were proud public servants. Police, military, educators and eventually nurses—they did the jobs that most needed doing. Hard work was good for the soul (if not hard on the back) but the soul was always more important anyhow.

Mom was a spirited redhead who grew up in a small railroad town. Her daddy worked on the trains and her mama taught piano and helped with the museum in Cherokee. Times were sometimes hard and there were some dresses my mother remembered wearing as a child that were made by her mother out of the cotton comprising flour sacks.

She told tales of picking wild blueberries on the mountainsides, of the pig house her brother told her was “the home of the devil,” of being told she was going to hell by the neighborhood woman who watched her from her porch every week when mom headed to the movie theater. She told of how her daddy measured the feet of the kids too poor along the railroad tracks to afford shoes—how he traced their bare feet on scraps of cardboard, jotted down their names and used whatever extra money he could to get shoes made for them. She told tales of her dog Inky and a parakeet that made a friend think they were being watched late one night by a peeping Tom because he did a great wolf whistle. She told of how her baby brother died smothered in her mother’s womb because a doctor had insisted there was plenty of time and she told how her sister ran off with a fiddle player.

She moved north to get her education and boy did she! She’d never even heard the term “prostitute” until she came north of the Mason-Dixon. She got her Bachelor’s, her Master’s and more. She only traveled out of our country twice in her life and was completely content with what the USA had to offer even though she wasn’t always thrilled with our politics and leaders.

She and I had our moments... We went toe-to-toe about religion, clothing choices, boys, religion... Did I mention religion?

Any grace and poise and passion—that fire--I have, I owe to her. Phrases like “I can’t go into town without my face on” or “that’s leaning toward Blankenship’s” were first hers. And she made them sound far more amazing just by the lilt and tone of her voice. My freckles are hers. The red that naturally peppers my hair (let’s not discuss the fact you can no longer see its true coppery shade)—hers.

My heart? Very much hers.

She fought with cancer for a while. Lost her right leg. A teacher, an avid hiker, canoer and gardener, life changed dramatically. But she wasn’t done fighting. She learned how to get around with a walker and a scooter (nearly took out a couple tables in one restaurant in Cape May but my son learned to say “Charge!” riding with her and “fiddlesticks!” too).

We thought/hoped/prayed she’d beaten cancer. For a while we lived with the belief it was true. I didn’t visit as frequently as I probably should have. But hindsight, right? It’s always 20/20.

Finally my mother was given one month to live. Thirty brief days shortened by morphine-induced haze and heavy sleep and the struggle for lucidity as the morphine level was tweaked to try and cope with the pain of the cancer that had spread into her lungs—nodes they had accidentally missed in a scan six months earlier—and the base of her brain.

Although thirty days was too generous a number when compared to what reality finally dealt us, still my mother handled things with a grace and poise and a certain southern charm that so frequently eludes me. She had some time to make some arrangements. To come to terms with certain things and make peace with others. And we each had the chance to have one final talk with her—to have a sense of clarity and closure.

Some people never have or never take that chance to get closure—or it’s stolen from them by circumstance. So although cancer stole years from my mother—from all of us, really, in a way it also graced us with the ability to draw things to a close and make death as tidy as it can ever be.

I thought I’d find some way to neatly tie this all together by the time I was done, to illuminate some truth. To come to terms with something chewing at me—writing frequently provides me with that. I guess my point, as dull as it is, is that I hope each of you take the time to say the things that are needed while you still have a chance to. To enjoy life with friends and lovers—to live it fiercely and love courageously so you don’t have to worry about things like having closure and making your peace with death. Yeah. That’s it. If you live your life fully—like my mother seemed to feel she did –maybe the end is truly something to embrace. So there. Do that. Like I’m signing in books this go round—Live Life Fiercely and Love Courageously.

Ah, excellent. Pink's "Perfect" just came on the radio. Fitting somehow.

*hugs*
~Shannon

Secrets and Shadows Pre-order Places

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 21:28:00 +0000

It’s that time again. The second book in the 13 to Life series, SECRETS AND SHADOWS, is available nearly everywhere online for pre-order. Frankly I don’t know what pre-ordering does to my book’s sales numbers or how it affects “the lists” and (between you and me) I don’t particularly care. I just want you to read the book and hopefully (hopefully, HOPEFULLY) love it like mad. I’m a simple girl, really. ;)

So here’s the lowdown—the list of online places to pre-order Secrets and Shadows AND the current (like, at the very moment I’m typing this) price of it at that site. The differences are pretty interesting.

AND (me being me ;) I want to remind you that I absolutely support you shopping wisely and using your hard-earned dollars as a vote of support for a particular company. AND, and, AND--I still (and will probably always) support you buying my books (and everyone else's) from independent booksellers. I *love, love, LOVE* the spirit indies possess.

Borders (I love them, they are SUPER supportive of authors.) $9.99

Barnes and Noble (I have certain B&N stores I simply love like mad—I sign at those ones.) $8.99

Book Depository (These guys ship worldwide for free, so I see them as an easy choice for international readers.)

Amazon (If you know me and have followed me a while, you can probably guess why this list isn’t in alphabetical order.) $9.99

Books*A*Million (They were the first place to stock 13 to Life IRL—2 weeks before the release date—so they hold a special spot in my heart.) $9.54 or $8.58 for Club members.

Walmart (Yes, Walmart gets a bad reputation because of discounting and using books as loss leaders, but an order through them can mean a lot to an author’s print run numbers. And seriously, if you have a Walmart giftcard...Well, why not buy some books?) $8.49

Target (Another big store. :) $7.73

If you find any other spots--or are a bookseller who will be showcasing Secrets and Shadows in some small (or large) way, contact me and I'll send some love your direction. :)

Happy shopping!
~Shannon

Friday Flash: Surrender: No Rhyme, No Reason

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 16:20:00 +0000

It's very nearly the New Year!

This year's been a whirlwind (skip my little wrap-up if you're just here for the Flash):

I dropped nearly 40 pounds (according to the doctor's office nearly 50), I saw my debut novel published, completed writing the second and third books in that series, signed a contract adding two more books to that series, spoke at two national conventions, saw foreign rights of my work go to several countries, saw the cover for the Brazilian version, spoke at a number of awesome bookstores and events, got a new agent, started a Facebook profile and fan page, been asked to blurb two novels, cut some poisonous personalities from my life and replaced them with better folks. I have a lot to look forward to in 2011 and I hope you're looking forward to awesome stuff, too!

The following's what I wrote over this morning's coffee--it has no real rhyme or reason, the characters have no world I've constructed yet, little past and present and possibly no future. It's a snippet sitting on the edge of time (in my mind) and so it's somehow fitting I share it this Friday as the last Friday Flash of 2010. It's unedited and raw and very much not 13 to Life...

#FridayFlash 12/31/10

The helm smacked down heavily on his table and he recognized it even before his eyes drifted up to her drawn face, marked by a strangely distant expression. Long dark hair tugged free of her braid, wisps snapping at the breeze that dared to tease it. “I’m finished Captain.”

“Excellent, and the troops--”

“No,” she said, pushing the word out with anger. “I’m finished with all this.” She shrugged her shoulders, armor sliding across her arms a moment before she wrestled with the buckles and removed the shoulder pieces, thumping them down beside her helm. “I have no heart left for this sort of thing.”

“Wait—what? You’re our best...”

“Find someone else. With me gone there will be another best.”

“Not as good as you.”

She shrugged, something tightening around her eyes. “They want us to ride rescue for them—they always want us to ride rescue.” Her hand stroked over her left arm and he pulled his gaze away—tugged it back from the eerie crisscross of scars that seemed to glitter catching the same sunbeams that the hair of her head seemed to devour. She barely hid the scars now. At her age, she’d said once, the only thing keeping her standing were bones and scars. “And where were they when we needed them most?”

She said we but he knew she meant I. He’d read the details of her capture once, of the ransom that never came for one of their finest fighters and the torture the enemy inflicted out of spite to teach her what her place and her value truly was. “We need you.”

She looked away. “If that were enough—and it used to be—I’d stay. But it can’t be enough for me. Not anymore. I can’t be expected to train the next generation of warriors to a code of honor—to a chivalry I’ve never seen enforced. A code I never saw used except by me personally—a code I never benefited from.”

He rubbed a hand across his face, jamming thick fingers into his eyes. Gods, if he could convince her to stay—just finish the training.

“Don’t bother trying,” she whispered, setting her fists on either side of the armor to lean toward him. “I can’t stay where I have no value.”

“But you do--”

“No. If I’d ever been valuable to them they wouldn’t have let me waste away in that tower—bleed out my heart and my strength waiting on a rescue that never came.”

“That was years ago...”

“Yes. But the ache’s strong as yesterday and the facts remain facts regardless of the time that distances us from when they first occurred. History makes us who we are—no matter how far back that history extends.”

They’d have his commission if he let her just leave. “You’d be labeled a deserter. You’d be hunted by the very warriors you’ve trained.”

Again she shrugged. “Send them. But I think you’ll have your hands too full with this inane battle you’re planning to spare a flight of hunters.” She grinned at him then and the coldness of it made a shiver jump across his arms. “And consider this—how much more dangerous to the training of your troops is a teacher who doesn’t care whether they live or die?” She drew herself back to her full height, gathered up her armor and headed for the horses.

And he let her go because he had no answers, no worthy enticement, could offer her nothing valuable enough to make her stay.

And because what he knew about the rescue she’d needed so desperately years earlier still kept him from rescuing her from herself now.

Happy New Year--get creative in 2011!
~Shannon

In Which Shannon Dreams of Brazil

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 10 Dec 2010 18:02:00 +0000

It's cold here. That's not much of a surprise for upstate New York in that strange blur of weather which appears to be the lovechild of fall and winter. So as I'm sipping my hot cocoa (with marshmallows because I've been quite good recently) I'm thinking about something I learned about yesterday.

13 to Life has a Brazilian cover. And a title in Portuguese. YES.

Here, it's about 15 degrees Fahrenheit and clear.

Today in Rio De Janeiro--? 79 and mostly cloudy.

My book's toasty warm in a country I have yet to visit. I am jealous of my book. My more urban- and masculine-looking book. My book with a cool brand-type-thingee in the upper left that incorporates a howling wolf in the word "Life." Yeah. I <3>13 to Life in Brazil...

I'm smitten. It's totally different than I expected, but, Brazil? I look forward to seeing what you do with future covers of my books. I love this one.

~Shannon

MAX-imum Exposure Blog Tour

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 14:36:00 +0000

Okay, those of you following me on Facebook (or who are part of the Fan Page there) know the following things:

Coffee keeps me alive.
We appear to have found a real, live Pietr and Max to attend some signings for the upcoming books--and they aren't in their wolfskins, grrrls, they are quite human-looking.
There's a blog tour (and other stuff) coming up.
I talk to my sheep.

Today, let's focus on #3. The MAX-imum Exposure Blog Tour.

It's going to kick off prior to the release of SECRETS AND SHADOWS (which is February 15, 2011) and will include interviews with Pietr and/or Max. YES. (Seriously, who needs to hear more from me?) IF you are a blogger and want to participate, you need to email me at info [AT] shannondelany ((DOT)) com with MAX-imum Exposure in the heading. If you want to speed the interview process, email me saying who you'd like to interview and send two questions--either of which could be used to start the interview (this way I can hopefully choose questions that don't duplicate too much). Then we'll volley back and forth with questions and answers until you have 5 or 6 questions answered. You'll be able to post all that as part of the tour...

...but wait! There's more!

As long as the timing works out with the questions and (refer now to #2) you will also get an audio version of the interview to share on your site. And there will be some other things plugging into the tour as we get closer... So, if you want to join up, email me!

~Shannon

For One Week Each Year

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sun, 14 Nov 2010 23:58:00 +0000

For one week each year there's this book sale about an hour and a half away from where I live in upstate New York. It's the big Penguin/Putnam/DK warehouse book sale. People come from all over to stand in a line that rivals those of the most popular Disney attractions and to be let into the warehouse in waves. There's an obvious police presence and the age of attendees varies tremendously--but so do the types of books inside (and no, I'm a fool, I didn't take pictures to share).

How-to books and popular novels vie for space with audio books and boxes including children's stuffed animals and picture books. There are cook books and medical guides and organic gardening things aplenty... And the prices are amazing. If the book retailed originally at $10 or less (whether hardcover or paperback) you'll pay only $1. The scale continues in that way until you get to items (like boxed sets of books) that retailed at $60 or more and then I think it goes to a percentage. It's a little crazy inside (last year there were people nearly spread eagle across shelves trying to get what they wanted) and the number of people with suitcases and those rolling carts--significant.

I dragged my only local-ish beta to the event--how else could I do my holiday book shopping if I took my family? I wound up with $57 worth of books--go ahead, you imagine what my stuff retailed at. Yeah. Among the books I got? Will Grayson, Will Grayson, some Jim Butcher audio, some JR Ward, a bunch of kids' stuff. I felt pretty good about the results (and the day overall).

And a girlfriend is coming up to visit me and hit the sale with me later this week (yes, I make shopping a bit more of an event--life's short and I like good company and fun--even when doing holiday shopping). So far this year, I've had it all. :)

I hope you do, too.
~Shannon

A 13 to Life Prequel Story: That’s What She Said

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sat, 13 Nov 2010 02:12:00 +0000

*Note: All the action that occurs in this story happens before 13 to Life and before the Rusakovas were separated from their parents.

Regardless of the numbing affect of the haze of cigarette smoke or the sharp scent of sweat and the stink of stale beer staining the worn and sticky carpet, Alexi sensed trouble just minutes before Max made it.

Alexi built an awkward open bridge on the green felt table with his left hand, lining up. Or maybe it was twenty-three hours after Max had...made it. He smirked, took three hesitant practice strokes and hit the cue ball, rolling out a curse in Russian when the balls went wide.

His gaze skated over the money stacked on the table’s edge and the man he was playing smiled. Alexi grimaced, straightening and shrugging. “It is still not so bad,” he said, playing his part. Dumb Russian was what they expected around here so dumb Russian was what he gave them, up until the moment he left the hall with their money. His balding opponent stalked around the table, strategizing in his worn t-shirt—a sharp contrast to Alexi’s crisp button-down shirt—and Alexi silently reminded himself he didn’t need the money.

Mother and Father were still doing better than making ends meet—he wanted for nothing of a monetary sort—but still. He watched his opponent sink his 2-, 3- and 5-ball in a slick combination shot. Horashow. Good. Maybe there’d be a challenge here after all. Alexi had already thrown one game out of their two out of three set.

The man tried for his 6-ball but it spun wide with too much english.

The bills fluttered as Alexi moved past them, skirting the table, looking for the shot he wanted.
He’d gladly take the money—needed or not. One never knew when things would take a sudden turn. Not when you belonged to the Rusakova family.

He cast a glance two tables over to where Max lurked just beyond the pale glow cast by the dusty faux Tiffany lamps, shadows clinging to him nearly as tightly as girls usually did. Alexi knew what he was doing immediately. He was waiting to be noticed by someone other than the pair of hot blondes leaning on the long bar at the pool hall’s far side.

He shouldn’t have let Max come along again. He drew too much attention even wearing his chain—what Cat called his collar.

Actually Alexi knew he shouldn’t have come back again himself. You never hustled in the same hall twice in one week. But Alexi never drew as much attention as his siblings. He adjusted his feet and lowered into his stance. A little tremble... He nearly scratched, but he sank both the 1- and the 3.

Grinning, the balding man swept his comb-over back.

Alexi pocketed the 2 and 4. He didn’t want to be caught hustling—small town “justice” could be fiercer than what his parents usually feared was breathing down their necks. So he usually pulled ahead slowly. But the three men heading in Max’s direction made him think he needed to speed things up. “Best two out of three,” he reminded.

“Da, comrade,” his opponent drawled.

Alexi didn’t twitch. His breathing steady, he refused to acknowledge the jab. Now it would be even more enjoyable taking the man’s money.

Pietr would have created the same problem Max did—luring girls his way and angering their boyfriends. Pietr wasn’t the sort to sneak out and dive into the gutter with his older brothers; Alexi was comfortable in the gutter—it was easy to be once you knew you’d been thrown away before. If Alexi had to make a bet on what Pietr was doing right now…? He would bet he was reading. And Alexi didn’t make bets he couldn’t win.

He knew Pietr as well as he knew Max.

And as well as he knew Max was looking to pick a fight tonight. He tried thinking about the money riding on the game and not overhearing the conversation starting a couple of tables over as the three guys paused in front of his younger brother.

“Dude’s at our table.”

Three to one? The odds were still in Max’s favor as long as no one was packing. Simply adjusting his position at the pool table, Alexi appeared to ignore the way one man’s voice rose in volume and he chose a different set of balls to hit so he could watch the action better. He chalked his cue’s tip and squinted, examining his options.

“Who the hell are you?” one of them asked Max.

Three balls left to sink and then he’d still need to pocket the 8-ball. Maybe five minutes worth of work if he ran the table. And how long until all Hell broke loose?

His younger brother straightened and pushed back his shoulders, making himself as broad and tall as he could. “I’m Max. As in the maximum.”

Crap. It was about to get ugly. If he caromed his opponent’s 4-ball off his 6, it should take down both his 5 and 7. Creating a closed bridge, Alexi took a single, slow practice stroke and then took his shot. The balls smacked into each other with a crack, hurtling across the felt like he’d expected. “Finally I am feeling lucky,” he said to his stunned opponent. “My people must first warm up.”

“Warm up. Uh-huh.”

Alexi noticed how Max’s eyes briefly searched the smoky shadows behind the men, spotting the girl. He remembered her—well, what he had managed to glimpse of her nestled in the darkness made by Max’s broad body as they clung together last night in a dimly lit and seldom noticed corner of the hall.

Alexi eyed the table again. “6-ball in the side pocket.” This was not some emotional attachment Max was reacting to—he didn’t connect that way with girls. Alexi snorted. But the way his little brother did connect with them never got any complaints. At least not from the girls.

“Heyyy. How come I feel I’m getting’ hustled?”

Alexi shrugged, trying to pull his most innocent expression. “What is this—hustled?” The 6-ball went wide, slinging into the bumper. “It is your shot,” Alexi said, stepping back.

“Yeah,” the man muttered, his eyes narrow as he bent, took a shot and missed.

“6-ball, corner pocket,” Alexi said, seeing Max raise an eyebrow at the three men in challenge. Time was nearly up. He dropped the 6-ball in without hesitation and slid around the table to line up his last move and end the game. “8-ball, side pocket.”

“Damn,” one of the men near Max said, “You’re huge.”

Alexi snatched the money off the table’s edge. In a moment it wouldn’t matter if the man realized he’d been hustled or not. In a moment all that would matter was how fast he could get Max out of there and how much damage would be done before he could.

“That’s what she said,” Max countered, unrolling a brash grin. He winked at the girl standing behind them and they spun to face her. Her sudden blush explained everything and managed to condemn Max more than her.

“You son of a--”

That would be it. No matter what else was said about the Rusakovas—their family, their lifestyle, their heritage, no one questioned their mother’s worth by calling her a bitch—even in a round-about method.

Max dropped his pool cue to take the first swing. The thud that sounded when he connected rocked the man back into his buddies. “Shii--”

Max watched, amused, as they got the guy back on his feet, cursing in surprise as he cradled his face.

Alexi pushed through the gathering crowd.

“Go, go,” the guy’s buddies urged, shoving him forward again.

“Nobody comes at me...” the man snarled, dropping into a fighting stance.

“Nobody calls me a son of--”

The guy’s fist connected with Max’s mouth and Alexi paused, blinking. Now Max would get angry.

Max’s grin only broadened, his split lip no hindrance, and they both went at it, fists flying.

“Max!” Alexi shouted, grabbing him. Shaken off, he was shoved back by the momentum working through Max’s muscles. “Max!”

The other men stepped forward, hesitant to join in.

But the girl—Max’s latest makeout partner—pushed them forward. “He’s hurting Billy!” she protested.

Alexi shook his head. Women. Was it any wonder Max would burn time up with one who’d turn on him? He judged them on things other than morality and intellect... Making sure his winnings were secure in his pocket, he stepped in to join his brother.

And while they fought, Alexi peppered his punches with words meant to shake some reason into Max. “She’s not worth it--” only made the fighters redouble their efforts. “What are you trying to prove?” was answered by an insanely fierce punch that threw Max’s opponent onto his ass. Alexi took another route. “Put the pool cue down!” What did they cost now? Alexi sighed, doing the mental math, as Max snapped one across an attacker’s back and sent him sprawling. With one down they were now in clean-up mode...

With Alexi giving the fight almost everything he had and Max holding back their mixed abilities almost seemed normal.

Above the clamor of the crowd Alexi’s pool opponent shouted, “Hustler!” Alexi closed the gap between his back and Max’s watching as the man struggled through the crowd to challenge him. He swayed, ducking and weaving and keeping his face out of the path of the man’s punches. Body bruises he could handle—those he could hide—but a strong hit to his face would leave him bruised and aching—and obvious—just enough to raise questions in his sibling’s minds. And that was unacceptable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexi saw someone pick up one of the chairs that lined the hall’s wall and mentally added it to his tally of expenses, watching how it splintered when it impacted with Max’s shoulder. It didn’t seem expensive.

With a growl, Max grabbed the man by his shirt and waistband and heaved him past Alexi—

“Not the pool table...” He winced as the man landed and balls scattered and skipped onto the floor.

The table held.

Alexi let out a breath. His fist skimmed combover’s face and he pulled back sharply, nailing his elbow into the man’s jaw with an impact that sent him to the floor.

“Let’s go,” Alexi commanded, grabbing Max’s arm. Max spared him a glance and the last man standing clocked Max in the side of his head.

Max inhaled sharply and with a swing of his powerful arms sent the man crashing into the chairs.

Alexi counted as they splintered under the force. One, two, three became twenty, forty, sixty.
“Now,” he demanded, seeing the hint of red sparkling in the depths of Max’s eyes. “We go now.”

Max nodded, dazed, and Alexi led him past the bar, where Alexi paused long enough to dig out his winnings and pass them to the bar’s manager with a look of apology. He wanted for nothing of a monetary sort, he reminded himself. He grabbed a handful of napkins and dragged Max out of the hall, into the night and to their car.

“In.” He shoved him into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door. Starting the car, Alexi pulled out of the parking lot and drove a few minutes before finding a quiet side road to pull onto. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Max rubbed his jaw, fingers careful near his swelling lip. Still dazed, he was still grinning. “She had a mouth on her...”

“You have quite the mouth on you, too.”

“Yeah, well she was one hell of a kisser.”

“And you got hit in your kisser.”

“Quit being clever,” Max growled, snapping back into the present.

“It’s my default setting.” Alexi withdrew a handkerchief and pressed it over a gash above Max’s eye. “We both know it’s not about the girl. Crap. What will Mother say?”

Max looked away and took the handkerchief from Alexi, pressing it so hard against his brow bone he winced. “What does Mother ever say?” The pitch of his voice changed. “Oh, Max, what trouble did you get into this time?”

Alexi shoved his thumb into Max’s wound.

“Owww!”

“That is for disrespecting our mother.”

“You can be such a bastard sometimes,” Max grumbled.

Alexi paused.

“Face it. She dotes on them.”

“Who?”

“As if you don’t know. The twins.”

“You’re jealous.”

Max tipped his chin up, beyond denial. “Aren’t you? You’re the oldest. It should mean something.” His eyes narrowed, implying more than simple age suggested. “Just because they’re so smart and talented... I mean... I’m--”

Alexi stared straight out the windshield, focusing on the glare the convertible’s headlights threw across the road. One eyebrow still rose at his brother’s tone. “You’re what?”

“I’m — I deserve attention, too,” he grumbled, shifting in his seat so he faced out the window.

Alexi nodded in silent agreement and pulled the car out, turning toward home. They didn’t want for anything, he reminded himself, thinking of the money he’d won and just as quickly lost—not anything monetary at least.

Holding Out or Getting Hitched

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 12 Nov 2010 20:55:00 +0000

Some things are easier to say when you’re at a certain station in life. And some words may come off as cheap when shouted from a particular step on life’s ladder. If you’re a published author, telling aspiring authors to hold out when it comes to agents, publishing contracts or movie deals--that they should know their own value--may sound laughable.

Especially if you’re an aspiring author who has already earned a bunch of form rejections as the only result of your hard work.

Hitching your wagon to someone else’s star may sound like an appealing alternative. We all want to believe we have someone in our corner, even in the sometimes antisocial business of writing.

And publishing is a brutal business—very few of us will tell you otherwise. So I’m not going to judge the aspiring authors who have taken up James Frey on his offer to help kick-start their careers (in a very roundabout and sneaky manner) but I am going to suggest there are other ways to succeed in this business.

Why does this matter to me? I have a book deal and I took a unconventional route getting it, too. Unfortunately I can’t give you the details of why this matters so much to me. I can say that certain situations have caused me to become an even stronger advocate of fair contracts for authors (and this has nothing to do with my publisher—they’re great).

All I can tell you is as often as I’ve preached that there is no one right way to reach your dreams of publication, giving up all your rights (or even most) and most importantly giving up YOUR VOICE about any aspect of your journey is a crippling way to go about it. Your voice is that thing wedged right next to your heart (doctors have it wrong on the charts—at least for writers). It’s the reason we do what we do—location, location, location. If voice and heart didn’t touch so frequently we’d never put our books—our babies in so many ways—in a position where they’d be eagerly discarded, raised with love or torn apart.

As an author you decide what your words are worth and what you’re happy settling for (or you don’t settle). If you’re happy publishing a book just for family members—awesome! Do it. E-publishing is what you want instead? Great! Pursue it. Small press? Cool. Oh, you’ll only feel truly successful if you’re picked up by a NYC house? Okay—start working on it and focus your passion and hone your skills so you get there. Your goals and mine (and nearly every author’s are different—and that’s good). Do what makes you happy. Chase YOUR dream, not someone else’s.

But while you chase your dream, watch out for the snares along the path. Having never met James Frey, I can only go on what I’m seeing about him in the media. Go. Read. Form your own opinion. In my opinion, you can tell a lot about a person based on the contract they offer (and any subsequent addendum). You can tell how badly they’ve been hurt before, how much they trust now, and how desperate they are to protect themselves. Or to grow an empire based on the work of others hungry to make their own mark. It’s like reading reviews for a book—the reviewer has no idea how much they’re saying about him or herself when they write their opinion down.

So, in short: know your dream, set your goals and avoid the snares so you keep your voice powerful. And good luck!

~Shannon

NaNo and November

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 05 Nov 2010 02:00:00 +0000

It's November which means for some of us it's NaNoWriMo. For me it was, but copyedits for Bargains and Betrayals are headed my way, so playtime's over. And there are days you need playtime in this business. Badly.

But before I set "Project F" aside and fall back in with Jessie and the Rusakovas, allow me to give you a peek at a roughed out section I did this week for "Project F." This is not at all related to the 13 to Life series and it's aimed at a slightly older crowd--but we'll see how it develops. Go easy on me--it lacks detail and polish, but it's a glimpse... And tonight I desperately needed to share...

He grabbed her hands, sliding his thumbs down to encircle her wrists, his fingers nudging under the edge of her lace gloves to trace her bare skin in a way that tugged the breath from her throat. “Read for me,” he urged, his eyes fierce. “Tell me what my future holds.”

“I--”

Her gaze pinned by something dark and hungry in his eyes, she barely noticed the way a crowd began to form around them.

“Do it, Kasia,” Ferran growled. “Use all your magic to tell me my truth.” Using one hand to cup the cards in her left hand, he yanked her right glove off and tossed it aside. “Skin to skin — the press of flesh,” he murmured, eyes still on hers. “You have to touch to do it, don’t you...” he whispered, his voice hoarse, the words somehow indecent. “That’s what you never tell the public — for the most accurate read you need contact...” He switched his grip and tore off the other glove.

Kasia watched it flop to the ground — a frail black swatch of lace and stitching — her protection and emotional insulation — gone. She swallowed, holding back the whimper rising in her throat.

“Here,” he said, raising her hand to his cheek. He pressed it there, his eyes rolling back and eyelids fluttering at her very public touch and the whimper she was fighting back broke free.

Someone in the crowd stepped toward them boldly, a shadow of black barely registering in the periphery of her vision.

“Do not interfere,” Ferran demanded, his voice the crack of the whip the folk knew he wielded too well.

Kasia’s gaze flicked to the man whose fellows grabbed him and towed him back, hesitantly, absorbing him into their ranks. The knife-thrower? she wondered. He was too new to know — too new to fear...

“Do it. Pull the cards,” Ferran said.

“I cannot. I have no...”

“No what? No table, no chair no magic-looking props? Drag the damn cards free with your teeth if you must!”

There was a rumble in the crowd and she knew an argument was working its through their ranks. She shot them a look and raising her chin, she shook her head no. With her right hand she carefully spread the thick deck into an awkward fan.

And then she finally opened herself and allowed herself to feel Ferran. More than she had ever felt him before — regardless of the intimacies they’d shared, the passion she’d faked for his satisfaction — she’d never felt him this deeply. Her heart trembled at what wormed its way through her wearing his name, gnawing and leaving a blackness behind darker than anything she’d ever imagined was possible.

The heart of him she saw was blacker than the soot that poured from the train’s engine — fouler than the breath of the firebreather fresh from his show — darker than the black velvet of the ringmaster’s cape nestled in the darkness that always seemed to lurk within his train car. Her chest ached, a cold, hollow sensation gnawing at her ribs from within.

And she knew exactly which cards belonged in his reading.

Carefully she tugged them each free and set them on top of the facedown stack. “Behold,” she whispered. “Your future is revealed...”

His eyes opened and he dropped her hand from its place warming his cheek, her purpose nearly served.

Then he saw them. Three cards he understood too well. The Tower. Death. The Wheel of Fortune--in reverse.

“You worthless--!” His slap sent the deck of cards flying from her hands — scattering them into the dirt and the dust near them. “How dare you,” he snarled, cutting each word from its fellows, his eyes impossibly small. And undeniably cruel.

“Ferran...”

“No,” he snapped. “Do not even say my name in connection with those cards. No.” He turned on his booted heel, grinding one card beneath it, and faced the already thinning crowd. “Get to your places. We have a show tonight — a new crowd — a new set of opportunities.” With a snap of his cape he stalked off.

Stifling a sob, Kasia dropped to her knees in the dirt, skirts ruffling around her like a colorful puddle of patchwork fabric.

“Here.” The word was simple, soft and warm — and much closer to her ear than she expected.

Startled, she jolted back, and came nose-to-nose with the knife-thrower. Dark hair threatened to tumble into his strongly featured face and stubble a shade closer to midnight ran the length of his jaw, leading to a carefully trimmed goatee and lips so fine in shape they begged to be kissed.

He held her eyes for one terribly beautiful moment before his brow furrowed and he tore his gaze away. “Let me help you with that.”

No longer able to see his eyes, still she knew she’d never forget them — the swoop of long lashes, the way silver and gold flecks swirled and danced in depths defying any definition of either blue or green.

She exhaled, stunned she’d been holding her breath.

“He didn’t like what you saw,” he commented, carefully handing her the discarded gloves. He looked away, letting her shake them out and slide them on, as if seeing the stretch of her bare wrist or the tender flesh of her pale palm was something he felt a need to deny himself.

“He shouldn’t like what I saw... It was his truth and it was...” She shivered and refocused on the cards. “...terrible.”

He grunted.

In the dirt lay one last card, the one the ringmaster had crushed. “Oh,” he whispered. “This one...” They both reached for it and his hand brushed hers. She rocked back on her heels, something like lightning thrumming in the space between flesh and bone — tickling muscle and tightening tendon... Through her gloves. He turned the card over and handed it to her. “...will never be the same again.”

She took it blindly, his eyes holding hers again as he slowly rose to his feet, smooth and graceful as a wild animal.

The scent of him — all cloves, sweat, leather and oil — swirled around her, caught up by the teasing breeze. It was all so...foreign but somehow familiar.

Quiet as nightfall, he turned and left.

She stood, sinking back against the tent pole and fighting to catch her breath. The Midway was empty now, nothing but a few stray leaves and playbills moving in a sudden, rising breeze. For a moment she let her gaze drift down the way the knife-thrower — what had they called him? — Miksa? — had disappeared and she tried to hold his voice, so gentle, deep and calm, in her head. “This one will never be the same again,” he’d whispered. With a sigh, she looked down at the creased and dirty card resting in her hand, still separate from the deck.

She blinked.

The Lovers.

Yeah. So. Rough draft with some parts that definitely need smoothing, but I am so very much in love with Miksa... Of course, I know what his future holds. ;)

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 16:58:00 +0000

It's October 20th and because of the rash of recent suicides by teens who were homosexual or bisexual there's a push to talk about the situation and to assure teens that it gets better--life goes on and you reach better places and meet better more understanding people. I'm going to agree with that idea and tell you a little story that I hope will give you hope. It's a bit grim at a point, but it proved to me the resilience of the human spirit and that old adage--"it's always darkest before the dawn"?

True.

I want to tell you about the most beautiful boy in the world...

I was either seventeen or eighteen when I met him. I was at the Renaissance Faire in my pirate garb, peace-tied sword at my side and stiletto at my back, and it was one of the few days I wasn't making trouble for the actors and actresses. I don't remember where my crew was or if I'd gone up without them... I just remember it was summer, I was Muirgheal Brighid Faoltheargna O'Shanahan the Irish pirate lass and life was pretty good.

I was sitting on the benches at the Rose Stage watching people come down the steep hill from the Gate and make their way to the long line of food and beverage stalls that ended in a crossroads at the hill's bottom.

He caught my eye immediately, dressed beautifully in black--a trim build with decent shoulders and the way he carried himself--there was an understated pride and leonine grace about him. He was a brunette, his hair nearly shoulder length with a wave I envied.

And he paused at the lemonade stand at the bottom of the hill--very close to my bench. (You have to understand something about me that I seldom confess--I'm not tremendously brave by nature. At one time there were only a small handful of people who really--really--knew me, and, in fact, I'd have to say the same's true today. But when I was Molly or Muirgheal or Karalinda--I was bold and a touch dangerous. I blame the boots. ;-)

He had paused. He was handsome. I was unencumbered...I had coins in my purse. These things coming together meant I had to buy him a drink. It was destiny. So I kicked out my feet, rose and strode across the hardpacked red clay path toward him. I saw his profile first--an aquiline nose and firm chin--a jaw that was strong enough to devastate a girl's heart. The hint of cheekbones...

He turned to face the wench behind the counter and I slipped between them, setting my money down. "Good sir, I pray ye, allow me to buy ye a drink," I said, looking up to catch his eyes.

He smiled and I managed to keep breathing. And it wasn't his beauty that made me nearly lose my breath--though he was dazzling--it was the scars that sliced up his face and tried to make him less than he was. But I was a good actress--or so I thought. "Thank ye, milady. Tis most generous of ye," he responded.

He followed me to the benches and we began to talk. I was smitten--scars or no scars. He was sweet and gentlemanly and paying attention to me. And I was quick to look beyond the scars (thank goodness), but he wanted to address their existence (and probably clarify that we wouldn't go any further than potential friends). He opened the topic and I opened my mouth and asked, very simply, "What happened?"

He caught my eyes and held my gaze throughout the conversation--the whole time he told me he and some friends had been playing a gig at a gay bar in Philly. He held my gaze the whole time he explained that his friends had left ahead of him and as he headed out into the alley he was jumped by a couple drunk guys from another bar who called him "pretty" and beat him down in that dark alley and pulled out knives to cut the beauty from his face and leave him...bleeding...among the garbage. The whole time his gaze never once wavered from mine.

In that brief conversation he defined courage for me like no one else had.

And his beauty? It was only eclipsed by the bravery he showed by moving forward and boldly dealing with his pain.

I have to admit (and I'm ashamed to do so) that I don't know his real name or even recall the character name he gave me as his own. And, being a dumb teenage girl I had no idea what to say to him after all that other than "I'm so sorry." We chatted a little longer--he must've known something about me had become unhinged at that moment and didn't want to leave me that way--so he did me the courtesy of making small talk. And then we went our separate ways.

But the memory of him has stayed with me for years. And the way he dealt with his attack and came back into his own--beautiful and proud--it made me want to understand people better. To be a better and stronger person myself. So, those of you who know me--really know me--know I can be overprotective and a bit of a bleeding heart (which is disastrous for my sleeve as I tend to wear it there). Now maybe you understand a little bit better why. Our lives are short, the world's too often cruel, but what we do within that world makes all the difference. To us. And to everyone around us.

So if you're being bullied--hold on to him the way I have--know that you can come back from whatever is done to you. Yes, you may need help--there's nothing wrong with that--but don't give up. It matters that you keep fighting. It matters more than you can possibly know when you're hurting. But it does. It matters. You will help make the world a better place in your own time, the way meeting him made me a better girl.

And like he doesn't realize the impact he had on me--you may never fully realize the impact you have on others. But it doesn't mean you should quit trying.

Much love to you all,
~Shannon

Charity Auction and Werewolf Love

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 13:42:00 +0000

Today--right now--there is an online Charity Auction on behalf of Doctors without Borders and the Fisher House over at For What It's Worth. I've chipped in with the following:

personalized copy of 13 to Life
personalized ARC of SECRETS AND SHADOWS
thanks to winner in Acknowledgments of BARGAINS AND BETRAYALS
swag!

Please go and give your support to two fabulous organizations that do so much for so many other people. Bid. Spread the wolf love. :)

Tracking Me Down

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 12:25:00 +0000

Okay--October looks like it's going to be a little crazy (which totally makes sense, given it's my birthday month ;-).

Until the 14th you can enter to win a copy of 13 to Life over at Haunted Halloween. Then, on the 14th, a bunch of authors will join in a live, public chat at the #HauntedHalloween hashtag on Twitter. I shall be in attendance. :)

Today I'm E.J.'s guest over at From the Shadows. E.J. asked some cool questions about my genre choice and background, and you know me--I happily answer questions. :)

Later the Crossroads Tour will kick off and I'll be blog-hopping with Judith Graves, Jordan Deen and the gang--more on that later.

And around that time I'll do the International Werewolf Party here and share some stories about werewolf traditions from other countries and werewolf books you might want to check out from authors in those countries.

On October 24 I'll be listening in to Barry Eva's special broadcast on Book Banning over at A Book and a Chat on Blog Talk Radio--come hang out in the chatroom with me there!

And don't forget what I want for my birthday.... *hint hint*
~Shannon

It. Is. October. Help Me Celebrate!

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Sat, 02 Oct 2010 00:15:00 +0000

It's October. This is a good thing. That means it's the month of my birthday. Yes. I have my own reasons for being excited about this, of course, but I have another purpose for bringing it up.

Guess how I want you to help me celebrate the month of my illustrious birth. Go on...guess. ;-)

Yes, by doing something for me (it *is* all about me, after all :P ).

This month I want you to go out of your way and do something nice for someone else a total of 18 times since my birthday hits on the 18th (I needed a number, gang--seriously--I'm not *quite* that self-involved--not quite ;-). It doesn't need to be 18 times for the same person. It doesn't need to be the same thing 18 times. Just be conscious about what you're doing and be a little kinder to people. Keep a tally. I'm betting most of you are the type who will have managed to do this within a really short amount of time. And most of you really don't need me asking or reminding you to be nice--it's sort of your default setting anyhow (which is one of the reasons I adore you).

Wanna take it one step further? If you list the 18 things you did that were nice in the comments here(you don't need to say for whom) and leave me your email addy (also in the comments here), the first 10 of you will be contacted and get a little swag pack relating to 13 to Life. The rest of you will get the pride of knowing you did something awesome for other people (and frankly that's better than any swag).

So help me celebrate all month long by doing something nice for someone else.

Thanks a bunch!
*hugs*
~Shannon (the troublesome birthday-ish girl)

One More Reason to Love the French

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 22:45:00 +0000

A little background for ya' all (in which I demonstrate that The French Connection is more than just a movie made before I was born).

My real surname appears to be Germanic at first glance (and my father's side of the family is quite firm on this point: that we are of German stock--though he also admits there's a lot *cough* more than German in our heritage). But, at one time, prior to 1767 (when my first ancestor on Dad's side arrived in Philly and became indentured due to a situation that involved alcohol and someone needing sailors--yep) there were two sides of the family: the Germans and *gasp* the French.

According to research done by my family, the French and the German sides (way before any conflict happened between them that's important enough to make it into American history books) fought. A lot. Their main goal, it seemed, was to destroy the relatively dumpy little fortresses (*cough* "castles" if you ask some family members) that were positioned just across the river from each other. The animosity (the cause of which is long forgotten--like the roots of most things people still fight about) continued for generations and traveled far beyond its original geographic borders and may be (we're not sure) the reason the family was officially banned from renting space for reunions at Hershey Park after a bit of a brawl broke out.

Seriously.

Anyhow...

I had the pleasure of traveling to both Germany and France (and not meeting a single relative I know of). I actually took middle school students to Paris (if you think submitting a manuscript to an NYC publisher is scary, consider *that*). In both countries I found many wonderful people and amazing places (especially in France after we ditched our bilingual guide who spoke English and Italian--yep). Both countries get mentioned in the 13 to Life series.

And it's no surprise to werewolf fans that I'd love to spend time in southern France near Gevaudan. So it was a bit of a thrill today when my editor let me know...

(trumpets, please)

...we've sold foreign rights to France!

This means 13 to Life will not only be available in the US and Canada and the UK and Hungary and Brazil but also France. 13 to Life will probably wind up being translated into the official language of each country and probably with a totally different cover (which I'm VERY excited about).

So I think I need to do a bit of an internationally inspired werewolf celebration here on the blog around Halloween. Not only does Halloween play an important part in Secrets and Shadows but I love the different mythologies regarding werewolves that different countries and cultures have developed.

So. International werewolf party here in October. I'll figure out details soon. Tomorrow (after I get back from Ithaca) I'm finally finishing the judging for the Change is Good--Ask a Werewolf Contest.

Have a howlingly great weekend!
~Shannon

Great YA Bake Sale: YA Authors Giving Away Gobs of Books

noreply@blogger.com (Shannon Delany) — Thu, 16 Sep 2010 15:05:00 +0000

Okay, kids.

Hop through the link here to a previous post about the Great YA Bake Sale. You need to comment there for a chance to win the prize pack that'll be linked with me, and you need to check out the other authors' Great YA Bake Sale posts (many probably went up yesterday) and comment on their posts to have chances at even more prizes.

So what are you still doing here? Hop through the link and comment like crazy people--LOTS of prizes. Oh! I'd suggest hitting author Christine Johnson's post first since she was the clever gal who arranged all of this and has control over the contest. :D

Good luck!
~Shannon