Writing with N. D. Hansen-Hill...

On writing SFF & horror novels, publishers & publishing...and the writing life... Watch for book excerpts!

News & Networking

 

Other things: Shelley Munro was kind enough to request an interview with me this week on her blog. Now, Shelley is not only multipublished, but extremely versatile. She is also a Kiwi, and I sometimes see her at our monthly writers' meetings. Being on her blog makes me feel as if I've "arrived". Her books are very popular!

 

I have a newspaper interview next week. I don't get nervous at interviews, but want to do my best. I'll have to remind myself to think before I speak, rather than blurt. My last interviewer even included some of my "uh"s and "what I meant to say"s <G>. It's sometimes a little embarrassing to see how your words come across when you don't write them yourself <cheesy grin>. I'm a romance writer now, too, who sometimes dabbles in erotica, and that's a whole different kettle of fish...so to speak!

Yay!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tempter (I may want to stick this in a book some time): From Rapunzel's hair to eliminating sound waves, this article discusses how many of the magical aspects of fairy tales may actually be true. Carpets can be carried aloft by vibrations, and steered via pulse beats. For fantasy writers like me, who like to base their stories on facts, this really supplies a fascinating jumping off point. To read more, visit http://www.livescience.com/strangenews/080211-fairytales-science.html

Save Your World: Disaster Relief Volunteer Match (need a hands-on solution to disaster? find one close to home here) http://www.volunteermatch.org/opportunities/disaster_relief.jsp

Now, an excerpt from one of my books - enjoy!

From Trees, by N. D. Hansen-Hill, published by Fictionwise

ND Melody

 

http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook3063.htm

Unfleshed, he drifted through the trees—dark and massive against the skeletal whiteness of the cold bark. His ragged contours shifted, subject to the fickle breeze, while his dripping remnants fed the Earthen soil.

He had little strength here. His substance was no more than a gelid parody. Still, the sight of him—of his skull-like visage and dangling tissues—was enough to chill the spirit of his would-be prey.

His empty eyeholes stared in uncaring disdain at the glitter of this world. Unseeing of the dew-drenched leaves, or the moonbright pastures, he had vision only for that which would satisfy his needs.

The most important of these was hunger. An insatiable hunger, which made no distinction between domination and dining. For was not consumption the ultimate form of dominance?

A hiss of satisfaction curved his gaping mouth in a caricature of a grin, that was somehow far more frightening than its death-head stillness. The creature’s cravings took him drifting up a slope, to peer in the windows of an empty house. A snarl sliced the night as sharply as his claws could sometimes rend flesh. His purpose had been thwarted by time and distance—a taunting of memory on the breeze, or perhaps, an enigmatic taste of what was to come.

He floated away from the white dwelling, to seek better feeding grounds. Another place where he would have solidity, and mass, and the ability to consume that which he most craved.

But, as he melted into the forest darkness, the black eyeholes cast a backwards glance—a glitter of awareness momentarily brightening them with a silvered-purple glint. The white house, the trees, the promise of future success—all were lodged in the wisps of his memory. And the formidable retentive abilities of his kind were legend. Offend him once, and he would never forget. He would come again, at another time, in another place, to claim you as his own.

Somewhere in this place lay the promise of a rare delicacy. The flavour of a prize that was as difficult to catch, as it was pleasurable to consume.

The creature’s salivation fed the dripping residue of his already leaking tissues. The taint of his brightly-aura’d prize lay on the breeze, on the old wood of the dwelling, on the grass heads that shivered beneath his feet. If its prey had visited here so frequently as to leave its imprint upon this place, then it would come again.

It would come, but it would not leave.

Trees http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook3063.htm

Cheers,

ND Melody

http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook3063.htm

Unfleshed, he drifted through the trees—dark and massive against the skeletal whiteness of the cold bark. His ragged contours shifted, subject to the fickle breeze, while his dripping remnants fed the Earthen soil.

He had little strength here. His substance was no more than a gelid parody. Still, the sight of him—of his skull-like visage and dangling tissues—was enough to chill the spirit of his would-be prey.

His empty eyeholes stared in uncaring disdain at the glitter of this world. Unseeing of the dew-drenched leaves, or the moonbright pastures, he had vision only for that which would satisfy his needs.

The most important of these was hunger. An insatiable hunger, which made no distinction between domination and dining. For was not consumption the ultimate form of dominance?

A hiss of satisfaction curved his gaping mouth in a caricature of a grin, that was somehow far more frightening than its death-head stillness. The creature’s cravings took him drifting up a slope, to peer in the windows of an empty house. A snarl sliced the night as sharply as his claws could sometimes rend flesh. His purpose had been thwarted by time and distance—a taunting of memory on the breeze, or perhaps, an enigmatic taste of what was to come.

He floated away from the white dwelling, to seek better feeding grounds. Another place where he would have solidity, and mass, and the ability to consume that which he most craved.

But, as he melted into the forest darkness, the black eyeholes cast a backwards glance—a glitter of awareness momentarily brightening them with a silvered-purple glint. The white house, the trees, the promise of future success—all were lodged in the wisps of his memory. And the formidable retentive abilities of his kind were legend. Offend him once, and he would never forget. He would come again, at another time, in another place, to claim you as his own.

Somewhere in this place lay the promise of a rare delicacy. The flavour of a prize that was as difficult to catch, as it was pleasurable to consume.

The creature’s salivation fed the dripping residue of his already leaking tissues. The taint of his brightly-aura’d prize lay on the breeze, on the old wood of the dwelling, on the grass heads that shivered beneath his feet. If its prey had visited here so frequently as to leave its imprint upon this place, then it would come again.

It would come, but it would not leave.

Trees http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook3063.htm

Cheers,

 

 

posted by: NDwriting at 09:11 | link | comments |
books, trees, hansen-hill, elf , shelley munro, melody-knight

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