Hubba Hubba Versus the Stinky Beefy Boy: Part Two

Part Two

Herio could scarcely take his eyes off the sky long enough to find his stirrup as he thanked Mrs. Gweld for the pie and said his goodbyes. “I wonder if they passed by while I
was inside,” he said once he had Gwynt underway, following Sophie on her unicorn to
Castlegoll Road.

“Well, this is it,” she said, hesitating as he doffed his hat and steered Gwynt onto the road.

“She’s pretty,” he thought. He looked back to see her disappear around the corner. “Actually, she’s very pretty. And now that I think about it, she must have been interested
in me. My! Could that be why she came with her unicorn instead of her brothers?” He
gave a deep sigh and resumed combing the heavens.

Suddenly something was fluttering in his ear, giving him a start. “Herio!” chirped Tweet, landing on his shoulder and springing into flight again. “You’ve got to hurry! Hubba Hubba’s been shot and the evil boy’s going to eat him!”

“No! Is he dead?”

“He was alive last I knew, but…”

“Good! Show me. Let’s go Gwynt!”

“It was actually on this very road, just two farms south of here, where he was shot. We have to wait there for either Chirp or Squeak to show up when they find where the boy took him.”

At once, Herio had Gwynt pounding away at a full gallop. Soon his side was cramping from all the bouncing pie.

“Herio! Tweet! Hoy!” came a wee tweet from up ahead.

“Squeak!” chirped Tweet. “Is Hubba Hubba still alive?”

“Hurry! I’ll show you!”

Away they raced, down the road and through the very same fields crossed by Frankin and Hubba Hubba. At last they splashed through the creek and had zigzagged nearly across the orchard. “You’re here!” squeaked Chirp, dropping down from the sky, halting them at once. “See that house through the trees? They took him inside in a game bag, but I think they have him in a box. He’s hurt, Herio. I don’t know how bad. The biggest boy right yonder, see? He beaned him on the head and knocked him right out of the sky. They were going to dress him for supper…”

“And they haven’t yet?” said Herio.

“I don’t think so, ’cause the lady and the boys got to fussing something awful.”

“How do you reckon they’d take my walking up and asking for their supper?”

“Not very well. They’ve been shouting at each other the whole time I’ve been here.”

“Maybe I could offer them some money for Hubba,” he said, glancing away at the house. “They look kind of hard up.”

“They look like they might rob you…” squeaked Chirp.

“Oh surely not, but if it eases your mind, I’ll dump out most of our money in the rotted out place in this old peach tree.” He poured out his coins, put away his bag and threw his leg over Gwynt. “Well, let’s go get Hubba, boys.”

Frankin trotted out several rods to meet them. “You better hold it right there, fellow!” he hollered as he wrapped a stone in the patch of his sling. “We don’t know you at all, so that makes you ones a trespasser…”

“Frankin!” echoed the cry from the house. “How’d you get that sling? You bring it back right now! You hear? And don’t you dare talk to strangers that a-way unless there’s a good reason!”

“I’m right sorry,” said Herio. “I certainly didn’t mean to make you think I was trespassing. I’m just passing through on my way to Castle Goll, but I got separated from my crow…”

“Crow?” said Frankin without so much as glancing back at his mother. “No crow here, fellow, so just turn around. Go!” He swung his rock back and forth like he might fling it around and throw it.

“Frankin! You heard me!” came the cry from the house.

Frankin did not bat an eye nor turn around, but the shouting woman must have had his attention, for suddenly Kink dashed out of the bushes and yanked away the sling.

“You stinking cachu face, Poopkink!” shouted Frankin, grabbing his fingers. “That hurt!”

“We got a crow shut up in the house, mister!” cried Kink, dancing about warily, well out of Frankin’s reach.

“Yea!” cried Dink, running up. “He talks and Mom’s afraid of him!”

“This time you gwrteithiau have really gone and done it!” cried Frankin, going red in the face. “I’m going to pound you…”

“Not while I’m alive!” howled the Mother, grabbing him by the arm. “And you’re done with slings for a good while, buster!”

Frankin tried to wrench free, but she gave him a shake.

“I’m man of the house now that Dad and Alwin’s gone!” he wailed. “You said so!”

“Yea? Well, when you can’t live up to it, then you’re just a little boy, aren’t you? And if that makes you disappointed, kid-o, hit makes me doubly so. Now let’s work you back up to being a man again. You get yourself around back and chop me a proper rick o’ wood!”

“But there’s a whole pile of wood ’round…Aaaah!”

“And there’s a proper red welt acrost the back o’ your leg, too!” she hissed as she got him good with a whistling switch. She watched him scuttle out of sight. When she heard chopping commence, she retied her apron. “Now I’m right sorry for that, young man. He’s turned mean since his daddy was kilt at Ash Fork. Now he didn’t even give you ones the chance to give your name, ‘fore he started in, did he? He’s Frankin, I’m Mrs. Simms and these two be Wilmer and Jake…”

“I’m Herio, ma’am,” he said, thinking to remove his hat.

“Well, we’ve been kind o’ afraid of your bird. We didn’t know what to think. He bit me good every time I tried to get him down, and he was swearing like a sailor…”

“Sounds like Hubba Hubba, all right…”

“That’s his name?”

Herio nodded.

“And you taught him to curse like that?”

“No, but I’ve learnt a bunch from him…”

“You know, that’s one lie I think I believe,” she said with a laugh as she turned to Kink and Dink. “You ones run inside and bring this nice young fellow his bird.”

They raced to the door and darted inside. Immediately they were back outside again, with the door slammed fast behind them. They looked up at Herio with wide eyes.

“He’s deliberately knocking things off shelves…” said Kink.

“And he said when you get here you’re going to cut off our heads,” said Dink with an uneasy swallow.

Herio put his ear to the door.

“And when he does show up, “cawed Hubba Hubba amidst the crash of dishes, “you all will wish you were far, far, away! He’ll make you pay! He’ll cut off your grubby little fingers! He’ll…!”

“He’ll come and take you with him!” hollered Herio as he threw open the door.

“Herio!” cawed Hubba Hubba, swooping down from some shelves to walk up the front of his shirt as he madly beat his wings. “You did it! You saved me! They were going to eat me!” He flapped his way up onto Herio’s shoulder to drop open his beak and go quite skinny. “You mean you didn’t kill them?”

“Well, no, Hubba, they returned you in one piece… In fact, ma’am?” he said, taking out his purse and dumping out some crowns onto the bench by the door. “This is for your dishes.”

“Why you ones don’t have to…”

“Have you seen how many he broke?”

“Every bloomin’ one I could reach,” rattled Hubba Hubba as he bristled all over. “And ‘one piece,’ I dispute that. Have you seen the knot on my head?”

“Then you’ve gained from the experience,” said Herio, rolling his eyes for Mrs. Simms.

She nodded and herded her boys back towards the house. “Looks like we both got our hands full,” she called with a nod, as she shooed Kink and Dink into the house. “Good luck, you hear?”

“Thank you ma’am, for being good to my bird,” said Herio as he got astride Gwynt with Hubba Hubba gaping aghast and three merrily twittering sparrows. They sauntered back through the orchard, pausing long enough to scrape his crowns out of the rotted out hollow in the old tree.

“‘Good to my bird?’ ‘Good to my bird?’ You think a knot on my very knitty box, big as my eye, is good to your bird? And what righteous damage, may I ask, did you do in order to be good unto them…?”

The Burgeoning

Carol Marrs Phipps and Tom Phipps

Spitemorta Lands in the Fish Heads

“Magic indeed!” huffed Spitemorta as she drummed her fingers on the arm of her great chair. “This aggravation of pinions and cogs mocks my patience. I swear. It does nothing for the fool watching its pointer but stop time. The only way you can ever see it move is by not looking at it for a while.” She snapped shut its lid with a sigh. “But I do like hand gonnes. I like them a lot.” She thoughtfully rolled her ebony egg about in her lap for a moment before opening its lid to stare at its dial of mother of pearl, inlayed with gold numerals. “The best thing about Gwaelian magic is that it can be practiced right out in front of the superstitious without getting them all upset. Honestly. I’m sick to death of peasants and fools.”

“Well then,” said Demonica, suddenly appearing out of a traveling spell with a skinweler in her hand, “you’re right ready to enjoy a little sortie to the coast to get away from them, aren’t you?”

“Don’t do that Grandmother!”

“Don’t do what, dear? Don’t ask you to go on a sortie or don’t use traveling spells? You know such spells don’t bother me at all the way they do you…”

“You know what I mean, Grandmother. How dare you pop up in my face whenever the fancy strikes you.”

“Much better dear. You’re getting so that you’re nearly able to express what you mean the first time you try. Well, you won’t mind my sudden appearance in the least when you hear what I have to say.”

“Oh really? Then what?”

“You know, I think it would be in your best interest if you found out for yourself,” she said as she vanished.

“Damn you, Demonica!” she snarled as she set aside her wind-up egg. “One of these days you’ll wish you’d never left Head.” She picked up her skinweler. “Very well, let’s see what’s at the coast, as if I can’t guess.” She paused, waiting for the swirling colors to clear. “Ha! The army. Their boats are just now arriving at the delta of the Bay of Gollsport. I suppose you win enough this time to have me feeling like puking, Grandmother.” She shifted the skinweler’s image to Demonica’s apartment and reached for the Staff.

“Ah. There you are dear,” said Demonica, with a canvas bag of skinwelerioù at her feet, obviously awaiting her arrival. “Here’s your cloak. I suppose you saw that it was raining on the coast?”

“No, I didn’t,” said Spitemorta, looking vexed and nauseated at the same time. “But since you seem to have thought of everything, did you make arrangements for Nasteuh, or must we waste time while I do?”

“All taken care of dear. So shall we be off then?”

“On the Staff? It is the middle of the day…”

“Well certainly, but with your being anxious enough to come to my room by spell… Very well. The weather is ideal for travel over the roads, that is if you overlook the rain on the coast.”

“No Grandmother. Let’s try a traveling spell. Let’s get there in time to meet them. Let’s just appear somewhere altogether out of sight.”

“My! We are anxious, aren’t we? With your nausea, that’s a right good piece to go, dear. But if you must, I know just the place to make for. Take my hand.”

Spitemorta paused long enough for a dry swallow and a deep breath before holding out her hand. Colors whirled madly in her head, making shooting pains in her eyeballs. “Aangh!” she cried as she tumbled onto her hands and knees in the edge of a great squishy pile of rotting fish heads. “Aargh! Unngh!” she woofed as she belched and coughed up every bit of what she had eaten with her late morning tea. “Gracious sakes Grandmother!” She rolled back onto her haunches and staggered to her feet, flinging fetid fish juice from her fingers as she looked down the front of her kirtle. “Couldn’t you have picked a better place than this?”

“Well,” said Demonica as she took a quick step back, “I’d considered the grave yard, but since they’re having a funeral, scaring the mourners out of their wits is a bit self-centered, don’t you think? Anyway as you can see, it’s still raining. But before you clean up enough to put on this cloak, you’ve dropped the Staff in the fish heads…”

“You pick it up!”

“Ah, ah, ah! Your staff, your responsibility, dear.”

Ch.41, The Burgeoning, book four of Heart of the Staff: The Complete Series

Carol Marrs Phipps and Tom Phipps

Meri Doesn’t Mind if Celeste Looks Old: Part Five

“I can bear you the rest of the way,” said Lladdwr. “But first…”

“Yes,” said Ceidwad, giving herself a thorough shake. “We’ve been putting off telling you something…”

“Koude hit to wayten?” he said as he motioned for Lladdwr to let him mount.

“No,” said Ceidwad. “This may be nothing at all. And then again…” She paused under the rattling aspen leaves to sort through some feathers. ”

“Wel thanne what?”

“Mother Celeste and her sisters are now quite aged,” she said with a deep bob of her head.

“So? Thou dost knowe that weo on erthe sithence the byginnynge of al memory han ben, righte? No thyng a-lyve beth eldre than Ich am.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ceidwad with a snap of each wing before fixing her gaze upon him. “My attempt to be gentle has simply undone things. I have no choice but to be direct and I apologize for having delayed telling you. Razzorbauch turned our mothers into old hags when he made them prisoners of Mount Bed. They still have endless lives, but not endless youth.”

“They lok olde?”

“That’s what we’re saying,” she said. “And we had no idea how someone who has always had eternal youth would face having his lover be gnarled and aged, so we didn’t speak up when we probably should have. Have we made you upset with us?”

“Up-sette with thou? Fithel-stikkes!” he said, tramping about in distraction. “Alacke! The oonly way to chaungen hem bakke is with the Grete Staf of Power and the Cristal Herte. And evene thanne, weo myghte neede the Ffirst Wysardes grimoire.”

“Our mothers have accepted their fate Meri, and they hold out hope that the Elven Prophesy is true. If that be, then perhaps they will indeed be turned back, and eventually will only have been old for a mere moment in your time. The question is, how are you
managing right now?”

“What?”

“Mother Celeste has longed for you these live-long years. Will your shock at the sight of her upset her?”

“O!” he said, stopping short at the sight of how it all was. “Ich see. Wel my derre Celeste wol alwey the moost bryhte sterre in the hevenes ybe. That beth al she by the lok in myn eyn wol gete.”

“Well then,” said Ceidwad, rising to her feet with a shake of her feathers. “Are we ready?”

Meri gave her a sudden hug and a pat, did a handspring and hopped astride Lladdwr as he rose to his feet.

“Finally off his swyving toute!” croaked Ocker from somewhere overhead.

Ch. 15, The Reaper Witch

Carol Marrs Phipps and Tom Phipps

Spark Worries with Edward and Laora out Late

Part Five

“I’m quite sure they’ll be along any minute with a completely sensible explanation of why they’re so late,” said Spark, trading anxious looks with Lipperella.

“I’ll go out and look for them right after this cake!” said Flash, champing and fuffing out crumbs from his mouthful.

“Don’t, or we’ll have to come looking for you, too,” said Lipperella. “Now all of you help me clean up before you go out for your evening flight.”

“I knew it,” declared Tors as he stepped into the kitchen with Gweltaz. “Please tell us we aren’t too late.”

“Too late for Edward and Laora, Uncle Tors?” said Flame.

“We meant your mother’s delicious cake,” said Tors, grabbing up a piece with an appreciative glance at Lipperella. “What about Edward and Laora?”

“Oh nothing. They’re just missing is all,” said Flash.

“Well, not really,” said Spark, “just a little late. They’ll be here directly, I’m sure.”

“I’d have thought so long before now,” said Lipperella, “particularly since Laora knew we were going to have this kangaroo rat pie. She and the rest of the Mob spent hours chasing down all the rats for it. Oh here, Gweltaz. Have some. There’s plenty of that left, as well as the cake. You too, Tors. And here’s some rat hair gravy to go over it. Want me to warm it up?”

“No need,” said Gweltaz, as he and Tors gobbled down their pie, watching the Mob file out for their evening flight. “This is delicious, Lipperella. Have you tried pickling them? I sure miss the pickled voles you used to make.”

“Yea I have, but I just can’t get the pimentos to stay in their eye sockets like the voles.

“Hmm,” said Tors, “‘late’ and ‘missing,’ you say. Is that really the same as, ‘Oh nothing?'”

“Yea,” said Gweltaz. “No reason we can’t help you go find them. I mean, we hear what you’re saying, Spark, but you and Lipperella both look worried.”

“Well,” said Spark, sharing his worried looks with Lipperella, “we’ve been letting them explore where they like so long as they return when we say, and until this evening they’ve never been late…”

“Then it’s not long ’till dusk, so…” said Tors, swallowing his last bite of pie.

“So let’s round up the Mob and get cracking,” said Lipperella, tossing aside her apron.

The Burgeoning, Ch. 30

Carol Marrs Phipps and Tom Phipps

Abaddon Has a Red Glow in His Eyes

Part Two

That evening, James tiptoed into Abaddon’s nursery and put a light kiss upon his forehead. Abaddon stirred under his blanket but neither opened his eyes nor changed his breathing. James smiled, assured that he was safe and at peace, in spite of his mother’s long absence. He turned and tiptoed back out, gently drawing closed the door.

Abbadon’s eyes flew open the moment the door shut. He clambered from his bed and went to the window where he peeped out at the skinweler in the courtyard. “Momma’s goin’ ‘o be very mad at you Daddy, when I tell her what you’ve been doing while she’s been gone,” he said with an eerie red glow in his eyes in the moonlight. “Oh yes. She’s goin’ ‘o be real mad.”

Ch. 45, Stone Heart

(Click on Title or book image to download FREE)

Carol Marrs Phipps & Tom Phipps

Review: REAPING the HARVEST by Robbie Cox

Reaping the Harvest by Robbie Cox is a highly entertaining fantasy tale sure to be loved by fans of the genre.

What more could an ordinary guy want than to suddenly find himself transformed into a magic-sword wielding superhero with a super-sized, mind-speaking elfin dog called Kree, a two and a half foot tall ellyll named Tryna from the Land Under, and a local prostitute named Buttercup as side-kicks? Well he could want plenty, or perhaps less, depending on your point of view.

Richard Bartlett is happy with his life just the way it is. He has his own business called My Hand Truck & I, and is on the verge of proposing marriage to the woman he has loved for the past four years. Everything is going exactly as he wishes until he responds to a stranger’s desperate cries for help.

Rhychard’s reward for trying to save an Elf’s life is a magical sword to fight the demons of the Void, and a new life as a Warrior of the Way. In addition he suffers the loss of his beloved Renny, the alienation of his friends, and his acceptance as a member at Harvest Fellowship, the church where he and Renny attended services together. Some might consider it a fair trade off. Not Rhychard, but not that it matters.

Rhychard had been chosen as a warrior, and like it or not he is now bonded to the Guardian Sword for the rest of his life. With no choice other than to accept his fate, Rhychard decides to tell Renny the truth about what has happened to him even though it is against the rules of the Way of the Warrior. He figures at least then she’ll stop thinking he is a cheating jerk who keeps vanishing for days at a time with no explanation. He hopes she might even believe and forgive him and things will return to the way they had been between them before he had been given the cursed sword. After all, he is supposed to be one of the good guys. And everyone knows the good guy always gets the girl in the end…Right?

Sadly, that’s what happens in fairy tales and Rhychard’s situation is all too real. Renny doesn’t believe him and what’s worse; she has become involved with Pastor Adrian Michaels, the minister of their church and a married man.

Will Rhychard and his unusual companions be able to subdue the demons of the Void and keep the Way and the World safe for humans and magical beings alike? Or will the reluctant hero succumb to his emotions and damn the world to the rule by the Void for eternity? Read Reaping the Harvest and find out.

I very much enjoyed this imaginative, action-packed fantasy, and look forward to future books by this author.

Review by:

Carol Marrs phipps

The Gemstone Chronicles, Book One: The Carnelian

The Gemstone Chronicles, Book One: The Carnelian is a delightful Young Adult fantasy tale by William L. Stuart that can be read and enjoyed by all ages.

The last thing Beebop expects as he and his grandchildren, Aidan and Maggie, start out on a day of rock-hounding in the Georgia countryside is that they will discover anything out of the ordinary. What they find is a stone that profoundly rocks their world, turning their beliefs and their very lives upside down.

The odd stone marked with a cross is curious enough by itself, but when it is discovered to be inhabited by an elf named Findecano Saralonde and a troll named Yul, Beebop and his family begin to wonder if they are losing their minds or if these beings are indeed real. After all, how could such creatures live inside so small a stone?

As it turns out, not only do this elf and this troll truly exist, but real magic has to be a certainty as well. Findecano was imprisoned in the stone when Dark Elves wanted him out of the way because he knew that they had stolen the gems of power from the Elven Bow of the Light Elves. The Dark Elves wanted to weaken the barrier between the human and the elven realms so that they could rule over them both.

Having stumbled onto this, it is not surprising that Beebop and his family end up returning with Findecano to his land to find the missing gems of power, whether or not they want to go. Just what does happen makes entertaining reading for the entire family.

I truly enjoyed this fanciful tale and look forward to reading the next books in The Gemstone Chronicles.

Review by:

Carol Marrs Phipps

Review: A TALE OF TWO WORLDS by Susan Waterwyk

Blurb:

A Tale of Two Worlds

“The Earth, once asleep, has awakened, from deep in her belly come cries; her mountains and valleys are shaken and seas rise up to the skies.”

The ancient Keepers of Akosh can do nothing to prevent the catastrophes. They have known since the sinking of Atlantis that the living world of Earth would awaken. Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes and tsunamis threaten the people of the Earth so the Keepers spent thousands of years terraforming the primitive world of Lantamyra to serve as a sanctuary for the refugees from Earth. Now the Gathering begins.

The dragons that rule the three Great Houses of Lantamyra need the giant myra crystals from Atlantis to strengthen the large array in the House of Gaia Jade to be able to return to their homeworld, Lanluong. The Keepers of Akosh authorize a mission to Earth to locate and retrieve the crystals before the earthquakes bury them deeper in the abysmal depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

Recently arrived from Earth, Tylya Lansing has been trained in the Secrets of the Ways and knows how to use the powerful myra crystals. She is now a keeper of dragons in the House of Gaia Jade, and her first-hand knowledge of modern Earth makes her the best candidate to command the mission to find and retrieve the lost crystals of Atlantis.

Tylya’s lover, Josh Hamilton is also from Earth and trained in the Ways but chose not to serve the dragons. He is a crystalseeker working in the mine at Queen’s Heart located near an active volcano. The job is extremely dangerous since long exposure to myra crystals causes crystal sickness, and worst of all, ghosts of seekers are hungry for living energy and they wait in the myra crystals to feed on him.

Tale of Two Worlds, Review

I was enthralled from the very opening paragraph of a Tale of Two Worlds by Susan Waterwyk. This author artfully weaves together just the right balance of descriptive prose and dialogue. She creates a world so vivid and tangible the reader soon feels like a participant in the tale, rather than a mere observer.

A Tale of Two Worlds is the second book of Waterwyk’s planned trilogy about the fantastic world of Lantamyra where dragons rule fairly and justly over the humans that share that world with them. But, Lantamyra’s history is tied to two other “living worlds”, the dragon homeworld, Lanluong, and the human’s homeworld, Earth.

Long ago when the Keepers of Akosh learned to travel between the stars in their fantastic spaceships powered by giant myra crystals, they searched far and wide for other “living worlds” like their own. In time they found a number of these “living worlds” and used their great myra crystals to open portals to travel between them. Unwittingly, the keepers upset the balance of the dragon homeworld causing great upheavals which threatened the very existence of the dragons by the constant use of the portals.

As soon as the Keepers of Akosh realized what they had done they set about rescuing as many of the dragons as they could, relocating them to the safety of Lantamyra where the dragons ruled and lived in peace with the Keepers of Akosh and humans who had come there from Earth to serve dragonkind.

But the dragons longed for the day they might return to their own world of Lanluong and the Keepers felt honor bound to fulfill the dragon’s wish as soon as it was feasible. First however, they had to recover some of the giant myra crystals from the ancient site of Atlantis where the crystals had been submerged under the sea since the isle’s untimely demise.

Once the myra crystals were recovered there was one problem. There would be repercussions for using the crystals on such a massive scale again, only this time it would be planet Earth that would undergo horrendous upheavals that could entirely wipe out the human population. So the Keepers of Akosh had trained a number of chosen humans to aid in the “gathering” of a select number of the human race in order to prevent their extinction from the coming disaster and transport them to Lantamyra where they would be safe. In A Tale of Two Worlds this destined time is at hand.

A Tale of Two Worlds is a highly imaginative and enchanting tale surely destined to become a classic that the reader will remember long after the final page. It is time for “the gathering”. Read A Tale of two Worlds and hope you won’t be left behind.

Review by:
Carol Marrs Phipps

Interview of UK Fantasy Author of Postponing Armageddon, Adele Abbot

What is your name, where were you born and where do you live now?

Adele Abbot (one T), I was born in York, UK & I live between Leeds and Bradford, UK

Please tell us a little about yourself (something different not contained in your bio).

I’m the daughter of an Indie writer and honorary niece to another

How long have you been writing?

Since 2006

What do you believe is the most difficult thing about becoming an author?

Finding readers! That’s a little mischievous, obviously, putting one word after another to make an interesting and coherent read is probably the most difficult – especially when you have a 4 year old needing your attention. But once you’ve served your apprenticeship, and I think I have, getting your name out there is difficult and frustrating, I do have a few novels that have fallen by the wayside.

What do you like to do when you are not writing?

Getting out and about, what my son calls ‘Mummy & Daddy’ days.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

It’s called Postponing Armageddon. A historical fantasy, dogmatic religion versus creatures we think of as myth and legend about to be made extinct.

Was there any particular thing that inspired you to write Postponing Armageddon?

It was written after I was made redundant as we say here – what you call being let go in the US. It was something to fill my time between looking for jobs. The original idea came from an ages old short story which happened to come to mind.

Is this book part of a series?

I would like it to be. Ideas for volume two are settling down. I guess it depends on how well volume one does.

Would you share a blurb with us?

When history goes off course, can it be nudged back? The second coming of Jesus Christ was supposed to take place in the thousandth year of His era, but it did not happen as scheduled.

Would you share a short excerpt?

Almost on the horizon, a waterspout was visible; a long writhing tail of dark air descending from a bulbous blue-black cloud.

“The Summer Hawk,” I heard someone say – that was the Viking ship which had sailed a little while before us. The men looking over the stern rail had a better view than those of us in the waist and I went back up the steep slope of the after deck which, at the stern, was quite high above the sea level.

Looking back, it was now possible to see great waves breaking about the lean shape of the Summer Hawk. As I watched, lightning scratched a jagged line from the cloud to the single mast, rigging and sparks flew skyward, snatched by that writhing funnel of air. The stern seemed to rise up and twist, the bows disappeared behind curtains of green and black water; the ship slid beneath the waves and was gone in a space of heartbeats. Gone, leaving only a wake to show she had ever been there.

Do you have plans for a new book? Would you tell us a little about it?

I mentioned that I would like to make this a series. A second volume might be placed in Northern Italy, early in the 12^th century. The then Pope was a nasty piece of work and there was an attempt by the French to have him arrested and tried before a court of law which failed. I have a feeling that my characters might take a hand…

How long have you been writing? And who or what inspired you to write?

I guess I have to blame my Dad and my Uncle for inspiration. I’ve been writing since 2006 when I put Postponing Armageddon on paper but I wrote another fantasy between that and getting Postponing Armageddon published. Called Of Machines and Magics, it was actually written second and published first – both are published by Barking Rain Press.

Do you gift books to readers to do reviews?

I do. I’m very grateful for a thoughtful review; they’re worth a lot to me.

How do you come up with the Title and Cover Designs for your book/books? Who designed the Cover of your books?

With Postponing Armageddon it was a lot of discussion with Dad & my Uncle and since it reached the shortlist of the Sir Terry Pratchett/Transworld 2011 competition, that’s set in stone. Of Machines and Magics came out of equally long email discussion with Sheri Gormley, our President & Executive Director. The cover in both cases was created by Michael Leadingham who got the flavor so absolutely right.

Have you ever based characters on people you know or based events on things that have happened to you?

I’ve pinched names from people I know for my characters – with permission – but if I’ve based actual characters, it was unconsciously. Events, though, oh yes, especially where they have involved me.

Is there a certain Author who influenced you in writing?

Probably Mary Gentle, who wrote some great fantasy & science fiction, including an historic which certainly wasn’t the history we remember. My mentors too – Dad and my Uncle – introduced me to their favorite – Jack Vance. His Dying Earth series drew me into the setting for Of Machines…, a tale from the last days of Earth.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

It has to be hardback but, maybe paperback for bath-time and eBook when the readers get to be waterproof.

What is your favorite book and Why? Have you read it more than once?

That’s a difficult one. I’ve read quite a few more than once but let’s say formative rather than favorite, which might put the Egyptian by Micah Waltari and his other books as very influential, though Waltari is not a well known author. And of course, Mary Gentle who wowed me with Rats and Gargoyles any number of times.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Why or why not?

I don’t think there’s a definitive answer to that one. Apart from a few scenes, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit both worked well, I thought. Shakespeare usually does. But there are many that just never do – as a character in a UK TV show used to say scornfully: “Straight to video” in a very Yorkshire accent. (Which I have too.)

What are you currently reading? Are you enjoying it? What format is it? (eBook, hardback or paperback)

The Outcast Blade, sequel to The Fallen Blade by Jon Courtenay Grimwood. Makes my toes curl, makes me weep, “gritty, grimy, decadent, compelling” says the Sunday Times. It’s a hefty paperback.

Is there a book you know you will never read? Or one you tried to read but just couldn’t finish?

I’ve been disappointed by Alastair Reynolds’ Terminal World and I’m not quite sure why. I didn’t finish it, either.

What do you think about book trailers?

So, so. My father had one made for one of his books; I don’t think it did anything for the title at all.

What piece of advice would you give to a new writer?

Be prepared for a lot of writing to hit the shredder or the delete box. But enjoy it, all the same. When you do get published, don’t worry about the occasional vicious review or posting. You got there, they didn’t.

Do you or would you ever use a pen name?

Have been known to! Adele Abbot didn’t just happen to be at the front of the alphabet!

If you could be any character in your book, who would it be and why?

Morion – she’s so damned cool.

If your book was ever made into a movie, what actor/actress would you like to see play the main character(s)?

Gerard: Damien Lewis

Matthias: Hugh Laurie

Morion: Anne Hathaway

Max: Dwayne Johnson

Have you ever considered writing in a completely different genre? If so, what would it be and why.

I haven’t thought about that. I’d like Adele Abbot to continue to be associated with fantasy – and somewhat out-of-the-ordinary themes.

Do you think the current popularity of eBooks will last or do you believe it is just another passing trend?

I think it’s more than a passing trend. The eBooks on phones is a phenomenon I wouldn’t have guessed at and I think that will see them well into the future.

Considering Traditional Publishing vs. Indie Publishing, do you think one has a clear advantage over the other? If so, please elaborate.

The Traditional Publisher lost the war, in my opinion. They were over-confident and self-opinionated and slow and suffocating. The Indies are great, they are nimble enough to take advantage of new technology, new ideas and new authors.

Would you ever consider writing as a part of a team, rather than on your own?

My Uncle and my Dad manage it very well but it needs two (or more) people who complement & respect each other. If such a one comes along, I’d try it out.

Have you ever had writer’s block? If so, what did you do about it?

I think anyone who works on their own must get writer’s block or it’s equivalent in other disciplines. But I’ve got a 4 year old son who is going to be the greatest fantasy writer ever – he’ll keep me fresh!

Where can readers follow you?

Your web site? Adele Abbot

Your Facebook page? Adele Abbot on Facebook

Your Twitter details? Adele Abbot on Twitter

Buy Links for Postponing Armageddon: sign up for a preview & get 35% of the cover price…

Barking Rain Press: http://www.barkingrainpress.org/postponing-armageddon-preview/

Thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule to interview with us today. It has been a real pleasure having you here on our blog. I hope you will visit again in the future.

Review: POSTPONING ARMAGEDDON by UK Author, Adele Abbot

Postponing Armageddon

a fantasy by

Adelle Abbot

Gerard is a centurion leading a Roman legion. In his legion is Max, who resembles a Neanderthal, seems to be immortal and leads a small legion of his own, made up of other primitives. Gerard refers to Max as his uncle and also seems to be immortal. The two of them oversee the crucifixion of Christ.

A few years later, Gerard’s legion is sent to the frontier of Germania. He sleeps with a captive only to be disemboweled by her. Max comes to his bedside and eases his passing away.

Gerard finds himself growing up in Germania, aided by recollections of his earlier life. He is a great help to his politician father who takes him away on a diplomatic mission to the Schonau where he meets his mother from his past life and also meets a striking girl with green eyes called Morion, who is attending the diplomatic meeting for someone called Max. On the way home he steals away from his father and goes to Mandor to take up a life with his past mother.

He attends the wedding celebration of his cousin in a family made immortal by being related to Max. He sleeps with a woman, not knowing that she is the bride to be, is caught by the cousin and saved from execution by Max who sends him into exile. He is taken away with a bag over his head by Morion and a troop of primitives. By the time they turn him lose far to the west, he and Morion are attracted to each other and plan to meet further west as soon she has taken care of business for Max with a Bishop of Hypolita.

As Gerard travels along enjoying his freedom, he comes upon a monk who has just been waylaid and his companion slain. The monk warily introduces himself as Brother Simeon and offers to pay him to be his bodyguard whilst he travels to Mont St. Michael with eleven sacred scrolls which he believes his assailants were after.

Gerard agrees, and as they begin traveling together, Morion begins appearing to Gerard in his dreams, repeatedly asking him where he is. Simeon discloses that he is the Abbot of Hypolita. At the first town they come to, they fend off an attack in their room by a pair of ape-like primitives whom Simeon thinks are after the scrolls.

At Mont St. Michael, Simeon adds an eleventh scroll and reveals that not only is there a twelfth, but that he is Matthias, a disciple of Christ who wrote one of the very scrolls. There, they fend off an attack in the night by a large group of ape-like primitives. Matthias announces that the thirteenth scroll waits in Britain and that when all of the scrolls are assembled they can be read together to begin the process of rebuilding the world.

On their way across the Channel, they are beset by a tempest with a waterspout. Gerard and Matthias are the only ones to escape when their ship is turned into an inferno by lightning. When they find their way to the abbey at Venta (Winchester) and inquire about the twelfth scroll, they find that it has been declared an unholy work of the Devil. They are seized and tortured before they escape to find themselves pursued by the primitives again. Soon Gerard is not only having more visions of Morion, but of Max as well, and he and Matthias are now having enough close encounters with the primitives that it is clear that Morion and Max are indeed in league with them, attempting to get hold of the scrolls.

How all of this leads to the postponing of Armageddon would not be fair to disclose to potential readers, but as one can see, it is the beginning of a most unusual and intriguing story which develops and engages the reader very much like the very best fast reading murder mysteries. As far as I am aware, it is quite a new twist to slightly alter biblical and natural history in order to make a good fantasy. In the midst of its first rate entertaining of the reader, it raises thought provoking questions. One can plainly see at the end of the story why Armageddon is indeed postponed, but just exactly who are the demons here? Are they Morion and burly low browed Max and their wolf-men followers? Or are they abbots who order people nailed to timbers in blacksmiths’ sheds whilst scheming over plans of enlarged monasteries?

Whatever the answer, Postponing Armageddon is outstanding entertainment, and as it is with the best films, I was compelled to read it twice immediately.

Reviewed by:

Carol Marrs Phipps

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