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asks me what inspired me to write Dream Weaver, because I know there are haters
out there for the thing that inspired me and I don’t want them to judge my book
because of it. (Dang! Run-along sentence much?!) So, I’ll just out with it from
the get go and hope you give me a chance. OK. So. It was the Twilight Saga that
inspired me to write Dream Weaver. OK, there it is. I know there are millions
of people who absolutely LOVED Twilight…me among them. It had been many years
since I’d written anything of any consequence, but when I finished those
books…and a 9 month round of hypnosis…I thought, “I could do that.” So, I set
out to do it.
get Dream Weaver where I wanted it. I started with a 67 page manuscript that I
pitched to agents and editors at my first conference. To this day I can’t
believe I sent that manuscript out to the people who requested it. At last
year’s PNWA conference, I pitched to 8 AEs and got 7 requests for
partials. I also met a girl who lived near me and we became ‘editors’ for each
other. I sent her my MS and she sent me hers. She had a lot of questions and
comments when I got it back. Some I agreed with and made the changes. I truly
believe that that one simple act astronomically changed Dream Weaver.
devoured everything I could on writing. I participated in writing prompts on
Writer’s Digest that taught me how to say things with as few words as possible
and still get the picture across. (You only get 500 words on these prompts.) I
got a great book called Manuscript Makeover by Elizabeth Lyon. It’s about as
tattered and marked as a well-loved Bible. I even studied an English Comp
Mead whose Vampire Academy books are such an
intense read, and soon to be a movie, that when I went to reread them I
couldn’t because the emotion is so raw.
McMann is one of writers
that agents might call ‘sparse’. She doesn’t need a lot of flowery speech to
draw the most vibrant pictures. My favorite so far? Dead to You. I wrote to Lisa after I finished and said, ‘Lisa
McMann knows just where to plunge the knife…and twist for good measure.’ Yeah,
Stiefvater is so beautiful and
lyrical in her writing. Her Shiver
trilogy is AMAZING! She inspire me so much to be more poetic in my writing.
beast in her novel Blood and Chocolate.
An uber-great read.
for allowing me to stop by and meet your friends. I’ve made Dream Weaver
available for ONLY .99 on Amazon Kindle and B&N, so I hope readers will make the tiny
investment for it. So far, Dream Weaver has gotten very good ratings. It holds
a 4.2 out of 5 star rating on Amazon, and a 4.42 stars on GoodReads.
You DARE TO DREAM!?
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snow, no more than a sparkling flurry in the wind, dancing just on the
precipice of light shielding me from her–and them. I am her aegis, her
defense from the darkness that presses in on her from without, evil cloaked from
her eyes. I feel her inner darkness’ pull on her; hear it call her name.
within her heart, or tailored for her torment–still, after all these months
accost her sleep and crush her soul. Yet, her screams tear the night and my
heart less often than before. Surely, she is strong enough to endure some
terror; no lifetime is without it. Such a gentle soul so tethered and weighted
by so much loss, so much grief. I have mended what I can of her damaged mind
without wholly purging her memories. At least I can dull her pain, callous her
immortals, and never the twain shall meet.’ Still, I find myself here, hovering
on the fringe of the woods just outside the halo of light that wreathes her
home. And they haunt the darkness, hidden within the shadows. I sense
them, though not how near. I shudder at the consequences if they discover my
presence. They would kill her, or at the very least brutalize her–just because
they are able, just for my torment, the fresh nightmare of her torture a
delicacy on their lips as they devour my memory.
their kind of late. Creatures so like us, spoken from the same heavenly breath,
yet worlds apart. Their sustenance makes them monsters, even evil. They grow
stronger pillaging the gifts of our kind and using them as their own and leave
us worse than dead. For this cause, I feel powerless, mortal.
only because of a promise and her safety that I enter hers. I vowed to protect
her at any cost, with my life if necessary. And something of her draws me in,
her heart to mine. It wakens an ache, a passion that long ago I laid to rest,
deep beneath the sodden earth, entombed in company of my mortal life.
life perhaps to save it, or leave her be to strengthen from the terror?
I am never free. Macabre phantoms, twisted metal, flames and the sound of my
parent’s screams, their cries for salvation. And I would give it–if I could,
were the realm in which I live and the terrors in which they died equal.
without the press of suffocation on my lungs. At the least I was treading water
with some hope of survival. But monsters strike even in the shallows, even when
you’re feet from shore and almost standing on solid ground.
reawakened the terrors. And I lived in fear of the jaws ripping through me and
dragging me under, lost again to the darkness of terror. The darkness that has
nothing to do with light or sleep.
The crash that claimed the lives of my beloved parents Zecharias and Jane
Sweet. The crash that left me orphaned at 17. The crash I foresaw in the eyes
of the State Trooper before the words formed on his tongue. Cold and hard, the
words turned my
girl, Ivy, kept my body functioning, the basics for sustenance of life. She
kept me Earthbound and alive when I’d rather have been neither. She guided me
through an icy summer that tumbled into autumn like the leaves off a tree.
the crash, brought me drugs–antidepressants. But they are only safe in the
right hands. In mine, they are death. So, before I caused irreparable harm, the
pills went the way of dead fish.
through the darkness until they finally displaced the terrors. His gentle hand
calmed my writhing body, drew out the poison of the chimera, and guided me back
to life. The dark-eyed angel faded as my darkness dawned into light. Yet, even when
the terrors diminished, the torment hovered nearby, stalking my sanity,
prepared to strike at any show of weakness.
wore shimmering nacreous cloaks that rivaled the grandeur of their summer dress
greens and fall’s autumnal oranges, reds and yellows. The city lay calm and
peaceful under winter’s frigid embrace and my heart still ached under the frost
of grief. I hid it from all but the most discerning eyes.
monster lurked in dark corners and phoned me at work, promised me pain and
snow. An arctic blast extends its arm, balling its fist to bludgeon the car
from the road. Brake lights flash a glaring red. The tires whir and whine on
the frozen asphalt seeking elusive purchase. The wind flings the car across
three frosted lanes. Panic twists my father’s face as the car fishtails out of control.
His frantic hands, hands that can do anything, build anything, grapple
uselessly at the wheel. My mother’s face is fear-white, her mouth a perfect ‘o’
that disappears beneath her small, stark hand. A wall of white emerges out of
the flurry before the windshield, but not of snow. Cement. Massive and
merciless. The shiny new sedan plows into the bridge abutment, lifting Mom’s
side of the car into flight. Giant sparkling snowflakes of shattering glass fly
into the air as the car rolls over and over. Metal screams and moans in
protest. Finally settling on its top, the car slides across the icy black
tarmac, a path of broken scattered pieces in its wake.
window. Violent crimson drenches her hair, a severe contrast against her
spectral skin. Her dazzling emerald green eyes, my own eyes staring back at me,
implore for my help. Pounding hysterically, her knuckles split and bleed,
smearing the window in a web of red. The roar of fire drowns her cries, flames that
now return the light to the day, and vanquish the masquerade.
snow. But I can’t get to them. I have no traction, my steps falter. I am
prisoner to the freezing storm, powerless to save them; held at bay by the
fireball that lights the grey gauzy day cotton-bright like summer, and sends
seismic shockwaves that undulate the ground beneath me. Shrapnel of rocks and
glass rain down upon me.
caustic, sub-zero ice. The acrid smell of smoke and gasoline grows heavy in the
air, searing my throat and nostrils. Like a pin-hole camera, the light etches
the panic and fear on my mother’s face onto my retinas and deep into my brain.
The blaze scorches my eyes, bringing my tears to a boil. Searing heat and the
horror of looking into the faces of my mother and father as the flames devour
them forces me to look away. My body finally crumbles onto the cold freeway, in
exhausted agony. I crush my ears with my hands to block out the maelstrom.
Their haunting screams reverberate in my ears, echoes of the torment resounding
throughout my body.
clutched my head. My body trembled and rocked, soaked in sweat, as I manically
searched for a thread of truth. My breath rasped from my raw lungs that
thrashed against the smoke-that-wasn’t.
centered my thoughts. Bela Legosi, both Lon Chaneys, Boris Karloff and even
Vlad Dracul himself, with his large round piercing eyes, crowded the walls of
my black and white bedroom. Vlad was the only true monster there, but somehow I
found a strange compassion for the man, given his tortured history. My glossy
companions brought my heart an odd comfort.
with myself just how much to tell him. I didn’t need the ‘Emari, you should
come stay with us’ lecture again. I’d proved to the Spokane Courts that I was
capable in every way to be considered an adult, and was granted emancipation.
beyond fluff and formality.
“There’s this guy…”
I paused, contemplating.
phone stalking me.” I hated admitting even this little bit to him, but most of
the time his psycho-babble really did help.
canyons grooved his forehead. “And just what is being done to stop him?”
escorts me to and from my car every day and Collin keeps one of the Loss
Prevention guys in the department as much as he can.” Despite playing it off as
no big deal to Adrian, a cold uneasiness squirmed through me like night
interrogation mode now.
me but the LP guys never find anyone.”
kills me or something, though.”
the ‘daddy-look’ still plastered on his face. “Emari…”
‘shrinky’ kinds of things to make me feel better.”
He gave me the usual ‘be careful’ and ‘buckle up for safety’ speech; something
he and Dad must’ve gone to school together to learn.
arms truly did feel like the safest place in the world.
wasn’t really my uncle. Just my father’s closest friend in the world.
me for the zombie I was, so in contrast to her perky pixiness. Her ornery smile
wavered as I drew nearer but she reined it in. She’d given up months ago with
the ‘you look like hell’ comments. Visine and Covergirl couldn’t wreak miracles
that big. She opened her arms and I stepped inside.
grin, and a quote from one of our favorite books. The marbled blue of her eyes
softened into limpid pools, so vast any guy could swim in them. I tucked a wisp
of her soft brown hair behind her ear. “Let’s get to work.”
got LP scheduled in an hour, but Blake came early, off the clock,” she informed
me as we sorted children’s clothing to reshelf. “Jess’s gonna be pissed you
didn’t wait for him.”
Charming in my world. He was instantly likeable, flirtatious in the sweetest
way, easy at being a fast friend, faultlessly kindhearted. His ingenuous smile
lit up any room, a constant feature that graced his lightly bronzed face. He
sang or whistled while he worked, no matter how mundane or dirty the job, a
lingering accent, from his days as a child in Puerto Rico colored his speech.
He was a couple of years older than Ivy and me, but he clicked with our
dorkiness and we’d become best friends. He’d taken it upon himself to be my
daily escort–even on his days off.
wasn’t too mad at me.
lashed out with the speed of a viper to
it. He would wait until she went on break, as though he had a bird’s nest in
the middle of the department. He wanted me alone, separated from the pack,
Despite my anticipation, adrenalin shot through me like an ice river and my
heart banged against my ribcage when the phone rang. I watched Ivy’s shadow
disappear from sight as I reached a quivering hand to the phone.
not to give our names until this ‘situation’ was resolved.
crouched in tall grass. Rigid, poised for attack. His words were soft and
succinct, as though masking something from me, but the smooth lacquered surface
didn’t camouflage the menace that roiled underneath–like the delicate crust of
cooled lava veiling the molten lake beneath.
rack of boy’s jeans. They followed the silent nod of my head. The muscles of
his line-backer physique hardened as he prowled the department.
with anger, to my dismay. I wasn’t scared. I was pissed. But I knew he would
read it as fear–just what he wanted.
growl. His voice turned acerbic, his need to induce fear sparked electrically
through the phone. “Nah. He’s not even a rent-a-cop. Not even a pathetic mall
cop. Just some punk kid they hired to baby-sit the store.”
huge. I was betting on full of crap.
untouchable in his voice. Like I knew him from somewhere–and that pissed me
off even more. “What the hell do you want?” I demanded.
ghoulish glee and the line went dead.
A customer, a woman with a little boy about five glared at me with righteous
indignation. “Oh. I’m so sorry. I just…it was…there was this guy.”
sanctimonious wake. No doubt to complain to my manager.
Department Store called our customer service desks. “Sorry, Em. No luck.” He
looked every bit the defeated athlete, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets
making his shoulders and arms bulge.
stalker fell silent, not so much as a heavy breather. Perhaps he’d moved on to
some other prey. Poor girl. Everyone around me breathed easier. But a
specter of black ice lingered under the surface, chilled me to my core. Deep
down I felt a dark and malevolent storm brewing. I wondered if I’d manage to
survive it unscathed or if my entire world would shatter with the velocity of
WEAVER is now only .99 on Amazon. A story of mind-benders & breakers.
Are your memories your own?