Insides flaming
throat burning
lungs pounding
clinging on.
Guts heaving
mouth screaming
chest thumping
hanging on.
Dawn’s breaking
heads shaking
surprised she survived
the endless night.
Fingers clawing
rasping, gasping
body stiffens…
her dragon roars
no more.
Image credit: Sean Thomas @ Unsplash
Written in response to Sadje‘s What do You See #94 photo prompt.
The image shows shows a huge stone dragon on top of a building.
It’s my great pleasure to welcome Jacqui Murray to this month’s Launch Pad spot. You may well already be familiar with Jacqui through her blog, WordDreams, others of you will know her through her books. It is Jacqui who introduced me to the wonderful world of prehistoric fiction, a genre I hadn’t heard of before, but now I can tell you, I’m totally hooked!
So, let’s find out a little bit more about her. We’ll start with her official author bio:
Jacqui Murray is the author of the popular prehistoric fiction saga, Man vs. Nature which explores seminal events in man’s evolution one trilogy at a time. She is also the author of the Rowe-Delamagente thrillers and Building a Midshipman, the story of her daughter’s journey from high school to United States Naval Academy. Her non-fiction includes over a hundred books on integrating tech into education, reviews as an Amazon Vine Voice, a columnist for NEA Today, and a freelance journalist on tech ed topics. Her next prehistoric fiction, Natural Selection, is due for release in winter 2022.
~~~
Before we come to Jacqui’s latest book release, let me share what Jacqui as to tell us about her journey into self-publishing and finding her authorial voice.
Finding my Voice – by Jacqui Murray
I have been writing fiction for about 25 years (non-fiction longer, but that’s a different story). When I started, I wanted to write the biography of a prehistoric female – how she survived when experts said she shouldn’t. I took some classes, attended conferences, read a bunch of books, and got excited about writing as a craft. An agent suggested I not write prehistoric fiction because the market was too small so I switched to thrillers. I wrote one, another, both well received but they didn’t sell much. I figured if I was going to write and NOT sell, I might as well write what I wanted so I switched back to prehistoric fiction. My first novel, Born in a Treacherous Time, was rejected over one hundred times but still, I wrote another, Survival of the Fittest. That too was rejected one hundred times (I stopped sending out queries when I received my 100th rejection). Repeat for two more and then I stopped submitting to traditional publishers. I got whatever message they were sending and decided to self-publish. Yes, I was confused and intimidated, like a web browser with nineteen tabs open, seventeen of them frozen and one with music blasting but I couldn’t tell where it came from.
But none of that mattered. I was in charge of my destiny and that felt good. I peacocked for a while and then went back to work.
Somewhere along the line, I figured out my voice. That was scary at first, putting a book out to the public written the way I wanted but I felt good about what I was writing. I knew the rules, which to follow and which to bend, and understood the importance readers place on how a story is told. In fact, that is as important as rules. By the third book written my way, I began to gain traction and sell enough that I could even call myself a writer.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some success. A first place in a writing competition. Quarter finals in a national competition. I even had an agent for a while… That’s another story. I’ve tried quitting, but I’m back at it within weeks, like an addict. I know people who quit smoking and their rough period starts when they quit and continues till they die. Is that what being a reformed writer would be: “Hello, my name is Jacqui and it’s been ten days since I edited my last novel.” I get the shakes thinking of that.
If you’re trying to find your voice, here are my suggestions:
Someone once said about the death of one particular amazing writer whose stories seemed to be effortless:
Talent on loan from God. Talent returned to God.
When you find your voice, that’s what it feels like, as though someone greater than you is whispering in your ear and you darn well better listen.
~~~
Jacqui’s latest release is Laws of Nature, the second book in her Dawn of Humanity trilogy. I finished reading this only last week, and I recommend it whole-heartedly!
The Blurb
A boy blinded by fire. A woman raised by wolves. An avowed enemy offers help.
In this second of the Dawn of Humanity trilogy, the first trilogy in the Man vs. Nature saga, Lucy and her eclectic group escape the treacherous tribe that has been hunting them and find a safe haven in the famous Wonderwerk caves in South Africa, the oldest known occupation of caves by humans. They don’t have clothing, fire, or weapons, but the caves keep them warm and food is plentiful. But they can’t stay, not with the rest of the tribe enslaved by an enemy. To free them requires not only the prodigious skills of Lucy’s unique group–which includes a proto-wolf and a female raised by the pack–but others who have no reason to assist her and instinct tells Lucy she shouldn’t trust.
Set 1.8 million years ago in Africa, Lucy and her tribe struggle against the harsh reality of a world ruled by nature, where predators stalk them and a violent new species of man threatens to destroy their world. Only by changing can they prevail. If you ever wondered how earliest man survived but couldn’t get through the academic discussions, this book is for you. Prepare to see this violent and beautiful world in a way you never imagined.
Book information
Title and author: Laws of Nature
Series: Book 2 in the Dawn of Humanity series
Genre: Prehistoric fiction
Editor: The extraordinary Anneli Purchase
Available (print or digital) at: Kindle US Kindle UK Kindle CA Kindle AU Kindle India
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Follow Jacqui here!
Amazon Author Page: www.amazon.com/Jacqui-Murray/e/B002E78CQQ/
Blog: https://worddreams.wordpress.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram/jacquimurraywriter
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/jacquimurray
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/askatechteacher
Twitter: http://twitter.com/worddreams
Website: https://jacquimurray.net
You stare at the unlocked door as the disturbance outside retreats; alert to danger, you slowly get to your feet and shuffle towards the door, where you hesitantly turn the handle; now, peering around the edge, you hear frenetic footsteps pounding back along the corridor towards you.
It’s one of them – one of you, your mind corrects itself – you’re about to shut the door, when the figure, with its blurred blank face, just like yours, bursts into your room and thrusts a lab coat at you, gesturing to you to put it on.
Dragged along the sterile bright-white corridor, counting off the doors, you recognise the route to the elevator; your companion urges you to hurry and you break into a shambling run-walk; then you turn the final corner, the sliding doors open and, stumbling inside, the elevator swallows you both up.
Your companion punches a button and slumps against the control panel breathing heavily; the elevator ascends: you count the floors – counting has become a habit – and when the elevator slows to a stop, you realise you must be on the top-most floor.
The elevator opens and your companion beckons you across the hallway to a set of double doors, leading to an endless stairway; the doors snap shut behind you and bile rises in your throat as you, in a moment of clarity, read the words daubed on the wall opposite:
YOU WROTE THIS
YOU CAN MAKE THIS STOP
Your companion thrusts you towards the stairs.
Confused? You might be! Read previous episodes of The Facility here.
Written in response to two challenges:
– Di of Pensitivity101‘s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge – COAT, WROTE, THROAT
– Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – NET
Photo credit: Scott Webb on Unsplash
Read more Six Sentence Stories here – come and join the party!
Come, join hands
let’s walk together
our hushed feet will fall softly
on verdant ground
pause by the sapphire stream
listen to lush sounds
murmuring water
rustling leaves
bird song, insects whirring
breathe in, breathe deeply
scents of the earth
fragrance of flowers
close your eyes
breathe in, breathe out
taste the emerald air
feel the dappled golden sun
warming your face
here, safe, embraced
enfolded by nature
let us share our stories
in our woodland bower.
Image credit: Shane Rounce @ Unsplash
Written in response to Sadje‘s What do You See #93 photo prompt.
The image shows shows a tree trunk. We can see hands placed next to each other along the length of the tree trunk. The hands belong to people of different race, age, and gender.
My response to Sadje’s What do you see? picture prompt on Monday, suggested to me that it might be nice for us all to hop on the tour bus and take a little virtual safari together to recharge our batteries. Also, my right shoulder is in particular need of a little rest from too much typing, so let’s just feast our eyes and listen to the sounds of nature….
Have a lovely peaceful weekend, my friends!
Days become weeks, the visits to the basement continue, the treatment-experiment-conditioning, whatever it is, each time washing over you in a stream of detached disinterest; each time, returning to your room and recovering in bed after another steady shuffle around the green garden with your fellow patients-subjects-inmates where, trapped on this endless treadmill, no-one speaks or makes eye-contact.
Food arrives on a tray – greyish porridge, brownish soup – delivered by the blank-faced orderly; later, a shot-glass of something sweet and very orange; later still, the lights dim and you sleep: is the orange liquid drugged you wonder, as you drift away again.
You request a newspaper for some distraction, but the request’s denied; instead, the orderly brings you a mindless magazine filled with photos of people you don’t recognise; you consider the art of paper-folding, but your fingers won’t cooperate. You study those fingers; your fingernails never seem to grow, still short and neat, just as when you arrived; your hair, as far as you can tell without a mirror, is the same; are you groomed in your sleep?
Another day, and when you return to your room, a TV screen has been installed, high up in the corner, just below the dull red camera eye; the orderly switches it on and just as the picture flickers into life, there’s a commotion in the corridor outside; a siren wails, there are shouts, running feet; the orderly spins around and rushes from your room.
In his haste, he leaves the door unlocked.
Confused? You might be! Read previous episodes of The Facility here.
Written in response to two challenges:
– Di of Pensitivity101‘s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge – HIGH, DAFT, SHIN
– Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – DISTRACTION
Photo credit: Scott Webb on Unsplash
Click here for more Six Sentence Stories. Better still, bring your own and join us!
far from the cares
of everyday life
away from the sorrows
away from the strife
sitting together
on a distant shore
watching the tide
washing in
washing out
as the sun descends
and the stars appear
breathing in
breathing out
being mindful
just being
Image credit: Yulia Matvienko
A quadrille, written in response to Sadje‘s What do You See #92 photo prompt.
The image shows two lego mini-figures sitting on pavement. Batman has an ice cone and Superman has an ice lolly!
Would you follow this rather curious rabbit?
I’m still not entirely sure how this particular creature hopped into my consciousness to become the eponymous rabbit in my historical fantasy novel, Following the Green Rabbit, but it is he, or at least one of his cousins, that leads my two young heroines, Bethany and Bryony, and their tutor, Mr Eyre, through a portal into the past. Somehow he seemed to fit the bill, since I needed an unusual animal to appear in order to pique Bethany’s youthful curiosity and engage the interest of Mr Eyre’s enquiring mind.
Here’s where the two sisters come across the rabbit for the first time:
They had been silent for a little while, when suddenly they heard something rustling in the bushes by the fence behind them. They looked round to see an enormous rabbit emerge, nose twitching. His fur was grey-brown with a slight tinge of green. He nibbled on a piece of long grass, and then hopped past them. He was so close that Bryony could have stretched out and touched him. He stopped by the first tree and sat up on his hind legs. Then he turned and looked directly at them.
“That’s the biggest rabbit I’ve ever seen. Look at his fur.” Bryony whispered.
The rabbit’s ears twitched. “Do you think he wants us to follow him?” Bethany whispered back.
Bryony laughed. “You’re not Alice.” It was only last year that Bryony had read ‘Alice in Wonderland’ to her.
“But look, Briney.” The rabbit had raised a paw in their direction. “I’ll just go a bit nearer.” She stood up slowly so as not to alarm the creature, then took a few steps towards him.
The rabbit hopped off as far as the next stand of apple trees. He stopped and turned, looking up at Bethany with his dark brown eyes. His left ear bent quizzically. She looked back at Bryony. “I’m going to follow him.”
(Of course, I couldn’t resist tossing in the Alice in Wonderland reference as the prelude to what was about to happen!)
But back to the actual green rabbit…
I took the two photos of the rapidly retreating rabbit at the top of the page while travelling on a tourist bus through part of the Atacama Desert in Chile on a trip to the El Tatio Geyser fields, some 14,000 feet above sea level, where the air is very thin and very cold.
Here are two more of my holiday snaps from that trip: one El Tatio geyser and two vicuñas in the Atacama Desert.
Since we would be travelling high, high up into the mountains over the 50 mile journey to reach the geysers from our base in San Pedro de Atacama, at breakfast early that morning I’d taken the precaution of consuming several cups of coca leaf tea as a protection against altitude sickness. On the way back from the geysers, when I saw this huge, green-tinged ‘rabbit’, I wondered if I’d actually consumed a little too much of the coca tea, such a curious creature it seemed to be. Actually, although coca leaves are the base for cocaine production, the amount of the coca alkaloid in raw coca leaves is minimal. Still, a green rabbit it a curious sight, even if you’re only suffering a little light-headedness from descending from the breathless heights of a volcano ring.
In fact, it’s not a rabbit at all. Let me allow Mr Eyre to explain:
Bryony came upon Mr Eyre in the library. He was sitting at the large reading desk which had been placed in the window overlooking the small garden. He was slowly leafing through her papa’s ‘Illustrated book of World Animals’.
He looked up as she approached. “I came across this when I was unpacking your father’s books. I thought I’d see if that green rabbit fellow of ours was listed in here. I’m pretty sure it’s not native to the British Isles.”
Bryony sat at the desk opposite him, watching him turn the pages. “Ah, what’s this?” He turned the page towards her. It was a picture of a large, green-tinged rabbit looking animal. The inscription below read: ‘Viscacha, a rodent in the Chinchilla family found in Argentina, Bolivia, Chile, and Peru’.
“It certainly looks like him, but what would he have been doing in Bluebell Woods?”
“I don’t know Bryony. Maybe there’s a doorway to other parts of the world too?”
Maybe Mr Eyre is pointing us to another adventure? I’m sure he’d jump at the opportunity!
In the meantime, I’ve attracted my own little following of rabbits:
You can do some ‘green rabbit’ watching for yourself. The accompanying music is rather splendid too!
Following the Green Rabbit is available on Kindle and in paperback: mybook.to/GreenRabbit
You’re wheeled into a bland anti-room and the homely-looking nurse murmurs something to the blank-faced orderly who places a restraining hand, gloved in dark rubber, firmly in the centre of your chest; there’s a momentary flash of crackling bright blue light, and the world of sharp senses swims away to be replaced by the sterile hums and beeps of medical machinery.
Later, consciousness returns and you find yourself lying in dimly-lit room, redolent with the unfriendly spectres of duplicity and distrust, hooked up to a machine; probes have been inserted under your skin, like tiny burrowing animals, connected to wires and tubes which snake away into the gloom.
You sense you’re not alone: others are in the room, you can hear them breathing – you try to shift position, but your limbs are leaden and you can’t move your head – a gloved arm reaches over and another shock is administered; you float on the edge of unconsciousness once again.
Someone’s speaking, you open your eyes to the yellow glow of sunlight and the homely-looking nurse smiles faintly and extends her hand to you; others are in the room, filing out through a great glass door into a patch of green garden, where there is even a hint of a breeze; you find your feet and follow.
You shuffle around in a silent circle, noticing that everyone looks alike; then you catch your own reflection in one of the windows – a face you don’t recognise.
A face that’s just like theirs.
Confused? You might be! Read previous episodes of The Facility here.
Written in response to two challenges:
– Di of Pensitivity101‘s Wednesday’s Three Things Challenge – ANIMAL, FRIEND, TRUST
– Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – SHIFT
Photo credit: Scott Webb on Unsplash
Click here to read more Six Sentence Stories here – consider bringing your own too!
Dark times
was it planned?
Malice aforethought
not sleight of hand.
People gather on the streets
a bottle’s thrown
petrol flares…
Shelves are cleared
bags are stuffed
snatch a shopping cart
fill it to the brim
seize a hi-fi
grapple with a fridge
snatch another shopping cart
come back for more!
Grab your phone
tell your friends
the shelves aren’t empty yet
and not a cop in sight…
We might pick up the pieces
we might mend fences
but it’s going to be
a long
road
back.
Written in response to Sadje‘s What do You See #91 photo prompt.
The image shows a bust of a man. A dark thick liquid is being poured on it.
Important note: this poem was written from the photo prompt. The fact that it shows a dark liquid being poured on a white figure should not be taken as a representation of the violence that has occurred here in South Africa. The victims of the violence are primarily Black African-owned small businesses whose shops have been destroyed in shopping centres and malls, and the staff who work in the big retail outlets there.
luna's on line 