Books for kids, teens, & those who are young at heart

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February #InkRipples: Tackling Common Misconceptions About Genre

In February, join the conversation as Mary Waibel, Kai Strand, and Katie L. Carroll talk genres for this month’s #InkRipples posts.

There are lots of ways to define genre in literature (see the dictionary definition of “genre” or the Wikipedia entry on “literary genre”). For our intents and purposes of today’s discussion, let me specify by saying that when I’m talking about genre, I mean as they are defined in modern publishing, not necessarily limited to genre fiction (which contains certain popular genres) but sticking to fiction.

Specifically, I want to address common misconceptions about genre. If you’ve ever done any research on genre yourself, you’ll see it can be quite contentious, so I don’t expect everyone to agree with me here. Let’s dig right in…

Misconception 1 – Age Categories Are Genres

One key to understanding genre is to know what it’s not. I often see people refer to YA (young adult) as a genre. It’s not, no more than adult fiction is a genre. YA is a category that designates a target age range for its readers and will center around characters of that age group. That’s not to say that readers out of the target age range won’t enjoy those books (you all know I mostly read YA, and I’m in my 30s). The same goes for middle grade–it’s not a genre but an age category.

Misconception 2 – Genre Is Easy To Define

So what is a genre? So-called “popular genres” or “genre fiction” include fantasy, science fiction, horror, mystery, romance, and thriller, among others. A story in one of these genres will follow the conventions of its genre and comes with certain expectations from readers. For example, you can expect a fantasy story to include fantastical elements that don’t exist in our world. Each popular genre has its own conventions, though there certainly can be overlap.

What about literary fiction? Is that a genre in and of itself? You certainly wouldn’t call literary fiction a popular genre as it cannot be defined by the genre conventions of those popular genres. Literary fiction tends to focus on the human condition and themes rather than plot. It’s more an absence of popular genre, but in publishing, I would say it’s considered its own genre. There are still expectations from a reader about what they will get with literary fiction, and you’ll find it as a category in book stores.

Are contemporary and historical genres? There’s some debate here. They denote whether a story takes place in a historical time period or in contemporary times, but you also have to take into consideration when the book was written. A story written in the 1980s about stuff that happened in the 1980s was contemporary then, but a YA story written today about stuff that happened in the 1980s is historical. You can have a contemporary romance or a historical one, but there’s also just historical fiction that deals with a historical time period or event but with fictional elements. Historical doesn’t necessarily have elements of mystery or romance or thriller, but a reader would have certain expectations from an historical novel. Contemporary is tricky because it usually fits into one of the popular genres, and if it doesn’t, it’s probably considered literary fiction.

Complicating the issue of genres even more is sub-genres and novels that can fit into more than one genre. Paranormal is a sub-genre of fantasy that specifically includes a heavy focus on paranormal elements, often in the form of mythical or magical creatures (i.e. TWILIGHT). A fantasy story can have paranormal elements but can also be categorized as fantasy and not necessarily paranormal. What about a story set in a futuristic world with science-fiction elements that also has heavy romance elements? Is it science fiction or romance? It may be categorized as both (a science-fiction romance) or may be categorized with the more dominant one, and people may not agree on which one is more prevalent.

Misconception 3 – Literary Fiction Is More Serious Than Genre Fiction

It’s been said that literary fiction is about confronting reality while genre fiction is about escaping reality. Literary fiction is often said to deal deeper with character and uses plot as a secondary device, but I’ve read plenty of genre fiction that gets deep into character while also having a riveting plot. Writing quality of literary fiction is also often lauded as superior to genre fiction, but I think the quality of writing largely depends on who’s doing the writing and not so much on genre (read Laini Taylor’s DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE for a lyrical and beautifully written fantasy story). So while it might be true that you’re more likely to study literary fiction in school and read genre fiction on your own time (though school’s are delving into popular fiction more than ever), that doesn’t necessarily make literary fiction more serious.

In fact, as a writer of fantasy, mystery, and thrillers, I would fight you to the death (strictly in a fantastical world, of course!) to argue that genre fiction can be, and often is, as serious as literary fiction. In fact, I think genre fiction can be very effective at commenting on reality and providing a deeper understanding of our own world, but it also gives that reality a more palatable context by using the conventions of genre fiction. The lens of genre fiction can almost make it easier to comment on and gain perspective of current issues of our world.

This discussion of genre has gotten longer than I intended, so I’m going to stop with these three misconceptions. Do you think I totally missed the mark on genre? Or maybe I missed something big that you’d like to see discussed in a future post. I’d love to hear your thoughts on literary genres.

#InkRipples is a monthly meme created by Katie L. Carroll, Mary Waibel, and Kai Strand. We pick a topic (February is all about genres), drop a ripple in the inkwell (i.e. write about it on our blogs), and see where the conversation goes. We’d love to have you join in the conversation on your own blogs or on your social media page. Full details and each month’s topic can be found on my #InkRipples page.

New Release SCAVENGER OF SOULS by Joshua David Bellin

Joshua David Bellin is stopping by to celebrate the release of his YA post-apocalyptic thriller SCAVENGER OF SOULS, a sequel to SURVIVAL COLONY 9. Check out the excerpt and the giveaway. Welcome, Joshua!

bookmark-2inx8in-h-front

Querry Genn is running out of time. He may have saved his survival colony and defeated a nest of the monstrous Skaldi, but that doesn’t mean he has any more answers to who he is. And Querry’s mother, Aleka, isn’t talking. Instead, she’s leading the colony through a wasteland of unfamiliar territory. When they reach Aleka’s destination, everything Querry believed about his past is challenged.

In the middle of a burned-out desert, an entire compound of humans has survived with plenty of food and equipment. But the colonists find no welcome there, especially from Mercy, the granddaughter of the compound’s leader. Mercy is as tough a fighter as Querry has ever seen—and a girl as impetuous as he is careful. But the more Querry learns about Mercy and her colony, the more he uncovers the gruesome secrets that haunt Mercy’s past—and his own.

With threats mounting from the Skaldi and the other humans, Querry must grapple with the past and fight to save the future. In the thrilling conclusion to the story that began with Survival Colony 9, Joshua David Bellin narrates a tale of sacrifice, courage against overwhelming odds, and the fateful choices that define us for a lifetime.

SOS_compSMSPublisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

Age: 12+

Release date: August 23, 2016

For order links, visit http://joshuadavidbellin.com/my-books/

Available in hardcover and e-book

Praise for SURVIVAL COLONY 9:

Tantalizing mysteries abound among the human and inhuman inhabitants of the bleak landscape, and the post-apocalyptic plot is satisfyingly full of twists.—Booklist

Joshua David Bellin brings serious game in a post-apocalyptic thriller that collides breathless action with devious world building and genuine heart. A terrific novel!—Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Rot & Ruin and V-Wars

Set in a gritty post-apocalyptic world, Survival Colony 9 is both an adventure and an exploration of what it means to be human.—Margaret Peterson Haddix, New York Times bestselling author of the Missing Series

SCAVENGER OF SOULS excerpt:

© 2016 by Joshua David Bellin

Chapter One

Aleka looked out over the land and frowned.

She stood at the crest of a low hill, squinting in the sunlight, the lines deepening around her mouth. I tried to read her expression, but as usual I failed.

This was Aleka, after all. Her close-cropped, graying blond hair framed a face she could turn into a mask at a moment’s notice. I’d been studying that face for the better part of a week, and I still had no idea what was going on behind her deep gray eyes.

Aleka. My mother. And as much a mystery to me as my own past.

After a long minute she spoke the name of her second-in-command. “Soon.”

Soon, a big guy with what might have been called a pot belly in a different time, came up beside her.

Aleka surveyed the unforgiving landscape, the lazy glint of river the only sign of movement in the waste. “How long?”

“A week. Maybe two if we’re extra careful.” He searched her face, but he must have come up empty too. “Why?”

She didn’t answer. The others had edged closer, listening. Any conversation that hinted at our dwindling supply of canned goods got their attention.

But after another long look over the barren land, she turned and strode back down the hill, refusing to meet any of our eyes. Everyone watched her go in silence, until she disappeared behind a clump of rock that stood at the base of the hill.

“Well, that was enlightening,” Wali said.

There were sixteen of us, the last survivors of Survival Colony 9. Five grown-ups counting Aleka, Soon, our camp healer Tyris, our craftswoman Nekane, and the old woman whose name no one knew, a wraith with wild white hair and a threadbare shift the same drab gray-brown as our uniforms. For the past week we’d been carrying her on a homemade stretcher, while she gripped her late husband’s collection container, a scuffed, bottle-green jar overflowing with scraps of hair and fingernails. She was amazingly heavy for a woman who’d dwindled to skin and bones.

The rest of us were teens and younger. Wali, with his shaggy hair and bronzed muscles, the oldest at seventeen. Nessa, the only teenage girl left in our colony since the death of Wali’s girlfriend Korah. Then there was Adem, a tall skinny awkward guy who communicated mostly with gulps and blushes. And the little ones, seven of them total, from ragged five-year-old Keely to knowing Zataias at age ten, with straggly-haired Bea in the middle.

And that left only me. Querry Genn. Fifteen years old last week, and thanks to an accident seven months ago, with no memory of the first fourteen.

Only my mother held the secret to who I was. But she wasn’t talking.

She hadn’t said a word to me the whole week. That entire time, we’d been creeping across a desert landscape of stripped stone and yawning crevices, the scars our ancestors had cut into the face of the land. For six of those seven days we’d been carrying the old woman. Aleka had driven us at a pace unusual even for her, with only short rests at the brutal height of day and long marches deep into the night. What she was hurrying for was another thing she wouldn’t talk to me about.

When we’d left our camp by the river, the old woman had babbled on about mountains somewhere to the north, licking her lips while she talked as if she could taste the snow-fresh air. She’d described green grass as high as our knees, wind rippling across it so it seemed to shimmer like something she called satin. She’d told us about yellow flowers and purple ones, trickling water so clear you could see brightly colored fish darting among the submerged stones. Clouds, she said, blanketed the mountain peaks, cool and white and soft, unlike the oppressive brown clouds that smothered the sun but almost never rained in the world we knew. At first I refused to believe her, told myself that half of what she said had to be exaggerated or misremembered or just plain crazy. But like everyone else, I’d fallen in love with the picture she painted. None of the rest of us had seen mountains, not even Tyris, who’d been two or three years old when the wars started. After a lifetime in the desert, the prospect of mountains rearing up out of nowhere, white and purple and capped with gold from the sun, was irresistible.

By now, though, it seemed even the old woman had forgotten where we were headed. She’d lapsed into silence, except for the times she stroked her collection jar, mumbling to it. She slept most of the time, sometimes beating her hands against her chest and mouthing words no one could make out. But even when her eyes opened, her glassy expression showed no awareness of anyone or anything around her.

We set her stretcher down in the best shade we could find and stood there, waiting for Aleka to return. Nessa held the old woman’s gnarled hand and sang softly, something the old woman had sung to her when she was a kid. I tried to organize a game with the little ones, but they just flopped in the dirt, limbs flung everywhere in postures of dramatic protest. I’d learned the hard way that you couldn’t get all seven of them to do anything at once, but occasionally, if you got one of them doing something that looked interesting enough, the others couldn’t stand to be left out.

Today, though, it wasn’t going to happen. A fossil hunt usually got them going, but this time even Keely wouldn’t bite when I told him an old, rotting buffalo skull was a T. rex.

“I don’t want to play that game, Querry,” he managed weakly, before putting his head down and closing his eyes. “It’s boring.”

Without warning, Aleka stalked back to the group. To my complete surprise, she took my arm and pulled me away from the others. I stumbled to keep up with her long strides. When we reached the rock where she’d hidden herself before, she stopped, so suddenly she just about spun me around.

“Querry,” she said. “We need to talk.”

“We’ve needed to talk all week,” I said under my breath.

She heard me. She always did. “That will have to wait. This is priority.”

“Something else always is, isn’t it?”

We faced off for a moment.

“I’m asking you to be patient,” she said. “And to believe I’m working on this.”

“Fine.” I wished for once I could meet her on even ground, but she had a good six inches on me, not to mention at least thirty years. “Let me know when you’ve got it all worked out.”

If I thought I’d get a reaction from that, I was wrong. Her face went into lockdown, and I was pretty sure the conversation was over. But then she asked, “What is it you want, Querry?”

“Answers,” I said. “The truth.”

“Answers aren’t always true,” she said. “And the truth isn’t always the answer you want.”

“Whatever that means.”

She glared at me, but kept her voice in check.

“It means what it means,” she said. “For one, it means that Soon’s estimate is wildly optimistic. I’ve checked our stores, and we have only a few days of food left. If we’re even stingier than usual. Which is a risk, since there’s nothing here to supplement our supplies.”

“Why would Soon. . . .”

She ignored me. “And it means the old woman is failing.  Earlier today she asked me if she could talk to Laman.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. Laman Genn had led Survival Colony 9 for twenty-five years. But like so many of his followers, he’d died a little over a week ago, just before we set out on our journey.

Died. Been killed. I tried not to think about it, but I remembered the nest, the bloody wound in his side, the creature that had torn him open.

The Skaldi.

The ones we’d been fleeing all our lives. Monsters with the ability to consume and mimic human hosts. It was hard to believe anyone could forget them. Even though we’d destroyed their nest, I kept expecting them to reappear, like a second nightmare that catches you when you think you’re awake and drags you back under.

“Any more good news?” I said, trying to smile.

She didn’t return the offering. “The children are failing too,” she said. “Keely and Beatrice especially. If we run out of solid food. . . . We forget how fragile they are. And how many of the little ones simply don’t make it.”

I turned to look at the kids, lying on the ground like so many dusty garlands. “What can we do?”

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and her gaze left mine, drifting to the desert beyond. I thought she wasn’t going to answer when her voice came again, as far away as her eyes.

“I know this area,” she said. “Or at least, I did. None of the others has been here—Laman seems to have avoided it assiduously. But I was here, once upon a time. So long ago the details are fuzzy. Either that or it’s . . . changed.”

I glanced around us, as if I expected to see something I hadn’t noticed before. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Her shoulders inched in the slightest of shrugs. “I didn’t want to give anyone false hope. They were excited enough about the mountains. And I wasn’t sure I could find it again. I’m still not sure.”

“What is it?”

She waved vaguely toward the northwest. “A sanctuary, or as much of one as we’re likely to find in this world. Not mountains, but a canyon. Shaded, protected from the worst damage of the wars. The river gains strength as it flows through, nourishing what grows on its banks. If we could only reach it, there might be a chance for the most vulnerable members of the colony.”

I studied her face, as still and remote as the surface of the moon. This time, though, I thought I caught something there.

“If this place is so great,” I said carefully, “why did Laman stay away from it?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, and for the briefest second I imagined I saw a glimmer of fear.

About the Author:

Joshua David Bellin has been writing novels since he was eight years old (though the first few were admittedly very short). He taught college for twenty years, wrote a bunch of books for college students, then decided to return to fiction. Survival Colony 9 is his first novel, with the sequel, Scavenger of Souls, set to release on August 23, 2016. A third YA science fiction novel, the deep-space adventure/romance Freefall, will appear in 2017.

Josh loves to read, watch movies, and spend time in Nature with his kids. Oh, yeah, and he likes monsters. Really scary monsters.

To find out more about Josh and his books, visit him at the following:

Website: http://www.joshuadavidbellin.com

Blog: http://theyaguy.blogspot.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/TheYAGuy

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/joshuadavidbellin

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7393959.Joshua_David_Bellin

All Things Scary on Lightning Quick Reads this Month

I’m switching it up this month for my short story post on the Lightning Quick Reads blog. Instead of another Tales from the Field soccer story, I dredged up and revised an old scary story I had written some years ago. I’m not at all into horror (books or movies), so it’s more of a thriller than anything else.

(For a more comprehensive lists of the many things that freak me out, stay tuned for tomorrow’s Ripples in the Inkwell post about fears.)

Here’s a sneak peek at the new tale:

Guardian Angel by Katie L. Carroll

The strange whooshing sound would have woken Serafina if she had been asleep. But she never slept well when her parents were out for the night. At the age of 16, she was far too old to be scared of the dark, but that didn’t keep her from leaving the TV on in her room all night long, door closed tight against the world.

At first Sera thought the sound was from the TV, which droned on in the background while she read in bed. She had avoided the psychological thriller on her nightstand in favor of a romance novel because she was in the mood for something light, or so she told herself.

She muted the TV and titled her ear toward the bedroom door. “Whoosh…whoosh.  Whoosh…whoosh.” It was muted and slow, like it was coming from outside.

I wish Addie had been able to stay over tonight, Sera thought as she played with the silver cross around her neck.

Instead her best friend had ditched her for a date. Understandable—Sera would have done the same if the roles had been reversed—but she could have used the company.

Underarms damp with sweat, she threw off the covers and slipped out of bed, her bare feet sticking loudly with each step on the laminate floor. The door opened in silence, and Sera barely breathed. She clutched the molding and peeked down the hall.

“Whoosh, whoosh. Whoosh, whoosh.” It was louder than before, and coming at a more rapid pace.

Down the other end of the small ranch house, light spilled from the kitchen doorway. Sera’s heart thumped in her chest; she hadn’t left on any lights aside from the one in her room.

Maybe my parents are home early, she wondered…she hoped.

But then she would have heard the groan of the old garage door. Surely they would have come to check on her by now. Or at least the sound of them having a nightcap would be floating down the hallway instead of the “whoosh, whoosh” that continued to grow louder and faster.

An unearthly breeze blew back her hair and tickled the tiny hairs on her arm, raising goose bumps all over her body. Oddly, the cross felt hot against her cold skin…

To see how the story ends, hop on over to Lightning Quick Reads.

“Serial Killers Are People, Too” From Author Stuart R. West

Writer friend and return guest poster Stuart R. West has a seriously deranged and hilarious post that is perfect for Friday the 13th. Stuart is celebrating the release of his latest thriller THE SECRET SOCIETY OF LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS. Welcome, Stuart!

Like-Minded Individuals 200x300Serial killers are people, too.

First of all, I’d like to thank Katie for allowing me to step up on my soap-box. Look, I know I have an up-hill battle, campaigning for serial killers’ rights. But, here’s the deal. The serial killers I’ve written about in my newest book, The Secret Society of Like-Minded Individuals, are an interesting lot, people you may like to get to know. Um, just be very careful around them; hide the sharp utensils during dinner gatherings.

My protagonist, Leon, is just about the most well-adjusted, highly moral, nice-guy serial killer you’re ever gonna’ run across. (And you probably don’t wanna’ run across many of them, just saying.) He only kills those who need it, he has his reasons. Okay, okay, so he has a few issues. Still, all in all, not a bad guy.

On the other hand, we have Cody, aka “the Denver Decapitator,” Leon’s nemesis. Sure, he’s young, immature, cocky, and yanking the world by the tail. But there’s something about the guy. Something unspoken, some sort of humanity lurking beneath his rough, soul-patched veneer. He’s just got an odd way of showing it.

Let’s talk about the “Good Samaritan Killer.” Well…I really can’t without giving away spoilers. A big surprise. But they’re human, only too much so. (Wait, did I say “they?” Heh. Read the book and find out.)

“The Mad Doctor?” Such an ugly nom de plume, one he’s not fond of. After all, he kills in the name of love. Why can’t everyone just get along? It’s complicated.

Wait, look over there, it’s “Donny and Marie,” the two most charmingly psychopathic hit-men you’re ever gonna’ run across. It’s not just a job to them, we’re talking fun and games.

And fun and games is what you’re gonna’ get with The Secret Society of Like-Minded Individuals. A lot of people who’ve read it had their doubts at first, believing it might be a bit too much for their tender psyches to take. I understand. But they all agreed…they were in for a big surprise. Suspense, thrills, action, surprises–heck, even romance–and a light dusting of dark humor.

Here, author Heather Brainerd (of the exceptional Jose Picada mystery series) sums it up best: “I really, truly, and almost surprisingly loved SSLMI. I was a little scared of the whole serial-killer-as-protagonist concept, but it was awesome. Looking forward to the next one.”

See? SO, the next time you meet a serial killer (assuming you survive the encounter), just remember that they’re people, too. Shake their hand (don’t linger! And don’t look ‘em in the eye!), pat ‘em on the back, and give ‘em an “attaboy.”

Okay, maybe not, but you know what I mean.

THE SECRET SOCIETY OF LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS blurb: 

Leon Garber has his reasons for ridding the world of abusive people, call it justifiable homicide.

Opportunity comes knocking from Like-Minded Individuals, Inc., a global company fulfilling the needs of people like Leon. LMI’s clientele are provided with new identities, security, and even lists of potential “projects.” But let’s not call it “serial killing.” Such a nasty business. For Leon, it’s a dream come true.

However, LMI’s put a target on Leon’s back. He has no idea why.

LMI, the police, sanctioned hitmen, and a vicious psychopath are after him. He collides with other Like-Minded Individuals: The Good Samaritan Killer, The Mad Doctor, Donnie and Marie (don’t ask). Heads are chopped, dropped and swapped as Leon fights for his life. But nothing will keep Leon from finishing his current project. Nothing. Not even the chance to fall in love with the woman of his dreams.

Sometimes a killer business idea is just that. Killer.

Amazon link: The Secret Society of Like-Minded Individuals

_MG_0556 - Version 2About the Author:

For more about Stuart check out his Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Stuart-R.-West/e/B00B419X5C/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Or his blog: http://stuartrwest.blogspot.com/

New Release CLAUDIA MUST DIE by T.B. Markinson

I’m happy to welcome T.B. Markinson today as she offers an excerpt of her latest release the thriller CLAUDIA MUST DIE. 

claudia_frontClaudia doesn’t feel like herself anymore—she feels like prey. Her husband’s hired goons have stalked her all the way to Boston and will only stop their pursuit once she is dead.

Divorce is not an option. Instead, she has stolen a bunch of her man’s money to disappear into another life.

In order for Claudia to live, someone else must die. A lookalike college student becomes the target capable of freeing her from an awful marriage.

The plan goes horribly awry. Instead of murdering Claudia’s double, the assassins shoot the woman’s lover who is the cousin of a powerful Irish mobster. Claudia becomes hunted by all involved. Can she survive? Should she?

Purchase Links

Amazon (US)  /   Amazon (UK)

Excerpt:

At first, everything had been roses and wine. When others warned her about Dennis, Claudia laughed it off.

“Use your head,” Claudia’s mother had said. “How could a man in his early thirties make so much money owning a handful of run-down bars in two small towns in the West?”

“What, you think he’s a drug dealer or something?” Claudia had broken into hysterics. “He hardly looks like a gangster, Mother. Dennis doesn’t wear any jewelry. Not even a wedding ring.”

In Claudia’s mind, a gangster would at least wear a gold necklace. And, he had excellent table manners. There was no way Dennis could be a thug. How many scrawny five-foot-six guys were?

They had married after seven months. Neither had intended to marry so quickly, but they had visited Vegas for a long weekend, got drunk, and got hitched. It wasn’t until Claudia moved into Dennis’s house that she started to notice things. He wouldn’t come home for days, and when he did, he refused to tell her where he had been. He racked up a lot of mileage on her car, not his. When Claudia asked about it, his reply was a cold stare that made her legs feel like jelly. Granted, one of his bars was in Greeley, but that was only a twenty-minute drive from their home in Loveland. How did the miles add up so quickly?

After a year, they started to fight constantly. Verbal arguments. After another year, the fights turned violent. Claudia ended up in the hospital—still nothing serious enough for her to walk out. Not yet. Instead, she started hoarding cash. In the beginning, it was a little bit here and there. It was simple. Claudia would request cash back when she used her debit card at the grocery store. Dennis liked her cooking; he never questioned how much his wife spent on food. When she realized her embezzlement plan would take years, not months, The Hunted chose a more drastic solution. The next time her husband crossed the line …

About the Author:

T.B. Markinson is an American writer, living in England. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling around the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs in England, or taking the dog for a walk. Not necessarily in that order. T. B. has published A Woman Lost, Marionette, and Confessions From A Coffee Shop.

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