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Tag Archives: Louvre

Jingle Sharks—In Honor of #SharkWeek

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Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Fun Stuff, Missives, News, Updates

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Hi Everyone,

Sunday marks the 30th anniversary of Discovery Channel’s Shark Week. I’ve been watching this annual epic of jawesomeness since the beginning, and, given that Christmas In July is also being celebrated here in the States at the moment, I thought it was past time to dust off a little something I composed ten years ago and share it with all of you.

Here it is…Jingle Sharks—so named because Shark Week is the most wonderful time of the year.

Best,

~Melika

Jingle Sharks

 (As performed by Irv, a Great White Shark from Sydney, Australia, and all around fantastic lad,

with select interjections by the Australian Shark Chorus)

Swimming through the sea, with bloodshed on my mind,

I spy a little seal, then bite off his behind!

But he is just a snack, I need a bigger munch,

So when I spot a surfer dude, I shout, “Yippee! There’s lunch!”

 

Ohhh! Jingle Sharks, Jingle Sharks, chumming’s not for us!

Sharkin’s been looked down on since Old Quint, he bit the dust!

(And we’ve got Bruce to thank for that!)

Ohhh! Jingle Sharks, Jingle Sharks, we like our bait live!

Why don’t all you people on the beach come take a dive?!

(We won’t bite, we promise! Sharks’ honor!)

*brief tom-tom interlude: Da da da da da DA, dum dum!*

The surf is choppy now, and swimmers cannot see,

That lurking right offshore, is little three ton me!

I play it nice and cool, I bide my time so good,

And when nobody’s looking, I latch on to someone’s foot!

 

Ohh-ohhh-ohhhhhh! Jingle Sharks, Jingle Sharks, Shark Week is sublime!

We’ve ruled cable TV for three decades in prime time! Ohhh-oh-ohhhhhh!

Jingle Sharks, Jingle Sharks, everybody’s hooked!

Thanks to conservation, now, our goose ain’t gonna be cooked!

*raucous shouts of “Sharkland, forever!” erupt from the Australian Shark Chorus*

 

End Song

Copyright © 2008, 2018 by Melika Dannese Lux

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SPFBO Author Interview for The Thousand Scar Blog

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Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Author Spotlight, Deadmarsh Fey, Fun Stuff, Missives, News, Updates

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#AmWriting, 18, 1888, 1894, 19th century, 2002, 2014, 2018, 700, a book addict's bookshelves, a fragment of life, a wizard should know better, ache, Agatha Christie, all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us, Amazon, amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com, anne rice, antestheria, aragorn, arthur, arthur machen, Augustin Boroi, author, Authors, autonomy, autumn, awestruck, bear, best friend, betrayal, birthday, black cats, black winged beast, blog, blogger, bloggers, blogs, blood, blood wood, book, book addict, book feature, books, Books In My Belfry, British, brothers, brothers and sisters, business, calling, carte blanche, Carver, cats, celts, characters, charpentier, children, children of light, children of vampires, chocolate, chocolate chip, christened, City of Lights, City of Lights by melika lux, city of lights: the trials and triumphs of ilyse charpentier, classic, Coffyn, Constantinos, coquette, corcitura, Corcitura feature, count, Count Rakmanovich, Count Sergei Rakmanovich, Cover, creative fiction, crime and punishment, curse, cut, cutwater, cutwater island, dance hall, dance of romance, dannese, dark, dark fantasy, dark wreaker, darkness, dashing, deadliest, Deadmarsh, Deadmarsh Fey, deal, death, demons, demons of the deep, desire to weave stories, devil, dialogue, die, diva of the paris stage, dogs, Dostoevsky, double blinds, Dracula, draculaesque, dragons, dream, dreams, driving force, druids, dwellers, dwellers of darkness, dwellers of darkness children of light, earth, Eastern Europe, Eiffel Tower, email, emotional, England, englishman, enraptured, epic, Eric Bradburry, Europe, Excerpt, Facebook, faeries, fall, fallen kingdom, family, fantasy, fantasy is escapist, fascinated, fate, Fated, fated to die, father, fathomless, female author, female vampires, female werewolves, female writers, fey, fiction, Film, Fin de siècle, finding home, first novel, Folies Bergère, France, free, free reign, freebie, freedom, French, french flag, French wine, friends, Friendship, frodo, frodo baggins, full circle, Fuseli, Gandalf, gandalf the grey, Germany, giveaway, glories, glory, good and evil, good vs evil, Goodreads, gothic, gothic novel, Grand Tour, great god pan, Greece, grey beard, grey wolves, guides, guillermo del toro, Guinness, h p lovecraft, hammer, havelock, hazard, henry fuseli, here there be dragons, hermit, hermitlife, high school, hinterland, historical fiction, historical romance, home, hope, hopes, hopes and dreams, horror, Humor, hybrid, hybrid vampires, Ian McCarthy, ian mckellen, iconic, ilyse, Ilyse Charpentier, in which a dashing Englishman woos mademoiselle Charpentier, in-depth, incendiu, Indie, inspiration, instill, Interview, iron reveals, isobel, isobel vickers, J. R. R. Tolkien, Jack the Ripper, jagged ones, jess watkins, john william waterhouse, joy, Jurassic Park, Kindle, kindle giveaway, Kip, Kipling, Knightley, La Perle de Paris, la petite coquette, languages, laptop, legend, legends, Leonora, Leonora Bianchetti, lies, life, light, Links, lips, Lockie, loggerheads, logistical, London, longing for home, longings, lord of the rings, LOTR, Louvre, Love, love of reading, Luc, lux, lynn's books, machen, maddie, Madelaine Bradburry, malevolence, Manon Larue, marine biologist, mark lawrence, marked, Maurice Charpentier, meanings, meant to be, melika, Melika Dannese Lux, Melika Lux, michael baker, modern times, mother, Music, my calling, my dream, myth, names, nebulous, new, new release, news, night, nightmare, norse, norway, Nosferatu, novel, novelist, novels, now face-to-fey, oblivion, of darkness, opera, orange, original, orlok, pale, palming the ace, panic, Paperback, Paranormal, parc monceau, parents, Paris, Parisian, pianist, pict, plausible deniability, play, plots, pointy hat, post, pre-raphaelites, professor fertig, promotion, prophecy, publication, publicity, publishing, puckie, pumpkin, pun, pure magic, questions, quick-fire, quites, quote, rapture, reading, revenge, Review, rex, roger, Roger Knightley, romance novels set in historic France, Romania, Romanian, rural, rural england, Russia, russian, sacrifice, Sangue di Vita, scary, scary vampires, schadenfreude, seasonal, seized, self-published fantasy blog off, Sergei, Sergei Rakmanovich, series, seven hundred years, sham, Shark Week, Sharks, siblings, silver-tongued devil, singer, singing, sir frank dicksee, snippet, soprano, Sorina Boroi, souls, spfbo, Spooky, steal of a deal, Stefan, Stefan Belododia, Stefan Ratliff, story arcs, storytelling, storyweaving, stratosphere, summer, supernatural, supernatural thriller, Suspense, swathing, T-Rex, talking animals, tall tales, terror, the darkness within, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings, the white people and other weird stories, these vampires don't sparkle, thousand scar, Thriller, Tolkien, Tollers and Jack, Toulouse Lautrec, Tour Eiffel, tragedy, trahaearn, train, travel, tricksy, triumph, triumphant, true love, truth, TV, Twilight, Twitter, Tyrian purple, UK, undead, updates, USA, vampire fiction, Vampire Hunter, vampire mythology, vampire mythos, vampires, vampiresses, vampiric, vampiric equality, vampiric transformation, vampirism, vamps, varney, varney the vampyre, Vasily Markolovick, vickers, violinist, Vladec, Vladec Salei, vocation, Vrykolakas, Wales, warnings and visitations, website, welsh, Werewolf, werewolf transformation, Whitechapel, wine, winter, wizard, Wood, wreaker, writer, writer's block, Writers, writing, Young Adult, young author, young female author, young love, Young Protagonists, young writer, Zigmund, Zigmund Fertig

Hi Everyone!

It is with great excitement that I share with you today the interview I did for the Thousand Scar blog. Many thanks to author and fellow SPFBO entrant, Michael Baker, for giving me the opportunity to answer these great questions. And also to author Mark Lawrence, for creating this fantastic contest in the first place!

And now for the interview! I hope you enjoy it.

  1. First of all, tell me about yourself! What do you write?

I have been an author since the age of fourteen and write novels that incorporate a variety of different genres, including historical fiction, suspense, thrillers with a supernatural twist, and dark fantasy. With my most recent release (and SPFBO 4 entrant), Deadmarsh Fey, I have transitioned into storyweaving fantasy full-time, but before this book, I had written an historical romance/family saga, City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of Ilyse Charpentier, and an historical Gothic suspense/thriller, Corcitura. The vampires in that one are definitely in the Classical tradition and would feel right at home sharing a pint or two of Sangue de Vita with Dracula or Varney or Count Orlok. In other words, they’d sooner rip out your throat than be caught undead sparkling.

  1. How do you develop your plots and characters?

Plots have always seemed to come into being after I already have a character, or set of characters, in mind. Certain paintings and other forms of art have inspired character (and story) ideas in the past, as well, specifically the works of the Pre-Raphaelites—Sir Frank Dicksee and John William Waterhouse being my favorite artists in the Brotherhood. Additionally, I have always found the work of Henry Fuseli morbidly entrancing, so much so that one version of his Nightmare ended up playing a pivotal role in Corcitura during an early scene set in the Louvre. The painting, and its ominous presence in that scene, still chill my blood to this day.

The meanings and stories behind names have always fascinated me, too. One chief reason characters tend to appear first in my imagination before plots do is because I research names and their origins ahead of anything else. Then, if inspiration starts tugging and insisting and refusing to leave me in peace unless I do something with what I’ve gathered, I give in and start storyweaving from there. This is what happened with the name Deadmarsh. I’d heard it in passing in 2002, and immediately thought, “Wow! What a creepy and portentous name to build a legend around!” I never expected it would take twelve years to finally invent a story to go with this name, but waiting for the right tale to make itself known was worth it.

There are many characters in Deadmarsh Fey who have Welsh names, and that was by design. If you dig a little deeper into what these names mean, you will see that I instilled traits into the characters that hearken back to what they were christened. With some of them, you would have also probably been able to hazard a fair guess as to their true identities and motivations…if I hadn’t made use of double blinds and false clues to throw readers off the scent. Being tricksy like this in my writing is one of my favorite things to do, because to have names be the sole source of a character’s reason for being, what makes him or her tick, would be to destroy the character’s autonomy—and would also be very lazy writing. Not to mention an unrewarding experience for the reader, and also myself, as the author. I have to stay engaged and be kept on my toes when crafting a novel, which is why I don’t outline, but prefer to figure things out along with my characters. It keeps things fresh and exciting, as does palming the ace as often as I can.

  1. Tell us about your current project.

My current project is the sequel to Deadmarsh Fey—set seven years later—and the second novel in Dwellers of Darkness, Children of Light. Several times in Deadmarsh Fey, I mentioned the Vickers family, particularly Isobel, the youngest daughter, who is Roger’s contemporary and good friend. Near the end of the novel, Isobel’s and her family’s link to the Deadmarshes, and the beings hunting them, is hinted at, and, to a certain extent, revealed to Roger in a shocking way. What he discovers leads directly into book two, Isobel’s story, which takes place on a desolate rock called Cutwater Island. Here there be sharks, and demons of the deep. And a creature whose memory is as fathomless as its desire for revenge.

  1. Who would you say is the main character of your novels? And tell me a little bit about them!

Each novel in Dwellers of Darkness, Children of Light has a different protagonist through whose eyes we see the story. In Deadmarsh Fey, this is Roger Knightley, ten years old and cousin to Havelock (Lockie), the Deadmarsh heir. Roger is a bit of a firecracker, and though he is just a child, he’s a well-read one, which has resulted in his having quite a vivid imagination. Sometimes, this exacerbates situations, yet it also means that Roger is unencumbered by the inability to accept wonder and the inexplicable at face value. Because of this, he’s able to understand and recognize the dangers the creatures rampaging out of the Otherworld and into our own pose to himself and his family sooner than the adults and certain other characters around him. He also has a wry bent to his personality, and a stubborn streak, that help and hinder him in various ways as the book progresses. And he’s obsessed with dragons. You’ll have to read the novel to find out if that’s a fatal character flaw or not.

Story wise, the events in Deadmarsh Fey, though cloaked in the garb of fantasy, are about fighting for the ones you love. That is the main driving force behind Roger’s actions and those of his friends and allies. It’s not just about survival, or stopping the Dark Wreaker—a nebulous entity that has bedeviled the Deadmarshes for seven hundred years—and his servants from  being unleashed upon this earth, but about saving the very souls of those who are most important to you, those you’d sacrifice everything for. And that is something that has always appealed to me, not only in storyweaving, but in life.

  1. What advice would you give new writers on how to delve into creative fiction?

Absolutely do NOT write what you know. That is the worst and most stultifying piece of advice I have ever been given. If I’d followed it, Deadmarsh Fey would not exist. Don’t write what you know. Write what you dream, and make sure to instill your entire being into what your heart and soul are calling you to breathe into life.

  1. What real-life inspirations did you draw from for the worldbuilding within your book?

The setting of Deadmarsh Fey is rural England in the late 19th century. Both of my previous novels have taken place in this time period, so I was already very familiar with the mores and history and other elements of this era. For the crafting of Everl’aria (the Otherworld that is seeking to join itself to our own throughout the novel), I wasn’t inspired so much by real-life examples as I was by the mythology of Norway and Wales, which I tapped into to create my own legendarium for Deadmarsh Fey and the successive novels in Dwellers of Darkness, Children of Light.

I was also incredibly inspired by the works of Arthur Machen, an author I’d first encountered in 2007 after reading his disturbing yet fascinating short novel The Great God Pan. Once read, it is impossible to forget, but I never delved into any more of Arthur’s stories till many years later, quite accidentally, but at exactly the time I needed to most. As I discovered, he seemed to view the fey (faeries) as dangerous and lethal beings you should never trust or turn your back upon if you wanted to live. That was how I’d always imagined they truly were, so I felt I’d found a kindred spirit in Arthur, and validation for my own theories about the fey, when I read The White People and Other Weird Stories in the spring of 2013. I see this moment as the catalyst for my ideas about Deadmarsh Fey starting to coalesce—and my excitement level for the book shooting up into the stratosphere. It would be less than a year after reading this collection that I began writing the novel.

Incidentally, as an homage to Arthur, I named Havelock (Lockie) after a minor character in A Fragment of Life.

  1. What inspires you to write?

The desire to weave stories and lose myself in other worlds. J. R. R. Tolkien, who has been a defining force and inspiration not only on my writing, but also in my life, once said that fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. I never took this to mean that writing fantasy was a way of denying reality, or hiding yourself in invented worlds because you couldn’t face daily life in our fallen one. Quite the reverse. The concept of crafting myths and legends around very human characters who inhabited worlds that reflected the glories and evils of our own, that mirrored them in some unique yet hauntingly familiar way, fired my imagination like nothing else ever had. This is the reason I don’t write contemporary fiction. Not because I can’t, but because swathing a story in the trappings of fantasy makes the experience so much richer for me as a writer, and also, hopefully, for the reader, than it would a tale stripped of its glory set in modern times. And just because something is classified as “fantasy,” doesn’t mean it can’t be realistic. If anything, it should be more so. I have always endeavored to create characters that are human, with all our foibles and weaknesses, hopes and dreams—and longings for “home.” By home, I don’t mean a building, but a deep ache within the heart to find the place where we belong. And home, for me, at least when it comes to writing, has always been in these other worlds, where I can best use the time that has been given to me to shine a blinding light onto the darkness.

  1. What was the hardest part of writing this book?

From a logistical standpoint, the hardest part was realizing that Deadmarsh Fey had to come first in the series. Until that realization finally sank in during the spring of 2014, I’d spent the previous year working on what would become the fourth book in Dwellers of Darkness, Children of Light. Writing this book first meant that I was trying to tell the end of the saga without knowing its beginning, which made for an incredibly frustrating experience. And yet I do not regret it, because what I wrote in that novel laid the foundation for all the legends and myths and conflict in this one. So, looking back, I see that it was necessary to go through this, since without that fourth book, Deadmarsh Fey could never have been written.

On an emotional level, the ending of Deadmarsh Fey was extremely hard for me to write. Over a three year period, I’d spent every day with Roger and company, and had grown incredibly attached to all of them…but not so attached that I would force them to act out of character just to please me. In the back of my mind, I’d always known how Deadmarsh Fey had to end, but the way it unfolded was not at all what I had been expecting and made everything that came before it so much deeper and more meaningful. This change of direction was due to a character showing me that his way was the only way things could be. And he was right.

  1. What was your favorite chapter (or part) to write and why?

There are four chapters that stand out in my memory as favorites. Now Face-to-Fey, Warnings and Visitations, Iron Reveals, and one I cannot mention the name of because it will spoil a story arc for not only Deadmarsh Fey, but book three in the series as well.

Now Face-to-Fey put my plotting to the test because it offered definitive proof that things were truly rotten at Deadmarsh. Up until this moment, deniability was still plausible for some characters (one in particular), but several plot points that had been simmering away for many chapters finally exploded in this one—and could no longer be discounted.

Warnings and Visitations sets up the conflict for book two, the story of Isobel Vickers and her family that I mentioned above. It was a complete joy to write this chapter, since I had been looking forward to doing so for over a year by the time I finally got to it.

Iron Reveals has a HUGE, well, reveal about the creatures bedeviling Roger and his family. In my imagination, this chapter had a different tone and feel entirely, but once I let the characters take over and do with it what they wanted, it turned out even more cohesive and startling than I could have hoped for. I also indulged in some serious schadenfreude  while writing this, since it was truly the first instance in the novel of the shoe being on the other foot, meaning that certain unsavory characters finally got a taste of what it felt like to be on the defensive.

And then there is the chapter that must remain nameless for now. This final favorite will always be special to me because everything in it came together in a seamless and unsettling way. And quickly, too, which is always a plus! That it takes place in a library, and is bookcentric, was yet another reason I enjoyed writing it as much as I did.

  1. Did you learn anything from writing this book and what was it?

Deadmarsh Fey truly taught me how to let go and give the characters free reign. This probably sounds a little odd, but I’ve found that if you get the ball rolling for them, they tend to take over and make your job a lot easier. Not a cakewalk, mind you, because I still had to juggle several story arcs that needed to be resolved to make everything not only in Deadmarsh Fey, but the other novels in the series, come full circle. Yet it was exciting to get to work each day because I knew the direction the book had taken was the one that was meant to be.

The book definitely made me grow as a writer, as well, and showed me that it was important not to get too attached to scenes or any other pieces of writing (dialogue especially) to the detriment of the story. What didn’t work was cut, and the novel ended up being much better because I had gotten out of my own way and hadn’t tried to force things.

  1. It’s sometimes difficult to get into understanding the characters we write. How do you go about it?

I try to place myself in my characters’ shoes as much as is conceivably possible, attempting to see the world of the story through their eyes, and understand why they’d react the way they would in any given situation. Of course, you can’t remove yourself entirely from the equation, but I strive not to influence their actions too much. Carver, Kip, and Incendiu, just to name a few, all went their own way, and while I do have a strong attachment to them, the greatest tie I felt when writing the book was to Roger. This was because of the range of emotions I experienced with him. As I said earlier, the entire book is told from his viewpoint (third person), and because of that, I felt like I became Roger in this story. I experienced things along with him, which meant that everything he endured, everything he felt—pain, fear, excitement, terror, disillusionment, panic, elation—I felt  deeply, too. It was simultaneously exhausting and rewarding. And made it very difficult to put him through the ordeals I had him undergo. Very difficult, yet not impossible, and I felt wretched afterward, but it was what the story called for.

  1. What are your future project(s)?

After I finish the sequel to Deadmarsh Fey, I will be working on the next two novels in Dwellers of Darkness, Children of Light. All the books already have titles, but these are rather sensitive, so I’m holding them in reserve till I announce the publication of each novel.

  1. If you couldn’t be an author, what ideal job would you like to do?

I used to want to be a marine biologist, and would have pursued this path, if a certain wizard with a long grey beard and big pointy hat had kept his words of wisdom to himself. I blame my decision to become a writer on Gandalf the Grey (as portrayed by Ian McKellen in The Fellowship of the Ring), who got to me as an impressionable sixteen year old in the winter of 2001 as I sat, awestruck and enraptured, in a darkened theater and heard him speak this iconic line to Frodo:

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

Right at that moment, I made my decision, and have never looked back.

  1. What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you (i.e., website, personal blog, Facebook page, here on Goodreads, etc.) and link(s)?

Readers can contact me through my Web Site. And also Twitter and Goodreads

Additionally, Deadmarsh Fey is available across all Amazon sites in paperback and Kindle editions.

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

Best wishes,

~Melika

 

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Corcitura on sale for $2.99!

24 Friday Nov 2017

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Fun Stuff, News

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Hi Everyone,

It’s Black Friday! Tis the season for sales, right? Well, from today through Cyber Monday night, you can bring home the Kindle edition of Corcitura for $2.99! Where else could you get a deal like that without standing in line for hours in the freezing cold, being jostled by crabby people? You don’t even have to leave your house to buy the book. In fact, you don’t even have to change out of your pajamas! ;D

Purchase Corcitura from Amazon by clicking here.

Corcitura

Corcitura.  Some call it hybrid, others half-blood, mongrel, beast.  They are all names for the same thing:  vampire—the created progeny of the half-wolf, half-vampire, barb-tongued Grecian Vrykolakas, and the suave but equally vicious Russian Upyr.  Corcitura:  this is what happens when a man is attacked by two vampires of differing species.  He becomes an entirely new breed—ruthless, deadly, unstoppable…almost.

London, 1888:  Eric Bradburry and Stefan Ratliff, best friends since childhood, have finally succeeded in convincing their parents to send them on a Grand Tour of the Continent.  It will be the adventure of a lifetime for the two eighteen-year-old Englishmen, but almost from the moment they set foot on French soil, Eric senses a change in Stefan, a change that is intensified when they cross paths with the enigmatic Vladec Salei and his traveling companions:  Leonora Bianchetti, a woman who fascinates Eric for reasons he does not understand, and the bewitching Augustin and Sorina Boroi—siblings, opera impresarios, and wielders of an alarming power that nearly drives Eric mad.

Unable to resist the pull of their new friends, Eric and Stefan walk into a trap that has been waiting to be sprung for more than five hundred years—and Stefan is the catalyst.  Terrified by the transformation his friend is undergoing, Eric knows he must get Stefan away from Vladec Salei and Constantinos, the rabid, blood-crazed Vrykolakas, before Stefan is changed beyond recognition.  But after witnessing a horrific scene in a shadowed courtyard in Eastern Europe, Eric’s worst fears are confirmed.

Six years removed from the terror he experienced at the hands of Salei and Constantinos, Eric finally believes he has escaped his past.  But once marked, forever marked, as he painfully begins to understand.  He has kept company with vampires, and now they have returned to claim him for their own.

Thanks so much, guys! Hope you have a great weekend!

All the best,

~Melika

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Corcitura Spotlight and Giveaway at Word Spelunking!

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Book Spotlight, Corcitura Feature, Fun Stuff, Giveaway Announcement, News

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Exciting things are happening, everyone! Corcitura is being spotlighted on the wonderful blog, Word Spelunking!

Corcitura Spotlight Word Spelunking 6-20-13

Click on the link below to learn all about the book, watch the trailer, and read a teaser excerpt from one of the most climactic chapters in the entire novel:

http://wordspelunking.blogspot.com/2013/06/book-spotlight-excerpt-and-giveaway.html

As a bonus, five Kindle copies of Corcitura are up for grabs to US residents! Make sure to enter by June 30, 2013, for your chance to win!

Best wishes,

Me Sig!

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Enter for a chance to win a signed copy of Corcitura!

19 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Fun Stuff, News

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1888, 1894, 1895, 2013, Augustin Boroi, barbed tongue, best friends, betrayal, Books In My Belfry, Brasov, Bruges, catalyst, centuries old secrets, Cluj, Coming of Age, corcitura, Cross of Istratescu, disloyalty, Eastern Europe, England, Eric Bradburry, female author, female vampires, female werewolves, Friendship, Gilded Age, giveaway, good vs evil, Grand Tour, Greece, historical fiction, hybrid vampires, if you love scary vampires, Leonora, Leonora Bianchetti, lies, Louvre, Madelaine Bradburry, Madelaine Dennison, marked, Melika Dannese Lux, Musee Grevin, Mystery, Nadia Belododia, New York, nightmare, Paris, Prague, Romania, Sangue di Vita, Sighişoara, Stefan Ratliff, Suspense, Terrifying vampires, Thriller, Two vampires…one victim…endless trouble, unchosen, Vampire Hunter, vampires, vampiric, vampiric transformation, vampirism, vengeance, Venice, Victorian, Vladec Salei, Vrykolakas, waxworks, werewolf transformation, werewolves, writing, Young Adult, Young Protagonists, Zigmund Fertig

Don’t miss out on the chance to bring a signed copy of Corcitura home! Make sure to submit your entry by May 18, 2013!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Corcitura by Melika Dannese Lux

Corcitura

by Melika Dannese Lux

Giveaway ends May 18, 2013.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Best wishes,

Melika

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Corcitura Excerpt #2: Nightmare

19 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Excerpts, Fun Stuff

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corcitura, Eric Bradburry, Excerpt, Fuseli, Louvre, Melika Dannese Lux, Paris, sneak peek, Stefan Ratliff, The Nightmare, vampires, Vladec Salei, Vrykolakas, werewolves, writing

Taken from Corcitura, Chapter 4, Hello, Good-bye…Hello

(For future reference, this excerpt will be permanently housed under its corresponding tab.)

       “The Winged Victory of Samothrace, or Nike, as she is known, came to the Louvre in 1884.”
       We were standing at the Daru staircase underneath the giant headless, armless stone statue of the winged maiden of the Aegean. I had latched onto an English-speaking tour and seen all the great spectacles of the Louvre in the interim, but now the time was ripe for me to escape in search of Stefan. It was a quarter past noon already, and still he had not shown himself.
       I hung back as the tour moved on. Once they were out of sight, I hastened away and made for the Melpomene Gallery, taking a cursory glance at the giant statue of the hall’s namesake on my right as I passed by. I had thought Nike was gigantic, but this muse made her seem almost Lilliputian in size. Apparently, all Louvre statues were enormous. It must have been a prerequisite.
       I walked down this gallery and came out into the Salle des Caryatides. As I moved into the hall, I caught sight of my erstwhile companion, thankfully Boroi-less, staring at a large canvas that had been propped up in the center of the salle. I thought it odd that a painting would be on display in a hall filled with statues, but I didn’t let the incongruity of the situation trouble me for more than a second.
       “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?”
       I was expecting to receive a response and would have been happy with one of his sarcastic remarks, but he acted as though I did not exist. Very well, then. I decided to give it another go. “Been walking the same halls as the Kings of France and that great poisoner herself, Catherine de Medici, have you?” I was beginning to sound like Luc.
       Still nothing. He just stood there, head tilted to one side, his hand on his chin, absorbed by the painting before him. It had taken me forever to finally locate Stefan, and this was all the response I received? Not even so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Now we would have to rush out to the entrance to meet Vladec Salei, whom I hoped by some miracle was still waiting for us. My plans were crumbling before my eyes. And did he care? Absolutely not. He was as still and lifeless as the statues surrounding him. “Honestly, Stefan,” I said hotly, “what’s so bloody fascin…”
       I stopped dead when my eyes finally flashed toward the painting. I hadn’t bothered to look at it until then, but now as I took in the nightmarish spectacle painted on that canvas, a shudder passed through my body and chilled me to the marrow.
        A woman, shrouded in white, was draped over a divan in a dead swoon, her arms hanging limply over her head. In the background, a horse, nostrils flaring, eyes aglow, stuck its head through the crimson drapery. The horse looked crazed. Its lips were drawn back in a grimace that made it look as though it were sneering. But the most horrifying aspect of the painting was not the half-mad horse, nor the seemingly dead woman.
       It was the demon.
       A grotesque, dwarfish creature crouched atop the woman’s chest. They weren’t very visible in the foreground, but I could just make out the shadows of the thing’s horns reflected off the curtain. The creature’s entire visage was hellish, yet there was something taunting about its colorless eyes, pug nose, and grim, frowning mouth. I felt as if the thing were challenging me to push it off its perch. I doubted I would have possessed the courage to do so had this tableau been real.
       I laughed nervously and immediately felt ridiculous for chuckling aloud. The incident this morning with Sorina had turned me morbid. Try as I might, I could not shake the feeling of unease the painting had instilled in me. Nor could I make myself turn away. It was demonic, yet fascinating, and it had captured Stefan’s imagination, too, for his eyes were still fixated on the painting.
       “Amazing,”he whispered. “What do you think it is?” he said, addressing me without taking his eyes off the canvas. “A demon?”
       “A vampire.”
       The voice must have come from the painting, it had to have—there was no one else around. I looked about warily, trying to avoid the now self-proclaimed vampire’s eyes, but could not discover any other source from whence the voice could have come. But there was someone there, as it turned out. A slight cough signaled his arrival. I still couldn’t figure out where he’d materialized from, but here he now was, standing at Stefan’s side.
       Strangely, my first reaction was not relief at the sight of Vladec Salei but rather confusion as to why he was fully cloaked indoors. I thought it odd that he had not bothered to remove his overcoat and gloves. Maybe he had stumbled upon us through mere chance as he was making for the exit.
       I sent a silent thank you heavenward, but I doubt it ever reached the Pearly Gates. My heart sank as the confusion of the moment dispersed, and I saw that Salei was alone.
       “An incubus, to be exact,” he continued.
       “It looks as though it crushed the life out of her.” Stefan was still staring at the painting. I wondered momentarily if he had even realized the person he was conversing with was not me. Nothing seemed to be getting through to his brain this afternoon.
       I, for one, had had quite enough of Mr. Fuseli’s Nightmare, as I now knew the painting to be named. A small placard bearing a short history of the artist and painting had been set up beneath the canvas. I failed to see what the Swiss artist’s work had to do with the Roman statues surrounding it, but some genius must have made a connection that was lost on me, so I let the matter drop.
       “Nightmare,” I said, musing over the title. “How appropriate.” I turned my attention to Salei, who was staring rather amusedly at Stefan. “Oh, pay no attention to him,” I said lightly, unsure of what to make of the look in Salei’s eyes. “That’s his morbid Transylvanian soul talking.” I knew Guildy’s phrase of the night before would suit nicely someday. “He has an inherent fascination with death.”
       Apparently, it was my day to be ignored. “You are quite right, my young friend,” he said to Stefan. “Although it is the Vrykolakas that crushes its victim to death.”
       “Vrykolakas?” Stefan asked.
       “Yes. A vicious Greek vampire, though some believe it to also be a werewolf.”
       “That’s tidy,” I shot in. “How nice of the Vryko-what’s-its-name to be so accommodating. A vampire and a werewolf,” I concluded, chuckling. Did he take us for complete imbeciles? I’d never heard such nonsense in all my life.
       Salei skewered me with a look of contempt that made me shrink back despite my resolve to not let him rattle me.
       He angled himself closer to Stefan. “The incubus there, well, it has more carnal motives, if you take my meaning.”
       For the first time, Stefan tore his gaze away from the painting and looked at Salei with an expression so wide-eyed it was almost comical. “Oh…” he said, then, “Oh! Yes, well, of course, I mean, rather,” and laughed awkwardly.
       I am by no means a prude, but Salei’s last bit of information made me feel decidedly uncomfortable. And it didn’t help that he seemed to be warming to the subject.
        “You see, it subsists on the life force of its chosen incubator, in this case the woman, which explains why she looks nearly drained of life. So in essence, it is in fact a vampire, or could at the very least be considered one. I, for one, am more inclined to believe that than the demon myth.”
       I half expected him to finish this little lecture with a flourish by saying voilà. “You seem to know a great deal about it,” I said icily. I did not see the point of this morbid conversation, for I was certain I would never need to make use of this knowledge. And, furthermore, Salei’s interest in the subject disturbed me. I was beginning to think the Borois had learned everything they knew about the macabre from their patron. Maybe this visit wasn’t such a good idea after all. He could have been a second Gilles de Rais or Marquis de Sade for all we knew. And since my prospects with Leonora had now vanished, I didn’t see a reason for us to keep company with Vladec Salei a moment longer.
       I wanted to bolt from the room with Stefan in tow, but then I noticed that Stefan was rapt. Utterly, completely in thrall to Vladec Salei. From whence this fascination stemmed, I had no idea, but it was there, plastered all over his face.
        “It is a hobby of mine,” Salei explained. “Obscure folklore fascinates me. Your friend and I met at the Opéra Garnier last evening. So you must be Stefan. Allow me to finally introduce myself. My name is Vladec Salei.”
       It must have been that Slavic bond. Apparently, becoming matey at once with a complete stranger was what Stefan had meant by “Ha!” I should have been gloating over my success. After all, it was I who had been certain they would have so much to talk over. But all I could feel was a childish discontent that bordered on jealously—anger that my best friend no longer needed me. Not that Stefan ever had, but still. We hadn’t even been gone a week, and although we certainly had not come to hate each other, I felt as though something between us had changed the moment we entered France.
       For the next hour and a half, I idled, mentally cursing Fuseli for not keeping his fantasies to himself, the museum’s curators for their complete loss of sanity in displaying a copy of the blasted painting in a hall of statues, and Vladec Salei for being a walking encyclopedia of esoteric knowledge. Once or twice, they had asked me to comment on some triviality, but for the most part, I was ignored. Obviously, there was no place in their conversation for my non-morbid English soul.
       I knew when I was not wanted, but I also knew the day was waning and we had a train to catch.
       “Well, it’s been wonderful, truly, Mr. Salei,” I said, leading Stefan away, “but we really must be off.”
        “And where are you two headed?”
       “Rome.”
       If I had struck him a blow, it wouldn’t have produced anywhere near the jarring effect the name of the city did. His face contorted so severely, I doubted he would be able to return it to its normal expression of hauteur when this little outburst of his subsided. “Rome!” he nearly shrieked with a vehemence I could not fathom. But all the venom of his tone was consigned to that single word, for after he had shouted it, he seemed to regain his composure. “Detestable city,” he said calmly and with his former high-class disdain restored. “Filthy, not a single thing worth viewing there. Filled with nothing but shrines to false prophets and run by men so old and obsolete they should have been bricked up in those supposedly sacred vaults ages ago. Men as archaic as the basilicas themselves.”
       Well, he had established that he wasn’t a churchgoer. And I did not intend to stay around and have him infect Stefan, who had seemingly become as impressionable as clay while in Salei’s presence, with his noxious ideas.
       “Why don’t you come with Leonora and me to Greece?” He said it so innocently, yet there was a persuasive undertone to his words, like a man trying to bribe a child with a sweetmeat. He knew my weakness, the cheeky devil. And, fool that I was, I actually entertained the notion of giving in.
       “What a splendid idea! Eric told me all about…ahh!”
       “Ahh?”
       “What he means is,” I said, shooting Stefan a glance that warned him to keep mum or he would get another jab in the ribs, “we really would love to, but we can’t get to Greece for another few weeks. So sorry.”
       “I see. We’ll be in touch, then?”
       “Of course, good-bye!”
       And without waiting for him to say more, I bustled Stefan down the hallway and didn’t stop until we had exited the museum.
       I was halfway into the cab when Stefan grabbed my arm and pulled me back out. “Wait one moment. This whole blasted Louvre scheme was your idea. Why are you in such a hurry to escape?”
       “No, he suggested it. I merely agreed, which was a mistake, I now see.”
       “And just exactly how?” The stubborn gleam had come into his eyes. There was no reasoning with him when he was in one of these moods. Years of experience had taught me that he was capable of any sort of mischief in this state, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he rushed back to Salei and agreed to the Grecian scheme just to spite me.
       I motioned to the driver to wait, then cast a glance back toward the Louvre to make certain Salei hadn’t followed us. “Something’s not right with him. I don’t know what it is, but I wouldn’t trust him from here to that lamppost. So get it out of your head because we are definitely not meeting up with him when we get to Greece.”
       “You’re doing it again!” he said, exasperated. “What happened to all that twaddle about fostering relations with my Slavic brethren, eh? And I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t take his advice. Who wants to go to Rome anyway…stuffy, detestable city that it is.”
       Parroting someone else’s words was the first sign of intractability. In many ways, Stefan had never grown up. He was still that sulky little orphan David and Marishka Ratliff had stumbled upon in Romania.
       But on this matter, I wasn’t about to budge. “Look,” I said, pulling out my watch. “The train to Marseilles leaves in two hours. And unless you want to journey there on foot, we have to go now. So forget all about Vladec Salei and let’s try to get on with this blasted grand tour of yours, all right?”
       “Fine,” he said, and huffed into the carriage.
        I settled into the seat across from him and shouted to the driver to take us back to the hotel. Stefan, arms crossed, face clouded over, wouldn’t look at me. I knew he would hold his defeat against me. He had always had a vindictive streak I could never understand, but I had overlooked that and many other things over the years.
       I leaned my head back against the cushion and studied his averted face until I felt sleep tugging at my eyes. A short rest before reaching the hotel was just what I needed. My eyes had begun to close, but then I had the unmistakable feeling that I was being watched. I looked across the way to see Stefan staring at me. He was smiling, but something about the smile made me uneasy. It was secretive, threatening, and somehow knowing all at once.
       “Why are you smiling?” I asked, not truly wishing to know the answer.
       “Oh, nothing,” he said quietly. “I was just thinking of your friend Sorina Boroi.”
       The mention of that name startled me. I had purposely not said anything about the Borois to Stefan. My shock, coupled with my failure to press him for further details about this woman, made my guilt apparent, which I knew was just what he had intended to do.
       The smile was now self-satisfied. He looked down at the floor, snorted softly, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. I no longer had any doubt that he knew what she had done to me that morning. And, horribly, I felt he was glad of it.
       What had she shown him during their outing? His face was like a mask, unreadable, Sphinx-like. Whatever secrets she had imparted to him, I knew he would keep hidden, for he seemed to have taken her side against me, though he had known her scarcely more than a few hours. If I spoke now, I would only make the situation worse. I needed time to think, to plan my strategy…to reevaluate my relationship with the friend I had called brother for the last thirteen years.
       I shoved myself into a corner of the cab and focused my attention on the passersby, trying to distract my mind from the gnawing anxiety in my chest.
       This grand tour had seemed like the adventure of a lifetime. But now, in light of my fears, I was beginning to regret ever agreeing to Stefan’s blasted scheme.

© 2010, 2013 Melika Dannese Lux and Books In My Belfry, LLC™. Unauthorized use or reproduction of this excerpt without the author’s permission is strictly prohibited.

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