A Fellow Author’s Last Battle Scene

Busy weekend, so I am plagiarizing dark fantasy author Andy Peloquin who has sent out an urgent message. One of my greatest fears is whether I can provide for my family should something happen to me.

From Andy’s eNewsletter:

Brandon Barr has been fighting cancer off and on for nearly a decade. He’s gone into remission twice, but you’d never know that he’s been fighting for his life. He’s such a cheerful, upbeat, positive person–he’s brought joy to those of us privileged to know him.

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But now, after multiple bone marrow transplants, his leukemia has returned. He’s done everything he can, yet the time has come: soon, the world will lose a good man.

I’ve never met him personally, but I’ve interacted with him online, worked with him, and seen the many people his writing, his skill, and his genuinely decent personality have touched.

But the loss will be much harder for others: his devoted wife Amanda will lose her loving husband, and three young boys will lose their hero, their rock, their father.

You may not know him personally, but you can help:

1. Buying a copy of his new launch: I’ve already got mine and once I get through my current read, I’ll dig into it and post a review to my blog/website to try and get more people to read it.

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2. Share the image around. Download the image above (right click, “Save Image As…”) and share it to your social media to become one of #BrandonsBuddies.

3. Donate to his GoFundMe page. I’ve already donated (anonymously–it’s not about me), along with most of my fellow author friends.

I know it’s a lot to ask–you don’t know Brandon, and likely you’re living on as tight a budget as the rest of us. If you don’t feel up to it, send positive thoughts or prayers his way, and for his family. But if you can spare anything–even just a dollar or two–it will make a huge difference for his family.

Every dollar you can part with is a little drop of peace you can give Brandon right now as he faces this greatest of challenges. Go to Brandon’s GoFundMePage here.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart! I know that if it was me, I’d be terribly worried for the future of my family, so knowing that there are genuinely good people out there willing to help can make a huge difference in Brandon’s final days.

May God, Allah, Yahweh, Gaia, the Universe, karma, or whatever higher power you believe in reward you a thousandfold!

Andy

Alon again: just downloaded my copy and went to Brandon’s GoFundMePage. In Jewish tradition, the number 18 signifies the Hebrew letters for chai – life. If you can, please donate $18 or whatever works for you.

Thank you for reading a difficult post in difficult times.

Alon / elfwriter

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls Of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. Sign up for more information about Alon Shalev at his author website.

 

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Celebrating the 5th Anniversary of the Eric Hoffer YA Book Award

Next month, Tourmaline Books will release a 2nd edition of At The Walls Of Galbrieth, to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the award and I am so excited. I was allowed to make a few edits (yes, I corrected that mistaken identity that annoyed so many of you!) and received a wonderful new cover from the amazingly talented William Kenney.

Galbrieth cover.5th.anniversary

Let me know what you think of the new cover. I appreciate all your feedback and support.

Thank you for following the Wycaan Masters.

Alon Shalev

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls Of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. More about Alon Shalev can be found on his author website.

 

 

 

The Open Road – When Inspiration Hits

Anyone who has written a trilogy knows it is considerably harder to finish the final book than to conclude a one-off novel. This is simply because one needs to tie up all loose ends from three novels. I have done this twice, at the end of the first Wycaan Master trilogy and then at the end of the second.

When my mother passed away last year and then when I visited my father earlier this month, I found myself with plenty of time on the plane and in the UK to write. This luxury is something I have never experienced as I usually weave my writing time around an intense job and a desire to be an active father and husband. On each trip I wrote almost 50,000 words in 14 days, much of it at the aptly named apartment where my Dad lives.

Kingfisher Court, Bournemouth

This month, as the plane wheels touched ground, I concluded a big scene that left me two-thirds of the way through the final Kingfisher novel, a medieval fantasy trilogy I have worked on since finishing the Wycaan Master series. What lay before me was the build up to a climactic ending that necessitates bringing multiple characters together from different parts of the land, enabling them to finish their subplots, and get to the scene of the climax.

And I had no idea how I was going to do this.

But I have faith in the process. Knowing I would not have concentrated writing time until the summer, I decided to put it on the back burner and return to editing and finding an agent for Book 1.

Then I drove from San Francisco to Portland (about 10 hours) through beautiful scenery of mountains, rivers, and forests, listening to soccer podcasts and enjoying Mrs. Elfwriter’s company.

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Deep in an Oregon forest, she put on a playlist that included many symphonic rock songs I write to (Nightwish, Epica, Within Temptation, Tarja). Abruptly a musical track of bagpipes, The Gael by Dougie MacLean performed by Royal Scots Dragoon Guards, filled the car (one of Mrs. Elfwriter’s choices, I might add) and the entire final scene entered my mind with incredible clarity.

Now here’s the problem: we were driving on the Interstate 5, in the middle of nowhere with a 6pm deadline to be in Portland. How could I get this down on paper? I was literally squirming with excitement as I drove.

I couldn’t dictate to Mrs. Elfwriter, it would spoil the possibility that she might one day read the books. Whipping out my iPad while driving…well we won’t go there. I had once downloaded an app (Quick Voice?) but had no idea how to use it and this didn’t solve having said passenger.

What resolved the problem was one of Oregon’s wonderful rest stops, often situated in a forest or overlooking a vista. Best part (okay, 2nd best part since knowing the conclusion to your novel and trilogy tops everything) is that the final two hours of the drive passed unnoticed, fatigue totally forgotten.
Last scene from Kf3 driving from Portland 1Have you ever had an experience where you have an intense creative experience at such an inopportune moment? Wanna share?

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books.

More ahttp://www.alonshalev.com and on Twitter (@elfwriter).

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Author Interview – Winterview!

Thank you to my colleague, author K. J Harrowick for taking the time to interview and post this. Good luck with the Winterview series and for making our winter a little less cold and dark. 

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Perhaps there is no better time to stay home and warm, snuggling with a good book. Hang in there, everyone: Summer is Coming. 

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books.

More at http://www.alonshalev.com and on Twitter (@elfwriter).

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Publishing by Popular Vote

A few months ago, I wrote about the new publishing model and shared that I have entered Kingfisher: Slave to Honor, my latest novel into the mix.

Kingfisher Cover

Briefly, Inkitt is a publisher who, through a range of analytics, bases their decision whether to publish by judging people’s responses to a novel. They define themselves as “the first reader-powered book publisher.” One hundred people downloaded the novel in an amazingly short period and some have read and left reviews. If you are one of these: THANK YOU!

Whether you have read it or not, in less than five minutes, you can help me secure a book contract:

If you downloaded the book:

  1. Please read (or skim through if you are pushed for time), answer their questions, and leave an honest review.
  2. There is a button to vote. Please vote!

If you have not downloaded the book but follow my work, please click here and vote for the book.

Kingfisher: Slave to Honor is not a Young Adult novel. It is medieval fantasy and has an edgy sliver of grimdark running through it. If you purchased the Wycaan Master series for your children, this one’s for you.

Thank you for taking a few minutes to help me realize my dream of getting Kingfisher a publishing deal. It means a lot.

Warmly,

Alon / elfwriter

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. The link above takes you to the Kindle versions. For all other eReaders, please click here.

More at http://www.alonshalev.com and on Twitter (@elfwriter).

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A Painful Letter to Those Who Download Pirated Novels

Dear Fans,

Yes, it seems strange to open such a letter with this salutation, but I can only conclude that if you are tempted to illegally download one of my books for free from any of an alarming number of websites now offering such a dishonorable service, then you must enjoy my novels.

I’m going to divide you into one of two groups. Please bear with me.

  • If you truly cannot afford the $2.99 for most of my novels, then please go ahead. While volunteering at (I think) Project Homeless Connect, I talked with a boy (I think he was 11 or 12 years old) who said he loved that the service offered books to take, but he wished there was more about elves and dwarves. I went and gave him a copy of At The Walls Of Galbrieth and would have given him the whole series if I had brought copies in my backpack. My then 8-year-old once begged me to give a homeless man (a poet we discovered) a copy of The Accidental Activist, after they had a wonderful conversation and the man had told him how much he enjoyed reading and writing.

 

  • If you can afford to buy my books, and I believe most of you can, I am not going to lecture you. I just want you to know that I poured years into each book, that I drove myself to write the highest quality possible, relentlessly edited and nurtured each book into existence. Just because someone is offering you something for free, doesn’t mean you should take it. That goes for music, movies and novels. Like so many artists, I am not wealthy. I am Mr. Average-American who works hard to put food on his family’s table and wonder if he will ever be able to retire. I am probably no different from you.

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So next time you see the advert for a free copy of someone’s novel, please take a moment to consider before you click and download. Go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble, Apple (ibooks), Smashwords, or wherever you purchase a novel and consider the 99c – $2.99 that will show respect for those who toiled to produce that work, those who keep producing the stories you enjoy.

And if you have already illegally downloaded a copy of one of my books and feel bad – I FORGIVE YOU. Perhaps consider buying a copy and gifting it to someone, whether it is one of my political novels to a disillusioned non-Trump supporter, or a young adult who loves a coming-of-age novel and would benefit from seeing the strength of true friendship.

Please reblog or send this post on to others to raise awareness of this issue. It is not as important as helping those who have suffered from earthquakes, fire, or ethnic cleansing, but it is another wrong that we can right.

Thank you,

Alon / elfwriter

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth and five other novels in the Wycaan Master series, all released by Tourmaline Books. More information about Alon and his novels can be found here.

Download a free copy (offered with author’s consent!) of Alon’s new medieval fantasy novel as a publisher gauges interest and reader feedback.

 

 

 

Kingfisher – Chapter 1

Below is the opening chapter to Kingfisher: Slave to Honor. If it grabs you, please download a FREE copy from Inkitt Publishers and read. Then do me a favor and leave an honest review. You are helping Inkitt decide if they want to invest in my novel and I thank you for helping.

Please note there is profanity in this chapter. It is meant for adult consumption. 

Alon

Kingfisher Cover

 

Chapter 1

I have unleashed thousands of arrows on the battlefield and in training, but never shot from the swaying deck of a ship. My heavy ash bow creaks in anticipation as I draw back the bowstring. Peering along the arrow’s shaft, the feathered fletching grazing my cheek, I wait to see the whites of the pirates’ eyes. My target is a huge brute of a man waving a curved cutlass and braying for his ship to get close enough to our small stout Argosy trading vessel. I steady my feet. He must never board this ship.

 

“Blessed Lir. They be twice our crew in number,” a man wheezes next to me.

 

There are few fighters among this crew. Most are simple, warm-hearted sailors, and I have become attached to them as we cross the sea to the land of Cassia.

 

“Hold steady,” I say. “They won’t be as many when we cross blades.”

 

“Archers!” cries the captain, her speckled snowy-grey hair similar in color to the sails billowing above us, and her sun-dried skin a testimony to a life spent at sea. “Let the Easterner shoot first. Wait for my order.” Leaning close to my ear, she whispers. “A true aim will buoy my crew’s fragile morale.”

 

I nod. I have selected a dozen targets. “Let them hold their fire until I empty my quiver.”

 

“You won’t have long, my friend.”

 

“I don’t need…”

 

My bowstring sings as I release my first arrow. I do not wait to see the man collapse. Already a second arrow is nocked and released, and my mind enters a realm of detached clarity.

 

The pirate captain barks as he sees me. “The black bastard! Take him do–oooow!”

 

His voice ends in an abrupt squeal as my arrow pierces his throat and our crew cheers. My quiver is empty and the enemy pared down by twelve. I am irritated. I had fourteen arrows.

 

“Now,” I say.

 

“Fire!” the captain roars and a volley of black arrows arches up towards the sleek pirate ship.

 

After several volleys, there is a pregnant lull as the distance between the ships closes. Then the captain unsheathes a stout sword. “Prepare to be boarded. Follow The Six.”

 

The Six are huge men who serve as her loyal, permanent crew. They are all strong and bawdy, and completely devoted to her. I suspected at first that they were the reason why no drafted sailor questioned a woman being captain. But I was being disingenuous. She exudes respect, walking the deck with ease, commanding her crew with a stern, but fair hand. I hold her in high regard.

 

The cabin boy hovers near me and I smell piss. His eyes are wide and his face drips with beady sweat. “It’ll be okay,” I say, the father in me rising, and I pass him my bow and quiver. “Stay below. You have no place in this fight.”

 

He glances at the captain. She nods, but the tilt of her head suggests she does not appreciate someone else giving orders on her ship. I apologize. Taking charge is a deeply ingrained habit for I have led armies and ruled a country under my emperor, my Sun-Above-The-Mountains. But that life is long behind me and I must focus on the fight at hand.

 

There won’t be room to swing a broadsword on this small, and soon to be, chaotic deck. I draw my curved dirk, Throatslitter, embracing the cold ivory hilt. I carry many weapons but this is my favorite and most used. In my other hand is my battle sickle, sharp and hissing with anticipation as I flick it.

 

I see The Six spread across the starboard side of the ship. They appear calm while the men around them drip sweat. I study the pirate ship now looming before us, and plant my feet directly opposite where their crew is extending a gangplank. Our sailors move aside, most relieved to let me through.

 

The boats thud together and there is a cry from the other side. Someone has taken command, as half a dozen men throw grappling irons with ropes and swing across. A pirate scrambles along the gangplank, screaming an indistinguishable war cry. It stops abruptly as he blinks and stares up at me blocking his path to glory and plunder.

 

“Long way from home, yeh black devil,” he shouts, trying to sound defiant, but I detect a quiver in his voice. “Come all this way fer one final swim?”

 

I stare back, trying for impassive, and he blinks several times. Everyone watches as he swings his sword in a skewed arc, and I brush it aside with Throatslitter before detaching his neck with my sickle. His head rolls down and I hear it plop into the ocean. Blood fountains from his severed neck but, curiously, his body remains erect. I raise my right leg in a side swing kick and send it crashing down. As my foot returns to the narrow plank, I step forward … and the battle mist descends.

 

It is always this way. Once the fighting commences, my mind detaches. My movements are deeply ingrained from decades of relentless training and I need only focus on the techniques of my adversary.

 

I plow my way through a morass of fighting men, barely distinguishing friend from foe. But most of the pirates have boarded our ship and I return to fight aboard the Argosy. Then two members of The Six flank me and we become an organized wedge swelled by a grateful crew. The remaining pirates retreat to their ship and our men swarm across. I follow, but my battle fury has subsided and my interest is only to minimalize casualties on our side. Blood congeals on my clothes and skin. Not mine, I think, but cannot be sure.

 

I have seen the revenge meted upon the vanquished aggressors in countless battles. Men once cowering lash out at their routed attackers with extreme violence. Bones are broken, limbs slashed, and I turn from the carnage. Bodies are thrown overboard. Only the cook is spared and roughly dragged back to our ship. He had better not burn any food.

 

I lean against the railing near the pirate ship’s bow hearing the occasional clash of steel mingle with curses and pleas that gradually subside. The sun is high in the sky and, as I wipe my face on my sleeve, I sense danger. Turning, I see the contorted face of the first man I had shot, the one who had brayed for blood. His huge figure looms over me. The broken shaft of my arrow still protrudes from his shoulder and there is blood around his lips. He holds the other half of the arrow, waving the splintered edge in my face.

 

“Want your fucking arrow back? So sorry I broke it.” When I do not reply, he continues. “Thought one little needle would prick Big Rufus? Snapped it. Now I’m gonna snap your neck, you black devil.”

 

He begins to lunge, but stops when I do not raise my weapons.

 

“It’s over. You lost,” I say, keeping my voice flat. “There’s no one left fighting. Why die needlessly?”

 

He freezes. I suspect few are equal to him in physical stature and even fewer address him without fear.

 

“I’m not worried about dying. Pirating doesn’t offer itself as a long-term profession.”

 

I frown at his use of vocabulary. “You’re an educated man. I can hear it. Why are you doing this?”

 

He stares at me and one eye twitches. “There comes a point, black man, when you kill enough men, take enough women, that–”

 

“Who were you before this? What happened to you?”

The twitching increases and his chest heaves. He is losing control. “I was once an ambitious officer in a huge fucking army, following orders that haunt me every night. I–”

 

“We’ve walked the same path,” I say, now standing to face him. “It doesn’t need to end like this. We–”

 

“It ends this way! It always does.” Spittle foams at the corners of his mouth. “You can’t escape what ­–” He is staring at my eyes, through them, like he has a window into my head. “You’re haunted too. How do you keep…going?”

 

I glance around noting our crew standing and staring. This is absurd as no one moves to intervene. “I have people to live for. I still have a mission.”

 

“A woman?” He wipes spittle from his mouth with his torn sleeve. “She’s probably fucking some other bastard by now.”

 

“She’s dead. But we have sons and they are slaves. I must find and free them.”

 

He nods. “Yeah, makes sense.” Then there is a wave of relentless twitching and his shaggy head shudders. “Fuck ’em though. Fuck ’em all. You die now.”

 

“You don’t sound like you mean it. You want me to kill you.”

 

“I don’t fucking care either way. Look what I’ve become. It’s all that’s left.”

 

He raises a short-shafted axe and the sun catches it. I spin away and my battle sickle rises to block him. I would like to draw my sword to fight such a strong man, but it is long and I know that Throatslitter and the sickle are more effective in close quarters.

 

He advances and shows considerable agility for his size and the fact he is wounded, wielding the axe from hand to hand. When he sees I can repel him, he draws a second axe. I realize we have moved to the center of the ship and men from our crew make way, watching. It is surreal. No one grabs him or shoots him with an arrow. It feels like a final rite.

 

“Last chance,” I say. “It doesn’t have to end like­–”

 

“FUCK YOU!” he screams. “Fuck you for not being devoured, for not giving in, for surviving.”

 

His next swing, with his right hand, is erratic and instead of blocking him with my left, I shift inside and duck, letting the battle sickle in my right hand grab the axe allowing his own momentum to unbalance him. He staggers and I swing a round kick that sends him flying into the ropes that surround the edge of the ship. He doubles over and grunts. Then the tension from his weight on the ropes springs him back toward me. I crouch, the tip of my knife on the wooden deck, and then, with a cry, jump into the air. Throatslitter slashes up under his chin. Bright red blood spurts up to ignite in the harsh sunlight. He twists round and collapses back onto the rope.

 

I step forward and grab his matted hair, wrenching his head up to look at me. His nose is bloody and broken, and his eyes bulge.

 

“Fuck you,” he says, his voice a whisper, and I nod, accepting it as a sign of respect.

 

“Find peace,” I say as I crouch and link my left foot around both his legs. As I rise, I flick him over the side of the boat and watch his body hit the water and disappear.

 

The men cheer, but I have no enthusiasm for the victory. That man could one day be me. One day very soon.

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls Of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. The link above takes you to the Kindle versions. For all other eReaders, please click here.

Download a #FREE copy of Alon’s latest novel, Kingfisher: Slave to Honor, as publisher gauges interest – http://bit.ly/2sq72DG

 Kingfisher Cover