We’re so pleased to have author Eric Alan Westfall joining us today on the tour for his new novel, Of Princes False and True. Eric is here to chat about some of the aspects of writing the book, and there’s also a giveaway so be sure to check out the Rafflecopter widget for entry details.
Welcome, Eric!
The Magick of Writing Princes
I soooo want to tell you. Really. I do.
And it’s truly something magickal—yes, I know, but your spellchecker is wrong, and this is the right way—which hasn’t happened to me before. Or at least not in this way.
Only I can’t tell you exactly what I’m talking about without the kind of spoiler you just don’t use, even with Goodreads and blog-style “spoiler ahead, click at your own risk!” HTML.
I can give you some examples, though, but, um, that would involve some self-promotion. Should I? Shouldn’t I?
[Author gives these important alternatives the precise amount of consideration they deserve: one ten-thousandth of a nanosecond. Or to put it another way: the amount of time between the tick and tock of a grandfather clock.]
I should.
Enny Kraft, the talented German cover artist for The Rake, The Rogue, and The Roué, and I were scouring the free or for-a-reasonable-fee image sites, looking for pictures of men from the Regency period in England, who might at least somewhat resemble Peregrine, Rory, and Michel, the men of the title.
Instead, she found a painting from the period and with some classy title curlicues, she had the cover. (If by chance you’re in the Amazon neighborhood one day, stop in and take a peek.) What was so wonderful about the discovery is that it inspired an important chapter in the book.
And then there was Roberto Quintero, a brilliant Venezuelan artist, I’d come across by chance, admiring a cover he’d done for Kirby Crow. (See…not totally self-centered. *s*) I asked him to do a cover painting for Mr. Felcher’s Grand Emporium, or, The Adventures of a Pair of Spares in the Fine Art of Gentlemanly Portraiture. I told him about Lord Harry and Lord Reggie, the main characters, what they looked like, and a bit about their adventures in the Victorian equivalent of a reasonably posh, and not inexpensive adult bookstore.
He came up with some ideas, but the initial best one was wanting to paint Harry and Reggie interacting, not just staring out at the viewer of the cover, or off to the side. So I told him about a couple of moments in the book where I thought that would work. What he sent back was a sketch of one moment…a delightful visual capture of what I had in mind. The other was mind-blowing. There wasn’t a moment of interaction between Harry and Reggie like that, anywhere in the book. (Repeat of Amazon hint here.)
Mike the Manly Muse (he’s mine, you can’t borrow him) kicked my butt, and I wound up writing an important new chapter for Emporium.
As bright as you all are, you can see where this is going, right? Except this time, the magick isn’t inspiration-by-cover, it’s the magick of choosing the right words, even when you don’t know at the time how right they are.
So here we are, back to Of Princes.
You see, there’s this…thing…which makes an appearance early on. An ordinary thing which might appear in just any…place I’m not going to mention. A description popped into my head (magick at work!) which I thought was fun. And the fun continued with some word-play, and humorous references to the “thing.”
Moving along in time, I’m in the home stretch for finishing the book and getting it ready for release and the touring of the blogs. And what to my wondering mind should appear, but an, “Oh, wow! Oh dear!”…realization.
The “thing” was an important part of the closing chapters, of unusual importance to all four main characters (Hiram, Roger, Danilo, Anatol…and there’s no MMMM going on!) during a particular time frame…and still humorous. And a fun part of the ending itself.
It’s always a joy to experience a magickal moment like that when you’re writing.
Thanks for reading this!
Eric
p.s. Another “Oh, dear,” just occurred to me. Now you’re all going to rush out to read the book, hunting for the “thing” and the description. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry <cough! choke!> I am about that.
About the Book
Author: Eric Alan Westfall
Publisher: Self-Published
Release Date: August 13, 2018
Is This Book Romance?: Yes
Word Count: 81k approx.
Cover Artist: Karrie Jax
Genres: fantasy, fairy tales
Pairings: MM
Tropes: Fairy tale revisited
Keywords/Categories: MM romance, fantasy, fairy tale, magic, wizards, witches, crones, humor, gods, goddesses, gender fluid deities, courtroom proceedings
Blurb: A tennis match? Starting a war between the Duchy of Avann and the Kingdom of the Westlands?
Only in a fairy tale.
When Prince Henry hurts a young ball boy who told him Danilo’s ball was inside the line, Danilo’s response is automatic. Punch the prince’s face, pick him up left-handed, and break the royal jaw. Unfortunately, there’s another “automatic” at work: a death sentence for whoever strikes royalty.
King Hiram can’t—won’t—change the rule of law to rule of royal whim. But he grants the Heir of Avann fifteen days to find words that will allow Danilo to live.
In those fifteen days: Magick. The gods, goddesses and gender-fluid deities on Deity Lane. Kilvar, the assassin. A purse which opens in a bank vault. A mysterious old man. The Lady of All. The Magickal Hand writing, rewriting. A fairy tale within a fairy tale. A huge horse called Brute. And at the end…perhaps the right words and a most unexpected love. Plus a deity-supplied dinner with just the right amount of garlic.
All royalties will go to a local LGBT organization.
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Tour Excerpt
From Chapter 3
The Small Throne Room
The King of Westland’s Castle
Late Morning, the Day The Story Starts
“Sit,” King Hiram commanded. The young man, still head-bowed, didn’t move. The guards squeezed the prisoner’s biceps, half-marching, half-dragging to the chair at the opposite end of the table from the king. With four guard hands occupied by flesh or chains, the difficulty in moving the chair was obvious. The wizard’s spell removed the chains; they reappeared with a clunk! on the floor beside the table.
The guard on the young man’s left pressed a dagger-point against his throat. The other guard released him, stepped behind the chair and pulled it enough away for the young man to be maneuvered in front of it. Rough hands on shoulders forced him down. It was, of course, only happenstance the knifepoint nicked the neck, a drop of blood appearing when the blade was removed.
The recent command not to hurt the prisoner apparently didn’t apply to chairs in which the prisoner was sitting. The force used to propel it toward the table would have crushed the young man’s fingers if he’d rested them on the arms when he sat. Fortunately, his hands were in his lap. The young man’s head remained down as he was in effect caged by the chair and table.
He raised his head, looking straight ahead, but Hiram and his advisors could see he wasn’t seeing anything then present in the room.
Beneath the dirt, bruises, scrapes and crusted blood he was handsome. Sharp cheekbones, aquiline nose, thin lips, a faint cleft in his chin. Brilliant green eyes, flecked with gold. Unusual long hair tumbling near his shoulders, red-brown strands mixed with varying shades of gold. There was something almost familiar… The king chased a wisp of memory, but lost it.
The young man tilted his chin up enough to look at the king, apparently believing if cats could, so could he. There was no cringing in those eyes, no shame, no embarrassment. No anger or resentment. Perhaps, though, a tiny glimmer of…interest. As if this was some grand adventure and he needed to absorb everything happening to and around him for later remembrances.
Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be remembering anything again, in the not too distant future. A man doesn’t when his head has been severed from his neck, or he’s been hanged until a neck-snap or slow strangulation ends him. Hiram realized he didn’t remember what death the law required. He would, he knew, have to check.
In silence, the young man lifted his hands, and pushed the long, thick hair behind his ears, each movement telling a story of strain and pain. As did his face. One eye was swollen almost shut; a cut on his forehead still oozed blood; there was dirt on the bruising on cheeks and jaw; one lip was split.
“Captain Nichols!”
“Sire.”
“Did he resist arrest?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Did the prince do this?” The king refused to let himself display the tiniest glimmer of hope the answer was “yes.” The hope Henry fought back.
“Ah…no, Sire.”
“Did he attempt to flee and have to be captured?”
“He is as the Guards found him on their arrival. I am—”
The young man interrupted with a laugh—a bright, beautiful baritone, filling the room with a joy entirely out of place in the circumstances.
The king’s low and angry voice in turn smashed the laughter. “You think all this is a joke?”
The young man blinked. “No, Your Majesty. I just thought it was funny someone thought I might run away. Only a coward runs, when he knows he’s done no wrong. I did what was right.”
“You struck my son.”
The young man shrugged. “I’ll strike any bully beating a child.”
Someone in the room gasped. The king merely thanked the Thirty-Nine it wasn’t him and pretended he hadn’t heard.
But as Hiram spoke he realized he was defending his son because of a father’s obligation, not from a belief in his innocence. “Prince Henry is my heir. He would never—”
“He did.” Kings do not flabbergast easily. Hiram was rendered so. Roger might interrupt him in the privacy of the royal chambers, but elsewhere? No one dared. Until the young man.
Who had no idea what he was facing; had no idea of the inevitable outcome of his admission of guilt. Hiram did not need to hear more. The law was clear. The punishment was clear.
Yet if he was compelled to do as the law demanded, he would at least learn the truth first.
“Do you have any witnesses?”
The young man’s response was a scoffing, “Of course. Anyone there will tell you…” His voice faded away. “But they won’t, will they? He’s a prince, I’m a foreigner, and they’ll only tell you what a kingly father wants to hear: his son is as pure and innocent as the drifting…slush would be, in a kingdom where snow is possible.”
The chin-tilt this time was defiant. “So. What’s the penalty in this kingdom for saving a child from a beating which might have left him crippled?”
“Death.”
The young man paled, but didn’t flinch, and when he moved his hands to the table, there was no trembling.
Nor was there any in his voice. It was calm, almost matter-of-fact, and he didn’t avert his eyes from the king’s. “Interesting. I thought to rescue a child and instead I start a war.”
Old Moldy heard a threat and started to bluster. Hiram heard a statement of fact, or what the young man believed was truth. He told Old Moldy “No!” and the Chancellor slumped back in his chair.
“A man admits to a crime in my kingdom, for which the law demands the severest penalty. Why should anyone go to war over just punishment?” Everyone heard the silent question, “Who are you your death would cause a war?”
The young man’s bow—so far as he could in his seating situation—was formal. An objective observer might have called it regal.
“Your Majesty, permit me to introduce myself. I am Danilo ys Daeaen ys Cirill. I am the only grandson of the Duke of Avann.” The young man shrugged. “They call me the Heir of Avann.”
About the Author
Eric is a Midwesterner, and as Lady Glenhaven might say, “His first sea voyage was with Noah.” He started reading at five with one of the Andrew Lang books (he thinks it was The Blue Fairy Book) and has been a science fiction/fantasy addict ever since. Most of his writing is in those (MM) genres.
The exceptions are his Another England (alternate history) series: The Rake, The Rogue and the Roué (Regency novel), Mr. Felcher’s Grand Emporium, or, The Adventures of a Pair of Spares in the Fine Art of Gentlemanly Portraiture (Victorian), with no way out (Regency) coming out a month after Of Princes.
Two more fairy tales are in progress: 3 Boars & A Wolf Walk Into A Bar (Eric is sure you can figure this one out), and The Truth About Them Damn Goats (of the gruff variety).
Now all he has to do is find the time to write the incomplete stuff! (The real world can be a real pain!)
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The Giveaway
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