Today we are welcoming H.R. Sinclair to the page, and asking our three fave questions:
1. Tell me a little bit about your main character of this book.
Katie is a professional gardener in the San Fernando Valley, California. She’s experimenting in her backyard greenhouse, trying to make a tasty purple tomato by cross-pollinating tomato plants.
She’s reserved, more of a homebody — that’s probably due to her father’s overprotectiveness. Just before he died, he made her promise to look after her step-mother. As a result, she still lives at home and, ever since her father died, she’s had anxiety attacks.
Her aunt’s death forces her to travel across the country, and she’s not happy.
2. Do you believe in the paranormal and, if so, do you have an experience you can share?
I don’t believe in the paranormal, but I have had freaky experiences that sometimes make me question that thought. One time when I was a teenager, my best friend and I were camping with a group on a beach. We went for an evening walk around the coves. We stopped to sit in the sand and chatted away.
A super creepy feeling came over me. Goosebumps sprouted and a chill went down my back. I was positive something was staring at us from a crevice in the cliff. When I couldn’t take anymore, I calmly suggested we leave. When we got to the top of the stairs, I off-handedly mentioned how creeped out I felt. She whispered, “Me too.”
We took off running.
We ran until we were among others. It turned out not only did she have the same feeling; it emanated from the same spot. We both said it felt like pure evil. It still creeps us both out.
3. What titles are you working on now that you can tell us about?
I’m working on the sequel to Bloodstone. I’m also writing a book about zombies in 1917 in Boston, and another book about reformed monsters in Burbank, California in the 80s.
Excerpt:
Small colored flecks danced in the sunlight. They darted back and forth. They rushed me, encircling me, round and round, faster and faster, creating a whirlwind of color that made me woozy. I began swaying before the flecks scattered. They swooped and gathered in front of me, coalescing into the shape of a small, translucent woman. She hovered several feet off the ground, sparkling like multicolored glitter and moving like an ethereal ballerina.
When she spoke, it echoed a thousand voices speaking in harmony. “Fáilte. Welcome. We are the Breena. You are of Andraste.”
“I’m Katie.” Wariness crept into my voice. The family books read Andraste. “Yeah, I think I’m Andraste.”
“Yes. You wear the Taith, a gift of the Breena.” She gestured to the traveling boots. “We are pleased to see them in this form. It has been long since the clan Andraste has visited. Tell us, what has become of sweet Clara and her quest?”
She—they—knew Clara? “I’m sorry, she died.”
“That is unfortunate. We liked Clara. You are taking up the quest?”
My stomach dropped. They may have said it as a question, but it sounded like a statement. “I ... I didn’t know my Aunt Clara, and I don’t know anything about a quest. I’m not the right person to talk to.”
“Yes, she was given the quest. As she is no longer, the task falls to the next in line.”
“Is this an optional type of quest?”
“It is your charge.”
“Well, I’m not the next in line. That’s probably my uncle. I’ll put him in touch with you.”
The Breena moved closer to me. One of the little flecks zipped from one side of her face to the other. “You are next in line. You wear the blessing. You are of Andraste, Keepers of Secrets, Guardians of Mamwlada. You are the Legacy. Protector of the Light. You will take up the quest. Find the Oubusch. Find the Others before the gates open. Stop the disciples of Morus.”
“Find what now?”
“Find the Oubusch. Find the Others before the gates open. Stop the disciples of Morus before they break the lock.” The Breena’s voice reverberated off my skin.
I swallowed. “Who’s Morus? What gate? What others? What’s an Oubusch, and how do I find it?”
“The Oubusch will lead you to the Others. Find the Stone, find the Others.”
“But how?”
“Open the box. Use the sundial.” The words rhythmic like a song. Her essence oscillated, and her form began to melt away.
“Wait, what box?”
“What is there is here, what is here is not there. You must hurry, time is ending.” With that, the flecks disbursed, and she was gone.
“Wait, please, I don’t understand.” No one answered
Thank you so much for hosting me today.
ReplyDelete