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Enter the giveaway to WIN a copy of A Forgotten Past!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

It’s already October! I do love this spooky month, for all sorts of reasons. The decorations, the costumes, the warm drinks…and the spooky movie marathons!

Except that I’m a total wuss. I usually spend most of the time watching said horror movies hidden behind a pillow. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.

But here’s some news to make your October even better: I’m currently hosting a giveaway on my Instagram page. You and a book buddy could each win a free ebook copy of The Sapeiro Chronicles: A Forgotten Past!

Entering is ridiculously easy. Just head on over to the giveaway post and read the instructions. You can tag as many people as you want, and each counts as an entry to win. Better hurry though, the giveaway ends Monday!

PS – if you don’t want to leave it to chance, you can get your very own copy here.

Best of luck to everyone, and happy reading!

Talk soon,

Tiffany

Read the first few chapters of The Sapeiro Chronicles!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

Hi everyone,

The weekend is almost here! Maybe you’re looking for your next read, or maybe just keeping an eye out for an excuse to procrastinate on that thing you’re supposed to be doing.

Either way, here’s a solution for you: you can now read the first three chapters of The Sapeiro Chronicles: A Forgotten Past here!

The best part: it’s absolutely free!

I hope you enjoy those first few chapters. Full disclosure: the action gets really good soon after, and the plot thickens as of chapter 4, which introduces one of my favorite characters, Saki Stanimir.

Sakti is clever, strategic, and a total bad ass. She will absolutely beat you to a bloody pulp if she feels like it, and she’s on the verge of making a really big discovery that sets her off on a personal mission.

Here’s a quick synopsis of the story, so you know what you’re getting into:

Beast Whisperer – that was Lily’s special talent. Useful, but not as flashy as some. Or so she thought. When she was a child, Lily had washed up on the riverbank near Basolt, with no memory of who she was. Taken in by the couple who found her, she was raised as their own, alongside their new baby. Years later she does something extraordinary. And word spreads of a new Spirit Hopper, someone who can enter into and control not only beasts, but people. Someone who can change the land of Sapeiro. Someone who supposedly died years before. The rumors catch the attention of those who would control her power. Those who would use Lily for their own purposes, no matter how many lives it costs. They set their plots to capture her in motion. But Lily discovers there is at least one group who might hold the key to her real identity. One group who would protect her. But trust does not come easily for Lily. And her would-be saviors have secrets of their own.

Interested in the story? Check it out on Amazon!

THE IMPORTANCE OF A BAD FIRST DRAFT

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

Writing is stressful. It isn’t this blissfully serene activity, where writers spend their days on high-backed chairs sipping a perfectly roasted cup of coffee while story arcs magically plot and write themselves.

No. every word choice is agonizing. Every plot twist takes time and preparation to, well, plot.

From the second draft to the fourth (or fifth, tenth, or how ever many it may take to get to a final), stress levels are high as you boil down the words to their most perfect form, and strip away any imperfections within the narrative arc.

But here’s the thing: a lot of writers stress about this in their first draft. And that’s a bad thing. You may be asking yourself: “but shouldn’t my first draft be the best it can be so I can build from there?”

Here’s the short answer: no, it doesn’t.

The longer, more elaborate answer is that your first draft doesn’t need to be perfect, because perfection isn’t the goal.

No story is perfect, ever, but especially in the first few drafts. The story is still figuring out what it is trying to be. Even if you, the writer, may think you have everything perfectly plotted out and ready to go. The story needs room to breathe and expand.

The only expectation you should ever have of a first draft is to have it written. It doesn’t need to be good. Doesn’t even need to have all the pieces. It just needs to be on paper, and it needs to be finished in the sense that it has a beginning, a middle, and an end. In the first draft, the focus should be on story and making sure the main plot points are all in the right-ish order.  

You can always go back and tinker with the writing to your heart’s content. But focusing on the writing is kind of like choosing an outfit without looking at the forecast: might work out, but you might need to get changed. When you focus on the story, then you can make sure the pacing is good, the characters are where they need to be at the right time, and all the steps are in place.

The first draft is as bad as your story will ever get. It’s all improvement from this point on.

I’m a huge advocate of a bad first draft. My first draft for A Forgotten Past was just under 50,000 words. A few dozen drafts later, and the final was just over 100,000. The first draft was not publishable. Neither was the second or third. I would never have dreamed of sending it to an agent.

And that alleviated a lot of pressure. The stakes were lower. This draft just needed to be done, typos, mistakes, and run-on sentences galore. I didn’t care, because it didn’t matter. No one, short of a few trusted friends, would ever read that monstrosity.

But because I didn’t sweat the small stuff, I was able to get a first draft out in a few short months. And from there, I refined, re-plotted, re-wrote, and edited, edited, edited.

All the writers I know all agree on one thing: it’s a lot easier to edit than to write. Staring at a blank page is awful. The stakes are so high, needlessly so.

But editing is a thing of beauty. You have an outline, maybe not a clear one, but an idea is beginning to form, and it just needs some polishing. Your first draft is the putty that you need to sculpt your masterpiece. It needs to be sculpted and mashed and cut and worried for it to resemble something worth displaying.

Without that first bad draft of A Forgotten Past, I might never have finished the whole book. Or maybe I’d still be writing it. But by hanging up my pride as a writer and embracing a get-‘er done attitude, I was able to have fun just writing and throwing ideas onto a page for an older and wiser version of myself to edit at a later time.

The more time you waste on trying to find the exact, perfect word to describe something, the less time and energy you have on building your story.

And remember: story is everything. Readers will forgive a good book that is written okay. But good writing cannot cover for a bad story.

It’s Giveaway time! Enter now for a chance to WIN!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

It’s National Book Lovers Day today! And do you know what that means?

IT’S GIVEAWAY TIME!

Now’s your chance to own a signed copy of A Forgotten Past! I’ve got two signed copies to give away to two lucky readers! Enter the giveaway today on my Facebook page for your chance to win!

Here’s how to enter:

  • Tag your best ‘book buddy’ in a comment on the pinned post
  • You and your friend must both be following my author page
  • Comment as any times as you want with different buddies! Each one counts as an entry!
  • Bonus points for sharing the giveaway post!

Winners will be announced on Sunday August 23rd!

GOOD LUCK!

Reader Appreciation Post: Read Chapter One of A Forgotten Past!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

It’s my birthday today! And to celebrate, I want to give a gift to YOU, the Reader! So here’s the entire first chapter of A Forgotten Past.

I hope you like it! And if you really like it, then feel free to get your copy on Amazon so you can continue reading through the story.

Enjoy 🙂

*****

CHAPTER ONE – MENIDI FIELDS

Though the sun had not yet touched the horizon, the moon was bright in the sky, casting a silvery sheen over the world below.  Spring was in the air, ripe with moisture which settled on Lily’s arms. She shivered and drew her fur-lined coat tighter around her shoulders. Summer was still a thought, but it would bring the warm nights she so looked forward to. Until then, her patrols would be cold and wearisome. 

She tucked the stray strands of her dark-brown hair behind her ear and stifled a yawn, shutting her green eyes tight. She and her patrol members were finally, mercifully on their way back home from their mission: accompanying a delivery of raw metals and building materials from Stonemire, their capital city, back to Basolt, their home.

Lily glanced at the cart to her left. The heavy wooden structure was laden with crates and boxes piled high upon one another, secured to the frame with coarse rope. At the front of the cart, six gray, draft horses snorted and neighed as they dug their hooves into the soft earth, muscles straining as they pulled the cart forward one step at a time. The cart driver, a squat old man with a bushy salt and pepper mustache, glanced warily from one side to another, as if expecting a threat to jump out from every shadow. 

He isn’t wrong,Lily thought, bracing herself against another cold gust of wind.

Treasure like this would be a fine acquisition for any thieves who happened to pass by. Hence, a ten-person patrol had been requisitioned. Lily glanced at her fellow guards. Swords were sheathed at their hips, and the backs of their dark cloaks had been embroidered with the Craig family crest: a purple mountain over a valley. Though the guards looked menacing, Lily knew that their patrol was more symbolic than practical. Their biggest threat was curious wildlife from the nearby Ashenson Wilds, the thick forest that spread across the western edge of the continent. And even that was a stretch.

Turning in her saddle, Lily could still make out the misty peaks of the Teraberg Mountains, their summits grazing the darkening sky like serrated teeth. Stonemire was a city fleshed out from within, buried deep in the heart of the largest mountain. Founded by the Craig family, it had taken eons to carve out the tunnels that connected the different parts of the capital, which eventually led to the other Craig settlements, further along the mountain range. 

As her patrol had put more distance between themselves and the capital, the rocky terrain had gradually given way to fields of grass, which made the journey home easier. It had taken them a full day of cantering across the Menidi Fields to arrive at the meeting spot, where they took over from the Stonemire guards in assuring the safety of the cargo on the way home. Another full day had passed since then. If they kept a steady pace overnight, they would arrive in Basolt just after the break of dawn.

Lily drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying to bury herself in the warm fabric. The cold air had started to seep through her skin and would soon reach her bones. She sighed, hoping the rest of the journey wouldn’t be too miserable. She already looked forward to wrapping herself under her thick blanket while sipping on her mother’s famous vegetable soup.

 Another shiver passed through her body. Lily sighed. Maybe it wasn’t just the cold. The dream last night hadn’t helped. She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. She hated that dream: dark water closing in on her, pushing and pulling her through a cold current. Her lungs feeling as though they would explode from lack of oxygen. The intolerable pressure around her head, as if someone had tried to crush her skull. Every so often it returned to haunt her.

Maybe the shivering had nothing to do with the temperature, after all.

The sound of hooves approaching snapped her out of her distracting thoughts. She glanced up as a man advanced toward her on a roan horse. His brown hair was pulled away from his face, and a scraggly beard covered his mouth. Though he looked like a menacing warrior, with a square jaw and thick cords of muscle wrapped around his arms, his eyes were kind, crinkling at the corners.

 Lily smiled at him as he drew closer. “Brandon. Did you get bored at the front of the patrol, all by yourself?” 

 Brandon grinned. Though the leader of their patrol – and Captain of Basolt – was well into his fifties, he led his people with the kindness and energy of a much younger man. “It’s dull, always being at the front. No one to talk to. Besides, I wanted to check on the status of the wolf pack.”

 Lily was readying an answer when a smug voice cut her off.

 “They’ve fallen behind, Captain. I don’t expect they will be causing us any more trouble.”

 Lily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had promised her parents she wouldn’t harm Cormick, no matter how much he tested her patience. In retrospect, she realized she shouldn’t have made a promise she knew she’d have a hard time keeping.

Cormick drew up on Brandon’s other side, matching his and Lily’s speed. His black hair was slicked away from his face, and he straightened his back as he rode alongside his leader. His high cheekbones made his face look sallow in the waning light. 

 “I haven’t let myself be bothered by the arduous nature of the trip, Captain, and have made sure to stay locked on to the wolves’ location.” He glanced pointedly at Lily as he said it, a small smirk barely tugging at the corner of his lips.

 Lily nonchalantly looked ahead.

 “The main core of the pack has fallen behind, yes. But the scouts are ahead, hoping to cut us off at the ridge,” she said, pointing ahead where the road dipped between two small hills. 

Cormick snorted. “I would have sensed them if they had tried to pass us,” he retorted contemptuously.

Lily reached for the bow slung across her back and notched an arrow. She held the tip out towards Brandon. 

 “Would you do the honour?” she asked. 

 Leaning over from his horse, Brandon blew softly on the tip of the arrow, which instantly ignited. Pointing the flaming projectile upward, Lily pulled the string taut and let the arrow fly with a hollow twang.

They watched as the arrow soared through the air in a graceful arc, a line of orange flames trailing behind it. It disappeared from view as it descended over the ridge – and was met with a surprised yowl. A gray wolf scuttled away; its tail tucked between its legs. A fellow scout followed suit, fearful of more fiery projectiles. They yipped pitifully as they ran into the surrounding fields.

Lily was barely able to conceal the grin that threatened to split her face. This was made even harder when she spotted Cormick’s confused yet enraged expression. 

Cormick was a gifted Beast Whisperer, but she was better.

 “How did you . . . They were all the way over there, how in the world could you sense that?” He asked, his voice a few pitches higher than usual. 

 Laughing heartily, Brandon slapped Lily on the back, winding her for a moment. 

 “Good thing we’ve got you with us, Lily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Beast Whisperer with your range. It really is a gift you have.” 

 Cormick shot her a dark glare, his mouth a hard line. “I guess the orphan does have her talents,” he said, staring her straight in the eyes. “It’s too bad she can’t use it to remember who she is.” Digging his heels into his steed, he cantered forward and settled near the front of the patrol, nose in the air and shoulders squared. 

Brandon glared at Cormick’s back a few moments before turning his attention to Lily. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s just jealous. After all, he was considered the prodigy before you came along.” 

Lily shrugged. “I don’t let it get to me. And besides, he’s telling the truth. Why would I get mad at him for that?” 

Brandon smiled softly and looked up at the sky, lit by the shimmering light of the stars.

“One day I would like to see you lead your own patrol, Lily. I know that’s what Cormick wants, but he’s too self-centered. Good leaders aren’t those who lead for themselves. They lead for others.”

Lily smiled softly as she gazed up at the stars. Leader of her own patrol . . . she liked the sound of that. They trotted along in silence, broken only by the soft footfalls of the horses in the patrol and the creaking of the cart.

The quiet was soon broken by the sound of something splintering, followed by a loud groan and a crash. Startled, Lily glanced back at the cart, which had come to an abrupt halt. A wheel of the merchant’s cart had broken under the weight of the metals it carried and was now listing precariously to one side.

Brandon swore under his breath. Jumping off his horse, he approached the cart to examine the damage. It wasn’t hard to see that the wheel was completely unsalvageable, the reinforced wooden spokes having fractured under the stress. Brandon sighed, turned, and addressed his patrol. 

“Looks like we’ll be stranded here until we can get this fixed. Luckily, we have a spare wheel, but it will take some time to re-attach the new one,” Brandon said, resting his hands on his hips.

“Cormick, Lily. Keep your senses sharp. I wouldn’t want those wolves to think we’re easy prey.” 

“Yes, Captain,” they replied in unison. Cormick darted off right away, shooting her another smug expression as he trotted over to the other side of the cart. Lily sighed. Why couldn’t he understand that she didn’t care what he thought about her? 

Lily dug her heels into her mare’s side, guiding her to a small rocky outcrop. There she had a sweeping view of the landscape – green rolling hills as far as the eyes could see, with an occasional pocket of bushes or trees. The sparse trees danced in the gentle wind. Everything was quiet, peaceful.

Closing her eyes, Lily opened her mind, reaching out with her consciousness to sense the beings around her. Though she remained firmly planted in her saddle, she was reaching out, sensing the warm glow of other beings surrounding her, appearing like patches of light in her mind.

She could sense the draft horses, glad for the rest the broken wheel provided them, as well as the mice scuttling in the grass. A hawk flew above, gazing on, uninterested in the scene below. The world was lit with the consciousnesses of the beings that surrounded her. She could sense them and feel their joy, fear, and determination to survive. Their emotions were her emotions.

Extending her reach further, Lily sought out the wolf pack. They were not difficult to find: seven large spirits clustered together, a few hundred meters behind the patrol. Their sharp, predatory minds were bright. They were forming a plan, intent on taking advantage of the broken wheel, which left her patrol stranded and weak. But their intentions changed suddenly, from focused planning to aggression – and finally fear.

Lily opened her eyes, suddenly on high alert. What could make the biggest predators in the fields feel such unrestrained fear? Closing her eyes again, she extended her consciousness, probing, searching for the cause of the fear that had overtaken the wolves so quickly. There didn’t seem to be anything that could— 

Lily frowned and concentrated harder. Another consciousness had appeared. It was far away but approaching fast. It was too fast for a forest bear but too slow for a horse. Its mind was intelligent, smarter than the wolves, but she was still not able to identify whether or not it was a threat. 

 Pulling on her mare’s reins, she dashed over to where Cormick stood, on the other side of the cart. The spare wheel had been brought out, waiting for the rest of the patrol to pry the shattered wheel from its spoke. Brandon looked at her quizzically as she sprinted along, though Lily ignored him. 

“Cormick,” she called as she approached him. He glared at her through hooded eyes.

“What, come to gloat about how powerful you are, orphan?” he spat. 

“No, you twit,” she snapped, patience running thin. “Something’s coming our way. Can you sense it?” 

Cormick was about to retort when his expression froze. He snapped his head eastward, towards where Lily had sensed the bright consciousness. 

“What is that?” he asked incredulously, all animosity gone.

Lily had a feeling she knew. Though it shouldn’t be possible, she knew what was lurching their way. There was only one thing on this side of the continent that could be that big, that powerful, and that intelligent.

A berserker. 

She quickly guided her horse over to the rest of her patrol, where Brandon had finally succeeded in taking off the broken wheel. Another two men were crouched near the spoke, trying to ease the new wheel on, while the others were straining at the frame, attempting to lift it high enough to latch on the new wheel.

“Something’s coming,” she blurted out, heart fluttering in her chest. 

Brandon’s expression instantly darkened. 

“What is it, thieves? The wolves? Rasara?” he asked, placing his hand instinctively on the pommel of his sword. 

“No,” she replied. “It’s a berserker.” 

 Brandon’s jaw dropped. “A berserker? How is that even possible? Are you sure?” 

Lily nodded vigorously. “No doubt about it. But hurry, it’s moving fast! We have to leave the cart behind and go!” 

Brandon’s reaction was swift. Immediately, he launched himself on his horse and addressed his patrol. 

 “Everyone back on their horses now, we’re leaving! Smash the wheels, we’ll go back for the stores tomorrow. No one is risking their lives for—” 

“It’s here!” Cormick yelled. His voice wavered as he pointed eastward, towards the hills. 

 Lily’s heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t need Cormick to tell her the berserker was upon them – she’d sensed its approach. Its incoming presence washed over her: powerful, near-paralyzing.

The creature was not yet in view, but the ground was shaking. Waves of fear and confusion came off the beast. Something had happened to it, something disorienting. It meant them no harm, but unfortunately it was not aware they were in its path. 

Before anyone could stop her, she jumped off her horse, and sprinted forward. The ground now rumbled with each of the beast’s steps, though it had not yet appeared at the top of the opposite hill. 

“Lily, come back!” Brandon yelled, trying in vain to catch her arm as she darted away. “What are you doing?” 

Ignoring her captain, Lily paused at the dip in the hill. She planted her feet firmly on the ground and steadied herself, taking in long, deep breaths, trying to slow her heartbeat and stop the trembling in her hands.

She hoped this would work.

The berserker came careening over the hill, emitting a guttural roar as it landed heavily on the ground. Its thick, gray skin glowed. It was at least twice Lily’s height and four times as long. Two long, white horns curled out from its brow, pointing forward, while another jutted out from its nose. Its milky-white eyes were set deep in its skull, rolling frantically. White froth foamed at its mouth, the spittle flying in all directions as it launched itself down the hill towards Lily. Its short, powerful legs, as thick as tree trunks, propelled it forward at an alarming speed.

It was a terrifying sight. Lily faintly heard her patrol yelling, but she couldn’t make out the words over the pounding of the berserker, its thin, stumpy tail whipping back and forth as it charged straight for her, head low to the ground, nostrils flared, and thin, disc-like ears pointing forward. 

 Steadying herself, Lily closed her eyes and opened her mind, concentrating on the beast in front of her. Its mind was clouded with fear, confusion, and pain. It formed a wall around its mind, blocking out all other thoughts. 

Gritting her teeth, Lily pushed harder, managing to slip tendrils of her own consciousness into the berserker’s mind. Focusing intently, she tried to inject thoughts of peace and calm. Noticing the alien presence, the massive animal recoiled, anger flaring as it fought back, trying to push the foreign consciousness out. Lily wormed her way back in, snuffing out the fear by enveloping it in tranquility. 

The effort seemed to have little effect, and the distance kept closing. Eventually, the terror tapered to acute anxiety, and to a slight unease. As the strength of the beast’s emotions diminished, so did its speed, until its breakneck sprint had devolved into a slow, ambling walk.

Lily opened her eyes. The berserker was a mere twenty meters from her. The ground no longer trembled with its steps, and its eyes had regained their focus; they were looking straight at her. It gave out a low moan, tossing its horned head around and came to a complete stop. It gave another low grumble and lay down on the grass, breathing heavily. Resting its head on the ground, it moaned pitifully. 

Lily noticed the cause of the beast’s suffering: a metal pole stuck in its flank. Thick blood ran down the length of its body. The berserker looked to Lily again, and she felt the despair in its mind. It needed her help. 

Cautiously, she approached, wary of the sharp horns that could so easily impale her. One sweep of its head and she would be mortally wounded. Keeping a wide berth between her and the horns, she approached the beast’s side, slowly making her way to the animal’s wound.

Even lying down, the berserker towered over her. Its chest rose and fell as it took quick, shallow breaths. Lily cautiously climbed onto its back leg, trying to reach the pole embedded in its hide. She climbed fully on top of the beast and crouched near the wound. The pole was made of thick iron, maybe four inches in diameter. Gingerly, she touched it. The berserker immediately recoiled and let out a low growl. She kept her balance as the beast beneath her shifted. 

She held her hand to the creature’s warm skin and reached out with her mind. 

 Let me help you, she repeated over and over, until her message was a song filling its head.

Slowly, she felt the berserker’s tense muscles relax ever so slightly. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the pole with both hands, wrapping her fingers firmly around the rough metal.

Don’t move.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled. Beneath her, the beast whimpered but did not budge.

The pole didn’t move at first. Lily pulled harder, and it slowly began to give. She pulled the metal free. 

Nimbly, she jumped down from the berserker’s back, pole in hand. It was three feet long, the bottom foot drenched in blood. The point had been sharpened. If Lily didn’t know any better, she would have said it was a spear. 

But who would be reckless enough to attack a berserker? 

Free from the metal embedded in its flesh, the beast rocked back onto its feet and pushed itself up. The wound was already mending, the hole closing before Lily’s eyes.

She smiled. The creature’s magic was truly incredible. 

It looked at Lily once more and gratefully bowed its head. Lily bowed back in turn. 

Go home and be well.

With another growl, the berserker turned and began trotting away, back from the direction in which it had come. Lily watched it run, the trembling in the earth diminishing as it sped away. She vaguely realized that Brandon had joined her, and they watched the beast retreat.

“If I hadn’t seen that with my own eyes, I never would have believed it,” he said quietly, staring after the berserker as it disappeared from view. He turned to her. 

“Lily, that was incredibly dangerous. You could have gotten yourself killed!” He fell quiet. “I’m trying to be angry. I should be angry at you. But to be truthful, I’m still trying to understand how you managed to do that. It looked as if you were able to communicate with it.” 

Lily shrugged. “I just let it know that I wanted to help it.” She frowned. “Although I don’t know what it was doing here. It seemed as if something had attacked it.” 

Brandon shrugged. “It’s true that this is much further north than they typically roam. But down south, in the Wyck region, there are lots of abandoned castles and fortifications from the Great War. It could have impaled itself on an old piece of stray metal.” 

Brandon turned, beckoning Lily to follow him. “Let’s go home. The others are reattaching the wheel to the cart.” His eyes twinkled in the light of the stars. “I’ve never heard of a Beast Whisperer being able to influence animal behaviour before. If you’re not careful, you’ll go down in history as the strongest Beast Whisperer ever!”

Lily smiled demurely. Turning one last time, she stared at the spot where the berserker had disappeared. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t figure out what. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes. At least she would have an interesting story to tell when she got home.

****

Liked what you read? Continue reading by getting your copy on Amazon!

Fantasy Writer Spotlight

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

Since becoming more involved in the writing community online, I’ve had the absolute pleasure of meeting a ton of amazing writers with incredible stories.

One of those writers is Jonathan Chandler. I had the pleasure of reading his entire manuscript for Bright Claw, a fantasy story about a wolf who goes on a journey to discover who she really is, and how her relationship with her mother, the pack leader, has impacted her self-image. It’s an amazing story with a heartfelt cast of characters who each have their own struggles and conflicts to surmount.

Since our audiences and stories are similar, Jonathan and I decided to do a blog swap! You can read Jonathan’s blog here.

Here’s what Jonathan had to say about why he writes, and what his story is about.

What is your story about?

            Bright Claw follows a hunted wolf, fleeing the harsh and overbearing rule of her mother and the pack her mother commands. After refusing to give up the hiding place of a rival god filled being in the ancient and wintry forest her mother rules, the wolf eventually named Bright meets another outcast named Trickclaw, who shows her the merits of being willing to fight even one’s own blood for the right to live life one’s own way.

            It’s a story about coming to terms with the pains that have made your parents the way they are; about accepting the harshness of a world where power seems to be the only way to survive. It’s a story of the loneliness suffering creates in us and the will it takes to overcome that isolation.

            While gods and fate seem to clash with Bright’s pursuit of happiness, her adventure will call for her to accept those things and still, somehow, remain herself.

Why do you write?

            When I was younger, I used to fancy myself a debater. I loved playing devil’s advocate, but more, I loved when I could unpack the layered perceptions that led someone to believe what they did. And, in doing so, I loved when I could take part in creating an entirely new, often more nuanced perception—that even I hadn’t had before.

            As beings of flesh and bone and spirit—of thought—we are constantly living at odds with the world and each other. With our varied experiences and physical separation from one another, with our individual bodies and minds, we often feel we have no choice but to designate the differences in others as either wholly good or wholly bad. We have to make others either friends or foes, or risk being overrun by the problems of the world around us, and the basic physical needs we each have. Yet, in spite of that reality, we humans have managed to create societies, communities, and nations that have worked in concert to thrive in a harsh world and have even begun to manipulate those fundamental aspects of reality that only the gods had dominion over in the past.

            We have survived and evolved. And not just by chance. We didn’t simply always give in to our instinct to make lines of ‘us’ and ‘them’. We discovered a magic, I think, that does more than even a revelatory debate, because it acts as a neutral party to mitigate the effects of ego on the ensuing change of the involved parties’ spirits. That magic was storytelling.

            The act of creating a dialogical space where empathy could bridge the gap of our physical selves, helped us see other points of view and ways of experience. It helped us find common ground. It helped us continue to expand the once small tribes that our ancestors fought and bled for. Now, we sit on the edge of an interconnectivity that no one has experienced before, because of the momentum of that magic and the technology its seeded desires have given birth to, through us. I want to be a part of that.

            I no longer consider myself a debater—though I’m sure I argue as much as anyone else in these days. I don’t want to fight. I want to experience. I want to cry, live, love, and share in the magic of stories in whatever way I can. Because, I think, writing stories is the most human thing that can be done, and I can’t see myself doing anything else.

What’s your favorite part of the writing process?

            World building; initial plotting and character sketching, are all my favorite parts of creating a story. When you’re someone that, perhaps, spends too much time in your own head, it can be a surprising thing to discover that you don’t know everything that can be found there. I’m sure everyone has moments of introspection that coincidentally lead to recalling a vague memory, or person, or idea. But those small moments are often fleeting and rarely do more than bring up sparks of the emotion they had when they were first experienced. The nostalgia is short lived, however true it might feel for a little while.

            Unearthing a gem in the back of my mind and rotating it in the hands of my perception has always been a passed time, nonetheless. And I’ve found that writing enhances this act. It digs deeper and melds together half forgotten things of your past to produce something novel (to you and the world—oh, and no pun intended there, ha).

            The feeling of wonder that comes with the contradictory feeling of familiarity is the reason I love plotting and building worlds—particularly in fantasy, where archetypes let us graft our experiences intuitively. I think, just like how story allows people to connect with others outside of themselves by internalizing external experiences, I think story making allows a person to connect with the ‘other’ in themselves through the exercise of externalizing what has been left subconsciously internalized throughout their lifetime. Learning about the good and bad parts of myself, that I never knew before—or have never been able to articulate before—is the reason I keep staring at blank pages until my head hurts.

Here’s an exerpt from Jonathan’s incredible story:

She wasn’t alone. She only felt like it. There was a pressure, a pressing on the sides of her eyeballs that shadowed everything in a way that pulsed with the beat of the blood in her veins.

            The ravens’ magic? Bright wondered.

            There was another wolf with her, whining and growling plaintively for her not to press on. It was a familiar complaint, from a familiar source. She ignored it, in spite of her present self-howling for her to listen to the tag along her mother always sent with her. To watch her.

            To stop me from wandering too far….

            She was too far. The shadows broke along her memory self’s path, creating a tunneled vision toward the very place Bright of the present had run so far away from.

            There was a copse of ashen trees, clustered oddly together, so that they were like a great beaver’s damn emerging into Bright’s vision. She investigated them, sniffing up and down the wall’s length for an opening, a place where the scents beyond could become an inviting cloud.

            This place had been new to Bright. This was a place the pack hadn’t been. A place her mother hadn’t marked.

            It was a horizon. A place I could have made my own. It had been so important to do that, Bright of the present lamented. Then her past self found a way through the wall. There was a place where the lay of the trees was untethered with a dip in the ground. She had to dig to clear dirt, moss, and the ominous bones of some small beast, but the Bright of the past was undaunted.

            She was spurred on by a strange scent that grew and grew in her nostrils, until it was all she could think about. She smelled, beyond the dirt and roots and bark, animal flesh and smoke. Like the sky had sent down one of its blinding, jagged furies to start a fire in the Wood. But the smell didn’t have that warning itch, that dryness of the air that would have scared her off. There didn’t seem to be a storm brewing.

            Again, this had been something new; fire without the scent of a spark.

            When she broke through, she learned the terrifying why.

            There was the hollow skin from a bear, standing next to a fire, surrounded by small stones. Bright snarled immediately, even before she got her body free of the hole she’d dug beneath the clustered and stacked trees. The thought of how vulnerable she was rolled through her past self in a chill down her spine, making the Bright that had to watch bark in time with her vision.

            What kind of bear wasn’t afraid of a fire? What kind of fire wasn’t wild and ravenous, consuming all it could snare?

            This bear, placid and sunken in many places, was nearly hugging the flame; as if it had no fur to warm it. This fire was tame, beneath a conical roof of tinder, content to nibble at its own housing and blacken it to ember.

            The sunken bear moved at the barks past Bright threw at it. But it didn’t move like a bear. The head didn’t raise and the eyes, the wolf realized, were empty sockets— sightless.

            Bright of the present, who saw this as a ghost might, through eyes too far away to control what was seen— to demand her past self to turn away— watched the tunneling shadow of her vision condense around the figure that was not a beast of any kind. It stood tall, having been crouched in the guise of an animal. As it did, the fire it had been huddled over cast a dancing light on its skin.

            Skin. Not fur. The thing, the lanky, but muscled thing that stood on two legs, had almost no hair, save for its shoulders, face, and head. In its head were piercing eyes, darkened by the cowl of the bear pelt and strong brow.

            Bright had never seen anything like it. Her past self knew to fear it though. After all, what prey thing could wear a dead bear.

            It took a pack of wolves to kill a bear, normally. This creature had apparently done it alone, because Bright scented no others. The question of how crawled over Bright’s mind for a moment. Then the thing spoke. And, having now felt what god-speech is like from a more mortal creature, Bright of the present could not help but flinch at the force of a god’s thoughts given form.

            Through this vision, Bright experienced the sights this new god had cast into her and all around her, a second time.

            While the fear of this new thing speaking seized her chest, the Bright of the present had the mind to keep her eyes opened as the god spoke its words to spawn sights not just into her mind, but into the world itself.

            That was the power of true god magic. Bright’s mother could do the same, as host of Great Cold. It created more than visions. It created the real. But no god Bright had ever heard of had ever been able to produce so much. What was this god’s name that it had mastery over the trees, earth, and fire?

            Only the Bright of the present could now wonder if indeed the strange new creature was full of only one god at all.

            Trees sprouted with loud cracks of stone and earth, right in front of the wolf and made her jump from the hole that was her only apparent escape. She was nearly bowled over sideways when a fir erupted at an angle to her left and thundered toward the sky, headless of the wolf in its path. Then another sprouted and lanced through her now wounded ear. Bright of the present cried out from the doubly present pain.

            More words came, followed by trees and rocks and fire gouts that licked the pads of her feet. At one point, her breath a scratching coil in her chest, incomplete and panic inducing, she was seized. Great arms grabbed her by the scruff and tried to wrestle her from her feet. But she thought of the bear. She thought of the blackness of those empty eyes and the icy gaze of the figure wearing the bear’s sockets as its own. 

            She felt like prey. She felt like death was near.

            I had looked for a horizon— not an end!

            She twisted in the god’s grip. She lashed out with her teeth, biting some part of the figure blindly. The creature’s muscle moved oddly in her mouth, like a clutch of snakes. The taste of blood on her tongue was hot and filled her with a shock of strength. The thought of how her mother looked, hunting other god-hosts, occurred to her for the briefest instant. Then her mouth burned. It flashed with a bewildering light that made the creature holding her yell and set her free.

            Immediately, she ran in a widening circle, unsure what random creation would spear her or flay her, when her tag along resolved on a ridge above a low part in the ash tree wall.

            Bright followed his howl, as she remembered from the actual moment of her frenzied escape. All the while the god thing spoke and she couldn’t understand his words, or even really if it was more than one word it was speaking. An incredibly terrifying and, somehow, frustrating situation. As if she couldn’t understand why she was afraid, despite the danger of death on her heels.

            But I’m almost free….

            No.

            The path she took up the hill to leap over the ash wall vanished, then the other wolf she’d been with turned into shadow and shattered into a burst of cawing black birds.

            Suddenly Bright was in complete darkness, with the cloud of black birds becoming a veil that crowed and yelled to drown out the god she fled. At first, this was like a gift. Then there was snarling.

            She was still running. It was the only thing that made her heart’s pounding feel right in its cage. Ahead there was a dimly glowing light, growing its ambient sphere as if Bright were rapidly closing on it. Light in this emptiness was welcome, but a cold tingled her nose that soon sank beneath her fur. Her mother resolved in the light, snarling and barking loud enough to shake the invisible ground beneath Bright’s feet.

            The whole pack was behind her mother’s tall shadow and were resolute as a wall amidst the wisps of frost and snow her mother brought with her. All their hackles were raised and they magnified to the size of mountains as Bright’s legs rushed her toward them.

            With numbing anxiety, Bright thought she might pass between the giant wolves’ legs, since she could not change direction or slow down.

            She was afraid. And she was right to be.

            Her mother’s head lowered, nearly to the invisible ground, her massive eyes, the color of winter wind, peering into her soul to dispel all hope.

            “Tell me, daughter,” Bright’s mother said, with a voice like the hiss of a blizzard’s gusts. “Where is it?”

            Bright kept her jaws closed.

            “Where is the new god in my wood? Tell me, so I can avenge my daughter.”

            Bright shook her head with a whine as her mother’s oversized head let its mouth hang open on the path Bright took. She would be consumed!

            “Tell me or you will be eaten first, and the Great Cold will still have its way. Why protect what threatened you? Tell me and be the wolf you are. Tell me or be gone!”

            The fury of winter and the god within Bright’s mother cast spikes of ice on either side of Bright’s path. She would be eaten.

            And like the new god, she realized, she was alone and afraid.

            I will be no more than what my mother wished for me….

Indie Books You Might Want TO Grab!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

Check this out, The Sapeiro Chronicles made an Indie reading list!

Musing Of Souls

While the quarantine life has worked out well, I’ve come across a lot of Fantasy books, I’ve been leaning a bit towards fantasy and thus I have a mini list of some books you all might want to grab while searching for your next favorite read on the Amazon and Goodreads. While they come at a price everyone can afford, a few boxsets and pre-orders are at an incredibly cheap price that you just would not believe.

8. Lela Trilogy

Princess Cora is abandoned and left by herself and thus finds herself inducing in the world of magic. Prince Teryn has to marry to have another kingdom by their side for the heard invasion for which he has to kill the Unicorns who are being protected by a witch.

To save a unicorn, Cora must face her past. To save a kingdom, she must fight for her future.

The Lela…

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Sunday Musings: Tips on Creating Your Own Writing Process

Published on by Tiffany Lafleur1 Comment

So you have an idea, and you want to write a book. Congratulations! And my sincere condolences.

Maybe it started as a dream you had, or a conversation that took place solely in your head, but you feel good about your idea and you want to turn it into something bigger and, maybe even, have someone else read it (GASP!). But before you even sit down to write the first word, there are a few things you should consider. This is by no means intended to be an exhaustive list of everything that needs to be considered when working on your story – but it might help guide you as you prepare to embark on your long, perilous journey as a writer.

Work backwards

This may sound counterintuitive but bear with me. What’s your story about? Is it an epic fantasy that takes place in another dimension? Or a period romance set in the Victorian era?  

Now think about what you need to know in order to write. In my case (and the reason why I love the Fantasy genre so much), I needed to make up a lot of details. What did Sapeiro look like, smell like, feel like? What methods of transportation did they use, what is the logic of the world, where do they get their food?

You write well about what you know. So before sitting down and getting started, figure out those details that will make your story feel more real. You’ll be happy you did later on, when you’re knee deep in writing and realize you never gave any thought to something that has suddenly become important.  

Overthink your world

It’s helpful for you to immerse yourself in the world you are creating, be it from scratch or based on a real place and time. Now overthink it to hell. Consider every single detail that encompasses your world, things that you’ve never even stopped to consider in real life.

How many different cultures are there in your story, and how do they all interact? What’s the geography like and how does it affect the water supply? What’s the local flora and fauna like, and where are they in the food chain? What events or circumstances have shaped your character’s worldview?

These details may seem unimportant when compared to your actual story, but here’s the thing: the more you overthink your world, the more real it will feel to you and to your reader.

Make your characters come alive

Characters make or break a story. You can have the best story idea in the world, a real award

 winner. But if your characters are hollow, uninteresting, or don’t integrate well with the story you’ve built, you’ll lose the reader’s interest.

As I was researching how to write, and tips on writing, I came across a mind-boggling statement: work and develop your characters until they feel that they are their own people.

I scoffed at this at first. How could my characters, who were created in my own imagination, ever possibly feel as if they are their own individual people, with their own individual personalities, traits, and emotions?

But that’s exactly what happened.

Approach your characters as you approach your world: overthink them. Flesh them out until they feel like real people, with hopes and dreams, flaws and skills. Make them perfectly imperfect, with mannerisms and fears. Chart out their lives before the story begins: how are their parents, how were they raised, did anything majorly traumatic or splendid happen to them? How did this affect them as they grew and matured?

Just like with your world, a well-rounded character will feel more real to the reader and improve the story immensely. 

Make a schedule. Stick to it.

Life is chaotic, and busy, and volatile. Think of all the times you’ve told your friend you should get coffee. Now think of all the times you actually did.

If you don’t have a plan, that’s likely what’s going to happen to your book, too: it will remain a half-construed idea somewhere on your hard drive, just waiting to be turned into an actual story.

I wrote my first book, The Sapeiro Chronicles: A Forgotten Past: while I was still a student in my last year at Concordia University. Although I had a lot on my plate at the time, each Sunday, as I sat down to plan out the week ahead, I would carve out time to write, and I would assign a goal to how much I wanted to get done. It didn’t matter if I felt like it or not, but because I had written it in my agenda, I felt obligated to do it.

As a final thought, I feel it’s important to remind you that there is no one path to planning or executing your book. Find a strategy that works for you, and pair it with an idea that makes you feel motivated to write. But just remember, the only way to become a writer is to write, even if it’s just a little bit at a time!

The Sapeiro Chronicles, A Forgotten Past now released!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

The day has finally come! The Sapeiro Chronicles: A Forgotten Past is now available in print and eBook format!

It’s been a wild ride, but I am so very excited to show you the world of Sapeiro and the magic that exists in it. It’s an old land, with a rich culture and long, bloody history.

Beast Whisperer – that was Lily’s special talent. Useful, but not as flashy as some. Or so she thought. When she was a child, Lily was found washed up on the riverbank near Basolt, with no memory of who she was. Taken in by the couple who found her, she was raised as their own, alongside their new baby. Years later she does something extraordinary. And word spreads of a new Spirit Hopper, someone who can enter into and control not only beasts, but people. Someone who can change the land of Sapeiro. Someone who supposedly died years before.

You can order your print or eBook copy on Amazon or Indigo. And don’t forget to leave a review on Goodreads if you enjoyed the story!

And if you want to make sure that you are always in the know about news and announcements, make sure to join my newsletter! Just pop your email below!

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Pre-Sales now Open for A Forgotten Past!

Published on by Tiffany LafleurLeave a comment

It’s here, it’s finally here!

The Sapeiro Chronicles: A Forgotten Past is going to finally be published on June 30th! Pre-sales for the eBook version have now begun, and the print edition will be available as of the 30th.

You can pre-order the book here.

Seeing this project through has been such an interesting adventure, and I am so happy and thrilled to finally be able to share Lily’s story about her adventures in Sapeiro with you all.