Selkies' Skins

Selkies' Skins
Current book in series Temple and Skinquest. Enjoy Castle and Well from Amazon, B&N and Smashwords while waiting for that and the prequel's audiobook "Pearls of Sea and Stone: Book of Seals".

Monday, October 28, 2013

An article on proofreading

I found this wonderful post on proofreading and its place within the publishing system via one of my author groups. I would like to share this with our readers as the author included some of the history of this in addition to the current methods. Those people that handle typesetting, copyediting, and proofreading are some amazing people since they are all different jobs with different focuses.

Proofreading Explained
Robert Doran

Sunday, October 27, 2013

About Saturday's live poetry reading

 Yesterday was a live poetry reading via Second Life at the Makazi HQ for Nova Echelon. I had originally agreed to do it in honor of the 10th anniversary, but then the leader discovered that he had miscalculated the date (It will be the 9th in...February or January, I forget which right now). So instead the festivities went to celebrate the harvest season.

I am still incredibly shy. It is one thing to facilitate a religious ritual or meditation through there. I am used to those and the focus is not on me, even though I do still get nervous at the voice part until I fall into it. When the focus is on me though?


Even with my mild panic attack from speaking and being heard by so many while reading my work for the group, and the coughing fits from the cold I'm fighting (thankfully I HOPE I got the mic off for those), the reading went well. There was audience participation as some of those present volunteered to read individual poems. Dante, Methos, and John Krauss/Grease Coakes were the volunteers. It was really neat hearing how it sounded with others reading them! It was even better knowing that they were being enjoyed.

We even got to hear some of Methos' work after, which was also very cool.

It is a shame that there were people that missed the reading that had expressed interest in going. It was a good gathering just the same though. Something that I like about Second Life for function like this is that once a person has an account and knows the location, or a group to join to ask for the location, it is possible for new people to drop in or wander up. That makes it more open and inclusive, very much like going to a tavern or coffeehouse.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Teresa Garcia's Poetry Reading in SL

I will be reading some of my published and unpublished poetry and discussing/chatting with attendees. This event is one of several that is planned as part of Nova Echelon / Novaya Russia's 10 year celebration.

The culture and arts division of the group has been a big support for me lately, and I have made a lot of friends through them, so it is only fitting that I help and give back some. There are a lot of great creative minds in the group, in all divisions, so please feel free to log in and listen, and bring friends.

Day: Saturday, October 26, 2013
Time: 6 PM SLT/ PDT

All avatars are welcome, although I suggest not rezzing in as a giant dragon.

Also, don't forget about the release party for "The Dragons' Beads: A Treasury" at 6 PM November 2nd at The Rose-Club and Lounge.

Guest Post: Water by Dan O'Brien

Today we have a guest author and book.

I want to thank you for having me on your blog to promote the release of my latest publication. Water is a novella in the B-Sides universe, which follows people in a post-apocalyptic world. While each story is a standalone adverture, together they form a deeply intricate web of action, drama, and hope. Here is a brief summary of the novella:

The next installment in the B-Sides series follows a father and son living out a quiet life in northern Arizona. A strange occurrence at the border, and a series of events that turns the world upside down, plunges society into a spiral from which it might not be able to recover. Having to flee from their home with a band of unlikely friends in tow, the open road beckons. 

Can they survive? 

And here be an excerpt for your enjoyment:


His phone vibrated as it slowly ventured toward the edge of his nightstand. Shaking and spinning, it was a ballet of electronic futility. James had left it behind; it wasn’t even an afterthought as he neared the valley of sand and heat that he had passed through only the night before. There were two reasons to live in the desert: sunsets and sunrises. 

This particular morning was no exception. 

The valley was formed of a crimson pastel rock that from a distance looked like the mountains at the entrance to some unknown world. But in the morning and just before the wisps of night grab a hold and smother the day, there was an explosion of colors. It was a beautiful cornucopia of blistering and beautiful art. 

The sun crawled just above the sand dunes, flooding the valley in sunshine. The splashing light tumbled across the rock formations, and iridescent stones ignited the walls of the basin. 

This was the part of the day James loved the most. 

This was when his life felt less worthless. 

There was purpose here. 

The sun came into the valley each day to create this beautiful marvel, and each day he was here to witness it. The twisting serpent of the road wove in and out of the majesty of nature, until the paved parking lot of his daily grind came into view. 

A grotesque sign was perched just off the road. 

It read: Our Stuff. 

The door of the jeep creaked as James closed it. He pulled his red vest over his black t-shirt and ran a hand through his short hair. 

The parking lot was mostly empty. 

A beat-up Buick had been parked there since the late 90s and had never moved. By this time, it was a makeshift homeless shelter for local transients. It was an important component of his duties for the day, driving off the homeless when they panhandled in front of the store. 

Silence permeated the morning––a rare treat James relished in the early mornings. She walked in from the other side of the parking lot. A blue Honda with a dented door and missing hubcaps was parked some distance away. She was his dream girl, of a sort. She was married to––or had been, it was a strange situation to be sure––a local drunk and abuser. 

Light brown hair to her chin: It was often combed over one eye, mirroring a childhood memory. There was too much eye shadow to hide indiscretions, long shirts to hide bruises. 

She was a broken doll. 

“Hey Violet,” James mumbled as he got closer, chancing an awkward wave. 

She rarely looked up and when she did, all he was struck by was the wide eyes that looked at him in gratitude for recognizing her existence. This day, she smiled weakly. Dimples in her cheeks deepened as he got closer. 

“Hello, James,” she whispered back, her voice small. 

He felt protective of her.

As he neared, he smiled widely, invitingly. 

“Did you bring Julie with you today?” 

Julie was her eight-year old daughter who often frequented work with her mother when her father was away on a binge, or more violent than usual. James felt defensive of her as well, much to his detriment. 
She shook her head. Most of the time she wore an over-sized coat with a faux fur lining and hood that was often the barrier of her hidden face. 

“Her father took her today.”

James nodded absently, as he could not imagine what that man could do with a child. He could barely take care of himself. Too often, he would barrel into the store––half-drunk and yelling––and would have to be dragged out by the police. The automatic doors at the front of the store did not open as they approached. 
Reaching out, James pulled them open and gestured for Violet to go first. She bowed her head, making an already smaller person even more diminutive. The interior of the store was still dark. The echo of the speakers played elevator music, water-downed versions of songs no one wanted to hear. As Violet disappeared into the aisles of the store, James turned and shut the front doors and locked them. 
“See you later,” he spoke, trailing off at the end.


The morning passed as it often did. 

The sun rose. 

Heat sweltered in the desert and the fringe humanity of Miranda sought air-conditioned shelter. James was a walker, a transient employee who sauntered through the store. Seeking out customers who required help, he sometimes cleaned the bathrooms. Often, he attended to those duties that fell between the cracks of other employees. As the morning gave way to the afternoon, there was a palpable tension in the air.

Customers were more curt than usual. 

People left angry. 

It was not until James had the distinct pleasure of interacting with a deranged desert degenerate that he began to understand what it was about that day that was enraging people so. 


James did not register the cruel tone at first. 

“Nametag,” he repeated, this time drawing James’ attention. “Nametag, I’m talking to you. Turn around.”

James turned, his grimace dissipating into an even line. 

It was his best attempt at a smile. 

The man was a caricature of a person. His chin disappeared into his pocked neck and his bulging brown eyes seemed to be of two different sizes. Crooked teeth were revealed as he opened his mouth to speak once more. 

“Hey, what about customer service? C’mon, nametag.”

“What can I help you with, sir?” mustered James. 

The man’s face twisted into a sneer. 

He was wearing a shirt three sizes too small, his hairy belly exposed from just beneath the dirty white shirt. Putrid breath radiated from the man. It was an odor that could have risen from a trash heap in the Mojave Desert. “Attitude? You giving me attitude now, nametag? Time like this, in a crisis and what not.”

“I’m sorry that you feel I am being discourteous…”

The man sneered again. His voice, though masculine, broke as he spoke again. “Using big words on me now, college dropout. You think you’re hot shit, selling commodities to us lower folk.”

James looked at the man in disbelief, his behavior was deplorable. “Perhaps if you can just calm down, I can help you find whatever it is you are looking for.”

The man moved in closer, the scent of body odor was overpowering. “You some kind of wise guy? Why do you think I’m here? You retarded? Don’t you listen to the news? Don’t you know what’s going on?”

James looked at him, bewildered. 

“Sir, I…”

“Water,” the man spoke clearly. “Water, I need water.”

“Bottled water? Is this about the Hernandez thing? The border?” queried James, making a connection slowly, though uncertainly. “Are they peddling hysteria already?”

“Hysteria, boy, you must be living under a rock. It’s coming. That border thing’s old news. Poison is in Texas now, parts of New Mexico. They’re talking about rationing and sanctions on tap water. You believe that shit?”

James looked around the store. “I really don’t.”

It had evaded him previously. 

The scampering populace of Miranda bustled about the store, arms full of plastic water bottles and greater containers. One woman had another by the hair, dragging her away from the last water bottles on the shelf. People screamed at each other, pointing accusing fingers, claiming water as their own. 

“It would appear you aren’t the only one looking,” replied James, as he pointed to the pandemonium. “Best of luck to you.”

The man glowered at him as he passed by, but James could not believe his eyes. Lines were backed up, people nearly climbing over each other to get water and carry it away in the heat of the day, to survive. 

He stalked over to the throng of people who had begun to congregate around the empty shelves. As he approached, the masses turned as one. Their bleary eyes and angry words were upon him before he could even speak. 

“Where is the water?” one cried.

“Is there more?” queried an elderly woman shakily. 

“What do we do?” screamed another.

James held up his hands, trying to calm them. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, but they continued to bicker. Each voice rose above the others. Some shoved those smaller than themselves, like a rabid mob. He raised his voice. Some mumbles remained, but most had directed their attention at him. “Let’s all calm down for a moment. I will go in the back and see what we have.”

He moved away from them, not giving them time to object or grow ever angrier. The store was packed. Never in his eighteen months there had he seen such a rush on the store. He wondered what it was he had missed to which everyone else was reacting so intensely. Pushing open the double doors that led into the warehouse, James sighed. 

The madness was tangible. 

It permeated the air, made it thin. 

Other employees had congregated in the back, seeking shelter from the madness. Two of them talked loudly with each other. One he knew, the other was a new employee or perhaps someone with whom he had never crossed paths. The first was dressed in a style that could only be described as early fuckup. The other was the kind of person who you would not give another look, as average as they come. 

An unevenly mounted nose ring, jagged teeth, and a tone that was filled with ignorance: The younger man James did not know spoke in an overbearing tone.

“This is epic. All these fucking hillbillies running around like the skies are falling in. I’m surprised the fat ones aren’t screaming Chicken Little. Epic.” He held his hands up demonstratively. “Epic.”

Average Bob watched the less-than-eloquent fellow employee with a listless gaze. “The news said it was serious though…”

“The news? You can’t trust the news, man. They are trying to pull some bullshit over our eyes. Always, trying to force your hand,” he continued to rant. 

James moved past, making sure not to make eye contact, as he did not wish to engage them in some kind of rhetorical conversation. As he moved out of earshot, he could not help but shake his head at the redundant movie references that took the place of grammar and syntax. There was only the replacement of actual thought with recycled thought. It had become the repetition and regurgitation of the words of another. He was not necessarily bitter toward fan worship, but was simply irritated by the lack of thought most other people his age seemed to show. They were more content in the safety of what other people thought––more concerned with their small shell of a world and not the greater picture. 

His face twisted into a scowl as he moved past racks and racks of brown boxes marked in black permanent marker with various numbers designating position, quantity, and retail-related mediocrity. As he reached the back, where normally there were pallets upon pallets of shrink-wrapped water cases, he swore.

Reaching down, he picked up the wayward bunched band of plastic that had once held the pallet in place. There were seven empty pallets, the entire back stock of what the store carried. 

Where had he been? 

How had he not seen this?

The voice startled him. “Pretty intense, huh?”

James rose slowly, turning to face Violet. “Yeah, wild. How did I not notice all of this water going out?”

She moved next to him, folding her arms across her chest. “You’ve been in a daze lately, moving around as if you didn’t notice anything, anybody.”

They lingered like this for a moment. 

Neither spoke––nor breathed really––except in fractured, shallow breaths. Finally, letting out a burst of air and licking his lips, James shifted his feet and ran a hand through his hair. “I should check on those people out there. They were acting like fucking animals.”

Violet nodded, tucking her hands inside her sleeves. 

“Yeah, my break is almost over. I should be getting back.”

James nodded again, awkwardly. 

Turning away, he disappeared into the racks once more, leaving Violet to her thoughts. He shook his head and mumbled to himself in mock anger. Whenever there was a moment when he and Violet seemed to connect, they both froze, neither making a move. She was scared, but was looking for a way out. 

He knew that. 

He could be there for her. 

Smacking a hand against his forehead, he whispered to himself angrily. “Stupid.”

A psychologist, author, editor, philosopher, martial artist, and skeptic, he has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Path of the Fallen, The Portent, and Cerulean Dreams. Follow him on Twitter (@AuthorDanOBrien) or visit his blog He recently started a consultation business. You can find more information about it here:

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Our service for Marantha D. Jenelle AKA Jan Parupia

Arashiryuu Yashiro and StarDragon Spiritual Services will be holding THG StarDragon Publishing's memorial service for Jan Parupia AKA Marantha D. Jenelle AKA Amber Michelle (as we have no idea when her service in Texas will be and very unlikely to get across the country to go) via Second Life at the Arashiryu Yashiro. The public is welcome to attend, all you will need is a Second Life account.

Time: 4PM October 23, 2013
We will be in the shrine building beyond the torii. Please be certain to click on the temizuya (water basin) within the innermost gate before taking a seat. Arrive early to give time for the walk.

The Dragons' Beads Release Party

The release party for our dragon anthology "The Dragons' Beads: A Treasury" will be November 2 starting at 6PM Pacific/SL Time at The Rose in Second Life. A TP link will be provided once set as the owners of The Rose were talking about the use of a skybox for the event.

The party will be DJ'd by good friend and author John Krauss AKA as Grease Coakes within SL. Bring your mate, friends, and anyone else you know that might want to come. I don't think I will be able to stream the event unfortunately, even though I had considered it as an option for those that can't go into Second Life.

Those with Second Life accounts or an interest in making one are cordially invited to attend. There will be dancing, chatting, and conversation, and those that attend will be eligible to win a free copy of the ebook. I am still working out details on how to handle that...most likely a drawing.

The theme is of course dragons, so feel free to dress up inworld as a dragon (those that like to use non-human avatars) or in dragony clothing for those not wanting to change bodies or preferring to present as human. I just ask that you don't wear a really big dragon, so that we all fit into the room.

Also don't forget that there is a rafflecopter drawing for two free copies of the ebook version. Check our blog and/or Facebook pages for how to enter.

Monday, October 21, 2013

Further news on Marantha's books.

Amazon was not able to help. Impossible Love, Homeward Bound, and Irony will be incorporated into a memorial anthology instead along with two other anthologies she had been working on and rereleased.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Selkies' Skins Chapter 28 part one (Rock that Drowns)

The webnovel version of Selkies' Skins has updated. In the first part of chapter 28 we return to Etain, finally reach The Rock, and our selkies' close ties produce some problems...or perhaps it is this closeness that proves to prevent something worse...

Problems regarding Marantha's books already.

We are currently experiencing difficulties regarding Marantha's books. When writing to Amazon about how to transfer the books from her personal author account to the main publishing account to be with the others (I cannot access her author account, which was set up because she wanted to monitor her Amazon sales personally) this is the reply that I received.

Hello Teresa,

I'm glad to hear of your interest in updating information about Jan Parupia on her books.

We realize friends, relatives, and agents would like to act on an author's behalf, but currently only Author's or their publishers can update this information on the book pages.

If you'd like to add more data about an author on her books (including Author Pages), you can work with the StarDragon Publishing. Publishers and publishing service providers can update information for an Author Page through Vendor Central (

That did not help one bit. I have replied and will keep things updated. If they can't make it simple then I will have to have the pulled taken down and then re-issue them through the main account.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Musings on 3 series, audience, and driving force

I'm thinking tomorrow may be a good day to go over Dragon Shaman 3's chapter outline in between other projects (I often will go between several a day). I don't have writer's block, but there is some increased pressure from those interested in BlowingWind's adventures. If I have that set then when it is time to work on that manuscript it will go swifter.

I also very desperately need to sit down with the book projects that are accepted already, double check the prioritization, and adjust work schedules to take into account upcoming university classes. Selkies' Skins having to split the first book into two books changes the work order significantly.

It is a very good thing that BlowingWind, Kirsty, Ryu, and David get along in the shared mental space (and there have not been any disagreements that Amehana has had to intervene with). Maybe one of these days I'll take some fun time and do up a sketch of 'Wind and Kirsty's arm wrestling bouts. Listening to David and Ryu discuss things during this time [even though David is my mate's (my version of David is slightly different from his version due to the standpoints we think from, and for later stories he is more involved in the creation of he will be labeled co-author if he'll let me) it is entertaining how characters all take on lives of their own outside of their stories and/or RPs]. Although the story starts at a very young age (just entering mid middle school and will go through the end of high school) in some ways it will be more adult since Kirsty herself is an interesting mix of 'adult too early' and 'kid.'

Every author has a specific audience that they write for. I have heard it said that it works best to choose one specific person and write to that person to help keep focus. Selkies' Skins is for my mate (and he's the one that gave me the 'spark' in the first place by giving me a reason to use the selkie I'd had forming in my mind). The Dragon Shaman books started out as for myself. BlowingWind came of life experiences that I had in being a child trying to take back the various cultures that my heritage springs from physically and spiritually. But it also came because of a series I had started before that (as well as other factors). They spring from the end of high school to early college 'energy.'

The Shadow Chronicles still has the first book unfinished as follows BlowingWind's friend (Willow Sanchez/Angelina) from Big Valley. When returned to it will tell the story of awakening to the magical and spiritual world in a very different way than that taken by BlowingWind (born to it) and Kirsty (also born to it). Each of these characters can be said to be an aspect of myself in some ways–some which I'm not fully comfortable speaking of in public since all three lines stem from psychological processes I have gone through at points in my life–but also of you, the reader. The stories that will be in that series have their seeds in a time where my stories were meant for my childhood friends...and we were a very tight bunch. Those spring from my middle school and high school years from roughly 1991 to 1998.

If you are an author, who do you write for? What is your core narrative? Does it change, perhaps changing as you do? Do you feel your own personal psychology has any bearing on how you write?

Friday, October 18, 2013

The passing of Jan Parupia AKA Marantha D Jenelle

I have already made this announcement in other places, but it must be made here as well. My friend and one of my authors, Jan Parupia AKA Marantha Dreamweaver Jenelle is now gone. She passed October 8th of 2013, although I do not know what of. The last I had talked to her, she stated that the city water was poisoning her. If you live in Gladewater, TX it might behoove you to have water filters. She had numerous other health problems that I am aware of, so it is my thoughts that it was most likely a combination of all of them.

Marantha was a prolific author and artist, and loved to chat. She loved her service animals during the time that she had each of them and greatly loved her grandchild despite not being able to see her. This I know was her greatest regret. It is not the regrets that define a person though. It is their accomplishments. Despite being bi-polar she harnessed that and used it as fuel for her creativity. I will miss her long chats.

Among her works are "The Partner," "Homeward Bound," "Irony," and her in progress work "The Ihmayran Chronicles Trilogy." I do have the latest progress that she had uploaded to her file storage, so it is in the work lineup to give the final editing pass. She wanted it published even if it was after her death, and out there for her I plan to honor that.

None of this feels real to me. I expect the phone to ring and have Jan's voice come out asking how I am and eagerly launching into reading to me from the latest section she'd worked on, or asking how the kids are doing. She's not going to get to meet Faith face-to-face, or give me the "pixie hugs" (because I'm tiny and breakable) that we had looked forward to.

You will be missed Jan, but I'll make sure that your memory goes on.


Although the second one states that she was a member of the North Loop Church of Christ, she considered herself VEHEMENTLY anyone that talked to her for long often found out.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Confronting the Demon Book Blast

The gates to hell are thrown wide when Alloran is betrayed by his best friend, Ladanyon, and framed for forbidden magic. He is hunted by the guards and the wizards both, tormented by the gruesome murder of his friends and loved ones, and crippled by fear for the living.

Now Alloran must face his demons, or damn the woman he loves.

Also featuring bonus short story 'A Magical Melody'

Confronting the Demon

Genre – High Fantasy (17+)
Length – 110 pages
Published – September 24th

October 12th Indie-Vengeance Day Special! 

“Ballintyne gives wonderful descriptions and I found myself becoming lost in the magic of her words in a picturesque world with every turned page”  Bella Doerres
“The power-packed action will leave you breathless and the eerie suspense will make you chomp on your own nails, beware!” Satarupa
With imagination and detail that paints a full scene for the mind’s eye, Ciara takes us on a short but exciting journey into a world of magic, love and demons from hell.“ Miranda Wood of DustyKatt’s Stuff Reviews
“I actually enjoyed a good fantasy novel that didn’t take days and days to read, but still offered the opportunity to get caught up in its world and story.” - Tracy Riva Global eBook Awards Judge

~Amazon Kindle~ US $2.99 99¢ | UK £1.93 £0.77
~Trade Paperback~ Amazon US | Amazon UK

In honour of Indie-Vengeance Day Ciara Ballintyne is offering up “Confronting a Demon” for the sale price of 99¢
On October 12th after more than a year of planning, more than a dozen bestselling indie authors from around the globe (seriously!) will gather in Dallas, Texas for an once-in-a-lifetime signing and meet-the-author event; Indie-Vengeance Day.
Come join authors from the U.S, Canada and Australia and meet some of the most notable and recognized writers in the indie author movement.

Alloran huddled in the shadows of the alley mouth across from the west gate, watching the guards search every man and woman leaving the city of Ehsan. He sweltered within the confines of his light dust cloak. The hood concealed his face, and a few days worth of stubble blurred the shape of his jaw. Anything to make him that much harder to recognise. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hide his indigo wizard eyes from another wizard or a sorceress, though a spell concealed their colour from normal vision.

A queue of backed-up traffic wound out of sight along the Avenue of Falling Stars. Travelers, merchants, and farmers waited with resigned patience.

Seven hells, after three months, the delays were normal. Surely, they’d give up soon.

Will they? For such a heinous crime….

It was not a thought he liked to dwell on. He slouched to hide his unusual height, and squinted at the mailed guards. They represented a minor inconvenience. The quartet of three wizards and one sorceress, though, were entirely different. There’d be no escaping their notice, even though the soldiers might be fooled. Almost involuntarily, his gaze flicked to the castle–not the king’s castle in the central district but the wizards’. Perched atop the mountain overshadowing the city, its turrets clawed the sky. Home, once. Now he hid from it like a beetle scuttling away from the sun. Only enough luck to fill the seven celestial levels kept him safe.

The wizards stood as the guards inspected each traveler and allowed passage. One, in linen shirt and leather pants with a sword on his hip, spoke companionably to the guard nearest him. The silk-swathed sorceress gazed down the street towards Alloran, or perhaps past him, with eyes that were yellow or purple, the mark of a woman of power. Easing back into the shadows slowly enough to avoid attracting attention, he headed to the square where Dek and the unfinished statue would be waiting.

A peaceful lassitude crept over Alloran at the thought of the statue. Three months ago, the notion of hacking a statue out of a lump of rock would have been distasteful, to say the least. Now, the act of creation gave him a refuge that he couldn’t find anywhere else.

Stripping off the cloak, he tramped through the back alleys, his boots squelching through something he didn’t care to examine too closely. Summer heat left the narrow streets ripe with the stench of rotting garbage. The muck would take weeks to clean from his boots, assuming he wouldn't have to traipse through the same decomposing food tomorrow. But he knew better.

He heaved a sigh for the soft leather half-boots he’d favoured in another life. Of course, they’d be ruined even faster than the heavy work boots. Oh for a clean street.

In the past, he’d waded knee-deep through any kind of muck as long as an answer lay on the other side. Two lives ago, that had been. Now, he did it in the hope of prolonging his pathetic existence one more day.
A tangled pile of crates blocked most of the alley. When he squeezed between the stack and the alley wall, the splintered wood scratched the stiff canvas of his smock and snagged his stonemason’s mallet. It was impossible to avoid the rubbish piled between wall and crates, and he wrinkled his nose at the stench.

If only he could take the main streets, kept clean by an army of royal sweepers, but they’d be watching for him there and at the gates. No one at the citadel would expect to find him in this stinking back alley. No, not him. Not the man of silks and velvets.

As he slipped through the narrowest point, the crates shifted, allowing him a glimpse into the middle of the pile. An eye stared back at him. A fixed and glazed eye.


Ciara Ballintyne was born in 1981 in Sydney, Australia, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, one masochistic cat, and one cat with a god complex.

She holds degrees in law and accounting, and has been a practising financial services lawyer since 2004. She is both an idealist and a cynic.

She started reading epic fantasy at the age of nine, when she kidnapped Castle of Wizardry by David Eddings from her father. Another two years passed before she began her first attempts at the craft of writing. Confronting the Demon is her debut book.

She enjoys horse-riding, and speculation about taking over the world. If she could choose to be anything it would be a dragon, but instead she shares more in common with Dr. Gregory House of House. M.D.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 The book tour for “CONFRONTING THE DEMON” By: Ciara Ballintyne is now accepting tour hosts.

The Book tour will take place on Monday through Friday. 12/2/2013 - 12/13/2013

If you are interested in participating in this tour, please fill out this form.

Hosted by:

Monday, October 7, 2013

Why the blog has been quiet

I've been quite busy and not had much in the way of pre-scheduled posts. I have also been horrible at remembering to post over here as to when new content has gone live for the Selkies' Skins webnovel. The manuscript is currently having chapters 37 and 38 worked on. I'm still deciding on whether I should split what was originally going to be book one of the series into two books, dividing book one into the part where she meets the requirements of her 'land water' trials (which does by extension win her into inland seas as well, though not specifically covered) and then the new second book covering her 'sea trials' which grant her the skin. The other adventures covering David's help toward the family, that Greenpeace involvement idea that's been knocking around my head, and so on afterward would then move back into books three, four, and so forth if I divide the series this way.

I'm leery of getting back too much to BlowingWind's family story until I at least get this first book for Selkies' Skins finished. The more I write of it, the more I see that BlowingWind and Kirsty will cross paths in their respective series despite my initial reluctance to have the two parallel experiences in the spiritual/magical/mundane realms have bearing on each other.

I am also writing a sci-fi/fantasy short for Greymouse Publishing for their current anthology project "A World of Worlds." The other authors working on the collection are doing such a great array of "Other World" fiction that it is really interesting seeing what our common prompt is bringing up. I'm really enjoying the project. My contribution revolves around an interdimensional stardragon (not star dragon here) and her reaction to a colony ship enroute to finding safe haven after the death of their last planet generations ago. It is interesting figuring out how I'm going to make her reaction and decision fit into the 6,000 word max.

Much of the time, however, has been spent in getting the apartment ready to have the floors redone. I rather like our carpet out in the living room and bedrooms. Sadly the current word is that the new owners intend to have the whole done in vinyl tile. Looks like the kids and I will have to wear socks in the house if we don't want 'burny feet.' No idea when this is to be done. It could be that they start today or next week. I just want it over so that we can unpack again and productivity can get back to normal for the kids and I. That would also mean that I could get back to reading "The Ihmayran Chronicles" so that I can give Marantha my input on how the story has grown.

School also starts for me again in November, and I'm getting very nervous about it since this also means that the end of my degree program is coming closer. It took a month longer than I anticipated to get the funding issue straight, so it made me very glad that I started the enrollment and aid application early.