Blog Tour and Sneak Peek!

It's almost that time again - time for a Blog Tour! In honor of the upcoming release of book 5 of The Gateway Chronicles, The Scroll, my publishing house is hosting a Blog Tour that will begin on Monday, October 14th. Featured will be reviews, guest posts, and more! I hope you tune in for all the action (metaphorically speaking, of course. Writers tend to not actually be that active...) :) The schedule for the tour is as follows:

10/14- http://www.firstpagetothelast.com/

10/15- www.girl-who-reads.com - review
10/16- peddlerofdreams.wordpress.com- review and guest post
10/17-http://yogateachertrainingjourney.blogspot.com-excerpt
10/18- http://Strohschein.wordpress.com
10/19-  http://paperbookprincess.com/- review and guest post

10/20- cafeartspace.blogspot.com

10/21- www.girl-who-reads.com - guest post
10/22- http://sunshineandmountains.wordpress.com- review and guest post
10/24- http://fveslibrary.blogspot.com
10/31- http://arraabella.blogspot.com/- soundtrack
11/1- http://arraabella.blogspot.com/

While the tour is going on, I will also post daily links on my Facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/K-B-Hoyle/155377154576880 

Also, don't forget that I have a new website, and there is a giveaway running on it where you can win an entire E-Book set of books 1-5 of The Gateway Chronicles! Visit and enter now: www.kbhoyle.com 

And now, since we are a week (a WEEK!) away from the release of The Scroll, I decided to give you the entire prologue as a sneak peek. Enjoy! I hope it builds your excitement to get your hands on the book next week. 

The Scroll

“What can you ever really know of other people’s souls—of their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles? One soul in the whole creation you do know: and it is the only one whose fate is placed in your hands.”

C. S. Lewis

Prologue

The Boy and the Fire

Six Years Ago

     Colin couldn’t breathe. His father’s hands were iron gloves around his throat, threatening to do it, to finally kill him. Black dots danced before his eyes, and the side of the building slid out of focus as laughter and a babble of conversation joined with mangled strains of Für Elise not ten feet away.

His mind was screaming. Come outside! Somebody open the door.

     But they didn’t. Nobody ever came to his aid. They all hated him, like his father did.

     His feet twitched, his toes just brushing the ferns in the underbrush, until his dad released him to fall in a crumpled heap on the ground. Colin dragged a ragged breath into his lungs and rolled over, keeping his father always in his sight. He knew what was coming next—the explanation, the ranting and raving, and then more pain.

     “You embarrassed me,” Lawrence Mackaby said as he raked his hands through his golden-blond hair. “Embarrassed me! How dare you make me look bad in front of a potential client?” He fumbled his cigarette lighter from his pocket and Colin flinched, cowering among the leaves. So it was to be burns again. He still bore the scars on his chest from the last time.

     His father lit a cigarette and took a long drag, his hands shaking with rage. Another burst of laughter came from inside the rec hall, and Colin imagined the potential client, the wealthy parent of some camper, waiting on his dad’s return and assuming Colin’s dad had taken him outside merely for a lecture on polite behavior.

     “If I lose his business because of you, you’re going to wish you had never been born,” Mr. Mackaby said, his voice eerily calm. “Stand up.”

     Colin struggled to obey, but his clothes were caught in the underbrush, holding him down as though conspiring against his father’s command. Mr. Mackaby grabbed Colin by the shoulder and wrenched him up so violently Colin stumbled and almost fell again. “Stand up straight and face me like a man. Stop crying like a girl!”

     Was he crying? He hadn’t realized.

     His father pointed at his chest with the cigarette. “Lift your shirt.”

     Colin met his father’s eyes with a dull stare. Just hit me, he thought. Hit me and be done with it. The blows he could take. Sometimes he even savored the pain, imagining himself absorbing it and storing it away for some future day when he’d get his revenge. But the burns grew worse even after the fire was gone. They sizzled and festered, and they smelled of cooked flesh.

     Colin fingered the hem of his shirt, not taking his eyes off his father’s face. If he did it slowly enough, maybe his father would grow impatient and hit him instead.

     Mr. Mackaby lunged forward and ripped Colin’s shirt up and over his head so that he was blinded by fabric and his arms were pinned above him. The searing pain of the hot ash against his skin took his breath away, and then he cried out and kicked with all his might. He felt his foot connect and heard his father double over with a grunt.

     Colin fell into the undergrowth, flailing against his shirt as he tried to regain his sight. He heard his father curse, and the smell of smoke intensified. He yanked his shirt back down over his chest in time to see a pile of dry pine needles go up in a blaze of fire. His father cursed again and kicked at the pile, sending the flames skittering toward the rec hall.

     Colin coughed as the smoke invaded his lungs. The small fire was already blackening the siding of the building. It was his father’s cigarette, his father’s fault, but that wouldn’t matter. Like a snake, he’d slither out of it, and Colin would be blamed.

     So he ran.

     His father called his name, shouted for him to come back, but Colin kept running. Going to jail for arson, or wherever they sent eleven-year-old criminals, would be worse than any punishment his father could concoct for him. He crashed through the underbrush, not paying attention to where he was going. The air around him cleared of smoke just as screams echoed from the rec hall.

     But they’d get out. There were plenty of exits and tall windows. None of them really knew what it was to be trapped.

     Before long, he glimpsed the silvery sheen of the lake through the trees and recognized where he was—the Cedar Point Trail, far removed from the chaos behind him. He slowed to a walk and caught up against a tree. His chest burned from smoke inhalation and exertion, and the actual burn on his skin felt as though it was still on fire. He bent double and held on to the tree for support as he took deep breaths. The deeper he breathed, the more his eyes welled with tears and, before he knew it, he was sobbing and clutching at the tree bark as though his fingernails were claws.

     I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, he thought, wishing his father could feel the power of his oath and burn under it as Colin had burned under the cigarette. “I’ll make you sorry someday,” Colin said, spitting the words like acid. “I swear it, someday I’ll be powerful, and I’ll make you pay!”

     A chill of cold air washed down his back, and he straightened and stilled his sobs and his breathing. The forest had gone silent, and fear invaded his mind where rage had been a moment before. Colin squinted at what looked like a shadow, hovering in the woods, not belonging to any of the trees around it. It was indistinct and shapeless, but it was there.

     “Hello?”

     Another burst of cold air swept around his neck, and with it came words so quiet they might not have been words at all, but thoughts invading his own.

     You asked for power?

     Colin shivered and took a step toward the shadow. “Are you talking to me?”

     That chill again. The voice. Power is my specialty. Who has hurt you? I can help you to make it right.

     “My—my father.”

     Do you desire to hurt him back?

     Colin squared his shoulders. “Yes.”

     It will take time, and if I help you, you must promise also to help me.

     “I won’t have to do anything . . . illegal, will I?” Colin suppressed the voice in the back of his head that said revenge on his father would certainly be illegal.

     The shadow began to fade.

     “Wait! I’ll help you.”

     Promise.

     “I promise.”

     The shadow darkened and then came near him. I’ve been waiting a long time for you. I’m glad we’re going to be friends.

     “Sure.” Colin’s teeth chattered as the shadow’s approach brought a renewed burst of cold. “What are you? Do you have a name?”

     My name is Tselloch. Let that be enough for now. 

Multiple Personality Disorder?

This fall I will find myself in a unique position - a position in which I have never been before. I will be working on two novels simultaneously! Wait, wait, wait, some of you are thinking right now, aren't you always working on multiple ideas at a time? To be sure, yes, but I've never seriously worked on two novels at once. It's one thing to gather ideas and take notes, it's another thing entirely to sit down and write to a deadline, and that's what I'm going to be doing. I have to say, I'm relishing the challenge, although I'm also wondering if, in the end, I'll feel plagued with multiple personality disorder. Authors tend to get so immersed in their writing that they become their characters, or at least one of them, so working on two novels with two very different protagonists and two very different story concepts is going to be interesting. The first book, and the one that will obviously take precedence, is the last book in The Gateway Chronicles, The Bone Whistle. The second book, due shortly after the manuscript for The Bone Whistle is due, is Breeder, the first book in my upcoming dystopian trilogy. So an added challenge here is that I will be pulling all the pieces together on one series while putting all the pieces out on the next. I think it's going to feel a bit like playing two games of chess at the same time - one I'm just in the process of winning, and one I'm just starting to play. The Bone Whistle, too, is contemporary fantasy adventure, while Breeder is futuristic dystopian romance with a touch of science fiction. Aside from the speculative nature of both mixed genres, these books are going to be very different! Not to mention that I'm playing around with the idea of writing Breeder in first person present tense, and The Bone Whistle, as with all the books in The Gateway Chronicles, is in third person limited omniscient past tense. Multiple personality disorder indeed. But truly, I am looking forward to it. I think it will be a treat to be able to go back and forth between stories and characters, and I think it will help my brain to stay elastic, as it were. A brain that is never challenged grows stagnant over time!

Some of you who have been following my adventures for a while may be wondering how I can possibly have the time to write two novels at a time this fall. Well, I'm happy to announce that I'm making the leap to full time author! I will no longer be teaching history at my school, although I am retaining just one creative writing course. I will always have a passion for bringing young people along in their writing endeavors, so teaching creative writing just three hours a week is an important thing for me to continue doing. Aside from that, I will be caring for my boys at home, writing, promoting, traveling, and speaking, and I think it's going to be wonderful! And yes, I do have time to write two novels.

Don't forget to mark your calendars for the release of The Scroll on October 17th! I've been finished with it for so long that I can hardly believe you all haven't read it yet! To whet your appetite, here's a little sneak peak:

Perry began to deal the cards, acting indifferent. “Hearts, everyone? Someone will need to be on a team.”

“I’ll team with Darcy,” Sam said. “I’m terrible at this game.”

Darcy felt a stab of annoyance. She was ultra-competitive at cards and hated being on a team with anyone. Still, she knew she shouldn’t be so uncharitable toward her best friend.

“You do this every year . . . by yourself?” Darcy asked as Perry continued to deal.

“Yep. Helps me to wind down.”

“You know what doesn’t help me to wind down?” Dean said, and his tone of voice caused them all to look up. Dean lifted his chin toward the window and stood.

Darcy looked out the window and followed suit so fast her chair skittered out behind her and fell over.

Colin Mackaby stood on the other side with his nose almost flattened against the screen. The light from the dining hall reflected eerily off his eyes and washed his face in a pale yellow light.

Sam gasped and backed all the way up to the wall, clutching at Darcy to keep upright.

Colin stared at them without moving, and then he smiled and turned to walk away.

“Oh no he doesn’t!” Perry threw his cards down and charged out of the wing and to the patio door. The sound of Perry smashing into the crash bar echoed in the dining hall. Dean was fast on Perry’s heels, and Darcy and Lewis followed, dragging Sam with them.

They caught up to Perry behind the lodge, just off the patio. He had Colin backed up against the side of the building, his forearm jammed beneath Colin’s chin and his other arm cocked out, fist ready.

“Stop!” Darcy threw her hands out and caught each of them with her magic, forcing them apart.

Perry stumbled backward, looking affronted, and Colin slid a few inches down the wall, never taking his eyes off Perry. He seemed unsurprised that Darcy could perform her magic at Cedar Cove now.

“You broke my sword!” Perry shouted at Colin. “And you tried to give Darcy to Tselloch. She should have let Liontari kill you, you worthless piece of—”

“Perry, stop it!” Darcy shoved him hard. “You’re not helping anything.”

“You should listen to her,” Colin said.

Perry made to lunge at Colin again, but Dean held him back.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Colin said. He looked at each of them in turn. “It amazes me, how in the dark Pateros keeps you.”

“If you know so much, why don’t you enlighten us?” Dean said.

“You don’t even know how a gateway is formed,” Colin said, continuing as though Dean hadn’t spoken.

“And I suppose you do?” Darcy asked, trying to keep her voice level.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, I would, actually.”

“Darcy,” Sam said. “I don’t think this is the best way to learn—”

Darcy shook her off. “We need to know, both for Alitheia and for here. If he knows how, maybe he can help us.”

“Why would he help us? He’s working with Tselloch. He’s obviously trying to help Tselloch take over this world as well as Alitheia,” Lewis said.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Dean said. “He just wants us to think he does.”

“Of course I do! I’m part of it.” Colin’s expression became manic. “I’m more a part of it than any of you ever will be. I’m destined to rule Alitheia, not Darcy, not any of you, I—”

“Colin, Tselloch fed me that lie, too—”

“It’s not a lie!” he screamed, and spit flew from his mouth.

“Darcy saved your life,” Sam said, speaking soothingly. “Twice. She’s trying to help you.”

“She’s trying to help herself.”

Darcy huffed and rolled her eyes. There didn’t seem to be any way of breaking through to him.

“You shouldn’t judge her,” Sam said, pointing at Colin.

“If I wanted advice from a dumb blonde, I would have asked for it.”

Perry broke free of Dean’s grip and punched Colin across the face. Colin’s head recoiled against the siding, then he ducked so Perry’s second fist struck the side of the building instead. He crouched, spun, and leapt onto Perry’s back before throwing an arm around Perry’s neck and bringing Perry to his knees with a chokehold. Dean leapt forward and grappled with Colin’s shoulders.

“Do something!” Sam shouted and grabbed Darcy’s arm.

“I can’t if you’re holding on to me like that!” Darcy wriggled out of Sam’s grasp.

“What’s going on out here?” an adult shouted across the grounds.

“Help, please!” Sam waved her arms.

A flashlight clicked on and two men ran their direction. “Boys, break it up! Boys!”

Perry shoved up with his legs and slammed Colin against the side of the building. Colin let out a sharp exhalation of pain, and Dean pried his arms off Perry’s neck and pinned them to his sides. Perry spun, coughing and gasping, and punched Colin across the face again.

“Stop, Perry.” Sam grabbed his wrist as he wound back again. “Dean’s got him. He’s done.” 

That Ooey Gooey Feeling

There is something euphoric about starting a new book. And of course I'm talking about writing a new book, not reading a new book. For many of you, I realize that picking up a new book to read can also produce a sense of euphoria, and I have felt that from time to time myself (if the author is a tried and true favorite), but the sense I'm talking about with writing a new book is much stronger. It's like an ooey gooey feeling deep in my chest and gut that produces uncontrollable grins, fits of giggles, and (if I'm not careful) childish hand-clapping. It's really a rather embarrassing syndrome, now that I think about it, but thankfully the discipline of being an author is one mostly practiced in privacy, so giggle and clap away, I say! Last night, as I began writing book 6, I was not in private, however, so my anticipatory energy had to be contained to leg-bobbing and subtle wiggles. I'd been meaning to start book 6 for weeks, but due to a number of circumstances, I hadn't quite gotten around to it yet, and as many authors will tell you, starting is the hardest part, so sometimes it takes a little push to get things going. Well, kids were in bed, and hubs had a new Xbox game to try out last night, so I hopped in the car and drove down to our local Starbucks where I settled in with a frap and The Piano Guys pumping through my ear buds. I was motivated! I was ready. to. go. But truthfully, I didn't get much done at Starbucks. About 30 minutes into my endeavor, the shop was invaded by about twenty junior-high cheerleaders, all wearing pink, and all chattering away. Cheerleading and the color pink. Two things guaranteed to kill my enthusiasm for pretty much anything. I tried not to let my glower show too deeply on my face, but it was nigh impossible to get anything done for the fifteen minutes it took all of them to order, collect their orders, and head out to the patio. And by that time, Starbucks was about to close, so I packed things up and headed home. But it was not an entirely wasted effort, because in that time, I had gotten my word document all set up and formatted, my notes somewhat organized, and I'd even written the first paragraph of my prologue. (Whoa . . . I know. Just let that awesomeness sink in for a moment . . .) But most importantly, I'd gotten my head in the game. Driving home, I came to the realization that I needed to scrap and/or move the single paragraph I'd written in favor of a much better idea for the prologue (this did elicit grins, giggles, and hand-clapping, but I was stopped at a red light, so it was okay), and I began to map out the rest of what would follow from there. Adam wasn't quite finished with his Halo level on Xbox when I got home, and I was so full of that ooey gooey excitement, that I slapped on some workout clothes and ran circles around my neighborhood until my energy was somewhat abated and I had the rest of the prologue solidified. Yes, yes, it was very late to be out running, but it was either that or climb the walls, and honestly, when you are an author who sits on your bum all day (or night in my case) writing, a little exercise is a good idea! Plus, I was a security guard once upon a time, and I kind of pity the guy who tries to mug me. But I digress. Anyhow, back inside, I got changed, returned to Scribbus (my computer) at about midnight, and knocked out roughly 1200 words. So I'm happy to announce that book 6 is off the ground! And I'm even more happy to announce the title for book 6, which I've been sitting on for three years. Drumroll please... book 6, the final installment of The Gateway Chronicles, is called, The Bone Whistle. Yay! If you follow me on twitter (@kbhoyle_author), ask me questions about book 6 using hashtag #TheBoneWhistle, or about book 5 with hashtag #TheScroll or #SaveTellius. I'll answer whatever I can!

And now, to help you feel properly excited, here is a teeny-tiny teaser from upcoming book 5, The Scroll:

Don’t let him deceive you, he said. I am doing everything to Tellius you think I am, and more. Tselloch straightened from the banister and stepped toward her so his height became that much more impressive. Every day that passes, he grows weaker.

“You-you promised to give us until the first day of spring!” Darcy said. She tried to step back, but her feet were rooted to the spot. She clenched her hand around her ring, but the coldness asserted itself with greater intensity.

And I shall, but it will not be easy for him. 

Thinking in the Rain

Okay, I lied. This isn't about thinking in the rain, it's about thinking in the shower, but that didn't have quite the catchiness I was looking for. So I tricked you into reading this blog post. Ha.

My best story ideas seem to always come to me in the shower. Does anybody else experience this? I'm not sure if it's the solitude, the white noise of the water, the relaxation produced by hot water and steam,  the perfect lack of distraction, or a combination of all three, but I have always turned into a pensive, thoughtful, and uber-creative person in the shower. If I have a particularly difficult plot problem to work through, often a good long shower will produce a plethora of probable solutions. (Alliteration is fun, don't you think?) The only problem with coming up with ideas in the shower is that I don't have a waterproof notepad. My mom always used to yell at me for taking long showers when I was young, but that was where I did my best daydreaming, and asking me to get out of the shower was like asking me to leave another world. Although now that I pay the water bill, I can also now commiserate with her. I really don't think The Gateway Chronicles would be here if it weren't for my shower, though, and I think every creative person needs their place of solitude where the muses can visit.

Did I really just write a blog post on showering? Yep. Yep, I did. Okay, I need to redeem this somehow... How about a sneak peek?

I introduce a new character/creature in The Scroll, and I think y'all are really going to enjoy him! He's a wyvern dragon, and here's a selection from the scene in The Scroll where Darcy and the others meet him for the first time. Enjoy!

Darcy crept forward as well as she was able on her crutches. The wyvern made a sort of humming trill and lifted his snout to sniff at her. “Where did he come from? Why is he here?”

“Well, I’m not sure if it would be more accurate to say he belongs to Tellius or Tellius belongs to him,” Veli said, a hint of laughter in his tone. “But he and Tellius are-were-virtually inseparable.”

At Tellius’s name, the little dragon perked his head to the side.

“He’s Tellius’s?” Darcy held onto her crutches while she knelt to one knee and reached out to him. He lowered his snout almost to the ground, like a dog wanting to be petted, but shy of the touch.

“In a manner of speaking. He came to Tellius one day on patrol. Tellius said later that he’d been shadowing him for days.”

Darcy laid a gentle hand on the wyvern’s side. His scales were smooth, not slimy at all, and very warm to the touch. “Does he breathe fire?” she asked, looking up at Veli.

“Aye, that he does,” Veli said. “Hence the bond between him and his lordship.”

“Fire,” Darcy said. She stroked his scales, feeling as though she was connecting with an aspect of Tellius himself. “He could sense Tellius’s fire magic.”

“Especially now that his lordship has passed his test,” Wyn said. “He’s a full master magician now.”

Darcy flushed as a swell of pride swept through her.