Between Two Fires by Mark Noce #historical #review

Saxon barbarians threaten to destroy medieval Wales. Lady Branwen becomes Wales’ last hope to unite their divided kingdoms when her father betroths her to a powerful Welsh warlord, the Hammer King.

But this fledgling alliance is fraught with enemies from within and without as Branwen herself becomes the target of assassinations and courtly intrigue. A young woman in a world of fierce warriors, she seeks to assert her own authority and preserve Wales against the barbarians. But when she falls for a young hedge knight named Artagan her world threatens to tear itself apart. Caught between her duty to her people and her love of a man she cannot have, Branwen must choose whether to preserve her royal marriage or to follow her heart. Somehow she must save her people and remain true to herself, before Saxon invaders and a mysterious traitor try to destroy her.

“A spirited ride through a turbulent slice of Welsh history!” – Paula Brackston, NYT Bestselling author of The Witch’s Daughter

“A fast-paced read that has a wonderfully visual style and some memorable characters. Mark Noce combines Welsh history with a touch of folkloric magic in this promising debut novel. Lady Branwen is a strong and engaging narrator and the turbulent setting of early medieval Wales makes a fine backdrop for an action-packed story.” – Juliet Marillier, Bestselling author of Daughter of the Forest and Wolfskin

Release Date: August 23, 2016 

Amazon | Amazon Kindle | Barnes and Noble | Barnes and Noble Nook | iTunes | IndieBound | Thomas Dunne Books

Mark Noce writes historical fiction with a passion, and eagerly reads everything from fantasy to literature. Born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, he’s an avid traveler and backpacker, particularly in Europe and North America. He earned his BA and MA from Cal Poly, San Luis Obispo, where he also met his beautiful wife. By day, he works as a Technical Writer, having spent much of his career at places like Google and Facebook. In addition to writing novels, he also writes short fiction online. When not reading or writing, he’s probably listening to U2, sailing his dad’s boat, or gardening with his family.

His debut novel, Between Two Fires, is being published by Thomas Dunne Books (an imprint of St. Martin's Press and Macmillan). It is the first in a series of historical fiction novels set in medieval Wales.

Marknoce.com  | Twitter | Facebook (author page) | Goodreads | LinkedIn | Google+ | Thunderclap Campaign

I was lucky enough to receive an ARC of Mark's Between Two Fires. Here is my review:

Lady Branwen may often feel like a pawn, but even a pawn may stop a king in Mark Noce's Between Two Fires. The time of King Arthur may have passed, but the time of Lady Branwen has come. Branwen exudes a wisdom beyond her years and balances the traditions of the Old Tribes with the new Christian religion. She still makes plenty of mistakes, but she blossoms into a strong woman worthy of the Welsh people. The romance between her and Artagan is a bright spot in the novel. I couldn't help but want Branwen to be happy. Noce's lush descriptions transported me to the late sixth century Wales. An intriguing mystery of who wants Branwen dead weaves throughout the scenes and kept me guessing. Between Two Fires by Mark Noce combines complex political intrigue of sixth century Wales with sweet romance and a page-turning mystery.

Friday Flash: Blank Page

 

We're back to #fridayflash for the month of September. You'll easily be able to tell what today's flash fiction piece was inspired from. *winks*

Blank Page

The blank page mocks me. The cursor blinks, blinks, blinks. What will I write today? The mind comes back with a tabula rasa.

Perhaps I can make up a story about the kitty cat from the calendar. The calico’s hopeful expression tugs on my heartstrings. Does she desire to be petted? Or would she rather have a treat? Oh, what does it matter.

The cursor blinks, blinks, blinks.

August is almost over, and the deadlines overwhelm me. Edit this, format that, write this. Blog posts and Facebook, and we mustn’t forget the three Ts: Twitter, Triberr, and Tumblr. Maybe I could write about a writer on deadlines and getting buried in social media. Eh, who am I kidding? That’s been done, right?

The cursor blinks, blinks, blinks.

I could use this flash fiction piece to delve into my characters or their world, but they’ve all decided to be quiet until I actually get to writing in their stories. They don’t want to color outside the plotlines.

So I will sit and wait for the cursor to stop blinking, blinking, blinking, so I can be writing, writing, writing.

Ask the Editor: Text and Computer Messages in Fiction

 

Ask the Editor is on the 3rd Monday of the month. Grammar, spelling, punctuation, sentence structure and more! I will showcase questions and answers. To ask a question, please fill out the form below. (There will be no Ask the Editor in September due to the awesome Alex J. Cavanaugh's Genre Favorites Blogfest. If you haven't signed up for it yet, you should consider doing so.)

I've been a freelance editor since November 2010. If I don't know the answer, I will find it.  

M. Pax asks, “How would you punctuate and set off a computer or text conversation? Such as lol. Would you use a period after it?

Most books set text messages and computer conversations (emails/IMs) off in a different font or indent differently. Some use italics or bold the lines. I did a bit of research on the topic, but nothing seemed definite on how to set of text/computer conversations. A key is consistency. If you do it one way, then keep it that way later in the book. As for “lol” with or without punctuate, punctuate how your character would. 

For example of a possible text message conversation between my sister and me:

Cherie: Where r u?

Kara: Walmart

Cherie: Ok

Cherie: Be there soon.

You can get a feel of the natural texting. Grammar/spelling rules don't completely apply to texts and computer messages because that's not how a lot of people type, so it is important to show that in a story.

#fridayflash "Dinner Date"

 

Today's #fridayflash is prompt-inspired from this website here. The prompt is in bold.

Dinner Date

I smoothed my hand over my skirt for the fifth time. Blind dates made me nervous, but something about this date with Marvin put me on edge. He was handsome with these attentive blue eyes the color of the ocean. I could swim in such eyes. Strong jaw, defined cheek bones, seriously model or Greek god handsome.

Why couldn’t he find a date on his own?

My co-worker said that her friend needed a good time. She didn’t really elaborate. I assumed he’d gotten out of a bad relationship and needed to get on the bike again. Marvin told me he hadn’t dated in a while, but he didn’t talk like his former relationships had ended badly. Of course, we hadn’t talked that much. Our entrees hadn’t even arrived.

He smiled at me. His perfect straight teeth made me want to hide my own.

“Um, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I stood, pushing the chair back with my legs.

He rose as well, such the gentleman. “I hope you’re not skipping out of me.”

I laughed. “Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded to me.

I smiled and put an extra sashay in my step as I walked away. A quick peek back and I knew he was watching my every move. Maybe the guy had some bad luck finding a girlfriend. Perhaps I could fit that bill.

After I freshened up, I returned to the table to find our entrees have arrived. He hadn’t touched a bite of his food, and my heart sang that he waited on me. It was so sweet. Marvin came around and held the chair for me to sit. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Shall we?” He motioned to the plates.

“Yes.” I ate the steak salad a bit more heartily than I normally would have on a blind date. The nerves sped up my motions, but something about it tasted not quite right. I couldn’t quite figure out what it was, but after a while, I just didn’t pay much attention to it until my vision doubled. I was going to puke.

“I ... I—” Vomit spewed over the table and all over his perfect shirt. A piece of half-digested salad dangled from his chin. Heat flashed over my face, and I couldn’t tell if I was flushed from being sick or burning from embarrassment. Poor guy! He would probably never go on a blind date again. Me either.

#fridayflash "Slug"

 

Today's flash fiction piece is prompt-inspired again. The prompt is in bold and came from this website here.

Slug

From his sleeping patterns he appeared jetlagged when in fact it was laziness. How else could he still be asleep when I got home after a double shift at the restaurant?

My enthusiasm for home flopped like a dying salmon when I saw my good-for-nothing, out-of-work, lazy ass husband sprawled in bed. I dropped my purse upon the table and kicked off my shoes and socks. My toes curled into the plush carpet. His snores grated my nerves until my fingertips stretched toward the pillow. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack him or smother him with it.

I yanked my hand away and stepped toward the closet to change clothes.

At first, I thought Jerry was depressed when he lost his job at the factory. They laid off over four hundred workers. Times were tough, and work wasn’t plentiful. That was ten months ago. Now he stayed up half the night playing video games and drinking beer. The rest of the time, he watched TV or slept.

I slipped the T-shirt over my head and ripped the ponytail holder from my hair. Strands—more gray than black—entwined around the elastic band. I tossed it upon the bureau and pulled on a pair of shorts.

He hadn’t applied for a position in three months.

I stepped into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. The water sloshed into the sink’s basin and splashed the sides. I cupped my hands under it and rinsed the makeup and long day off my face.

The snoring stopped and the bed-springs creaked. “What’s for dinner, hon?”

My breath spurted against the droplets. I closed my eyes, cut off the water, and grabbed the hand towel to dry off.

His steps clomped behind me, and he smacked me on the rear. The playful gesture got him a hard glare. He lifted his arms and gave me that stupid cocked grin. “Tough day?”

“You have no idea.” I straightened the towel on the rack.

His hands dug into my shoulders. The pressure felt good, relaxing, but I just didn’t want to give in. Again. He leaned closer and pressed a kiss against my neck. His breath reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. When did he start smoking again? We didn’t have the money for that crap. He wouldn’t even let me buy the dollar store hair color anymore. “How about I—”

“No.” I jerked away from him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What?” He gave me that damn slack-jawed expression.

A million words jammed against my front teeth, as if they could knock them out. I wanted to spew the verbiage all over him. Fists formed at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. A tremor raced through my body before I regained control. “Nothing. I’ll go make dinner.”

I twisted away and left for the kitchen, but I didn’t know how much longer I could stay in the house. Life had to change, or I would do something I may—or may not—regret.

How long I could remain with the ungrateful slug?

#fridayflash "The Substitute"

 

For today's #fridayflash piece, I used a writing prompt generated from this website here. The writing prompt is in bold.

The Substitute

It was hard to command any sense of gravitas with gravy stains on your shirt. Of course, it could’ve been worse. I could’ve had onion breath or collard greens sticking between my teeth. My hand fluttered before my mouth for a quick breath check. Nope, still minty fresh. I smoothed down my tie. Perhaps the students wouldn’t notice the stains. Why had I left my coat in the car?

“My name is Charles Fisher, and I’m substituting for Dr. Roberts today.” My gravelly voice barely made a dent in their conversation. Thumbs flew over cell phones. A girl laughed, high-pitched and flirty. Thirty years ago, such a giggle would’ve thrilled me. Now it made me feel old, sad.

Sweat pooled in my armpits. I loosened the tie, which felt more like a noose with each passing second. A spitball splattered against the dry-erase board. My fingers fumbled through Dr. Roberts’ notes. Their chatter increased as they ignored me. I didn’t blame them. Who respected a fifty-seven year old grad student? My mouth dried out before I could even mentally count the number of students. With a sigh, I slammed the notebook shut and sank upon the stool. My loafer rested upon the stool’s rung.

“She said you were studying Descartes’ philosophy.” I stood from the stool and wrote “Cogito ergo sum” on the board. I might exist, but these students didn’t think I did.

“Does anyone know what this means?” I waited. “It’s Latin.”

Nothing.

Another spitball flew and dotted the “I” in “cogito.” If I wasn’t supposed to be teaching them, then I would’ve been impressed.

“So . . .”

The volume crescendoed, so I strolled to the desk, grabbed the trash can, and flung it against the wall. It boomed and rattled delightfully with a metallic clang. The room silenced as mouths dropped open.

“Does that trash can exist?” I perched on the desk. Not a single student looked away from me, but none answered.

“Does it?” Instead of yelling the words, I spoke softly.

“Y-yes,” a girl answered.

“Prove it.” I crossed my arms, almost not caring I had gravy on my shirt. After minutes of disrespect, I had their attention now.

 

If you like flash fiction and want to try your hand at writing some, don't forget my blogfest coming up on May 21-23. Click here for details and to sign up.

 

#fridayflash "Hot Sand and Fireworks"

Hot Sand and Fireworks

Sand clung to Georgia's toes. The summer heat still soaked into those top particles, and she shifted from foot to foot. Salty spray inched closer. She darted forward, chasing the waves. They roared back, playing tag. She giggled when the water caught her. It pulled the sand from her feet.

Boom!

She froze and stared upward. Her mouth opened and eyes stared wide toward the sparkling green and red lights. They rose higher and higher. Then they fizzled as they shimmered outward, like streamers on her bike's handlebars.

Boom!

The sound rushed through her body, causing her to unfreeze. She yelped and dashed away from the ocean's edge.

"Mommy!" She grasped her mommy's legs, wrapping her arms around them as tight as they could go. Her body trembled and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Boom!

Fingers danced through her hair, tapped along her head. Mommy placed her hand underneath Georgia's chin and lifted it away from her thigh.

"Georgia, dear, it's just fireworks. They won't harm you." She leaned over and tugged on her. The child held on, but relented and climbed into her mommy's arms. "Shh, there now. Don't cry. The fireworks are pretty. See."

Boom! Boom!

She didn't realize she had been crying until her mommy told her. After she brushed the dampness onto her mommy's shoulder, she peeked toward the sky. Gold and blue rained down in the sky, disappearing before it touched them. She shuddered.

Her mommy swayed back and forth. A soft hum vibrated against her temple.

Boom!

She stiffened. The humming grew louder. She unclenched her hands and relaxed against her mommy.

Boom!

She opened her eyes a little bit, spotting the streaming light. Red and blue intermingled, reminding her of flowers. She smiled slightly.

Boom!

This firework spun in circles. She giggled at its silliness. 

"They're pretty things, aren't they?"

Georgia nodded.

Boom!

"I like them."

Her mommy embraced her as they watched the sparkling lights booming into the sky.

#fridayflash "You Are What?"

You Are What?

I burst into the hospital’s entrance. The cold air from the a/c was a mixed blessing after the hot June heat. Two people cringed in front of the reception desk. A child’s feet swung like a pendulum while sitting in a chair. Several people waited for an elevator.

“There you are, Mike.”

I turned and spotted Josie’s brother striding toward me. “Yeah, I got your text. How is she?”

“In surgery. The doctors haven’t told us more.” He turned on his heel, motioning for me to follow him to the waiting room.

We went up a flight of stairs and down two corridors before reaching the waiting room. Josie’s parents were there, and we exchanged tense nods. A muted television hung in the corner streaming CNN. The scent of bitter coffee tinged the air.

I sank into a cushioned seat and clasped my hands together. I wasn’t a praying man, but such thoughts entered my mind.

I hope she’ll be all right.

Goose bumps formed on my arms. Josie’s dad took to pacing while her mom shooed him to be still. Carlton glared at me but didn’t say a word. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t my fault, but I was the one who knocked up his sister.

I got Josie into this mess. I should’ve been more supportive instead of reluctant. What if she never forgives me?

I swallowed a lump formed in my throat. My tie was choking me. As I loosened it, I took a shaking breath.

What if she didn’t make it?

I tapped my fingers upon the chair arms, crossed my legs and uncrossed them. I cracked my neck and fingers. I tried focusing upon the TV, but I didn’t care about peace talks, riots, or anything except Josie.

I should’ve reacted differently to the news. I should’ve remained here instead of taking that assignment in Boston. I should’ve asked her to come with me. We could’ve started our family together.

All the shoulda, woulda, couldas wouldn’t matter if she didn’t come through this surgery.

The door opened and we all jumped at the sound.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carrows?”

“Yes?” They answered.

“Your daughter came through the cesarean and is in recovery. She had a little boy. He was responsive and breathing on his own. Very good signs for a premature birth. They’re very lucky, and you can visit her in about thirty minutes to an hour. A nurse will be in to show you the way.” The doctor smiled before exiting the waiting room.

I released the breath I was holding. Josie had a boy. Our son.

I was a father.

Flash Fiction Fridays: "Blind Date"

 Blind Date

Marigold smoothed her hands along the sides of her red dress. She had to stop perspiring so much when she was nervous. Her mouth went dry while she ambled into the Le Chat Noir restaurant. Her green eyes pierced her surroundings, and she cursed their low lights. She’d never find him in here. Her heart pounded like a syncopated rhythm. Why did she agree to go out in the first place?

“Marigold?” The male voice rasped her name.

She turned and froze. Leo wasn’t what she was expecting in a date. He was short; she should’ve worn her ballet flats instead of high heels. His stature was stocky, and he had a bald spot with a bad comb over. She didn’t want to be vain, but she was surprised. “Is your name Leo?”

“Yeah, come on, sweetheart, I have a table.” He offered his arm to her.

She didn’t take it and followed him to the table.

“Here you go.” He held out her chair.

Marigold considered sitting in the opposite chair, but she didn’t want to look like a complete bitch. While she sat, she could’ve sworn she felt his hand briefly on her behind. She wouldn’t listen to her BFF Rose again.

The dinner turned to inane conversation; the chicken was overcooked. There wasn’t enough wine to get through the night. Her grocery list would’ve been more interesting.

You’re not giving him a chance, Marigold, she told herself. She wasn’t and she knew it. Perhaps she wanted Mr. Right, not Mr. Right Now. It was her first date in a few months. It couldn’t be Leo’s fault, although he gave her the creeps.

She caught snippets of his conversation about accounting. Boredom took an all new meaning. When the waiter brought the check, she breathed a sigh of relief and said, “No,” to dessert.

Leo walked her out, which was nice of him, until he pressed himself against her, felt up her breasts, and tried to kiss her.

“Stop! Ugh,” she said through a groan and pushed him away.

“I’ll call you later, Marigold,” he said in a cheerful tone.

“I don’t think so.” Her tires squealed as she sped out of there and left him standing on the curb. Jerk!

Tired and a little bit tipsy, she entered her apartment building. She’d call Rose and give her an earful. She wasted her best date dress on a complete sleaze. After pressing the elevator button, she waited for it to open. When it did, she moved to step inside when she ran into something very solid. Embarrassment colored her face when she saw who it was: tenant #D3. She didn’t know his name, but man, she liked to watch him with his tied-back blond hair, chiseled jaw, and so blue eyes you’d get lost in them.

“Hello, Marigold.” His baritone voice rolled from his lips. The way he said her name sent tingles up her spine.

“Hi,” she said, almost shyly.

“Have a date?”

“Yeah, it didn’t work out so well.”

“That’s too bad.” He touched her arm. “Say, you wouldn’t want to get coffee sometime would you.”

She really needed to find out his name. He knew hers. Best of all, he wanted to go out for coffee. “Sure, I’d like that.”

“Great. Want to go now?” He smiled, looking interested and most of all genuine.

“Sure, I’d like that.” Man, what was his name! Oh, well, she thought. Things looked brighter, but it could’ve been the wine. The best thing of all, she was certain he’d wipe the bad blind date experience out of her head. “So, what do you do for a living?”

“Believe it or not, but I’m an accountant.”

“Oh.”