Genre: Fantasy
About patrmcmaLocation: Somerville, MA Home Region: Age:50 Favorite novels: "Bridge of Birds" by Barry Hughart, "Winter Rose" by Patricia McKillip, "Summerland" by Michael Chabon, "Forests of the Heart" by Charles DeLint Favorite writers: Carla Kelly, Charles DeLint, William Shakespeare Favorite music: For writing, no idea - guess I'll find out. In general, jazz, folk and classical. Non-noveling interests: storytelling, community theatre, costuming, sewing and other crafts |
Joined: Septiembre 15, 2009 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 72 NaNoWriMo buddies: 9
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Brief Author Bio: No, I'm not really a "Mad Men" inspired cartoon character, I just didn't have any current digital pictures that I liked. But my first pair of glasses decades ago were cats-eye. |
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Synopsis: Swans Wing
Colum MacFearghall spent his adolescence as an enchanted swan. The curse has been lifted, and his six brothers are back to normal, but he still has a swan's wing in place of his left arm. Determined to be fully human again, he sets off on a journey to find someone who can heal him.
Princess Melissande has been raised as heir to her father's throne, but now both of her parents are dead and her counselors don't believe a 16-year old girl can successfully lead a kingdom embroiled in war.
Colum and Melissande will need to use all of their strength and wit if they are to save her people from a ruthless enemy. And time is running out.
Excerpt: Swans Wing
Colum awoke to see the last of the feathers vanish from his arms. He was human again, at least for this hour. He stood on his legs and stretched, grateful for feet that were not webbed, for arms and fingers instead of wings.
“Marcus, wake up.” He shook the brother sleeping next to him. “Marcus, we’re human, wake up.”
“Go away, I’m tired.”
“But Marcus, don’t you – “
“Go away!” Marcus didn’t even open his eyes. “I don’t care what my arms and legs look like, I just want to sleep.”
Colum sighed as Marcus rolled over on the bed of ferns. When the change had been new, his brothers had been as eager as he to spend their one hour a night awake, but now they just slept through it, tired of the reminder of what they did not have.
Three years, he thought. Three years since their stepmother had changed the seven of them into swans and taken their father’s throne as her own. Three years their sister Moira had been silent, weaving the shirts which would break the spell and let them return home. He lived for this one hour of humanity each night, for his dream of the future. Moira would finish the shirts, they would take back the throne for Padraig and he would walk upright again, able to sit a horse, to draw a bow, to fight with sword and shield. He would be a man.
He couldn’t wait.
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