Warning, the onion ninjas love this show. I’ve needed tissues for every episode. But if you want something to help you believe in humanity again, watch this show.

The narrator plunges us immediately into the mystery of Charity’s pregnancy, then takes us back to how it all began, when Charity arrived in town and joined the ‘Crabbies’. Her religious fervour made her an instant favourite with the assistant pastor, and Joanne, the narrator.

As the story unfolds and news of the pregnancy comes out, the Crabapple Christian Fellowship is tossed into turmoil. The story of Charity’s Child is more than just the tale of two teenage girls trying to cope with the unexpected change. As Joanne tries to figure out her own sexuality and feelings for Charity, as well as the insistence that Charity’s child was made by God, so the adults around them try to cope with their own issues, triggered by the potential scandal brewing in their midst.

I read the book in one day. It’s very accessible and the narrative flows very easily. It is an easy book to read but one that gives the reader a lot to think about. The characters are engaging, wonderful and flawed.

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I don’t want this to be a rant, but my first thought was ‘with all the authors out there trying to make a name for themselves, we need a fake one?’ I liked the one episode of Castle I watched, so this isn’t about that. I have to wonder how good these no-name novels can actually be, but I would feel almost dirty buying them.

Sure, somebody wrote them. And that somebody agreed to have the Richard Castle name on them and was probably very well paid for it. And perhaps that’s how they want things to be. Perhaps they don’t want the potential fame and would rather remain anonymous. I don’t know.

Yet I feel like somehow this cheapens the product. Will the average reader realise that there is an actual working author behind the book? Or will having a fake author reinforce the idea that books just write themselves? This is different from having a pseudonym, after all. This is a ‘pseudonym’ that has his own TV show, and is played by a well-known actor. It’s like the Milli Vanilli of literature, except you know from the outset that he’s lip synching and you’re not supposed to care.

Maybe, as usual, I’m overthinking things.

Once again Elora Bishop rebuilds a classic fairy tale from the ground up, stripping back the layers to get to the soul of the story, the core that speaks to us of love and the human spirit.

In ‘Braided’, a re-imagining of Rapunzel, Zelda is fated to spend her whole life up in the Holity (Holy Tree), listening to the prayers and wishes of the people of the town. Meanwhile Gray, the witch’s daughter, has kept a painful secret since she was a child: she was meant to spend her life in the Holity, not Zelda. But she loves Zelda and is determined to set her free.

This story weaves dreams and the waking world together into a beautiful tapestry. At times, the feel of Gray’s quest reminded me of the magic and wonder of the land of Fantasia from The Neverending Story. But the path is treacherous, and only love can overcome the dangers.

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To this day, I don’t trust the government about aliens, I believe humanity can outgrow bigotry and greed and unite for the common good of joining the galactic community (through science!), and I can’t shut up during all but the most flawless movies.

The Strong Female

I am always amazed to hear that, in the year 2012, women are still talking about strong female characters.  It’s funny that we’re always surprised when one comes along.  Even in Hollywood, actresses still can’t find roles to sink their teeth into.  As a reader, I look for characters that I can relate to in some way; a character who is more than a damsel in distress but less than an unfeeling, mean, witch.  I’m putting it gently, but I’m looking for someone, who when facing a problem, doesn’t necessarily need a man to bail her out–a woman who can take care of herself in spite of her vulnerabilities.  Because in reality, women are multi-layered and complex.  We don’t fall to one end of an extreme or the other.

When I was younger, I started reading Danielle Steele, but I couldn’t read her for long. Her female characters were far too needy and always put themselves in a position of requiring a savior. Even as a child, I couldn’t help but wonder why these characters always needed a man to improve their lives.  Why couldn’t they simply take care of themselves?  It seemed as though female characters fell into two camps, and only two. They were either villains, witches, someone to be hated and despised, or they were weak, pathetic, your classic damsels in distress.  Why is fiction lacking real women, women who can simply be human and celebrate all that they are?

As I got older, I found myself drawn to shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  I saw in Buffy a strong character.  Yes, she could kick ass, kill the vampires and fight the demons.  She also had a brain, could plan, and could save the world each week.  But she wasn’t uni-dimensional. She also has a side that liked clothes, shoes and boys, a side that was feminine, a little vulnerable; a side that, okay, sometimes needed to be saved.  She was a complex female character, real and human, a character with whom I could definitely relate.

The strong female character isn’t a caricature or stereotype.  She’s not a total wimp like Snow White, and she’s not a total monster like the evil queen.  She falls somewhere in the middle.  She’s reactive, emotional, human, sexual, confident and sometimes unsure of herself.

When I originally wrote my character Annie Pearce in The Day of First Sun, I wrote her as a no-nonsense person, strong and smart, the girl who could survive on her own.  But she didn’t feel genuine.  As the story unfolded and changed, I rewrote her, gave her friends and family with whom she could interact.  I gave her feelings, gave her stress.  I let the other characters take charge once in awhile and offer some support.  I melded two halves into one woman–a strong woman, who can take care of herself and ask for help when necessary.  We’re not perfect, so why should our characters be?  Instead, why can’t we make them simply authentic?

Charlize Theron made a really compelling comment regarding her character in the movie Young Adult. She said, “Women are usually either really good prostitutes or really good mothers. Maybe women are finally getting the chance to play more honest characters,” Theron said. “We usually don’t get to play bad hookers or bad mothers — or anything in between.”

Maybe it’s time to be a little more real and a little more honest.

As part of this special promotional extravaganza sponsored by Novel Publicity, the price of the Day of First Sun eBook edition is just 99 cents this week. What’s more, by purchasing this fantastic book at an incredibly low price, you can enter to win many awesome prizes. The prizes include $450 in Amazon gift cards, a Kindle Fire, and 5 autographed copies of the book.

All the info you need to win one of these amazing prizes is RIGHT HERE. Remember, winning is as easy as clicking a button or leaving a blog comment–easy to enter; easy to win!

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About the book: A vampire, a rogue wizard and an army of soulless zombies are par for the course for Annie Pearce and Bobby “Cham” Chamsky of the Wizard’s Guard. But when the non-magical princess, Amelie of Amborix, is murdered by magical means, a deeper plot unfolds. Get it on Amazon.

About the author: Behind the wheel of her ’66 Mustang Convertible, Sheryl is a constant surprise, using her sense of humor and relatable style make her books something everyone can enjoy. Visit Sheryl on her website, Twitter, Facebook, or GoodReads.

Normally, I spend months putting everything together even as I write, but with my current work in progress I now realise I cheated.

I didn’t know I was cheating. When I started my YA book, Terra Paradox, I meant to combine two worlds I had already constructed for previous stories. I was ready to make it work. Inter-dimensional travel? Cakewalk!

What I ended up realising was that the very laws of physics of one world and the other did not match. And now, with my first draft nearly completed, I have to rewrite the laws of physics and then somehow edit the story so that it all works.

I did it ass backwards. That’s what I get for cutting corners.

When I have it all figured out it will kick ass, though.

I didn’t want to lose the last of my soul to a cubicle and a telephone so I did look for other jobs. I interviewed for various things, I even left a company to try my hand at selling cars for a summer. Sales is not my forte, so I ended up back in the cube farm at a different company. Now, I will say that this company, for what it is, treated its employees fairly well: good benefits, decent(ish) pay, and as far as I was able to witness, a non-discrimination policy that was put into practice. But the bottom line was that the work itself was soul-wrenching. Depression gave way to anxiety attacks and even more medication.

In June of 2011 I saw a job advertisement for a local non-profit organization. It was a cause I believe in, and it was in a related field to what I’d been doing at the call centre while being a completely different sort of job. I believed I could do this job, learn the ropes and kick ass. I didn’t realise at the time that I was kind of taking a tiny pay cut, but when I did realise it, I was happy enough with the job that I didn’t mind it.

I aced the interviews and got the job.

It was a challenge, but I felt a sense of pride in being a part of the agency. I was around good people and I was doing good for people who are often marginalised. A new work schedule also meant that I was able to adopt a puppy, whom you probably have seen pictures of on Google+ or LiveJournal.

It didn’t occur to me at first that I simply wasn’t good enough. I’ve never not been good enough for a job I’ve been tasked to do. It’s possible that I went from aiming too low to aiming too high. I started in mid-July and on November 30th I was told to pack my shit up. I felt betrayed by the people I worked with, who apparently had gone behind my back to complain about my poor performance. I felt betrayed by my own inability to be invincible and without flaw. It was like I was a kid again and had disappointed my grandparents one more time.

I let myself freak out for about an hour, then I immediately went to work figuring out what I was going to do. I was willing to go back to my previous employer, whom I’d left in good terms. It was the soul-sucking cube job, but at least it was something I knew I was good at. The people there were good people, and I wouldn’t mind working with them again. But there were no openings.

I must have filled out dozens of applications those first few weeks.

Now it’s three months later and I’m collecting what little unemployment I qualified for, still looking for jobs, but there seems to be nothing out there that will pay what I was making. Am I scared? Yes, I won’t lie. I don’t have much saved up (hard to save up anything when you’re in as much debt as I am). But I haven’t had the panic attacks I was having at the call centre or the non-profit job. Money stresses me out, but it doesn’t trigger my anxiety the way other things do. Feelings of being trapped, of not moving forward, that’s my primary trigger.

I clung to my writing in the hope that this break from work will allow me to finish and publish my YA novel. I’m, bit by bit, making time to teach myself new skills. I don’t know that I’ll stay in Pennsylvania if a better opportunity appears elsewhere, but for now, I am moving forward. I will have a book finished soon and I’ll publish if it’s the last thing I do. I’m keeping busy and networking online and off. I am living my life.

I am only guilty of reaching for more, of not settling. At the call centre I worked with people who had been at that company, answering the phones and repeating the same party lines for anywhere from ten to thirty years. THIRTY YEARS! Every time one of them had a work anniversary I wanted to throw up. Not because of them, but because I feared being stuck like that. I knew that if I spent many more years where I was I would become a husk of myself. Dead inside. I couldn’t let that happen.

I’ve been off all mental health medication since December. I haven’t needed it. I have been depressed, on occasion, but never for more than a day or so and never so bad I couldn’t shake it, never bad enough to be a true concern. Maybe it’s part denial, who knows?

So I failed at my attempt when I took that job. So fucking what? At least I fucking tried. At least I said ‘I’m done being a cubicle drone now, kthxbai’ and jumped into something new. I moved forward.

I still ask myself if I would go back to the job I left in July. I can’t give an automatic answer. I would have to think about it way too much and just trying to do so right now wears me out. There are many reasons to go back, but just as many reasons to move forward. I probably wouldn’t be here without my awesome friends and family. And even though a Vulcan may have told me that the expense of a dog when one is on a tight budget is illogical, Merlin keeps me here too. If I were gone, he’d go to strangers. I can’t account for how strangers would treat him. He’s my buddy and I’m responsible for his happiness.

I wanted to share my thoughts with you, not as a warning not to leave the safety net, but to show that I don’t regret a thing, and why. If I hadn’t left, I might still be at that desk, popping pills and fighting panic. That’s no way to fucking live.

But things have changed. What if I did go back now? I think it may be a completely different experience. Having been unemployed, having hit a sort of rock bottom, would probably help mellow me out. All I know is that the status quo back then was not on the right track.

Maybe in three months I’ll be able to write otherwise.

For example, my current work in progress, Terra Paradox, was in the beginning a story about a teenager who found a way to travel to a different dimension much more advanced than her own. In the process, she learned the necessary information to defeat an enemy at home. Along the way there would be peril, romance, humour and friendship.

I hadn’t intended to require writing a dissertation on the physics of magic, or confuse myself with questions about what constitutes reality, but that’s where the story, a few chapters later, took me. Now, without giving away too much, I have a protagonist who may or may not be a complete figment of the other protagonist’s imagination.

To further complicate things, much of this story occurs within the same universe as my Tyn Man and Mad Elf stories. Will the ideas born out of this story stay at the back of my mind and somehow influence the whole trilogy? As I am a stickler for continuity, to divorce Paradox from the Fiddle trilogy I would have to redo half the novel from scratch. I am not about to do that.

As far as the story’s internal workings, however, Terra Paradox remains pretty straightforward. The Big Questions are there, but the Problem At Hand supersedes them. Perhaps there is enough there for a sequel or two (I love those).

It got me thinking, though, about how much of our life hinges on our perception of it. My reality is different from yours. Yet we all have to occupy this same space. Where we to share a dream, what would it look like? Would our unconscious minds battle for control or work together to create the incoherent tapestry of dreams? When so many of my stories were born from my dreams, can I truly claim these ideas for my own?