Today’s spotlight is on Anyta Sunday’s Young Adult Paranormal Romance series, Guardians of the Angels. The first two books are available, and you can read on to learn more about and read an excerpt from each book. In addition, the author explains to readers her writing process, which I always find fascinating since every writer has an individual method for crafting a story. If this series catches your interest, be sure to enter the tour-wide giveaway for your chance to win a copy of both books or an Amazon gift card.
Genre: YA Paranormal Romance
Cover Artist: Caroline Wimmer Streiflicht Fotografie
Veined (Book I)
Publication Date: Second Edition: January 2014
446 pages (85,000 words) / ASIN: B005J1L41Y
It could be worse for Sylva Lark. She could be dead. A coma was nothing to that. Or her family moving across country for the treatment, leaving her with a big blue mark on her back.
She can handle it.
Except the mark glows and tingles, especially whenever transition helper Atticus Plot (Attic) is close by. She suspects he’s hiding something, and when she stumbles across a torn body bearing the same spiral marking as her own, that suspicion is confirmed.
After a few shaves with death, the truth finally comes out and the battles begin.
But not all her fights are external; her biggest one is the decision she has to make between doing the right thing for the world and giving up her beloved family for good.
I had the opportunity to read Veined over a year ago, and I really enjoyed the fantastical Guardian world the author has created. The plot kept me engaged from beginning to end, and I especially liked the character personalities of Sylvia and Atticus. Their relationship blossoms as Sylvia becomes immersed a a new, unfamiliar world she never knew existed. My favorite part of the book is the ending, which was both surprising and angsty. Now that the second book, Lethed, has been published, I’m looking forward to picking up the story to find out what’s next for our heroine. After seeing the book cover for Lethed, I have a feeling Sylvia will have a harrowing journey ahead. (Source: purchased)
Veined Excerpt (Partial of first Chapter):
DAYTIME TELEVISION SOAPS are funny. Brain transplants, lovers that turn out to be related, and characters that slip into comas. Yeah, I’d thought soaps pretty darn hilarious until the day I woke up from a coma.
And into this drama. I bit my bottom lip and looked at the doctor (Albelin, as he’d introduced himself seconds ago). Although Albelin stood next to the bed, his voice echoed like he was at the other end of a tunnel. “. . . coma . . . much sooner than anticipated.”
Goose bumps dotted my skin and I tucked the hospital sheet—the only thing covering my body save a pair of ungenerous undies that were giving me a wedgie—tightly under my arms.
My thoughts spiraled. I strained to recall how I’d arrived here in the first place, but I couldn’t remember much. There had been a flash of color, and then—blank.
Albelin’s curly black hair swished as he moved his gaze away from me and toward his vibrating pocket. Something on the side of his neck caught my attention. A black tattoo, like the wing of an eagle. But it disappeared behind his collar as he pulled out his phone. He scanned the screen, and then stuffed the phone back into his pocket. “Your family is on their way,” he said.
My family. Faces and partial memories popped up like a black-and-white film, with someone slowly winding the crank. A blonde woman unraveling a kite—Mom. A man in a police uniform—Dad. And a boy building a Lego tower—Jeffrey.
“Right.” The word felt hollow and scratched the inside of my throat. Using the corner of the sheet to cover my mouth, I coughed. It hurt my chest and sounded wet.
With watery eyes, I scanned the room. I’d been so stuck on the word coma, I’d failed to notice my basic surroundings. My coughing came to an abrupt stop, but my thoughts continued to gallop. It wasn’t as though I knew what coming out of a coma should feel like, but I had an idea what it should look like. Where was the respirator? The drip? Heart monitor? In fact, the only features of the room that indicated hospital were the green walls and linoleum flooring.
Albelin must have read my panicky expression as I’d surveyed the room, because he started to explain, “We used a new method involving electro-magnetism to bring you back to consciousness. That’s why you aren’t wearing anything and why you shouldn’t have any issues with muscle deterioration. That, and we’ve given you protein supplements.”
Electro-magnetism? That sounded like something I’d hear in a physics class. My stomach flipped and I swallowed the awkward laugh that rose to my throat and caused a gurgling sound. This wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill hospital at all. Maybe it was experimental, maybe there’d been no other option. Oh, God, what happened to me?
I craned my neck from side to side. My muscles were stiff, but at least I was conscious. I let out a shuddering breath and blinked back the water pooling in my eyes. I didn’t care that I was seventeen and supposed act big and brave and something close to an adult. Right now all I wanted was my mom.
Albelin smiled, barely crinkling the skin at the sides of his eyes, but his smile didn’t soothe the erratic butterflies in my belly. If anything, it made them worse; he was so young to be a doctor. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a duffel bag and handed it to me. My duffel bag. The one I took to gymnastics trainings. “Here are some clothes for you to change into.”
I twisted the familiar canvas handles around my palm.
“Showers aren’t far,” he added, “just out those doors, second on the left. Towel’s in the bag. Let me help you there.”
Holding the sheet, I stood up. My legs felt like jelly, but I shook my head at Albelin’s offer. “I think I can manage.” I wobbled my way toward the swing doors.
Albelin raced to my side. “I insist on helping you.”
He attempted to brace my elbow, but I pulled away. “Thanks, but—but—” I needed alone time. To think. And I didn’t want anyone touching me while I was wearing practically nothing but a sheet. “I’ll be fine, really. I’ll yell if I need help.”
As soon as I was in the hall, I rested one hand against the wall and used it as a crutch. I was doing all right considering I’d not used my legs in weeks.
Light filtered through the windows, imprinting squares on the opposite wall. I pressed my hand in the center of one as I looked outside onto the street. Mom, Dad and Jeffrey would be coming soon.
I jumped, dropping the duffel bag when a flash of black whizzed by. A tall guy wearing a green T-shirt and tight black gloves up to his elbows was striding down the hall. I lunged to grab the bag, but my foot caught in the sheet, ripping it from under my arms. My head jerked up as the scratchy cotton sunk to my feet and I chased after it.
Palms sweating, I wrapped the sheet tightly around me, heat swelling my cheeks. At least he’d jerked his head away. Still, it didn’t stop my heart from thumping double-to-one in embarrassment.
Pick up the bag and move. Go shower.
He glanced back, sweeping his hair to the side. With a chuckle, Gloved Guy passed by and pushed through the swinging doors of my room. As soon as he was behind them, Albelin greeted him. It sounded like they knew each other well. I reached to pick up the duffel bag and stopped.
“Her name’s Lark?” Gloved Guy’s voice sounded amused by my name. “Like the bird?”
I crept closer. Why was Albelin talking about me?
“Sylva Lark,” Albelin corrected.
“And she’s veined.” . . .
Lethed (Book II)
Publication Date: January 2014
418 pages (75,000 words) / ASIN: BOOB8CKHRK
Sylva Lark made her choice.
Now she has to adjust to Guardian life. Training. Killing demons. Controlling her powers.
If only giving up her family wouldn’t hurt so damn much, . . . and if there wasn’t a strange attraction to the betrothed Prince Atticus she just met . . .
Amongst murder and mayhem, and toeing an unclear line between right and wrong, Sylva and her fellow Guardians must find a way to secure Eirene.
But it’s not easy going up against underworld Queen Furie when those on Sylva’s side are hiding secrets . . .
Will they succeed in protecting the home of the angels? Or will they fail, submitting the heavens to the fate of Furie?
And will Sylva and Attic ever remember what they mean to each other?
Or will they stay forever Lethed?
Lethed (Partial of First Chapter):
SOMETHING WATCHED ME. I sensed its sadistic presence. Tingles of anticipation snaked from the nape of my neck down my spine.
With one hand pressed firmly on my rickety, white-picket side gate, I glanced over my shoulder.
The tree-lined street stared back at me. Snow-dusted branches accentuated the silky navy sky, and meager yellow light leaked from the lampposts.
I strained to hear the telltale crunching of snow. Nothing. Breathing in, I sought the sour smell of evil in the breeze or the tinny smell of blood—a scent I’d become familiar with in the last few months.
Just a sharp cold that promised winter would linger this year.
My shoulders sagged in relief. I wasn’t supposed to be out alone—I promised Albelin I’d always take another Guardian with me if I left the motel premises. Perhaps my guilty conscience was responsible for this strange sensation of evil.
I hadn’t wanted to disobey him. Not really.
I clutched the gate, its splintered edges digging into my palms, and studied the house in front of me.
Steadying my breath, I opened the latch and pushed through to the path. Frosty stalks of lavender brushed the back of my hand in a light, swirling breeze as I took in the large acorn tree. Beyond it, the luminescent windows radiated warmth and beckoned me home.
No, I didn’t want to disobey Albelin.
I needed to.
Like every week, I crept to the side of the house and peered into the living room. Slouched on the couch watching TV, Mom sat with her head resting on Dad’s shoulder, and Mottle was tucked into the small space between them. My brother Jeffrey wasn’t in the room—but it was near midnight, so he probably lay tucked up in bed.
Dad kissed the top of Mom’s head and her lips moved. Love you too, honey.
I wondered if Dad heard Mom’s whispered words. It seemed cruel that I could hear the words meant for him when I wanted them to be meant for me.
But they couldn’t ever be for me anymore. Not since I’d chosen to give them up to become an angel-protecting, demon-killing Guardian.
My stomach roiled and I stifled a cry.
I slunk back into the shadows, waiting for the warm weight of darkness to smother me into numbness again. It worked the last three months.
Digging each jagged fingernail into my sweaty palms, I counted down from ten. I looked forward to replacing the frustration and hurt with dull throbbing. But at “one,” nothing changed. I backed up harder against the corrugated fencing behind me, the cold seeping through my shirt.
Dad’s head jerked back in laughter that verged on maniacal. It used to make me laugh, too—at Dad. But now it made me want to bang on the windowpane until it shattered, and with it the thick wall of memories they couldn’t see between us.
I twisted the ring on my little finger, hoping the comforting tic would help me.
It stopped me from yelling out, but it didn’t curb the tears. Sizable drops splashed onto my hand as I wiped a sniffle from my nose.
I instantly forgot about the tears as a ripping pain sliced down my forearm. Blood seeped through my light-blue sleeve. I whistled in a breath as I clutched the cut. Usually, I relied on the semi-regular cuts and stabbing burns to snap me to a keen sense of reality, but now the pain inside me did the job well enough.
Mottle jumped off the couch and trotted to the window. She pawed at the glass and meowed.
I sighed. At least Mots remembered me. Her gray fur pressed up against the window as if begging me to pat her. She butted her head, rattling the glass, and I suddenly couldn’t bear her leaving me alone.
She was one member of my family I could still have.
“I’m coming to get you,” I whispered.
As if she understood me, she leaped off the sill and padded out of the living room.
I moved with purpose to the front of the house, my feet lightly treading the leaf-covered path. I searched the potted-plants for a spare key. Surely there’d be one here somewhere. . . .
First pot. Second.
Where could they have hidden it? Or had they moved it after Dad worked the Guardian homicide cases a few months ago? Flashes of torn Guardian bodies flickered in my mind, eliciting waves of goose bumps over my skin.
For a small city, Foxtin’s high death rate . . . I shuddered. Demons—Keres and Arae—slaughtered us Guardians as if they drew hot knives through butter. I saw it.
I also saw them turn my friend Marcus and ex-boyfriend Jason part-demon.
Saw them kill Maddy, my best friend. . . .
A born and raised New Zealander, Anyta Sunday has been exploring the literary world since she started reading Roald Dahl as a kid. Inspired, stories have been piling up in her head ever since. Fast forward to her mid-twenties and jump a few countries (Germany, America, and back again), and she started putting pen to paper. When she’s not writing or chasing her kid around, she’s reading, hiking, watching a Joss Whedon series, attempting pilates, or curling up with her two cats. Updates on her projects can be found at anytasunday.com.
When I read a story, I always wonder about the creative process the author uses when writing the story. Is she a “seat of the pants” writer or does she use a more formal structure? Does she follow a routine or write when the ideas floating in her mind demand to be put on paper? Today, Anyta gives us an overview of her writing process, including a visual of how she creates a skeleton for the story. Thank you Ms. Sunday for the informative article you’ve written and shared with Sun Mountain Reviews!
” A Glimpse Into My Writing Process”
by Anyta Sunday
Just look at these pictures and you’ll see for yourself what type of organization I have!
There is some, and I have notes galore, but those notes are often times pretty hard to decipher. I blame this entirely on my handwriting, of course . . .
But, in all seriousness, for me writing a novel is a mixture of creativity and spontaneity and buckling down to sweat out the words.
I start my process by crafting a very loose plan of the milestones I want to have happen in the book. These milestones show the character’s journey to get that thing that they really want and most importantly, the obstacles in the way of that.
Then, I usually procrastinate for a few days before I begin the actual work. I consider this procrastination time a very important, invaluable step. I doubt I would ever clean my desk and scrub my office toilet, otherwise. It’s life’s way of telling me to look after myself. Really, it has to be, because I never exercise so much as when I’m procrastinating.
After a good dose of that, I live out the mantra (thank you, Peter De Vries): I write when I’m inspired, and I see to it that I’m inspired at nine o’clock every morning.
Which basically means plunking my butt in a chair and forcing words onto the page. It’s agony and it’s pure delight—some sort of warped version of the two. But I LOVE it. And I hate it. But I LOVE IT!!!
A few months of this go by and I approach an end to my first draft. Usually about now I don’t sleep. Well, I do sleep, but it’s all the characters talking and scenes playing over and over in my head. I get into PFT (Pre First-draft Tension) when I want to get it all out and on the paper, and I get so frustrated that it takes time. That I simply cannot write faster. Oh, and irritated. I am quite the grumpy thing when it comes to crunch time!
Then, hurrah, the first draft is done.
There’s usually wine around this bit.
Or a lot.
After I leave the story for a while to sit, I bring it out again. Oh the horrors! Here’s where cringing comes into play. That and the delete button. No first draft is perfect and it takes a good number of beta readers (thank you beta readers!!!) and rewrites to scrub the book into shape.
Finally, when I think it’s ready, I send it to my editors. Oh how wonderful thee are!
I give myself a day to relax and bathe in the accomplishment, and then I go back to planning and jotting those hard-to-read notes for the next book.
5 ebook sets of Veined & Lethed
1 $15 dollar Amazon gift card