Today, we're doing something a little different. This is our 11th guest author interview on the Marie Lavender's Books! blog, and fellow author Lyn Croft is visiting us.
Hello, Lyn! It’s such a pleasure to have you here. :)
Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it
come out and where can we get it?
My latest book is the Battle for Phang
Lore, Quest for the Eldtale. It’s about a planet in a far off galaxy that holds
the key to life. An alien race is hell-bent on finding the Eldtale, but when
they get to the planet, they find they are not the only enemy after the
treasure they seek.
You can find it at various sellers like Amazon.
Interesting!
Is there anything that prompted your book? Something that inspired you?
It would have to be my love for
fantasy. I love far away worlds with creatures you’d never see in our world,
while creating vivid stories that stretch the imagination.
Sounds good to me!
When did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?
It’s always been a pastime of mine.
It wasn’t till about five years ago that I wanted to take a stab at writing
novels. Up until recently, I’d only dabbled in poems and short stories.
All right.
So, do you
have any favorite authors?
I have a few. Stephen King, Gena
Showalter, Dean Koontz…
I've read Dean Koontz as well. He's pretty good.
Do you write in a specific place, Lyn? Or time of day?
I like writing in my room
or outside in the sun. Any time that I’m free is the time of day I’d like to
write.
Are there any words you'd like to impart
to fellow writers? Any advice?
Write because you love to
write. Don’t worry about the technical aspects when you’re writing; just tell
the story. And, never give up! This industry is up and down and you never know
where tomorrow will lead you.
That is so true, Lyn. Thank you for your words of wisdom.
And thank you for stopping by! It was a pleasure to have you here. :)
Readers, here is the blurb for Battle for Phang Lore, Quest for the Eldtale.
War has separated the
two great kingdoms of Phang Lore—a small inhabited planet deep in the Vesmos
Galaxy. Hatred, sprouted from true love, has led to a great battle, bringing
upon them the wrath of the creator, Ranaak, by flooding their lands and forever
dividing the two great nations.
Now, a new threat comes. Word of the Eldtale has reached an ancient alien race, hell-bent for destruction and power. Leaving no survivors, their new quest will bring them to the distant planet as they search for the tree of life. Can Phang Lore survive this new threat, or will they succumb to the dangers already plaguing their lands and give the Vortans the infinite and vicious power they seek?
Now, a new threat comes. Word of the Eldtale has reached an ancient alien race, hell-bent for destruction and power. Leaving no survivors, their new quest will bring them to the distant planet as they search for the tree of life. Can Phang Lore survive this new threat, or will they succumb to the dangers already plaguing their lands and give the Vortans the infinite and vicious power they seek?
Here is an excerpt from the novel.
“Step forward!”
Dravore beckoned. His back straightened as he leaned forward to better look at
his first in command. “Have you failed me yet again, Taikir Yersaye? Have you
brought me more disappointment by being empty handed once again? Please, remind
me why I tasked you to be in charge.”
“I’m sorry, my king. We were misinformed. The planet of Nalloria brought forth no Eldtale. I ask that we have the priests re-decipher the translations. They were wrong in—”
“Silence, insolent fool. Do you dare insult me with such ignorance? I asked if you had failed me!” Dravore’s yellow eyes constricted as he rose up from his chair, towering over the two guards on each side. At over seven feet tall, his massive girth was quite intimidating, even for the fearless soldiers of Vortan. A black, leather robe, chiseled with markings of the Vortan dialect—a mixture of letters and symbols that had been carried through their generations from the beginning of time—reached down to the floor, accentuating his generous frame. Slender and elongated hands rose up as he removed his coat, letting it fall onto the chair behind him. His uniform matched the material of his robe, wrapping his body in obsidian cellophane, exposing the curves of his muscular frame. At his side, an exquisite sword of white gold hung in its holster. The king quickly slid it out of its resting place and stepped down toward his three soldiers. Dravore reached the floor where Taikir stood, still towering over him, but only by inches now.
Taikir bowed, waiting for the sword to split the connection between head and torso. He heard the swish of the blade as Dravore swung the weapon down. Taikir clenched his eyes and ground his jaw tightly, waiting for the end.
But it did not come.
The head of Nersuthe fell to the ground at his feet before tumbling forward, marking the floor with a hollow thud. The sword swung again in a rapid forward motion as it sailed into the chest of Marikan.
Taikir turned his head to see his comrade’s eyes frozen in shock. He knew he had failed his crew and now he had lost two of his best soldiers. Marikan’s body slouched forward, grabbing his chest, as he sank to the floor, joining Nersuthe. Taikir bowed his head again, waiting for his turn to die.
Air whispered past his ear. The blade rose for one more blow. This time it would be Taikir’s head. Closing his eyes, he let the memories of his time flash before him. The torment he had caused others played around in his mind. Every painful expression of the demise and destruction he waged upon others teased him, knowing he’d never get to taste the sweet carnage of death he so loved to inflict on others. His time had come.
Suddenly, the doors from down the hall busted open. Three priests entered, being pulled by two imperial guards. Rusted chains bound their bare wrists and ankles, their bodies draped in russet cloth that were worn and tattered. Smudged dirt streaked their cheeks, a testament to the lack of hospitality the Vortans treated their captives with.
“I’m sorry, my king. We were misinformed. The planet of Nalloria brought forth no Eldtale. I ask that we have the priests re-decipher the translations. They were wrong in—”
“Silence, insolent fool. Do you dare insult me with such ignorance? I asked if you had failed me!” Dravore’s yellow eyes constricted as he rose up from his chair, towering over the two guards on each side. At over seven feet tall, his massive girth was quite intimidating, even for the fearless soldiers of Vortan. A black, leather robe, chiseled with markings of the Vortan dialect—a mixture of letters and symbols that had been carried through their generations from the beginning of time—reached down to the floor, accentuating his generous frame. Slender and elongated hands rose up as he removed his coat, letting it fall onto the chair behind him. His uniform matched the material of his robe, wrapping his body in obsidian cellophane, exposing the curves of his muscular frame. At his side, an exquisite sword of white gold hung in its holster. The king quickly slid it out of its resting place and stepped down toward his three soldiers. Dravore reached the floor where Taikir stood, still towering over him, but only by inches now.
Taikir bowed, waiting for the sword to split the connection between head and torso. He heard the swish of the blade as Dravore swung the weapon down. Taikir clenched his eyes and ground his jaw tightly, waiting for the end.
But it did not come.
The head of Nersuthe fell to the ground at his feet before tumbling forward, marking the floor with a hollow thud. The sword swung again in a rapid forward motion as it sailed into the chest of Marikan.
Taikir turned his head to see his comrade’s eyes frozen in shock. He knew he had failed his crew and now he had lost two of his best soldiers. Marikan’s body slouched forward, grabbing his chest, as he sank to the floor, joining Nersuthe. Taikir bowed his head again, waiting for his turn to die.
Air whispered past his ear. The blade rose for one more blow. This time it would be Taikir’s head. Closing his eyes, he let the memories of his time flash before him. The torment he had caused others played around in his mind. Every painful expression of the demise and destruction he waged upon others teased him, knowing he’d never get to taste the sweet carnage of death he so loved to inflict on others. His time had come.
Suddenly, the doors from down the hall busted open. Three priests entered, being pulled by two imperial guards. Rusted chains bound their bare wrists and ankles, their bodies draped in russet cloth that were worn and tattered. Smudged dirt streaked their cheeks, a testament to the lack of hospitality the Vortans treated their captives with.
And we're all wondering what else happens...
Readers, don't forget to check out this book!
Purchase Links:
Universal Amazon link: http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00XTG87N4
CreateSpace: https://www.createspace.com/5508455
Author Links:
Website/Blog: http://www.mortal-angel.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lyncroftauthor
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lyncroftauthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LynCroft27
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Lyn.../e/B00BPGLDQS/
Lyn's Books:
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