» A Brush of Wings Anthology

A Brush of Wings anthology

March 22, 2010

A Brush of Wings anthology is now available in paperback and eBook.

Guardian spirits walk among us. They are heavenly beings who grant courage, unknown benefactors who offer help, best friends who lend their strength, and celestial beings who embody inspiration. You might not recognize these everyday angels or messengers of mercy, but the men in this anthology are touched by their purity and light and sometimes blessed by love.

Contest!

March 21, 2010

We’ll be selecting a name at random from everyone who comments today to win an eBook version of A Brush of Wings, but if you’d like to win a paperback version of the anthology, just answer these three easy questions. We’ll draw a winner from all correct entries received by midnight ET tonight. Don’t post your answers here – e-mail them to me at anneregan@dreamspinnerpress.com. If you are the winner, I’ll e-mail you back to get your snail-mail address to send your prize.

1) How many stories are there in A Brush of Wings?

2) Who are the only two angels mentioned by name in the Bible?

3) What animal appears in the title of one of the stories in the anthology?

HINT: Go to the Coming Soon announcement for A Brush of Wings at the Dreamspinner Press website. Click on the “Read an Excerpt” link – at least two of the three answers can be found there.

Good luck!

Anne

“In the Hands of Gods” by Jana Denardo in “A Brush of Wings” anthology

March 21, 2010

Hi everyone!

This is my first book launch virtual party so I feel completely awkward but never let it be said I cannot talk about myself. Talking is what I do best. I’m very excited to be here. While this isn’t my first time in an anthology, it’s the first time for all the hoopla and I find that fantastic. If we’re excited, then hopefully the readers will be, too. And I hope you’re as excited as I am to see A Brush of Wings. My story In the Hands of Gods is but one story and I’m looking to see all the stories I’ll be sharing space with. I can’t wait.

I love the open calls Dreamspinner Press has. I find having a theme helps me a lot. I set my mind to turning the theme around and around until it comes up with something. As soon as I saw the description of what A Brush of Wings would be about, I knew two things; I wanted to write something for it and that I didn’t want to do something with angels. Not that there is anything wrong with angels but I knew immediately I wanted to try working with another culture and belief system.

I love history and I’ve done a lot of research on Pompeii for another story years ago. I dug out the old files and thought to myself, this is perfect. It’s a topic I know a lot about and is easily researched so I settled on using the Lares, a personal guardian that were very popular in Roman culture during the time of Pompeii. The city itself is practically a living, breathing character in the story. It has its own inherent tragedy just waiting to happen and that is the underlying focus of the story. Priscus is the Lar for the Rufus family. Tiberius has captured his guardian spirit’s attention since the moment he was born. Now a young man, in charge of an olive oil empire, Tiberius cannot be left to die when Mount Vesuvius erupts so his loving Lar sets out to make sure Tiberius survives. I did sort of pick an excerpt that’s dead center of the story but I thought it was one of the more romantic and evocative of the time period. I hope you enjoy it.

EXCERPT Another of the bath servants let them lie side by side on the slender cots in the apodyterium. The two wealthy men were covered in olive oil. Out of the corner of his eye, Tiberius watched the servant massage the oil into Priscus’ tanned flesh until it gleamed. The oil highlighted the definition of Priscus’ muscles. Tiberius shut his eyes as the bone stirgil touched his skin. He half drowsed as the servant scraped the dirt sticking to the oil off his body. When they were done, both men padded naked except for sandals toward the next stop in the bath, servants with towels trailing after them.

Tiberius was delighted to find the frigidarium to be empty. The snowy white marble matched the cold spring it encompassed. Without a word to Priscus, he slithered under the water, his whole body shuddering as his heated muscles were engulfed by the cold water. Sputtering, Tiberius surfaced, leaning against the marble to wait for Priscus to resurface.

Priscus came up, sluicing water off his dark curls. He rested on the marble, the deep bronze of his skin highlighted by the white stone. “That felt good.”

“This is a wonderful bath,” Tiberius replied, sinking down to his chin to let the cold water firm up his muscles.

“As fine as any we have in Rome,” Priscus agreed, climbing back out.

Tiberius would have liked to linger in the cold water after his long run but he didn’t want Priscus to get too far ahead of him. Exercising hadn’t been conducive to talking but bathing would be.

The tepidarium was the prettiest room in the bath. Murals graced the deep red, stucco walls. Ceilings arched over the mosaic floors. Three bronze benches sat next to the braiser. The gently heated metal warmed his bottom, which could use it after the cold spring. Priscus sat with Tiberius on the bench. Tiberius’ limbs loosened as he stared up at the ceiling, letting the tepidarium’s warm air prepare his body for the next step.

Priscus’ arm went slightly behind Tiberius’ back as the other young man leaned on it. His dark eyes studied Tiberius as Priscus leaned closer. For a heart-racing moment, Tiberius thought Priscus might press his generous lips against his. “Have you given any thought about coming to Rome?”

Tiberius blinked at the suddenness of the question. “No, not really.”

Priscus sat back a bit, his lips pinching into a pout. “I would have thought you might since you’ve moved into that market.”

“I haven’t ruled that out,” Tiberius replied, unsure where that came from. He had never given it any thought at all and had no idea what he would do in Rome. He’d know no one there: except for Priscus that was.

“That’s good to know.” Priscus shifted on the bench. His thigh rubbed against Tiberius.

Tiberius squirmed away just a little. The touch may have been accidental but his interest in the man was too fevered. He didn’t want to risk anything indecent happening in public.

WHERE TO FIND IT
You can find the whole story and many more at the following links
paperback release

ebook release

And if you like what you see, you can find a nap-sized dream from me right here. Mysterious Spirit is a fantasy story with a heavy bondage, submissive/dominance theme. Also there’ll be another one by me in an upcoming Dreamspinner Press’s anthology, Necking. This one is a threesome of demon hunters set in 1930s Pittsburgh, PA (see what I mean about my history love).

That should be enough self promotion for now. If you want to know more about any of the stories or about me, feel free to ask. Like I said, talking is one of my favorite things.

Heart’s Salvation, by Réve Garrison

March 21, 2010

I’ve never posted to the blog before, so hopefully I’ve done it correctly! I’m VERY excited to have my first ‘in print’ book with Dreamspinner Press, and be listed among other talented authors in the ‘A Brush of Wings’ anthology.

Blurb

After losing his wife and daughter in a car accident, a distraught Nathaniel approaches the church for comfort, seeking the statue that is said to heal emotional distress. When the angel embodied in the statue feels the depth of Nathaniel’s pain, he makes the unusual decision to assume human form and comfort the grieving widower. But soon the angel must decide between returning to the statue to comfort others and retaining his humanity for the hope of love.

Excerpt

DAYS passed, and Nathaniel carried on as best he could after burying his wife and child. In the times when he felt the deepest despair, his heart was lightened by a happy memory. Sometimes a comforting presence filled the air, as if a guardian angel was watching out for him. It was during those moments that he thought of the handsome, dark-haired stranger with the kind eyes that seemed to see inside his very soul.

For all the shortness of their meeting, Nathaniel was enraptured with the being who had saved him. On the nights when he lay in bed unable to sleep, he tried to remember how the young man had come to be with him that night. All he could remember was looking up into placid eyes and the feeling of being safe. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten home, though he assumed he’d walked, but he remembered that he’d awoken from a terrible nightmare with the man at his side. Some of the pieces just didn’t fit, and if he dwelt upon them too long, his head began to reel.

Days turned into weeks, which quickly turned into months, and Nathaniel’s hopes of seeing his savior angel again diminished until all that was left was a dull throbbing ache in his soul.

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‘The Angel Blues’ by Cornelia Grey, in ‘A Brush of Wings’ anthology

March 21, 2010

Hello, dear readers and fellow authors. I am thrilled to be part of this anthology: the theme of guardian spirits is endlessly fascinating, and I am pleased to have my personal take on the matter included in this intriguing selection.

Angels always evoke in me a feeling of mild melancholy and soothing light; I love to think of celestial beings as good natured, ironic, with the little imperfections and quirks that make humankind interesting. The angel of ‘The Angel Blues’ is a conflicted being, unable to distance himself from the doubts and emotions and little pleasures that belong to mortals – such as listening to a good ol’ blues song, or the company of a certain human that makes his heart flutter just so…

I hope you will enjoy accompanying my two characters in their journey, which, whether they want it or not, will permanently transform their lives; here’s a glimpse of their story.

The Angel Blues: an excerpt

“HONESTLY. Haven’t you got anything better to do than hang around in my living room?”

Morgan leaned against the doorframe and popped the cap of the beer he’d just taken out of the fridge, slowly shaking his head. He’d walked back from the kitchen to find his favorite chair occupied by a familiar figure, sitting cross-legged, with messy hair and an oversized ugly sweater, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised anymore.

“Yeah. Well, I rather enjoy your living room,” the stranger said, his head bent over the pile of CDs scattered on his lap. He picked one up and hummed in approval. “’The original blues legend’. One of my favorites,” he said, his blinding smile blossoming. Morgan took a sip and chuckled, then dropped onto the couch, stretching his legs.

“So, I’ve come up with a few options,” he began conversationally. “About you. And why you seem to pop up all over the place.”

The stranger lifted his gaze, still holding onto the CD. “By all means, let’s hear them, then,” he said, one eyebrow raised in kind curiosity.

Morgan slumped more comfortably into the cushions. “First, chances are you are just a figment of my imagination. I’m still pretty sure I made you up. You’re a hallucination.”

“Is that so?” the stranger commented, his smile unreadable. Strangely, Morgan could not remember the last time he had felt so… at peace.

“Yeah. And since I’m not on drugs, you may well be the sign of a deadly brain tumor or that my brain’s simply given up and is circling the drain. And remember,” he added, pointing his Beck’s toward the stranger, “if I end my days in an asylum because of you, I’ll be holding one serious grudge.”

The stranger just leaned back in the armchair, head cocked slightly to the side, that Mona Lisa smile still ghosting on his lips. Morgan sort of wondered if hallucinations could flirt…

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REDEMPTION by Clare London

March 21, 2010

Hello to today’s visitors and I hope we’re tempting you well with our glimpses into the new Dreamspinner Press anthology, “A Brush of Wings”.

My story is called REDEMPTION and was inspired by thoughts of Purgatory, and how men might linger between worlds while they waited for their eventual fate to be judged.  And then, how much worse would that situation be for Angels? 

BLURB:
Ziba is a fallen Angel, working as a sponsor of lost men, helping them find genuine repentance after a life of sin.  Banished to the Arrivals Hall between worlds, he offers them work during their journey back to a better afterlife.  But for him, personally, that option is closed.  His position was so exalted, and his sin so great, that he is imprisoned in Arrivals for ever.  Until he meets Abdiel, a new arrival: an angel who was also exalted, and also fell from grace – but whose love and self-sacrifice offers both of them a new hope of redemption.

EXCERPT:

We walked to the back of the room until I stood only a foot away from the kneeling man.  I didn’t listen to any of the other voices, didn’t smell any of the other flesh.  I waited for the required response.

None came.  He remained with his head bowed and his hands held loosely behind his back.  I stared down at the crown of his head.  His hair was dark with sweat, but I could see it was dark auburn, thick and curled where it nestled against his neck.  His skin was almost hairless, but his shoulders were broad and his arms and legs muscled.  He was far from a boy.

“Tell me his story,” I said, speaking above him.  For the first time, I saw a flicker of acknowledgment in the pulse below his ear, though he didn’t lift his head.  Of course, I hadn’t given permission, but I didn’t think that was the only reason.

The caretaker’s throat bobbed with a heavy swallow.  “What can I say?  We haven’t been given all the paperwork yet.  They dropped him off a while ago.”  He glared at the bowed head as if it had caused him more grief than the combined workload of all the other Arrivals he’d ever handled.  “But it must have been a grade eight offence at the least. There’s no recommended holding period, or even a listing of mitigation.”

I glanced along the sweep of his bony torso.  “No mark?”

“No, sir.  Not yet.  He must have come straight from Transition.  It’s just another sign as to the severity of his case.”

“You said he wasn’t available.”

The caretaker’s eyes looked as if they’d roll up into his head.  The fear dripped from him in his sweat.  “That was the only paper he did have on him.  A yellow slip.”  His voice sank to a whisper.  “Don’t think I’ve seen more than three of those in all my time here.”

I felt an unusual shiver across the back of my neck.  The caretaker was staring down at my hands.  An unimaginative man at best, with a tendency to casual cruelty if not checked, he knew enough to watch for warning signs of punishment.  It took me an effort to uncurl my fingers and relax the palm. 

A yellow slip. 

“Outcast,” I said.  The body at my feet seemed to shiver as well.  “Indefinite confinement, subject only to divine review.  Not to be issued a ledger.”

The caretaker was silent.

“No opportunity for redemption,” I added, my voice sounding low and, disturbingly, bleak.

“No, sir,” the man at my side whispered.  His tone was dejected.  He, personally, had arrived with a medium high grade offence, but even so, his ledger was gradually filling with credit. Every one of my visits added to that, if the Arrivals I took had been properly cared for.

But he also knew I’d arrived with a yellow slip, myself.

I took a step back.  “Look at me,” I said to the man on his knees.

The caretaker tensed up beside me, his hand gripping his whip in case of resistance.  It happened.  This man wasn’t available for general service, but he was still subject to Arrival Hall rules.  As, indeed, had I been.  That was, until I had learned to use my unique powers to ease my way through the system.

After all, I had many years both behind and ahead of me to practice.

He stirred, the man who wasn’t bound and yet met me in the traditional submissive pose.  I didn’t know if he were brave or foolish—or even if he fully understood his status.  I couldn’t take him with me against his will.  Nor would it benefit him to indenture himself to me, as it would the others.  But I could still demand his attention.

He looked up at me.  I felt nauseous.

“This is a mistake,” I said.

“Sir?” The caretaker looked aghast.

“This man shouldn’t be here.”

*************

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Sariel by Mary Calmes “A Brush of Wings Anthology”

March 21, 2010

This is the first anthology I have ever been a part of and I’m very excited to be included with other such talented writers. Here’s the blurb for my story Sariel:

Jacob Gray is on the trip of a lifetime with his employer only to have it turn into a nightmare. Drugged and taken to an underground catacomb, Jake is forced to make a life or death decision: face torture by the men who kidnapped him or confront a ferocious beast. Much to his captors’ surprise, Jacob casts his fate into the hands of an unknown creature instead of surrendering himself to sure death, with only hope as his salvation.  

I have always loved angels ever since taking a Milton class in college, (Book II of Paradise Lost being my favorite), and the chance to finally create my own story was much too powerful to pass up.  I am so looking forward to reading the other stories in the anthology.

Lack of coffee: I realized, just now, that the excerpt wasn’t there, it was originally but I messed it up somehow.  And everyone was nice and said they wanted to read it from the blurb. Thanks, you’re all so kind. Here’s the excerpt: 

Excerpt:

The frigid water hitting my face woke me up. I gasped and lunged away from the hands that were groping me, running across my abdomen and fondling me through my jeans. As I scrambled away, I looked up and saw three men above me, advancing on me.

“Wait.”

I turned toward the voice, and so did everyone else. Directly across from me, across the torch-lined space, wearing long, red ceremonial robes, was Dr. Pierce.

 “He has to be given a choice. He has to choose the torture over the beast, or the covenant is broken. Let him see and decide.”

I lunged backward, but I was still drugged and sluggish and slow. The two strangers from the car and Mr. Oren grabbed me and dragged me across the dirt floor to a thick wooden pole that had been driven deep into the ground. It didn’t give at all when they threw me into it.

“Many others have stood where you are now, Mr. Gray,” Dr. Pierce called, advancing toward me, his eyes catching the light from the flames, his pupils completely dilated, huge and black as he advanced toward me. “And they all chose to let us rape them and cut them and gut them instead of being consumed by the beast. You too will make the same choice, I know it. You’re weak; it’s why I chose you, along with your beauty.”

He didn’t know anything about me, about the kind of man I was, but maybe, in this instance, that would work to my advantage.

I watched and listened as Dr. Pierce began chanting, and I saw Mr. Oren walk backward away from me. He was smiling. The other two men stepped back, and I straightened up, the cold, as biting as it was, helping to clear my head. Taking in my surroundings, I realized that I was in an enormous cave, an underground catacomb, and the only light at all was coming from the oil lamps that my boss was blowing out one by one.

“Mr. Gray,” Desmond Pierce called over to me, his voice low. “Do you want to give up now?”

I shook my head.

 “Are you certain? You will hear the beast come, and if you cry out, if you make any noise at all, even a whisper, we will light the torch and claim you, and yes… your death will be slow and agonizing, and you will howl. Still, in the end, it will be death, and the pain will stop. With the beast… I can’t say how long it will go on, and the horror….” He smiled suddenly. “And the pain… and maybe, with us, if you’re very good, maybe, just maybe… we’ll let you live. Think about it, Mr. Gray,” he cackled as he blew out the second to last lantern. “Think about what you truly can and cannot abide.”

The light went out, and I was plunged into primordial darkness. I took a breath and shivered hard, wrapping my arms around myself before I started to jog in place. If I was already moving, there was less chance of being startled and crying out. I had to be silent, whatever happened. I couldn’t utter a sound; that was the game.

Herbal Tea by H.J. Brues in A Brush of Wings

March 21, 2010

I’m on a little vacation right now, traveling with a group of friends who forced me to leave my laptop at home before allowing me to climb into the car. So, yeah, you guessed right: I had to post these words in advance, but I didn’t want to miss the chance to join the party and tell you a little about my story in the Dreamspinner Press A Brush of Wings anthology.

 I found the idea of writing about guardian spirits very appealing—I can hear my fellow authors thinking get in line—and I had one of those what-if moments when I was preparing a cup of herbal tea. I love the slow, calming ritual of making tea, love the powerful scent of most herbal teas—and if you’ve ever smelled an infusion of valerian root you’ll  understand why I say most—love mixing flavors and drinking the hot, colorful liquid while I let my mind drift.  I thought I could put all those feelings in a story, and so I chose to write about an herbalist, someone who would know everything about medicinal plants and their uses.

Original that I am, I called the result Herbal tea. Since I don’t want to spoil the plot for you, here’s a little sip:

 I looked at the rainbow flag and tried not to clench my fists. Maybe I was being my usual paranoid self and it was just one of those equal opportunity things, but I had the impression they were laughing themselves sick back at headquarters.

The place looked harmless enough on the outside, with its potted geraniums and clear windows, the stenciled sign reading “The Ancient Herbalist” in simple, blue cursive. At least it wasn’t a sex shop or one of those sleazy bookstores, though it reeked of alternative bullshit; that, I could bear for one day—or so I told myself as I pushed the door open to the chime of a dozen little bells and almost gagged on the overpowering scent of herbs. Jesus. “Herbalist” was right, by the smell of it.

There were no patrons sitting at the white, wrought-iron tables yet, so I walked over to study the prints on the nearest wall. They were all renderings of plants—medicinal, I guessed—with a sure hand for detail and sedate backgrounds that emphasized the almost botanical textbook air to them. As I moved closer, I noticed a few smaller frames holding something that looked like… tea bags? Yeah, several tea bags, the front of two cardboard tea boxes, and a row of teabag labels. Weird, the things people choose to hang on a wall.

“Welcome.”

I turned around to meet the most amazing violet eyes I’d ever seen on a man. My old neighbor Wallace used to have a cat with those eyes, though they weren’t as full of healthy curiosity as the pair holding my gaze in the herbal-scented room.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” he asked, his voice a little too much on the amused side for my comfort. I was glad he didn’t wait for my answer, because I might have blurted out the wrong thing—considering I only drink black coffee—and it gave me time to study his retreating form as he walked back to the counter.

He was wearing drawstring pants that hung loosely on his lean hips, two layers of oversized T-shirts blurring the contours of his light frame. I felt overdressed in my black suit, almost the cartoon image of an FBI agent trying to get some answers from a skater punk.

“You don’t look ancient to me,” I said, surprising a laugh out of him.

“I don’t look like an herbalist either,” he replied with a smile. A very nice smile—of the sexy-nice kind. Definitely someone was having a ball back at headquarters.

 ******************

 Want to taste some more? If you do, I know you will also enjoy the wonderful stories the other authors have written for this Dreamspinner Press anthology (congratulations you all, and great job, Anne!):

 To buy the paperback

To buy the eBook

 I will be very happy to read your comments, questions or herbal tea recipes, and will answer them as soon as I can get my hands on my laptop.

Welcome!

March 21, 2010

Welcome to the virtual release party for the new Dreamspinner Press anthology A Brush of Wings. I’m Anne Regan, the editor of the anthology, and I hope you’ll enjoy meeting our authors and reading previews of the stories throughout the day.

I was thrilled by the number and quality of the responses we received to our Call for Submissions for this anthology. The theme – guardian spirits, whether of the celestial or the human variety – seemed to touch a creative spark in a lot of authors. In A Brush of Wings you’ll meet all kinds of intercessory spirits, from traditional guardian angels to less familiar divine beings to those who are wholly human – or are they?

Throughout the day, authors will be stopping buy to post excerpts from their stories and tell you a little about themselves and what inspires them. Please feel free to ask questions, ask for more, or just leave a comment. We’ll be giving away a free eBook copy of the anthology, to be chosen at random from among everyone who posts comments during the release party – so don’t be shy. There will also be a trivia contest – an easy one, I promise – to give away a free paperback copy of the anthology, so watch for that too.

In the meantime, stop by the Dreamspinner Press website at www.dreamspinnerpress.com to read more about the anthology, sign up for our newsletter, Facebook, Twitter or Yahoo alerts, and of course place your order for A Brush of Wings!

Anne Regan
Associate Editor
Dreamspinner Press