Hi. I'm Tara Fox Hall, and I'm here today to promote my new vampire series, Promise Me. Read on for a humorous short discussion on why we want to escape reality, and the need for a romantic fantasy world real enough to lose ourselves in. Comment for your chance to win a cat bed (pic below!)
THE ILLUSORINESS OF REALITY
Have you
paid attention to any commercials lately? I’m not talking the cosmetics, the
hair care, or even the Tampax, Ladies and Gents. I’m taking about the Real
America, as seen on commercials.
Take a thorough
look at most couples on commercials and what do you see? An average white guy,
nonthreatening and overweight by at least thirty pounds, usually dressed in a
huge shirt, some loose pants, and maybe sneakers or sandals. And who is this
2012 hunk’s consort? A thin, gorgeous supermodel, impeccably dressed in either
revealing or tight fitting clothes (sometimes both!). Is this a snapshot of
Real America, as the TV would have us believe? I doubt it.
The sad
truth is that there is little truth in the highly virtual world around us.
Photos, video, and audio can be altered, if not manufactured completely. We are
assaulted on all sides constantly by an endless stream of too much information,
most of it false. Out of the massive amount of data, we have to pick and choose
what information to embrace. Being highly selective is a depressing must. There
is simply too much to like, to read, to watch, to view, to listen to, to know
about so we can talk intelligently to others at parties, or even just to know
what the hell other people mean when they say the words, “Valar Morghulis”
(name, place or phrase?). Somewhere in there, we want space for a world that is
like ours, but with none of the hassles we have to personally deal with. We
want to lose ourselves in some fantasy world, complete with passionate heroes,
life and death conflict, and a villain we love to hate. We also want a world
that we can believe in, where events make sense, characters act according to
their history, and a happy ending manifests itself, even if it’s bought with blood
and tears.
Why is this? Everyone wants an
escape from his or her own reality of day-to-day life, which requires constant,
unrelenting effort, even when life is going along fabulously. But to entice us
away from our drudgery, we need a world to escape to that is as believably real
as our own world. We need a likable heroine or hero who we can identify with,
maybe even someone we can see as our friend. We need a love interest to get our
heart pumping and our juices flowing. And we need a villain that we just can’t
wait to see get his at the climactic ending.
I have done my damnedest to make my
novel Promise Me as real as possible. Give me a try. I’ll wager it’s the most
realistic fantasy world you’ve visited in a long while, taking you from the
sunlit rural hills of upstate New York to the solitary darkness of a vampire’s
fortress hidden in the deep woods. I give you the passionate couple of
independent country woman Sarelle and reserved, yet possessive vampire Danial.
I give you the life and death conflict of a human assassins and the
supernatural sorcerer Terian out for Danial’s blood. I offer Devlin, former
hero of Surrender To Me, now turned
dark and vengeful after suffering the loss of his love centuries ago. But best
of all, I promise a happy ending that is also a beginning to a kick-ass vampire
series.
Cat Bed Prize:
Long Blurb for Promise Me, #1 in the Promise Me Series:
Metal shop worker Sarelle “Sar” McGarran is the ultimate
tomboy and considers herself capable of handling whatever life throws her way.
Recently widowed, she takes refuge in quiet country life until the day she
stumbles upon an unconscious vampire on her property. Unable to leave the
wounded man, she takes him in.
Danial Racklan is a
sexy bad boy with a complicated past and questionable motives. Yet before long,
he has Sar completely captivated. He introduces her to his secret, supernatural
world, in the process reawakening emotions and desires she hasn’t felt since
her husband’s tragic death. Soon Sar finds herself drawn into a dark, dangerous
reality in which her desire for Danial is second only to her wariness that he
may break her heart. Yet Sar must soon face there is much Danial has kept from
her, even as she begins to love him. When Danial asks her for an Oath of
forever, will Sar give Danial his greatest desire?
When your lover is a vampire, a
promise of forever takes on a whole new meaning…
PROMISE
ME
Excerpt:
Danial
was dying.
He could feel it in his blood, the
burning in his flesh. He pulled the truck onto a side road and accelerated. His
pursuer couldn’t be far behind. He glanced at his arm, at the small gash that
was even now healing. It might be better for him if he opened it up again. He’d
cleaned it the best he could, but it wasn’t like he’d had time to do more than
pour water on it. It felt as though a razor had cut him and was working its way
deeper into his flesh.
Had to be poison. And no run of the
mill arsenic or derivative.
His mind worked frantically. What
poison had been on the tip of that arrow? Who had that been in the shadows?
Who’d known he’d been working on the Donaldson contract that he’d be there
tonight, watching? And most importantly, who had dared attack him?
It was possible the attacker hadn’t
known his name. But whoever had done this knew the breed of man he hunted and
had prepared a special end for him. He’d gotten a glimpse in the shadows of
what had hunted him; red eyes and a masculine form moving at supernatural
speed. In his world, that still left a long list of possible suspects. For
certain, it had been another of his kind.
He came to a crossroads and went
west, then to another and headed south. There were no headlights behind him, at
least so far. Best to leave the most complicated trail he could.
With some bitterness, he wondered
why he was fighting so hard to survive. His life had been pointless for the
last half century. Modern books and novels talked about how fun it was being a
creature of the night; so romantic and glamorous. What a crock of shit. If he hadn’t had his business, he’d have gone
crazy. And as for there being so many women who wanted to be with . . . someone
like him . . . for the most part, it was a phase girls in their twenties went
through. Looking for a bad boy to titillate and seduce them. Not one had been anything of substance. It
never lasted very long. But the ones who wanted in for the long haul were
worse. There was always the vow of doing anything for him and the promise of
eternal devotion. Until they found out that he couldn’t give them what they
wanted. Then it was wheedling and hints of what he would do if he really cared
for them. He’d stayed away from any serious commitments lately, say the last
thirty years. Why bother, when they were doomed to fail?
Enough of depressing thoughts! God,
wasn’t death at the end of the night depressing enough? He smiled at that and
checked the rearview mirror. Still no lights. His attacker was either a master
tracker or an amateur.
Maybe his life wasn’t everything
he’d hoped for when he was young. But he’d be damned if he’d give it up without
a fight.
He felt a wave of nausea, and
swallowed. If there was going to be a fight, it had better be quick. He could
already feel himself getting lightheaded, and it was getting worse by the
second. He had to pull in somewhere and get out of the open. The night was more
than half over. He’d never make it to the campsite he’d planned on, not how he
felt.
***
Terian paused, full of righteous
triumph, a wide smile on his face. This was going perfectly. He’d hit his
target, and it would all be over in a matter of hours. If he was lucky and had
gotten the arrow deep enough, it might be only one hour. That poison was damn
effective. Better yet, fate had done him a favor. The killer had been calling
on his cell when he’d been hit, and in his shock and rush to get away, he’d
dropped it.
Slowly, red eyes gleaming, Terian
held the phone in a taloned hand and crushed it to pieces. No help coming
tonight.
He still had to be careful. After
all, he’d never done anything like this before. This was no time to get cocky.
It wouldn’t be over until he’d either seen a body or a nice mound of ashes
bathed in daylight.
Better get a move on. The night was
already half over and his prey had a big head start.
***
Where the hell was he?
Danial looked around and saw only
cornfields and wooded areas. Small houses were interspersed here and there,
some with barns or paddocks. Livestock were in some of the pens; if only that
would work tonight.
The muscles in his arm suddenly contracted.
He swerved, barely missing a truck coming the other way. He overcorrected,
sending his truck almost into the ditch. But then he saw a turnoff. At least,
he hoped it was. His eyesight was going dim, and he knew his time had run out.
He swung the truck into the opening
among the trees, evoking a loud clank from the front fender. Nothing like a
metal chain to scratch paint, not to mention leave evidence of a trail. The
road seemed little more than a path, and he maneuvered as best he could; but
his strength was failing fast. He slumped over the wheel, and the car rolled to
a stop.
He had to get to safety. At least,
in the trees there’d be darkness and shadows, where he might be able to find
shelter.
Exhausted, he pushed against the
door, momentarily forgetting how to work it. He fell against the passenger side
door, disengaging the lock, and opening the door. In slow motion, he fell, the
ground rushing up to meet him.
The door, at an angle, remained open
for a moment, illuminating his body in a pale glow. Then the door succumbed to
gravity and swung slowly shut with a soft click, leaving the vehicle and Danial’s
still body in darkness.
Chapter One
Yawning,
I saw it was close to eleven p.m. It was Monday night, and I was curled up on
my couch, cats sharing my lap. Sipping a glass of wine, I read the latest
DeMille thriller. Jessica, my male cat with gender-identity issues, and my black
cat Cavity had persuaded me to stay up past my self-appointed bedtime in order
to provide some warmth and company. My slightly feral cat, Asher, was also
there, hiding beneath the sofa, while two dogs, Ghost and Darkness, slept at my
feet.
It had
been a long day, but I was used to that. Living alone at thirty on fifty-plus
acres of both forest and rich-yet-rocky soil with pets and a job, even a
part-time one like mine, meant long hours. And the work could be brutal. Today,
coupled with visits to both Flora, my pseudo-grandmother, and my best friend,
Kat, I was exhausted. But chain sawing and wood splitting tended to do that to
me. Worse, this would be an extra hard week for me. That dentist appointment
today had upset my work schedule, meaning I’d need to go in on Wednesday this
week to make up the time.
I
probably shouldn’t have bought those flowers for Flora, I thought sheepishly.
But she loved them, and she was only going to turn ninety-eight once. I could
get by with waiting another month to make my first foray back into the dating
world. What would it hurt, to wait another month?
Flora, of
course, had taken the opportunity to remind me to get on with my life in her
usual fashion: “People come in and out of your life. It’s the time you have
here with them that matters, not that they may not be around forever.”
To make
matters worse, Kat had then reminded me that we were both getting older. I’m worried about you, she’d
said, taking my hand. You need to let go, Sar.
I’m
okay, I’d replied a trifle coolly. I feel good.
We
aren’t getting any younger, she’d replied, her tone a little sad. It
slips away so fast.
It
matters how you feel. I feel young, and good. I’m okay.
But the
truth was I’d lied. I did feel good most of the time. But I wasn’t okay. When I
was twenty-something, I’d thought of thirty as “old”. I’d been sure that by the
time I was thirty, I’d be married, with two cats, and maybe even a kid or two.
At the least, I’d figured on knowing who I’d be with the rest of my life. I’d
found out too late that even the best laid plans could fall in on me like a
house of cards with one fateful gust.
Maybe
that was a good sign, that I knew I was missing something, unhappy living
alone. I missed having a man around, both in my life and in my bed. I’d lost
someone I loved. But I wasn’t dead, and maybe it was time to stop acting like I
was. There was that singles thing coming up in town...
Suddenly,
my comfortable and reflective mood was interrupted by distant snapping and
crunching sounds. They were faint enough to register with my challenged brain
that all wasn’t as it should be. The cats didn’t act as if anything was wrong,
but they were unreliable. If the house was burning, they might only move when
the heat became unbearable. But the dogs at my feet were motionless, their
heads raised. Dogs have ears that don’t fail.
I stepped
to the window just in time to see headlights slowly following the road. That
was the sound I heard: a car driving on the property edge, along my neighbor’s
access road. Whoever was out there at this time of night was most likely not
traveling the road to inspect the gravel pit at the end for safety violations.
Some
jackasses were out looking to have some fun. My neighbors would have no idea
that anyone was there, their home being a good ten minutes by foot through the
trees, not to mention roughly a hundred feet higher in elevation. Many a
truckload of raw earth and gravel had been dug out of the hillside, providing a
perfect depression in the land to conceal any telltale lights from anyone’s
view but my own. No one else could see them from the road, and even if they
could, no one would care. Most people minded their own business out here,
unless you wanted to make trouble and were prepared to deal with the business
end of a shotgun.
The
decision was now mine: did I want to involve myself with this? Whoever was up
there was just going to smoke a little grass or drink a little, or have the
kind of fun that involves little plastic square wrappers. But it might well be
something worse they were doing, like crack or meth, and that could be
dangerous for me to interrupt.
I cursed
aloud and decided I’d better take a look.
Whoever had decided to take a little side route to adventure had first
gotten through the heavy steel chain that blocked the access road. Bolt cutters
would have been needed to cut through that thing, and who carries bolt cutters
in their car? Someone had planned this, and if they were willing to cut a
chain, they might be planning worse than some drinking and partying.
Throwing
on some clothes and collecting my waist-length hair in a plastic clip, I
gathered a flashlight and my keys. I debated taking a weapon, but I talked
myself out of it. Then, on the way to the door, I talked myself back into it,
and got my .38 Special revolver. It was loaded. Depending on the size of the
car, there could be six people at the most. Six bullets were enough.
I buckled
on my gun belt and knife and went out the front door. Walking to the barn, it occurred to me that I
might be overreacting. But I wasn’t one for hiding in the house, waiting to see
if someone would leave me alone. It wasn’t my way and had never been.
The first
fall I’d owned the farm, I’d seen a hunter parked by my barn during deer
season. I hadn’t called the police, hoping they would show up before he either
left or put a bullet through one of my windows. I’d loaded my shotgun and
walked over to his truck. I’d racked the weapon within hearing range, and when
his head had whipped around, I’d asked him what the hell he thought he was
doing. He’d been properly apologetic and left. More importantly, he’d spread
the word, and I didn’t get many trespassing hunters anymore. People who wanted
to hunt on my land respected me enough to ask me, and if I thought they hunted
with care, I let them. That was that.
Tonight,
I hoped I could just ask them to leave nicely and have them agree. Most times,
despite my worries, that’s exactly what happened. But I didn’t hear the usual
sounds I expected: loud talking, music, the sort of giggling that meant sex was
a definite possibility but not a surety. Odd that whoever was in the quarry
wasn’t laughing it up.
I got to
the barn. Its outside light was on and welcoming. I slid the door open and
walked into the darkness inside. I knew the barn in and out, and I wasn’t
afraid. There was nothing that was going to hurt me in there. I’d never been
afraid of ghosts. I believed in God, and I had faith. And what my faith
couldn’t handle, my .38 Special was sure to be able to take care of.
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Reflecting on my 18 years of happy marriage I thought it would be interesting to pinpoint the low points and compare that with what I might have in common with a woman in Regency England. I wanted to write about a once-mutually adoring couple and the challenges their marriage might encounter.
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