My First Novel Published

My first novel, THE CHANGELINGS, was published on January 2, 2015 exclusively on Kindle for Amazon. You can get a copy for $2.99 today.  For those of you who prefer physical books to digital ones, a hard copy will be coming out on June 2, 2015.

First-time author Rebecca Lang takes us into a war-torn world steeped in political intrigue, shifting alliances, and breath-taking civilizations in the first volume of Matthew’s Prophecy, an exciting new fantasy saga.

For as long as she can remember, 21-year old Sylvie has embraced her role as the priest's daughter, content to marry her fiancé and lead a quiet, normal life. But between droughts, food shortages, and the slow invasion of her desert homeland, even those modest dreams seem out of reach.

Then one sweltering summer day, her best friend Matthew reveals a devastating secret. Sylvie is a Changeling: a fantastical creature given human form and switched with the priest's real daughter 17 years ago. And she's not the only one. Four other Changelings remain hidden in the desert—including Matthew himself.

Once a child prophet, Matthew foretold a world-wide catastrophe that only the Changelings can prevent. But when an unexpected cost brings heartache to Sylvie, she begins to wonder: Should she follow the prophecy’s instructions like the obedient girl she thought she was? Or does being a Changeling mean a different side of her is about to come out?

Click here for sample chapters: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RORNZJU

* * *

I have to say, I was actually terrified to have my novel up for sale. It's ten years of toil and a good chunk of my heart and soul up for display. But I felt it was time to put aside my fears and release the story to the world.

I wrote the story I love epic fantasies with three-dimensional characters, plot twists, and complicated world-building, so I tried my best to incorporate those elements in THE CHANGELINGS. I want the reader to think they know where they're going and suddenly be surprised.

 Did I do my job well? Please let me know. I appreciate any reviews you leave. The more you write, the better chance new readers will give my book a shot.

Now On Daily Science Fiction: What No One Ever Tells You About Becoming Immortal

A couple weeks ago, my first paid published short story appeared on Daily Science Fiction,
 a free online magazine that sends short science fiction and fantasy stories to your inbox. Last spring, they sent me a contract to publish my story, but I didn't know they had published it until it popped up in my email. (Apparently, that's common with magazines.) For those without a subscription (it's free to sign up), you can read the story on the website's archives.

What No One Ever Tells You About Becoming Immortal

Link: http://dailysciencefiction.com/science-fiction/biotech/rebecca-lang/what-no-one-ever-tells-you-about-becoming-immortal

Summary: Nanotherapy offers Diann and her husband the chance to extend her life indefinitely. But what are the costs of these scientific advances?

Excerpt:

Case Study: Diann

 

The first time the doctor smilingly tells her that she's dying, it comes as a shock. It doesn't matter how much Diann thought she prepared herself, those dreaded words hit like a punch to the throat. Cancer. Diann's mind flashes back to those twentieth-century films depicting chemotherapy, bald women, and missing body parts. Her nerves go numb.

 

At this point the doctor explains that Diann's a good candidate for intensive Nanotherapy.

 

"A relatively painless procedure. You'll be out of the hospital in less than a week."

 

To read the full story for free, just follow the link above or click here

 

How the Story Came to Be: This story came about because I had a root canal. I couldn’t get over how a piece of my body had been removed and casually replaced with something man-made. I pushed the idea to its logical extreme and imagined a future where every part of the body could be replaced. The story poured out after that.

 

Trivia: Originally, this was written in second person. (The first time the doctor smilingly tells you that you're dying, it comes as a shock.) I changed it to third person at the request of the editors.

Book Review: Sinking Ships

Title: Sinking Ships: An Abishag's First Mystery
Author: Michelle Knowlden*
Genre: Mystery, Novella

Summary

"For all the stupid reasons people get married, seems like caring for the dying is the kindest."

College student Leslie Greene is already nervous about starting her "job" as an Abishag wife, an unorthodox hospice worker paid to lay in bed beside a dying, comatose man--in this case 83-year old businessman Thomas Crowder.  Leslie anticipates personal scandal, loss of friends, and an end to her dating life.  She does not anticipate finding the day nurse lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor, throat slashed, dead.

Suddenly, Leslie finds herself embroiled in a mystery involving family secrets, blackmail, and the wreck of a Portuguese ship.  And the danger keeps growing.  An Abishag wife must watch over her husband--till death do they part.  But who will die first: Thomas... or Leslie?

Review

When I first heard the premise of an Abishag wife, I couldn't believe it.  Who would pay for this service?  It can't be real.  Yet the concept is so thoroughly fleshed out in Sinking Ships and the character's reactions are so realistic that the more I read, the more I found myself thinking, You know, I can actually see some rich, eccentric families paying for the "therapy" of having a young girl warm the bed of their dying father.   It's a testament to Ms. Knowlden's writing that she can take a speculative element like the Abishag wife, wrap it in a mystery, and still make you believe this story can exist in the real world.

A large part of it has to do with the characters, especially the protagonist.  Leslie is a compulsive rule-follower with a streak of inward defiance, a detached professional who forms a sentimental bond with her dying husband.  These contradictions make her all at once human and all at once fascinating.  The heart of this book is really her (non-romantic) relationship with Thomas.  It's surprising that she can form any kind of bond a comatose man, let alone such a tender one.  The scenes where Leslie interacts with Thomas are some of the best in the book.

The story is not perfect.  The first three chapters run a bit slow for my taste, though it picks up in Chapter 4, when the audience gets to see what an Abishag's job actually entails.  The mystery was fine, but I had difficulty keeping track of some of the suspects and the mystery concludes a little abruptly.  All in all, though, I felt the characters were great, the premise fascinating, and  the description was lovely.  It really made me think about death and love and the ways in which we perceive others.  I recommend it.

* Michelle Knowlden is a friend of mine and I did Beta read her book.  Even so, if I hadn't enjoyed it, I wouldn't have reviewed it. 

Unfinished Fiction: Blood on the Sand

Blood soaked the sand in an angry crimson patch.  

It was nightfall on the beach, and the sky was a cobalt blue with a faded orange streak on the horizon.  Star twinkled on the cold winter sky.  I'd walked here alone, hands shoved into the pockets of my windbreaker, my breath a wispy frost.  

I saw the body.  My back went stiff.

It wasn't the corpse that bothered me, but the fact that it was here, on my turf, on my hunting ground.  A man, stout and middle-aged in both body and dress, lay with a single bullet hole through his chest and a white handkerchief over his face.

That concealing cloth was an invitation, a dare.  Do I turn around, feign ignorance, and continue on my merry way?  Or do I take off the handkerchief and see?  Curiosity, morbid fearful curiosity, got the better of me.  I lifted up the cloth.

My stomach heaved into my chest.

Next thing I knew I was running, running over the sand dunes, running toward the foam of the surf.  As though my legs knew before my mind did.

They were coming for me.

They were on the hunt and I was the prey....

* * *

Now I leave it to you.  Who's the corpse?  Why are people hunting the main character?  How does the story end?

Quick Book Review: Feed

Title: Feed
Author: Mira Grant (aka Seanan McGuire)
Genre: Zombie Apocalypse, Political Thriller

Summary

There are two things Georgia Mason cares deeply about: the Truth and her daredevil brother Shaun.  As part of the post-Zombie Apocalypse generation, Georgia and Shaun run a multi-media blog reporting (and occasionally making) the news.  When asked to cover the presidential race of long-shot candidate Senator Ryman, they think they've hit the big time.  But when a series of zombie attacks start hitting the senator's camp, Georgia realizes she's stumbled upon a conspiracy bigger than she knows.  Georgia is determined to find and expose the Truth.  But with the assassins honing in on her team, will Truth come at a cost too high for her to pay?

Review

Anyone paying any attention to the presidential race of 2008 will immediately notice the parallels in this book, starting with the young senator who becomes a front-runner overnight and isn't afraid to use new media to his advantage.  There's also a fanatic of the religious right who "cares so much about freedom he's willing to give it to you at gunpoint" and a comic-relief female candidate with no platform but a great set of boobs.  Aside from the election, the book tackles recent trends of celebrity culture, new media versus old, and the atmosphere of fear and isolation within the American public.

Georgia is a new kind of journalist with an old heart.  She makes extensive use of technology to give readers up-to-the-minute feed, but at the same time she's unafraid to go into the field for stories and ask politicians the tough questions.  She's also a fanatic on fact-checking.  Truth is her passion.  Yet I personally found some of her methods disturbing.  She and her crew are walking hidden cameras.  Dare to question her right to have live video streaming of private meetings after an assassination attempt, and she'll scream censorship.  She's often rude, sometimes bullying, and rarely doubts the rightness of her cause.

What saves Georgia from being a two-dimensional ideal of the perfect journalist is her relationship with her brother Shaun.  They love and trust each other and continually risk their lives together, all while keeping up a stream of witty bickering.  The brother-sister relationship is close to the point of co-dependence, but it makes sense given the isolationist world they grew up in and the lack of affection from their parents--media whores who exploit their children for ratings.  Georgia and Shaun have each other--no one else.  And therein lies their greatest vulnerability, for this is a world where one stupid mistake can lead to death.  Georgia and Shaun both fear losing the other, a fear that intensifies as they deal with not only zombies but full-on assassination attempts.

Plotwise, Feed moves fast, balancing zombie action with political intrigue.  I didn't want to put the book down.  Be warned, however, that as the story reaches its mid-way point, the deaths start coming fast and with greater emotional weight.  No one is safe.  I suppose I should have known enough about the zombie genre not to be shocked--but I was.  This is not a happy story.  It is, however, well-written and thought-provoking.  Whether or not you agree with the author, this book will make you think about the kind of world you want to live in and your duty to bring that world about.

Fiction: Singing the Blues

Blue eyes stared at me.

At first, I thought I must hallucinating.  Hours I'd clung to my life buoy, watching the sky go from pitch black to gray, watching every other passenger succumb to exhaustion and slip beneath the waves.  Now, with my teeth chattering and my limbs numb, a girl's face appeared, fresh-faced and curious.  Her hair was slicked back and her lips were red and she reminded me of a supermodel.  For a moment, I thought I'd drifted into a photo shoot.

Then she dived into the water, and I saw the flick of a fish's tail.

Mermaid.

I wanted to laugh.  When I was a girl, I used to be obsessed with mermaids.  It was one of my many magical phases, along with fairies and unicorns.  Now I'd seen one, and I was dying.

I could no longer feel my fingers but they must have given way.  My head sank under the ocean.  I tried to kick.  I failed.  Above me, squiggles of yellow dawn broke the surface of the waves, beautiful enough to make my heart squeeze.  This is the last thing I'll ever see.  I sobbed and salt water rushed into my mouth.

Goodbye.

I don't know what happened after that.  All I remember is darkness and pain.  The pain started in my lungs, but soon blossomed over every part of my body.  It felt like millions of pins carefully skewering each one of my nerves, inside and out.  I screamed.  Pain blotted out all conscious thought.  White lights danced before my eyes and I clawed at them.

I woke up.

My head rested on sand, a strand of floating hair tickled my cheek.  As my eyelashes fluttered against the light, I opened my mouth to take a breath.  I tasted salt.  That's when I  realized I was still submerged.  I pushed up with my hands and my head broke the surface of the water.

I was alive, stranded on an island with white sand beaches and gentle waves that pushed foam upon the shore.  The burning in my lungs had receded.  I felt strong again, strong and alive, and I wanted to laugh and cry and thank God all at once.  But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a single bell-clear note, like the vocal stylings of a pop diva's solo.

Then I noticed the tail.

It was white as ivory and with long spiky fins.  I poked the tail, felt the roughness of the scales beneath my finger.  I couldn't believe this white thing protruding from my waist was mine.  I must be hallucinating again.  Stand up, I told my legs, but the tail only flopped and thrashed.

A girl in the water nearby clung to a boulder, slowly hoisting herself up, like a foal on slippery new legs.  My legs.  I recognized the scar on one, where I fell on a piece of broken bottle.  What's happening? I wanted to scream.  Only music came out, sweeter than any sound a human could make, and it filled my soul with horror.

The girl looked at me.  Her eyes were blue.

* * *

Author's Note:  This was originally a 10-minute prompt from my writer's club, using different colors to tell a story.  I cleaned it up and expanded it for this blog.  Couldn't think of a good title, though.

Fiction: The Character Assassination of Julia Kaiser

"They're out to get you."  The homeless man grips me by the shoulder and pushes his face close to mine.  "It's March," he wheezes.  "The weather warms up, and the crows come out.  Can't you see their glittering eyes?  They accuse you.  Beware! Beware the eyes of March!"

"Thanks for the advice."  I push his hand off me.  "Here's a dollar for you trouble."

His gazes at me with bloodshot eyes.  "The eyes of March... the eyes of March."

"Creepy old man."  My cousin Otti shudders.

"He's harmless."

"He smells."  She kicks a rock.  "I hate walking."

"Oh, cheer up, Otti.  It's good exercise."

She scowls.  "I told you not to call me that in public."

Ottiviana has always hated her name.  She prefers her middle name—Summer.  Personally, I think she's too stoned-faced and serious to pull it off.

"We aren't in public yet," I say.  "Still a block to school."

"We wouldn't have to walk if you had your car.  That's twice in a month someone's trashed it," my cousin mutters.  "I swear, Julia, someone's out to get you."

"It happens," I say lightly.  "You can't be smart, pretty, and popular without making a few enemies.  People are bound to be jealous."

Otti shakes her head.

We get through the gates of school right as the bell rings, and there we part ways.  Otti heads off to the sophomore corridor, while I go down the senior hall.  The walls are jammed with students, but I spot my veep, Marcia Anthony, near the drinking fountain.  As usual, she's going through her debate cards.

"Student Council meeting after school today," I call to her.  "Don't forget."

She nods absently.

First period Spanish.  I try to think if I've done the homework.  Only half, but it should be okay.  My conversation partner, Brittany, will help me fill in the blanks.  She's one of my oldest friends and won't mind the favor.

"Hola, Britti."  I plop into my desk.  "Como estas?"

"Bien," she says quietly.

But she's not bien, and no wonder.  Cassie leans over Brittany's desk on stick-thin arms, hovering over my best friend.  My stomach tightens.  I don't trust Cassie.  She's too skinny, has too much pale foundation smeared over her face.  You have to watch out for girls like that; they're bone-deep insecure.

Cassie wears a poisonous smile.  "We were just discussing all your extracurricular activities.  You're so busy, Julia, it's a wonder you find time to sleep."

"That's what vacations are for."

"Not this vacation.  You'll be traveling all over Europe on the Ambassador Scholarship."  She rises to her full 6' 2" model height.  "It's such an honor to represent our school, our state, our country.  To be a positive role model for all girls."

"Yes."  I flash my teeth at her.  "I'm just sorry it could only go to one person.  I know you had your heart set on it."

She shrugs.  "All I care about is showing our school in the best possible light."

"That's what I'll do.  You can be sure of that."

The bell rings.  Cassie glides out the door, fake smile still plastered to her mouth.

* * *

The security guard interrupts my Student Council meeting, right when I'm in a fierce debate with Marcia on how to spend our prom budget.  She wants her boyfriend Theo Patrick's band to play.  I say no.  She's still going on about it, when the security guard knocks on the door.

"Julia Kaiser, you're wanted in the principal's office.  Immediately."

"Okay."  I take the note, expecting him to leave.

He doesn't.  "I'll walk with you."

That's a little strange.  "Am I in trouble?"

No reply.

I look at Marcia.  "Continue the meeting.  And it's still a no on Theo's band."

She makes a sour face.

I walk up to the principal's office with the security guard.  Romano Paxton, reads the flashy gold letters on the door.  Inside the office stand Cassie and several members of her posse, some I know, some I don't.  The girls crowd the room so thickly, I can hardly see Mr. Paxton.  He hunches over his desk, his fingers knit together and a grave expression on his face.

"Julia, sit down.  A serious charge has been brought against you."

"Against me?  Why?  What did I do?"

He brings something out of his desk.  "Is this yours?"

He holds up a dagger, and my heart stops.  It's a military-grade knife my brother gave to me before he went overseas.  I know it's mine, because the silver handle has my name engraved on it.

"How-how did you get that?"

"We found it in your locker."

"My locker?"  My heart races.  "Mr. Paxton, you don't think that I, of all people, brought a knife to school?  Why would I do that?  I spoke out in favor of the school's zero-tolerance weapon policy just last September."

"I find it hard to believe as well."  He rubs his eyes.  "But there are witnesses."
Cassie looms toward me, and her mascaraed eyes glitter.

"You're sick, Julia.  You need help.  You bring that dagger to school every day and hurt people you don't like.  You make them do things they don't want to do."

"What are you talking about?"

A girl I've never seen before points a bony finger at me.  "You made me steal Mr. Gaul's test answers.  You said if I didn't, you'd tell my boyfriend I was cheating on him."

"You called me fat and ugly and stupid," another girl says.   "You'd take out that knife and cut me in the bathroom just for fun."

A third girl circles me.  "You threatened to kill me if I opened my mouth about you.  You said no one would believe you did it, because you're student president."

"You're all liars!" I yell.

"We know what you really are, Julia."

That voice kills me.

The crowd shifts, and now I see her.  She stands by the window.  The glaring light of the afternoon sun shrouds her in shadow.

"Y tu, Britti?" I say softly.

Her eyes harden.  She turns to Mr. Paxton.

"Julia and I were friends until middle school.  Then she changed.  During class she still acted nice, but after school she'd drink and start cussing me out.  I shrugged it off, because I knew her parents were getting a divorce.  But then she did this to me."

She lifts up her hair to show the scar on the back of her neck.

Julia's Bitch.

The letters are still carved into Brittany's skin.  Cut by my own dagger, cut by my own hand.  Tears well in my eyes, and my face grows hot as I remember pinning her down while she cried and I laughed.  I want to hide.  I want to shrink smaller and smaller, until I disappear completely.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.  "You know how sorry I am.  I stopped drinking.  I went to counseling.  You said you'd forgiven me.  You promised not to tell."

"Because I thought you'd changed."  Brittany steps forward.  "But you haven't.  You're still a bully, Julia, and that's all you'll ever be.  You don't deserve to represent our school.  You don’t deserve my protection.  No one else will be hurt by my silence again."

I'm dead inside.

More accusations fly, but I no longer hear them.  Brittany's betrayal has bled me dry, and I can't even defend myself.  Mr. Paxton tosses around words like forfeiture of scholarship and expulsion.  I nod mutely, curling my arms around my chest.  I just want to get out of there, as quickly as I can.

By the time they release me, a small crowd has gathered around the principal's door to gaze at my lifeless body.  Marcia's pale face stands out among the onlookers, and her eyes are wide with horror.  

"What happened?" she cries.  But I float away like a ghost.  I pass through the school gates and wander the streets, until I reach my bed.  I entomb myself under mounds of blankets.  And there I lay, sobbing.

The blankets lift.  "Julia!"

"Summer!" I gasp.

My little cousin wraps her arms around me.  I bawl into her chest.

"It's a lie.  It's all a lie."

"I know, I know."  She strokes my head.  "Don't you worry.  I'll restore your reputation.  Those girls who did this to you—I'll destroy them, Julia.  You wait.  Those girls will pay for what they've done."

Her voice is like steel.  I see the determination in her eyes and know she means every word.  My sobbing subsides.  I sniffle one last time and wipe my tears away.

Note: I wrote this story in for my Brea Library Writer's Club March Contest.  Ultimately, the contest fizzled due to lack of entries.  I tried to re-write Shakespeare's Julius Caesar with high school girls.  It started off with lots of bad name puns and ended up getting really dark and intense.  It sort of scared me, but I couldn't figure out how else to portray the "assassination."  So it is what it is. 

Quick Fiction: Fishing Trip

"Daddy," said the little boy, "how can we go fishing when there's no water?"

"We'll make water," the father explained.  "Watch and you'll see."

The sand in the desert stretched long and flat, barren of any tree or bush.  The father put down his saddlebag and took out a trowel.

"Now watch," he told his son.

He scooped up a clump of dirt.  As the trowel hit the ground, there came a mighty crack and the earth split open.  Sand fell away in a round circle; a deep crater appeared in the once-flat land.  The little boy's eyes shone.

"Watch," the father said again.

He took a flask from his saddlebag and poured a single drop into the crater.  A fountain sprang up from the sand, spraying white jets into the sky.   The little boy laughed.  Soon deep blue water filled the crater.

"Watch."

The father picked up a single egg, luminescent as a pearl, and dropped it into the water.  A huge rainbow fish leapt out of the lake, its scales shining like oil swirls in puddles.  The little boy clapped.  Other fish followed the rainbow giant, frisking and splashing all along the surface, churning the water into waves.

"It is done."  The father smiled and closed his saddlebag.  "Now we fish." 

--April 6, 2013

I wrote this story in about five minutes based on a photo of a boy and a man with fishing poles out in the desert.  This was a prompt for my writer's club.

Fiction: An Oil Lamp, Miners, and a Dog in the Mountains

Note: This is a story I wrote from a writing prompt during my monthly writer's club.  I like the ideas but I have no idea where to take this story.  If anyone has suggestions, please let me know. :)

The dwarf miners lay the body of their brother inside the cave deep in the heart of the mountain.  Beside them, the dog howled.  She'd been the pet of the deceased and the only witness to his murder. Soon the other dwarves would use her to seek vengeance.  But not just yet.  Right now, the dead took precidence.

They laid the body in a tomb of treasure with a single lamp yet burning.  The light glinted off piles of gold coins, off crystal goblets, off ruby necklaces and silver bracelets.  If ever the lamp burned out and the tomb became dark, it would mean that the spirit of the dwarf had found peace in the netherworld.  But if the lamp did not die out, if light continued to pour from the glass long after the oil bured away, then the dwarf's spirit remained and the tomb would be haunted.

It was said that deep in the mountain, there were chambers filled with treasure and guarded by ever-flickering lanturns.  All those who disturbed such toms would find themselves cursed with plagues and foul-luck, doomed to live a short, untimely existance.

That was why the dwarves had to avenge their fallen brother.  It was ot out of any sort of fraternal love, but of greed.  Once avenged, the spirit would move on, the lamp would die, and the tomb would be ripe for the plundering.  Blood is thicker than water, they say, but gold is thicker than blood.

Only the dog wailed in grief.  The dwarves dragged her from her masters body and sharpened their axes.  It had started with death and it would end with death.

Kinuyo and the Kitsune

It had been three days since Kinuyo’s mother had gone out to buy some eggs from Mrs. Yamamoto, a friend from across the town.  She hadn’t returned.

Her mother left in the early evening.  Kinuyo chopped the green onions and heated the rice; she fried the fish and boiled the tea.  Then she waited until the tea grew cold and the sky became dark.  The late autumn wind sent a shiver through her thin shawl.  From somewhere deep in the streets, someone cried out, someone scampered like a rat over the road.  Leaves rustled.  A lone dog howled.

And still her mother didn’t returned.

The second day, Kinuyo swept the house and mended a tear in her mother’s slippers.  She bought soba from a small shop nearby for dinner.

“Maybe some trouble on the street kept her from coming home last night,” she told a scruffy orange dog sniffing the maple tree in front of their house.  “Perhaps there was a scuffle between the imperial troops an accused and a Shougitai spy.  I’d say a robber, but,” Kinuyo smiled briefly, “they don’t seem to be good at catching them.”

The dog gazed out into street.  It barked once, then went back to sniffing.

(Continue after the Break)