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Leigh Evans

Fiction and Excerpts [1]
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Fiction and Excerpts [1]

The Trouble With Fate (Excerpt)

, || My name is Hedi Peacock and I have a secret. I'm not human, and I have the pointy Fae ears and Were inner-bitch to prove it. As fairy tales go, my childhood was damn near perfect, all fur and magic until a werewolf killed my father and the Fae executed my mother. I've never forgiven either side. Especially Robson Trowbridge. He was a part-time werewolf, a full-time bastard, and the first and only boy I ever loved. That is, until he became the prime suspect in my father's death…

When a Writer Reads

I’ve been asked recently by a friend whether my relationship with reading has changed—now that I’m officially a Published Author in capital letters.

Yes.

That’s the bare bones answer. Yes—by all the salty tears in heaven—yes. And like most of the other nitty-gritty practicalities of the publishing career, I never saw it coming.

What do I mean by ‘it’? I mean the internal voices that now kick into life whenever I open a book. Before I wrote for a living, I used to do a nose dive into a story and remain there in a happy wallow until I’d read the final sentence. Now, I’m on the other side, not the receiver but the giver of the word. That’s quite a sea change. I still read, but as I do, I’m often engaged in a one-sided conversation with the author.

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The Trouble With Fate (Excerpt)

Check out this excerpt from Leigh Evans’ novel, The Trouble With Fate:

My name is Hedi Peacock and I have a secret. I’m not human, and I have the pointy Fae ears and Were inner-bitch to prove it. As fairy tales go, my childhood was damn near perfect, all fur and magic until a werewolf killed my father and the Fae executed my mother. I’ve never forgiven either side. Especially Robson Trowbridge. He was a part-time werewolf, a full-time bastard, and the first and only boy I ever loved. That is, until he became the prime suspect in my father’s death…

Today I’m a half-breed barista working at a fancy coffee house, living with my loopy Aunt Lou and a temperamental amulet named Merry, and wondering where in the world I’m going in life. A pretty normal existence, considering. But when a pack of Weres decides to kidnap my aunt and force me to steal another amulet, the only one who can help me is the last person I ever thought I’d turn to: Robson Trowbridge. And he’s as annoyingly beautiful as I remember. That’s the trouble with fate: Sometimes it barks. Other times it bites. And the rest of the time it just breaks your heart. Again…

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Patrick Rothfuss: The Start of My Journey To Becoming a Published Author

Back in June 2008, I was at loose ends. The kids were in university. The garden was mature, and the hall was hand-stenciled. I’d learned every knitting stitch known to womankind. I’d produced a 1,000 page website for which I learned to code in HTML. I’d taken a series of professional baking courses and could reliably produce an exquisite Black Forest cake. I’d researched the family history and—as long as one didn’t dwell overlong on the fact that everybody lies—could theoretically trace back thirteen generations.

Good grief, I was bored beyond belief.

[Rothfuss to the rescue]