BlackMyst is a new Fantasy Trilogy of magic and adventure by Kelly Hess. The books are suitable for readers a young as ten years old, and still enjoyed by adults into their nineties!

The first book, Eyes of the Enemy, begins the quest of young Beynn Firehand, who, with his best friend Fritz, braves the dangers of BlackMyst Forest as they seek help for their village after it is attacked by the dreaded white-eyed Sorak, enemies of the kingdom. But Beynn’s quest takes an unexpected turn when he realizes a powerful magic growing inside of him.

JOIN THE ADVENTURE!!  >>> BlackMyst: EYES OF THE ENEMY

The final book of BlackMyst, The Third Power, is done. Finished. Complete. Fulfilled. Buttoned up. In – The – Bag!

Below is a short sample chapter from early in the novel:

BlackMyst: The Third Power – Chapter Three

On a crowded street in Haverton, the charred remains of the building crumbled before her like leaves from a dying tree. Tabitha watched as four men with ropes pulled down the last remaining wall. A dingy cloud of ash and debris exhaled outward as the black skeletal framework toppled to the ground.

With the falling wall, so fell Tabitha’s heart. Her tavern was destroyed; her business, gone along with her life savings. She had put everything into that building, eager to start a new life in Haverton after Tarrine, the town that she’d loved, had been decimated by General Akkrid five years ago. Now it was all gone, torn from her by the boy, Fritz, who had come to her as a friend. Fritz, who in one visit, had both pledged to help her by offering to share his reward, should he find the missing Dagger of Torrill, and then set her tavern ablaze using the very dagger he claimed to seek.

Tabitha shut her eyes as the plume of ash washed over her. She had hoped there would be something left to salvage; some small piece of her past that she could cling to. But there was nothing. “I am cursed,” she told herself. She considered her options. In the days since the fire, she had spent her last coins on food and quarters at the inn near the edge of town. The few “Havertons” she had come to call neighbors had taken pity on her and helped her as they could, but she wouldn’t remain here as a charity case, like one of the street urchins that lingered at the back door of her tavern; her tavern that now drifted through the town in a black haze. Tabitha looked around at the crowd that had gathered, black ash dancing around their heads. So many people, who had never before visited her tavern, now come to see it demolished. Well you can all take a bit of it home with you now. Stuck to your lungs! She smiled, even as tears traced lines down her dusty cheeks. 

And so her cursed life now stood at a crossroads. She could either grit her teeth and literally dust herself off; try to find work someplace in Haverton. Perhaps she could tend bar at the Inn, or take a job in the laundry. Or she could simply leave Haverton behind and start anew in another town, another life.

Truly, Haverton held nothing for her now. Oh, the town was nice enough, she supposed. It was peaceful and quiet, not counting for recent events. She had assimilated quickly to life in Haverton. Her business had struggled but she had definitely made a home for herself here. Now everything was gone, torn away before her roots had barely taken hold.

“Lady Tabitha!” A voice called from across the road, rousing her from her melancholy. “Excuse me, dear, are you Lady Tabitha?” It was an old woman, covered in colorful shawls and walking toward her leaning heavily on a tall stick; her voice quivered slightly as she made her way closer. . The fabrics that covered her head bore the bright colored patterns that were typical of those worn in Haverton. “Are you Lady Tabitha?” she asked again, her voice faltering.

“I am, dear woman,” said Tabitha, “although few, if any, have ever called me, Lady.”

The old woman laughed, sparking a coughing fit that caused her to bark weakly. The poor wretch, Tabitha thought. The last place she should be is here, breathing in the ashes of my shattered hopes and dreams.  “The man over there asked me to give this to you,” the old woman choked. She held up a parcel of blue cloth; perhaps a blanket, or a cloak of some kind. It was folded tightly, and then tied and knotted with narrow rope so as to appear as a package. The woman held it out to Tabitha, her hands also wrapped in fabric. “The dear gave me a silver coin to bring it to you. Wasn’t that nice?”

“Who was he?” Tabitha asked, accepting the bundle. “What did he look like?”

“Oh, regular looking fellow,” she said. “He didn’t say who he was. He wanted to remain anonymous. That’s what he said.”

Tabitha looked down at the package in her hands. “Anonymous.” What a strange thing.

“Farewell, Lady Tabitha!” Tabitha looked up. The old woman was gone! She scanned the streets around her. In a flurry of color, Tabitha spotted the woman across the way. She was dancing more than walking away into the haze, her walking stick twirling at her side. She called out behind her, “Farewell Lady Tabitha, until by chance we meet again!”

Tabitha watched the strange woman until she disappeared completely from the darkening road. She looked down at the tied bundle in her hands. “Anonymous.” She said the word again as she fingered the knot that secured the rope around the package. She reached down and unsheathed the knife strapped to her leg that she wore constantly since the chaotic events of the past week. Awkwardly, as she was unpracticed with a blade, she sawed against the rope on the package. At last, the binds snapped and fell spiritlessly to the ground at her feet.

Cradling the bundle in one hand, she carefully unfolded the cloth with the other. It did appear to be some sort of cloak, but why would someone send her such a thing? She continued to unfold the fabric and soon felt the rigid weight of something concealed within. She pulled at the folds, deeper and deeper to reveal the hidden object. Finally, she cast off the last gathered bit of the cloak. Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes reflected the shimmering green shine.  Immediately, she knew who the package was from.

Here’s the cover to Book Three!!

Can’t believe I’m coming to the end of BlackMyst! But, what a great journey it’s been! Looking forward to the next project, whatever that may be…  I guess we’ll see!

Late last year, I heard that there would be a Writing Group forming near my home. I was very interested, though I had no idea what one does in a writing group for I had never been to one. So I joined, and what a great thing! There are two groups, one on Saturday and one on Tuesday. Each group meets once or twice a month and those who have something to share, bring copies for all, and read up to 2000 words. Everyone takes home a copy of all the writings to make comments on and bring back to the next meeting.

The groups have been a great motivation for me to write. Whether it is a segment of the book I’m working on or a short piece written just for the group, I push myself to write longer – write better – write write write! And in large part, it is because I want to give my best to the group.

We are a group to support each other, not criticize.  We make comments on what is good about our writing, what stands out, what we liked. We point out mistakes where we see them and we make suggestions when they are asked for. We do not tear down anyone’s work. And we’re lucky, because the writing is good! Everyone is so different, bringing something unique to the mix.

We will continue to support each other as we create a new venture: a publishing group! This new group will be geared toward helping one another to finish writing, designing, printing, publishing, and marketing our books. I look forward to what is to come.

I’m trying to deal with an odd issue that I suppose many writers must surely deal with from time to time. Or is it just me?

How long is too long of a gap in a storyline?

Is twenty pages too long? Thirty pages?  If the storyline is uninteresting, the reader may not recall the details later. If it is very interesting, the reader may get annoyed by the long break.Yet, the storyline in particular that I’m troubling over, a subplot of the main story, takes place over a long period of time, spanning most of the book. So, I’m forced to break it into smaller chunks and intersperse it with gaps as long as twenty-five pages between. Is this too much? It seems to me that it works fine, but I feel I can’t judge properly since I’m the writer and I know the story backward and forward.

The only answer: I’m going to just go for it, but make sure others read the book first before the final edit. Hopefully, all is well. Otherwise, it’s back to the drawing board.

I’ve reached the end of my third book! Just finished writing the last chapter, two days ago.

That is not to say I am anywhere near completing the novel. First, I have to go back and add all of the things that I realize now I left out of the story: the subplots and the details; I have a long list.Then I’ll go back and reread the entire book, probably a few times, editing all the way. That’s the fun part though: taking this rough and unpolished story I’ve created and shining it up real pretty, before finally having it formally edited and getting a cover made.

But for now, it’s a nice feeling to reach the last word on the journey from A to Z.

Its unfathomable to think about how many other writers there are out there in similar situations to mine: I’ve written the book, now how do I get people to buy it?

I came across this writer’s blog by accident and I found his journey into indie writing very interesting. I especially liked this bit relating selling a novel on Amazon to selling canned lettuce:

http://sshorseshoe.blogspot.com/2011/05/canned-lettuce.html

There seem to be three general rules for writing good Young Adult fiction these days:

1.) Always write in the first-person.

2.) The protagonist should absolutely be involved in some kind of love triangle.

3.) Over-express the emotional angst of your characters as to better relate with your teenage readers.

I didn’t follow any of these rules and I’ll explain why:

First, While there is nothing wrong with writing in first-person narrative, I don’t believe that young people feel that they must be immersed in the driver’s seat of the character to remain engrossed in a story. If the story is interesting, they will read, whether it be first-person, third-person, or other.There have been some very successful, Young Adult novels in recent years written in first-person (e.g., Twilight and The Hunger Games), and I think it is for this reason and no other, that this rule is being touted so prevalently of late. I wrote my books in the third-person because I wanted to change the point of view to other characters from time to time, and it just works better.

Second, the protagonist of my book is twelve years old and is quickly thrown into situations where the last thing he needs to worry about is a love triangle. There is a bit in the beginning of the first book, where he is hurt when he sees a girl that he likes kissing another boy, so you can call that a “Love Triangle” if you want.

And lastly, as for brimming my young characters with angst and emotions, I decided against it. That’s not the book I wanted to write.  Perhaps, in this way, I didn’t realistically portray my character’s emotions as a modern teenager would, but I think I did a fair job. In my defense, in my made-up fantasy world, pre-teen boys don’t fall to pieces and start wearing black when they don’t get the girl. Its Fiction!

So, do my books follow the “YA Fiction rules”?  No

Are they still Young Adult Fiction?  Absolutely, Yes.