Monday, June 23, 2014

Guest Blog and Excerpt: The Brede Chronicles by P.I. Barrington

P.I. Barrington

 "Love Is A Stranger"
(Written by Annie Lennox & Dave Stewart)

Love is a stranger
In an open car
To tempt you in
And drive you far away

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It's an obsession

Love is a danger
Of a different kind
To take you away
And leave you far behind
And love love love
Is a dangerous drug
You have to receive it
And you still can't
Get enough of the stuff

It's savage and it's cruel
And it shines like destruction
Comes in like a flood
And it seems like religion
It's noble and it's brutal
It distorts and deranges
And it wrenches you up
And you're left like a zombie

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It's an obsession

It's guilt edged
Glamorous and sleek by design
You know it's jealous by nature
False and unkind
It's hard to restrain
And it's totally cool
It touches and it teases
As you stumble in the debris

And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It's an obsession

Get ready. I've been thinking. Specifically I've been thinking about romance—not mine, it doesn't exist—but the genre' of romance. That led me to thinking about how I feel when I read it.  The genre' spans the heat level from sweet (barely a kiss) to scorching (graphic sex) and yet for me, at times, it isn't completely satisfying. Something is missing in my opinion.
It isn't sex, it isn't infatuation and it isn't dreamy heroes and inhumanly beautiful heroines finally admitting they adore one another. So what the heck is it?

In a word: passion. Not passionate kisses, not intense looks and touches or even sex talk. Passion. That burning, crazy, rip-your-heart-out-and-stir-fry-it kind of passion. The kind of passion that makes you love the relationship as much as you love the love of your life. It is so intense it can be destructive, constructive, or just…exciting. Passionate relationships are more than just sex alone and more than that first giddy flush of attraction. Passion is when you have more to lose than your heart. Your whole being is at stake (no vamp puns intended.)

Passionate love can be explosive or repressed yet it's exactly the same. It can be accusative, jealous or sorrowful or obsessive. It can also be unkind and forgiving…over and over and over again. It's the stuff love songs are made of (hint: go to the top of the page and read the song lyrics again.) Not just song lyrics either; some of the classic love stories are insanely passionate. Wuthering Heights, Gone with the Wind, Jane Eyre are wrought with passion and much of it is repressed. For me, that's a good thing. I love understatement just as much as I love overstatement!

It's all about emotion. It's a deep, soul slaying, at times fearful emotion that can entangle you and drown you in its depths while burning your heart into curling, crispy shreds.

It can make you shout, scream, whisper in fury or weep with frustration, fear, emptiness and then turn around again and make you soar over mountaintops with wings of soul-freeing joy.
But what makes it all important is that it is worthwhile. It is deep. It means something to you—both of you—and it is of priceless value.

That, for me, is the true yet often missing link in the romance genre' and while much of it is written as fantasy, lovely escapism, I yearn for that passion that makes a love story real. You might say that I take it all too seriously, that it's meant to be a fantasy, a dreamlike plane of existence but for me, deep wrenching passion, fighting or fiercely making-up, open and honest or repressed and hinted at with glances behind feathery fans, is the point of it.
Passion is what keeps it all going, it's that rollercoaster that doesn't end at the first scary drop of a relationship but climbs again and again and again and drops terrifyingly down in between each hilltop. I'll take a stormy, passion infused perhaps not so happily ended after instead of a dull cottage in the forest of marriage mediocrity any time. I've told you what I perceive passion is now I'm telling you what passion isn't: boring.


Very little spooked Elektra Tate but lying chained to a wall five stories below the ground did. Not that she believed in ghosts never having met one even living with the dead in her tomb house, but the rotting horror of those buried above seeped down through the ceiling in icy black liquid that ran down the walls. She twisted as far away as she could but the floor remained damp and without escape. By the time they brought her back up before Narita, Elektra did not have to be encouraged to beg for mercy. Narita drew out her verdict of pardon as long as she could to enjoy watching Elektra suffer. When she was satisfied the young woman learned her lesson to stay as far away as possible from Alekzander Brede, she pronounced the sentence served and allowed her guards to escort Elektra down and out of the building.

Elektra landed on her knees on the ancient stone cobbled sidewalks and used the wall of Narita's edifice to help herself stand. The pain, now near unbearable, shrieked when she touched the blackened and bruised flesh to anything including cloth and she struggled against the throbbing crowds to make her way toward the only place she thought to go for help.

"Please Mahmud I don't want to lose my arm. You have to help me," she stood before the self-appointed doctor of the proscribed citizens. He inspected it and then shook his head.

"I can do nothing for you," he said. "It is already too far gone by now. Even should you sit in the sun for five days it would be no help."

"I'll get you money. Whatever you want, I'll get it. Please, save my hand, please?"

He shook his head again sorrowfully.

"I can do nothing. This does not need my type of medicine. You must ask the mechanical doctors, those with science and not nature. I am sorry I cannot help you Elektra."

Crying she stood against the wall of the crooked street, thinking what she might pay to those who if they could build space machines, could build anything. She slid down the wall and sat on her haunches against it sobbing.

A shadow fell across her, changing the scorching temperature a degree. She opened her eyes and a man knelt before her. He took her arm and gently inspected it.

"I can give you a new arm and hand," he said. "But you must pay what I ask." He stared directly into her eyes. "You will have a new arm—a new hand—better than before. But you must pay the price."

"What is it you want?" Elektra asked, still gasping in pain.

"Alekzander Brede."


The Brede Chronicles  
Book 1
P. I. Barrington  

Genre: Science Fiction Romance/Adventure

Date of Publication: June 18, 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1497340831 

Number of pages: 144              
Word Count: 83,000

Cover Artist: Jared from Off the Wall Creations

Book Description:

Half-human Alekzander Brede is a law unto himself…or so he thinks. Elektra Tate, the street orphan who loves him has other ideas. When she betrays him for no apparent reason, he vows to punish her one way or another.

Taking the one thing she treasures most—their son—begins a cat and mouse relationship spanning two planets and costing possibly his life.

Elektra will stop at nothing to save her son but can she overcome Brede’s twisted idea of vengeance?

About the Author:

After an extended detour through the entertainment industry, P.I. Barrington has returned to writing fiction. Among her experience are radio air talent and the music industry. She lives in Los Angeles.

Her work includes:

Future Imperfect Trilogy (Crucifying Angel, Miraculous Deception, Final Deceit)

Inamorata Crossing/Borealis 1: A Space Opera

Isadora DayStar

The Button Hollow Chronicles: The Leaf Peeper Murders

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