Hello! Lana Sky here
and I am so excited to be here at Fang-tastic Books.
To start off, what
comes to mind when you hear the term Gothic? Sprawling cathedrals, brimming
with gargoyles and stained glass? Decrepit manors draped in shadow? Horror
stories that blend reality and paranormal in an effortless web of suspense?
We’ve all heard of classic novels such as Frankenstein and Dracula, but what exactly is Gothic literature? Tons of stuffy articles will tell you one thing, but in my opinion one of the main themes that seems consistent throughout most Gothic novels is the resounding question of, who is the real monster?
We’ve all heard of classic novels such as Frankenstein and Dracula, but what exactly is Gothic literature? Tons of stuffy articles will tell you one thing, but in my opinion one of the main themes that seems consistent throughout most Gothic novels is the resounding question of, who is the real monster?
In Dracula is the vampire himself the fiend, or the people
who hunt him? Is Frankenstein the villain or the victim?
You could argue both questions either way—and that’s the whole point. The ambiguity of good and evil is what fascinates me most about the realm of Gothic literature and it’s a style that I try to infuse into my own writing. Think of it this way; in a Gothic novel, the real monsters tend to be hidden in plain sight. In fact, more often than not…the narrator themselves discover that they are in fact the ‘monster’ of their own dark fairytale.
When reading, or in my case writing, a Gothic novel, one of the most important things to keep in mind is: things aren’t always what they seem. Illusion seems to be at the heart of every Gothic tale. The reader’s point of view is often distorted or biased by the narrator and facts and events may be interpreted entirely different from reality.
You could argue both questions either way—and that’s the whole point. The ambiguity of good and evil is what fascinates me most about the realm of Gothic literature and it’s a style that I try to infuse into my own writing. Think of it this way; in a Gothic novel, the real monsters tend to be hidden in plain sight. In fact, more often than not…the narrator themselves discover that they are in fact the ‘monster’ of their own dark fairytale.
When reading, or in my case writing, a Gothic novel, one of the most important things to keep in mind is: things aren’t always what they seem. Illusion seems to be at the heart of every Gothic tale. The reader’s point of view is often distorted or biased by the narrator and facts and events may be interpreted entirely different from reality.
The most powerful tool of a Gothic novelist is the fragility of the human psyche. People hallucinate. They over-think. They get afraid.
They go insane.
Insanity is actually a pretty fun concept to work with from a writer’s perspective, because it can be so subjective. Was Dr. Frankenstein a genius or a mad man? What about the ‘heroes’ in Dracula?
Blending insanity and perception is the greatest hallmark of a Gothic novel and when crafted correctly can create one incredible story.
Insanity is actually a pretty fun concept to work with from a writer’s perspective, because it can be so subjective. Was Dr. Frankenstein a genius or a mad man? What about the ‘heroes’ in Dracula?
Blending insanity and perception is the greatest hallmark of a Gothic novel and when crafted correctly can create one incredible story.
Drain Me
Ellie Gray Chronicles
Book 1
Lana Sky
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: November 28th 2014
ISBN: 150275438X
ASIN: B00OW46BD0
Number of pages: 550
Word Count: 38k
Cover Artist: Imogenary Designs
Book Description:
When diagnosed with a fatal illness at the age of twenty six, Eleanor Gray is resigned to her fate—at least until the enigmatic Dublin Helos appears and makes her an offer she knows she should refuse:
Life or Death?
With a decision as harmless as checking the wrong box on a mysterious questionnaire, Ellie is plunged into a dangerous world where souls are sold to the highest bidder and pleasure is fueled by pain.
The rules of this new life are simple: submit everything—mind, body and soul. But the further Ellie falls under Dublin’s control, the more she comes to realize that it’s not just her sanity at stake, but her heart and a whole lot of blood too.
Available at Amazon
Excerpt:
The fact that he
knew my name didn’t alarm me.
My family owned
half the city, including a good portion of this very hospital. Considering that
my sister’s escapades were constant fodder for the tabloids, I would have been
more insulted if he didn’t know who I was.
But once again
…it was that look in his eyes. It chilled me right down to the bone; I know
you, Eleanor Gray, it said. Way more than just a face from the Society Pages.
Before I could
choke out a reply, he smiled—for real this time—and my poor brain struggled to
find the right words to describe it. Dazzling. Magnificent ...
The flash of
pearly white teeth nearly knocked me senseless. I lost my grip on the
handkerchief for a split second, sparking the taste of copper over my
tongue.
“Word travels
fast around here,” he said, voice traveling down my spine.
I felt my nose
wrinkle as I frowned. Apparently news of my terminal illness had spread before
I’d even left the damn hospital. How long before my picture ended up splattered
over the front of some tabloid beneath the headline, Heiress given weeks to
live?
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I willed my nose to stop bleeding, though I had a feeling that I was
quickly becoming in danger of needing transfusion number four.
I felt so dizzy
all of a sudden. As if, at any moment, I could pass out. Faint.
“What do you see?”
“Huh?”
The question
threw me off and had me turning to face him before I could help it. Wordlessly,
he inclined his head and my eyes automatically followed.
The hall we were
in opened onto a causeway, where patients and visitors alike wandered the
pristine floor.
The sight
reminded me of a hotel—albeit minus the IV poles some people sported instead of
suitcases. The air was the same: that busy, ‘places to go, people to see, get
the hell out of my way’ vibe that made everyone seem closed off, further away.
Without meaning
to, I found my gaze settling over a young girl who had her head wrapped in a
polka dot headscarf. Beside her, a man I guessed to be her father pushed an IV
pole that rattled over the floor.
She was almost
as pale as I was, with dark, bruise-like circles underneath her eyes—but that
wasn’t what stood out to me the most.
She was smiling.
Walking, talking and …smiling. Despite the obvious physical signs, if you went
off that expression alone, you would have never guessed she was sick at all. My
gaze remained glued to her, even as the mysterious doctor spoke up again.
“Mortality,” he
said grimly. “It’s the most precious commodity in the world, don’t you agree?”
I nodded. I may
have not been that invested in my own life, but I could read the fervent desire
on all the other faces—from the new mother carrying her infant in a car seat,
to the elderly man clutching a newspaper to his chest.
The lust to live
was always the same.
“There are some
who would do anything for another chance at life, for more time.”
He spoke so
matter-of-factly that it wasn’t until my mind processed what he was really
saying that his morbid tone struck me like a blow.
“I-I don’t know
what you’re talking about.” I sounded like I was under water. My nose was still dripping. Even the pressure
of my hand wasn’t enough to staunch the blood flow.
“You wouldn’t,” Mr. Gray Eyes said with a
shrug. “Immortality doesn’t interest you, does it, Eleanor?”
Alarm raced down
my spine—no longer was I convinced that this was just a random chat with a
stranger. It was all in his tone.
“I have to
go.” I clutched the now bloody
handkerchief and tried to stand. My legs felt as flaccid as limp noodles. Sweat
poured down the back of my neck, and the erratic beat of my heart quickened and
then faltered. Thump, thump, th-ump.
“You’re not
afraid of death,” the man—though I was now seriously doubting that he was a
doctor—continued. “You welcome it; or so you tell yourself. But, I’m here to
offer you a choice—”
“I think …I need
a real doctor.”
I was through
humoring him. Without bothering to be polite, I attempted to stagger in the
direction of the activity, grasping onto anything to steady me. My hands were
slippery and my once-burgundy peacoat was now soaked scarlet.
Hemohemorrahgia
kept haunting me in Doctor Wallis’ curt tones. 90% fatality!
“Mortality can
be a hindrance of sorts.”
The man was
still talking, only I had no idea just what he was getting at. More
importantly, why hadn’t he gotten a doctor or flagged down a nurse? I clung to
the wall and scanned the crowd of blurring faces, desperate to catch sight of
another white lab coat.
“I think I …need
…help.”
It took all my
strength just to get the words out. And he only ignored me.
“I’m here to
offer you a choice, Eleanor: accept your impending death, or …something else.”
What else? I
struggled to ask but was only greeted with silence. It stretched on for a good
five minutes before I realized that he had finally left. That strange vibe was
gone at least, but so was any sensation or feeling in my limbs. Or sound. My
vision was an inky shade of gray, nearly black, but …
When I finally
gave into the darkness, I swore I could hear him whisper one last time, “It’s
your decision, but if you’re smart, you will make the right one.”
About the Author:
Lana Sky is a reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/lanasky101
Website: www.lanaskybooks.com
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