On Writing Witches
Good or bad, witches are some of my favorite characters to write. Several of my books have featured them. They always feel like people that play by their own set of rules. Writing a witch opens a kind of anything-can-happen door.
When you look at the history of witch-hunting, the accusations always seemed to fly at the women that lived outside the norm. They were rarely the popular girls, unless they were popular with men. That always seemed to rile the bitter, basic bitties. Of course, that makes the witches interesting from the get-go.
In real life and in fiction, their relationships with their communities usually seem to be strained and/or complicated, which also makes for great stories. Are they open and honest about what they do or do they work in secret? Even if they do work in secret, it’s likely that someone knows something about what they’re doing or at least suspects. And how do those people react to them? They might blackmail them or use them, depending on the situation.
Most of the witches in my stories have been pretty modern. They’ve had to deal with aforementioned complicated community and personal relationships. They’re just regular people with some interesting abilities and problems.
My most recent witches in my newest release, Wild Spirits of the Hollow, do not fit into that category. They aren’t Glenda the Good Witch. They aren’t even Elphaba.
They’re earth witches but not the happy, hippie kind. Their relationship with nature is deeper and more sinister. They sacrifice blood, theirs and that of others, and they are generally up to no good. The scariest part of their magic is how powerful it is, almost like the forest has no choice but to respond to their darkness and do their bidding.
And the nearby villagers live in fear of them. There are no witch trials there. The people of the village aren’t even able to escape because the forest won’t let them.
There’s such a wide spectrum of creative potential that it’s no wonder witches appear so often in fiction. As for me, I plan to continue writing them: the good, the bad, and everything in between.
Lea Ryan
Genre: Contemporary fantasy/Supernatural fiction
Publisher: NightLark Publishing
Date of Publication: 08/28/2018
ISBN: 1721041397
ASIN: B07DN3CH9H
Number of pages: 163
Word Count: 43000
Cover Artist: RL Bender
Tagline: An ancient evil is murdering residents in the isolated village of Mistwalk. Can Shannon survive long enough to save them all?
Book Description:
Shannon lies to almost everyone she meets. When she gets lost and winds up trapped in an Appalachian valley village, her lies don’t get her far.
Mistwalk Vale may look like a fairy tale, but nightmares lurk in the shadows.
Villagers are dying grisly deaths, their bodies reduced to bones and left in the streets for their friends and family to find. Worse, some people suspect that Shannon is involved. They accuse her of coming from the tribe of vicious earth witches down in the hollow.
A man named Owen believes Shannon is innocent. He tries to protect her as best he can, but there’s only so much he can do. She feels herself falling for him, despite her plan to leave as soon as she gets an opportunity.
Caught between angry mobs and an ancient darkness, she will be forced to fight for her survival. Can she save herself and the village before evil consumes them all?
Excerpt
from Chapter 1
I stood at the
edge of the trees, staring at the light deep within the forest. Between it and
me, a sea of shadow concealed the underbrush and all that lurked there. This
forest, like many other forests, would have its insects, snakes, tangles of
who-knew-what, maybe wildcats or some other thing ready to pounce on and maim
me.
After hours of
walking along a secluded, mountain highway, my brain was thoroughly scrambled.
I knew enough to know that, and I knew enough to not fully trust what I was
seeing.
It might be a
lie, the light, a mirage conjured by some desperate part of my mind. I'd told
enough lies to others, why not myself?
A fantasy of
stumbling upon a cabin with friendly occupants swam through my mind. They’d
have food left over from dinner, a plate they’d be happy to hand over to
someone who really needed it, and I did really need it. Lunch was a distant
memory, as well as the Skittles from my backpack, my bottle of water. If I made
it anywhere alive, I would really have to reevaluate my packing priorities.
I sighed. Unless
I wanted to sleep next to the highway, that light was my only hope. I adjusted
my backpack straps and stepped into the trees.
I plodded
through the darkness in high tops that weren’t made for terrain any more
intense than a mall floor. I also regretted wearing shorts and a t-shirt
because there was no trail, only weeds and trees and rustling sounds made by
small animals nearby.
All the while,
the light in the distance remained bright, burning my eyes, but I kept my
sights on it because that was hope, even if it never seemed to get any closer.
I kept my mind
off my creepy surroundings by considering who I would be for the people who
awaited me. Had someone picked me up as I attempted to hitchhike, that lucky
individual would’ve had the opportunity to hang out with a model, who was on
her way to Miami.
Everybody likes
to hang out with famous people and people who are about to be famous. I’ve
noticed this before. When I tell them whatever version of the story I’d
concocted for the evening, their eyes would light up as if I had offered to
take them along to fame and fortune.
The model story
was my go-to. I was lanky and odd looking in a way that some people found
attractive or interesting, at the very least, plausible model material. This
was not the person I would be in the cabin. I didn’t have the energy to keep up
the behaviors that went along with that lie.
Models didn’t
eat substantial food. Models ate iceberg lettuce and drank lemon, cucumber
water. My model did, anyway.
There in the
woods with possible food ahead of me, there was no way I could keep that up. I
didn’t care what food someone shoved under my nose. The idea of grilled opossum
made my mouth water. Boiled weeds? Fine. I'd eat anything.
I tried to come
up with another story, but the most compelling at that moment was my own.
Broken car. Girl wandering the woods in hope of finding food and shelter. I was
filthy and growing filthier by the minute. If I had scissors in my backpack, I
would’ve chopped off at least half of my long, brown hair just to get rid of
the tangles. That evening, I wouldn’t have to fake a look of utter desperation.
So I let the story be what it was.
About the Author:
Lea Ryan is the author of several books and stories. She writes about the strange and the dark, as well as the light and love and strives to immerse readers in vivid fictional worlds. She currently lives in Indiana with assorted family members and various pets. Her website and blog can be found at www.LeaRyan.com.
Website and blog - https://authorlearyan.wordpress.com/
Newsletter Signup - http://eepurl.com/dvlSxn
Twitter https://twitter.com/learyan1
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lea.ryan.12
Posts
2 comments:
Thanks for the opportunity
Hi! Thank you for hosting me! :)
Post a Comment