Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Wednesday Promo- Marci Baun aka Kit Wylde
Kit Wylde is one of Marci Baun's pseudonyms. In Kit's persona, Ms. Baun is a little bit wilder than normal. (grin) Matter of fact, if she ever became a stripper (not going to happen), that would be her stage name. Instead, she settles for writing about exciting lives. As Kit, she has written the paranormal short story Hieroglyphs ( http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=84&products_id=314 ), the erotic romance novella Last Chance ( http://www.freyasbower.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=7&products_id=4 ) published by Freya's Bower, the paranormal erotic romance chapter book series The Whispering House ( http://www.freyasbower.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=77 ), also published by Freya's Bower, and a couple of short stories in the Dreams & Desires charity anthologies (http://www.freyasbower.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=19&products_id=170 ).
As the publisher of both Wild Child Publishing and Freya's Bower, Ms. Baun has very little time to write. However, she is an avid reader and her interests include history, music, opera, theater, swimming, cycling, nature, travel, and writing. Before becoming a publisher and mom, she wrote and performed one person shows about historical women in schools, universities and festivals across the state of California, sang with the Coasters and the Drifters, Freddie Hart, as well as on the operatic stage, and composed music for a twelve minute musical, as a member of the Academy for New Musical Theatre. One day, she hopes to return to the stage.
When did you know you wanted to write for publication?
I wrote my first story when I was ten or so. It was, well, very, very bad and has hopefully since disappeared. (grin) I think there has always been a part of me that wanted to have my writing published, although it isn't something I've pursued very actively. It just so happens that I am a publisher now and on occasion publish the few stories I've written. I tend to focus on our other authors than my own writing.
What was your first book and did it get published?
My first book (well, novella really) was Last Chance, and yes, it's published. It started out as a serialized story on Wild Child Publishing, but when I opened Freya's Bower, I pulled it out, dusted it off, and revised it thoroughly. (g) It has a couple of steamy scenes, but is really more romance than anything else. (g)
What do you feel a writer needs to do to break into the publishing world?
Persistence, dedication, determination, a willingness to learn, a healthy ego (but not egotistical and no diva-tude), a tough skin, and a positive attitude.
When a new hieroglyphic alphabet is discovered on an ancient Egyptian scroll, expert archaeologist Joslyn Wetherly is called in to decipher it. Joslyn is obsessed with the scroll, and that obsession threatens her marriage.
But soon her life is threatened as the secrets of the scroll prove dangerous. Before Joslyn realizes what is happening, she is embroiled in a rivalry between two long-dead pharaohs, their Egyptian gods, and past life karmas.
Will Joslyn survive the secrets revealed in the scroll? Or will she be the next victim of the ancient feud?
Joslyn eyed the two men. An undercurrent ran between them. Sam wasn’t telling her everything, but she couldn’t decipher his reasons for withholding any information. Any questions would have to wait until they returned to the hotel, if she read Sam right. “Well, I am expected back on Friday, but I will do everything I can to see that this is completed by then.”
“Here we are.” Ali held the door open for them to enter.
Bookcases covered nearly every inch of wall space. Books and journals filled approximately half of the shelves. She recognized most of the titles. Many were Ali’s, but there were a few by other noted Egyptologists. A large number of the archeological journals had reputations for publishing his work. The other half of the bookcase held translations of ancient scrolls. Having spent hours of research pouring over such documents, Joslyn knew with a glance which translation belonged to which Egyptologist. Again, he had a mixture of his and other experts’, including herself. He had placed a few artifacts in precise positions that displayed them to their best advantage. And the replica of.... A replica? She moved closer to get a better look.
“Ah, I see you have caught me.” A smile warmed his voice. His proximity unnerved her. Reaching around her, he gently picked up the miniature, gold Tutankhamen mask. “Yes, it is an original. It was a ‘gift’ from the government. I only hold it in stewardship.” Abruptly, he replaced it and moved away, taking a seat behind his desk. “Come. Sit. Show me the scroll.”
Reverently, Joslyn removed the scroll from its protective waterproof container and laid it out on Ali’s massive, mahogany desk. They leaned closer to examine the ancient papyrus. The sunlight pouring in from the tall window behind them cast an ethereal glow on the scroll. Before her stunned gaze, the scroll gathered the sunlight into the hieroglyphs. The faded ink lines emitted the luminous, golden radiance of the sun. With each passing second, the light grew brighter. A whirring sound, like the flapping wings of thousands of ibises rising from the Nile, crescendoed to a deafening roar. With a loud clap, the roar softened to a hum that faded away to absolute silence. Golden points of light danced around Joslyn like a halo in a mystical painting, as if she was touched by the gods.
Everything melded into one, then split into tiny molecules that bounced and cavorted in the sparkling light. It seemed to have a will of its own, swirling as if in a kaleidoscope. Joslyn tottered and struggled to remain erect. Gripping the table, she blinked several times, futilely trying to clear her vision. The light coalesced into recognizable objects, and her legs collapsed. She clawed at the table as she slipped to the floor under the weight of nearly 4,000 years of waiting. Unable to move and terrified, she watched in fascinated horror while a gold mask materialized above her and floated down to lightly rest upon her face. The mask seeped into her pores, and a surge of energy jolted through her. Her body convulsed with the impact. It was then that she knew Hatchepsut had joined them.
Sam’s voice barely penetrated the haze surrounding Joslyn’s consciousness. His face swam in front of her. She attempted to respond, but her lips wouldn’t move. Again, she tried. Nothing happened. She felt pasted to the floor for a split second, and then her soul slipped free to hover just below the ceiling. The silver strand of energy seemed far too fragile to keep her displaced soul attached to her possessed body. In disbelief, she watched the scene unfold.
“Joslyn?” Sam crouched down next to her.
“I am Maatkare.” The thready whisper of ancient Egyptian slithered past Joslyn’s lips.
“But there was only one Maatkare...Hatchepsut.” Ali’s eyebrows rose. “Sam, what is this—hocus pocus?”
With a jerk, her body stood and faced Ali. A fiery, angry, orange circle formed around her, pulsing. Heavily accented English grated out. “You doubt me?”
Both men physically flinched. The voice sounded like sandpaper on metal.
“I....” Ali scrambled in retreat.
“So, you are an unbeliever.” Scornful eyes raked Ali’s slim frame. “Perhaps the gods were mistaken.”
Ali visibly trembled under Hatchepsut’s menacing glare. “N-no. I am the one you seek.”
“Then prostrate yourself before your pharaoh.” Hatchepsut turned chilly eyes to Sam. One eyebrow raised in question.
“I am American. We don’t have a pharaoh.”
Her nostrils twitched in irritation.
He quickly added, “But I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you.”
Her gaze flicked back to Ali. “Up. Show me the scroll.”
Ali pointed to the desk.
Hatchepsut caressed the papyrus. A small smile flickered on her face, lighting it with affection before she returned her gaze to the quaking Ali. “Merit will translate this for you tomorrow. Listen carefully.” With a sigh, Hatchepsut left Joslyn’s body.
Joslyn’s soul snapped back into her body, and she slumped over the desk, exhausted. Painfully lifting herself from the table, she said, “Sam…can we return to the hotel now, please?”
Buy Link: http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=84&products_id=314