Music Monday: Béla Bartók

And now, for something a little different…

Happy Birthday, Béla Bartók! I hardly know anything about him. I saw his name on the list of “today’s famous birthdays.” While I’ve enjoyed my share of classical music, I generally like it light, and I’m usually more into guitar (gotta post some Christopher Parkening here sometime). And bluegrass. Or rock. Or Mumford and Sons. Or Gregorian chant. Or…you get the idea. But I thought I’d check Bartók out on YouTube.com.

If Monday’s run you off your feet and you’re looking for something to get the juices flowing, there’s nothing quite like a virtuouso pianist pounding the ivories. Here’s an excellent example: Lars Roos playing Béla Bartók’s Allegro Barbaro, Sz 49, BB 63

Now, go conquer the rest of the week!

Rites of Spring Blog Hop

Hello SF/SFR fans, and welcome to my stop on the Rites of Spring Blog Hop! Instructions for the giveaway are at the end of the post.

Here in cyberspace, the harbingers of the season aren’t the greening of the grass, the warming of the winds, or lengthening days borne in on the wings of returning birds. Instead, we offer you the opportunity to load your e-reader (or your nightstand) with books you’ll want to curl up with during the last chilly nights–and take to the beach on the first warm days.

If you like epic SF, with a dash of the Celtic, and a story where love matters…then “FORGE: Book I of the Thrall Web Series” is your kind of book. Think “Jason Bourne meets Braveheart in space.” Now add dark scary bad guys….

The Khevox are race of amoral psychic predators who fuel their powers with the life energy of slaves harnessed to their masters’ will by the thrall web, etched into their skin in a brutal rite of binding.

The psychically gifted humans of the Scotian Realm, warned by their high king’s vision, have been expecting the arrival of an enemy who will enslave them, body and soul. While they don’t know the identity of the enemy, they know their only hope of victory is an alliance among the three peoples, Scotians in partnership with the wary and distrustful reptilian Xerni and Tormin amphibs of the neighboring star domains.

No one recognizes the enemy already walks among them. No one dreams the fate of the three peoples is tied to the destiny of a man unjustly trapped in the chains of an indentured servant–an izzy.

Keir, found naked and crashed out, is an unidentifiable and mindblind amnesiac known only as “Tazhret”–“Nameless” in the Tormin tongue. Sentenced to servitude, he survives on scraps of kindness from his master’s mate–and clings to the vision of a woman with nut-brown hair, who insists he has a good name.

In the snippet I’ve chosen for this event, this is Keir’s first flesh-and-blood encounter with the woman who has haunted his dreams for two years; the woman who has just healed him, and dragged him from the edge of death…

~~~Excerpt~~~

   Dark.
   Black and total. The darkness of a sunless cavern deep in the bowels of the earth where Scotian demons cavorted with the Te, dark gods of the Xerni, toying with their mortal victims. [Keir] struggled against rock from the devil’s furnace. Crushed, cut, seared, pinned helpless. Dirt gritted in his mouth and nose, filled his lungs, and choked him. In an agony of effort, he clawed the burning rock, fought for every breath. But the rock was impervious, and the weight grew heavier. His body melded into the earth, while the demons laughed in the dark.
   A spark danced across his vision, breaking the black. Flaring brighter, it moved over him and freed him from the fiery, entombing dark. A voice, unrecognized yet familiar, insisted he leave the clutching shadows behind and join her in the light. His stumbling steps grew more confident, and he followed the voice down a long road from the darkness.
   He opened his eyes.
   I’m either dreaming, or I’m dead. The muzzy-headed thought held no particular terror for him. Wherever he was, she was there—nut-brown hair, pale skin, and large amber eyes flecked with topaz and emerald. She smelled of rain, of the clean thunderstorm sweeping over the green river valley. She was so beautiful. Just like he remembered. He would have smiled, but he was so very tired.
   A cool hand touched his burning forehead, and he fell into deep sleep.

~~~

Buy FORGE.

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~~~AND~~~
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Thank you for joining us for the “Rites of Spring Blog Hop.” Enjoy the rest of your tour. Keep your hands inside the shuttle, and watch out for twisting wormholes!

Return to Rites of Spring:

“Star of the County Down”

Top o’the Mornin’ to you!

I like to post things musical on Mondays. I figure everybody’s spirits can use a little lift, facing into another busy week.

Given that yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day (Did you wear green? I did!) my taste is running toward the Celtic. For me, it’s a pretty short leap from Celtic to the Scotian Realm…which leads me directly to “Star of the County Down.” This is an old Irish folk tune  I claimed as part of the musical heritage of the Scotian Realm–mainly because I had the image of a “girl with nut-brown hair.” I must have heard this song sometime in my life, because I recalled that scrap of lyric. But I had to find it on youtube.com to remember the whole–and it was perfect, because it’s just the kind of song you can sing in haze of drunken glory.

For Keir, the hero of FORGE, this song saves his life at the beginning of the book. Abandoned to die in the lunar transfer station’s waste processing center, he makes enough noise with his lusty rendition of this tune that the izzy (indentured servant) making her rounds decides to investigate before hitting the button and disintegrating the day’s refuse…and him along with it. (Moral of the story: You never know when a song will make your day!)

Here’s the version from a small venue in 1999 by Van Morrison and The Chieftains. Enjoy, and have a wonderful week!

Sentimental Journey

I’m going home to Pennsylvania at the end of the week.

Dad will be 92 on Wednesday. The birthday party is on Saturday, and my husband and I plan to be there, along with the rest of the clan.

All Dad wants for his birthday is a family party with a little pickin’n’grinnin’…recorded, so he can listen to it back at the nursing home. We’re more than happy to oblige. His five kids, six grandkids, four great-grandkids, and any number of nieces and nephews and their kids, siblings and the respective inlaws of all the above categories will be on hand to add to the general merriment and musicality. There will be plenty of food and drink, of the minor and adult variety. As we like to say: “The more you drink, the better we sound.”

In honor of Dad, and the journey back home for his birthday, I’m posting one of Dad’s favorite songs. There were other versions of “Sentimental Journey” on youtube.com. But this one had pictures of the WWII vets and the people of the time–who did what needed to be done when the world needed it most. This is most likely the version that Dad heard while he was in the Navy, sung by the marvelous Doris Day.

We’ll probably sing this at the party…but probably not quite as well!

Happy birthday, Dad, with lots of love and prayers.

 

SFR Brigade Presents…FORGE

Welcome! I’m glad to have you stop by this corner of “SFR Brigade Presents…”

So you think you’re having a bad day? Imagine waking up from a nightmare of enslavement…in jail. With no idea how you got there, or even who you are. You’re “Tazhret”…”Nameless.” You’ve been accused of being a drug addict–because they found you rocketed on an illegal hallucinogen. And now, you’re about to be turned into an indentured servant–an izzy. You’d probably be looking for a lifeline, too. Someone–even if she might be only the product of your drug-fueled hallucinations–who tells you what you most need to hear….

~~~Excerpt~~~

Rough hands hauled him off the cot. Dizzied, he stumbled between the deputies, his steps dragging out of the cell, across the back of a large room crowded with desks, toward an oversized, dull-metal armchair, covered with straps. He stopped short on a hard gasp. The deputies pushed him forward.

“Move along, Tazhret,” the chief constable ordered. “This is your simplest path to a fresh start—”

Tazhret erupted into sudden violence, twisting out of the deputies’ grasp, jamming his elbows into their guts. They doubled over. A right cross to the chief’s jaw rocked the Tormin back.

Tazhret ran. Ran toward the exit, almost flying in light gravity. Must be on a lunar transfer station—

The electric hammer of a hurled shockstick hit him in the back of his head, fried his nerves, and plunged him back into darkness. Chains waited for him there, and an evil master. And a woman with nut-brown hair, who whispered, “You have a name.”

Hope you enjoyed your visit!

Buy FORGE.

Return to SFR Brigade Presents.

Down in the West Texas Town of El Paso

I’m into all kinds of music, and occasionally I wander into Country. Here’s the classic “El Paso” by Marty Robbins, which is on my mind today.

I love the story, Marty’s vocals, and the harmony…and the guitar work by the late Fred Carter, Jr. Having grown up singing this tune, tomorrow my husband and I are going to make Rosa’s Cantina in El Paso, TX a stop on our road trip.

Can I add Rosa’s Cantina to my bucket list, just so I can cross it off?

SFR Brigade Presents…

Welcome! I’m glad to have you stop by this corner of “SFR Brigade Presents…”

For my first appearance here, I’ve got a snippet from my first book: “FORGE: Book I of the Thrall Web Series.”

Brief set-up: Keir–once a “half-starved izzy, mostly a lump of scars inside and out”– is now fully healed. In command of his talent, he leads the effort to save the planet Forge from cataclysm. As the first step, he must establish, on the psychic plane, a rapport with the woman who healed him. The same woman who has haunted his dreams since he first lost his name, his talent, and all his former life. (Nica’s full name has been deleted in order to reduce the spoiler-lishness of the clip….)

The scar down the left side of his face throbbed with the beat of his racing heart, as the healer raised her hand and laid it over the old wound. Avatar-to-avatar…and yet his skin warmed to her touch. Trinity, she was so close, he could kiss—

She took his hand, pulled up his sleeve, and showed him his wrist, with its wide, white scar—now pulsing with a golden glow.

“Keir, what…?” She brushed the tip of one finger across the remnant of his shackles.

Keir’s skin tingled. His heart skipped a beat, only to pound still faster with the desire to touch her in return. She was no longer a phantasm woven of scoot hallucinations and desperate hope. She was there, flesh-and-blood on the physical plane—there on the energy plane where thoughts and emotions took on the solidity of rock. With the embodiment of his dreams before him, Keir reined in his yearning heart. Nica he could have loved with honor. [The lady healer-adept] was beyond his touch. He gently reclaimed his hand, tugging the sleeve over the shimmering scar.

“I wear the gift of a healer’s touch, milady, and have mended well.”

Buy FORGE here.
~120k words. Semi-sweet. Epic adventure.

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