Thursday, January 24, 2013

Earth Angel by Ruth Ellen Parlour: Interview, Excerpt


Welcome Ruth Ellen.  Thanks for stopping by and agreeing to answer a few of my questions.  J  Plotter or Pantser? Why?


I like to plot roughly. I briefly write maybe a sentence for each scene then work through them. I’m happy to switch between plotter and pantser if I’m stuck and I try to just go with the flow. I write very roughly on the first draft then edit a lot!


What group did you hang out with in high school?


I would say misfits (although it certainly wasn’t what the other kids called us). I had two groups of friends, swats and misfits (swats are the clever kids.) I was somewhere in between both, I was weird enough to be a misfit and also worked hard but I never stressed out over exams like the swats did. I was also a bit better at sports than swats… or at least I wasn’t last to be picked.

How do you react to a bad review of your book?


I have yet to develop a thick skin but I think that will come in time when I’ve written more books. I’ve only had a couple of negative reviews and they were for completely valid reasons which I’m trying to amend in the novel. They certainly weren’t mean reviews but it’s always hard when someone says they didn’t like it! I just have to remember that not everyone will like what I right (and that’s a good thing!)


Who should play you in a film of your life? 


I’m going to shoot high here and say I would love it to be Jennifer Lawrence as long as she could pull off my accent. Is it also okay to say that I want to be her best friend? She’s only a year younger than me and I reckon we’d have a good laugh.


What are the most important attributes for remaining sane as a writer?


I think I speak on behalf of all writers when I say that the answer is chocolate. It’s like sanity fuel. It also helps to have supporting family and friends, which I’m lucky enough to have. I find it great that the writing community online is so supportive, I’ve met some amazing writers through social media and I’ve built up my own little community.

What would we find under your bed?


I have boxes full of art stuff: painting, drawing, and craft equipment. I have a half made rag rug which I started a few years ago and I seem to work on over winter (because it’s so lovely and warm to have on my lap!) My bedframe is cast iron Victorian style (almost 100 years old – my great grandma bought it for a sovereign [gold pound coin] for my great uncle who died in WWII) I’m pretty proud of that story! Anyway… the bed is quite high so it’s always been jammed full of stuff underneath. I swear I’m not a hoarder!

If I came to visit early in the morning would you impress me as being more like a chirpy bird or a grumpy bear?


Early mornings don’t bother me much. What I hate is being bothered late at night. My boyfriend knows not to annoy me if I’m trying to sleep as I will go all grizzly on him. He learned the hard way. I was once woken at 1am to help a friend out (which involved my going outside in my pyjamas to look for him).


Ruth is an independent author of young adult fantasy. Born in North Yorkshire she grew up in country Durham, North East England. The hardest thing she has done was to work as an Au pair when she was 18, for 3 lively young boys in Germany. Ruth is training to be a crazy bunny lady, currently owning one overweight lop called Bandit. She'd eventually love to be a fosterer for unwanted rabbits.
Contact Ruth Ellen:

Twitter @RuthEParlour


Eardesha is protected by the twelve Gods and their Earth Angels. Fighting against her destiny as an Earth Angel, Faith is returning to the temple for her lover who she had to leave behind. Gabrielle, a criminal, escapes from prison only to be guided back by the God’s to help Faith stop a war. Threatened by invasion from the Krieger, Eardesha’s military trains convicted criminals into a brutal and disposable army. Gabrielle and Faith discover a power the Gods have kept secret for thousands of years, a secret that would change the future of Eardesha, and use it to stop the war.

‘Found anything yet?’ asked Gabrielle. Sweat trickled slowly over her flaky brown skin. The pungent stench attacked her senses in waves as the unyielding sun burned the flesh off her neck and arms.
‘No,’ replied her brother Ossoldo who was chained beside her. His lank brown fringe flopped constantly over his almond shaped eyes and a rough beard grew grisly like a hedgehog that clung to his jaw. A heavy chain linked them all together. Rows of slaves were hammering at either side of them, in front, and behind; lined in deep trenches of crumbling rock. The rutted surface shifted in and out of Gabrielle’s consciousness like a mirage. The rhythmic thud mixed with the haze of the sun was hypnotic and hallucinations came like a dream, the colours intoxicating; dreams of things too far out of life.
A long metal trough sat behind them, permanently waiting. Minute pieces of mixed grey and brown rock sat in the rusting metal. They were digging for any valuable metal or mineral. What happened to the metal was no body’s business.
They fell quiet as a guard strolled along the top of the trench, kicking up dust granules in little clouds. His hardened glass eyes in a gargoyle complexion swore down on them. A whip and truncheon dangled from the belt of each guard; owning the prisoners with fear. Gabrielle stabbed harder at the rock, shooting the guard a hateful glare as he strolled away.
Gabrielle swallowed the dry air. Her mouth and lips were cracked and her head pounded furiously to the sound of the pickaxes.
In a burst of anger she attacked the wall, jarring her wrist which made her wince. Dust and rock crumbled down like a little waterfall. From within the wound a little glimmer caught her eye. Something was there and it wasn’t what they were looking for. She pecked at it again until a thin silver chain dangled out of the rock. Gabrielle touched it with her pulsing fingers; the chain was cold, bringing relief to her hot skin.
‘What’s that?’ asked Oz. She didn’t reply. He watched his sister as she chipped the rock, then brushed it with her fingers, before chipping it again. When a substantial groove was created she clasped the chain in her hand and pulled. The strain turned her scrunched-up face red. She put a foot on the wall for extra force as the chain dug into her fists.
‘Be careful or you’ll break it,’ Oz looked out for the guards before gently knocking the wall around the chain with his pickaxe to loosen it. With one last strain it gave way. Gabrielle fell on her bottom with a thud as a spray of dry rock sprinkled from the wall. Ignoring the pain, she examined her prize. Oz crouched over her. Gabrielle dusted the cold item cupped in her hands and brought it closer. Dangling from the end of the silver chain sat a teardrop shaped gemstone; shimmering the colour of sand. As Gabrielle moved it in her hands, the rays of light from the sun revealed an hourglass, accurately carved by a skilled eye. The polished stone bore no scratches and the chain was in perfect condition albeit clogged with dirt.
‘What is it?’ he asked. Before she could look more closely a guard began to wander over, his gaze swept over them as Oz and Gabrielle scrambled swiftly to their feet and retrieved their pickaxes. The pendant sat firmly clamped in Gabrielle’s damaged hand.
When the sun was in its decline the guards began filing people back in. Oz and Gabrielle were led, still clamped together, onto a raised walkway that ran down the centre of hundreds of trenches identical to theirs. The channels stretched far into the wasteland until they disappeared in a wavering line of heat. Stones and grit dug into the thickened soles of her bare feet.
A thick spiral of black clouds heaved and swelled around an epicentre rumbling endlessly over a giant fortress. Its thick walls were scorched black, towering over the people below. The main building was a wide tower that cast a lengthy shadow across the desert. A giant stonewall surrounded the buildings, topped with metal spikes, daring someone to challenge it.
A growl of thunder swept the sky overhead. The two beasts; lightning and thunder raged a persistent battle within the dense clouds.
‘It looks like another lightning storm,’ he announced. Gabrielle observed the burnt sky. The storm rarely ventured out of its comfortable cloud blanket, but no matter how violent the storm was - it never rained. People said that the cloud above the prison was filled with the angry souls of those who died within those dark walls, or those who were lost outside of it. Khartaz prison never failed to make Gabrielle feel insignificant in a Godless land.
She once prayed for rain to come and sooth her aching muscles and moisten the air. Gabrielle once prayed that the Gods were listening. But the rain never came. 
Enter for a chance to win a digital copy of Earth Angel.



Anonymous said...

Thanks so much for hosting me on your blog! I had fun answering the interview questions :)

Anne Consolacion said...

Congrats to the author for this release! I would love to read this. :)

Anonymous said...

Thanks Anne! :)