Writing a book could be formulaic, but behind the scenes of Pixie Prick, it was anything but. It all started with an elephant. No, not the kind you eat one bite at a time, and definitely not the 8000 pound one in the room. It was worse. It was the unscratchable itch of curiosity, the insistent tug of characters clamoring for birth. It was this guy.
What could I do with an expressive face like that? Poignant, wise, elegant, long-suffering, this big guy needed a venue. So, I dug in, trying to figure him out. He was a feature in the World’s Fair in Paris in 1889, and at it’s conclusion he took up residence…
In a bar? Oh boy. My type of story to a T.
Or an E.
Either way, I was all in and writing, knitting this Parisian story to my current day fantasy series, also set in a bar, into a tale of trust, betrayal and redemption, with a fat handful of love and pachyderm load of snark.
So from the Moulin Rouge to the Boogie Beach Crab Shack, the threads pulled tighter. Toss in a vindictive pixie king, a passel of talented witches ready to rumble, and a smattering of gods, shifters, and pissed off humans, and you’ve got Patra’s problem: one colossal Pixie Prick has gotta go.
Here’s your links!