Everything I Needed to Know About Life, I Learned From My Characters

“Everything I Needed To Know, I Learned From My Characters”

 Yeah, I know.  It might seem like a sort of overused title.  But there’s a great deal of truth in it, for me, and it’s a philosophy that’s carried me through the ups and downs of life, and writing.

 Over the years (decades, really) of writing, I’ve come to one inescapable conclusion.  I’ve learned something from each and every character I’ve ever encountered in my writing career.  Some have been lessons in what not to do (being evil is a sure-fire way to end up dead and despised, for example.  The Widow Society from Project Prometheus taught me that).

 However, most have been positive lessons in how to live my life.  Like how honor, integrity, and loyalty are worth more than anything else in the world ( the Commandos, from Underground, taught me that).  That judging a person based solely on their outward appearance is a sure way to bypass something truly wonderful and life-altering in this world (Matt Raleigh’s lesson, from IN HER NAME). 

 I learned that guilt and anger are two of the most poisonous emotions that exist, and they can do irreparable damage to the things I hold most dear (thanks to Trevor Watkins and Jaye Michaels in SHADOW WALKER).   That no matter how far down I go, no matter how dark and terrible things seem, there’s always hope for me (Tamia Kuan, from Underground, and Peter Talladay, from HOPE OF HEAVEN, both taught me that).

 I even learned, during one of the darkest periods of my life, that the only way you stay a victim is by letting the person who harmed you maintain their power (this was a hard-learned lesson, for both myself and Chelsea Hanover in BURDEN OF PROOF).

 And I learned that fear is the most numbing, and destructive, power in the world.  It can tie you down, hold you prisoner, and beat the hell out of you.  It can keep you from what you want, and turn you against those you love and who love you.  These lessons came from Telyn Gwndal (DAUGHTER OF ASHES), Hope MacKenzie (HOPE OF HEAVEN), and Matt Raleigh (IN HER NAME).

 So, yes, I’ve learned a great deal from my characters.  I’ve learned how to stand on my own two feet, and not allow myself to be held or beaten down by life’s failures, or the fears and failures of others.  Through their triumphs, I learned that love has the capacity to wash away any stain on the soul, and that an open heart and open mind are the most amazing and spiritually uplifting possessions a person can own.

 My characters inspired great changes in my life, opening my eyes and allowing me to see what was in front of my face all along.  I only hope they can do the same for you.

Flash Friday: “Dark Alliance”

“Dark Alliance” — Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BLOOD DEBT

copyright 2002 by Esther Mitchell

            “This is unacceptable.”  Red Widow seethed with fury as she paced angrily around the small lab.  She hated this goddamned jungle, the heat and humidity.  She hated these people.  She hated everything about this.  She spun toward her gathered minions, ignoring the woman seated at the lab table.  The girl was the one constant reminder of her own failure, and she wasn’t about to acknowledge her existence.

            “Why can none of you numbskulls get anything right?”  She fumed, though her glare fixed directly on Rurik Babin.  She’d loose her ire on Lapinov, as well, except the Tarantula Brigade leader wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a fight.  Most times, she appreciated his icy demeanor, but she was spoiling for a fight.

            “I did what I was ordered to do!”  Babin shot back, giving her exactly what she wanted – a target.

            “You were supposed to kill her, you incompetent arse!”  She snapped the words out as she stalked the cockroach.  “So, tell me why she’s still breathing.”

            “She has more lives than a damned cat, is why.  And the poison’s effectiveness is wearing off, too.”

            That was news to her.  Red Widow spun on her heel to confront the scientist who sat in one of the room’s only two chairs.  “Is this true?”

            He shrugged.  “It’s possible, at any rate.”

            “How?”  Red Widow demanded.

            “Hard to say.  There are numerous reasons.  Environmental factors, exposure, incorrect dosing…”

            “It is none of those things.”  The room’s other female occupant spoke for the first time, drawing everyone’s attention.  Then, as if she wasn’t the focal point of the room, she made tiny clicking noises as she stroked her fingers over the hairy body of the tarantula crawling slowly across the back of her hand.

            “Magdalena,” Lapinov finally spoke, his tone coaxing and indulgent, as if speaking to a child.

            “There is a reason the poison is failing.”  Her voice was soft and serene, as if she was in a trance.

            Red Widow rolled her eyes with a snort.  Clearly, the centuries had warped the girl’s mind, turning it to sponge.  “Do tell.”

            Magdalena didn’t look up, or give any indication she was aware of the sarcasm.  “The Musir built in a failsafe.”

            Red Widow’s eyes widened, and her gaze whipped to the scientist in the next chair.  “Did you know about this?”

            He nodded.  “But we took care of it.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “How?”
            A cold grin split his face as his hand raised to the series of long scars that grooved his cheek from eye to jaw.  The bitch had nearly taken his eye out, but he won in the end.  “We introduced our own ingredient, of course.”

            Red Widow leaned back against the table and studied the scientist with interest.  Could she have found the one American capable of actually doing his job?  Rachel hadn’t had the staying power, once Sargon was awakened, and so far, Daniel Cook was proving incompetent beyond compare.

            But this man’s icy lack of emotion made him formidable, and gave her the first burst of confidence in his ability to get the job done.  This wasn’t a man easily distracted by personal vendettas, and he bore the evidence of how far he’d go to sate his brutal desires on his face, like a badge of dishonor.  She heard he left the native woman who gave him those scars for dead, deep in the Peruvian jungle.  A chilly smile tugged at her lips.  Aye, this man wouldn’t let anyone get in his way.

Find out how we got to this point.  Get your copies of the first three Project Prometheus books today at www.aspenmountainpress.com !

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”  – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

She was so cold.  The wind here on the shore was bitter, chilled by the storm that raged around her.  Csilla huddled in the cavern, watching as sthe boats were made ready.

“Are you ready, Gatekeeper?”

She turned at the sound of a masculine voice, to find Sargon beside her, tall and strong in his armor, the glow of his charge shining around him even from where it rested, secure in the scabbard at his side.  She shuddered to think that, of them all, only she was a real danger.  Only her charge could bring them all back to this place, and only her charge could be forced from her grasp by any manner besides death.

“Go, Warrior,” she whispered, already aware of what she must do.  And yet, she could not tell these men, her soul-brothers, what she planned.  They would surely halt her plan, if they knew how she meant to protect them all.  “I am weary, and will bide here a while.”

He frowned.  “It is not safe, Csilla.  Already, Arachaena swarm the mountain above us.  They must not find us here.”

She looked out toward the storm-tossed waves whose peace she once found solace in.  Sadness gripped her that she would leave this behind, and she hugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders.  There was no help for it.  This was as it must be.

“I shall follow directly.  Have Mykalos tie me a boat in yon rocks.”

Sargon sighed, but relented.  Truly, he was too tender to a woman’s comfort; she feared that would bring him to ill ends.  “Do not linger too long, Csilla.”

She smiled up at him, careful that he did not read her sorrow.  “I will be gone before they arrive.”

With a nod, his eyes wary, Sargon left her and headed for the boats beyond.  Csilla sighed, and shivered slightly as she rested her back against the cool rocks.  She felt the weight of the knife concealed beneath her cloak.  She would keep her promise.  Only, it would not be as Sargon believed.

Find out more about this series at www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain

Read IN HER NAME, HOPE OF HEAVEN, and SHADOW WALKER today!  Find them at:

www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html

www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/paranormal/romance/shadow-walker/prod_219.html

Flash Friday: “In a Demon’s Wake”

Today’s Flash comes from one of the most unique and unusual books I’ve ever written.  While definitely highly on the paranormal side of fiction, this book is unique even among its series-mates, in that it involves a culture many don’t even realize still exists beneath the fabric of other cultures and religions.  I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  You can find the full novel by visiting www.aspenmountainpress.com

Disclaimer:  This scene contains descriptions of violence of a graphic nature and language some may find offensive.  Reader discretion is advised.

“In a Demon’s Wake” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            “We went in there with orders not to kill anyone.  But no one told us the revolutionaries knew anything about bombs or planting mines.  Four of my team got blown to pieces when they tripped some hidden claymores.”

            Manara gasped at those words, every muscle in her body tensed as if he physically struck her.  The memory of the canyon flooded over her.  Blessed Ishtar, she let it happen again!  No wonder he didn’t trust her!  She tried to pull away, sick with her own sins, but his arms were like steel bands around her waist and his gaze, when she turned to look at him, was fixed in another time.

            “I guess I just flipped out or something.  I don’t really remember.  All I remember is turning the teams loose and telling them to waste every goddamned gook they saw.” 

            Manara saw the pain flash across his face, heard the hollow regret in his words.  This, she realized, was but one of his demons, spawned from whatever great evil had torn loose that piece of his soul.  Sadly, she knew his tale wasn’t over.  Covering his hands with her own, she asked, “What happened?”

            His gaze came back to her and Manara wanted to weep at the coldness of his eyes.  This was the man she didn’t know¾the one she saw only a glimpse of when his demons held her prisoner.  “They did exactly what I said.  Afterward, we found out there weren’t any revolutionaries in that village.  Just farmers.  The claymores were leftovers from V.C. plants in the Seventies.  They just weren’t uncovered until my men triggered them.  I ordered an entire village wiped out, for nothing.  Nothing!”

            Tears welled up in Manara’s eyes as she watched him struggle with the evil truth he held silent for so long, a mistake such a good man could only suffer under.

            “Matthew.”  She reached to stroke his cheek.  “You cannot blame yourself when the true fault lies with another.  Who made that madman?  What was her name?”

            He swallowed hard and Manara’s heart broke for him.  To live with such painful secrets…  His eyes met hers; she saw surprise, and then gratitude, light within the depths of his darkness.  He knew she understood; perhaps that would make his tale easier for him to share.  A sigh left him and his eyes closed as he hugged her to him and the words flowed out.

            “Her name was Rachel Murray, and I was all of fourteen years old.”

Flash Friday: “Ghost of the Past”

Meet two characters on a collision course with destiny.  From the moment Misty first made her appearance in the background of another Project Prometheus plot, I knew I’d be seeing her again.  She has an unfinished question hanging over her life.  Keep reading to see what I mean…

“Ghost of the Past” – excerpted from Twist of Fate

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            Misty Jarrod hugged her arms close against her body and shivered against the cold desert air that bit through her shirt.  She doubted she’d ever get used to the desert, with its searing hot days and freezing nights.  She missed home.  The flowers would be blooming on the shore of Lake Superior, by now, and homesickness flooded her.  She could almost smell the violets, tulips and hyacinth.  And beneath it all, the subtle scent of cigarette smoke…

            Misty’s head snapped up, her thoughts broken by that out-of-place scent.  No one in Manara’s temple smoked.  These people had an odd purity, for as hung-up on sex as they were.  And none of the Prometheans here at the moment smoked, either.  Her eyes narrowed, Misty sniffed the air, dragging in the scent as she tried to place why it was so familiar.  It wasn’t just a cigarette.  There was a subtle, sweet note to it, reminiscent of vanilla and… cinnamon! The final piece jogged into place, and she decided she’d gone off the deep end.  Those were Nick’s cigarettes she smelled.  Only, Nick was dead.

            Pain twisted in her chest like a python as the scent wove through her, bringing memories of her husband – the man she loved more than life – out from the depths of her heart.  She buried him six years ago, not questioning that he was dead even without a body to prove it.  The empty hollow in her heart told her all she needed to know.  Nick was gone.  Nothing would bring him back.

            Anger followed hard on the heels of pain, and she flipped her sidearm free from its holster, disengaging the safety as she followed the scent toward its origin.  Whoever was smoking that cigarette, she didn’t believe it was coincidence.  Call her paranoid, but since Nick disappeared, she felt like someone was following her.  Even though no one told her exactly how he died – all they would say was that he “disappeared” – she knew he’d been on a deep cover CIA mission under the guise of a UN inspection of the No Fly Zone.  She wasn’t stupid.

            The scent led off toward the eastern boundary of the Temple’s construction zone. Misty kept her breathing silent and steady, moving slowly as she allowed her eyes to adjust to the moonless night.  Whoever was out there, she would find him, and make him answer for following her.  She wouldn’t fail her boss, or these people.  No one was going to get to them through her, no matter how much he pretended to be her dead husband.

            As she reached the boundary, Misty caught sight of a silhouette, and froze.  No way!

            “Who the hell are you?”  She snarled the words, refusing to believe what her senses were telling her.

            The figure turned, stepped toward her, and Misty flicked on the small penlight, casting a narrow, soft beam of light that wouldn’t harm her vision, or her reaction time.  As the beam played over his body, the breath sucked from her, leaving her shaking with disbelief.  She wouldn’t believe this.  She couldn’t believe this.  The beam touched his face, and the cold night had nothing on the chill that spread through her.  Oh my god.

            “Nick?”

            And then, the click of a safety disengaging froze her, as a gun lifted directly into her line of sight.  He was going to shoot her!

Flash Friday: “Blood Sacrifice”

“Blood Sacrifice” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            He called it a situation.  What kind of situation bloodied a man’s face and clothes while sealing his lips?

            A few moments later, Manara had her answer and wished she never asked.  Standing beside Matt, her eyes filled with tears and her face froze in horror, Manara viewed the carnage laid out before her eyes and felt ill.  Unsteadily, she groped for Matt’s arm, clinging to him with all the strength she possessed as she stared out over at blood-soaked stretch of land.  A swatch of cloth, like a bloody flag, snapped on the stiff desert breeze from its position in the low desert brush.  It was easier to look there than to see what made up its genesis.

            The pieces were almost unrecognizable as body parts from this distance.  At first glance, they looked like nothing more than dust-caked red rocks.  But the carrion birds that circled and swooped in to grab up the pieces belied that illusion.  And then she saw the heads.  Sitting side-by-side, staring toward their home, were the bloody, slashed heads of a man and a woman.  His beard was matted with blood, and her hair was hacked off and clumped near her dismembered head.  Gashes slit open the skin to the bone and their eyes held matching, blank expressions of terror.

            Her stomach heaved without warning, and Manara spun away and dropped to the ground as she retched.  Even the temple had not been this grotesque or without cause.  Sobs folded her over long after the illness passed and she rocked back and forth on her knees, wailing for these people whose souls she had not been strong enough to save.

            She sensed movement and knew when Matthew crouched beside her by the warmth of his hand on her back.  With another sob, she threw herself into his embrace, and clung with all her strength to his rock-solid support. 

            “How?”  She cried, as fury rose up to mingle with failure and pain.  “How could this happen?  How could we not know?”

            “I found them this morning on the other side of the ridge.  It’s not pretty over there.”

            Her eyes snapped to his grim face as he spoke those quiet words.  Her stomach roiled threateningly as her mind painted grotesque pictures, but she forced herself to ask the question she really didn’t want answered.

            “There are more?”

            “Just goats and sheep.  Animals,” he reassured her quietly as he helped her to her feet, then placed a protective arm around her as she swayed.  Squeezing her gently, he asked, “Are you okay?”

            Manara’s stomach heaved again.  Okay?  Anything but, she acknowledged queasily as she turned to stare at the carnage, which was all that remained of the goatherd and his wife.  She didn’t have to ask who brutally dismembered them or their herd.  She already knew.

            “It was…it was like this at the temple, too,” she whispered weakly as she clung to Matthew’s steady support.  “Bodies torn apart as if by some terrible beast.”

            She took a shaky step toward the bodies but Matthew caught her, pulling her back.  His eyes were tender and filled with concern as he gazed down into her face.  A shadow touched those muddy eyes and she realized that the demon responsible for this evil had already reached across the span of oceans and polluted another heart with such vileness it was driven to butchery.  The horrible memory of Rachel Murray never left Matthew, though he hardened himself against its influence over time.

Flash Friday: “The Seer’s Curse”

“The Seer’s Curse”

copyright 2004 by Esther Mitchell

Smoke curled up from the city below, and the distant sounds of death and battle filled Ausar’s ears.  His nostrils flared with the scent of burnt flesh and fresh blood, and rage coiled in his gut to know that Onuris’ minions were the genesis of this slaughter.  As the Crophines‘ Seer, his was the responsibility to guide Ali-Antos towards a bright future.  Why had he not foreseen this?  Why did he receive no warning, no way by which to prepare the people of Ali-Antos for battle?  It was as if the Great Gods mocked him, reminding him that, while he was immortal within the confines of Aermornosa, he was still fallibly human.  Now, the people he was sworn to guide and protect were helpless lambs at the altar of Onuris’ lust for blood and power.

A low, lupine growl rumbled through his chest, and his pupils drank in the light as the wildness within gripped him.  If not for his position, he would be down there, in the thick of battle.  The Gods gifted him with an ability that could turn the tide of the struggle in the city below.  But the weight of the Medicine pouch slung across his chest reminded him that he was bound by other covenants.  He must defend his charge, regardless of the cost.  Which meant he must leave this place.  When the Sodalitas Arachaena arrived at Aermornosa’s gates, they must find nothing of use.

“We must go.”

He turned toward the voice, to meet the dark gaze of the Musir to his left.   Sargon.  The Warrior among them.  Quickly, his gaze flashed over the rest.  Lugh, Mykalos, Csilla.  These were the only family he knew, and he would defend them with his life’s blood.

“It is time, Shadow Walker,” Sargon nodded toward the hidden tunnel that led to the docks only the Elder Musir knew existed.  There, boats would carry them to the far reaches of the Earth, to hide their charges.  They would never see each other again.  And the darkness that filled Ausar had only one bright spot of light.  He had seen the future, in his mirror.  One day, the Gods would bring the five sacred artifacts back to Aermornosa, and return the balance.  Peace settled over him.  That knowledge was comfort enough.

Discover PROJECT PROMETHEUS today!  Join the struggle between light and darkness with

IN HER NAME

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html )

HOPE OF HEAVEN

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html )

and SHADOW WALKER

(http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/shadow-walker/prod_219.html )

Flash Friday: “The Request”

This is a little snippet from another of my Project Prometheus books, currently still in the writing process.  Enjoy!
“The Request” – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

“Stay.”

That stopped him dead, but he still refused to turn.  Breath bated, Delila wished she could call the request back.  Hadn’t she promised she wouldn’t put herself in this position again?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, one hand to her mouth in dismay.

That brought Jim around, his eyes wary as he searched her face for something she wasn’t sure she could give.  Then, in two strides, he was standing before her, his work-roughened fingers skimming her face as he lifted her chin until she was forced to meet his gaze.  “You’re sure?”

She nodded mutely, swallowing the lump that stopped the breath escaping her throat, even as her heart skittered around the confines of her chest.  Blessed Ishtar, what did she agree to?  One touch, and already her body was crazy with need.

Dark fire flared in Jim’s eyes, and Delila’s blood burned beneath that steady gaze.  Still, she couldn’t make a move forward, though her hands itched to touch him.  In all her time at the Temple, she never took the initiation of an ishtaristu.  Some mistakes jaundices for life, and  the memory of everything she suffered as John’s wife made the idea of trusting a man with her body again impossible.  She wanted to weep, because as much as she wanted Jim, she was afraid she could never take that step forward.  She was afraid she lost that trust forever.

He must have read her turbulent emotions, because he sighed and the heat banked in his eyes.  Gently, he enfolded her in an embrace so tender her eyes burned and overflowed.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, dismayed when her voice emerged small and broken.

“Shh.”  He stroked her hair, back, and shoulder.  His touch stayed gentle and tender without being sexual.  “Quit apologizing, Delila.  You don’t owe me anything.”

She shuddered against him.  He had no idea exactly how much she did owe him.  He had no idea, yet, that he’d saved her life not once, but three times, when she was still trapped by John.  He still had no idea how his kindness led to her escape.  And she didn’t have the courage to tell him.  Which made her the world’s biggest coward.  She grimaced.  Not the most flattering image, that.

“Jim, I…”  The words stuck in her throat again, and she closed her eyes, drawing a breath for courage.  Only problem was, when she did that she also drew in the scent of his aftershave.  Something spicy and enveloping that clenched a fist of desire deep inside her.  But desire wasn’t enough.  She’d never been the type to go after what she wanted.  And since John… She shuddered.  She was in so much trouble.

Flash Friday: “Unexpected Spy”

“Unexpected Spy” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: MISSION OF MERCY

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

Someone in charge was insane.  Marine Colonel Colton Michaels Jr. scowled at his computer screen, willing the offending e-mail back to whoever over at the Secretary of Defense’s office sent it to him.  According to the e-mail, he was supposed to roll over for some civilian investigator who’d be here at the Pentagon to dissect every man who worked for him.  Like that wasn’t going to piss him off.  Already, he could picture some four-eyed geek with a pocket protector and a calculator, and some secret book of rules to apply to any situation where rules didn’t apply.  Fuck.

“Sir.”

Colt glanced up to find his aide, Nathan Whittaker, with his head poked through the door.

“Spit it out, Corporal.  I’m busy.”  Figuring out how to get rid of the Inquisition before it shows up. Colt would have felt bad for snapping at the kid, if he wasn’t so pissed.  Of all the high-handed political tactics…

“Sir, Agent St. John is here.”

Sonuvabitch! Colt returned his scowl to the computer screen.  Well, it sure didn’t take them long to get their man through the Pentagon’s doors, did it?  But the name of his visitor surprised him.  St. John was the last man he expected.

Not that he knew the elusive spy personally.  But he had heard scuttlebutt about Project Prometheus as an organization, and St. John in particular.  Fortunately, what he heard was all good.  Hell, it was better than good.  St. John was supposed to be some kind of James Bond.  Not a government geek at all, but a man who understood danger and judgments made in the thick of it.  A man had to respect St. John’s level of expertise – but not when it threatened his men, or his command, Colt decided sourly.

The sound of a throat clearing jerked Colt’s attention back to his nervous aide.  “Sir… Agent St. John?”

Colt sighed.  Hell.  Might as well bite the bullet.  “Send him in.”

Whittaker looked as nervous as a virgin in a room full of libertied sailors – unusual for the sedate Iowa farm boy.  “Ah, sir…”

Colt frowned.  “Is there a problem, son?”

“No problem,” announced a new voice, before Whittaker could speak, and a curvy bundle of strawberry-blonde hair, form-hugging halter top and jeans, and the most amazing mocha eyes that zinged through him like high-octane espresso slipped past the Corporal and into his office.  Warning bells went off in Colt’s head as his scalp prickled and a warm shiver worked up his spine.  Hell, she was like an entire bottle of Go pills, her presence so electrifying he knew he had to get rid of her ASAP.  And, as his gaze focused on the Cheshire cat grin spread across her mauve-tinted lips, he nearly groaned.  This lady spelled trouble, in capital letters.

Colt settled a scowl on his face that had intimidated better than her, unwilling to admit he was intrigued.  “Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?  This is a restricted area, lady.”

“Sir-” Whittaker’s voice rose a nervous octave, drawing his attention in time to watch the Corporal’s eyes dance toward the new arrival, his expression telling.  Colt broke out in a cold sweat as the truth tickled the edges of his mind.

Aw, hell. He barely bit back his groan of disbelief.  “You’re St. John?”

The wink she tossed Whittaker’s way made the young man smile in spite of himself, and Colt scowled  at the pair of them.

“As charged.”  Her voice had a husky, sensual quality that raced invisible fingers up his spine, even as she strode forward, one hand extended.  “Sarah St. John, to be precise.”

Colt’s gaze darted to his e-mail again.  Had he missed something?  New panic twisted in his gut when he saw nothing to contradict what she said.  There had to be some kind of mistake!

“Why?”

His head jerked up at that amused query.  “What?”

“You just muttered something about this being a mistake.  Why would you think that?”

Because he couldn’t see her as a spy.  And because, try as he might, he couldn’t stop wondering what she’d look like wearing nothing but that mischievous little grin.  He was in so much trouble.

My Books & Background

I get a lot of questions about my books and my background, and I thought I’d just take a few moments here to discuss some of my most frequent questions, and to introduce a few of my books you might not be aware of the existence of.

I’m often asked about my connection to the paranormal, and why I spend so much time writing paranormals.  All I can say to that is that my LIFE is a paranormal.  There’s a great deal about me that only the people who’ve been the closest and most open toward me have even touched the surface of.  I just don’t talk about it, much.  Period.  There’s no deep and/or nefarious reason to that.  A lot of it has more to do with the fact that I’ve thought of it as “normal” for so long, I was surprised to learn that it actually WASN’T.  To me, writing about the paranormal is writing about something I know intimately, something to which I have a deeper connection than any other in my life.

My first excursion into the paranormal in fiction was a series of Arthurian novels I began work on many years ago (being likewise obsessed with all things Arthurian at the time).   Nope, these books are still unpublished.  Not from any huge sentimental attachment, but because as my writing skill developed and changed, I’ve continued to edit and perfect, and quite frankly, I’m just not convinced they’re good enough, yet…:)  That’s the perfectionist in me.

In the late 1990′s, I began working on a novel that once again combined the paranormal with a subject very close to my heart – the Cradle of Civilization.  When I first started the novel, entitled IN HER NAME, it was meant to be a stand-alone novel entwining the dangerous mythology of the region with the archeology I was fascinated by.  Then, in 2001, terror struck the US and, after listening to people openly rebuke the Arabs even before the dust settled or any investigation was done, I was angry.  Not at the Arabs, but at the close-mindedness of a nation that would condemn a person strictly on their beliefs, without understanding how the actions of a few do NOT reflect the beliefs of the many.  And my main character, Manara, began to take on a new shape – not as an Arab, but as a woman of a belief structure even older: a religion feared because it’s not understood, and a woman despised for her beliefs in both her own world and in the eyes of an American man with a deep hatred of all things paranormal or supernatural – a hatred even he doesn’t quite understand.  IN HER NAME became the birthing of Project Prometheus, a paranormal series that deals equally with the misunderstanding and hatred that lead to terrible acts of violence in our world.  You can find out more about IN HER NAME and the rest of Project Prometheus on my website at http://www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain.html

Even before Project Prometheus (or IN HER NAME) breathed life, however, there was another series already working toward completion in my life.  Born of my youth growing up in the military world, and of my respect for the men and women who serve and were my friends and extended family for a great number of years.  From my own mistakes (and the possibilities of mistakes I came close to making), my own triumphs, dreams, and heartaches, came the character of Tamia Kuan, a reformed street punk and recovering heroin addict whose years as a Marine in the middle of a massive world war have left her struggling to find the honor and courage that can keep her alive and sane.  When she gains entry to the ultra-elite Commandos, Tamia has more struggles ahead of her, facing her greatest fears and most dangerous enemy – herself.  Tamia is one of the central characters of my Futuristic Romance/Thriller series, Underground.  Beginning with the self-named novel TAMIA, each book follows the twists and turns of a hunt for a spy capable of destroying everything Tamia’s struggled for.

Upcoming next year, I’ve got another series coming out – this one will be a Fantasy series, Legends of Tirum.  I’ll be going into details on this series a little more around the beginning of the year.  It’s set up in a similar vein to Underground, with a central set of characters and a continuing storyline that takes place over the span of 10-11 books.  I’m actually very excited about this series, and when I begin to post more information on the series you’ll get to see why!

More information about both the books here and other books I’ve written in these series and beyond can be found on my website at http://www.esthermitchell.com