New cover is up

My new cover for THE DARK LADY'S STONE is finally up on Amazon, Smashwords, and Kindle. Do check it out.
http://tinyurl.com/lntm6lc
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/356562
I've had excellent feedback on this cover and I hope you like it.
And take a look at the book. It's an in-depth inner and outer journey of the rulers and courtiers of a far-northern land going through transition where new gods seek to supplant the old. Both the representative gods have good and benevolent sides--and not-so innocuous aspects as well. As the storyteller warns: "Beware, O Priest, how you mock the gods."
The narrator, troubadour to the countess, is a witty, good-natured fellow with an ironic sense of humor. I enjoyed accompanying him on the journey while he reluctantly changes from a flirtatious court poet, noted for his blue eyes and clear tenor, to the key figure around whom change occurs. People at all levels of society get caught up in the struggle--count and countess, priests, lumbermen, mule drivers, a young lord, and a shaman/storyteller who mysteriously appears and disappears.

Troubadours in Life and Literature: My First Guest Blog Post

Today my very first guest blog went live on Anne E. Johnson’s blog -

 http://anneejohnson.blogspot.com/2014/06/historical-fiction-from-christie-maurer.html  

     Anne is a historical and science fiction writer who majored in Medieval Music and was attracted to my announcement of “The Whitewood Kitarra” on Broad Universe. 

It was fun putting together this post on how troubadour songs inspired my writing. 

     Do stop by if you get a chance, and I hope you enjoy it. 

My New Novella is Out

Last week I published my novella The Whitewood Kitarra on Amazon.com through Create Space. Sheri McGathy again designed a gorgeous cover. It will soon be available through Smashwords and Kindle as well.

In The Whitewood Kitarra, a young singer-poet, Sir Loriano of Vayne comes to the Karaskan court for Summerfest to find a new patron at Countess Elisse's prestigious tournament of verse. He must confront his past disgrace and learn to use his unique gifts in order to compete. We meet his master, Anton of Pareskon, and several troubadours and singers.

In the year since this story first appeared in Sword & Saga Press--thank you, Hunter Ligoure, for ongoing support--further research into 12th Century musical performance indicated minor changes in a couple of scenes. And I've also added a historical note.

My story is out

The Sword & Saga supplement to American Athenaeum's Front Porch issue is out. It contains my story, "The Whitewood Kitarra." This prequel to The Dark Lady's Stone, which I am in the process of self-publishing, tells of how Loriano came to the Karaskan court and was named troubadour to Countess Elisse. Many thanks to editor Hunter Liguore for asking about this story and for her detailed edits to my manuscript.

Happy Solstice

The world didn't end. We're still here. In honor of the Solstice, I've been polishing an account of a Solstice celebration in Elakand. On the shortest day, all fire is extinguished--a real hardship in cold climates. The next day is The Day of Change, the start of a new year, and it's celebrated with feasting and dancing. As the sun sets, priests reignite Brocar's Sacred Fire, and the people burn dead twigs as a sign that the old year is over. Then everyone enters the Sanctuary for prayers.

Here is a brief excerpt. The narrator is my 17 year old heroine who fled an order of Brocar's Handmaidens where her "fits" were deemed possession by the Dark Lady. She fears torment and castigation if  she's found and sent back. Tabeth, a village herbalist, saved her life when she was found lying half in a flooded ditch with a deep wound on her temple.

What an adventure to trudge beside Tabeth along the snowy road to Wullston at first light. When I heard the rattle of tambors, the tooting recorder, and the vielle's descant, I almost danced. Across the bridge I paused at the mass of people in the village square. I hadn't faced crowds in years. Tabeth drew me in and introduced me to her friends and neighbors. As we exchanged the joy of the season, I felt less strange. Soon I was sipping mulled ale, sampling slivers of goose and ham, and stuffing myself on Holy Night fruited breads, tiny loaves with a bit of nutmeg, and honey seed cakes. I even let myself smile when the country lads crowded around and asked me to dance. I'd forgotten the joy of stamping and twirling, sliding on frozen ground, laughing with one lad after another. So long since I'd been carefree.

Too soon the sun dipped to the horizon. The air grew cold, and folk gathered in front of the Sanctuary. My heart beat fast when I saw the basket of broken twigs by the door. Brocar's Holy Fire would conquer the Dark Lady Death and tonight I had no part to play save as witness.

Old Frater Evan limped out of the Sanctuary, bearing a dead branch as long as his arm. His hands trembled as he held it aloft. "The old year is dead. The Dark Lady is dead." He drew a small brass box from his sash, opened it, and lit the branch from the last coal of the old year. "Brocar's Fire returns! The new year is born!"

The people began to sing the new year's hymn. One by one, they shuffled forward, took a twig from the basket, lighted it from the priest's branch, and carried it into the Sanctuary to place in a sacred bowl. I ought to do penance for my grievous sins--abandoning my sacred duty, taking a lover. I held my twig to the priest's fire and, like a Handmaiden, I placed the lighted end on my inner wrist.

At my gasp, Tabeth snatched away the glowing twig. "Girl! What're ye doin'? Ye've suffered enough. Ye've no cause to take on more."

My eyes widened and I reached for my twig. "But my sins…"

Tabeth shook her finger. "'An what o' the sins done to ye? Them that beat ye? The man who abandoned ye?"

"They beat me for terrible things and I enticed him." But if Tabeth were right…?

Her lips tightened. "I'll give ye back yer stick, girl, ifn ye promise not t'hurt yerself."

I nodded and she handed it to me. It had gone out, and shamefaced, I had to light it again. Frater Evan's eyes twinkled. "Brocar can forgive even an aspiring Handmaiden."

Of course he'd learned about that. I cast him a pleading glance, fighting tears, as Tabeth pushed me into the Sanctuary. Countryfolk, bulky in winter layers, pressed so close I could scarcely breathe, and the smells made me giddy--wax and tallow, smoke, burning wood, wet wool, and old sweat. The hymn ended and Frater Evan limped around the Sanctuary, lighting the fire bowls from his branch. At the altar he held the branch to the tall wax candle. "Behold . . . Brocar's sacred Light!" The clear flame lifted and light blossomed over the great Wheel behind the altar. Such beauty and grace! My heart soared. The Frater raised his hands and recited the familiar prayers, welcoming Brocar's victory over Darkness and Death, rejoicing in the light and warmth of His fire. Light restored to life; joy to my heart.

Then silence fell over the Sanctuary. Lady Morlan, the highest born woman, stepped to the altar to recite the ancient prayers--in Elakanden, not the sacred tongue. "'Let the king dispense My justice and the queen My healing grace.'"

My heart fluttered and my breath stopped. I felt light flare around my head. This is the Holy Night, I told myself. It has no claim on me here.

Yet in a dream I paced toward the altar. Hands touched me and fell away; people melted into fog.

Lady Morlan prayed on. '''From My sacred altar shall the princess announce My wisdom to all people without fear.'''

I touched the altar--wood not marble. Low whispers in my head. No! Light flared around me, filling the small Sanctuary. No--no--no! And the Voice was declaiming through my mouth …