Author Archives: Azalea Dabill

About Azalea Dabill

Azalea Dabill grew up in the California hills, building forts in the oaks. She remembers the fuzzy-sweet smell of acorns and moss, the perfume of purple lupines and golden poppies, the night-song of crickets. Homeschooled, she read The Young Trailers and fantasy adventure to her siblings. Now she enjoys growing things, old bookstores, and hiking the wild. Never finding enough tales of adventure, romance, and mystery in the world, she shapes and writes crossover fantasy. Medieval and historical fantasy, and just plain fantasy.

Life in Troubled Times.

Gut-checking times like these encourage us to take the time to look at our focus and concentrate on what is important. My dependence on God instead of myself is of paramount importance.

Fear and uncertainty tries to chain me.

Depending on Him frees me to do what I ought to be doing: working through the fear to trust, working through the uncertainty to doing what I can, working in the certainty that this did not take Him by surprise and that He is working great changes in people through this tough time.

He loves me, and He is working in me. That is a most encouraging thought.

He loves me. He loves you.

Keep working, doing the things that need done to help others. Keep necessary things going, but don’t forget to smile at a beautiful flower, to laugh at something funny. Keep living, see the joys. Don’t let fear blind and shackle you. Enjoy good things.

“The thief comes only to steal, and kill, and destroy; I came that they might have life, and might have it abundantly.” John 10:10

Life even in the midst of troubled times. He is the rock that is higher than I.

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Frodo’s Journey

The fantasy readerscape is a curious place. A choosing of souls. This is a snapshot of a hero’s journey. And a dream of meaning.

After the gray, piercing mountains of hopelessness in the far North, that extreme and dangerous center-line of the world, one would suppose the South to be a hospitable place. It is – until we see Frodo striding toward the horizon, and we follow, clad like his absent halfling companions.

He walks before us, seeming unaware of my companion and I, our voices unheard by others in these lands. We see his back, always just out of reach, elven cloak rippling, concealing, his footsteps never faltering or ceasing. We wonder, but follow.

After all, is he not a hero?

Time and distance are meaningless, amorphous as a night thought. Over rolling hills, sere wastes, forest and fell, we follow. Our destination is near. We feel it in our bones. More, Frodo quickens his steps, still never looking back, though we leap and wave our arms. All is now bare dirt, rock, and ice.

Rounding a last corner, we reel back in horror.

Not to the fiery mountain have we come, nor the door to the land of the West, nor Elrond’s half-way house, nor the simplest mountain cote in Middle-earth, always ready with a warm welcome for weary travelers.

Our path has brought before us a black maw, a sucking darkness without stars. The air smells of every rot in the world. Frodo steps into the inky mist swirling along the ground, thickening.

A shaft of chill freezes my heart. That curly-headed figure, cloaked in tattered grey-green, turns at last.

It is not Frodo.

My companion raises an arm, pointing, feet stuttering back wildly. “It isn’t me! That isn’t me!” he shrieks.

It is. And then that face changes, and it is me. Grinning: without amusement, pleasure, or kindness. It is the “me” I chose at every turning of the path, every point of decision.

We’d struggled not toward the fiery mountain, but the unending, icy clutch of self-trust. Self without the warmth of my better self – a spark from Another – guiding and channeling the strength of our hearts, keeping our feet from the guiding-pole of the world that kills by self-deception.

The Frodo that was not, stared at us. Without heart, almost without mind; without hunger but for one thing – us.

The weight of that malevolent gaze drove me to my knees. Shaking my head violently, sweat stinging my eyes, I tasted the bitterness of the lies I nursed along our way.

In desperation I sprang up and turned, gripping my companion’s hand. I left my back to the death beyond death. To the darkness that had our names, that could swallow every name on earth and remain unchanged: a brooding, mindless, insatiable hunger.

A light grew before us, where improbable grass met the warming dawn. A breeze stirred my hair, kissed my face with a touch of fresh hope. Was return possible?

Our packs were empty, and we were empty of every warmth of heart and spirit. Frodo never chose this path under my deadly cold feet, never chose to trust only himself. Despite Gandalf’s advice in the movie.

In the true tale, in a life-giving scene left out of the second-hand telling, Frodo chose quite differently. He knew he had not the strength to do it alone, and dared not put his trust in himself.

What I tell second-hand, the true-teller shows.

“A great barrow stood there.

”’Where are you?’ he cried again, both angry and afraid.

”’Here!’ said a voice, deep and cold, that seemed to come out of the ground. ‘I am waiting for you!’

”’No!’ said Frodo; but he did not run away. His knees gave, and he fell on the ground. Nothing happened, and there was no sound. Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.

“When he came to himself again, for a moment he could recall nothing except a sense of dread. Then suddenly he knew that he was imprisoned, caught hopelessly; he was in a barrow. A Barrow-wight had taken him, and he was probably already under the dreadful spells of the Barrow-wights about which whispered tales spoke. He dared not move, but lay as he found himself: flat on his back upon a cold stone with his hands on his breast.

“But though his fear was so great that it seemed to be part of the very darkness that was round him, he found himself as he lay thinking about Bilbo Baggins and his stories, of their jogging along together in the lanes of the Shire and talking about roads and adventures. There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow. Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire. He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring; he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey.

“As he lay there, thinking and getting a hold on himself, he noticed all at once that the darkness was slowly giving way: a pale greenish light was growing round him. It did not a first show him what kind of a place he was in, for the light seemed to be coming out of himself, and from the floor beside him, and had not yet reached the roof or wall. He turned, and there in the cold glow he saw lying beside him, Sam, Pippin, and Merry. They were on their backs, and their faces looked deathly pale; and they were clad in white. About them lay many treasures, of gold maybe, though in that light they looked cold and unlovely. On their heads were circlets, gold chains were about their waists, and on their fingers were many rings. Swords lay by their sides, and shields were at their feet. But across their three necks lay one long naked sword.

“Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Out of the formless stream of sad but horrible sounds, strings of words would now and again shape themselves: grim, hard, cold words, heartless and miserable. The night was railing against the morning of which it was bereaved, and the cold was cursing the warmth for which it hungered. Frodo was chilled to the marrow. After a while the song became clearer, and with dread in his heart he perceived that in had changed into an incantation: Cold be hand and heart and bone, and cold be sleep under stone: never more to wake on stony bed, never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead. In the black wind the stars shall die, and still on gold here let them lie, till the dark lord lifts his hand over dead sea and withered land.

“He heard behind his head a creaking and scraping sound. Raising himself on one arm he looked, and saw now in the pale light that they were in a kind of passage which behind them turned a corner. Round the corner a long arm was groping, walking on its fingers towards Sam, who was lying nearest, and towards the hilt of the sword that lay upon him.

“At first Frodo felt as if he had indeed been turned into stone by the incantation. Then a wild thought of escape came to him. He wondered if he put on the Ring, whether the Barrow-wight would miss him, and he might find some way out. He thought of himself running free over the grass, grieving for Merry, and Sam, and Pippin, but free and alive himself. Gandalf would admit that there had been nothing else he could do.

“But the courage that had been awakened in him was now too strong: he could not leave his friends so easily. He wavered, groping in his pocket, and then fought with himself again; and as he did so the arm crept nearer. Suddenly resolve hardened in him, and he seized a short sword that lay beside him and kneeling he stooped low over the bodies of his companions. With what strength he had he hewed at the crawling arm near the wrist, and the hand broke off; but at the same moment the sword splintered up to the hilt. There was a shriek and the light vanished. In the dark there was a snarling noise.

“Frodo fell forward over Merry, and Merry’s face felt cold. All at once back into his mind, from which it had disappeared with the first coming of the fog, came the memory of the house down under the Hill, and of Tom singing. He remembered the rhyme that Tom had taught them. In a small desperate voice he began: Ho! Tom Bombadil! and with that name his voice seemed to grow strong: it had a full and lively sound, and the dark chamber echoed as if to drum and trumpet.

Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo! By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow, By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us! Come, Tom Bombadil, for our need is near us!

“There was a sudden deep silence, in which Frodo could hear his heart beating. After a long slow moment he heard plain, but far away, as if it was coming down through the ground or through thick walls, an answering voice singing: Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow, Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow. None has ever caught him yet, for Tom, he is the master: His songs are stronger songs, and his feet are faster.

“There was a loud rumbling sound, as of stones rolling and falling, and suddenly light streamed in, real light, the plain light of day. A low, door-like opening appeared at the end of the chamber beyond Frodo’s feet and there was Tom’s head (hat, feather, and all) framed against the light of the sun rising red behind him. The light fell upon the floor, and upon the faces of the three hobbits lying beside Frodo. They did not stir, but the sickly hue had left them. They looked now as if they were only very deeply asleep.

“Tom stooped, removed his hat, and came into the dark chamber, singing: Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight! Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing, Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains! Come never here again! Leave your barrow empty! Lost and forgotten be, darker than the darkness, Where gates stand for ever shut, till the world is mended.‘” – The Fellowship of the Ring pg 193 – 197

Instead of waking no more except to despair under the dark lord’s hand, the creature of the maw is banished, till the world is mended. Frodo is freed. We alone do not have the strength for our moral battles. We must go to the One who has won them all, and sets us free to new life.

Pardon my telling. It is necessary in these days as the sun goes down in the West, until the mending.

Did you know that villains place ruthless trust in themselves alone? More than the minds of great kings and long schemers are clouded. Truth-tellers are now rare as Faramir. Who, contrary to a comment on the movie, did exist and yet lives. Not under that name, but I have seen him. Even in our land.

Frodo chose goodness. Despite any cost. Hope, beauty, and bravery brought him, along with many other heroes, to a good end. Though the way was fraught with real peril.

Some things are worse than mere death. Frodo knew it well. And it is not Frodo behind me, aching to consume all I am or might ever be.

But our path need not end here, swallowed by the death beyond death. Frodo showed me that. Turning from the maw, I have given our fate to Another. Ahead, the Light illumines a path without deception, though with both torturous places and fair. Places where my cowardly, untrue self will die, and my true self will rise to great deeds, and do exploits.

My companion follows my forward step. We choose, and have been chosen. To One, victory is due, never to might of thew.

Life is ahead.

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Medieval Romance in Spring

This is the Romance Giveaway I committed to a while back that looks like it has some interesting reads. Don’t forget to sign up for a chance to win a gift card for the book of your choice! And the ebooks in the giveaway are free, for a limited time.

Then below is a clean Christian Romance Giveaway with a $20 gift card prize. Be the lucky winner! This one just started today.

Seriously, spring is in the air. The clouds are passing, sunlight is staying a little longer, the robins are seeking worms. New life is around the corner – take advantage of warmer days and plant spring in your heart with thankfulness to our Maker. And don’t forget to thank the special loved one who adds romance and true love to your life.

There are more forms of love than Eros, as a man loves a woman. If you have never read the original story of Valentine, I suggest you do. Or get it at your library.

A happy Valentine’s to all!

Azalea Dabill

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

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New Books to Read

Here are some fantasy and other reads new to me and maybe to you. My most recent clean fantasy adventures have been Jeff Wheeler’s The Hollow Crown, Morgan Busse’s books, and I’m working on getting K. M. Weiland’s Wayfarer and Jeff Wheeler’s The Silent Shield.

The Silent Sheild Fantasy Adventure

And Morgan Busse has a new release coming February 4 2020. The first two in the series, Mark of the Raven and Flight of the Raven were excellent, now the third is coming, Cry of the Raven. Don’t miss it! Great fantasy adventure.

Cry of the Raven Morgan Busse

But there’s more. I’m part of a giveaway for a $30 Gift card and free ebooks thru January 30th.

Some of them are rated moderate for fantasy combat, like mine. Others you will have to use good judgement whether they are clean or not. There are a couple of these I’m looking forward to checking out.

I committed to this giveaway believing it was for pretty clean reads only. I’m keeping my word to share it now, not realizing beforehand what genre some of the books would be. In future I will stick to clean genre giveaways only. Enjoy the clean reads included!

I’m can’t wait for Cry of the Raven! This author I know is good, a great writer of adventure.

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

All the best to you,

Azalea

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2020 A New Year Ahead

There are new doings in the wind. In my life and yours. What are you looking forward to in the coming year?

On my end of things I am looking forward to sharing with you the two books I’ve been working on. Bits of the journey, that is. I don’t want to give everything away! Spoilers live up to their name.

My Blog to Book project on Clean Fantasy should be coming this year, as well as the last stories of the Falcon Chronicle series gathered in a third volume, Falcon Dagger. I will also be on the hunt for free books and giveaways from other authors for you to sample.

On a personal note I can’t wait for spring. I walk outdoors year round, but spring walks bring beauties and adventures all their own.

Some things all of us can look forward to in 2020:

  1. Growth 2. Learning 3. Enjoyment 4. Good things 5. Helping ourselves, our families, our communities, and our country focus on these.

Reading widely (with discretion) gives you all these benefits and more.

I wish you all the best this year of 2020. To your life, and days of happy reading!

Azalea

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

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2017 Most Anticipated Fantasy or My Best Books To Be Read (TBR)

I’ll make this short and sweet so you can get on with your book hunt for your best reads for 2017. Just a couple things.

This is my personal TBR list, and I’m adding to it all the time. In my head if nowhere else. And, if you haven’t seen my post from The YA Shelf, 39 Most Anticipated Fantasy Books of 2017, don’t miss it. I did not move those TBR books to this list – no need to repeat myself and weary your eyes. So make sure you check out both lists!

Happy reading!

A Branch of Silver, a Branch of GoldThe Orphan King: Book 1 in the Merlin's Immortals seriesA Throne of Bones (Arts of Dark and Light Book 1)MORGARTEN: The Forest Knights: Book 2Resistance (Ilyon Chronicles Book 1)The Gift: A NovelDarkness Brutal (The Dark Cycle Book 1) by [Marks, Rachel A.]Divine Summons: The Windrider Saga Book 1Dare (The Blades of Acktar Book 1)Dawn Apocalypse Rising: The Windows of Heaven (Volume 1)The BloodheartShadows: Book of Aleth, Part OneThe Unraveling of Wentwater (The Gates of Heaven Series Book 4) by [Lakin, C. S.]ExileWayfarer (Tales of Faeraven)Son of Truth (Follower of the Word Book 2) by [Busse, Morgan L.]Knife (No Ordinary Fairy Tale Book 1) by [Anderson, R.J.]A Time to Die (Out of Time Book 1)

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150 – 175 Best Fantasy Books or Your 2017 Guide to Epic Fantasy: Post 1

Fantasy and the 7 Senses

You know the five senses that we all use.

And we explore fantasy adventure with all of them: Sight, scent, taste, hearing, touch. (Inside our minds, of course.) And of course intuition, the 6th sense, is never far from reach in a great fantasy story.

But I think there is one more sense.

Fantasy brings together the six senses into a whole and creates a 7th. The seventh sense is one you can discover often if you dive deep into fantasy realms and keep your eyes open.

The greatest fantasies create at moments a unique experience, a kind of sense not to be found anywhere else in the universe we can see. Except in bits and pieces; a kind of joy-filled truth caught in goodness or day dreams or dreams of the night, where odd things that strangely fit are often found.

This 7th sense grasps gleaming facets of truth that we could not see before. It touches them, tastes them. Not first examined by our reason, but felt deep in the actions and reactions you experience while captured within fantasy characters. Inside the kind, the evil, the young and the old, the weak and strong men and women and creatures of fantasy. It happens without your noticing it, while you are enthralled by the hero or heroine you find in many hearts, sometimes growing from a single weak seed. It makes you revolt against evil, also often growing unseen, battling within.

We are so often blinded by our familiar world it usually takes a moving deed, a circumstance, or a state of being in an unfamiliar setting or against a stark backdrop for us to see truth clearly. Such clearness can be startling.

Such was the case for me. Not long ago, I was moaning that there were not very many good fantasy fiction books from the faith sector of our world. Not that I dislike general fantasy, far from it, I admire their authors’ skill very much. I only wish more of us imitated the high bar of storytelling without deserting high moral quality.

I was shown how wrong I was to moan. Patrick Carr’s Shock of Night, Anna Thayer’s Knight of Eldaran Trilogy, Andrew Peterson’s Wingfeather Saga, C. S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters (a novel delightfully re-read) all kept me up late into the night. Sure, there is definitely room for more faith-based fantasy where adventure is never sacrificed, but I’ve discovered treasures everywhere over the long years—from epic fantasy to dieselpunk and beyond. If your heart is hungry . . . 

I want to share my otherworldly discoveries on my lifelong venture into best fantasy novels with you.

Join the quest, and find your next adventure! There will be at least 70 posts in this series, and who knows what we may find?

If you don’t want to miss a single grand adventure, sign up in the side bar, where special treasures are reserved for those who seek them.

We’ll venture into worlds unseen where your heart will beat fast at necessary sacrifice, thrill with the triumph of downtrodden hearts against overwhelming odds, and draw lines of right and wrong in blood. You will laugh in side-splitting humor, cry with loss, fight against evil and rage against its seeming victory. But in the end you will come back to peace, hugging gems to your breast. And for those who can see, there is a light going before you.

Follow it.

Let no wall of ignorance, busyness, or other unworthy reason bar you from your next journey to unearth . . .  what, I cannot tell. Prepare to use your seven senses.

Crossover: find the Eternal, the Adventure.

 

Here’s a minute taste of one journey waiting for us on my best books shelf, seeking its place in future posts like The Romance – Exploring Treachery and Trust.

From Victoria Hanley’s The Seer and the Sword:

Torina looked at the boy, at his heavy curling hair and remote, wild eyes.

“If he is my slave,” she asked, “does that make him my own?”

“All your own.”

“I can do whatever I want with him?”

The king nodded.

The princess shivered. “What is your name, son of a king?” she asked.

“Landen.” The boy’s manner, still that of a prince, contrasted oddly with his dusty rags and bruises.

“Vesputo,” Torina said.

“Princess?”

“Cut his ropes, please.”

The commander looked to his king, who inclined his head. A blade was drawn. Vesputo severed the ropes carelessly, trailing fresh blood. Landen rubbed his wrists as Torina stepped closer to him.

“My father fought your father.” She said it very softly, speaking as if no king or soldiers looked on. For her, they must have been forgotten.

Landen looked at the ground. A pulse in his neck beat, like the heart of a newly hatched bird.

“Landen,” she whispered. “I never had a slave.”

The boy stood quietly.

“And I never will,” she continued, lifting her chin. “Papa,” her voice rose. “You gave him to me. I set him free.” . . .

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2017 Beginnings–Scop Talk

I’m hungry for a deep talk about meaning in writing—about why, and a little about how, books impact you and I. If you want to join our conversation, please leave your thoughts in a comment at the bottom of this post.

Authors who have taken me on deep journeys to far places of great import include Patrick Carr (Shock of Night), Tessa Afshar (Land of Silence), JRR Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, and Anna Thayer’s (Knight of Eldaran trilogy) to name a very few.

I’m hungry, not for a fast read, but a complex world that is so real it scares you, enthralls you, lifts you out of yourself to a higher plane. And then when you return to your own world, you bring that life experience, that bravery, that truth, back with you and apply it, even in some small way, to yourself. You make that sacrifice required for the life of another, face down your fears, take the next step on a dangerous journey, or simply do the right thing, which we are sometimes such great cowards about doing. At the least, you see through other eyes that another road is open to you.

In author lingo—seize the hero’s journey. For it has certainly seized you, if you draw breath in this world. The battle is on!

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75-100 Best Fantasy Experiences Blog-to-Book Overview

Shelley Hitz of Author Audience Academy suggested in a FB session that I post this question about my blog-to-book plan for 2017-2018 and ask your opinion. I decided to include the whole layout, so you can get a general idea what I’m planning to share with you. And you can tell me if it’s something you’d love.

So thank you for your opinion, if you’d give it at the end!

I decided to come up with some serial blog posts/stories with lasting meaning for readers, not for writers. Not because I have anything against writers, (I’m one) only because most of you are YA, fantasy, and speculative fiction buffs. And so am I, and this is something I treasure. I’d love to make a book with you!

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Turning Point 2017 New Year Breakthrough

I decided to be transparent, bite the bullet, and bare my soul. 

These are the kinds of books I love: the ones that pull you deep into a a story world you wish didn’t have to end. The poetic painting of a place where you sense loyalty, love, and goodness rising to do battle against deception, despair,  and hate. From the little things like the ups and downs between companions on a great journey, to the soul-tearing decisions of romance, or the life-threatening choices before you, as the hero or heroine.

A world where conflicts are fought within and without. In the intricate vales of the human spirit; in the broad ‘scapes of the land, terrible, beautiful, or engagingly homey; and most of all, in the battle between soul and soul, where the conflicting desires of a villain or villaness (if I can coin the word) and the hero or heroine, drive everything from large armies to their companions, sycophants, or honest followers. What they see and how they react decides their impact on their world, whether they spread darkness or light.   

Besides the tried and true we all know, like Tolkien and Lewis, Anna Thayer’s The Knight of Eldaran trilogy, CJ Cherryth’s Fortress in the Eye of Time, Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword, Sherwood Smith’s Crown Duel, Dennis McKiernan’s The Iron Tower trilogy and The Silver Call duology, Patrick Carr’s The Shock of Night: these types of stories all draw me like a lodestone. In the good conflict contained within them, I glimpse the Morning Star. 

This is the very reason I began to write, for those glimpses of joy, beauty, and adventure. And I have feared letting other people know how very much I like poetic, deep themed, character and conflict driven fantasy: historical fantasy, and every other kind of fantasy. Even to other genres. Except for horror and dark. 

Because there is darkness enough in our world, enough emptiness, enough despair. What some call realism–the idea that we exist by chance, (which means we have no purpose, no part to play) is actually despair, not the true state of affairs in our world.

Part of Webster’s dictionary definition of despair is “without hope.” And a definition of hope is “to…hope with the expectation of attainment.” If you have no hope of attainment, (which holds solid meaning in its very definition) why do anything? What’s the point? Or why not do whatever you feel like? Tomorrow we die, with less impact than a grain of sand.

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When I was a teen, despair almost ate me alive. Partially it was because I was sick, which tends to make everything look black or grey, and partially it was the horrible things I began to see in myself, in life, and in the books I was reading. Where I looked for joy and beauty I began to see betrayal, which brought unhappiness and ugliness. (Fantasy has a strange way of highlighting whatever it portrays, whether darkness or light.)

Suffice it to say, I was learning. But also absorbing what was around me without perspective. I saw a picture in my mind of dominant, rampant evil smothering good, and of despair, a kind of creeping death drawing its shadow over the world. The younger, happy me I used to be was gone, without return.

Then I began to realize, without knowing it at first, that there was more. All who follow good must fight evil, or we will be overcome. And goodness often exists, apparently overcome, but triumphant in the end.

Yes, there is darkness, and fear, and despair, and hate in us and in our world. There is also beauty and joy and hope. Because we were sent here, particular in every area of our being, of time and place, and our every step resounds through the fabric of time, and beyond.

Does this sound like a sci-fi or fantasy story? 

It is. And this story is true. Because it’s true, it’s quite natural we find it reflected in many books, the great conflict between dark and light. Not always portrayed clearly or truthfully, but still glaringly there.

With God, all is hope, however we feel about it, for he works all things (even the things that hurt) to our good when we walk with the great dance of his universe, not following the destructive road of the great rebellion. The difference between books of despairing realism and those of hopeful adventure are created when we who write them see the real world, the true story, reality, as we name it, through what we believe. Here it gets tricky. You have to pay attention.

What is true, is true, whoever sees it. But the person who sees the clearest will see the most truth. God is absolute truth, and in his light, we see light. I don’t mean here that we ever see the complete truth, for we see dimly, but we can point to him, who promises to teach us.

So, what fits the world we see, and our experience, best? 

That intricate and full of life as we are and our world is, all is for nothing? And consequently there is no good, and no evil? No purpose? Not even for a grain of sand?

Or that someone made all this, and us, and we can find joy and beauty and adventure in him? That we can fight evil, and it will mean something in the end, we can really save something or someone? We can really be a hero or heroine?

These opposing beliefs determine whether you see a grey world, or a world alight with its true splendor, a glory of golds and blues and greens, silver and brown and white as snow–and blackness, dark as the pit. That is not gone, just because we see the good. In fact, it becomes all the darker, revealed by the light.

As many others have said, truth makes stories possible. Truth shows good and evil as they are, opposed; shows the mixture of good and evil motives we often are, and the two roads we are torn between. Truth reveals, moment to moment, which road we are on.

I write my fantasy adventures, historical and otherwise, for teens and up, for those disillusioned or discouraged with the rampant ugliness in our world, so often showcased in books. I write for people who yearn for hope, joy, and beauty, wrapped in the clarion call of adventure. 

I hope this post, my turning point in 2017, helps you. That my breakthrough, that I had a wall of my own to overcome, namely fear of you, gives you courage to cross over whatever life-changing wall looms over you this coming New Year.  

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

Yes, start this very moment.

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Define good and evil, and continue your journey with truth. Make a great impact on your world. 

I will feel it from here! Let me know in the comments about your wall, and how you will overcome it.

All the best,

 

Azalea Dabill

Editor and Author

Crossover: Find the Eternal, the Adventure

 

 

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