Beyond the Hollow (Beyond #2)
The blurb for Beyond the Hollow and author’s note
I began Beyond the Hollow years before I ever heard of Sleepy Hollow, the TV show. I first heard of the TV premier in the movie theater. At that point, my novel was nearly completed. I literally screamed out loud. I’m sure everyone around me thought I was crazy…and I was. Crazy with frustration, anger and that why do these things always happen to me feeling.
I have since made peace with Sleepy Hollow, the TV show. I don’t think it’s anything like my story. I hope you’ll read it for yourself and find out.
Petra Baron and her immortal boyfriend, Emory Ravenswood, are living their happily in modern day Orange County, California, until Dane shows up: a heart-stoppingly handsome man from Petra’s past. Petra can’t remember Dane, or anything else about her time in Tarrytown, New York two hundred years ago. But Emory does remember, and he knows she’s lucky to have forgotten all about Dane and the nightmarish episode in 1810.
After Emory disappears, Petra is determined to find him again. Yet she doesn’t know whether Dane can lead her to Emory, or to the nightmare she can’t remember. The one thing she does know is that once upon a time really means two hundred years ago, and that if she wants to find Emory the first place to look is Sleepy Hollow, 1810.
With a collection of Washington Irving’s writings in her hand, and a prayer that some nine-pin-playing ghosts will give her a drink of the same magic ale they gave Rip Van Winkle, Petra heads into another time-defying adventure.
Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent (Beyond #1)
When Petra Baron goes into the fortuneteller’s tent at a Renaissance fair, she expects to leave with a date to prom. Instead, she walks out into Elizabethan England, where she meets gypsies, a demon dog and a kindred spirit in Emory Ravenswood.
Emory must thwart the plans of religious zealots. His mission is dangerous, his enemies are fanatical, and Petra Baron is a complication that Heaven only knows he does not need. Or does he? Although Emory is on Heaven’s errand, he learned long ago that Heaven does not always play fair.
As Petra slowly falls for Emory, she wonders if he really is who he seems, or if he is just as lost as she is. How can they have a future while trapped in the past? Or is anything possible Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent?
Kristy Tate writes Women Fiction with a dash romance, mystery and humor. Her debut novel, Stealing Mercy, was on Amazon’s top 100 list of historical romance for more than fifteen weeks and spent two weeks as number one. Her participation in the Christmas on Main Street Anthology, an Amazon #1 bestseller, inspirational romance, made her an Amazon top 100 author for more than a month. Her novel, The Rhyme’s Library, was a 2013 Kindle Review semi-finalist.
Kristy studied English literature at Brigham Young University and at BYU’s International Center in London. Although a long time resident of Orange County California where she lives with her family, Kristy’s heart belongs in her hometown of Arlington, Washington, AKA Rose Arbor–the fictional setting of her popular Rose Arbor series.
For updates on Kristy’s upcoming novels, please visit her blog at kristystories.blogspot.com and sign up for her newsletter, where discounts and freebies are sure to happen.
I thought I knew how the Twilight series would end. While I, and half the reading world, waited for the release of Stephenie Meyer’s Breaking Dawn, I concocted what I thought was the perfect happily ever after for Bella and Edward. After a year of impatiently waiting for the final conclusion, I was hugely disappointed in Meyer’s ending.
But then—wait! Why not use my own happily ever after? Why not create my own series? And so I did. No vampires, no werewolves, but lots of obscure legends and an ending I can’t wait to write. Two of the three planned Beyond books are now published, and I’m not sure if I want the series to end…yet. I love Petra and Emory. I’m not sure I’m ready to let them go. So, at the moment, I can’t say whether the Beyond series will be a trilogy or something much larger. But I do know the ending, and I love it. I hope it will be worth waiting for.
I really have Stephenie Meyer to thank for my Beyond series. You can read that here. http://kristystories.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-thank-you-note-to-stephanie-meyers.html
I wrote Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent three years ago. I love it, but I wrote it back in the days when I thought I had to be traditionally published. There was a lesson I should have learned then (you can read about Petra going to Chiropractic College in the repeat post below) that I’m still learning today.
I am a writer because I write. I am a successful writer because people choose to read my stuff. I guess this means I became a successful writer when I first began writing for the Arlington Eagle—my high school newspaper. And I guess this means that I won’t stop writing when I make the New York Times best seller list.
It’s like eating. I don’t eat a Thanksgiving dinner and say, Now I am stuffed. I will never need to eat again. Or running. I didn’t run a marathon and then say, Well check that off, I’ll never run another mile. Or reading. I didn’t read Wallace Stegnar’s Crossing to Safety (my idea of the epitome of a brilliant novel) and say, Now I‘ll never read another novel, because nothing can top that.
There are some people who write one phenomenal book and are done. But for most writers, I think there is always another story lurking in their head waiting for daylight. How that story finds readers is just another part of the process.
Petra first found hers in a chiropractic college. Now that she’s published, she’s finding other readers. Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent is the first book. The final book is a shadowy near future away, but since I knew the end long before I ever knew beginning, it should be soon.
So, this isn’t a teaser because a publication date is way in an unforeseen future. It’s a just reminder. A writer is anyone who writes. The following is a blog post that I wrote three years ago.
Petra Goes to College
Finally, my novel is being read and not just by people who are doing me a favor. Bethany wanted to read my book and she asked Brandon to print it out for her. Brandon took it to his chiropractic school where he could print it out for free. But about a third of the way through the printing, the machine ran out of paper. He had hundred pages printed and he figured he’d do the rest later, when there was paper.
The next day he goes to school and finds that people are passing around a two hundred page novel printed on pink paper. He tells a friend that he has to get it back. Friend replies, “That’s yours? People are reading that.”
I imagine this medical student turning on a printer. It says no paper, he loads it with the only paper he can find… pink. And then the printer proceeds to shoot out the remainder of my novel. And of course, all the kissing happens in the remainder. Suddenly, all these students of anatomy have something less clinical to read.
Excerpt from Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent
Emory picked up Petra’s hand and held it in his lap. Nearby, a fiddler began to play, and someone beat a rhythm on a tambourine. Someone added drums. Through the wheels of the caravans she saw other fires burning. Women, barefoot and laughing danced. Their clothes, loose and flowing, billowed, their jewelry glinting.
Emory’s thumb rubbed a circle against the pulse skittering in Petra’s wrist. Behind her, she heard low chanting. She turned to watch an old woman, the chovihanis, was performing the healing. The jingling tambourines grew louder, drowning out the wail of the fiddle. The healer’s voice matched the rising volume; the chants turned to moans and cries.
Emory looked over his shoulder. “She’s calling out to the spirits in the Otherworld.”
“The Otherworld? What other world?”
“You do not believe in the Otherworld?”
“What you and I believe doesn’t matter. It’s the faith of the one being healed that’s important.” Emory listened. “The chovihanis is trying to stand in the shoes of the sick one.”
She shook her head. “It’s just—well, they’re all barefoot.”
Emory sighed and continued his interpretation. “It seems the lad is troubled by a malevolent spirit. The chovihanis is attempting to lead his problems into one of the three levels of the Otherworld where they belong.”
“Do you think she can place me where I belong?”
Emory shook his head. “No.”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “Because you don’t believe.”
“Then why are we here?” Exasperation tinged Petra’s voice.
Emory stroked her neck, pulling her closer. She knew she needed to lean away, to break the hypnotic contact. She couldn’t trust Emory and yet, sitting beside him in the semi-darkness of the gypsy camp, inhaling the tangy smoke of mugwort and rosemary she felt powerless as he drew her against him.
Emory whispered in her ear. “If need be she can also travel to the three levels of the Otherworld for soul retrieval, which occurs when someone loses a part of their soul in a past or present life. Have you been lost?”
Emory’s lips brushed across Petra’s cheek, a hint of a kiss. She felt, rather than heard, him laugh softly as her lips looked for his. This is it, then? She wondered. Is this why I’m here? To be with Emory? Could she really give up her home, her family, her life plans to be with this person she’d just barely met?
No. Of course not.
But she didn’t want to think that hard. She didn’t want to think at all. Not about tomorrow or the next day. At this moment, she just wanted to be.
In this time, in this place, all she felt was Emory pressing against her, his lips looking for hers. And that was all she wanted.
Until the world exploded in fire, smoke, and the sound of guns.