Elf
Hills
by
S.S. Dudley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BLURB:
Like
many authors, I started writing my first book (a fantasy epic in the
vein of Tolkien, of course) when I was young. Thirteen or so, in my
case. I didn't finish it. After a couple hundred pages, I set down my
blue fountain pen (it stained my fingers, but felt good to write
with) and declared that I needed to see the world, to do something,
before I sat down to really write a book. And so I did. I went out
and studied (a lot), traveled (Antarctica, South America, parts in
between) and started a career. It wasn't until my daughter came into
the world and we started to read together that I remembered my
passion for stories. Soon enough, I started writing again. That was
2012.
I
aim to write stories my children can enjoy—and I with them. Stories
are so much more than a fun way to spend some time. They are a part
of growing up, of life. They help us grow, to understand ourselves,
each other, and the world.
Excerpt;
Chapter
1:
Crack!
Like a firecracker, the screen door’s sharp retort pierced the
tranquility of the warm summer afternoon. With it appeared a girl,
beautiful as all five-year-olds are: tousled hair, rosy cheeks, a
smattering of freckles, and a flowery dress dancing around healthy
legs bruised and scraped by kicking balls and climbing trees. Her
hair was the color of honey, her skin tanned by long days in the sun.
Her bright, green eyes exuded wonder and vibrancy. By all measures,
Linda Peters was a perfectly healthy, perfectly normal girl only days
into kindergarten.
The
flowered dress danced about her anxious feet as they thumped a rhythm
on the wooden planks of the big porch. Before the old screen door
could bounce again off the doorframe, her bare toes reached the cool,
green grass of the lawn. They gently touched the ground as she ran
and giggled. Soon she was in the garden amidst the flowers. She
stopped and looked around, breathing only slightly heavier than
normal. A strand of loose hair drifted across her eyes. She tucked it
behind her ear, reflexively. Around her were flowers of every color:
reds and pinks and whites and purples; but she wasn’t so interested
in them, rather…
“Linda!”
a small voice called. Linda looked to her left and saw an orange and
black butterfly gracefully drift toward her. She held out her hand
and the butterfly landed on her finger, its long proboscis gently
probing her skin. Butterfly kisses. Her dad called this kind of
butterfly a "Monarch" and said it was special. Linda knew
about butterflies. They were insects: head, thorax, abdomen; six
legs, four wings! And they ate nectar, while the babies, the
caterpillars, gobbled leaves to grow big and fat before becoming
beautiful butterflies.
Only
this wasn’t an ordinary butterfly.
AUTHOR
Bio and Links:
S. S.
Dudley grew up in Wyoming, USA, an avid reader and lover of the
outdoors. He studied at the University of Wyoming and the University
of Illinois. He started his first book (an epic fantasy hand-written
in with a blue fountain pen…) when he was 13, but never finished
it. At some point (as his mother recently reminded him), he decided
that he needed to go do something (like get a job) for a while before
he could, or should, write. He did, and spent time in Colombia,
Panamá, Antarctica and the dark recesses of large science buildings
on college campuses. That done, he now writes, lives and runs in
Northern California with his wife and two children. He can be found
at http://www.ssdudley.com, http://www.facebook.com/author.ssdudley
and on twitter at @SS_dudley.
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ReplyDeleteThanks I enjoyed the author comments I too am a big beliver that books should be a huge part of childhood
ReplyDeleteNot sure my comments are sticking… google is doing strange things
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ReplyDeleteThanks for putting this up!
ReplyDeleteI like his introduction about how children nees to absorb the information in books.
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