BLURB:
Something
strange, something magical, is going on in the dusty hills behind the small
town of Villaloma. Yet each time Linda Peters puts on her running shoes and
sets out to find the enchanted kingdom she imagines—full of dancing elves,
unicorns, and more—something stops her. And with school starting soon, she only
has a few more chances to really search the hills.
While
Linda’s frustration and doubt grow, her cousin, Nugu, looks for answers in his
books and wonders if maybe, just maybe, Linda’s stories are for real.
The
day finally arrives when Linda can run far, the day she is sure she will find
her magic city. But when she and Nugu feel their goal must lie just beyond the
next hill, they only find more hill.
Is
it all a figment of an over-active imagination; a wistful fantasy?
Or
is there truly something magical in those hills that only the strong of
heart—and leg—can discover?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
Excerpts from Elf Hills © 2014 by S. S. Dudley
From the Prologue:
This fairy tale, as you might have guessed already, takes
place on a hill. Or, rather, on many hills and a mountain or two in Northern
California, near what people call the Great Valley. One hill in particular
stands out, though, because that is where everything started. It was a nice
hill; well rounded, not too high, not too low. It was distinctly a hill,
snuggled up against a mountain like a nursing cub to its resting mother. For
the most part this hill was well-dressed with dark green oak trees and tall
grasses, usually yellowed and dry except for the four or five wet months of the
year. Along one side, a seasonal creek slipped out and down into the plain.
Here the vegetation—red-stemmed manzanita, prickly blackberry bushes, and other
shrubs—was thick and difficult to move through.
From afar, the hill was not remarkable; it had many siblings
stretching to the north and south as far as the eye could see. This hill was
special, though. For one, a strange—some said magical—copse of trees stood near
the base of the hill where the creek emerged. These trees were short, had long,
dark-green leaves, and bore bright yellow fruit that, if eaten, were said to
imbue a person with the strength of ten men. For another, the hill was haunted.
On certain nights of the year a white light would shine from the very top of
the hill. It was brighter than the brightest star; brighter even than a full
moon, perhaps, and it cast long shadows across the plain. The first people that
lived in the area told many stories about that hill, the light, and the spirits
that lived there.
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.
http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f708
No comments:
Post a Comment