Harmless Self Promotion!

Please remember to check this out, whenever you have the time! 

 

I wrote Dear Miklos with nostalgia in my heart. It’s dedicated to Mary Stewart, and more specifically to one of my favorite books, The Moonspinners. I love the way she would go to another country, as a tourist, absorb the environment, and then go home and write an adventure story that was set there. I wanted to go on that adventure too, all these years. So finally I wrote Dear Miklos and journeyed to Greece in my imagination. I set the story in the seventies, because I remember the decade with such fondness. Like the movies of the time, there’s a lot of soft focus! 

 

Dear Miklos~ http://www.amazon.com/Dear-Miklos-Victoria-Bastedo/dp/1934912476/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1375927872&sr=8-1&keywords=dear+miklos 

http://blacklyonpublishing.com/Dear%20Miklos.html

 

Also, please check out my self-published novel ~ Sunrise Meets the Star. When I first envisioned this story, it was much more complicated. Epic, my two main characters were to save not one but too fantasy countries. There were hills, and coins and mystique. But when I set off to write the adventure, it became far more cozy. A quest must be embraced, a will’s intricate demands followed, and a peasant, who is an able-bodied and strong young man used to taking care of himself, must be pampered. By the end of the story, he’s no longer alone.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/victoria-bastedo/sunrise-meets-the-star/paperback/product-15159587.html

http://www.lulu.com/shop/victoria-bastedo/sunrise-meets-the-star/ebook/product-18554241.html

 

A little Whimsy today…

Or is that woozy? My dogwood tree is just starting to bloom out my back window, and my lilac is purpling out the front. The smells of Spring are intoxicating!

Two hobbits wandered through the grasses, the larger one adjusting his pace so the smaller one would be comfortable.

Donago was certain that he caught a whiff, and he closed his eyes and drew in a long chest full of air. When he opened them, she was looking up at him. Two curls had slipped out from under her cloak. He gave out his crooked smile.

“My friends tell me I can’t catch a whiff of the sea so far from here,” he told her. “But I do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes indeed.”

“And what does it smell like?”

“I sing a little gem about it down at the Brown Barrel sometimes. You want to hear it?”

Her gentle smile was the answer.

 

                      ‘A whiff flew past of gossamer, and little bits of gleam,

                    Some water misted in the sky, it mixed with Elfin by and bye,

                      A sea bird soared and leant its cry,

                     So Donago could dream.

 

                    ‘Some wonder why it suits me, to let my daydreams roam,

                   Why not feast on food and cheer, and call for songs to fill the ear,

                     With friends nearby I’d never fear,

                      Of gettng lost far from home.

 

                     ‘But though my mind wanders while I rest, and stretch my feet in ease,

                      Low mountains blue beyond the green, little rivers crystal clean,

                     Flowering trees that over moss fields lean,

                      Create a far more potent breeze.

 

                      ‘I may one day journey far to see, that distant shore and the wild sea,

             I won’t know what changes are wrought, what fields are left and which holes bought,

                      How others treat this home I’ve sought,

                       To keep golden like my memory.

 

                       ‘But return I will, for the Valley calls and holds a hobbit’s heart,

                       See a curl on a hobbit maiden, smell a hearty table laden,

                     Bend to laugh and never straighten,

                      I can’t be far apart.