Category: Fiction

I made a picturebook.

Inspired by current events, I did it — I wrote and illustrated my first children’s book. :)

It’s available in English on Amazon and in Greek via Blurb. More details can be found here, on my author’s website: https://pansbooks.com/.

Hope y’all enjoy!

xoxo

The Best (Perhaps Unconventional) Books to Curl Up With During Quarantine

So a few have asked me for book recommendations during quarantine. Because — hopefully — this conversation is sure to surface again in the near future, or perhaps there are other folks out there who want some ideas but haven’t gotten around to asking anyone, here’s a list of some old and recent favorites that might appeal to you during this chaotic, uncertain times, when the luckiest among us have the luxury of curling up and escaping momentarily with a cozy blanket, a heartening mug of hot something, and a good book.

If you love fairy tales: Anything by Christina Henry, who is basically my new favorite author and the best find I’ve come across in 2020. I’ve got a heap of her books in my library, and I can’t sing their praises enough, but if I had to pick two (only two!!) I’d suggest you pick up RED, a dystopian “retelling” of Red Riding Hood, where a one-legged badass young woman tries to retain her family and sanity in an apocalyptic America. Or, go for ALICE, a haunting and absolutely gorgeous retelling of (shocker) Alice in Wonderland — in this version, Alice flees from an asylum with the help of a madman and navigates a city seeped in darkness, rapists, and trauma.

Another amazing take on a dystopian virus-plagued world? Kira Jane Buxton’s much-advertised HOLLOW KINGDOM, which is worth every cent and then some. The protagonist is a foul-mouthed, big-hearted, domesticated crow who tries to come to grips with the new world order. Based mostly in Seattle, Washington, it made me really want to visit that corner of the world before the zombies strike.

Is fantasy your thing? If this were Cair Paravel (yes, Narnia reference — another amazing series you must get your paws on if you somehow haven’t already), Philip Pullman, Robin McKinley, Neil Gaiman, and Laini Taylor are my four royals of choice. Respective, you have to read: His Dark Materials (trilogy), The Hero and the Crown (though really, anything by McKinley has never disappointed me yet), Daughter of Smoke and Bone (trilogy), and Good Omens (among a heap of others — but start with that or Stardust).

Into sci fi? I recommend the Hugh Howley series, which begins with Wool. Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game is also an old favorite of mine. I read it in Middle School, and I read it today; it’s incredible both rounds.

If contemporary/literary fiction is your thing (not something I often go for, but sometimes I get spectacularly surprised), a recent 5-star read in my list was Lauren Oliver’s Before I Fall. Cecelia Ahern’s P.S. I Love You also holds a special place in my heart — the movie is just as good. A great psychological thriller is S. J. Watson’s Before I Go To Sleep. On that vein, I also enjoyed Nicholas Sparks’ The Guardian, which is a welcome deviation from his usual lovey-dovey works (it’s still a bit lovey-dovey, of course).

Some other awesome reads worth noting, in no particular order: Gone Girl (Gillian Flynn), Red Moon (Benjamin Percy), Lexicon (Max Barry), Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (Louis de Bernieres), The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood), Horns (Joe Hill), Angelfall (Susan Ee)… okay, I’ll stop now. :)

Review: The Vine Witch (3/5*)

THE VINE WITCH was nearly a DNF (did not finish) for me. I picked it up and set it down twice, then doggedly insisted a third time because I loved the premise and the cover. The former is very imaginative (I, at least, haven’t read anything like it) and the latter is simply stunning. My expectations were great.

Here’s what I liked (SPOILERS included throughout review): I very much enjoyed the slow-blooming romance between Elena and Jean-Pierre, and couldn’t help but admire Elena’s more unconventional (especially for those times) I’ve-got-this, don’t-need-you-but-want-you, partners-in-all-things attitude toward JP, and found JP’s gradual and pivotal shift toward accepting witchcraft into his worldview credible and well crafted. The explanation of why Elena’s so good at poisons made sense to me. I also loved the supporting characters of Yvette and the monk. The world-building–whether in a pond, cellar, or backwoods shady pub–was also exquisite, though I wasn’t sure where we were exactly (somewhere in North America or Europe, or in a fictional world akin to our own?).

The writing is lush and lovely–and appropriately so, I guess, given such a lyrical, atmospheric setting and such complex characters–yet for some reason it just did not draw me in as much as I desperately wanted to be immersed in it, though I really do love lyrical language. Don’t get me wrong; the writing itself is beautiful and the metaphors are gems (“But then her other mind, the one that had been wrapped and tucked away like a jewel deep within her subconscious, snapped awake”), but I felt sometimes that descriptions got in the way of actions or were too forced, and bogged down the pace, especially in the first half of the book. There needed to be more of a balance–for me at least, personally.

I think that was my main stumbling block with the book, and perhaps the main reason why I don’t consider this a book I’ll reread. It wasn’t a “smooth” read for me. There were also a few things that felt a little rushed or not quite as developed as I’d want–especially the ending, and especially Grand-Mere’s true motives and eventual confession (with some remorse but little shock that Elena eventually figured out the truth) and Elena’s grappling with it. Also, perhaps compounded by the rushed end, I felt a good deal of backstory–Elena’s childhood, Elena’s recollections of Grand-Mere at a younger age and their interactions, more solid scenes that show rather than tell of her tempestuous relationship with the ex-fiance–would have helped flesh out the characters more AND provide more of an emotional impact during the climax and conclusion.

Overall a decent read, but sadly not a personal favorite.

Review: Before I Fall (5/5*)

Unbelievably, heart-stoppingly good. If, like me, you find yourself snagging and lagging on the first 30-50 pages thanks to a rather unlikeable (but very meticulously and refreshingly depicted mean girl) protagonist, keep going. It gets better. And better. And better. (All the tears. All the feels. And now I want to give ALL the hugs.)

If you read one book this year, let it be this…

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6482837-before-i-fall

Review: The Truth Circle (4.5/5*)

Can we just take a second and agree that this cover is gorgeous? I love everything about it — the colors, the depiction of the characters and setting, the grittiness of it, the font. I think it really captures the essence of the story… which, yes, I’ll get to now.

Ayers proves himself to be a craftsman at scene-setting, world-building, and suspense. Right from the get-go, he builds up the suspense and casts a shroud of dread, insinuating that an irresistible offer of “fun-filled adventure in pristine mountain country” could easily disintegrate to show its true face: a terrible and potentially lethal mistake. The pace of the narrative continues briskly, and I simply couldn’t stop reading. Each character was easy to envision and imagine, with solid descriptors breathing life into and personalizing each protagonist. While sometimes you might get a feeling that the characters are borderline caricatures, their backstories prove otherwise. Such people *do* exist; the odds of them *all* coming together like this might be slim, but the premise wasn’t so overdone to make the story implausible (for me at least).

The writer pens descriptors masterfully — I loved lines like “her taut face and frosted blonde hair said 50, but her prominent crow’s feet and liver-spotted hands begrudgingly admitted to 60”. I also appreciated the many juxtaposing images–and snippets of dialogue–that are the exact ill-boding omens you’d expect in the horror genre (blood-eyed thunderbirds perched across welcome posts… um, hello — run and run fast — away — now!). Other descriptors did not seem as forgiving, as when the omnipresent narrator slips into the voice of the tallest “anti-hero”, but a clean line is drawn between the narrator and each protagonist (readers should always be careful not to confuse the antihero with the author). It’s absolutely fascinating to see how this one week brings out the best or worst of each character respectively… and how backstories and current behaviors constantly affected how my attitude changed toward them.

This book is very well written, creative, and atmospheric. It’s sprinkled with some great humorous lines throughout that downplay the bits of horror and intolerance when they almost get to be too much. It’s heartening to see humanity in the face of terror; it’s just as terrifying to see how little it takes to spark the inhumane.

My only real qualm is with the ending.

*cough*

SPOILER ALERT

*cough cough*

(Still reading?

Last chance to look away)

This:

[ It seemed a bit too perfectly tied with a bow with its all-is-forgiven, Ken-is-no-longer-trying-to-kill-me-and-I-accept-him, we’ll-all-live-happily-ever-after vibe… I would have liked some sort of indication that these six haven’t become saints in an instant, or that catharsis/retribution needs to be earned rather than just dished out. Then again, that’s a whole another theological argument, and it’s no crime for a book to imply its own beliefs/message of universal redemption. I enjoyed the last few lines — those were perfect — but I just personally felt the end was too good/forgiving/easy to be true. (hide spoiler)]

4.5 stars, rounded up to 5.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50092294-the-truth-circle

“Pied Piper” [a short story]

“Pied Piper” [a short story]

My tiny dark story “Pied Piper” won first place in the most recent Reedsy Short Story Contest. :) This one’s definitely going in the anthology. ;)

“The boy should have known something was wrong the moment he glanced back over his shoulder, but he was too tired and wary and afraid to register the truth. He followed the sound of the keening pipe. Its unfamiliar melody, absurdly cheerful, jarred him from the carnage. It filtered through the pores of his skin and infused him with the strength and warmth he needed to run through the icy clutches of winter.

The forest muffled the sounds within and beyond it as if the trees themselves swallowed noise—all but the tune of the unseen piper. Time stood still, cradled between the labyrinth of jutting roots and a cotton-cloud sky that was falling apart. Tufts of snow floated down through naked branches as if massive pillowcases had exploded during a massive pillow fight between massive gods who did not care that far below them the falling snow sizzled against flames that devoured a village.

Once she’d been beautiful—the belle of the village, people said. Then the red blotches appeared, lesions that began on her arms and spread across her chest and throat, an army of ants beneath her skin that disfigured her face and body. She did not cry out when she cut a finger or burnt her hands in the kitchen. Her once-lush hair fell from her scalp like shorn wheat, littering the floor in clumps. Yet her eyes were always his mother’s eyes, calm and blue and cool like a damp cloth against a fevered brow, radiating such love that he felt she embraced him even when she avoided touching him. She was all he had left, the only person who cared enough to weep and caress his face when lesions spread across his own back and grew thick like the pedicles of a second spine.

When he crept back into the house, keeping to the shadows, the boy found nothing left of his mother but a dark stain on the floorboards that streaked from the kitchen to the bedroom. A man appeared in that doorway, his body and face sheathed in fabrics and spells that would not let the infection touch him, gripping a sword that wept red tears from its edge. The boy hid until the man turned away, and then sprinted back out into the night. He ran through the streets, dodging the hooves of horses and the torched firewood that the yelling soldiers threw his way.

Run, his mother had rasped, pushing him through the back door of their home, the door that led to the chickens and pigs, and he’d run until he’d fallen, slipping in the snow and in the refuse of the squealing animals, his vision fractured by his tears. He turned back then, ashamed to have run, ashamed to have left her, even though she no longer quite looked like his mother.”

Read more at:

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/contests/23/submissions/6305/

“Red” [a short story]

They say the wolf ate the magician.

They find the man lying on the stone floor, chunks of his flesh unfurled around him like oversized rose petals, torn apart by thorny fangs. Broken bottles litter the shelves of his home, caught in liquid pools of strange colors that hiss and spread like angry tears. Tattered black books pattern the floor, spines up and pages squashed, sprawled open like dead crows.

Early this morning, I hear the trumpeting of that faction of the King’s Guard that deals with our realm’s mysteries and murders. I notice the townsfolk striding through the streets towards the forest, summoned by the sound. I follow them, cradling a loaf of bread against my breast to muffle the pounding of my heart. I’ve heard that trumpet only once before; it had been in warning then, a winter’s night when wolves attacked our town and slaughtered the rest of my family, our home at the outskirts an easy target. This time the trumpeting is less urgent, more doleful. They’ve found something.

The townsmen and I accompany the King’s Guard through the dark forest. They say a wolf prowls in these shadows. They say it’s a bristling black nightmare that gorges itself on human flesh. They say it’s unlike any other wolf they’ve encountered in these parts. Its paw prints are thrice the size of any dog’s. Its howl pricks your skin like sleet, sounding so human, wordlessly sad, almost intelligible, never familiar.

“Red,” murmurs a voice beside me. I jump. It’s only Francine, looking up at me with doe-brown eyes in her freckled face. She slips her tiny hand through mine before I can resist. I give her my bread as usual, knowing I won’t eat it. “Are you scared?”

The people walk unafraid, more curious than cautious. We are many. We have the Guards. The wolf has attacked someone this month already and the moon is no longer full. Nobody really fears it right now.

Except for me.

“No,” I say. “You shouldn’t be, either.”

When I was Francine’s age, Madam took me in. She lived in a house that she shared with six younger women. Many of them were foreign, most of them were kind, and all of them were pretty. Sometimes men came to visit, but none stayed longer than a few hours. I wasn’t allowed to speak to them. At night, I slept in a cot in Madam’s room. In the day, I ran errands for her or helped the maid in the kitchen. Once a week, Madam packed a basket of provisions and sent me to a house in the woods where her brother lived.

I was frightened in the beginning. I told Madam that I could hear the wolf’s panting when I walked among the trees, but the wood looked empty whenever I looked over my shoulder. Sometimes I thought I heard a footfall or a crackling twig. No matter how quickly I whirled around, I never saw the wolf. It was a strange game: I lost because I could not see it and won because I did not die. Sometimes, if it had rained and the ground was moist, I would turn to see huge pawprints along the path behind me. Occasionally I would find tufts of black fur on the ground, as soft and inky as silk. Once I brought some home for Madam to see, for her to believe me. She laughed and said that I couldn’t trick her. That it was a lock of my own hair which I had trimmed and brought to show her.

“What if the wolf eats me?” I retorted. “Who will run your errands then?”

She slapped me and sent me to bed without a meal. In the morning she brought me a chocolate scone and untangled my hair with her own ivory brush. “Wolves do not eat children,” she said. “Especially not orphans. You are too small to fill its belly.”

Madam’s brother was more than a hermit. He was a magician. He did not like the town and apparently the town didn’t care for him. I never could understand why Madam didn’t go herself, or why she didn’t send one of the older girls. It struck me, much later, that she feared him.

Read the rest here: https://literallystories2014.com/2019/11/18/red-by-angela-panayotopulos/?fbclid=IwAR20pxCzqKh0NiaAxRYBxR2QqsHvFsT2-CyeV1uCkVZBbj3qLUwIMzKSjy4

Also featured in my upcoming anthology of fairy tale retellings.

“Red”… Coming Soon. :)

So my next endeavor is… an anthology of fairy-tale retellings. It’s what I always wanted to do. It might take a while, but to eat an elephant in sizeable chunks, I’m aiming for a story per month. That gives me twelve stories by the end of a year, and heck, that’s not bad at all. :)

Meanwhile, my short story “Red” (a dark take on the classic story) has been selected by Literally Stories and will be published this November. 🍁🍂🍁 Great timing for spooky winter forests and fairy tale rellings! Yay! 💕
#shortstory #fairytale #fairytaleretellings #redridinghood #dontknockittillyoutryit #writergram #storytelling #storyteller #νταρκιλα #παραμυθι