CreateSpace's Cover Creator

I've got covers on the brain because my cover designer, Lance Ganey, sent initial proofs of Sultana, and I'm super-excited! What if you're an independent author looking for a less costly solution to create your own fabulous cover? CreateSpace's Cover Creator is great for authors with a small budget.

To get started, you must have a CreateSpace account. After you have entered your title, upload its physical properties and other details. You can save your progress at varying stages. Now comes the fun part. Launch Cover Creator and you'll see a total 30 design templates like these:

Each template has a fixed position for the title, author name, back blurb, barcode and ISBN. Also, you cannot change the typeface within the template, only its color. With some, you have the option to include an author photo. The book's spine is automatically generated based on the calculation of your total number of pages. Feel free to try different templates. You are not locked into any design until you submit your entire manuscript and cover art to CreateSpace. After you've selected a design, the list of variables you can edit appears in the left navigation pane, including the title, author(s), front cover image, about the author, back cover text, and author photo and bio. You can even add a publisher logo or change the background color. CreateSpace has a library of images you can use, or you can upload your own. Specifications are provided for the size and resolution of your own photos.

Redux: let's try this again. I played around with a few of the templates in Cover Creator and found the designs tasteful and easy to produce. Here are a few samples, in which I've highlighted the frames so you can see the placement of the text along the spine and front cover:

Changing designs was as simple as the click of a button, preserving the text I had already uploaded, while allowing me to swap images. I've been a Create Space client for nearly seven months and I continue to be impressed with how they have simplified the upload process, including the new Cover Creator feature.

What are you waiting for? Go to CreateSpace now and give Cover Creator a try.

#SampleSunday: Sultana's Legacy, Chapter Fifteen

Part of what I loved about crafting the heroine, Fatima, in Sultana and Sultana's Legacy, is that she is very devoted to her family. Her characterization is based on events of the real Fatima's life, in which she nurtured and tutored her grandchildren. It wasn't hard to imagine her earlier years as a caring mother and daughter, too. She would have been a ruthless protector if someone threatened her loved ones, but what if that threat resulted from an internal family struggle? Here's how I thought Fatima would deal with it:

Chapter 15 - The Watchtower

Princess Fatima

Malaka, al-Andalus: Dhu’l-Hijja 704 AH (Malaga, Andalusia: July 1305 CE)

Fatima returned from her solitary ride in the late afternoon. Faraj was absent, but she did not inquire as to his whereabouts. She dismounted just outside the stables and slapped the reins into the waiting hands of a stable boy. Niranjan approached, bowing stiffly.

She grasped his hands and squeezed with deep affection. “You’ve returned at last. Your trip to the slave market at Madinah Antaqirah was a successful venture?”

“As you knew it must be, my Sultana.”

The gravity of his sullen tone made her withdraw her touch. “You do not approve of my choice.”

“I do not, my Sultana. What will your husband say?”

She drew back. “He should thank me for a show of wifely devotion.”

“Forgive my boldness, my Sultana, but I doubt that very much.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were ever bold, loyal one. You’ve never needed to ask forgiveness before.”

They walked the pathway together, he in his customary position just at her back. “There is another matter we must discuss, my Sultana. I have kept ties to the servants of your father’s household in Gharnatah. Praise be to God that the Sultan has not murdered them all. One of the eunuchs has informed me of the reason the Sultan shall not attend your daughter’s wedding.”

Fatima slowed and turned to him. “He has refused Faraj’s invitation? I do not know why my husband bothered to extend it.”

“It was the proper thing to do, of which the Sultana is well aware.” Niranjan’s gaze narrowed on her. For a moment, a spark of anger flared at his attempt to chide her, but then she recalled his lifelong devotion. For it, she could forgive him anything.

She continued walking, his footsteps crunching the gravel behind her. “Speak then. Why won’t he come to Malaka?”

“One of his concubines has delivered of a child. It is as the court astrologers predicted, the long-awaited heir.”

Fatima’s heart thudded. “A boy?”

“A boy, my Sultana.”

She grasped the blue-black prayer beads hanging from her belt. A pained breath wheezed between her lips. She stopped and face him. “Then we must do something about him.”

He halted at her side, his sheepish gaze downcast. He mumbled, “I do not see what we can do from here at Malaka.”

She shook her head. “Can you not?”

A long, tense silence passed before Niranjan sighed. “My Sultana, I have done much to aid you against the Sultan. I have kept your secrets from your husband, even from my own sisters. This is a dangerous path you tread. You are advocating the murder of a woman and her child….”

“A child that shall ruin our plans forever! Don’t you see? If this child, a male heir lives, the Sultan shall have what he most desires in life. No one shall dare support my brother Nasr’s claim to the throne, if Gharnatah already has an heir. I cannot allow that to happen! The blood of my father demands an end to the Sultan’s reign.” She paused and cast a glare at him. “You have aided me before….”

“The murder of Ibrahim of Ashqilula was just. The man killed your mother. He owed the debt of blood. But this is different. This innocent child and his mother are….”

“They are simply obstacles to be removed.”

Niranjan drew back with a sharp cry of disgust, but she met his gaze unflinching.

“My Sultana, I marvel at how hard you have become. Where is the good and sweet lady I knew from her childhood? The kind mistress whom I have served and loved?”

She turned away from him. In the privacy of her chamber at night, she had often wondered the same thing. Nothing gave her any pleasure. Not even the celebration of her third daughter’s marriage within a few weeks stirred her heart to joy. She lived only for vengeance now. It comforted her in the lonely dark of night, and gave her the will to survive the Sultan’s tyranny each day.

When Niranjan touched her arm timidly, she jerked away from him. “Do not. I shall tell you where your kind and good mistress is.” Her voice sunk to a low whisper. “She lies dead and buried at Gharnatah, beside her murdered father.” She raised her chin a notch, eyeing him. “I made a sacred vow to avenge him. If you remain loyal to me and my cause, then get rid of the slave and her child.”

“I would not be your dutiful servant if I did not caution you against this move. If you have become so cold and ruthless that you no longer care for the sanctity of life, then the Sultan has already won. He shall have turned you into a likeness of himself.”

She shook her head. “You do not understand, my loyal one. To defeat him, I must be like him. I must be ruthless. I must be without care. How else can I avenge the deaths of those he has taken from me?”

“This cannot bring your noble father, or the kadin Nur-al-Sabah or anyone else back from the grave. This slave girl and her son are blameless….”

“Yes, yet more innocent lives that must suffer because the Sultan! The woman and her son must die if Nasr is to take the throne.” Her chest tightened, rising and falling rapidly with each breath. She clutched at the point where her heart raced.

When she resumed walking the pebble path, he fell into step beside her. They mounted the steps together.

“I shall hasten to Gharnatah, my Sultana. I must first learn whether the slave nurses her child.”

“Why is that important?”

“If she does, there are certain poisons which, if introduced into the mother’s body would slowly weaken her, but shall certainly kill the child.”

Fatima nodded. “I don’t care how you do it, only be certain that it is done before you return to Malaka.”

Niranjan stopped as they reached the portico of columns. “It shall be done, my Sultana. I go to my duty with a heavy heart full of sorrow for you.”

She paused and eyed him over her shoulder. “Save your pity for the Sultan. He shall need it when this is over.”

Niranjan whispered, “It saddens me to see you this way. You risk everything to pursue this course, but it may cost you everyone you hold dear.”


Thanks for stopping by the blog for my last installment of Sultana's Legacy. The book will be out this fall. In the meantime, please re-tweet this post if you liked it.

Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award - Key Dates, Requirements & Pitching

Are you entering the ABNA? I am; it's the only contest I've considered this year that is free. Not to rush you or anything, but you have ONE MORE DAY to write that 300-word pitch, ensure your novel is completed at 50,000 to 150,000 words, and select an excerpt of your novel, at least the first 3,000 to 5,000 words. No pressure!

Full details of the contest are here, but this is the first key date to keep in mind.

January 24 - February 6, 2011: The submission period is open, in which you complete your entry form and upload your pitch, completed novel and excerpt. Only the first 5,000 entries in each of the categories, Young Adult Fiction and General Fiction will be accepted.

Requirements include:

A manuscript submitted in Microsoft Word .doc, .docx or .rft format, in Times New Roman and 12-point font; double spaced with 1-inch margins (no "hard" returns to achieve double spacing).

Each manuscript, excerpt, and pitch must be in the English language; not currently or previously published with any publishing house (a self-published novel is okay if you own the worldwide rights); and, can't include the entrant's name anywhere. The manuscript, excerpt and pitch count as part of one entry; you are not allowed other entries.

The hardest part of deciding whether to enter was my concerns about the pitch. Did I mention that the pitch is your only qualifying entry that editors will initially judge? From the 5,000 pitches in each category, the judges will narrow it down to 1,000 of the best selections. So, if the pitch doesn't interest them, the manuscript will not be read. Crap. How in the hellhole do I talk about the characters, conflict, plot development, concept, and audience of a 91K novel in 300 words? Here's my stab at it in 292 words:

SULTANA, a completed historical novel at 91,253 words, is the story of revenge and intrigue, the bonds of family and the redemptive power of love. In thirteenth-century Moorish Spain, the realm of Granada is in crisis. The marriage of a child-bride Fatima, granddaughter of the Sultan of Granada, and the Sultan’s nephew Faraj, has fractured the nation. A bitter civil war escalates and endangers both Fatima and Faraj’s lives. Their interchanging perspectives offer readers and adventurous escape into the past, with rapidly changing events and fascinating historical figures that shaped medieval Spain.

All her life, Fatima has sheltered in lavish palaces where danger has never intruded, until now. A precocious child and the unwitting pawn of her family, she soon learns how the union may determine her future and the fate of Granada. Her husband Faraj has his own qualms about their marriage. At a young age, he witnessed the deaths of parents and discovered how affluence and power offers little protection against indomitable enemies. Guilt and fears plague him. Determined to carve his own destiny, Faraj struggles to regain his lost inheritance and avenge his murdered family.

Throughout the rugged frontiers of southern Spain, the burgeoning Christian kingdoms in the north and the desert states of North Africa, Fatima and Faraj survive ruthless murderers and swift intrigues. They change and grow, establishing a powerful bond, often tested by opportunities for mistrust in an atmosphere of deceit and intrigue. Can they unite against common enemies bent on destroying the last Moorish dynasty in Spain?

Audiences that enjoy historical fiction with universal themes of passionate first love and hope against odds will find the romance in SULTANA appealing, but there are dark elements of danger and grittiness that enhance the sense of danger.


Wish me luck, as I wish you the same if you're entering ABNA.

Why authors should love history on TV, even bad history

Tonight one of my favorite franchises, Starz’s Spartacus debuts a new series, Gods of the Arena. I was seriously hooked on Spartacus: Blood and Sand last year - my Starz forum name is iluvcrixus (guess who my favorite character is!) I’m watching for more than the muscle-bound, gladiator eye candy on the screen, though it helps keep me entertained. The portrayal of decadence and vice in Roman society at every level fascinates me, as do the parallels between society today and in the past. I think shows like Spartacus find their niche among fans because the characters resonate with the audience for their good and bad qualities. Every genre fiction writer chases this elusive goal; building worlds and peopling them with memorable characters.

More importantly, historical pieces are good because they make certain periods familiar or easier to understand. Regardless of the quality in the dramatization, they allow people who might be less inclined to read about history to watch it instead. Adaptations like the more recent Pillars of the Earth miniseries, based on Ken Follett’s novel and Robert Graves’ I, Claudius in the 1970s allowed for visual representations of history. As a reader, I’m totally engaged by novels where scenes unfold as if they were on the screen, so it's not hard to understand why visuals may be more appealing than words on a page.

Even a poorly done version of history on television can spur interest in an author’s book. While most try to get it right, screenwriters face the same quandary as authors; how to keep the plot and characters entertaining, while preserving elements of a setting or ancient society. Where they fail, an author might and should do better with an accurate depiction of how life was in another era. The goal of entertaining the audience remains the same, regardless of the mode in which it’s delivered.

Now, I’m going to settle in for an hour of Gods of the Arena, and forget that Barca, the Beast of Carthage, really shouldn’t around in this series unless he’s just a hot 70-year old gladiator.

DIY with Kindle in 10 Steps

Amazon has a free Kindle download for anyone looking to self publish, Publish on Amazon Kindle with the Digital Text Platform. If you’re an Amazon user, it’s easy to set up your account, complete your author information and upload your JPEG-formatted cover. Remember, you don't need a Kindle to sell your books on Kindle. Amazon has several Kindle applications for various platforms, listed here.

It took me several tries, but I also found steps to ensure a successful upload of my novel on Kindle. Here's how I did it:

1) Open up your manuscript in Word and save it preferably under another name, differentiating it from the original document.

2) Format your new document to standard one inch margins, with single spaced lines. You may have to try several times with the indents; 0.4 - 0.5 inches were best preserved.

3) Remove and/or replace any fancy symbols you’ve used in the document for section breaks. I replaced mine with a simple diamond shape from the Wingdings font.

4) Remove the page numbers, which will not be preserved on a Kindle.

5) Turn on the formatting to view your paragraph marks. It will help you find any errors in the document; weird spacing, blank pages, etc.

6) Now, save the Word document as type: Web Page, filtered (*.htm, *.html).

7) You will receive a popup, “Saving in this format will remove Office specific tags...” Click Yes to save.

8) All formatting, including page breaks, will be invisible because Word displays the new HTML document in Web layout. Go to View, and then click Print Layout to ensure the page breaks are preserved.

9) Sign into Amazon DTP. Follow the steps to enter the product details, confirm rights etc. if you haven’t already completed this process.

10) At the Upload & Preview Book webpage, upload your HTML document. Don't forget to preview online.

That's it! Good luck with your Kindle publishing.  

#SampleSunday: Sultana's Legacy, Chapter Three

As promised, here's a sample chapter from Sultana's Legacy, which will be published in the fall.

Sultana's Legacy begins more than a decade after the events that ended in Sultana. My heroine Fatima faces greater conflicts. Her devotion to her father and husband remains the same, but the family dynamic is shifting, as in this scene:

Three: Fathers and Sons, Part II

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Dhu’l-Qada 691 AH (Granada, Andalusia: November 1292 CE)

Fatima stood alone in the upper storey apartments of her father, awaiting his arrival. She gripped his bejeweled khanjar. Lapis lazuli and gold filigree covered the dagger's leather sheath in ornate, swirling designs. She removed the weapon from its encasing. It had been her grandfather’s dagger. Her father kept it among the possessions he prized for display in his quarters. The metal felt cold but light against her palm. How many people had her grandfather killed with it?

“Are you contemplating murder, daughter?”

Startled by her father’s sudden appearance, her hand closed on the blade. He rushed to her and she opened her hand, revealing a long, bloody gash. He took the dagger, while she dipped her hand in the ornate fountain at the corner of the room. Afterward, she accepted a clean cloth and bound the wound.

“No more playing with daggers for you,” he said. “At least, not until I’m around to save you.”

She mimicked his animated smile, but her mood did not allow for levity. His expression smoothed. He must have sensed the tension roiling inside her.

“Your note was delivered to me just after my meeting with the council. What could be so urgent, Fatima? Has something happened to one of my grandchildren?”

“No, I have had no news from Malaka since my arrival a few days ago. Niranjan knows well enough to write if something is wrong with the children. They miss you and long to see you, again.”

He turned toward the fountain. “Fatima, you know my grandchildren are welcome at any time in Gharnatah.”

“Even if their father is not?”

Her shaking hand closed on his shoulder. He stiffened at her touch. Despite it, she willed courage into her voice.

“Father, this cannot continue. How long shall you remain at odds with my husband?”

He scowled into the basin of the fountain. The ripples of water made the reflection of his face appear blurred and older than his fifty-eight years. Years had passed since they last saw each other, but was it so long that he should now seem decrepit to her eyes?

“Fatima, do not speak of matters that do not concern you.”

She shook her head. “How can you say so? You are my father and Faraj is my husband. Both of you are the two men I love most in this world.”

“His actions have shamed me before the Marinids. I cannot ask you to choose between your father and your husband. You must decide.”

He shuffled toward his writing desk and sank down on the cushioned stool with a grunt. She eyed him through vision blurred by unshed tears.

The years had changed him. His anger rose swiftly these days. He had even shouted at Shams ed-Duna yesterday evening, after her cook burnt his favorite dish of chicken with herbs. Although he apologized later to his queen with a gift of a turquoise and gold filigree necklace, Fatima had never seen her stepmother so hurt.

Over his shoulder, he asked, “Did you come home only to plead for forgiveness for your husband?”

She stared at his rigid back. “No. There is something else. Father, I have always trusted your judgment….”

He turned to her and raised a dismissive hand. “Then, trust it in matters concerning your husband. Consider him lucky that he lives and remains the governor of Malaka. If he were any other man, I would have had him executed for his defiance. It is my right.”

Fatima nodded and bowed before him, though her heart pounded a tattoo behind her chest. He gestured toward a carved cedar stool beside his seat. She settled next to him, gathering the silken folds of her jubba around her. Her stomach knotted and she drew a deep breath before speaking.

“Father, I must talk with you about the Crown Prince.”

He raised one dark russet-colored eyebrow in a questioning slant. “Your brother? What mischief has Muhammad done now?”

“He has done nothing wrong.”

How her heart lurched and tore at that lie, but Muhammad’s petty actions the day before paled in enormity to the risk he posed to her father’s entire legacy.

“Father, you know I would not speak ill against my own brother without just cause. I am concerned for Muhammad and the throne he shall inherit.”

She stood and paced for a time. Her father’s watchful gaze followed her. “Fatima, speak plainly.”

She gathered strength from his obvious interest. If he did not care what she thought, he would have dismissed her curtly without entertaining further discussion. He deserved the truth, even if she went against her stepmother and Nur al-Sabah’s objections. She had to protect them and her father. None of them knew the sort of man Muhammad truly was, but she did. Her own brother had tried to murder her and her unborn son. A man who could do that to a once beloved sister was capable of anything.

“Muhammad should be dearer to me than the sons of Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, because he is the only son of my mother.” She paused, gauging his reaction. When he gave her a look of uneasy puzzlement, she rushed on. “Still, I have long suspected that his reckless nature as a child would make him a dangerous man. He cannot follow you on the throne of Gharnatah.”

Her father stood. “You want me to deny my eldest son the succession? Do you forget the traditions my late father established, that it is the eldest son who should rule?”

Although his tone was even, the words belied his expression; a knitted brow, the veins in his neck standing out in livid ridges while his eyes raked over her face.

“My grandfather chose you as his successor because you are a wise and good man. You have always held the conviction to do what is right and the humility to admit when you are wrong. My brother does not have these qualities. He is not fit to rule.”

He slumped on his seat again, shaking his head. “You have requested an audience only to tell me who should sit on my throne? You dare much, my daughter.”

“Father, I mean no disrespect.”

His gaze narrowed. “Yet, you show me much the same, as your own husband did some years ago in this very place! His bad habits have affected you, too.”

Mistrust darkened his expression. She had seen that look before, directed at other people.

“Do you deny that Muhammad is unpredictable?”

“He is my son, as you are my daughter! Have you no loyalty, even to him, now? Is your only duty to your husband?”

“Father, this matter we speak of has naught to do with the conflict between you and Faraj. The future of your country is at stake. Would you see your son destroy your legacy of learning and just laws, out of some misplaced sentiment towards him?”

“Misplaced sentiment!” His voice thundered through the room. “You dare call my love for him ‘misplaced sentiment’ and expect me to listen. I thought you knew my heart and the honor with which I still revere his mother….”

“She is gone, Father. Gone! Do you think ‘A’isha would know a mother’s love and pride in Muhammad?”

“She never loved him! She never loved anyone of you! She abandoned you for the sake of the Ashqilula. Or, do you forget that, too?”

She turned away, as memories flooded her mind. Now that she was a mother, she understood the complexity of a parent’s emotions. If anything, her experiences as a child had taught her to show each of her children her devotion, so that they might always be certain of her love.

“It is the past, Father, it cannot be undone. ‘A’isha’s son does not honor you. Muhammad squanders the privileges you have given him. If he succeeds you, he shall make a mockery of every achievement you have attained.”

She knelt before him and grasped his hand. He pulled it away, but she reached for him, again. “I do not make these claims with an easy heart, or take pleasure in my warnings. Muhammad can never become Sultan of Gharnatah. If you love your people, if you love this land of your children’s birth, do not allow pride and emotion to sway you. Your great father taught you that the future of Gharnatah is all that matters. If you would see the prosperity of this state continue, do not let Muhammad inherit. Do not leave such a legacy.”

He closed his eyes, blotting out the sight of her. She willed him to open them again, but he did not.

“Father, please think upon all I have said.”

“You have said quite enough, Fatima. Leave me now, before I forget that you are the daughter I have loved and treasured above all your sisters. Just as you have forgotten that I am your honored father, and your duty owed to me.”

She raised the hem of his jubba to her lips and forehead. He opened his eyes then, but stared straight at the alabaster wall, his face like a statue carved of stone. She rose and left him. The door closed with a resounding thud at her back.


Please leave a comment or re-tweet, if you liked this scene. Thanks.

New Voices

I love this community of writers. Writers are giving and nurturing. Over many years, I've met so many talented writers and new friendships have blossomed that enriched my life. It's also added sobering perspective on why it's so hard for new authors to break in, especially when there is so much talent out there.

Starting this month, during the last week of every month, the blog will feature New Voices, with debut authors across multiple genres and with varied interests. It will be a chance to promote new writers, and give back to the community of writers that has given me so much.

This month's New Voice will be Mirella Patzer, author of the Blighted Troth, which will be available next month.

If you're interested in a guest post on New Voices, contact me.

"Who are these crazy people?" - The Nasrids of Granada

One of my beta readers for Sultana received the synopsis last night and emailed me, asking, "Who are these crazy people?" The Moorish historical figures in my next novel weren't crazy, per se. I'll admit one of them was definitely nuts but for the most part, the rest just had lots of family issues. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

The Moors were Islamic people who invaded the Iberian Peninsula, beginning in the eighth century. Two centuries later, the Spanish Christians had had enough. They were determined to drive out the Moors. By the thirteenth century, only the Nasrid dynasty remained, nestled in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The first Nasrid ruler, Muhammad, was born in 1191, eldest among four brothers. Moorish Spain encompassed the lower half of the Iberian Peninsula. The family of Hud governed a large part of Muhammad's home base, but he was what I like to call ambitious, so he decided on a regime change. He rebelled and soon conquered principal cities, including Guadix in 1232, Granada in 1237, Almeria the following year, and Malaga by 1239. In 1238, Muhammad began construction on his palace in the capital of Granada, which has since become one of the finest examples of Islamic architecture in the West, the Alhambra. If you've never seen it, it's well worth the trip. A few years back, it was under consideration as one of the new Seven Wonders of the World.

Muhammad had some help in his conquests from powerful allies, the Ashqilula family. They had a nice working relationship, lots of intermarriage between the two families. The only problem with ambitious people is sometimes they don't always share the wealth. The Ashqilula were about to find that out the hard way. When Muhammad wasn't building the Alhambra or stamping out his rivals, he was raising four sons, the eldest of whom he chose to rule after him. The Ashqilula didn't appreciate that choice and rebelled against him. He laid siege to Malaga, one of the cities they governed, in 1266. That pretty much ensured the end to their alliance. A brutal civil war erupted that divided Moorish Spain for several years even after Muhammad's death in 1273. Eventually Muhammad's son, named for his father, dealt with the Ashqilula. That didn't mean things were any better within his family.

The first Muhammad's descendants were just as ambitious as him.  You could say, he set the example and they just followed suit, taking whatever and whomever they wanted. Even if that meant getting their hands a little bloody. At least fourteen of Granada's subsequent rulers were dethroned or murdered, usually by members of their own family. Muhammad III poisoned his father, Muhammad II.  When one of his jailers tried to show mercy to his father's imprisoned servants by bringing them something to drink, Muhammad III cut the jailer's throat and let the blood spray his prisoner's faces. He was definitely the psycho of the bunch, but most of his relatives weren't any better.

Nasr I dethroned Muhammad III, his own half-brother and eventually blinded and killed him. Muhammad II's grandson Ismail was stabbed to death by his cousin in a quarrel over a slave girl. Two of Ismail’s sons, Muhammad IV and Yusuf I, also met violent deaths. When Yusuf's son Muhammad V came to power, his stepmother, half-sister, and her husband conspired and drove him into exile in Morocco. Muhammad V recovered his throne, but his descendants rarely held it for very long. His grandson Muhammad IX lost and regained the Alhambra at least four times during a span of thirty-five years. Also, the jealous mother of Muhammad XII encouraged her son to rebel against his father, Abu'l-Hasan Ali, because the ruler favored his Christian wife and her children. The dynasty came to a close in 1492, more than two violent centuries after it had begun.

Who wouldn't want to write about a crazy family like that?

Everything has its price...

...Especially when you're requesting permission for artwork by an artist that's been dead for over a hundred years. The following says it all:

"For print-on-demand books, the license must specify a maximum number of copies to be printed within a particular time frame. A standard license reads as such: "ONE-TIME NON-EXCLUSIVE WORLDWIDE ENGLISH LANGUAGE PRINT RIGHTS FOR A PERIOD OF FIVE (5) YEARS FROM THE FIRST PUBLICATION (PRINT RUN=UP TO 3,000)." The front cover use fee is $450. There is a surcharge (+$150 per image) to use the images in ebook format for a period of up to ten years only. All images used online must be displayed at a maximum resolution of 72 dpi. All future editions, reprints, translations, or formats (including electronic media) must be negotiated separately. We require that one gratis copy of each book be sent to our office upon publication."

Sigh. The search continues.

#SampleSunday: Sultana Chapter Twenty-Six

In the last excerpt from my upcoming novel, Sultana, Fatima learns something unexpected about her future:

Chapter Twenty-Six: A Great Divide

Princess Fatima

Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Rabi ath-Thani 677 AH (Granada, Andalusia: September AD 1278)

Fatima endured seven weeks of bitter silence, during which she received no word from Faraj. Her father shared the daily dispatches on the reclamation of the port at al-Jazirah al-Khadra and the defense against the Castillans. Still, no word arrived of her husband’s fate. She retreated into a shell of suffering, filled with self-recrimination. The remembrance of his final words offered little comfort in the emptiness of their bedchamber at night.

“Too often we have stood upon this point. I leave, and you wonder what will become of me. Keep the peace of my house. I shall return soon. Wherever I am, you are in my thoughts and my heart, always.”

On the first cool day of the waning summer, Sultana Shams ed-Duna insisted she accompany her, and the kadin Nur al-Sabah, to the souk of Gharnatah. The queen of Gharnatah would not accept Fatima’s initial refusal.

After prayers, the trio, in the company of Niranjan, the palace guard and some servants, took the route down the Sabika hill and across the bridge of the Hadarro River. The Qaysariyya marketplace spread across the dun-brown plain at the south of the city, extending from the foot of the Sabika hill to the red brick walls of Gharnatah. Jewish and Christian merchants plied their trade alongside their Moorish counterparts, the local goldsmiths, armories, shoemakers, blacksmiths, and textile makers.

The Sultan’s guards jostled everyone and made a clear path for the women. Fatima shrank from the resentful gazes of those displaced by the guards' rough handling. She kept close to Shams ed-Duna and Nur al-Sabah, who doggedly haggled with the market sellers, while their slaves idled alongside the narrow streets and alleyways. Merchants offered slaves for faraway lands, bartering away their lives as easily as the silk, leather goods, brocades and ivory, and olive oil sold in the souk.

The stench of piss and offal vied with ambergris, musk and incense from a nearby stall. Fatima gripped her stomach, as a wave of dizziness overcame her.

The kadin frowned at her. “Are you unwell?”

“I hadn’t expected it to be so crowded, or smell so bad.”

“Look, it’s a symbol of the Nauar.” Shams pointed to a burnished copper wheel dangling from the tent post under a faded, blue awning. “I have not seen one since I left Fés el-Bali.”

Nur al-Sabah peered over her shoulder. “Hmm, the Gypsies. Is it true they foretell the future?”

Fatima shook her head. “What nonsense they must teach in Christian households. The Nauar speak only in riddles to confuse and delude the mind.”

Shams asked, “How can you be so certain? Have you ever been to one?”

Fatima replied, “I wouldn’t dare. Sorcery and divination is the work of the court astrologer. Ask him anything you’d like. I’m sure Father wouldn’t object.”

Then, a heavily veiled woman followed by two eunuchs exited the shop. One of the slaves pressed two silver dirhams into the olive brown hand of a little girl with bulging, black eyes. She took the coins and disappeared into the tent. The other eunuch handed his mistress a silken kerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, before bustling through the marketplace, her slaves following.

“I’d like to go in.” Nur al-Sabah cupped the roundness of her belly jutting beneath the green silk robe. “The court astrologer has promised another girl, but I know the Sultan wants a son. Perhaps the Nauar will know for certain.”

Fatima sniffed at this and looked away momentarily. She did not resent Nur al-Sabah’s desire, but what did her father need with more sons, when he already had her brother Muhammad and now Shams ed-Duna’s boy?

Shams ed-Duna tugged at her hand. “Come with us, Fatima. What harm can there be?”

She pulled away. “Absolutely not! I forbid it.”

Shams ed-Duna chuckled and Nur al-Sabah rolled her eyes.

Fatima gritted her teeth together, and then expelled a sighing breath. “Very well, I’ll indulge you both in this foolishness. Come, let us see this fraud.”

They crossed the street, avoiding refuse and excrement, while a cadre of the guards and their servants surrounded the stall. Niranjan held aside the low curtain hanging over the entryway. Fatima glanced at him briefly, but he averted his eyes from her. She entered first and asked the little girl with black eyes for the fortune-teller. She led them behind a cloth curtain and gestured to the lone seat at a table.

Behind it, a shriveled figure with lips drawn tight over her teeth peered at them in silence. A ring of seashells, all oddly shaped, encompassed the edge of the table, with one black pebble in the center. Fatima grinned at this at this poor mockery of mystic symbolism, but Shams ed-Duna urged her forward.

The gypsy woman bowed her head. “Peace be with you.”

Fatima asked, “And with you. Are you the one who speaks of the future?”

“Do you wish to know the future, noble one?”

Ignoring Nur al-Sabah’s gasp, Fatima leaned forward. “Why do you call me that, ‘noble one’?”

“It is what you are.” The woman turned to the girl hovering at her side. Whispering in some language other than Arabic, she waved the girl away. The child soon returned with a cup of fragrant tea, which the woman offered to Fatima. “It will not harm you.”

Fatima glared at her companions, both of whom nodded. She drank the brew, bitter to the tongue at first, but sweeter as she continued. She finished and handed the cup to the woman, who said, “If you would swirl the cup, noble one?"

Fatima gritted her teeth, but complied. She set the vessel down with an abrupt clank. A few of the ground leaves clung to the sides and bottom. Her gaze fixed on the woman who nodded. “We must wait for the tea leaves to settle.”

Shams pressed a hand against Fatima's arm. “Be patient.”

After an interim, the gypsy asked, “What it is you wish to know, noble one?”

“Tell me what you see,” Fatima countered.

The woman stared into the cup, and after a brief interval, she pronounced, “The future of Gharnatah lies within you.”

Fatima smiled at her companions. “You see? An answer, if I can call it such, without meaning. Just as I expected.” She stood and looked down her nose at the gypsy. “Can your leaves tell you anything about me?”

“Nothing you would believe, princess of Gharnatah,” the woman stated.

Nur al-Sabah pecked at her arm, but Fatima stilled her and leaned toward the gypsy. “Why do you call me a princess?”

“It is what you are. The future of Gharnatah lies within you. Already you carry one of its heirs in your womb, your son, who will become the Sultan of Gharnatah.”

Shams ed-Duna pressed her hand against Fatima’s shoulder, but she shrugged her stepmother off. “If you knew anything of me, you would know that no child of mine could ever be Sultan. It’s treason to suggest it, when the Sultan already has an heir. Besides, I should know if I am with child before anyone else.”

“I speak only of what I see, noble one. You are a princess of Gharnatah. You carry a son. One day, he will become the Sultan. Such is the fate that awaits you, whether you would wish it or not.”


As always, feel free to leave a comment or re-tweet if you liked this excerpt. Thank you for visiting the blog. I hope you've enjoyed these scenes from Sultana as much as I've enjoyed writing them. I've used them to show how my heroine Fatima has a great destiny before her. The final flowering of the last Moorish Dynasty to rule in Spain owes some of its remarkable longevity to her actions. Previous excerpts are available here, here and here. Join me next week for another #SampleSunday, with excerpts from the sequel, Sultana's Legacy.

Choose that Cover: Sultana

I haven't made up my mind as to the final choice of a cover image for Sultana. Would you like to help me? Here's why the choice is so hard:

Do you agonize over book covers? Have you ever been dazzled by the gorgeous dress of some headless woman or a hunky hero on horseback, and knowing nothing beyond the blurb, rushed headlong to buy the book? Or, have you looked at a cover and assumed that the dreadful imagery and the barely legible typeface meant the book couldn't be an interesting read?

I'm outing myself as an obsessive, cover snob. "Don't judge a book by its cover" - good advice, but impossible. Over decades of reading, I know the exact type of cover that will attract me. Readers have developed expectations based on the cover. The gorgeous dress on a headless woman has been a staple of historical fiction for years, allowing readers to identify the genre on sight alone even before they browse the content.  A good book cover should do several things all at once. The author's name and title should be paramount. It should be appealing. Most importantly, it should convey key elements of the story; something about the setting, characters, key conflict or theme, or the genre. Even the color of the background can be useful to convey the mood.

For my upcoming novels, I'm working with cover artist Lance Ganey again. He did a brilliant job with my first novel, and even those who don't like it have loved the cover. I have very precise ideas in mind for the mood I want to convey. The setting is medieval Spain during its exotic Moorish period, and the themes are dark. While there are gorgeous stock photos out there, they were too modern to really convey story elements. I've decided to go with royalty-free art from the 19th century Orientalists. Most of the artists painted a very Westernized view of Ottoman life in Turkey and Algiers, but their work captures the right mood.

At the outset of Sultana, my heroine is a young princess surrounded by luxury, but her family is beset on all sides by their enemies. Her marriage has precipitated a thirteen-year civil war. I'm looking for an image that conveys a sense of her youth and station in life, but also has a sombre background hinting at the dangers surrounding her. I've sent a few high resolution images to Lance, including:

A Jewish Girl of Tangiers, Charles Landelle  

In The Dressing Room, Ettore Simonetti

La Belle Orientale, Charles Louis Lucien Muller

La Jeune Mauresque, Frederick Arthur Bridgman

The Final Decision, Edouard Frederic Wilhelm Richter

A few favorites won't make the cut unless I locate a high resolution version:

After The Bath, Rudolf Ernst

An Oriental Beauty, Jean Francois Portaels

Guard of the Harem, Rudolf Ernst

Sigh. It's frustrating because some of these latter images are just perfect. Of the high resolution ones, I have a rough idea of which is not quite right, but I'm curious about what others think.

Tell me your choice for a potentail cover image of Sultana and why. Thanks for your help, and for stopping by the blog.