Words are Worth more than Money
I often find myself rationalizing to my friends and family the reasons I chose to study English and be a writer. I sigh and suffer through the raised eyebrows and judgmental glances as I try to justify my choices. Generally, most of these justifications involve demonstrating that some people have been able to make substantial livings off this career. I convincingly list facts and figures, but the fact is that deep down I don’t mean any of it. Although I am an extremely ambitious person, I never consciously chose to be a writer. Who in their right mind would do such a thing? If one intends to make money, there are many better ways; there are more direct, immediate, respectable, or notorious ways. No one chooses to be a writer with the goal of making a fortune in mind, although they may hope for that to be an incidental benefit.
Writing chose me, sinking its teeth in when I was just a hatchling. It’s impossible to perfectly describe why storytelling is in my blood and my bones, but I know that if I stop writing even for a moment I become terribly depressed. I can’t help but
continue, almost as if it might be an addiction or an illness. When I receive positive feedback from readers I feel vindicated. The sheer joy of touching someone else’s life is matchless. Readers may grow more intimate with themselves while reading, examining their own minds and living through the eyes and experiences of the characters. They leave the book having gained something far more than entertainment, just as I leave the book having gained something far more than money. Literature is not just about learning—it has a special and
spiritual quality that I cannot explain. It’s about giving and receiving something intangible, and making a connection.
There are many motivational clichés about reading: it’s good for
the soul and it makes you a better person. I have faith in all of these sayings, however silly they sound. At this moment in my life I spend every day writing, and I feel more content and fulfilled than ever before. Each time someone tells me they loved my story, I feel invincible and nothing else matters. Perhaps every single thing I’ve done has been wrong—(and it probably was) but this is right. I don’t believe in much, but I know I’m meant to write.
by Nadia Scrieva
Deep under Arctic waters lies an ice kingdom carved into a glacier. Those who dwell within it possess magnificent biological secrets. Due to the dangers of impending war, the Princess of Adlivun is forced to flee her undersea utopia and regroup with her sisters in Alaska.
Captain Trevain Murphy is a successful king crab fisherman who has spent his life building his empire above the sea, and knows nothing of the empire beneath it. When he meets a mysterious dancer whose father has recently died, he extends kindness towards her, unaware of her unique genetics and royal lineage.
Trevain's attraction to the enigmatic Aazuria Vellamo will involve him in dangerous designs that will forever change his life, and his perspective on himself and his world. He embarks on perilous journeys in which he will need to release all of his
insecurities and inhibitions in order to survive.
When she could no longer rest her face on the frozen carpet, she forced herself to cease her sniveling and straighten into seiza. She was still on her knees, but not in the same pathetic way as before. She was on her knees not as a servant, but as an equal. Not as a beggar, but as a warrior. Aazuria closed her eyes. She imagined her organs untangling themselves from their knotted, jumbled mess and aligning themselves properly. She imagined the natural ease with which her breath and energy traveled through her body; all the channels which had been blocked with the rocks and lumber of anguish and the caulk of vitriol opened one by one as she willed it. She sat for hours more in long solitude and reflection, until she felt healed.
She opened her eyes and saw the small sheet of ice on the carpet that had been created by her tears. She smiled at it, knowing that she had cried all the weakness and negativity out of her system. She looked up at her father’s body, and she smiled at him too..
by Nadia Scrieva
There is no divorce in the undersea kingdom of Adlivun. Marriage is a
bond that lasts until death—even if death comes in several centuries, and in that time your spouse happens to become your sworn enemy. This is the conflict
that General Visola Ramaris faces when she learns that the mighty Vachlan is behind the attacks on her kingdom. She has sworn to protect Adlivun with her life, but long ago, she also swore to love and honor her husband...
Visola must choose whether she will destroy Vachlan once and for all, or attempt the hardest thing conceivable: communication. After two hundred years of desertion, she has no faith in their feeble bond and knows she can never forgive him. When he threatens the person dearest to her, she must take action.
Confronting Vachlan on enemy territory would be nothing short of suicide. She knows that if she falls into his custody, the deranged man would relish breaking her down and making her lose her sanity.
Princess Aazuria forbids Visola from taking matters into her own hands; she will do anything it takes to protect her friend from the man who wants to crush her. Alas, Visola is a crazy, uncontrollable warrior woman with the blood of Vikings in her veins. Why would she ever consider doing the safe and
She could see that Aazuria was tossing around a silver ball in a giant fountain of blood. Sometimes the princess even juggled
two or three balls. Visola had not known that her friend could juggle. When she grew bored with watching the circus animals splash around in the fountain of blood behind Aazuria, she turned her eyes to the sky, which was quieter. She sighed peacefully as she tried to listen for anything the stars might be trying to tell her.
One star tried to whisper, but it was too far away, and Visola told it to speak up. It agreed, and said it would also come closer. The star left the sky and began to travel toward her. As it approached, growing larger and larger, she realized that it was not a star at all, but a great phoenix. The bird’s body was made of red and gold flame, and it approached at an alarmingly rapid rate. The contrast of the bright red flames against the dark night sky was striking and terrifying.
The bird seemed to take a breath as its cavernous eyes widened; it let out a huge screech as it expelled fire from its lungs in a massive river of lava. Visola gasped, and tried to get out of the way. She found that she was attached to the ground by her wrist. She tugged and tugged, but she could not get free and the lava was heading straight for her.
Nadia Scrieva was born in 1988 in Toronto, Canada. She studied English and
Anthropology, graduating with an Honors B.A. from the University of Toronto in 2011. She likes knives.
Writing has been the most meaningful part of her life
since she was a child. Nadia loves receiving feedback from readers, so do not hesitate to contact her with any of your comments, questions, ideas, or just to say hello.
Thank you Nadia for visiting today! Readers, don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win! Nadia will giving away an eBook copy of Drowning Mermaids to one randomly drawn commenter at every blog stop.
Please leave your email in your comment so that she can contact you. If you would like to enter at many stops to increase your chances to win please follow the tour at: