This is my blog. When I want to take a break from writing my fantasy series, StarDust, I come here and throw some random thoughts on the page just to see what sticks. Writers need to do that now and then, clear out the cogs, because no matter how much you love the current work-in-progress, there are always other pesky ideas clamoring to get out. But you won’t see my series, StarDust, among the blog stories because until it gets published, it’s under wraps. If you want to know more about the Stardust saga or what DrakaenWood is, then you have to click on the STARDUST link. See it? Right there on the side of the page, below HOME.

This blog is also a place for us, you and I, to chat. Your thoughts are always welcome, maybe you have some cogs you want to clear out, too. In my opinion, listening is just as important as telling, and any writer worth their salt knows that.

Thanks for stopping by, and come back often. There's always some new thing mugging for attention, and your visits quiet the squawkers so I can get some real work done. ;)


by D. D. Falvo on June 25, 2012 | @ddfalvo

Hello fellow blog-hoppers! Welcome to my website. 🙂

I have two queries for your consideration. One for my series, StarDust, and one for the first book, Lumen. Your feedback is much appreciated, so thanks for coming by. I’m really looking forward to returning the favor, and learning more about what you’ve been up to as well. Thank you to Heather Webb for creating yet another fun contest! For those of you not participating in the hop, be sure to check out Heather’s writer blog, Between The Sheets There’s lots of good stuff inside.

Query for Lumen (first novel)   FINAL CONTEST UPDATE  SUBMITTED: 06-29-12

Copper Erikson is a national pariah, subjected to a court-ordered procedure that leaves her barren. Dan Keller is the heir who turned his back on the Noble community, for the love of  her. Desperate for a child of their own, the couple accepts a baby from a mysterious stranger, but the child, Arianne, is no ordinary little girl. That’s a problem in a country like Edo, where the wrong birthright is a capitol offense—and now her hair is glowing.

The mercenary, Rhys Anders, is framed for murder and saddled with a toddler. The rugged tracker wants to foist his unwanted charge, Michael, on anyone else, but that changes when the wolf packs bow obeisance to the boy. Realizing that Michael is the true target of the danger following them, Rhys has a decision to make—give up everything he loves to keep Michael safe, or hand him over to an uncertain fate.

Neither the Kellers, or Rhys Anders, have any idea their world is on the brink of a supernatural war, or that the best hope for survival is in their guiding hands.

The two orphaned children, Michael and Arianne, are Lumens—celestial beings reborn in human form, and all that stands between dark reaper and his conquest of life on Earth. From the moment of their birth, they are hunted for the power they hold inside. Too young for their destiny, fate has placed them with the guardians best suited to protect them. It’s a quick learning curve for the Kellers, and Rhys. Their troubled lives are further upturned as they dodge daemons, outwit lemmings, and defy national rule all for the love of a child, not their own. And it nearly falls apart as each has to face their deepest fears to keep the children alive, because sometimes the daemon within is more deadly than the one without.


Query for StarDust (epic) (Not certain, but since this my over-arching premise, I believe this would be presented in a follow-up to the query– right?)

They are star-born soul mates from another realm. She came to save us. He came for her, pulled by a love that defies space and time.

Since the beginning of time, Lumens have battled Daemons in the celestial realm—the light and the dark wrestling for territory and the future of mankind. In a final bid for victory, the ancient warmonger and Master of Death, Zed, has brought the eternal battle to Earth, and with that, power so great it changes natural order. The rules of engagement are clear: to preserve the balance, each challenger must bind himself to the earthly realm. The winner-take-all fight is high stakes for the contending Lumens, for if Zed triumphs, Earth and all that it holds will become his, and the only thing he wants more than human annihilation is the power gained by devouring a living star.

To walk among us, the immortal couple must live as one of us—enduring a rebirth that subdues their unchecked power, locking all memory, purpose, and ability deep within, leaving them vulnerable. They must rely on their Earthly guardians for survival, a difficult feat for the humans raising them, who have no idea what evil stalks their every move. To defeat the dark conqueror, the Lumens must survive long enough to mine the waking power within, remember who and what they are, and then find each other—all before Zed finds them first—and in the epic battle between salvation and eternal death . . . Death cheats.

If they fail, prepare for hell on Earth.




by D. D. Falvo on June 10, 2012 | @ddfalvo

On hiatus for June and working on Lumen while participating in Camp Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month.)  See you soon! 🙂




by D. D. Falvo on May 18, 2012 | @ddfalvo

She was warm and wiggly, and wore a chewed, purple ribbon around her neck. That first night, she shivered in my arms and cried all the way home. Over the next fifteen years, she never did learn to like the car . . . unless it was parked with an open door or window, then it was great fun to hop in and make herself at home— digging for gum or stowed candies. A workman’s lunch if she was lucky. But she never wanted the car to move with her inside of it. Trips to the vet were tortuous, for us. Her non-stop yelp was a pitch just below the glass-breaking decibel. She would paw at anything within reach, including me, and send enough fur flying to make blankets for all the homeless in Manhattan. Oh. Did I forget to mention the drool? That flew too.

“What should we name her?” Mike asked. This is my husband’s first dog; if left up to him, he would choose “Buzz” or “Scooter.” I panic and search my mind for something . . . less “Dick and Jane Name their Mutt.”

Our youngest daughter, Lauren, remembers a similar conversation. “Are we going to name her Bonnie?” she asks.

Bonnie is the name we gave the cute collie pup in the local pet shop—the one that was already in someone else’s arms the day we went back to buy her.

“This little girl deserves a fresh name,” I said. “I like Killian, like her mom.” There are cheers from the backseat as our two daughters agree.

“Like the beer?” Mike said, warming up to the suggestion. That’s not a surprise, he likes beer and it turns out that Killian will, too. He tries the name out. “Killian’s Irish Red. Well, she’s Irish and she’s red— it makes sense.”

“Erm. We can do better,” I said. “How about Lady Killian?”

“Of Morningstar,” Mike said, adding the name of our street. “Lady Killian of Morningstar.”

It looked great on her pedigree certificate— but we rarely used it. Instead, we called her Poofy, or Fuff, or Foofie, or Killie-Willian, or assorted combinations of the aforementioned. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it was the way the hair on her knobby head stuck up after a good run. Or the fact that we love dumb monikers— we call our cat ‘Pie.’ Either way, the endearments suited her. She was a silly dog who confounded us with her human-like sensitivity and crazy-stubborn attitude.

It’s been nearly two years since we lost her, and I miss her still— her big, stupid grin with the tongue lolling down to her knees, the way the fur on her ears felt like silk, or the solid weight of her muscled body leaning in for a hug. Sweet and dopey, lovable and obnoxious, she never failed to make an impression. She embraced the world on her terms and seized the day, wringing pleasure out of each opportunity available to her:

“Uh . . . Mrs. Falvo? Can I get a PBJ from you? Your dog just ate my lunch.”  ~ Carpenter

“OMG. Your dog climbed through the window on my truck and stole my sandwich.” ~ Mohawk Nursery Landscapers

“Uh . . . Mrs. Falvo? Your dog is eating my soda cup. Is that okay? It won’t hurt her, will it?” ~ Lawn Service Company

“Nope, she definitely ate it. Look at her. She put herself in the crate— and see how distended her belly is?” ~ Michael, on solving the mystery of the missing 2 #’s of beef stew.

“She is so skinny. Don’t you ever feed this dog?” ~ Acquaintances upon meeting her for the 1st time.

“No problem . . . your mail’s right here and we’ll get that forwarded to you right away . . . btw your carrier said to tell you he really misses your dog.” ~ Sparta Post Office after our move to Hinsdale.

“Hi Denise! Is Killian there with you? I just saw a red blur go streaking past my window.” Connie MacIntyre-Reed, over the phone.

“I had to carry her back. The snow kept clumping up in her paws.” ~ Michael, on Killian’s first winter walk at 4 months old.

“Go potty. Go potty . . . go potty go potty gopotty gopottygopottygopottygopotty GO POTTY NOW!” ~ Pre-electric fence, in the rain, in the dark, around midnight and at about 30 degrees.

“It’s okay . . . just keep driving, she always gets out of the way . . . you won’t hit her.” ~ On welcoming every visiting car head-on in the circle driveway, and then parading ahead and leading them all the way in.

“Mike? Honey? We need to get more grass seed . . . she’s worn a rut at the top of the hill again.”

“Noooo! Mom! She won’t get her face out of the popcorn bowl!” ~ Lauren

“Mom! Make her stop. She keeps stealing our side walk chalk and eating it.“ ~ Kali

“Mom! The goose is naked again. I don’t know where she left the clothes this time . . . all I could find was the hat.”

“Nah, I only give her the brown ones. She spits the other colors out.” ~ The “Treat Lady” jogger, as she fished in her pocket for the correct color treat.

“Why does your dog always sit backwards on top of the hill?”
“Did you know that your dog sits with her back to road?”
“Why does Killian watch for cars from over her shoulders?”
“Oh my gosh. I just figured it out. It’s the incline. She falls backwards if she faces front, doesn’t she?” ~ Sparta Neighbors

“I gotta go, hun. You caught me unloading groceries when you called. I think the dog slipped out when I answered the phone. Yep . . . she just jumped into the back of the SUV and found the bags . . . oh, crap, she’s devouring the roast beef I bought for dinner.” ~ Denise

“She could’ve had it but she just stopped short. I think she realized she wouldn’t know what to do if she caught it.” ~ Michael, on chasing squirrels.

“Don’t worry about Killian. She’s doing great. She loves running around in the outdoor play area but she won’t go near the pond . . . we think she’s afraid of the fish.” ~ The Pet Spa

“She’s in the basement again. She’s still afraid of the cat.”

“She won’t stop barking at the pool . . . she thinks the automatic cleaner is a monster.”

“Seriously? Now she’s afraid of her water bowl? So what is she drinking then?”

“Is it alright if she drinks the pool water?”

“She likes beer.”

“She’s drinking out of the bird fountain again. Do you think that’s why the birds won’t use it?”

“Mom? She’s drinking the rain water from the bucket outside with the weeds in it.”

“No. You cannot have my coffee.”

“Yeah, once she got it open he decided to let her keep it . . . she likes chewing on the bottle.” ~ Service guy commenting on the loss of his partner’s water bottle.

“Huh! Guess she likes flavored water.” ~ Michael, on Killian’s persistence in drinking out of anything but her own bowl.

“She had to go through the fence. How the hell did she squeeze through that four inch gap?” ~ Michael

“Do NOT pet her . . . it will become your permanent job for as long as you’re here.”

“I love driving past your house just to see her go nuts.” ~ Mike Reed, on taking out his motorcycle.

“Of course, she opens her own Christmas presents. We taught her the first year and she’s done it ever since.”
“Mom! She’s opening everybody’s Christmas presents!”

“Shake, shake, shake; shake, shake, shake. Ok. Wait. Wait. Ready? Run!” On getting out of the shower, towel dried, and then joyfully running loose.

“She’s in the basement again. I think she’s afraid of Watson.” On Killian’s whereabouts while the family watched the Bonventre’s new puppy for a week.

“Aw, look at her. She’s so sweet. She always does that when we visit . . . I think she misses him.“ ~ Kelly Bonventre on Killian’s submissive posture when confronting Watson.

“She’s so sweet. Look at her. She’s always so happy every time I see her. Killian! Would you like another homemade peanut butter treat?” ~ Karen Carter, next-door neighbor in Hinsdale.

“Ugh! Killian! Get off my homework.”
“Get off the couch!”
“Get out of that car . . . that’s not ours.”
“Ouch! Get off the bed.”
“What are you doing? Get out from under there.”
“Oomph. Get off my lap.”

“Killian? Come.”
“Kil-eee-aaaan. Come here. Please come here. Please don’t do this. C’mon. Please-please-please.”
“Ugh. Dammit. Get over here… NOW. RIGHT NOW.”
“Fine. You can stay out all night for all I care.”

“Stop that. That’s gross.”
“Stop licking me, fish-breath.”
“Ouch! Stop stepping on my feet, you clod.”

“When that dog finally stops running, she’s gonna sit for a l-o-o-o-n-g time.” ~ Christine Zadrozny, next-door neighbor in Sparta.

“Killian? Where are you?” 🙁

5 Chocolate Cupcakes
2# Beef Stew
1.5# Deli Sliced Roast Beef
2# Salmon Filet
I Loaf Homemade Banana Bread

MOST IMPRESSIVE: Stealing chicken stir fry right out of the hot pan while it was cooking on the stove.

Monsters in the Sewers
Fish in the Lake
The Automatic Pool Cleaner
Riding in a Car
Her waterbowl

Milk Bones

Walking with Michael.
Anything else with Michael.
Eating anything, but her own food.
Running after sports cars, motorcycles, and large trucks.
Running around the lake.
Laying on anything soft.

A good “outside” day.

Biggest water bowl.




by D. D. Falvo on May 12, 2012 | @ddfalvo

As promised ~ a new update to the Bestiary for every 100 Facebook likes on my author page, D. D. Falvo. Come and meet GLIS, the Silver unicorn of Drakaenwood. Just click on the picture below.




by D. D. Falvo on May 2, 2012 | @ddfalvo

“Seek the wisdom of the ages, but look at the
world through the eyes of a child.”

~ Ron Wild.

“A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full or wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood.”

~ Rachel Carson

Mrs. Fryck taught third grade at St Gall Elementary school for many years. She had a raspy voice, a cap of short red curls that never moved, and a stern propriety which terrified my class into quick obedience. She believed that, in addition to the three R’s, it was her duty to prepare us for life in general. Whenever she wanted to impart a pearl of wisdom, she would dip her chin, then peer over the horn-rimmed glasses that always perched halfway down her nose, and fix us with a level glare which made me want to sit up straighter or listen harder.

“All children are born with a special gift,” she said, waving a pointed finger across the room. “Your young minds are open, and you dream big because, to you, nothing is impossible. As you become adults, some of you will narrow that view and forget how to really see. Never, never lose your sight of wonder.”

How empowering! In a world where birthdays couldn’t come fast enough, I already possessed something special, something I didn’t have to wait for.

I vowed to never forget.

Flash forward twenty years: My oldest daughter, Kali, is seated at our kitchen table. The Nickelodeon channel is playing on the portable TV in the corner, but she’s not watching. Like most two year olds, she can’t sit still. She flops around her seat, humming, and making small announcements such as: ants crunch when you step on them, or we shouldn’t have peas for dinner anymore because they are gross, or Daddy says the large metal circles in the middle of the street are really giant pennies. She prattles on while I prepare lunch, and then something very odd happens. My child, who never shuts up, stops talking.

I turn to see what is wrong. She is staring at the TV, utterly transfixed. On screen, a small boy converses with a tall, brown bottle—a matronly creation that glides across the tabletop, waving her arms and extolling the virtues of her syrup with a voice as honeyed as the liquid inside. I look back at my daughter; her mouth is hanging open.

I understand. The problem with this particular commercial is that it’s not a cartoon. It looks real. This is a pivotal teaching moment, come too soon, where my child must learn the world is not always as it appears.

“Hey,” I say, placing her sandwich plate on the table. I shift her chair so she faces me.

“Mom-my! Did you see?”

“Yeah. Wasn’t that silly? It sure looked real, didn’t it? But I have to tell you something, the talking bottle was just make-believe—the people who sell that syrup want to make it look like fun so we’ll buy it.”

She gives me a look—you know, the one all children learn between their second and third year when independent reasoning awakens, and a parent’s halo begins to tarnish just a little. She searches my face and shrugs. “I know.” But as she turns, there is a stubborn, secretive set to her face. I can’t blame her—her dad tells her that he was a banana when he was little, and I support the idea of a fat man in red suit who pops down our non-existent chimney and leaves gifts once a year.

I bite my lip and know we aren’t done.

Fast forward to the grocery store, a few days later. My newborn is nestled, top front of the cart, within the layers of my winter coat and Kali is hopping about inside the main cavity. I am zipping through the aisles, as usual.

“Wait, mommy. Wait, wait, wait!” Kali cries as we round a corner. “I want to see.” She tramples our groceries, then stretches both arms toward the shelving behind us. I back up and come face-to-face with the pancake syrups.


She zeroes in on a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth and beseeches me with shining eyes. “Can we, can we buy this one—please?”

I hesitate. She is always so good in stores and never begs for anything.

I curse the manufacturer, under my breath, then cup her chin. “I will buy that bottle if you would like to try the syrup. But I need to know something first . . . that you understand that bottle is not going to talk to you.”

“Yes, mommy.” She places the syrup among our other items, then ignores it. I take that as a good sign. She is so pleased that she gives her baby sister a happy pat on the belly.

At breakfast the next morning, Kali claps her hands as I pour the gooey goodness on her waffle. “You like?” I ask while twisting the cap shut. She nods, mouth full. I move to return Mrs. B to the pantry.

“No, don’t take it away,” she says, then catches my wary look. “Umm, I just want to look at it while I eat.” She is the picture of innocence, but there is a current in the air. I set the bottle on the table and walk away. Though I make a point of ignoring her, she senses my watchfulness. She peeks at me now and then, waiting until she thinks I’m distracted. I’m not, but I’ve got thirty years on her two so it’s not much of a contest.

Once she’s satisfied that I am suitably busy, she pulls the bottle close and bends low. She takes a deep breath, then whispers, “Hi.”

Mrs. Butterworth does not reply.

Kali tries again, whispering a little louder, this time uncaring of whether I hear or not. Mrs. B. remains mute. Kali leans back and frowns. I prepare for her tears, but she just pushes away from the table and goes off to play.

All morning, she is somewhat distracted. At lunchtime, the commercial comes back. This time, she watches carefully and you can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. I think, perhaps she is accepting the limits of harsh reality when suddenly she claps her hands and exclaims, “I know! Needs a battery.”

And just like that she is smiling, and the world is right again. Creative problem solving at it’s finest. Determined to figure things out for herself, she used what she knew about the world—all of her movable playthings ran on batteries, indeed, why not Mrs. Butterworth?

“Huh,” I say to myself, then give her the hug that I need. Who am I to take this victory away from her?

My youngest, Lauren is four years old when she advises me that she has had visitors during the night. “A witch and a wolf came into my room,” she says. She is quite serious.

I stop straightening the various toys and clothes that always litter a child’s floor and sit on her bed. She is still wrapped in her blankets, and leafs through the pages of a large picture book. “Really? Were you scared?”

“A little,” she admits. There is a tremble in her voice.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I took care of it myself.” She flips her palms up, matter-of-fact. I detect some pride and am thoroughly piqued.

“How did you do that?”

“I put them back in the book!” She giggles, and so do I.

Clever girl.

I understand now why Mrs. Fryck loved teaching the third grade. In world beset with rules and structure, she found a way to surround herself, each day, with living reminders of how to really see, then preserved that legacy by teaching us to hold it close.




by D. D. Falvo on April 27, 2012 | @ddfalvo

After making the decision to crack down and enforce strict disciplinary measures (no fb, twitter, etc) until my edits are complete, Wham!— an irresistible challenge hits my inbox. I sat conflicted, then decided allowances must be made; the project does, after all, require me to work in said manuscripts. 🙂

Meme: an idea, behavior or style that spreads from person to person within a culture.

The Lucky 7 Meme is fun game between blogging authors, where the one tagged uses specific guidelines (see below) to select a tiny portion of his/her WIP (aka: work-in-progress) to share with their readers. Afterward, seven more bloggers are linked in a post to carry the torch forward.

These are the rules:

  1. Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
  2. Go to line 7
  3. Copy down the next seven lines/sentences as they are – no cheating
  4. Tag 7 other authors


I ‘m restructuring two books, and have two WIP’s. Lumen is the first novel of my StarDust Saga. Depending on which medium I count from (Word.doc vs Scrivener), I have two choices. I can’t decide, so I posted both. They sort of go together, anyway.


1. Mirah gave the air an experimental sniff, then leaned, breathing deep, tasting the flavor of the day. Her eyes shut. “Yes, oh, yes.” She spit the pearl from her mouth, clasping her hands. Her lips stretched wide, plumping ruddy cheeks. “Husband!” she called, moving inside. “Hob–”

She stopped, at once wary.

A stooped woman waited in her path,  cast in Mirah’s long shadow. The woman pointed at her, shaking in anger. “You. I know it was you.”


Note: Mirah Mahone, a lemming enslaved by the dark reaper, has seen the glowing strands in Arianne’s hair—a clear sign the girl is a Lumen. She and her son, Renzo, conspire to tear the child’s family apart, cultivating ultimate plans to snatch her from the Keller’s care. False charges are levied to keep Dan Keller behind bars, leaving his wife, Copper and Ari without protection:

2.“Listen to me, you can’t stay in town,” Dan said (to his wife, Copper). His gaze shifted across the jail to where his accuser waited, gloating. Dan white-knuckled the bars of his cell, imagining the younger man’s throat within the vice-grip, then let go. He forced himself to swallow the anger. He would not give Renzo, or his witch of a mother, satisfaction for the damage done. “I need you and Ari to hide until you can get on that train—lock yourself in the apartment and don’t come out.”

“Danny, the next train doesn’t leave until Monday—and I can’t ride a horse.”

He gave her a bemused look. “Yes, you . . . never mind. I don’t want you on the road alone, anyway. Give me a minute.” He mulled their choices, then gestured for her to draw nearer. “This is what I want you to do,” he said, and whispered the instructions.


My second WIP is Book II of the same StarDust Saga, titled WITHOUT. I see the beats need to be fixed, but we are to post without corrections, so . . .

Earl is a very minor character, an over-weight, drug lord’s lackey who accompanies the protagonist, Rhys, into the WilderForest. Earl’s job is to protect the interests of his boss, Quake, during an exchange for a highly unusual drug. The problem is that the citified Earl is a bit of a wimp and more of a hindrance and than a help.


Earl edged sideways, mincing his steps between unchecked slides down the incline. A yawning black hole awaited where the cabin door should have been. In his nervous haste, he tripped over the threshold, then grabbed at the framework, fumbling for purchase. The rotting timber crumbled like cornmeal in his hands. Earl groaned in disgust, and wiped the sawdust on his coat before entering. Inside, the dark loomed without welcome. His eyes adjusted, and he relaxed, relieved to arrive first. A moment later, he felt the other presence in the room, an indefinable heaviness without sound. Fear crawled over his skin, and he mouthed a silent curse for the forest dweller’s ability to come and go like wraiths.


For my seven who shall be tagged, I picked seven authors whose blogs/writing I enjoy reading. Please check them out.

First, a shout out to the guy who sucked me into this post: with 4 novels under his belt,  Vaughn Roycroft writes historical fantasy— reinventing legendary mythology with his own brand of feudal tribes, kings that make your knees knock, and kick-azz women warriors. His blog has a great earthy feel that feels like a portal for his intriguing world

Without further adieu, here are the next seven victims:

Heather Webb ~  will soon be publishing her historical fiction novel titled Josephine: The First Empress. She’s a gifted editor and her blog has a little bit of everything in it.

Nicole L. Bates: has the ability to pour her soul on a page and take you places only she can imagine. Her blog is full of poetry and beautifully written moments captured in time.

Bethany Meyer: I can’t stop laughing as I read Bethany’s candid, humorous blogs about her life with five boys. A modern day Erma Bombek in the making.

Shelley Souza: is always one of the first to lend thoughtful advice and give expert craft help in our writer’s group created by WU.

Rebeca Schiller: has the voice of integrity and conviction when she writes. She recently accepted a challenge to blog each day through the alphabet, and chose the McCarthy era as her subject. It is poignant, thought provoking stuff.

Melissa Amateis Marsh: Forgive me, Melissa, I drafted you from the WU group as I read you are just getting back into the swing of things after a long absence—here’s an opportunity to jump in with both feet.

Elyse Draper: has written several fantasy books “in a visceral writing style that is both melodious and uncluttered.”

There is no obligation to play, and if you don’t blog you can put your seven lines in the comment section here or in the comments for the facebook link to this post.

Wishing everyone a great week!



Pitch-ilicious Blog Hop Contest

by D. D. Falvo on April 18, 2012 | @ddfalvo

Welcome Fellow Blog Hoppers!

I have two pitches for my entry. One for my series, StarDust, and one for the first book, Lumen. I’m having trouble deciding between two blurbs for the series, and your vote much appreciated. I’m so looking forward to reading your pitches and any comments you have for me. Thank you to Heather Webb for creating a fun contest! For more details or just some great reading, check out Heather’s blog, Between The Sheets 🙂

Revised: 04-21-12


The dark reaper, Zed, is in a quandary. The fulfillment of his centuries-long pursuit, destroying life, will leave him out of a job—for the one thing the Master of Death cannot do is create more lives to play with. He can bend mind and flesh, alter perceptions, and even subvert the elements, but he cannot bring anything new into the Universe. What’s a Daemon to do? His eye is on Élan, a star born Lumen. All Lumens protect life, but Élan alone radiates with the Lifespark that Zed desperately wants. Now, in a final bid for domination, Zed brings the eternal battle between Lumens and Demons to Earth, where humans must choose a side and each supernatural challenger must bind themselves to the planet in some form. It’s a winner-take-all fight—high stakes for the contending Lumens, for if Zed triumphs, Earth and all that it holds will become his, and the only thing he wants more than human annihilation is the power gained by devouring a living star.


All that stands between dark reaper, Zed, and his conquest of life on Earth are two small children– celestial beings reborn in human form, who are yet too young for their destiny. The little girl that Copper and Dan Keller harbor is no ordinary child, a serious infraction in a country like Edo where the wrong birthright is a capitol offense—and now her hair is glowing. Rhys Anders, a mercenary framed for murder, is saddled with a toddling boy he would love foist on someone else, but after the wolf packs surround and bow their obeisance to the boy, Rhys realizes the child is the true target of the danger following him and may yet need his help.




by D. D. Falvo on April 15, 2012 | @ddfalvo

POOF! Giggle, giggle.

“Do again.”

POOF! Giggle, giggle.

“Again. Do again.”


What in the world . . . ? I am walking up the stairs of our first home in NJ. It’s a saltbox type. The roof slopes low in the front; at the back, a rising second-story holds two minuscule bedrooms. Between them lies a tiny bath and a short connecting hall that’s about as long as my husband is tall. The beauty of it is that a childproof gate at the top of the stairwell creates a unique living space, one that corrals my very young children into what feels like a giant loft. I am comfortable allowing unsupervised play in this area because there is very little to get into.

Or so I thought.

POOF! Giggle, giggle.



I follow the sound of my daughters’ voices. Kali and Lauren are, respectively, three and one years of age—old enough to know to shut the door when engaging in mischief, but not old enough to lock it. My entrance will be soundless. I push the door open. The laughter dies.

The room is full of choking dust, an alabaster cloud that pours past, escaping to the hall. It’s hard to breathe. I stifle a cough and step inside. Fine, pale silt that will defy any vacuum cleaner covers everything. I look down. Two small faces, as white-coated as any mime, peer upward. The only bright color left in the room are their shiny, blinking eyes. Their expressions are priceless, the epitome of “UH-OH!” The three-year-old clutches the weapon of mass destruction in both hands, a tall, plastic container. For the moment, I have no voice, but they have divined something very important from my face—they are both in deep doo-doo.

Kali makes the first overture and hands over the WOMD, a silent gesture of atonement. I accept the offering—a super-sized carton of baby powder—while trying to comprehend the mess.

“What happened here?” I finally say.

They are both quick to rat each other out, even the youngest who has limited language skills finds words.

“She do poof!”

“She wanted me to.”

It all clicks. They discovered that squishing the carton produces a high, geyser-like spray. Apparently, shooting baby powder into the air is great fun. I wouldn’t know. I have never dared such recklessness . . . ever. My fingers itch. I heft the nearly empty container, weighing proper parental indignation against teaching a different lesson. Aw, heck. Why not? The price is paid. I will have to clean the room, regardless, and it is a given they will help. I give the sides a light squeeze. The result is a wimpy display that puffs like candle smoke. The girl’s eyes widen. I have to admit, it is a little fun. Kali is quick to extend her services. She is, after all, the pro.

“I can do it!” she says.

“Yes, your skill is well noted,” I reply, “but let’s give your sister a turn.”

Lauren is so excited her hands tremble. She’s not strong enough to be effective, so I give her a little help.


Sometimes you have to live a little.



Attic Nook

by D. D. Falvo on April 5, 2012 | @ddfalvo

This is where I write– in the attic nook of my 100+ year-old house. There’s just enough room for a whole world full of fantastical creatures, landscapes with attitude, grumbly mages, and children who are really earthbound stars. Every now and then a dragon gets out, but I’ve learned (the hard way) to keep the fire extinguisher close and to practice some patience–those pesky beasts always come back because everyone knows the cat treats in my kitchen are never as good as the wobble fish in Ir. You can visit them all in my fantasy series called StarDust.

Where imagination defies reality.




by D. D. Falvo on March 30, 2012 | @ddfalvo

This is my blog. When I want to take a break from writing my fantasy series, StarDust, I come here and throw some random thoughts on the page, just to see what sticks. Writers need to do that now and then, clear out the cogs, because no matter how much you love the current work-in-progress, there are always other pesky ideas clamoring to get out. That’s why I wrote the post below called Magic Eyes; it’s a childhood memory that wanted a moment in the spotlight. But neither MagicEyes nor The Time Thief are part of my fantasy series, Stardust. If you want to know more about the Stardust saga or what DrakaenWood is, then you have to click on the STARDUST link. See it? Right there on the side of the page, below HOME.

This blog is also a place for us, you and I, to chat. Your thoughts are always welcome, maybe you have some cogs you want to clear out, too. In my opinion, listening is just as important as telling, and any writer worth their salt knows that.

Thanks for stopping by today and come back often. There’s always some new thing mugging for attention, and your visits quiet the squawkers so I can get some real work done. 😉