Monday, June 30, 2014

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Shawndirea by @Deimosweb

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Chronicles of Aetheaon

Book I

Leonard D. Hilley II

Genre: Fantasy (Epic, Adventure, Sword/Sorcerer)

Publisher: DeimosWeb Publishing

Date of Publication: June 27, 2014

ISBN: 9781310304965


Number of pages: 536 printed pages

Word Count: 148,000

Book Description:

Often the smallest unexpected surprises garner the most demanding dilemmas, which proves to be the ordeal that entomologist Ben Whytten faces. While netting butterflies to add to his vast collection, he mistakenly sweeps what he thinks is the most spectacular butterfly he has ever seen into his net. Upon examining his catch, Ben is horrified to discover he has captured a faery and shredded her delicate wings into useless ribbons.

Devastated, Ben vows to take Shawndirea back to her realm, Aetheaon; but he discovers that doing so places their lives into immediate danger. To get to Aetheaon, they must pass through a portal rift deep inside the haunted cavern, Devils Den.

Once they cross the rift, Ben enters a world where mysteries, magic, betrayal, and power struggles await. He must adapt quickly or die because Aetheaon is filled with enchanted creatures and numerous races where chaos often dominates order. And since Shawndirea’s destined for the throne of Elvendale, opposing dark forces plot to prevent her from ever reaching her kingdom again. The faery's magic isn't enough to fully protect them, so he must trust other adventurers to aid them during their journey.

Available at Amazon


Chapter One

The early autumn sun blazed over the freshly cut hayfield in Cider Knoll, Kentucky. Ben Whytten rested his butterfly net against the rusted barbed wire fence and then wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Sweat soaked his shirt and blue jeans. Although fall had officially begun, the outside temperature didn’t indicate it. Sporting near ninety degrees, summer refused to let go of the climate and turned what should have been a pleasant Saturday afternoon into an intimidating taunt, daring anyone with partial sanity to remain outdoors in the sweltering heat.

After he unscrewed the canteen cap, he tilted it back and took a long drink of cold water. Beads of water dripped down his short brown beard. He sighed and twisted the cap tightly. His piercing brown eyes studied the sky. Not a cloud in sight. No breeze to help combat the hellish sticky heat.

Ben combed his sweat-matted brown hair from his eyes with his fingers. He picked up the butterfly net and looked across the straw-colored field at the small grove of pastel leafed maples that lined a winding stream. The shade was inviting, and he guessed a good ten degrees cooler than the open field. He took a deep breath and trudged across brittle grass stems that crunched beneath his hiking boots.

Collecting butterflies during autumn was better than spring or summer because the diversity of species increased. The fall forms of butterflies were generally brighter, larger, and fed in greater clusters on the ironweed, milkweed, and clover. Brilliantly colored swallowtails puddled along the creek beds. Plump moth larvae were also easier to find as they searched for places to spin cocoons or burrow beneath the soil to pupate before the colder temperatures set in.

“If colder weather ever settles in,” Ben thought, “Hell will have truly frozen over.”

Long narrow grasshoppers jumped and took to flight as Ben crossed the field. Their wings buzzed as the alarmed insects glided and drifted downward, landed, and propelled themselves into the air again.

Reaching the shade beneath the maple branches, Ben leaned against a thick tree trunk and closed his eyes. The shallow stream trickled softly. Cicadas hummed. In the distance a woodpecker rapped the bark of a massive dead pine. Weather had stripped away sections of the rough pine bark, revealing the smooth yellow wood underneath. The soothing sounds of nature relaxed him, and he was thankful to be outside, alone.

Dr. Isaac Deiko had planned to collect insects with Ben this particular Saturday, but at the last minute, he called and said that he couldn’t go. Deiko had to help set up tables for a gun show in a neighboring town.

The news didn’t disappoint Ben. He’d rather collect butterflies and other insects alone. The outdoors was a place where he gathered his thoughts and meditated about life. The forests, bluffs, and meadows were the best places where he felt at peace. Leaving the fast-paced, bustling technological-craving addicts for a calmer, slow-paced life without all their distractions was worth more than millions of dollars to Ben. He’d give up all the instant gadgets for the tranquility that his grandfather and great-grandfather experienced while working on their farms.

Ben kept a serious outlook on life while Dr. Deiko spent more time playing practical jokes on their colleagues and students, which often irritated and infuriated Ben. He knew if Deiko came on this field trip, the collecting possibilities would be little or none simply because Deiko was clumsy-footed and boisterous.

Ben had never extended an invitation for Deiko to join him in the first place. In fact, Deiko had invited himself when he found out about Ben’s collecting plans for the weekend. Although Deiko was a biologist like Ben, Deiko was more concerned with uncovering a discovery to make him famous, whereas Ben loved science and didn’t care if anyone other than his students knew he existed. Of course when final exams rolled around, most of his students would rather he didn’t exist. Other than giving his students field trips from Hell, his tests were considered harsher than rigorous ten mile hikes through steep mountainous terrain.

Ben looked back across the field and chuckled. He had traipsed hundreds of acres through forests, caves, and fields when he was still in middle school. He had done so voluntarily, without a word of complaint, and yet, today’s college students voiced disdain over the least thing. The challenge wasn’t getting them to learn; it was getting them to do anything that didn’t require the pacifying need for their technology.

His inner frustration brought more heat to his face. He was seconds from rehashing how he wished computers and cellphones weren’t so controlling until the soft bubbling creek caught his attention. The gentle soft sound of water allowed his mind to leave the tensions of the classroom and return to the natural calm surrounding him. He expelled a long sigh and refocused himself.

Tall narrow blades of grass covered the sandy banks of the shallow stream. Small drab satyr butterflies fluttered lazily from grass blade to grass blade. Ben shook his head. After two hours of walking the fields and woods, he had hoped to capture a few new specimens to add to his collection. But with each species he encountered, he already had at least a half-dozen of those pinned inside glass-top boxes at home. In many ways, he believed he’d have done himself a greater service by staying home.

But regardless of what he deemed bad luck, his life was about to change.


He removed his backpack and set it down. Slowly he lowered himself and sat back against the tree trunk to rest. He set down the canteen and placed the net handle across his lap and watched the gentle stream flow. A few minnows darted back and forth beneath the water as water striders skimmed like polished skaters across the water’s surface.

Ben was drenched in sweat and drained from the heat. A cool breeze stirred along the stream, which seemed an invitation to relax a while longer. His eyes ached to close for a nap. He fought the urge to doze even though the place was so comforting and peaceful. But, if nothing interesting presented itself soon, he was going home. He dreaded walking across the dry pasture to his SUV.

Ben took his hunting knife from the sheath attached to his belt and then picked up a dried oak branch. He whittled and shaved away bark.

Perhaps it was the extreme heat that kept the most brilliant butterflies in hiding, but he still didn’t see any within the grove or along the sandy banks. Later in the evening he might have better luck, but he refused to stick around that long. He slid the knife back into its sheath and rubbed his tired eyes.

Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy. Several birds flew low across the stream and through the trees. Seconds later two yellow butterflies glided to the edge of the far bank and landed. A larger butterfly caught his attention. At first glance he thought it was a giant swallowtail, but instead, it turned out to be an oversized tiger swallowtail.

Ben’s fingers tightened around the net handle. He pushed himself to his feet. He stepped lightly and headed toward the stream to get a better look at the butterflies. Near the bank, a blur of metallic bluish-green streaked past him.

“Damn!” he said, watching the zipping wings catch the breeze and glide.

With incredible speed, it darted up, down, left to right, and along the stream’s edge. Perhaps the sweltering heat or near dehydration was playing tricks on him, but he was almost certain glittery dust trailed behind it.

Ben hurried after the butterfly, a prize unlike any other in his collection.

Few butterflies in this part of Kentucky had such metallic colorings. One he thought of immediately was the White M Hairstreak, but this one was too large and flew much swifter. Another butterfly with similar colors was the long-tailed skipper, but the sheen sparkling off the butterfly following the stream was too bright. Its flight was also more erratic. The skipper stayed near gardens, and he doubted any strayed this far into the woods since the larvae food plant was the leaf of various beanstalks.

Ben realized he had just discovered something new. Excitement shot through him.

He hurried along the stream and jumped over a fallen tree. His sudden pursuit had not gone unnoticed. The iridescent creature darted downward and swept through the tiny branches of a shrub. But Ben moved faster.

As the beautifully winged specimen shot through the other side of the bush, Ben arced the net sharply and captured his prize. The end of the net pulled and stretched while his captive struggled to fight free.

Quickly, Ben clamped his fingers near the end of the net, but by the time he did, the struggling ceased.

He opened the net and looked inside. His eyes widened.

“What the hell?” he asked.

At the bottom of the net lay a gorgeous creature, but not what he had expected to capture. Her wings were tattered, frayed. Unconscious, he hoped, but he feared she might be dying or already dead. Broken scales and wing fragments covered her nearly nude body.

His excitement of the chase suddenly turned to regret and dread.

A faery?

Ben dropped to his knees and gently set down the net.

“God,” he whispered. “I hope I didn’t kill you.”

He carefully placed his left hand beside her unmoving form. He nudged her into the palm of his hand with the tip of his finger. She breathed, but her eyes remained closed. Her radiant face was more beautiful than any woman he had ever met.

A door slammed and echoed near the pasture gate where he had parked his SUV.

Ben looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see who had driven up.

“Ben!” Deiko shouted. “Where are you?”

“Dammit,” Ben grumbled under his breath, looking back over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He hurried to the tree where his pack lay. He curled his left hand gently around the faery’s limp body while reaching into the pack.


Ben took a wide-mouthed dark plastic bottle, set it between his knees and unscrewed the hole-punched lid. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw Deiko’s lanky figure jogging toward the grove. Deiko smiled and waved when their eyes met. His jog turned into a sprint as he headed toward Ben.

Ben placed the faery into the jar, turned the lid, and wrapped the jar inside a white cloth before setting it back into his pack. No sooner had he placed it there and zipped the pack shut, Deiko’s thundering footsteps stopped beside him.

“Catch something nice?” Deiko asked.

“No,” Ben replied, looking up but not making eye contact with Deiko. “Not much activity out here today. I blame the heat.”

Deiko smiled broadly. “You caught something. Something special.”

Ben shook his head, picked up his pack, and stood. “Look around, Isaac. What do you see?”

Deiko glanced around but then his eyes focused on Ben’s backpack again. “I agree. Not much flying around. But you got something.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Your eyes. It’s the same with poker players who have a great hand and haven’t conditioned themselves to suppress their excitement or like kids that find money on the ground after someone drops it. Hell, I noticed people at the gun show who bought guns from people far cheaper than the owners knew the guns were worth.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed, and he chose to change the subject. He said, “How was the gun show? I thought you’d be there all day.”

Deiko shrugged. “That had been the plan. Not much going on there, either. Got a couple good deals though. Like this Ruger.”

He pulled a handgun from the back of his belt.

“Nice,” Ben replied. Carefully he slipped his pack over his shoulder and headed toward the hay field.

“Well?” Deiko said. He tucked the gun behind his belt and stepped in front of Ben. “Aren’t you going to show me?”

Sweat dripped from his Deiko’s black hair and beaded on his brow. Ben studied the determination set in his colleague’s dark eyes and his firm muscular jaw. Within seconds, Deiko’s boyish face had hardened into that of a fierce murderous villain. Physically, he had no weight to put behind his facial threat. He was tall and quite bony with slender arms. And although Deiko was probably fifteen years younger, Ben had no doubt if he was forced to fight that Deiko would be the one sitting on the ground looking up and rubbing his jaw. But, then, there was the gun issue. Isaac was armed and all Ben had was his knife. Even those odds didn’t stand in Isaac’s favor.

“Show you what?” Ben asked.

“Your prize. It must be something nice since you still refuse to show me.”

“How many times have I told you that I haven’t found anything?”

“You and I should play poker sometime,” Deiko said. “I’d make a fortune.”

“Being as I don’t play cards, you’re probably correct with that assumption.”

“Oh, come on, Ben,” Deiko said. Hostility loomed in his voice and darkness narrowed his eyes. “Why are you afraid to show me what you found?”

Ben studied him for a moment. Never had he seen Isaac behave like a demented spoiled brat. He had his moments, but Dr. Deiko generally didn’t keep a quiet and intimidating tone. But out here, away from others, Ben suddenly saw the violence that hid deep within the botanist, and it was creeping to the surface. Knowing that Deiko lusted for fame, for a discovery beyond what man had seen or could fathom, Ben knew he could never show the faery to Deiko. The second he did, something horrible would happen. To Ben and the lovely faery.

Deiko had not only shown the gun as his grand prize from the gun show, he had established his subtle threat by revealing he had brought it into the field. Hunting season was still a few weeks away, and no one needed a gun to collect butterflies. He had shown the gun for a reason—either as a bullying tactic or simply to exhibit dominance.

“I think the heat is getting to you, Isaac,” Ben said, shaking his head and stepping around his colleague.

“Put down the pack,” Isaac said.


Ben froze when Isaac inserted the magazine into the gun and snapped the gun’s chamber back and forth.

“Put down your pack. I want to see what you’re hiding inside.”

Ben turned. He looked in Isaac’s eyes, then to the gun.

Isaac shook his head. “Uh-uh. Just set it down.”

Ben frowned and slowly lowered his pack to the ground. He held his hands before him in surrender. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“So you did find something.”

“And if I did? You going to kill me for it?” Ben asked.

Isaac chuckled. “Depends on how good a find it is.”




Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

  I learned to read at age 3 and immediately fell in love with books. I read everything in my school library. My mother took me to the city library, and I read until I couldn’t find anything else that I enjoyed. So I began writing my own comics and my first novel when I was 11 years old.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

 When I was in the sixth grade, we had to write down questions on little pieces of paper and then randomly draw one from the fishbowl.  Afterwards, we had to write a story from the question and present it to the class. My topic was off the wall, but what I presented to the class had them rolling with laughter. That day was the day I knew I wanted to be a writer. There’s so much power in words.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

  My first novel, Predators of Darkness, probably took seven years to get published. A major publisher sat on that novel for three years, telling me that they liked it, but after three years, they finally declined. Since the novel is cross-genre, it’s more difficult to get an agent or publisher to sign.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

 Currently, I teach General Education classes full-time at a junior college in Southern Ohio.  I teach General English, Composition I & II, Public Speaking, Literature, and Strategies for Success. I enjoy teaching a great deal.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

Shawndirea (Chronicles of Aetheaon: Book One).  A man risks his life to fulfill his promise to a faery in order to get her to her realm.

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

 I publish under my imprint: DeimosWeb Publishing.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

For most books, usually a year.  Shawndirea is a different matter though.  I scrapped one of my earliest books in 1994.  The plot just wasn’t working, so I killed it.  However, the characters in that book remained alive and quietly matured in my mind.  After twenty years they were allowed a chance to talk, and they took over. This is the longest novel I’ve written, but the pace at which the words came astounded me.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

 I’m already working on the second book in the Chronicles of Aetheaon series.  I’m writing a sci-fi novel, too.  Next year, I have a teen series I want to get started. Three titles and plotlines are in the works now.

What genre would you place your books into?

 The Darkness Series is cross-genre: sci-fi, dystopia, suspense, thriller, and mystery. Shawndirea is action/adventure, fantasy.

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

The characters are the ones that introduce me to themselves and their dilemmas. I simply follow and write down what occurs.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

Morton is my favorite character, and the majority of the readers love him, too. Morton is a genetically altered shifter that has the ability to speak. He’s a smart mouth on occasion but always loyal to his family. He made his debut in Predators of Darkness: Aftermath and has been in each book in the Darkness Series thereafter. He is the most stubborn character I have.  Just like a cat, he only does what he does when he wants to.  I can never force him to speak, so I treasure when he makes his appearance.

How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write? 

 I’ve been writing well over thirty years.  I fell in love with books and writing. I love using my imagination to create worlds and characters, so I think that’s why I write.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

  Since I started teaching, I write whenever I have free time.  For Shawndirea, I listened to fantasy game soundtracks.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

 I do.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

 I choose a temporary title because the title can change from time to time, depending upon the characters and the plot.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

 Often they come to me when I least expect it.  Places can change, too. But for Predators of Darkness: Aftermath, Pittsburgh fit because of the geography (the peninsula).  My muse sets the scenery and quite well, I must add.  Devils Den and Shawndirea focus on a fictional town, Cider Knoll, near Somerset, Kentucky.  The bizarre thing is that I travelled to Somerset after I had written the rough draft of Devils Den, and the places I described in the novel were there.  I had never visited the area beforehand.  I had chills.

Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them?

 For the map in Shawndirea, I sat down and used a town name generator for some of the names. Others came on their own.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

Usually the characters reveal themselves slowly to me as I write. Again, I observe, take notes, and follow.  I never force a character because I love the “Ah-ha!” moments when they occur.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

 Not intentionally.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

 I still prefer paperbacks but am adjusting to eBooks.

What is your favorite book and Why?

 Difficult choice. Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber.

Have you read it more than once?


Do you think books transfer to movies well?


Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

 Stephen King’s “The Mist” was the worst book to movie transfer because of the ending.  The novella didn’t end like the movie.  The main character was not true to himself and would not have done what he did at the end.

Your favorite food is?

Eggplant Parmesan

Your favorite singer/group is?

 Alice Cooper

Your favorite color is?


Your favorite Author is?

Dean Koontz



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Leonard D. Hilley II currently lives in the mountains of Kentucky with his wife, Christal. He is a biologist that has also earned his MFA in creative writing. Having a passion for books at an early age, he knew he wanted to author his own creative works. He wrote his first novel at the age of eleven and has never lost his love for books.


Twitter: @Deimosweb Publishing



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