Angela Poppe's Blog

Well, this is my first post this year. I’m a bit lazy, I know. But that doesn’t mean I was just sitting around doing nothing. As a matter of fact, I was quite busy writing. I try to write every single day, in between my household chores, my girls, and my husband.

Speaking of my husband, he asked me once why did I keep this blog anyway since I had no followers and no readers. My answer is that this is my place, my one, my precious :). The one where I share my thoughts and my dreams even though I’m the only one whos’s visiting so far (and two other persons, actually). It is actually the place where I keep evidence of my writing. And it’s also the place where I can be myself. So yes, this blog is very important to me and I’m not going to give up on it.

Now back to the topic. It’s true, I don’t have too much to say. My self-published story, The Hidden Princess, is not as popular as I was expecting  (I can see that in my sales boards). The second story in Whispered Tales series, called Beyond, which was due last Halloween is, obviously, still not published. I don’t have a cover for it and it is not formatted yet, so there’s a lot of work to do on that one, too.

Meanwhile, my story on Wattpad, The Moonlight Boy, has reached 2,55 k. It’s not as expected, either. But the reason I love Wattpad the most is that it urges me to keep writing. I post every week and sometimes it is a struggle to meet the deadline of posting. And I also met some wonderful people there, too. Some of them are even editing my story and pointing out the flaws and inconsistencies. For free!!! Chapter by chapter! Which is great because proofreaders are so hard to find. And even if they do accept to proofread your story, sometimes it takes months to get to yours among hundreds others.

Currently, I am sketching the chapters of book two in the Ferry’s Tale series, called The Lost Son. The action takes place seven years from the period of the first book and it tells the story of the complicated life of a complicated being at a complicated age: a fourteen-years-old boy fairy. I’m really excited about this series and I can’t describe the joy I’m feeling when I’m writing this story.

But my TO DO list is not ending here. I have to translate the third story in the Whispered Tales series (which is due June the 24th), called Forest of the Wind, and revise my novel, which doesn’t have a name yet and on which I’ve been writing for the past five years. It’s about time travel, one of my favorite theme in the whole world!!!

And all this time, I haven’t had writer’s block not even once. Simply because I don’t have time for it. So when I do get the chance to write (usually at night, when my girls sleep), I write :)

Today I’ve reached 1K reads for The Moonlight Boy on Wattpad. I started to post on Wattpad four months ago and I still can’t tell if this is a good figure. But somehow everyone seems to see the 1K reads as the next level as if the story was not taken very seriously up until now :)

Anyway, what I really appreciate about Wattpad is the constant support I found on this community. Does publishing Wattpad mean my sales on my self-published story are going to explode?  Not really. At least I haven’t seen any change in my sales. But I do appreciate the support of some of my readers, their anxiousness for the next chapter and their instant feedback.  The interaction and Q&A sessions, their hunt for clues and trying to find out what is going to happen next are my measure systems that show my story is on the right path. So as far as creating a reader base, Wattpad is a wonderful tool.

Will publishing on Wattpad bring me a book deal? (for that seems to be any writer’s dream:))) I can’t tell. I’ve seen stories with millions of reads which didn’t lead to any book deals, and I’ve seen story with a lot less which were spotted by editors. I don’t seem to understand the parameters. But I do know that publishing on Wattpad will motivate me to keep writing. And that’s pretty much a writer should do :)

Yay! My second story of Whispered Tales collection is almost ready to be published. Have a sneak peek!

The room was waiting for her, silent and alluring. The nightstand lamp flickered as she sat down in front of the mirror and started combing her long, brown hair with slow strokes. Soon enough she would throw herself in the arms of that good night’s sleep that was now waiting for her in the cool bed. The girl’s eyes with heavy eyelids, however, had noticed something different about the face in the mirror. It was her face, alright, but just for a moment, her own eyes gave her a strange look, almost wicked. Even her mouth made a grimace of a smile that wasn’t hers. And she was positive she had never in her life grinned as ghoulishly, with the corners of her mouth pulled down, showing her pearly teeth, like a stepmother that had something in store for her stepdaughter.

‘I’m too tired,’ she thought, and quickly took refuge under the bedcovers where she felt safe. She touched the amulet that never left her body, with a small photograph of her parents inside and drifted away in the land of quiet sleep.

She didn’t notice that the moonlight was shining on the pale face which was still reflected in the mirror.

Here are some pics of this summer. It was a beautiful summer, with trips to the countryside, visits to my childhood and the joy to reunite with people I love. And writing. Writing right there, in the middle of nature, which makes it a million times better.

For the past one month, I’ve been writing on my new book, The Moonlight Boy, which is the first in Ferry’s Tale series. It’s a constant joy to write Ferry’s story and each day brings more adventures and twists in my character’s life. I feel inspired especially because it’s summer and summer is the perfect time for fairies..

The moonlight boy is the story of a boy fairy living among humans. On a deeper lever, it’s a book about self-discovery, rejection, and acceptance. As he discovers the world, Ferry discovers what being different means and eventually discovers himself.

So I’ve decided to upload my book for free, chapter by chapter, on Whattpad. I would like to know YA opinion about that sort of subject and Whattpad seems to be the best place for this kind of audience. I will be back soon with more news about my Whattpad experience.

This post is dedicated to Random_whywolf, my first follower on Whattpad :)

I’ve recently started a new story. It is about a fairy boy living in the world of people. Just like my other stories, it started with making up bedtime stories for my little girls. So yes, it is a real delight to transport myself in the fairy world. The only problem is that when I’m in the middle of the enchanted forest, a small elf pulls my dress, asking for milk. Than a fairy princess wants another dress because she spilled juice on the one she was already wearing. So every five minutes, someone just as sweet and magical as the beings I’m writing about comes to me asking for something. And the magic slowly fades away while I’m heading to the refrigerator.

It is indeed pretty hard writing with kid. But if you really love to do something, you must find ways to do it, against all odds. That is why I’m now back to the basics: pen and paper. So I bought the biggest notebook I found and now I can write everywhere, without plugs, wires, and the danger of someone wanting to see the favorite cartoon on my laptop.

It is holiday now, so I don’t have to worry about being late for school or ballet classes. And the big, thick notebook has become my best friend. I’m taking it everywhere: at the playground, in the park or when I’m travelling. And late in the night, when it is finally quiet and the girls are long asleep, I can copy my notes on my laptop.  The only problem is that once in a while I search for the SAVE button on my notebook page :)

Call me a nostalgic, but when I think of summer, the first thing that comes to my mind is the summer time of my childhood. I still remember the freedom, the endless joy I was feeling when school was over. I had so much to do, so many new things to discover and try, that the summer simply wasn’t enough for all I had in mind.

I will never forget the games I was playing with my sisters and brother. Hide-and-seek in the garden, when night was falling, seemed so exciting and thrilling back then. And then there were the animals, the orchard, the river flowing right there, in my back garden, the swing, the cherry tree, the abandoned little garden in the valley… All those simple things that made my life full.

And the people. Happy, careless people. Who loved their simple life. Sitting on small benches in front of their houses, at sunset. Talking about nothing and everything. Some of them so gifted with storytelling, that made even the most restless child stay still and listen without blinking.

One of those people was Auntie Mary. She was living just a few houses away and since she was good friend with my aunt, we used to pay her visits quite regularly. I don’t remember what was she doing for living. She was around sixty, not married, but with a son. Her son was not her natural child, for she was never married. She has found him in front of her home when he was an infant. Abandoned. And the most natural thing that came to her mind was to adopt him. To begin with, the story of her life was the most intriguing.

She was retired and owned a beautiful, tall house which looked like a mansion. The kind of house that you can’t not notice. With a garden of roses in front and an orchard in the back.

We were heading to her home at sunset, when day was mingling with night, and the trembling air was full of flower scent. She was waiting for us, a cigar in her mouth. She would open her arms and give us a warm hug. She was a corpulent, big woman, but contrary to her look, her heart was even bigger.

Then, as we were entering her garden, it was like stepping in another realm. In the middle of the roses, there was an iron table and chairs, guarded by the fragile light of a gas lamp. It was put there to chase the mosquitoes away, she was saying. But that light seemed to us, children, the light of fairies, guiding us towards their home. We could almost see gnomes, and elves, and pixie dust sparkling in the evening air. On the iron table there was always a giant basket full of the juiciest fruits: peaches, apricots, plumbs, and pears. We were always eating on the hurry, since there so many amazing things to discover in that magical garden.

But from time to time, we would stop and listen. Auntie Mary had the gift of reading in coffee mugs, and that gift was almost just as amazing as the gift of story telling. That is how I first found out the stories  about the Iele (Yehleh), the evil fairies in Romanian folklore.

There are many stories about the Iele. Mythical, wonderful, frightening stories. One of Auntie Mary’s stories was about a woman who, many years ago, had lost her husband into the woods. He was gathering wood for the winter and was never to be found again. The man was in his early thirties. Handsome, strong and full of life, the man simply vanished one dreadful autumn day, living no trace behind. The police, friends and family have searched for him for weeks, but he was nowhere to be found. That is when an old woman in the village came up with a crazy idea: that the Iele had taken him into their world because somehow he might have seen them dancing. And no one escapes alive after seeing them dancing. The man’s wife was the only one to believe that old woman. She was the only one to still look for him, rummaging the forest inch by inch. And sometimes, when day was intertwined with night, she could even hear him calling her name, right there, in the middle of the forest. She never stopped looking for her husband, hoping that some day the Iele will bring him back.

That very story, whispered so many years ago in the windy summer evening, was to be the inspiration of one of my favorite stories: Forest of the Wind, which I would hopefully publish this year.

While the memory of that long gone summer will stay with me forever…

Yey!!! The Hidden Princess, the first story of Whispered Tales is available on Amazon.

I’m really excited about it and now I’m thinking about marketing my book, other than this blog. First, I would like to thank Indies Unlimited for the great advice and tips. This is how I’ve discovered Booklaunch.io, where authors who need polished landing pages for their books can get them free with this web service  A landing page is a webpage designed to provide a professional, glamorous look at your book in order to make readers to purchase the book.

Booklaunch pages don’t require authors to know any HTML. The pages include purchase links, review quotes, book images, and you can even embed videos.

I’m looking forward to find other ways to merchandise my book. After reading a lot about self publishing, I’m thinking about a promotion. Coincidence or not, I’m also starting a diet or should I say, a healthier way of living. And I’m really excited to see how these two new things in my life work.

Keep in touch!

Take another look at The Hidden Princess, the first story of Whispered Tales. Enjoy!

Night has fallen again and sleep failed to stick to her eyelids. After so much twisting and turning, that the sheets became tangled in knots, Eliza figured she was not going to catch any sleep very soon. She started counting sheep instead, although this never helped her before. She didn’t get to count three before something caught her attention. Somewhere in the corner, by the giant mahogany wardrobe, she heard the scraping. At first quietly, hardly distinguishable; then harder, louder, enough to wake up Tommy. The cat suddenly awoke and the hair on his back stood straight from the tip of his ears to the tip of his tail. The poor animal had his eyes fixed towards the corner of the room. Eliza mustered the courage to get out of bed, stepping slowly towards the place where the scraping continued. When her eyes got used to the dark, she made out in horror a black silhouette, blacker than the darkness surrounding it, scratching with a crane on the rocky slabs.

“Who’s there?” shouted Eliza in a strangled voice she couldn’t even recognize. “Who let you in my room? Don’t you know you are not allowed in here? I am Princess Mara and I forbid…”

The black silhouette continued scratching the rocks like it didn’t hear her. Like it was a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. With her heart beating so hard, ready to jump out of her chest, Eliza rushed to the fireplace to light a candlestick. When the light flooded the room, the scratching noise suddenly disappeared along with the phantasm. As if it was never there. Tommy stood in place all roughed up, letting out a deaf growl, like a dog. However, the shadow – for Eliza was clear that this was the same shadow that followed her ever since she left home – had left something behind. On the cold slabs Eliza found a message, scratched in black letters. A message for her:

If you want to gain your voice, go to the Forest of Whispers through the hidden tunnel.

As I was saying in my previous post, people and their stories are the ones to inspire me the most. And the most amazing stories I’ve ever heard are those from my childhood. Because as a child, the things you learn and experience are far more interesting, blended somehow with magic and incredible. The imagination of a child is limitless, running wild and turning an apparently small thing into one of the most incredible stories. Maybe that is why I cherish my childhood and that long gone period of time is still the best time of my life. As a child, I had a lot of incredible people around me, and their stories are still echoing to this day. I grew up in a small town, a countryside more likely, together with three brothers and a cousin and I could fill up a dozen books with stories from my childhood.

My grandmother had amazing stories. In long, cold winter nights, sitting by the fire, she used to tell us stories about evil fairies and how to avoid them. Or about old gypsy witches and their spells. Stories that frightened and captivated us at the same time. I remember the story of Joimarita (to be spelled Joymahritza), an old hag who was punishing lazy wives every year on the Thursday of the week before Easter. If the young wives were not fulfilling their duties properly, they were terribly punished: Joimarita would burn their nails and fingers because they were not using them at their chores.

My grandfather was also a great storyteller. He joined the army for a short period of time during World War II. And although he didn’t fight, he almost died when a fellow soldier unloaded his gun accidentally. Fortunately, the bullet was miraculously stuck my grandfather’s caps, otherwise I wouldn’t be here to tell.

But he also had other stories. Mystical, incredible stories. Once he was chased by a wolf during a cold winter, when he had to walk daily along a forest. Other time, together with some friends, he told a special incantation and made a little devil appear on the edge of a fountain. He even attended a seance and he could swear he saw a key moving inside a book, without any human interference. He would tell those stories over and over again and each time he would mention something. And each time us, the children, we were speechless, trembling with astonishment. To this day, I still don’t know if those stories were true or he was just trying to make us stand still and behave for a second. But those amazing stories will always remain alive in my head.

But the most frightening, the most amazing stories were those told by strangers. Back than, people were closer to each other. They used to help each other during harvest time or when wood for winter was brought, to name a few. Summer was the busiest time of the year. Neighbors would gather and help each other until late in the night.  Camp fire were lit and people told stories around the fire. And we were even allowed to listen.

I remember to this day the story of an old woman, told during one of those summer nights. Crickets and night birds were singing their songs even louder, making the air seem somehow magical, almost tangible. We were listening with our eyes wide opened, our bruised knees to mouth. In a low voice, almost whispering, the old woman told us a terrible encounter her grandmother had had with the most strange and terrible creature. After finding dead chicken several days in the row, her grandmother had decided to watch at the window the back yard, where the hen-roost was build. It was a full moon and she was able to see everything quite clearly. A little after midnight, the chicken became agitated and the dog started to bark like crazy. That’s when she saw someone or something chasing the chicken. The creature had the size of a man, but the horns and hoof were the scary parts of its body. The grandmother couldn’t see the face too well, but at some point, the creature looked at her straight in the eyes. All she could see were the creature’s eyes. Enormous, red eyes staring at her. A priest was brought the next morning to bless the house and yard and the creature was never seen again.

I don’t know how much truth was in that story. Maybe that old woman was trying to scare us and send us to bed, for the hour was late. But I do know that the story has haunted me that summer and the summers after.

But this is only one of the strange, magical stories that charmed and frightened my childhood. For there were many other amazing people with just as amazing stories. Stories to be remembered and retold dozens of years later…