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Luke Winters has spent his whole life straddling two worlds, Lakota and White, belonging in neither. He isn't complaining. 

He feels richer for the twin heritages and for the struggle to be an authentic human being. 

He has learned to accept himself whether or not he is accepted by anyone else.

Enter the murky, dangerous world of a Native American Noir thriller with undercurrents of forbidden love. 

A meld of Romeo & Juliet and The Departed as seen through the eyes of a disgraced Lakota psychologist back in his home town.

The woman he has loved all his life has become the feared donna of the crime family which controls the state. 

She has mastered all her enemies but one -- the disease that is now killing her. 

As she fights rival crime bosses sensing her weakness, can the psychologist save her from herself? And at what cost to himself?

What could be the theme to this book:

FREE again to wander Nightmare

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STARTING SATURDAY

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A SIXTEEN DOLLAR SAVINGS!!

It was the Season of Darkness in New Orleans ...

when the Forgotten preyed on humans lest they somehow disturb their habits,

which were bad, but not to be changed by mere mortals.



Think WUTHERING HEIGHTS meets TRUE BLOOD

   where supernatural jealousy and vengefulness meets its match in friendship and love.

Sometimes when all is Darkness,

the only Light comes from Within.

 

REVIEWS:

"Was it the words themselves or the voice enacting them? This, The End of Days, made me sigh as I heard the last words of the novel.

Roland has a unique way of drawing you into his world and Francene perfectly embraced his picture bringing it all to life." 
- Shelly Freedman



"The End of Days by Roland Yeomans is a story for all ages. Yeomans is a fabulous writer and the voice narrations by Francene Lockett are superb.

This is a great story to read and re-read for many generations."
- Diane Hourany



"Roland Yeomans takes the reader to a unusual school run by the Sidhe in the hurricane Katrina devastated french quarter of New Orleans.

Mythology and Folklore set in the Gothic stained pages of this Urban Fantasy is a true pleasure to read.

 An epic tale of love and friendship in a fight for survival against all odds."
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In a land just beyond your mirror lies a realm few discover.

It is a magical, dangerous dimension. There lurks your darkest nightmares and your fondest hopes.

And the mysterious Hibbs, the bear with two shadows, who walks in the shadow of the dreaded Turquoise Woman.




You two-leggeds ...

Always you search for that which is FREE.

Do you not know?  Have you not heard?

Your very EXISTENCE was FREE.

Free yet fragile.

Nothing makes you more aware of the fragility

of existence than a son nfinished.

Here is a secret:

We are all songs unfinished.

We start with names. But what illusions are names.

Some call me Turquoise Woman.

Others call me Gaia. I call all of you temporary ...

Some I call cherished.

Others of you are but a fleeting rash upon my surface.

Irritating, viral, and in the end, self-destructive.

Sadly, your race is like a tick that will gorge itself until it bursts.

Bemused, I watch you scurry along my skin, moaning you are bringing an end to me.

I would laugh if it were not so pathetic.

You are merely bringing an end to yourselves.

I count the moments. You make my scalp itch.

You think you know what life is. Sad. Do you know what life is?

A firefly's flicker in the night,

the breath of a buffalo in winter,

a cloud shadow that races across the green grass to lose itself in the blood-red of the sunset.

Do not try to understand me.

I look, not only down upon you,

but out across the vast glittering sea of eternal night.

The colors of my thoughts are the Northern Lights

and the reach of them is from horizon to horizon and unto the vastness of the stars.

The electro-magnetic field of my body gave birth to my consciousness

long before there were human hands to chisel stone into mute, blind idols

or to brush your world in paint upon cave walls.

Your only true contribution to me was your language.

Before you crafted words into being, my consciousness was unfocused.

I listened with wonder as you spoke to one another,

slowly piecing the concept of language together in my thoughts.

Through the prism of your languages, my awareness crystalized.

I became aware.

Now, I know a haunted melancholy. Like a windmill's blades, my thoughts dip into my memories.

In misty after-images, I see your fleeting lives walking soft like prayers across my green fields only to fade into the inflamed oblivion of the sunset.

My son, Elu, will survive.

Hibbs, the bear with two shadows, I have spirited safely away into a sister dimension.

But Samuel, my sad-eyed, adopted son, will soon die I think.

Not at the hands of his life-long enemy, DayStar. But by the two-edged sword of his love for his wife, Meilori.

And that trickster scamp, Victor Standish, he, too, will die. I will miss him, for he, also, will be "consumed" by his love for the unnatural creature called Alice.

You are wondering why I am talking to you?

You are close to my heart as well, for all of you craft with words.

So I have come to say seven words to you:

"Live well. Soon I will miss you."
***
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HER BONES ARE IN THE BADLANDS

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America has spanned the continent, survived the War to end all wars, and bursts with false fire in the stock market.

Criminals are the new heroes.  Science is the new god. 

And one lonely, undying man seeks to evoke an innocence that never was by making the first talking Western movie.

With his wizard, Nikola Tesla, Samuel McCord awakens an ancient evil. 

Now, he must find a way to save those who have unknowingly become the prey to Something whose hunger never ends.

HER BONES ARE IN THE BADLANDS is now FREE for a LIMITED TIME.

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How many masks does your novel wear?

Each person we meet wears a mask. Beneath that mask lies several faces ... all true in different seasons. But those seasons are known only to the heart of the one wearing the mask. We have to guess.

Life is a masquerade. The dance steps are complex. And sometimes our feet get stepped on. 

Why should they not? Each person dances to the music they alone hear.

Of course, my use of "mask" is a facade itself. I use it in one sense to mean symbolism. 

Do you use symbolism in your novel? Do you use the interweaving of names, objects, and experiences to stand in for universal truths in your story?

You don't have to. I do it for me. I do it for those who would re-read my novels and discover something new with each new visit.

The names in my novel mean something: Samuel from the Hebrew 'Shemu'el': heard of God. Those in crisis and pain cry out to God in my novel, and in stalks Samuel.

Is he the answer to their prayers? I do not say. 

By the time of FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE, Samuel has become agnostic. The irony is that he, no longer having the heart to believe in God, is still the answer to the prayers of those in pain.

Meilori means 'beautiful laurel.' The irony there is that the eternal woman feels neither beautiful nor a winner 

{laurels were used in Ancient Rome to fashion victors' garlands.}

Google 'DayStar and Isaiah' to find the possible scope of Samuel's enemy. Another irony when you realize Samuel's eventual disillusionment with the being he calls the Great Mystery. 

The irony increases with FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE, when Samuel's very lifestyle becomes Renfield's, the vampire-priest, main reason for clinging to the faith his best friend no longer has.

The transatlantic steamer Samuel finds himself on is the DEMETER, the name of the Greek Corn Goddess who in myth contends with Hades. 

Samuel befriends a little psychic girl on the voyage whom he likens to a small Corn Goddess. And she is instrumental in fighting DayStar.

The ship's voyage in itself is a symbol for the journey all of us take on the unpredictable seas of fate. 

Many of the doors aboard that ship take people to places far different than they expected ... just like the doors in our own lives.

Phrases are repeated throughout the novel. I will only state one example . Twice, once in the middle and again at the ending,

 DayStar gestures to Samuel when he means to sacrifice him and sneers Pilate's words, "Behold the Man." 

Masks.

They, too, are used as symbols in my historical fantasy: the young girl, Rachel, is murdered and her face removed to be used as a mask by the killer. 

Masks are worn by the passengers to hide their true motives for being on board. Some remove them. Some change masks. Others see through those of others. 

Still others realize that the face they thought was their own was, in fact, a mask worn to protect and conceal their fragile illusions.

At the end of the novel, Samuel has been run through with a broadsword. He is on his hands and knees, alone and dying.

 Elu's face appears to him in the spreading pool of his own blood. And the Apache shaman speaks to him:

Elu’s words were cruel whips. “Where is the Dyami I remember? Or was he but a mask you wore when the battle was easy? 

Are you going to die like some beat dog on your knees? Or are you going to stand on your own two feet like the warrior Meilori believes you to be?”

His voice thickened. “What is it to be, Dyami? A beat dog or a warrior who bares his teeth at the approaching darkness and pulls his enemies down with him into that last night?”

I managed a crooked smile and croaked out, “Woof.”

Elu stiffened, then smiled so sad it was a pain to see as I used the butt of my rifle and lurched to my feet. 

Still I would have fallen if I hadn’t had the Pope’s broadsword to use as my second crutch. I swayed and almost fell. Somehow I stayed on my feet.

Taking in a ragged breath, I took one weak step. Then another.

My heart became stone as I heard Elu again. But he wasn’t speaking. He was singing. Singing my deathsong. I nodded to the growing shadows.

“Reckon so,” I said to the darkness.
***

Those aren't all the symbols I used, of course. I don't want to bore you. I just wanted to ask:

Do you use symbols in your novel?

Are you aware of the underlying themes of your novel?

Those themes, those symbols are the rudders that direct the flow of your novel's story.

If you are unaware of them, you are not in control of your narrative. And that's how novels run aground. Don't let yours be one of those that do.

Symbolism, themes, ironies -- they all work best when not noticed. Our major task as a writer is to tell a rousing, entertaining tale. 

Our main goal is to keep our reader on the edge of her/his seat, so caught up in the tension and striving that they find themselves lost in the narrative. 

And when they look up at the clock, they are amazed at how much time has flown by.

The symbolism, themes, and ironies mixed in artistically will add depth to their enjoyment of their reading without their ever really noticing them. They are the spices of the meal ... not the meat of it. 

The teacher in me adds them for my own pleasure. The artist in me strives to introduce them subtly and gently. I just wanted to ask you if you added symbolism, themes, and ironies to your novel as well.

*************