About the Author
About the Author
The fairy cottage appeared in the distance, surrounded by flowers of every hue. Their perfume drifting up to meet the late summer breeze, a breeze that was promising rain.
Local folklore said that if you offered the one inside the stone cottage a present of a silver coin or small treasure then they may grant you one wish.
The well-trod path leading to the blue-painted door stretched out before her and without a backwood glance, she moved up it, somehow taking comfort that many had also walked along the same path before her. With a timid hand, she knocked once, and once more at the door. It opened before her allowing the sun to highlight dancing dust motes.
“H… hello,” she called softly.
“Come in pretty one,” a voice answered her.
“I’ve come to ask a favour,” her bravery made her say but her fear kept her rooted to the doorstep.
“Let me look at you,” the voice, although pleasant sounding, gave her a feeling of fear made sharper by the shudder that ran down her back.
“I brought you a present, see,” she held her hand out to show the silver token she’d brought with her.
“You are too far away, my pretty, I can’t see.”
Sarah looked down at the coin in her hand and slowly took a tiptoe step forward entering over the threshold. The darkness of the cottage swallowed her up and she felt herself grow cold.
“H….here…” she whispered looking at the coin shining in her hand as she held it out.
“And what is the wish that you want my pretty?”
A match struck and the flash of light startled her making her jump back before it was used to light a candle. Not that it offered much in the way of illumination, highlighting instead all the dark shadows that danced around the room.
“I have a love…”
“Lucky my dear, there are many that wish for true love to come,” the crone laughed.
“He is at war,” she continued.
“And you wish him home with his boots under your bed,” the crone muttered with a salacious laugh.
Sarah felt her face flaming and pressed her lips together to stop the hasty denial that rushed to be spoken. “My wish is not about him,” she felt her anxiousness rise as she thought about what she was asking. “No, it is the harvest that is coming. All signs are that there is rain coming and we will fail to get it in in time and with no harvest, we will starve this coming winter.”
“So your wish is for the harvest to succeed child? That is a lot of wish for such a small token!”
She felt the weight of the crone’s sneer directed at her as she looked at the small coin in her hand. “I wish…” she began. “For the sun to shine long enough to get the hay in.”
Sarah closed her eyes feeling her last smidgeon of bravery deserting her as she uttered her one wish, her hand closing around and clutching at the silver coin. This was silly. No-one could change the weather, no-one could alter the fate of the harvest. Why had she come here? What foolishness had prompted her to believe in folklore?
Her eyes shot open at the crone’s word and she opened up her hand to offer the coin only to see her hand empty. “Wha..” she cried out.
Sarah uttered a hasty thank you before she spun around and darted out of the cottage feeling bright sun meeting her as she ran back up the path and past the bright flowers.
The crone watched the slip of a girl dart out of her cottage, running as though she was being chased her long skirt whipping around her legs as she ran, before glancing at the silver coin in her hand. Just yesterday someone had been at her door asking for their wish and soon another one would come along requesting something else. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that she was just an old woman in a cottage with no magical powers. Until the next visitor turned up she’d just rest a while in her rocking chair with her cat on her lap.
About the Author
Date Published: August 1 2016
Sydney Sommer’s world fell apart after senior prom. Since then, her life had become a constant loop of unfortunate scenarios that kept her in constant fear of what might be lurking around the next corner. Her trust in others was at a standstill. Even those who were closest to her were held at a distance.
After serving active duty overseas, Jaxon Triggs moved away from his hometown, hoping the change in scenery would help him build a new future for himself. What he wasn’t expecting was to fall for a girl who was broken.
From the first moment Jaxon laid eyes on Sydney, he was curious. He became determined to do everything he could to break through the armor Sydney held around her so securely. His instinct to protect her and keep her safe kicked in as the dangers she encountered became more personal.
With dread always looming close by and secrets discovered, would Sydney be able to handle the new changes in her life yet heal at the same time?
Diane Zparkki——lives in the greater Toronto area. She is a working mom, and with her husband, she has raised three great kids. She is a thrill seeker who usually drags her family along with her.
She was never a big reader or writer in her youth—Coles Notes were her best friend through college. Her enthusiasm for reading came later in life when she joined a book club. She loved those books, but she wanted raw, simple, and happily ever after with a bit of get down and dirty. That was when her love for bad boys on a Harley was set in motion.
After reading so many books, her mind started to create her first story, and she needed to get it out.
Fixing Sydney of the Branson’s Kind of Love trilogy is her first book, and she hopes you enjoy it as much as she has enjoyed having these characters running around in her head.
Pinterest: diane zparkki
A Day in the Life of Author Diane Zparkki
Writing is not my full-time job, oh how I wish it was. My day begins like most working moms with my alarm clock being programmed to go off at six thirty with the sweet sound of “Free” by Zac Brown Band. Now that does not necessarily mean that I get up. I head up rolling out of bed about fifteen minutes later and get myself ready for the day. By seven thirty I am heading downstairs but not before I flip the lights on in my son’s room while his own alarm is blaring to his own sound, and it is no Zac Brown tune.
I make my way down to the kitchen to get breakfast ready and make lunches. Loving that next year my son will be in high school and he will have to make his own lunch.
At eight o’clock I am final sitting down to eat my breakfast and will either go through my emails and do correspondence or I will read for half hour before I have to leave for work.
But of course, during the midst of this morning kitchen routine, I have hollered up to my son about a dozen times to make sure he is up and getting ready. I wonder how I once did this with three kids in the house (my two daughters are at university now).
I am at work ready to start my day by eight forty- five. I spend my day at an elementary school where the autistic students are integrated into the regular class with support for an educational resource worker, me. The job is consuming because I often try to think outside the box to teach and also help the classroom teacher with the curriculum they need to have in place for these students. Some days can be challenging, to say the least, but on those days when things go smoothly and my students get it. It’s an absolutely rewarding day.
My lunch breaks are spent in a quiet room where I can run away with my characters and write their story. In fact, my computer is usually with me wherever I go. As I am writing this I am sitting a speed training program my son is involved in for an hour. I could easily leave and go for a coffee or go shopping but my character is always hanging out with me demanding to be heard.
I thank my lucky stars that my husband loves cooking because he makes dinner most nights.
After dinner I get myself settled down with a cup of tea, fuzzy socks, and my pajamas to sit down at my computer to write. I close down the computer at around eight thirty and do one of two things: climb into bed and read whatever book I am reading or head down to the family room and watch two or three episodes of whatever Netflix obsession I am on. My eyes usually close around midnight where my characters decide to take over my subconscious.