Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Author Take Over: Milla V (Carmilla Voiez), author of Starblood

Hi Guys!!
Today I have the pleasure of introducing the amazing Camilla Voiez (or Milla V) to you all!! She is here to tell you about her latest book; The Ballerina and the Revolutionary.
So without further delay, I'll hand over the word to Carmilla. Make sure to drop by her pages and give her a like :-D
When I was growing up I always loved books with feisty female characters. More and more I think we realise that we need to have characters who reflect a myriad of different genders (yes I believe there are more than two, get over it), ethnic backgrounds, religious beliefs, sexualities and abilities, to reflect the world in which we live. We aren't all white, we aren't all male, we aren't all middle class and we aren't all straight. We are diverse and in my opinion literature should reflect this if it is to touch our souls. I've written many kinds of female characters, but I wanted to explore a character who felt neither male nor female and felt trapped in a body that didn't reflect what they were on the inside.
The Ballerina and the Revolutionary is Crow's story and Crow is a gender-queer anarchist with mother issues. However, I never wanted to write a story about Crow's gender. Gender is only one of the facets of who Crow is, just like all of us. We are not our gender, we are so much more. Crow is an amazingly strong, intelligent and loyal person who returns to a family home full of ghosts and violent memories. It is a ghost story. It is a story about dealing with schizophrenia and it is a story about self-acceptance.

Milla V is the more gentle alter-ego of award-winning horror writer Carmilla Voiez. Under the moniker of Milla V Carmilla writes stories about fairy tales and self discovery that are suitable for a far wider audience. Her work includes themes such as gender-identity and mental illness. Milla V lives in the North East of Scotland. She has two children and a beloved cat. As well as writing fiction she also focuses on LGBTQIA rights and feminist issues. Born in the 1970s to a working class father and a middle class mother in England she became aware of class issues from a young age. She has studied Law and Creative Writing at university and hosts a monthly podcast called Room 13 Radio. A lifetime Goth, her musical influences are as important to her work as the literary ones and includes among her creative heroes Peter Murphy, Andrew Eldritch, Clive Barker, Emily Bronte and Iain Banks.

Vivienne realises she is dying. All she wants to do is see her daughter Giselle one last time and apologise. But Giselle no longer exists and it is Crow, a gender-queer anarchist, who returns to a family home that is plagued by ghosts and violent memories. Crow unravels terrifying secrets, hoping to find closure at last. But can anyone survive the shadows that lurk behind the fairy tales?

You can buy The Ballerina and the Revolutionary HERE

My body was like flotsam, tossed about in the crowd. My throat, dry from shouting, felt full of
razorblades. Where was everyone? The bodies, bouncing beside me, crashing against me, were
strangers. All my friends scattered in the first surge, not long after the rioting started and the
police descended. Above our heads, damp with sweat and water spray, towered a dozen mounted
police. Glossy, chestnut mares gazed haughtily down at the crowd as their riders tapped batons
against body armour, menacingly. The bodies of fellow anarchists and others pressed in around
me. The tide was turning. We were moving back, retreating, scurrying away like frightened rats.
A sweaty chest crushed my face. As the man moved so my jaw and nose moved too, pinned
between it and an arm behind me. I gasped for breath.
It was always the same. Two steps forward, one step back. Our comrades had been
occupying the closed school for months, providing free education to adults and children alike in
this deprived area of London, but the landlords wanted them out. Answering their call for help,
we stood with them. Dressed in black and red, we created a buffer between those grass-roots
heroes and our moneyed oppressors with nothing other than property values, profit and fast
turnarounds on their minds. Our standoff displeased the Metropolitan police, and here they were
again, determined to move us on. Comply or die – that should have been their motto.
Amidst the chaos, I heard a shout and recognised the voice. Jumping, I accidentally
bludgeoned a man’s ear with my elbow as I rose. He yelped in pain and shock then
acknowledged my existence, at last.
‘I need to see,’ I told him.
He supported my weight, lifting me proud of the crowd. Outside the tightening ring of
protestors was Chrissie. She was being tackled by three policemen and wrestled to the ground.
The man withdrew his support and I slid between bodies and dropped to my knees. Beyond
the forest of legs, Chrissie’s face was being pushed against concrete, a heavy boot pressed
between her shoulders. Our eyes met. Wrapping my fingers around a rock from the ground, I
rose to my feet, leaned forwards and pushed my way towards the front of the crowd, weaving
between hot bodies. The smell of anger and fear tainted the air. Sweat and tears dripped like rain.
At last, my body fell clear of the crush of protestors. Chrissie craned her neck and stared
back at me. My shout of rage was cut short as a riot shield slammed against my cheek and I
crumpled on the ground beside her.
In the flashing lights of my dazed vision, her face faded. I reached out and grasped her wrist.
A smile lit up her face and she mouthed one word, ‘Crow’, before all light extinguished and I
passed out.


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