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Author: Tracey Dyck

Subplots & Storylines – July to October 2020

SUBPLOTS AND STORYLINES IS BACK, BABY. And I am aghast, because how has it been a third of a year since I did one of these recap posts?! Let’s just chalk it up to this being the weirdest, timey-wimey-est year in history. But we’re here now, so pull up a chair. How’ve you been? What worlds have you conquered? (Or how many naps have you taken?)

Now, I know I said way back in spring or something that S&S was narrowing down to cover just book and movie reviews. (Since personal and writing updates are now featured in my email newsletter!) Buuut because it’s been so long since I gave you any sort of life update, how about a crash course on what my last four months have been like? It’s been kind of wild.

Petrichor: A Gift for You!

Hey, questers, it’s been a WHILE, hasn’t it? I’ve been an inconsistent blogger (again), and only a marginally better bookstagrammer.

But one of the (few) good reasons I have for my absence is this:

I’ve been working on a short story that’s a special gift for my newsletter subscribers. It’s called Petrichor, and it’s about as far from my typical YA fantasy fare as anything I’ve ever written. (In terms of tone, not content. Don’t worry, I didn’t up and decide to write something inappropriate.)

So. Why did I write something in such a different genre?

It’s because some stories show up on the doorstep of your mind and don’t rightly care who’s been there before them. Petrichor didn’t care that it wasn’t a fairytale. It showed up to be eerie, haunting, and perhaps a little thought-provoking.

And what better time to share it with you than right around Halloween?


Petrichor. He told me that was the name of the smell after it rained.

There’s a lot Tillie doesn’t remember. They say it’s amnesia, that she hit her head in a crash. But when her isolated countryside house becomes haunted by a pair of ghosts, old memories come knocking.

Some doors must not be opened.


If you’ve already signed up for my newsletter, the good news is that Petrichor already showed up in your inbox this morning!

If not, drop your email down below and you’ll get it straight away via my trusty dragon messengers.

The form you have selected does not exist.

You’re all AWESOME. I hope you enjoy reading this eerie little tale as much as I loved writing it!

The Icarus Aftermath – Book Review

Have I got a great read to share with you today, my noble questers and curious bookdragons! If you love space opera, Greek mythology, found family, banter, and feels… let me introduce you to The Icarus Aftermath by Arielle M. Bailey.

First off, I love this girl to pieces, She’s intelligent, witty, and has a deep understanding of people—all of which shows up in her writing.

Secondly, The Icarus Aftermath is basically Greek mythology meets Star Wars. And even I, not having an extensive background in either of those things (hang on, don’t take my nerd card) loved the combo!

About the Book

With their best captain gone, Talos steps up to lead the Rebellion’s fighters. First objective: take out the Labyrinth. Only problem? No one can find its key.

Koralia thinks she can find it, or at least an alternative. She didn’t count on uncovering secrets that could rock the galaxy to its core. Now she’s rushing to find a solution before everything blows up in their face.

If they don’t destroy the Labyrinth soon, the Rebellion, the planets they protect, and an entire race of people are all doomed.

Greek Mythology meets Star Wars in this retelling of the Minotaur and the Labyrinth.

Find the book:

Connect with Arielle Bailey:


Okay, does that not sound like a GREAT STORY already? I’m a sucker for rebellion plots, for one thing. And for another, these are rebels worth caring about.

Silmaril Awards – Most Epic Heroine Winner!

In a forest far, far away, the early morning birdsong and quiet rustlings of small creatures in the undergrowth are interrupted. For down the secret paths of this forest comes the marching of many feet. The sounds of laughter and excited talk grow as men and women, boys and girls file through the trees. There is little in common with these folk—except for one thing. The books. They each carry novels, strapped to their backs or waists or carried in their hands. They are readers, every one of them.

At last these many readers tramping down their many secret paths meet together in a wide glen surrounded by trees. White flower chains are strung between the branches. At the far end of the glen stands a wooden stage, and spread before it are hundreds of chairs, half of them ready and waiting. The other half are already filled by nearly a hundred and fifty heroines.

The readers take their seats, murmuring in anticipation. For today dawns the beginning of the Silmaril ceremonies… and they are about to discover who will receive this year’s award for Most Epic Heroine.

A girl with a blonde pixie cut and a long grey cloak climbs onto the stage and smiles at the crowd.

“Welcome, fellow readers, to the fifth annual Silmaril Awards!”

The crowd cheers.

“My name is Tracey, and it’s my distinct pleasure to introduce our hostess for this morning—but before I do, allow me to say that I’ve never been quite so inspired as I have been the past few weeks. Housing one hundred and forty-eight worthy heroines in one’s home has a way of doing that to you. Ah, the stories they told me! The bravery, grace, wit, and wisdom of these ladies would light a flame of courage in any heart. But alas, only five heroines could proceed to the voting round.” She sweeps an arm toward the audience. “And now the time has come to see which one found the most favor among all of you!”

Tracey clears her throat and continues. “But that is an announcement for someone else to share. I now welcome to the stage the White Lady, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, daughter of the house of Eorl, who for a time went under the alias Dernhelm and slew the Witchking. I give you… Lady Éowyn!”

A tall woman with golden hair rises from the front row and takes the stage to the sound of even louder cheers. She beams. “Welcome, friends. It is an honor to stand before you today, and an even greater honor to present a Silmaril to this year’s winner. I wish to—”

At this moment, thunder rumbles in the distance. A bank of low, dark clouds rushes to cover the sunrise. The audience stirs nervously as a sudden wind whips through the trees.