The Eleventh Age
Hope is the morning cry of the freedom-seeker… the evening prayer of the holy.
Hope is the sacred guardian ghost of the brave and the tender heart-song of the meek.
Ten ages past the fall of humankind, the prophecy is complete. At the dawn of this Eleventh Age, the birth of Hope for all of humanity should have been just cause for celebration. But this war is telling of the depths to which humanity has fallen. After all, what is it now that the freedom-seeker cries for but an ends and the holy kneels for but a means? What is it that the courageous envision but swift and certain justice and the meek raise harmonious voices to but the glory of vengeance?
In this Eleventh Age, Hope is just cause for death.
Elli has spent sixteen years of her life not knowing anything but happiness in a world that has fought and bled, wept and died for fer. Now everything must change, for Hope Lives.
The Eleventh Age, a present-day fantasy novel series, is the story of Elli Foote, a girl whose life is upended by a ten thousand year old prophecy, and her quest for the lost stones of power, which she needs in order to save humanity from a bloodthirsty wizard, bent on world domination… Or so everyone keeps telling her. Elves? Wizards and fairies? The stench of battle, barely escaped, still lingering like death in her nostrils sixteen years after the fact? All of these things seem impossible to Elli, yet as her life of lies swiftly unravels and the spells that bound her under her father’s protection come undone, she finds herself on the run, because whether or not she believes in fairytales does not matter to Roviello Tofal, who will kill her for what she is and for the stone she has always possessed.
It may sound crazy, but everywhere I go, people tell me how much they like my purse. Seriously. “Oh, thanks, I made it,” I answer, which tends to cause some discussion about why on earth I’m not making and selling purses instead of being a struggling writer.
I have no choice.
It could be said that my battle with writing was born in me the day my parents decided to name me Luthien Tinuviel instead of something normal, like Dorcas Elliot, which sounds like a perfectly decent name for a purse lady, if you ask me (though given everything I know about myself, poor Dorcas would likely have ended up just writing about purses, if she’d won out over the Song of Beren and Luthien). When I was growing up, I used to make up plays with my older sister for the neighborhood kids to perform. At thirteen I firmy believed I was destined to be John Lennon, not because of his music, though I do have a thing for music, but because of his words. I wanted to affect the world with words in that way, and it really offended my when my father told me no because he and my mother didn’t believe in child exploitation. In high school, I remember once being assigned to write a five page story in English, due in a week, and I wrote almost twenty pages front-and-back of a story called Aleka’s Attic, inspired by River Phoenix’s band. I ran out of time in the end and had to turn it in unfinished, so I could move on to other things, much less exciting than creating an alternate reality within Aleka’s fragile mind.
The truth is writing’s in my soul. The Eleventh Age is my purpose. I couldn’t stop writing if I tried.
But yeah, my purse is pretty awesome too. I also make hats, prosthetic beards for high school musicals, elaborate dragon halloween costumes–perhaps I should start taking those into shops with me and see what sort of reaction I get.