TGIF!

I haven't posted in awhile.  Since I'm messing around on the internet, I seized the opportunity to do so.  I've been busy writing--I'm about halfway through an inspirational romance.  Here's a piece of it.   My hero's in a bit of a spot.

Rough draft--please don't quote or repost.  Thanks!

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The road stretched out before him, lined by fence posts that stuck out of the snow like sentries standing at attention as he passed.  He had encountered no other vehicles in the five miles he’d already come.  Adam realized that the term “country road” used by the patrolman hardly described the isolation. 

A mile or so further on, he passed a farmhouse, set well back from the road, and the tracks he had been following turned in at the driveway.  Lights gleamed from the windows, penetrating the snow-engendered gloom, and a string of glowing Christmas lights hanging from the eaves gave Adam a wistful feeling.  He’d lay odds that Christmas was going on inside that house.  A real Christmas.  He hadn’t seen what he considered a real Christmas in a long time.  Of course, Tiffany would have been glad to spend Christmas with him.  As a matter of fact, she would have been insistent on it, he thought wryly. He felt fairly confident that high-fashioned, high-powered Tiffany wouldn’t know what a real Christmas was if it bit her.  Not a home-cooked meal surrounded by family.  Adam thought Christmas to her would probably mean some party with friends where she could show off her latest outfit and give and receive expensive gifts.

Movement caught the corner of his eye.  Instinctively, Adam slammed on his brakes.  He caught a flashing glimpse of brown fur and antlers before his Mustang slid off the road and hit an embankment. The deer he had almost hit scrambled up the opposite embankment and jumped the fence, disappearing into the driving snow.  He sat for a moment, stunned.  What was a deer doing out in the middle of a snowstorm?  Didn’t they hole up somewhere during the day?

The Mustang’s engine still ran.  He pressed on the accelerator, and the back wheels spun in the snow.  He moved a couple of feet along the ditch, but the car could find no purchase to pull itself out.  Muttering under his breath, Adam opened the car door and stepped out into the snow.  The wind immediately took his breath, and the snow, far deeper than his shoes, clutched at his unprotected ankles with icy fingers.  The wind found every gap in his clothing, piercing like little knives.  He waded the snow, moving around the car, looking for some way to get it out of the ditch.  A quick check in the trunk revealed exactly zero help.  He registered a resolve never to leave home again without sand or cat litter, and definitely packing overshoes when the forecast called for snow.

Adam slammed the trunk lid and slid back into the car.  He fumbled for his cell phone, fingers shaking with the cold, and dialed information.  Nothing but silence met his ear.  He brought the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen.  The words “no service” caused him to stare in disbelief.

“Really?” he said to the universe at large.

Off With the Old....Or Boy Meets Girl

See that picture in my header?  It's my backyard.  Looks wintry, doesn't it?  It's an old picture.  Here it is, January 6, and we haven't had any snow that stuck around for more than a couple of hours.  Weird.

Now that Wintersland is behind me as far as writing the first draft, I'm starting something new.  I'll spend March editing Wintersland into something readable, but in the mean time, it's on to the next novel, tentatively titled Blood Heir.  That's subject to change; it's kinda blah.

Below is a piece from my new work, in which Boy Meets Girl.  Kind of.  They already know each other, but they're about to get a lot closer.

Snippet from Chapter One, please don't quote or repost, rough draft only.

Allia turned her head to survey the weapons man.  He stared at her in return, dark eyes appraising and slightly bitter, his expression more dour than usual.  The burn scar that crossed his right cheek from the bridge of his nose to the corner of his mouth drew her gaze.  Everin turned his head so that his scar disappeared into shadow.

"What service would you require of me, my liege?" Everin asked.  His voice, harsh and penetrating, like the distant cry of a bird of prey, caused a muscle to clench along Allia's jawline.

"Everin, you know what will happen when I die.  My wife will try to turn her out with nothing.  She has never been reconciled to the fact that Trini is not the sole heir, nor made secret that she both hates and fears the Elder blood that flows in Allia's veins."

Allia gave Everin a defiant look at mention of her heritage.  If he so much as twitched...

"Her blood is of no concern to me," Everin said in an indifferent voice.  "I come from Hialin.  The Elders are not looked on with fear there."

"I thought so,"  Dalin said with satisfaction.  "That is why I ask you to stay and stand by Allia's side when I am gone, and bring as many of the guards and servants as you can trust to stand with her as well.  Half of what I own is hers by blood and by law, and I know the daughter of my heart will not fail those that look to her, nor squander her responsibilities."

Her father's last four words contained a world of bitterness.  Allia knew he referred to her stepmother, Ondi, who considered her husband and his House a botttomless source of funds to spend as she would.

Some of the tenseness in her body relaxed.  At least he had not asked that she wed Everin, or anyone else, as she had expected him to do.

"It would be better were you to wed," her father said, echoing her thoughts.  "But I would not so burden two people who do not wish it.  I have had a bellyful of arranged marriages.  So, what say you, Everin?"

"I will do as you ask," Everin said, his face an unreadable mask.

Her father's gaze swung to Allia.

"I will accept his help," she said simply.

"It is well," Dalin said, and sagged against the headboard as if every bit of strength had left his body.

Last Hurrah from Wintersland....

The last snippet from Wintersland.

Rough draft--please don't quote or repost.

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The staff rested on her forehead.  A spike of intense cold radiating from the staff wrung a cry of agony from Katie.

"You will say it," Old Man Winter said.

"Get away from her!" Mel screamed.

Old Man Winter whirled.  Katie gave a sobbing gasp of relief as the spike of torture was removed from her forehead.  Her eyes re-focused, and she saw that Mel stood by the Wishing Tree, and that the Pretender swung from one of its branches.  Mel looked magnificent, and Katie had never been more proud of her sister.

"You dare!" Old Man Winter said to Mel.  His power hit her until she staggered, but the ornament remained untouched

done, Done, DONE!

Finished! Finished! (Dancing in the street) I have finished Wintersland, the novel I began writing two years ago, this very month. It came in at around 33,000 words, so, technically, not a novel, but I can already see that, with revision, it will top 40,000, which is novel-length. I was all set to beat myself up for taking two years to write 33,000 words, but when I considered that I had major medical problems, a job change, and a massive re-write sandwiched in there, I think I did alright. The story is rough, and will definitely need revision, but I'm just happy it's done. I dedicated it to my brother, Michael. He would have been 42 today if he was still alive.

Technology - Catching the Expressway

It probably doesn't come as a surprise that I'd like to sell what I write. Who wouldn't? You put hours and hours of work into writing a story, you'd kinda like to show it off. And get paid for all that work.

These days, breaking into the print industry is like standing in the middle of Death Valley hoping to catch a ride before your water and food run out. Good luck with that.

So I'm reading about all these writers who've quit the print industry and are going the self-publishing route. I can see that if you invite enough people to get into your car that are interested in the kind of stuff you write, you could find your audience.

How to do that? I'm not even sure how to tweet yet. Sigh.

I've got to start interacting with technology instead of letting technology pass me by. What the heck happened to that wiz kid who taught herself how to use the internet back when browsers were nearly unheard of and only a few pages were out there to look at? While I was buzzing along in my fast lane, they built the expressway to one side, and I just now noticed all the traffic whizzing by me.

I need to overhaul my car and catch the expressway.

It was a long and hot summer....

How hot is it? Not as hot as Texas, but nearly a month of a heat index in the triple digits gets to you. That kind of heat is enervating. When you start praying and dreaming for temps in the eighties, something is wrong. LOL! That's why I posted this snippet. It made me feel cold just to write it.

First draft, please don't quote or repost. Thanks!

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The area was not empty this time around, nor was it even an enclosed room. The area stood open to the sky, ceiling long gone. The floor looked like one sheet of solid ice, feet thick. Cold rushed over her--cold so deep and so thick that she felt as if she could cut through it like something solid. Her breath pushed out of her in visible clouds. As she looked into the depths of the ice, she sucked in her breath in one great rush. Staring back at her were faces in the ice. Some weren't even what she would even call human. Their eyes stared up at the sky with no knowledge or life in them.

Katie's gaze swept ahead, and she saw a dark heap of something marring the shining pool of ice. She hurried toward it as quickly as she could, slipping and sliding with the treacherous footing. The nearer she came, the more the dark heap resolved itself to a figure lying on the ice.
Katie's feet slipped out from underneath her and dumped her on her backside. She got up on her hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way to the huddled figure.

The person lay facing the opposite direction, but a lock of red hair spilled out from the hooded cloak. Katie moaned in despair, and reached her hand to touch Treyga. She pulled down the hood to reveal Treyga's face, blue and still. The other girl was so cold that Katie felt it even through her gloves.

"Treyga!" she said. "Treyga, wake up! You've got to get up!"

She tugged at an arm. She could not move Treyga at all. Katie saw with a sense of horror that Treyga was in the ice itself, partially swallowed by it, as if it had melted then refroze around her.

"Oh my God!" Katie cried. Her teeth were chattering so badly she could barely speak. "This is all my fault, I should never have let you come with me!"

July Already?

Slow progress recently. Working sometimes more than ten hours a day. When I get home, I just want to vegetate rather than write. Hope this slows down or I'm going to go insane.

One of my friends is coming to stay with us for awhile to look for a job. I had to shovel out the bedroom I was using as a large walk-in closet (when you only have 3 bedrooms, stuff like that happens), but at least the time I'm taking off from work to do this is a welcome break. Have to work pretty hard when I go back to work, but what else is new? At least I have a job to go to; I know many people don't.