Friends Old and New (#FridayFlash)

Since Accidental Sorcerers launches next week, and once again I got nuttin’ for #FridayFlash, I’m making a virtue of necessity and posting an excerpt.

For those of you who have been reading the serialized version (about half the entire story), our heroes were last on the way to Queensport and the annual Gathering of the Conclave. And now, they both get to meet other apprentices…

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Mik and Sura were separated, as expected, and taken to the dormitories they would share with the other apprentices. Sura stepped into the girls’ room, and was swept up in a gleeful embrace.

“Sura! I got your letter last summer, I’m sorry I didn’t write back, but I got so busy when Father apprenticed me to Tonima! It’s so wonderful, we won’t have to spend all that time in the kitchen this year! We’ll have our studies together…”

“Isa! Hello!” Sura disengaged herself and looked at the chattering girl who had always been her best friend at the Conclave. Isa hailed from Ugar, one of a loose alliance of city-states along the coast, east of Queensport. To be honest, Sura had been too busy herself to wonder why Isa had never written back. “It’s good to see you too! The year’s been good to you.” That was true; Isa’s childhood softness had ripened into a more mature kind. She wore the brown sash of Earth magic.

“So how’s your apprenticeship?” Isa asked her. “Anything exciting?”

“Oh, Isa, you would not believe…” She gave her friend a lopsided smile. “Father got a second apprentice over the winter, and he’s… well, we…”

Isa squealed. “Oh, you must introduce him to me! So… are you two—” She squeezed her thumb and forefinger together, and Sura blushed. “I knew it! You’ve got so pretty since last year, of course the boys would notice you. I won’t try to steal him, I promise!”

“Two apprentices? Must be nice,” said one of the older girls from her bed; several others voiced agreement. “And he’s your boyfriend too?” The others gathered around Sura and Isa. “Tell us all about it. Sounds like the most exciting thing we’ve heard so far.”


Mik looked around the boys’ room. The arrangement reminded him of the bunkhouse at his aunt’s ranch outside Lacota—except that all the beds were on the floor, and a bunkhouse did not feature ornate stonework and mosaics. Other boys, most older than Mik, from all points of the compass, chatted near the large window or stowed their baggage in drawers under their beds. Most were Western, like Mik: ruddy complexion, dark hair that often waved or curled. But there were many Northerners, tall and blonde, and even a few from the East and South. He shrugged and dropped his pack on a bed near the window.

Two of the older apprentices turned to face him. “Is this bed taken?” Mik asked.

“Over by the door, boy,” the taller one sneered—his accent, pale skin, and thin yellow hair marked him as a Northerner. “This side is for the senior apprentices.”

After facing rogue mages and river pirates, let alone an ice dragon, a supercilious apprentice intimidated Mik not at all. “I was told I could take any open bed. Who are you to say different?”

The blonde scowled; to Mik’s surprise, the other one grinned. “You should know me, boy. You certainly will in time to come. I am Hen sim Miran, descended from the Age of Heroes and the brave men of Ak’koyr. And who are you?”

“Mik sim Mikhile. My mentor named me Mik Dragonrider.”

The older boy barked laughter. “Dragonrider? Because you sat on a skink?”

Mik felt a touch on his arm and heard a low voice: “There’s plenty of bunks over by mine.” Mik turned to find a Western boy, closer to his age, wearing a friendly smile. “I’ll be better company than them, for sure.”

Mik returned the smile, and gave the newcomer a nod. He hefted his pack and looked at Hen. “What you believe does not concern me in the least.” He turned away, this time to a laugh and stifled snickers from Hen’s counterparts.

“I’m Charn sim Bas,” the new boy said. “You’re a brave’un, facing down that braggart.”

“Eh,” said Mik, “I’ve seen scarier things than him.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Mik grinned. “My aunt. She’d have cuffed me if I let a tater intimidate me.”

“A tater?”

Mik pitched his voice higher and rougher, mimicking his aunt’s voice and Low Speech dialect: “Yar, a tater, about his ancestors goin’ on. Best part of him’s buried, it is!”

Charn whooped with laughter, rocking back on his bed. “Oh, that’s one to remember! I’ll have to tell my mentor that, she has to deal with taters all the time!” They bumped fists, and Mik had a new friend.

“Are you first-year too?” Mik asked.

“Second,” said Charn. “But that’s all right. We’ll have a fine time.”

Several other younger apprentices gathered to see what the commotion was about. The older ones ignored them, except for a brief glare from sim Miran. Only the latest comers missed the confrontation, and even they were drawn to an animated low-voiced conversation. “Why did your mentor name you Dragonrider?” one of them asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Mik.

“Good, you can tell it tonight,” said a brown-sashed Easterner. “After His Imperial Highness over there goes looking for a girl to impress.” He held out a fist with the pinky drooping away, an insulting gesture that he made sure Hen sim Miran could not see, and was rewarded with a chorus of snickers and stifled laughter.

Indie Life/Writing Wibbles

First off, I’d like to thank Ali Cross for linking to the Indelibles page. This matches up well with my normal “Writing Wibbles” column, which I like to do on Wednesdays anyway. So, on to the post…

Do you think 2012 was a good year for writing? Publishing? Anything?

Overall, I have to say I’m pretty happy with it. I published my first novel, White Pickups, in August. Sales haven't been what I'd like, but it takes time to get things off the ground. I kept on writing, finished the sequel (Pickups and Pestilence, scheduled for release in April), and wrote several novellas.

Too awesome to
not post again…

Two of the novellas are being released this month, one of them next week in fact! I’m excited, can you tell? Next week kicks off the two-week One World, Two Ages blog tour (link goes to a post with covers and blurbs). Having released a much larger work already, I have a pretty good feeling that this will go smoothly. Last-minute edits are happening now, and I just learned that Smashwords is now accepting EPUB uploads—just in time!

So those long droughts, when nothing seems to happen, aren’t really droughts. Those are the times we lay the groundwork for the next story, or take care of all the non-writing things that need to happen before Launch Day. Writing stories is definitely not the thing for someone who expects instant returns on everything. No matter how tempting it is to just blast something out there, we owe it to ourselves to get it right. We aren’t going to be lined up and shot, if we release something a week later to get those crucial copyedits done, right? (Besides, I have the Launch Cannon, I can shoot back.)

I’m looking forward to seeing what the other writers have going today. Hop back to the Indie Life page and see what they’re talking about…

Pictures by (not of) Mason

Mason provides a lot of the content for the blog these days, although that has always meant I take picture of him and post them. It got a little different today…

We were taking a break from playing this afternoon. I let him use my phone to play some games, hoping that he’d get still long enough for a nap, while I fiddled with my laptop.

Then I heard, “Smile, Granddad.” I looked up, and Mason was pointing the phone at me.

“You found the Camera app, I assume?”

He nodded, I smiled, and he poked the clicker a couple of times. Then he turned away and did some other things. So how many three year olds actually create content for a blog?

Granddad

All my cars

My foot

He’s probably not quite ready for lessons about framing, focus, and so on, so I’ll not confuse the lad. But I’m looking forward to many future guest posts…

Sick for the Holidays

What I’ll look like, if this cough keeps up.
Source: openclipart.org

At least I have an excuse for not blogging much lately, even for #FridayFlash. The afternoon before Christmas Eve, I began to feel fatigued while running an errand. That’s often the first sign that I’m about to come down with what’s officially called an ILI (Influenza-Like Illness). But a cup of coffee erased the fatigue, so I figured it was just lack of sleep.

Unfortunately, I woke up shivering around 4am that morning. I thought to myself, “No, I can’t get sick now!” but viruses don’t give two tin toots about the in-laws coming in later that day. I dragged myself through the last-minute preparations in the morning, then went back to bed for the afternoon. So I missed out on a rather large feast, for which I’d made rolls, but I was too feverish to care much.

Then the wife got it, too. Christmas Day, we both sat in the lounge chairs, trying to be part of the thing. The Boy was here, fortunately—and even more fortunately, he limped in with a deteriorating CV joint, so he was more or less stuck at FAR Manor for the week. Between himself and Daughter Dearest, who got along pretty well this time, they kept Mason busy shredding wrapping paper and blasting through his presents. Snippet, whose boyfriend also has an iPhone, uses FaceTime to “see” Mason every couple of weeks, and they pinged in to watch Mason open the big box of stuff they sent him. That works out pretty well: during those calls, she mostly focuses on Mason, who usually grabs a handful of toys and plays while she talks to him. Being a thousand miles away, she can’t get on The Boy’s nerves or tempt Daughter Dearest to commit ditzicide.


The next day, I was feeling well enough to drive, and took the wife to the doctor’s. I figured she had what I had, and would be feeling better the next day, but I still wasn’t in any condition to argue. They took a throat swab, and she had strep. At that point, I should have asked for a swab as well, but here’s where I brain-farted. I figured since I had a routine appointment scheduled for the next day, I could get it all done then. The appointment was actually scheduled for a week after the next day. I continued to feel incrementally better with each new day, but figured it was better on the half-dozen co-workers who’d be at the office if I stayed home and used the VPN. Oh, and The Boy got his car fixed and departed on time.

So I finally got to my real appointment, which included an application of The Glove cue banjo music. I got the throat swab, and yup, I had strep too. The antibiotics are already doing their thing, but I have this almost-dry cough that won’t go the eff away (cough syrup is effective for maybe 20 minutes). I’m either going to hack up a lung or have washboard abs by the time it’s done.

Here’s hoping your holidays were pleasant and disease-free.

DOUBLE COVER REVEAL!

Living in the free-range insane asylum all these years has rubbed off on me, it seems. Why else would I plan to release two stories in one month? The stories are related, and give rise to the blog tour name: One World, Two Ages. The tour will run January 14–29, with the stories released at either end. Slots are open, so if you want a guest post or to do an interview, put dibs on those dates now!

Oh, the covers? Yes, let’s talk covers. And the stories that go with them.

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Accidental Sorcerers
(Fantasy novella, YA)
Release: January 15

I’ve blogged roughly half of this story, and it’s been one of the more popular #TuesdaySerial stories I’ve had to date. In this latter age of Termag, sorcery is on the wane, making way for inventions of the folk. The Stolevan Matriarchy is the primary power, at least through the western half of the continent, and the seat of the Conclave of Sorcerers. A winter raid by rival Westmarch sets events into motion…

Invaders just across the river. A powerful spell hidden in a child’s rhyme. When an untrained boy awakens an ice dragon to protect his village, and lives to tell the tale, not even the Conclave of Sorcerers can predict what happens next.

Accidental Sorcerers brings to life an unforgettable tale of love and loyalty in the world of Termag. Feel the magic!

A sorcerer’s life is supposed to be fairly sedate in this age, but the apprentices Mik and Sura find their lives anything but sedate. But love and loyalty is some of the strongest magic of all, so I wouldn’t bet against them. I’ll be coming back to these kids, since I already have the second story (Water and Chaos) drafted out and ideas for at least four others.

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The Crossover
(Fantasy novella)
Release: January 29

This story had the working title Chasing a Rainbow, but there’s already a few hundred books out there with that title. Angela Kulig (the marketing wiz for Green Envy Press) and I both have many forehead-shaped dents in our desks, first from coming up with a replacement title, then from fixing up a cover.

This story takes place about eight hundred years before Accidental Sorcerers, at the end of what Mik and Sura (and their contemporaries) call the Age of Heroes. The city-state Ak’koyr, on the northwestern shore of the Gulf of Camac, has been the center of western civilization (they would say all civilization) through much of the age. Mounting a punitive expedition against Eastern marauders, Ak’koyr’s Avenger Fleet impresses a handful of unwilling adventurers as common labor. One of them, Lodrán by name, runs into Chelinn, an old friend with a colorful history. Then things get strange…

The warrior-mage Chelinn and his friend Lodrán have visited many strange places. But when a curse goes awry, sending them to a world where mundane devices have supplanted magic, nothing is familiar at first. Then, after rescuing a merchant, they find themselves embroiled in a far more dangerous situation.

As hundreds of lives hang in the balance, two heroes and their new friends must use all their talents to foil an evil plot—and survive until they can catch a rainbow and return home.

The Crossover transports classic fantasy characters into a modern-day setting. Neither Earth nor Termag will ever be the same!

The nature of this story makes it easier to draw contrasts between Earth and Termag. The magic that allows one to crossover to another world, also allows that traveler to speak the local language. Gotta love magic, huh?

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Now it’s your turn…

What do you want to know about Termag, these stories, or the characters? We’re all ready to assign slots on the blog tour, and take those interview questions.

If you’re a book reviewer, and want an ARC of either (or both) titles, hit the “Contact Me” link at the top of the page.

Changin', Arrangin'

The wife asked me to clean off the computer desk in Mason’s room, because she wants to move her video editing system in there. Then the old office will become a guest bedroom. So in I went, with trash bags, vacuum cleaner, and a rag with a can of Pledge. The dust bunnies were large under there, but not overly aggressive. I think I bagged about a pound of them, along with a half-ton of trash and a new (and unused) power strip.

With that done, I hung the DSL box on the wall next to the router, and neatened up the UPS position. Then it was time to unhook everything in the office and drag the computer stuff over. That went as well as could be expected, dusting each item as I brought it in. There are plenty of dust bunnies in that room, too, but the pile of papers on that desk is close to approaching critical mass and creating a black hole like the one we had in our college dorm room. She knows what the papers are for, so I’ll let her deal with them. :-)

So after I got Mason down for a nap, and the girlies took off, I finally got to relax. Then I got a text from Daughter Dearest: Go ahead and clean off your desk, so we can move the one upstairs downstairs. So there were more oversized dust bunnies, more trash, and then I hauled the old desk into the living room. With that space open, I cleaned out behind the dresser before moving the new desk into position.

Then… I started loading it up. The new desk has both more and less space, both due to the shelf. The laptop and monitor couldn't both be up there, so I moved it as shown here. But there’s room for the microphone, and (with a little more arranging and dust bunny eradication) I managed to get the laser printer in place. The printer was displaced by the wife’s DV deck.

I got smart and zip-tied the power strip to the framework on the back of the desk—now, it’s out of the way but reachable. The UPS is on the bottom shelf, and the desk is on rollers, so cleaning behind it won’t be an ordeal. Maybe the dust bunnies won’t have a chance to proliferate this time.

Guardians 3: Father Christmas (#FridayFlash)

The conclusion…

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The mantle clock struck midnight. As the last chime died away, a tall, thin man stood in the living room, facing the Guardians. His white hair hung shoulder-length, blending with his white beard.

Welcome, Father Christmas, said First Guardian. We have done our work this Christmas season, and now we stand ready. Judge us true.

The solemn figure nodded. “It is so. You have indeed done your work. You have guarded your people, and defended yourselves.” The guardians glowed. “And yet, there is one thing you missed.”

The guardians’ glowing wings flashed red with alarm. Tell us, Father Christmas, First Guardian prompted. What have we missed?

“The most important part of Christmas: compassion.” The guardians stood mute, their wings glowing red and yellow, waiting for him to continue. “Those men who broke in. They were not any danger to your people, who were off doing the things they do through the day. Perhaps you could have thought of a way to deter them, short of obliteration.”

The guardians hung their heads, as Father Christmas continued. “As for the elf, he meant neither you nor the people any harm. He was part of the celebration as much as are you three. Once he settled in, he may well have ceased his bluster and you could have reached an accommodation. As it was, he died a rather gruesome death.”

We are guilty, said First Guardian, not looking up. We accept your judgement and your punishment.

For the first time, Father Christmas smiled. “What I have in mind is not so much punishment, as education. This Christmas night, I will whisper a word in the ears of the parents. She will leave you here on the mantle, and he will not insist otherwise. In the year ahead, you will observe your people and their guests. You will hear their quarrels, share their joys and sorrows, and be amused at the silly things the children say and do.” His smile widened. “And you will not obliterate anyone who is not threatening your people. Understood?”

The guardians nodded. And we will not sleep the year through? asked First Guardian.

“You will not,” said Father Christmas. “You will watch and learn. Not everything your people do is good, and yet they are good people. You must learn to see them as they are, forgive their transgressions, and rejoice at the good they do. And remember that other people are much the same, even if they do not always act it.” He hefted his sack. “And now, it is time for me to fulfill my own purpose. Watch over your people, and remember that charity and goodwill are not only for Christmas.” He turned and walked down the hallway, to bless the people and whisper his word.

Compassion, said Second Guardian, her Sword of Light dim. It seems a hard lesson.

But one we can learn, First Guardian assured her. If we could not, we would be put away. Or recalled. Let us reflect on what we have heard this night. In the morning, we will hear and share the joy of the children. It is a beginning.

Monday Musings

We’re definitely in the Countdown to Christmas. A week and a day before the wrapping paper flies. Mason is old enough, this year, to understand the whole presents and Santa Claus thing. Of course, he had to get sick… and he’s always uggggly when he’s sick. We’ve heard, “Am I on the naughty list?” a few times. He just wants cars, and I mean the Hot Wheels kind. We could get him ten of those, wrap each one, and he’ll think he hit the Presents Jackpot come the 25th. It reminds me of Daughter Dearest—we could get her twenty bucks worth of puzzles, back in the day, and she was happy as any kid on the Big Day.

It’s been too long since icicle lights were the Big Thing for decorating. They’ve finally come up with a new “must have” light set: the waterfall/cascading kind. Well, Mason does love the extravaganza of lights outside, and we’ve made a few adjustments with wiring so we don’t blow those tiny fuses in the first string of lights this year. Pictures will be taken once the last set of lights are hung.

The clever and talented Angela Kulig is almost done with my cover art. It’s going to be glorious. I just hope it’s all ready by Wednesday, so I can wibble about it.

This evening, a couple hours after we put Mason to bed, he came up the hall saying, “there’s a problem, there’s a problem.” After a little cuddle, he let us know that his projection nightlight had cycled off and he wanted it back on. With the moon and stars once again glowing on the ceiling, he went right back to sleep.

Christmas Guardians 2: The Creepy Elf (#FridayFlash)

Sonya Clark’s comment last week gave me an idea, and I got to write some more about the no-nonsense guardians…

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“Heyyyy laaaadieeeeezzz…”

That horrid thing, again! Where is it? Second Guardian brandished her Sword of Light.

The Code, First Guardian reminded her. The people brought it in, it’s part of the household.

The creepy voice sang. “I’m just a little elf, sitting on a shelf, with three acute angles, see my legs dangle!”

This isn’t a shelf, it’s a mantle. Idiot. Then Second Guardian gasped. It’s on the mantle! Third Guardian, do you see it?

Third Guardian said nothing. But her wings, always in motion, glowed green, then shimmered left to right, pointing the way.

“I said acute angles,” said the elf, “but maybe you’re obtuse angles instead?”

If you insist on using a stupid pun, said Second Guardian, you may refer to us as right angles. She turned red. And I could cut you down from here. Don’t push your luck.

“Oh, I’m so frightened!” The elf’s tittering laugh grated in their ears. “Your boss spilled the beans on that one, I’m afraid. Besides, I’m just a decoration. With a purpose. Sort of like you, only more fun.” He leaned over to look around Third Guardian. “I certainly get to see more of the house than you guys. This elf gets around!” That grating laugh again, as he looked over Third Guardian. “Don’t you have anything to say? Cat got your tongue? I think I saw the kitty over in the manger scene.”

Third Guardian’s wings twitched, then flashed a medley of colors. She keeps her own counsel, said First Guardian. Those who know her, understand her by her wings.

“No talkee?” the elf grinned. “I like that in a woman!” He lowered his voice, becoming even more creepy than before. “Say… why don’t you and me ditch these pikers and explore the house a little? I’ve got a gift for you, you can open it once we’re alone!”

Third Guardian’s wing brushed the elf. “Hey,” he said, leaning over again, “I think she likes me! Oops.” Another brush scooted him toward the edge. “Hey, careful—whoa!” Her wings flashed yellow and red, and pushed the elf again. “You’re coming down with me, right? Yaahhh!”

The elf tumbled off the mantle, hit the screen, and bounced into the fireplace. “Whoa! Hot! Get me outta here! Yaaahhhh!”

The howls died quickly. Third Guardian, First Guardian asked in shock, did you push him off?

For the first time, Third Guardian spoke: Oops. Her wings glowed with a rosy blush.


“Honey,” the wife groaned, “I told you there wasn’t room for the elf up there! Now look!”

The husband looked at the heap of melted plastic and charred cloth in the fireplace. “Sorry. I’ll clean it up.” He moved the screen and got the scoop to scrape up the mess. “Then I’ll go get another one.”

“No.” The wife sighed. “I don’t think the kids liked it all that much. And to be honest with you, it was kind of creepy. Just listen to me when I tell you there’s not enough room next time, okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Those angels are kind of territorial, anyway.”

Recaptured

Vacations always have a sunset clause

The problem with escaping FAR Manor is that I can’t stay escaped. And the recapture always happens a day or two sooner than it should. OK, I shouldn’t really complain. Much. For one thing, the weather was near-perfect for vacation. They need some rain in Florida, but we got lots of beach and outdoor time. Mason wasn’t the only one who had a wonderful time. The only thing I didn’t get to do was meet up with some of my Twitter friends.

I got to take care of some of Mom’s computer issues, and that turned out to be fun. Dozeboxes and their software is always more than a little weird, and Vista flat refused to load the drivers for Mom’s HP all-in-one off the CD. It claimed it needed to run from an admin account, and that’s what we were doing. So I downloaded the drivers and ran it from there, and it worked.

That's me on the left

With all that working, we started scanning pictures. Mom had me get a miniature cedar chest off a high shelf, and she weeded out a few shots that nobody really wanted. The scanning software let us run several pictures at a time, and we made quick work of it.

One of the pictures was this one, complete with someone’s pencil marks. That’s me (on the left) and Other Brother. There was no date, but I figure it was early 1961 when I was in my Terrible Twos. I was an adorable little rug rat, huh? Now you know where Mason gets it from. :-D

Christmas Guardians (#FridayFlash)

The sound of an unfamiliar vehicle brought the guardians alert. Only their eyes moved as they watched. Carolers, perhaps, one said.

Not through the day, said another. The doorbell rang. First Guardian stretched her wings. Third Guardian’s wings glowed, first blue, the red, then an angry pulsing red as they heard thumping and snapping noises behind the curtains. The alarm sounded, and the guardians readied themselves for battle.

“Go! Go! Go!” One of the three masked men shouted. “Check the bedrooms, we’ll get the tree!”

“What—aaagh!” First Guardian fired her laser cannon. “My arm!” the burglar screamed. “My arm’s gone!” He fainted.

Second Guardian swung her Sword of Light, decapitating the second burglar. The last burglar pulled a gun and fired, but First Guardian’s astershield flashed, and the bullet dissolved into blue sparkles. The burglar took a direct hit from the laser cannon, and was completely vaporized.

Once again, all was calm, but there was yet work to do. The laser cannon reduced the last of them to ash. Third Guardian flew down and flapped her wings, wafting the ashes into the fireplace. Their work was done, and just in time. The howl of sirens told them help was on the way.

“Looks like the alarm scared them off,” the officer told the guardians’ charges. “They weren’t too bright in any case, they took off and left their van. The keys aren’t in it, so we’ll have it towed to the impound.”

“That’s good,” the lady told them. “I’m just glad they didn’t take our children’s gifts.”

On the mantle, the guardians glowed.

On the Beach

Mason shows us his latest shell

The first couple days of vacation, with a toddler, are best spent simultaneously unwinding and establishing a routine. As warm as it is, we do the beach in the morning and then spend some time with Mom through the afternoon (working around Mason’s naptime, which does limit afternoon mobility). Mason loves playing in the sand, finding shells, and getting his feet in the (somewhat chilly) water.

Daughter Dearest found a huge whelk in the water, and there’s pictures of me holding it up. It protested the only way it could, by spitting water, but I was holding it the other way. After a handful of pictures, I returned it and it started digging as quickly as such an ungainly thing can.

Last night, Mom, Wicked Stepfather, and Solar-bro came over for a little cookout. The cottages here have a couple zillion grills scattered around the common area, and I did burgers and dogs in the dark. A Hispanic lady in one of the other cottages came over and brought a cup of fresh salsa—as in warm off the stove fresh. It was eyeball-melting hot, and very tasty, so I dabbled some on my bratwurst and really liked it. Unfortunately, Mom tossed the rest of the cup. I was going to get some chips and see if I could melt beach sand with my breath.

I continue to be glad the girlies made it this time. Wife has actually started to relax, and Daughter Dearest has about caught up on her sleep. As for Mason, he wakes up at 8am, whether the rest of us are up or not, and finds a new strange place to play until the Big People get moving. This morning, it was the closet in our bedroom. Mom got the girlies tickets for some local production tonight, and I’ll have to see if I can tweet-up with some of the locals.

Very Inspiring Blog Award

I wonder if it’s for longevity as much as anything else, but Cindy Vaskova and Helen Howell both tagged me with this one within a day of each other! Nominees should write a post that:

1) Links back to their nominator
2) Reveals seven things about themselves
3) Nominates 15 more bloggers (15???)
4) Displays the award’s logo on their blog.

OK, what seven things can be said? Yeesh, this is harder than I expected.

1) Last week, I turned 18. For the third time. ;-)
2) I get annoyed when people want me to do something they’re capable of doing themselves.
3) When writing novels, I will switch between hand-writing and typing as it suits me.
4) Remember “The Thing” on The Addams Family? I do that with Mason, except he calls the hand a “spider.” It can be either fun or annoying, depending on his mood.
5) While I can envision a graphic, I really suck at drawing it out. Very frustrating.
6) I can get by on much smaller amounts of meat than most of my countryfolk.
7) Sometimes, I’ll think out loud. Wife then wonders what I’m talking about.

OK, on to the impossibly large number of bloggers. Cindy pretty much nailed everyone I’d want to tag, and then some. So… if you have a blog, congratulations! The prize is yours!

Escape from FAR Manor!

For the first time in far too long, we all got to escape FAR Manor. Wife-o-licious tried to get her dad to come, but he flip-flopped around most of the week then finally decided to stay home. That meant the wife did a mad scramble to line up people to keep an eye on him, but line up they did. Mom found us a cottage off the road, across from the beach, and near her place. Daughter Dearest had to work until 3 on Saturday, but that gave us time to pack (and forget a minimal amount of stuff). Still, I breathed a sigh of relief when we got moving with everyone in the car.

Since we were planning to leave so late in the afternoon, I booked a hotel room in Valdosta. It turned out to be right in front of the freeway exit—no left turn, no right turn, just go straight across and into the hotel parking lot. There were two people in front of me to check in at the front desk, and I think it took each of then ten times what it took me, just because I had a reservation. Mason slept through a cavalcade of snoring, and I’ll admit it wasn’t all from the wife and daughter… although both of them did more than they let themselves believe.

So this morning, it was up and on the road again, with a toddler who spent all of his waking hours in a car seat. Nap? Hah! But as we crossed the Howard Frankenstein Bridge (as the locals call it), Mason got his first-ever glimpse of the ocean. He was excited, as you can see.

Mom was helping some other ladies decorate the condo, so we grabbed some lunch and ate at the park across the road while Mason blew off some energy on the playground. (Did I mention it was warm enough to do that?) An older boy was there, and wearing the same color shirt as Mason, so they were suddenly Team Orange and hung out all over the place.

The cottage got a rare Wife Seal of Approval. It’s spacious, and has a big open area for Mason to run around in. So he got to blow off a little more energy while I parked in a lounge chair with my Kindle. Oh, and the place has wifi, which means I get to write a blog post…

So I hope there will be much relaxing through the week, for all of us. I did all the driving, after they said they’d pitch in, so I hope I’ll be one of the relax-ers too.

Tomorrow is a non-vacation post. If I get more post-worthy photos, they will be seen here too.

Mason Monday

The holiday food binge went as expected: we all ate way too much. Daughter Dearest had to work on Black Friday, fortunately just the 10am to 6pm shift. I took her in, and the crush had already abated to merely very busy.

Hangin' out

But for Mason, the highlight was decorating the Christmas tree. Daughter Dearest crawled into the crawlspace behind the closet, and boxes, papers, and bags came flying out—Mason too, when he crawled in to see what was going on. I expect that he’ll be checking that out later on, when nobody’s looking. He has a long memory…

The wife brought home a blender a few weeks ago, because it had a nice sturdy glass container, but she didn’t know if the base worked. So I plugged it in and hit the “Obliterate” button, and it spun up. Mason came running in, “Are you making smoothies?” We haven’t made smoothies since July.

But I digress. We got a new (to us) tree, compliments of the wife’s older sister. It’s pre-lit, but anyone who has read TFM for a long time knows Christmas Rule #1 at FAR Manor: If you can see green, the tree needs more lights. Lights were dug out of boxes, tested, and strung. Then out came the non-breakable ornaments. So far, Mason hasn’t shown a desire to knock ornaments off the tree, like he did last year. But he focused his hanging efforts on one lower corner of the tree, inasmuch as a round tree can be said to have a corner, as shown in the pic here.

Job well done!

Of course, once he finished hanging all the things, the wife re-distributed the ornaments to even it out a little.

Yesterday, I took him to the park. Actually, I took him twice. The first trip was actually meant as a “nap ride,” and he was still going when I hit the last stretch into town. But I happened to look at the rearview mirror, just as he flopped his head over and closed his eyes (aka the Toddler Head Crash). With the actual mission accomplished, I took the other way home and put him to bed.

But when he woke up from his nap, he was still jonesing for a trip to the park. I’d planned to take him anyway. It was much colder on Sunday than it was on Friday, but that’s what jackets are for (if only he’d keep his hood up). I brought along a printout of the second Accidental Sorcerers story to write/edit to amuse myself, and he went tearing off for the jungle gym. A few minutes later, he ran back and jumped on the bench with me, huddling close.

“Did something scare you?” I asked, and he nodded. “What was it?” He pointed at this little redhead girl, about 18 months old, stumping around the playground and occasionally inspecting the wood chips. She waddled up to the bench and stood staring at Mason, who shrank into me even farther. I, and the parents nearby, thought this was hilarious. Yes, those girl things can be scary… so later on, he wanted to swing. The girl-thing seemed to know exactly how close she could get without getting bowled over by a swinging boy-toddler, and watched him until she persuaded her mom to put her in the next swing. The two of them swung quietly, side by side, for a while. This seemed to break the ice for Mason, because when she stuck her head in the covered “dining car” (part of a train-themed playground set) where he was sitting a little later, he didn’t freak out.

After she left, Mason decided to take a run on the track. However, some older kids (tween/early teen) had been horsing around on one end of the jungle gym, and they were now running around on one of the ball diamonds. So Mason wanted to join the fun. I talked him into taking the adjacent diamond, because I didn't want him to crimp the bigger kids. (The youngest girl especially seemed a little rude.) That went on for a few minutes, until the evening and cold set in, and we came home.

So… let the High Holy Daze begin!

The Sorcerer's Daughter (#FridayFlash)

This is the intro to a third Accidental Sorcerers story, of the same name. I'll start writing the rest of it once I finish the second one…

---

Unbalanced and clumsy as he was, Bailar the Blue had cut or burned himself too many times to be comfortable in kitchens. And yet, if he wanted to drink tea or eat something warm, he had to risk it. Fortunately, this was a better morning. His poor balance did not betray him when he built up the fire. He did not drop the kettle on his foot, or slice a finger when he cut open a sausage to fry.

“It’s more necessary for you to learn to do these things, Bailar,” he laughed, repeating the words of his departed mentor, Gilsen the White. As an apprentice, Bailar wanted to use magic to do his chores, claiming it was necessary to avoid injuring himself. He was alone now, and dwelt in the home Gilsen had bequeathed him, yet he continued to honor his mentor’s wisdom.

With breakfast finished, Bailar made his careful way toward the low tower. Anyone across the Wide River, needing his services, would come to him. Still, they would raise a banner on the Exidy side of the river to warn him—

He stopped and turned about, stumbling and catching himself on the wall. He thought he’d heard a squawk of some sort. “Is someone here?” he called. He only used a few rooms in the house—one bedroom, the common-room, kitchen, privy, and the workroom—and he walked through them all, listening for the strange noise. Outside the common-room, he heard it again. Toward the door, so it must be outside.

Source: openclipart.org

Bailar opened the door, and heard a third squawk. At his feet. There, on his doorstep, lay a basket. A baby looked up at him, with big round eyes, sucking on a fist.

He looked around. “Hello? Is someone here? Come forth, in all peace and harmony.” No response, except for a gurgling noise from the baby.

“I will not leave an infant on my doorstep!” Bailar called out. He reached to grasp the handle, then thought better of it and hooked his arm through instead. Nobody protested or cried out as he lifted the basket and took it inside.

Bailar kept a close eye on his footing, but felt the baby’s eyes on him. “You’ll be hungry, sooner than later, I expect,” he said. “But I need to know some things, first.” He made his careful way past the common-room to the work area. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he assured his visitor, leaving the basket on the floor. Augury worked best with fresh, warm ashes, and the kitchen was the only place to find them through the summer.

He returned to find the baby making grumbling sounds. He unwrapped the blanket and laid both baby and blanket on one table.  The thick cloth diaper was only a little wet, and Bailar was not surprised to find that the baby was a girl. “Well, then,” he said, “let’s see what Fate has to say about you.”

She caught his finger in a firm grip, and laughed. Bailar smiled, and picked her up. She nestled into the crook of his arm, grabbed his sash, and started chewing on it. Fortunately, Bailar needed only one hand free for augury. He scooped up a handful of warm ash, took a deep breath, and held it to his lips. “What is this girl’s fate?” he whispered, then blew the ashes from his hand and stepped back to let them settle on the table.

The patterns were strong, more distinct than Bailar had ever seen. “Sun, Earth, Fire, Sun again, Water,” he said, walking around the table and identifying the runes. “Sun for magic. Twice? You’ll make a good sorceress yourself, I think. Earth for home, Fire for the hearth-fire. Water for movement. I suppose you will travel with me, and always return home.” He smiled at the girl, making contented noises around his dampening sash. “Let us go up and raise a banner. The reeve will want to know what has happened, in any case.”


Bailar considered Reeve Korene a dour woman, but she was unable to suppress a smirk at the sight. The girl looked up at the reeve, and returned the smile around a mouthful of blue sash. “I never took you for a domestic man, Bailar.”

“I cared for my younger siblings as a child,” he said. “The memories of what to do returned quickly, I’m happy to say.”

“Indeed. So why did you call? Do you have a sister visiting? Is she in need of a Healer?”

“Someone left this child at my doorstep. I thought it would best to let the authorities know.”

The dour look returned to the reeve’s face. “Such an outrage! If I find the mother, I’ll…” She forced herself calm. “I must ask: have you trafficked with any fair maidens, of late?”

“No maidens. Not of Exidy, nor of any towns upriver.”

She nodded. “Well. I’ll ask around. Someone will be willing to take her, I think.”

Bailar shook his head. “No. Someone already has her.” He stroked the girl’s hair, and she laughed.

“You?” Reeve Korene looked surprised. “That’s your right, of course, but…”

“Indeed. I read the ashes over her, and she has the Talent for sorcery. She will be both daughter and apprentice, in time. But even without that? I thought solitude suited me, but she’s melted my heart, and I don’t think I could bear to give her up. Can you send a nurse? One that can cook would be best. None of us will eat well if that’s left up to me.”

“Very well, sorcerer. Has she a name for the records?”

Bailar nodded. “I name her Sura, the summer sun. As a lad, a sister of mine was stillborn… and my parents gave her that name. It seems that Fate has restored her to me, after all these years.”

“So be it. I’ll find her a nurse. Best of luck to you both.”

Flash (#FridayFlash)

I don’t need pity. So what if I’m deaf? Not only do I miss the banal noise of everyday life, it’s awesome PR. I could be lost in a sea of women looking for modeling work in this city. Instead, I’m Kyria Mist, Deaf Supermodel. Work what you’ve got.

Flash.

I’ve worked with this photographer before. He’s okay, and he’s trying to learn enough ASL to coach me through the poses. I think he’s doing it to get in good with me. I give him props for trying, even if it’s easier, faster, and more accurate to tell the interpreter what he needs.

Flash.

Duck into the wardrobe for the next outfit, and back on the platform. These fall fashions aren’t exactly practical for cold weather, but they get attention. That’s what’s important. I don’t have to wear it outside this studio, I just have to help sell it.

Flash.

In mid-instruction, the photographer and interpreter stop. The little TV isn’t where I can see, but they’re looking at it. And they’re horrified. Assassination? Another 9/11? Damn.

Then, they’re in panicked motion. The photographer snatches his camera off the tripod, throws it in a bag. The interpreter is signing we’ve got to go, frantically. She grabs up my jeans and blouse and flings them at me, points to the wardrobe.

What the hell—

FLASH.

Source: openclipart.org

The interpreter and photographer look at each other. His lips say, “Oh shit,” and they crouch on the floor, hands over their heads.

The first and last thing I ever hear, in my entire life, is the sound of the shockwave toppling our building.

Writing Wibbles

First, let's welcome the new visitors to the free-range insane asylum:

• Patricia Lynne—one of my writing buddies, and she's from Michigan too (so you know she's cool).
• Garrison James—writer, designer, artist. Check out Hereticwerks, where he blogs a long-running serial.

Feel free to look around. But watch out for that little inmate, he’ll distract you with cute and steal your phone.

I haven’t done a lot of writing this week. I poked at a few things, and that was about it. But…

As part of a rather impressive 2013 publishing (and writing!) schedule, we’re getting the novella formerly known as Chasing a Rainbow ready to publish. It will probably drop in January, after the holiday craziness has subsided. We’ve finally settled on a title we all can live with, The Crossover, and now we’re thrashing away at the cover art. Turns out the Wikimedia Commons is a good place to start, and (if you have a concept that can be expressed in a photo) you can often find what you’re looking for. People on the mailing list are going to get a sneak peek this week; once we nail down the details (by next week, I hope), we’ll share the official cover with everyone.

Hot on the heels of The Crossover, will come the first novella in the Accidental Sorcerers series. Since I’m about 90% done with the next one in the series, there will be excerpts. The cover art for that one will be difficult or expensive, I'm afraid—It all but demands an ice dragon. Then, come spring, Pickups and Pestilence should run down all the mysteries I left hanging in White Pickups. By then, the co-op should be a well-oiled machine, and we’ll be churnin’ out the titles.

If you have any writing (or reading) news, feel free to drop a comment!

The Voting Dead (#FridayFlash)

I thought we could all use a little non-partisan laugh after the long cat fight…

---

It started in Chicago, of course, but not for the reason you’d assume. Rick Carbone was a long-shot candidate for the City Council. He owned a meat-processing plant, and zombies often bought the offal he would have had to pay to dispose of. To drum up business among the zombies, more than actually trying to win the election, he ran on a platform of extending rights and protections to the undead.

To everyone’s surprise, including Carbone’s, disenfranchised zombies banded together to support his candidacy. Vocal opponents had a way of changing their minds, and he won handily. A man who was raised to keep his promises, his first act was to introduce a law that de-legitimized hitting zombies with vehicles, a pastime often called “bowling.” After two crucial opponents on the City Council suddenly joined the walking dead, the anti-bowling measure passed.

Carbone, of course, had a brief but stellar political career, moving up to serve four terms in Congress. During that time, he spearheaded a successful movement to extend nationwide voting rights to the burgeoning zombie population. But as much as the political climate has changed, getting caught in bed with two dead women (even if they’re only undead) always spells the end of one’s political career. Still, Carbone’s legacy lives on, as America’s number one priority is now education. After all, the largest voting bloc’s single issue is “more braaaaaaains.”

Writing Wibbles

Just a little writing to wibble about this week. I’ve been cheering on everyone participating in NaNoWriMo, though.

I’ve learned something about my internal writing process this week. I’ve been a “pantser” (i.e. writing my the seat of my pants), as opposed to a plotter, for a long time. So I would think of a pivotal scene, write it, then fill in the spaces in between the pivots. I always thought of it as “organic story development” rather than “pantsing” though.

So for reasons as different as the stories themselves, I thought I’d try plotting several of my upcoming story ideas. Even though I gave myself permission to change the outline as I went, I found myself getting bogged down early on. It was the gigantic word-bomb that Mik and Sura dropped on me that helped me figure out why. They forced me to write the beginning and the end of Accidental Sorcerers 2, and left that long dry in-between for me to finish on my own. When I have an outline—which for me means chapters and scene titles laid out in Scrivener—I feel like I have to start writing with the first empty scene. I need to add a little organic fertilizer to this non-organic story development, and make myself write the scenes where I know what’s happing now. That will help me fill in those ever-smaller in-between spots.

First attempt was a success. It took 20 minutes to write the first 30 words. Then I got 100 more down in the next 10 minutes. An hour later, I was up to 1,200 words. Always something new to learn!

A little Green Envy Press news: Angela Kulig has released her Skeleton Lake preview novella, The Skeleton Song, free on Amazon. I edited it, so you can blame me for any remaining typos. ;-)

Meanwhile, I’m hoping to have two Termag novellas out over the winter. Pickups and Pestilence should be out come spring, and that’s just the beginning…

On the Georgia Road 6 (#FridayFlash)

With some of the things my online friends up north are dealing with this week, I got in the mood to write another one of these.

Earlier installments in this series:

#1: the commuter
#2: interstate patrol
#3: lake property house-sitters
#4: Relocation Center
#5: college campus

---

“The State DNR’s Tourism division has announced that their third annual Fall Color Tour is scheduled for the week of November 8^th. The day trips run all week, and wind through the north Georgia mountains. Buses leave the North Springs MARTA station at 10 a.m., and return by dusk. Lunch is included, and travelers are encouraged to bring a small cooler and snacks. The overnight trip leaves at 10 a.m. Saturday, includes accommodations at Amicalola Falls State Park, and returns to North Springs mid-afternoon on Sunday. All meals are included, and each passenger may bring an overnight bag. For details and reservations, see the DNR website at the bottom of your screen.

“The mountains are beautiful, but the people who live there aren’t watching the leaves—they’re getting ready for winter. In tonight’s segment of ‘On the Georgia Road,’ Sean McKinzie travels to White County, where local residents are busy this time of year. Sean?”

Cut to: Sean, exterior, woods. Chainsaws snarl in the background. Sean raises his voice to be heard above the noise. “Hi, Marcia! When you have to depend on your own resources to make energy, wood is the Number One choice! It literally grows on trees, after all!”

Cut to: exterior, people stacking firewood. Sean voiceover. “Residents tell me their first frost came early last week, and that’s lending a little urgency to the winter preparations. With gardening season officially over, the focus has mostly shifted from food to fuel.”

Cut to: exterior, local road. A large tree lies across the road. Man in foreground, talking to Sean; men and women in background sizing up the tree. Title: Johnny Long, local resident. “Our host, Johnny Long, put things in perspective for us.”

Fade to: Johnny Long, gesturing toward the fallen tree. “What do you see there?”

Sean: “A tree down, across the road.”

Johnny: “Yeah. Well, we see enough firewood to keep a house warm for half the winter. It’s blockin’ the road, too, but that’s not what’s important. What’s important is we get this cut up and stacked.”

Sean: “Where do you get the fuel to run your saws?”

Johnny: “We got a little motor-sickle. We take it down to Gainesville and bring back groceries and a couple of five-gallon cans. That’s plenty for saws.”

Fade through: sequence of clips. Tree being cut up and removed, shrinking with time. Sean voiceover. “In less than two hours, a fallen tree became several stacks of firewood, plus a few large sections of trunk. While two people cut it up, others were hauling away cut pieces, splitting what needed to be split, and stacking the rest.” Cut to: Sean carrying an armload of cut wood. Continue voiceover. “We got pressed into service as well, and maybe we helped more than we got in the way.”

Cut to: interior, small barn or large shed. Women and men working at long tables, preparing food, setting up jars. Sean voiceover. “The focus is mostly on fuel, but there is still some food to put away.”

Cut to: interior, woman. Title: Sarah Adams. Sean voiceover: “This is a neighborhood cannery, and everyone pitches in. Sarah Adams explains what we’re looking at.”

Sarah: “Today, we’re doin’ the last of the apples and pears. Now that we’ve had a frost, the persimmons are sweet enough to use, so we’ve gathered a couple bushels for jam. We had a pretty good year with the scuppernongs—”

Sean: “What’s that word?”

Sarah, laughing: “Scuppernongs. They’re a domesticated muscadine. It’s a kind of grape. We’re doin’ those today, too.”

Cut to: baskets of fruit. Sean voiceover. “Ms. Adams says that a month ago, during the height of the garden harvest, the cannery was running full-tilt from morning into the night. Come winter, stews and soups will nearly always be on the dinner table in Unincorporated areas. Empty a few jars of meat and vegetables into a Dutch oven, and set it on the woodstove in the morning. By noon, you have a hot meal.”

Cut to: exterior, firepit made of concrete blocks. Rebar forms a grill across the top. Pots on the grill. Sean voiceover: “For safety’s sake, cooking and sterilizing happens outside. They burn pine in the firepit, saving the oak for heating the houses. Cooked food is taken back inside and put in jars, then the jars come back outside for final processing.”

Cut to: exterior, house. Solar panels on roof, windmill standing idle. Sean foreground. “Ms. Adams let me know that they were not self-sufficient, as far as food goes. Hunters might bring in game through the winter, but they don’t or can’t produce items such as flour, coffee, beans, citrus, and so on. So, they make grocery runs on occasion, and visit the library. There, they check out books, or load their readers with eBooks over the wifi, to keep them occupied through the winter.

Cut to: exterior, Sean close-up. “And so we learned that, with a little foresight and a lot of teamwork, it’s certainly possible to survive—even thrive—through a Georgia winter.” Camera zooms out. Sean holds an armload of firewood and several full quart jars. “On the Georgia Road, I’m Sean McKinzie.”

The World's Cutest Pirate

Arrrr, ye lusty wenches! He’s gonna board yer heart, while his granddad plunders yer booty!

And with Daughter Dearest, definitely looking non-slutty in her phoenix guise.

Hope everyone had a great Hallowe’en!

Well, it's official: no frost in October at FAR Manor, for the second time in three years.

Writing Wibbles

It is with great pleasure that I welcome EJ Hobbs, a former FAR Manor inmate, to the online version of the free-range insane asylum! EJ is trying to devote more time to writing, so go check out his #FridayFlash for this week and give him some encouragement. Drop him a comment, all that good stuff.

With the White Pickups blog tour dwindling in the rearview mirror, the Accidental Sorcerers decided they were done tormenting me for a while. I’m going to try getting a #FridayFlash out this week; maybe a new “On the Georgia Road” segment, to tie into the fall tourist season in full swing here in Sector 706.

But Mik’s and Sura’s story, which doesn’t have a decent title yet, is about 2/3 done now. I have place settings or topics for at least three more stories, so this might make a nice little series of novellas. I think the hardest thing will be keeping them out of each other’s bedrooms remembering to age them properly as the story line progresses. I suppose, now, the overall arc becomes a coming of age story, while they have lots of interesting adventures (and everyone thought the age of adventures was long over, haha).

In between, I’ve been working on an expanded version of UW-401, the “pre-zombie apocalypse” #FridayFlash. This too, I think, will end up in the novella size range. That one, I’m writing by hand, while the Accidental Sorcerers get the keyboard. Interesting, how different stories want to be drafted different ways. I should break out the old manual typewriter some time and see what stories want to be literally banged out. With any luck, I’ll finish both of them by the end of November.

If the Launch Cannon appears in the Wibbles, it means more of my stories have escaped the friendly confines of the blog. It begins with the recent #FridayFlash It Begins, which coincidentally uses the main characters and situation in UW-401. The editor of the Were-Traveler actually asked me to submit it for her “Alternate Zombie History” issue! Go check out the other stories, there are some really good ones in here. From ancient Egypt and Rome, to WW2, to other big moments in history, to the near future, the dead are walking. Perfect for Hallowe’en, right?

And a #FridayFlash from last year, Assignation, got itself cleaned up for an appearance in the Best of Friday Flash, Vol. 2 anthology. This marks my first fiction available in print, and that’s kind of exciting. You can drop 10 bucks on a paperback (which includes an eBook version), or 5 bucks just for the eBook.

And somewhere in there, I’ve been doing some editing for Green Envy Press. I thought I had an ambitious set of launch goals for next year—Angela is pushing for even more! I really need to stop procrastinating and get the Pickups and Pestilence draft out to the beta readers, that’s like the biggest of the bunch so far.

So, Lord willing and the Internet don’t fall over, I’ve got at least Pickups and Pestilence coming out in the spring, along with the to-be-retitled Chasing a Rainbow, both Accidental Sorcerers stories, and UW-401 scattered throughout the year. I’d planned to start on Wings: Unfurled before now, but with a couple more royalty direct-deposits the wife might give me some time to get it done!

Come back tomorrow, when I’ll post a pic of Mason in his Hallowe’en outfit.

Winners!

The White Pickups blog tour drove off, and left two winners in its wake:

2nd place, a copy of White Pickups: Jess Richardson

And the Grand Prize winner: Laura Hill
That big ol’ pile of loot includes:

• White Pickups by Larry Kollar (um, that’s me!)
• Being Human by Patricia Lynne
• Snapshots by Patricia Lynne
• The Violet Fox by Clare Marshall
• Within by Clare Marshall
• The Skeleton Song by Angela Kulig
• Dust of the Dead Sea by Angela Kulig
• Pigments of My Imagination by Angela Kulig

If you’re one or the other, and haven’t seen my email yet, check your spam filter? (Actually, one winner has already responded.)

I appreciate everyone who entered and followed the trucks around the blog tour… without, you know, actually climbing in one…

Writing Wibbles

With the White Pickups blog tour in the rear-view mirror, I heave a sigh of relief. There were a large pile of guest posts to write, plus an interview. As I type, there’s still two days to enter the raffle. You can’t win if you don’t enter!

October is the crazy month. Well, they’re all crazy months at FAR Manor, but October stands out as the real moonbat. It’s not Hallowe’en so much as that it’s tourist season in Sector 706 of Planet Georgia. That, and the “change of season” feeling that we don’t get much of the rest of the year. So it’s natural that I get the Biggest Word-Bomb Ever, or at least my personal biggest, in October. Perhaps I should explain…

If you’ve been around a while, you might have read at least parts of Accidental Sorcerers, a serial I've been blogging for a while. What is on the blog is about half of a completed novella, roughly 30,000 words. But that’s not all of Mik and Sura. Not by a long shot. I’ve had an idea for a second novella for a while now, and took a shot at writing one scene. One. This story really puts Mik and Sura through an emotional wringer, and frankly those two voices in my head got angry. Very angry. And while they may be kids, they can do magic. One has summoned an Elemental Dragon, and lived to tell about it; the other one gets the urge to set people on fire when they cross her. They chained me to the keyboard and made me write the ending (with the resolution), then sent me to the beginning where they were having a really good time at first. I call it a word-bomb, because it didn’t really feel like a Download from God like I’ve had a few times in the past. Still, 17,000 words in a week was mentally taxing. At least I excerpted a little of it for my #FridayFlash last week.

So I’m over halfway done with this story, and they’ve left me to muddle through the middle. Anyway, I need to finish beta on the first story, and then get the second one up.


I got a rather pleasant email from Amazon this morning. My first royalty “check” is going to be direct-deposited toward the end of the month. Nothing huge—I’ve sold about a dozen copies each of White Pickups and Xenocide—but it’s a start. The wife is suddenly realizing that I could have a little income out of this… so maybe I’ll get more time to write? Let’s hope.

#FridayFlash: Mik and the Merchant

The barge reached the Captain Rietha Bridge, and the crew offloaded the wagon. With Mik leading the donkey, and crewmen pushing behind, they got the wagon up from the landing and onto the Royal Highway. With evening setting in, they crossed to the way station opposite the bridge. There were several wagons, merchants by the looks of them, standing covered outside.

"I think the donkey likes you, Mik," said Sura, as they unhitched it. "If you get him in the stables, I'll put supper together."

"Fair enough." They embraced for a moment and went their ways.

After accepting another handful of grain, the donkey let Mik lead him into the stable. He found an empty stall and tied the donkey within, then spread fresh straw from the hayrick on the floor. Mik took the bucket and walked back down to the river to fill it. Familiar chores, once done in a place that he would soon see again.

As he went to find Bailar and Sura, he heard a hiss and a voice. "Hoy. Boy-sprout."

Mik turned to see a merchant, beckoning to him. He shrugged and ambled over. "What?"

"I have something for you," whispered, holding up a tiny vial. "A love potion, from the faraway East. I saw you and your girl out there. Put this in her tea, and she'll do anything for you. And I mean, anything!" The merchant grinned and made a suggestive gesture.

Mik frowned, fingering his blue sash. Is it possible he doesn't know what this signifies? he thought, but decided to play along. See how truly ignorant this folkman was. He leaned forward, gazing at the vial. "How does it work?" he asked.

"It's strong magic," the merchant assured him, warming to his pitch. "Sorcerers in the faraway East have preserved lore of such things from the time of Camac That Was… or perhaps even before! I've traveled far, looking for one who could benefit. You, I think, are the one."

"Enchanters," said Mik.

"Eh?"

"A potion would be an enchantment," Mik explained, "imbuing an object with magic. Sorcery is harnessing the elements, usually for a physical effect."

"Sorcerers, enchanters," the merchant made a dismissive gesture, trying to regain his footing. "Quite the young pedant, you are. But we're talking about your love life, no?"

"No." Mik's hand shot forward, grasping the vial for a moment, before the surprised merchant could snatch it back. "You were talking about a supposedly magical potion that would… well, it would do nothing, because I felt no magic in it just now. What you have there is probably a concoction of herbs, or perhaps a swallow of liquor."

"And you're some great mage?" the merchant sneered.

"Only an apprentice sorcerer. But I know enough to recognize a bargeload of rotten meat when I hear it." Mik turned. "And now, good evening to you, sir."


As they shared supper, on the way station porch, Mik related the encounter. Bailar laughed heartily. "You taught him a fine lesson! I hope he applies it!"

Sura was not at all amused. "I wish I'd been there," she growled. "Setting him on fire might have been a better lesson." Below them, a small patch of grass began to smolder.

"Sura, put that out!" Bailar looked alarmed. "Petty fraud does not warrant serious injury, in any case!" Sura shook her head, but hopped down to stamp out her small fire. "No harm was caused, and I expect he'll be more cautious with his touting from here on."


Later that night, Mik was drifting toward sleep when he heard Sura whisper. The three of them shared a tiny room in the way station, the bed little more than a wide platform above the floor. “Mik. Are you awake?”

“I am.” He eased himself up. Between them, Bailar breathed slowly.

“Can I ask you something?” He could see little more than her outline in the dark.

“Anything.”

“If that merchant really had a love potion, would… would you have bought it?”

Mik shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Sura could not see. “No,” he whispered. “When…” he paused, thinking Bailar might be awake and listening. “No. Is it my turn to ask a question, now?”

Sura sighed. “Ask.”

“Would you have really set the merchant on fire?”

She giggled. “No, but after he heard what I had to say, he might have wished I had!”

Mik snorted. “That would have been fun to watch!”

“Go to sleep, you two,” said Bailar. “If you are hoping I will find a quiet place to sleep, and leave you here by yourselves, I will not.”

“Apologies, mentor,” said Mik, although they could both hear the smile in his voice. “Sura started it, though!”

“Mik!” Sura laughed, snatched up her pillow, and flapped Mik with it over her protesting father. He covered himself and chortled under her laughing assault.