Alicia Maddox

My book is going to PRINT!!

2009-11-18T15:23:00.002-07:00

I can't believe it happened - The Shape of Her Heart is in print!! So for now it's available on http://www.jasminejade.com/p-7873-shape-of-her-heart.aspx but they tell me in a week or two it will show up on websites like Barnes & Noble, Amazon and the like. How exciting!

I got a great review!!

2009-07-31T12:52:00.001-06:00

So I had a happy birthday present today. I got a great review on The Shape of Her Heart!!! I am so excited.

http://www.paranormalromance.org/reviews/review.php?id=31771

The Shape of Her Heart is out!!!

2009-04-16T11:29:00.001-06:00

OK, so today is the day! I am so totally excited. This is so cool. So if you go to www.cerridwenpress.com you will see me on the FRONT PAGE FIRST IN LINE so you can buy my book. :-)

What a long but fulfilling journey to get to this place. A special thanks to the FF&P critique group who had a very large hand in this book - I couldn't have done it without them.

So if you like fantasy romances with feisty knife wielding heroines, pop on over and pick up a copy! If you are unfamiliar with e-books, buy the PDF format so you can read it on your computer.

Thanks to all. :-)

YAY

2009-04-09T10:46:00.002-06:00

I submitted my second book to my editor!! Dreams are for Lovers. It's actually my favorite of all the books I've written so far. And very true to my personality. Here's hoping she likes it!

Promos and Advertising

2009-04-07T14:38:00.002-06:00

I am gearing up to get the word out as best I can on my new book coming out April 16th. I can't believe it's only about a week away! Amazing!

I just saw Twilight the other night. I am not usually one to jump on a bandwagon but I actually thought it was pretty good. I didn't really like the main guy when I saw him in pictures, but he's much better in film. Much hotter. :-)

So now I am finally reading the books. The thing I find interesting is the voice - she has a certain sound that is an odd sort of "older than her age" feel to it. I like it although I usually hate first person pov books.

TWO WEEK COUNTDOWN

2009-04-01T16:19:00.001-06:00

OK, so two weeks from tomorrow my book releases. YAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!

Also, I have submitted my next book to my editor, so here's crossing my fingers that she likes it.

Too Many Things

2009-03-29T09:47:00.003-06:00

Hmm. Combatting the phenomenon of having WAAAY too many things going on in my life. lol. Both a blessing and a curse! I have noticed that when it gets past a certain point I sort of freeze - and then have to remind myself to just get things done one at a time and it will all sort itself out. Which it always does.

There have also been a lot of changes in my life and in the lives of people around me lately - people getting laid off, new jobs, new puppy, things in the house break and need fixing, spring is coming so we need to de-winterize the yard, garage sale next Saturday, need to do some crits for my critique group, submit my next book to my editor, blah blah blah.

Woo, I'm tired just typing it. :-)

Advertising, Promo and Reviews

2009-03-25T10:45:00.003-06:00

I am waiting on my publisher to let me know what they do regarding advertising, promo and reviews so I know what they do and don't double-do something. I am interested to see what's what.

In addition, I guess they help you build your ARCs if you're going to submit to somewhere like the Romantic Times Magazine (RT). Am waiting to hear on that. Hopefully they do so I can have someone walk me through it - then next time I'll know what to do.

Romantic Times

2009-03-24T09:42:00.002-06:00

So I am thinking of taking advantage of a New Author deal that the Romantic Times offers. For a much smaller fee than usual, they do a "spotlight" on you and also get you a review. Which is SO nice. So I am pulling together my package for them, including a headshot. Biggest challenge is trying to get a headshot done where I don't look tired, lol. I have way too many things going on in my life to sleep enough. On the bright side, it's all good stuff and I can't complain!

My sister

2009-03-22T13:44:00.003-06:00

My sister Amanda found me on MySpace. Totally hilarious to see how different we are based on our myspace pages. I love her to death. But I suspect the only thing we have in common is a love of Nine Inch Nails and black and the rest is simply that I adore her. :-)

Anyway, we linked up and I'm so happy to have another way to keep track of her and be updated on her life. Yay!!

OH, I'm live on my publisher's website!!!

2009-02-27T20:09:00.002-07:00

Ooh, this is so exciting too. I'm on the Cerridwen Press website in the "Coming Soon" section. I am SO freaking psyched.

http://www.jasminejade.com/ps-7094-47-shape-of-her-heart.aspx

Release Date and Cover for my Book!!!!

2009-02-27T13:00:00.003-07:00

OK, ya'll. Check out my cover! I'm so pleased. They did a really good job, I think. I love the knife. If you are wondering why she's holding a knife, you'll have to read the book. :-) Release date is April 16th and you can buy it from www.cerridwenpress.com. ISBN 9781419919657. I simply can't believe we're finally here. I have been writing books since, oh, around the summer of 2003 or 2004 - I can't remember. Anyway, lots of thinking, writing, being a part of critque groups, getting rejections, going to conventions, etc. and we finally made it. YAY. What a beautiful day.

War Kittens

2009-02-16T10:45:00.001-07:00

OK, so my husband was inspired by that Capital One commercial about War Kittens. Here is the result. No, he does not have anything better to do. :-)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5YbYBzXhDs

New version is up

2009-02-01T13:17:00.000-07:00

OK, the new version is up. There's a few dings in it - things I'm not perfectly happy with, but I'm getting closer!

Update on my Only You Song

2009-02-01T12:27:00.002-07:00

OK, so I did another version of my song - this with a nicer microphone, and in addition to the piano I added a base line and also a whimsical, odd high melody that rides just under my voice and I really like it. I need help from a friend to fade out the very end so it doesn't stop abruptly and then I'll post it. I need to figure out how to use Garage Band better so I can do this stuff myself. :-)

I am also about to submit my second book to my editor so I'm crossing my fingers and here's to hoping she likes it! Wish me luck...

Excellent News Again!

2009-01-26T16:45:00.001-07:00

So i have heard from the art department and seen what my cover is going to look like and I totally love it! So that is a relief and now I have to wait for final approval before I can post it or send it around. So tick, tick, tick, I can't wait to show it to the world!

In the meantime, I'm psyched because I think they did a great job. :-)

I wrote a song!

2009-01-20T20:18:00.003-07:00

The other night I couldn't sleep, then a song sort of appeared in my head so I got up and wrote it down. Then my SO suggested that I record it and come up with some keyboards to go with, so Saturday night I sat and took a shot at a demo of it. Go check it out at www.aliciamaddox.com on the front page. Please excuse the faint sounds of my husband banging around in the kitchen, lol. And the one or two thankfully not totally obvious keyboard flubs. :-)

Updates

2008-12-10T14:18:00.002-07:00

Got word from my pub that they needed additional paperwork to be able to sell my book through third party vendors, so got that in. Hopefully that's the last step before a release date!

I read an Emma Holly short story last night and whoo-wee it was smoking hot. There's another woman who can write! I am going to use her as inspiration for my writing as well. I find it helpful to pay attention to how she words things, what vocab she uses, what hit me right, what hit me a little "off". Sort of helps me get ideas without plagarizing in any way, then making it my own.

Back from Thanksgiving Break

2008-12-02T09:33:00.002-07:00

OK, I'm back from Thanksgiving Break! It was wonderful. I have vacation brain. Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy. So nice to not have to think for a while!

So getting the show on the road, I read a book by Angela Knight, Master of Swords, while I was out. Many that woman can write a hot sex scene. They really, really popped. Unusually so. Loved it. So I think I am going to use her writing as an inspiration in this book I'm working on right now. She'd very creative and there's something about the words she uses that makes it seem, just so that.

Tick, Tick, Tick

2008-11-21T10:25:00.003-07:00

I am so excited and anxiously waiting to see my cover and find out what my release date is. I can't wait! But guess I shall have to, dangit.

In the meantime I have been passing the time by working on my next book and also getting my house ready for the holidays. Those are my two projects right now. Of course, I'd also love to be embroidering, playing Xbox (god I love Fallout 3), etc. but one has to prioritize or one will never get anything in particular done. :-)

Contests

2008-11-17T11:04:00.002-07:00

So I was talking with some folks about contests and how challenging they are. There are several pitfalls to them that I can see:

1. The judge doesn't like your writing style, even though it's perfectly publishable, and docks points for it.
2. Judge has a misconception about something and docks points for something that's really OK. For instance: info dumps. If you read pubbed authors, there's ALWAYS an info dump or two somewhere, just gracefully handled in small bits woven into the story. But then you get a judge that thinks info dumps in any form are bad and docks you points "just because", which isn't really fair.
3. Some people love you, some people hate you, so you get the extremes in scores which middles you out so you don't even final.
4. Some judges are just plain mean and don't critique with graceful language and are even sometimes harsh, crushing the hearts of budding writers everywhere.

On the bright side, if you get a judge that takes the time to give you ample, constructive feedback, it can be very helpful. Of course you can also get that for free from a critique group. :-)

Also on the bright side, if you happen to actually final or win a contest, then you have something to advertise which can be very helpful when querying people.

So I guess bottom line is: take contests with a grain of salt and don't let it drive you crazy. Or at least any crazier than you already are. HA.

Strategies to keep moving

2008-11-13T11:23:00.004-07:00

I have a weird mental thing that sometimes stops me from writing. So now that I have a writing schedule, I have been doing great with it. But yesterday I missed a day (thanks a lot Fallout 3). There is the irrational - and yes, I mean totally irrational - temptation to feel like I've failed now and therefore should let up on the pressure that I put on myself. Which is silly and ridiculous, but I can't deny it's there. Perfectionist issues anyone?

Now that I've voiced it, I'm over it. Thanks everyone for listening, LOL.

Back to writing...

Romanticon 2009!

2008-11-11T13:24:00.002-07:00

I am so excited. My publisher, Ellora's Cave/Cerridwen Press, is going to host their first Romance Writer's Convention in Ohio next October 2009. Check it out:

http://www.jasminejade.com/romanticon/

I've registered, booked the hotel and I am so there! I think it's going to be totally awesome to meet my fellow authors, the editors and such, and also meet readers. Hopefully by then some of them will have read my book! If not, I will encourage them to do so. :-)

This is going to be great. And, my best friend from Florida is going to come too so I will have good company and moral support. Perfect!

Writing Schedule

2008-11-10T20:20:00.003-07:00

Well, good news! The writing schedule is working great so far. Have 50 pages already. Although I need to get to 400 so not out of the woods yet. On the bright side it's working out so I only have to stick with it until I get the rough draft out. Amazing how much work writing a book is. No wonder so many people try but end up not finishing them.

The most challenging thing at this stage is to try not to judge my initial efforts too harshly and get discouraged. Some people call it the "Don't Look Down Draft". The idea being that you have to just write it out, first pass, without letting yourself stop to go back over parts you've written and bog yourself down in revisions until you throw up your hands and don't finish the book. So that's what I'm doing. I keep reassuring myself that I can always go back and fix it later, or cut scenes if they're not working out.

Easier said than done. I definitely like the revision part more. It comes to me easier so the temptation is always there to stop and go back over things. Noooooo.

Writing Plan

2008-11-09T09:07:00.002-07:00

So far the writing plan is a success. But it remains to be seen whether I will manage to stay on schedule through end of December. If I do, I'll have the book written out and ready for layering and polish. Yay! It's an intense schedule, but I can do it.

So in the middle of all this I also worked out a chore schedule (lol) to remind myself that if I get a little of this or that done every night, then Saturday cleanup isn't such a nightmare. I swear i have a selective memory. I know there's something I could probably be doing, but after a long day at work and then after writing, suddenly it "escapes" my mind. lol.

Instead, I've opted for a schedule so I can just look at it and go, oh, I have to do such and such tonight and then not feel that guilty, nagging feeling like I'm missing something and should get my butt up off the couch. :-) I hate that feeling! I am hoping this new approach will also allow me to enjoy my precious free time more freely because I won't be sitting there feeling guilty for not getting to something.

Anyway, that's the plan. I love how I'm a fully grown adult and still fiddling with my organizational skills or lack thereof. HA. All well - better late than never I guess!

Setting writing goals

2008-11-04T13:23:00.001-07:00

OK, so I have been thinking about setting steady writing goals. I usually just fit it in wherever, but that often has spotty results that I'm not happy with. I'm thinking that if i just do 2 single space pages per day, that means I'll have a book written out in 3 months. Then another 2-3 to polish and voila! So that's the plan.

Biggest challenge is that I work all day at my day job, which requires me to think, then the last thing I want to do when I go home at night is think some more. So I've settled into a plan - I go home, eat dinner, take a 20 minute nap, drink 1/2 cup of caffeine, then write. That seems to work the best to give my body and brain a refresh.

No, I don't have kids. I don't know how ya'll with kids do it all!

Getting back into the swing of things

2008-11-03T19:53:00.002-07:00

So I have renewed my membership to RWA (http://www.rwanational.org) because I had sort of let it lapse. Not because of anything other than I just sort of forgot to renew. Thankfully my slackerdom didn't have any resounding effects. I got my same rwa member number back and all is well again.

I was considering attending the rwa event this year in DC, but then I found out that Ellora's Cave/Cerridwen press is having a conference next fall 2009 - so if I had to pick one I'll definitely be going to that instead. Can't wait! Here's the detail:

***
Start saving your pennies now for a trip to Ohio, in the fall of 2009. That's when we're going to host RomantiCon, the first Ellora's Cave/Cerridwen Press/The Lotus Circle Convention, featuring workshops, awards, parties, luncheons, a book fair and all sorts of other fun stuff and opportunities to meet your favorite authors and cover models. The event is open to authors, readers and aspiring authors, and we've already had a huge and excited response from our authors.

The event will take place at Quality Inn & Suites in Richfield, Ohio.

If you're interested in learning more about it, send your name, postal mailing address, email address and phone number (optional) to event organizers at conventions@ellorascave.com and weíll keep you posted as plans progress.

To help us plan, please also include the answers to the following in your email:

Are you an ECPI author, aspiring author or reader?
How many guests, excluding yourself, are you likely to bring?
Do you prefer a hotel room with one or two beds?
Do you need a smoking or nonsmoking room?

Building a Book

2008-11-02T08:45:00.002-07:00

So I realized I have a certain preference for how to build a book. I like to get as much down on paper as I go as possible so I have the feeling that there won't be much to fix on the back end. Of course, that's totally not true, but it gives me a sense of control and keeps me from getting discouraged. :-)

Because truth be told it is a LOT of work. I try to view it like building a quilt - which takes forever - but at the end you have something amazing to show for yourself so it's totally worth it. Just take it a little at a time and you'll get there eventually. Patience in all things.

Plus, it's amazing how if you keep at it the book builds fairly quickly. Then the back end work of adding layers, working on the dialogue and polishing the writing is the part I like the best so it's gravy train from there!

EXCELLENT NEWS

2008-11-02T00:57:00.002-06:00

OK, so since the last time I wrote in this blog my editors have now accepted my book in final form and I am waiting on the release date and what the cover will look like. I am so excited!!

This is my pub house, btw: www.cerridwenpress.com

And this is my new website, rarin' to go: www.aliciamaddox.com

Please go visit both! I will update ya'll as soon as I know more. In the meantime, I am writing the sequel to my book, plus thankfully have two others written so should be able to keep this ball rolling now that it's rolling. I am so happy.

Editing Phase

2008-01-06T10:23:00.001-07:00

Sorry for the hiatus. The holidays were a whirlwind of activity! Lovely though. And oops, I gained 4 pounds. So irritating how one can put it on much faster than one can take it off. :-)

OK, so I have put my book in the format the publisher wishes and sent it off to them so we can start the editing phase. I'm so interested to really see what a professional thinks of the book, what thoughts occur to them as they read it, and what things they will ask for. The book has been read throroughly by my critique group, but now someone who does this for a living will look at it, so yay!! Should be very enlightening.

Um, woops.

2007-11-28T13:36:00.001-07:00

Okey dokey, people. Turns out I can't do "Alicia Paige" as my pen name because there's an author of my publisher that has a name very close to that. So it will have to be Alicia Maddox. I guess I'll see if I can change everything over, may have to get a new web address. Ah well!

Eeep! Contracts are in the Mail

2007-11-04T18:52:00.000-07:00

Okey dokey, I read through everything, filled out the sheets, signed the stuff, and popped it off in the mail. Yay!! I'm so excited. This is the coolest. It was interesting coming up with a bio. My real life is pretty standard issue. I'm not complaining - all is well, I have a stable job, awesome husband, two dogs, two cats and a fishtank - and frankly that's a wonderful thing. However, it doesn't exactly sound exciting on paper, lol. It's only lovely for me, but probably boring as hell to read about. So I took the chatty route and explained a bit about who I am in a general sense, why I write, and tried to convey my sense of humor without swearing. Harder than it looks, believe me! :-)

I can't wait to see what comes next. Stay tuned...

I have the contracts

2007-11-04T14:08:00.001-07:00

Ooh, this is starting to feel like the real thing. I have the contracts in hand, have to write a bio and fill out information sheets for them. So exciting!! Stay tuned...

Contracts

2007-09-23T18:39:00.000-06:00

OK, so I heard from my editor that I should be seeing the contracts soon. Crossing my fingers!

In the meantime, I guess I'd better get a move on polishing the sequel to the book that just sold. Except I have all these danged Christmas projects/presents I'm working on. Ok, I will just have to find a happy medium for all these blessings in my life. :-) It's a good problem to have!

Contracts

2007-08-30T09:21:00.000-06:00

OK, still waiting for the contracts! I hate waiting, lol, but I know that all will come in time. On the bright side, have a three day weekend coming up which is lovely. I think I will start working on a sequel to the book that just sold.

Well, I DID IT

2007-08-25T22:22:00.000-06:00

Woohoo! I was getting a little burned out and took a break from writing, but still submitted my work to various places, and voila, I am going to be published!! I'm SO excited. After all the work, rejections, failed contests, etc. it finally paid off.

Once the paperwork is finalized, I will bring forth more details. A MAJOR CELEBRATION is on the horizon!!

Test

2006-11-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

Testing!

Rocky Mountain Romance Writing Chapter

2006-08-29T15:06:00.000-06:00

OK, so I joined the Rocky Mountain romance writing chapter that's literally 20 minutes from my house. I don't know why I didn't do it before, lol. The next meeting is on September 9th, so I'm excited to see what it's all about! I think I need local contacts that I can talk to face to face as critique partners. Getting people's unvarnished opinion where you can actually discuss it would be invaluable. I'll let ya'll know how it goes...

Smells like Rejection around here

2006-08-17T13:40:00.000-06:00

Well dang, got a rejection on a requested full manuscript of The Shape of Her Heart. HOWEVER, they said that my writing was strong, intelligent, and that my plot was very original. But that the characters and narrative didn't grab them enough to want to buy it. DANGIT. However, I will latch on to the first part of that and keep sending it out. I love my characters - they're very distinctive, and I really dig that book so I hope I'll find someone who digs it too. Maybe I'm weird enough that it will take someone equally weird to want to buy it. lol. Can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I revel in my weirdness, yet if only two people in the entire United States will like my book, I'm in trouble, lol.

Changing the topic, I have started to send out Dreams are for Lovers so we'll see how people react to that one. I'm so slow to send this stuff out because I do try to polish the hell out of it first. I'd hate to send something out that would have sold if only I'd gone through it one more time. Anyway, having stuff out there always makes me feel positive. Onward and upward!

Continuing to write when life is being difficult

2006-08-15T11:30:00.000-06:00

As in throwing temper tantrums at you and attempting to thwart you at every turn. lol. I know this is a normal part of adulthood, but it SUCKS. :-)

So lately a dear friend has been depressed, husband has been having a hard time at work, i have a new boss which is great except it takes a lot of my energy and is a bit stressful until things get settled, there are a lot of chores around the house piling up, my porch needs shoring up because a bit of the dirt under it has sunk so I need to get that fixed before the PORCH FALLS OFF. Hmm. That would also suck. Oh, and my dog needs to get to the vet because she has a small growth on her leg I need to get checked out. And my hubby needs a tooth pulled. The list goes on and on.

I don't even have kids. I can't imagine how that would just magnify everything tenfold.

Anyway, so today's topic is how the hell do you keep writing amidst the chaos? How do you keep yourself motivated when you keep getting rejected amidst the chaos?

For me, these are the reasons I write:

1. I need a creative outlet. Something that gives my life some meaning and direction beyond what I happen to do at my day job.
2. I do it because I like it. Even when it's tedious.
3. I like to write what I wish was on the shelves.
4. I do want to get published someday. The external validation would be lovely.
5. It helps keep my depressed friend less depressed. :-) I give her my progress reports and I think it cheers her up.
6. It really helps me to spend part of my day every day not in my real life. Life is just so much more interesting inside my head. Scary thought, but there it is.
7. It's sort of what I'm meant to do. It feels right, and I get in a bitchy mood if I miss a few days.
8. I ain't getting any younger. Every day I'm not writing is one more day I've missed an opportunity.

SO, that all being said, once a day I tell everything to go to hell and I sit down and write. Guilt still eats at me for not doing the dishes and whatnot, but I figure on my death bed I'm not going to exactly care. I WILL care if I'm on my deathbed and I didn't live some part of my life the way I wanted to.

Thoughts on submitting to an agent or editor

2006-08-13T18:15:00.000-06:00

I was thinking today about how most of the rejections I have gotten have been "because it's not quite right for our line" yet I get comments that the writing is strong, plot is original, characters are interesting, etc. So fairly encouraging, all told. I just have to find the RIGHT line and the RIGHT person and then hopefully someone will be interested. What I have written is not all that beyond the pale, so it should be possible.

What I find interesting is that when I was at the conference a couple weeks back, editors and agents who wouldn't touch inventive paranormal romance a year ago all of a sudden wanted to see it and were looking for people with a fresh voice and original plot lines. So suddenly my list of people I can submit to just got a whole lot bigger. I wouldn't have even known any of it if I hadn't gone to the conference, so chalk a few points in favor of going to such things!

So I sent out a round of submissions to a new list of people (plus the ones I've gotten good feedback before on) with my book #2. Crossing my fingers as always, and in the meantime, write write write!

Pitching at RWA

2006-08-07T17:02:00.001-06:00

So I had some lovely success pitching to editors and agents at the RWA Conference. Amusingly, most of them wanted to see the one book that I was convinced no one would be interested in. Anyway, I think I had a breakthrough. I forgot my index cards with my talking points on them, lol, and it forced me to just PITCH THE BOOK and be personable without panicking. For the record, that works so much better, HA. I even had a group of ladies who I pitched with say to me afterwards that it was one of the best pitches they'd ever heard. And I hadn't even practiced it! *blush*.

I think what helped is that I just pretended I was at work. At work I relax and talk to customers and employees all day. Getting into that mental mode helped me a lot.

Anyway, my experience relieves me greatly. Maybe next year I won't be nervous at all because by then this will be old hat. :-)

Summary of the Romance Writer's of America Conference

2006-08-05T10:30:00.000-06:00

OK, had a lovely time at the national RWA conference in Atlanta. And now I'm back, refreshed, excited, and ready to kick some ass!

I got a new boss on Monday so it's been a crazy week. Plus I was busy sending off all the submissions I promised people from the conference. I had pretty good success with that and realized I had 10 people to send to!

This entry will be long because I thought I'd summarize the workshops I went to. Spread the knowledge around!

I went to the Sagging Middle and What to Do About It. Basically they said to make sure you have enough plot to keep things moving and escalating right through the middle to the end of the book. I don't mean to be rude, but well DUH. :-) And that you can manage this by raising the stakes for your characters, maybe by pulling an M Night Shmyalan and giving the ending a twist, etc. We didn't really get much from this all so we left early.

Then later on in the conference I went to "I Do, I Do? Challenging couples in Love". Odd title, but a really interesting workshop. Her husband is a therapist that does marriage counseling. The idea is to put more authentic issues between couples in your story. Anyway, she said the top four signs that the relationship is in danger is - Contempt, Withdrawal, criticism, and Defensiveness. She said that withdrawal is the worst sign because then it shows a couple is refusing to even engage with one another.

Then she said that as things escalate, you tend to see some sort of misbehavior from one or both parties in an attempt to either get attention, control of the situation, revenge, or by faking helplessness to get the other's attention and focus. She said each can be negated by an opposing behavior. For instance, if one partner is trying to get attention by misbehaving, then the other should IGNORE it until the partner gives up. If one partner is misbehaving to gain the control in the relationship, then the other partner should relax and not take issue with it - this takes the wind out of the sails of partner #1 because they gain no control.

If one partner misbehaves to get revenge, then the other partner can acknowledge the event of whatever made him/her want to get revenge and apologize. That defuses the situation. And if one partner is faking helplessness to make the other partner have to take care of them (control), then that can be defused by partner#2 reassuring that partner #1 doesn't have to be helpless - he or she can do things on their own because they are (smart, skilled, strong, etc). Once reassured and no longer fearful/insecure, the partner stops acting helpless.

She also made interesting comments about power dynamics between couples - including who gets to decide when they're going to have sex, where and how. That it is a common craving that people have to want their partners to want them so much that they push the issue. I.e., a lot of women (and men!) want aggressive pursuit by their partner, reinforcing that they're sexy and wanted. If the pursuit isn't aggressive, then
some people take that as a sign that their partner is no longer so interested (which may or may not be true) and that can cause problems.

And, that was about it on that workshop. Very interesting, very informative.

I went to Spotlight on St. Martin's Press. The thing they emphasized is that they are pretty much open to anything as long as the writing is good and it is something they can market (i.e. fsome form of what is standard on the market - either romance convention or fiction with romantic elements). Monique Patterson, one of the editors, offered to see any paranormal romance partials we wanted to send her, so I already
sent her Dreams are for Lovers. That was pretty much the summary - they talked a lot but the theme of all the answers was the above.

I went to the PRO retreat and listened to a panel of two authors - Lani Dianne Rich and Susan Crandall. They talked about expectations of when you are published and what actually happened the first year they were. Despite the fact that I was a bit jetlagged still (it started at 6 a.m. my time!) it was a fascinating discussion.They talked about how basically being published doesn't make it any less difficult to
write the next book - that it feels like every book is as terrifying as the first book and you have the same insecurities and doubts. Also, they talked about how
it is also no guarantee that you won't still have rejections, so you should brace yourself for that and not be discouraged. They talked about how it takes an
average of 10 (!) years for a person to get published. I think Christina Dodd talked about that at her luncheon later too. Anyway, it was an enlightening discussion which boiled down to "do it because you love it because that will sustain you during the dry spells" and they also talked about the importance of just writing and pushing through any discouragement you have.

Then Meg Ruley from the Jane Rotrosen agency got up and spoke. She talked about what she likes to see. Personally, I found it all from the perspective of a very well established agent who never has to fight for good books anymore. She mentioned that something like 90% of her new authors are by referrals and she doesn't see the point to query letters. So frankly what she talked about didn't really apply to those of
us who are as-yet unpublished.

Then Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer got up and talked about websites. They said that for a decent website it should cost you about $500 - $5000 depending on the
level of complication you want/need. They talked about the importance of watch for websites you really like, finding out who designs them and what their fees are.
And how the website reflects who you are and your brand, so think about design, colors, feel, etc. so readers can get a sense of who you are. They also talked about the importance of regular updates to keep the site current and keep your readers coming back - and as you get more popular add contests, discussion boards, do chats and prizes. Post teasers of your upcoming books, etc. That was about it.

At this point I had been sitting there for two hours and my butt was numb. So I left to get coffee and missed Nora Roberts. However, there's a fabulous interview in the latest Romance Writer's Report and I hear that she basically said what was in the
interview. Which, by the way, is a kick ass interview.

I went to the Spotlight on Kensington. Again, they gave the line that they'll look at almost anything if its really good, but that they prefer something that is marketable and somewhat in line with reader expectations because that is what they can sell. They briefly mentioned that while the bottom line is money, they love to see unique voices and strong story lines and will consider a wide range of things. They are the
largest privately owned publisher in North America. And that's all I got from their talk. People asked a lot of questions like, "how sexy can we make it?" And the answers were invariably "as sexy as is appropriate to your story" so that wasn't terribly enlightening.

I went to RWA Idol. We stayed for about 20 minutes. What I found interesting was that it was pretty clear from hearing the writing what was wrong with it - and thankfully the editors and agents agreed so this gives me faith I may be able to critique my own work properly someday. Yes, they were blunt, but I was able to guess what they were about to say before they said it. Biggest pet peeves by the editors were: Starting the story with no tension or nothing in particular going on, using odd language
that catches the eye (one lady had written a story that had the phrase "bloody copulation" in the first paragraph, lol. Sounds painful), writing a story that
they can't sell (for instance medievals are highly out of favor right now, so they automatically toss it unless it is extremely well written), not have a good
ear for the flow of the language i.e. choppy, bad grammar, etc., or opening the story with a boatload of description.

As offended as some people were by the bluntness, I have to say that you KNOW that editors and agents do this behind closed doors with abandon and I'd rather be informed about what bothers them than not informed. So it was interesting to hear their unvarnished comments, painful as they might be. Sort of like being
the proverbial fly on the wall.

I went to the Spotlight on LUNA. They talked about the two lines they're filling right now - Nocturne and LUNA (both single title). Nocturne is dark and sexy
and dangerous. They want atmosphere, dangerous alpha males, hot sex. With LUNA they're looking for fantasy romance with romantic convention built into the plot.
They were adamant that they were not interested in only romantic elements (sorry Teresa and Kristen!). Theresa Mary Hussy is the LUNA editor and offered to
take a look at our stuff - three chapters. There were a lot of questions that got answered vaguely "if it's right for your story it's fine".

I went for all of five minutes for the Plotting or Pantsing with Sherilyn Kenyon, Dianna Love Snell and Kim Daniels. I just wanted to see what Sherilyn Kenyon
looked like (LOL). Besides, I know I'm a plotter from HELL. I don't need anyone to help me figure out which one I am, ha ha.

The Christina Dodd luncheon rocked. She mentioned it took her 10, almost 11 years to publish and she did a lot wrong at first. Her main point was that you either keep trying and keep things moving forward, or you let life distract you from your goals. She has a tremendous amount of grace and humor. Oh, and the best part of the luncheon was the "Kiss of Death people would like their skull back". Lol. I guess someone
"accidentally" ran off with one of their crystal display skulls, so they offered that whoever has it, have it dropped off at the front desk, no questions asked. HA. I hope they got it back.

OK, that's about it. Oh, and we had an incident in line to the chocolate fountain where Kristen, Venus myself and this other nice lady, Beth, almost ended up in a brawl. These loud "DIVAS" freaking cut in line and then refused to apologize or leave. Logic prevailed and we decided maybe starting a fight at the Gala reception might not be the best way to get our names out there. :-) However this did not prevent us from being pissy and catty for a while, HA. Fortunately, the chocolate made me feel better and the incident stopped there.

OK, that's all I can think of. If you've read this far, I'm amazed. :-)

FINISHED THE BOOK!

2006-07-11T16:08:00.000-06:00

OK, so I finished my latest book, or at least at the final polishing stages, and it feels so good! This one was a tough one to write. Learned lots of new techniques in it and it was a lot more complicated than my previous endeavors. So I'm particularly proud that I finished it! As I've been reading through it, it's still cracking me up so I think that's a good sign that I have a pretty fun finished product too.

*does a happy dance*

So after the RWA conference at the end of July, I will come back and start on book four. I love new projects. Hopefully I'll have that one done by Christmas, and then I'll start to feel like I'm building some actual inventory. Once I get published, I'll have more than one or two things to show an editor or agent, which makes me feel really great.

FF&P Contest

2006-07-06T12:57:00.001-06:00

Blogger has been weirding out!!

FF&P Contest

2006-07-06T12:57:00.000-06:00

I have not decided yet this year if I am going to enter the FF&P writing contest. Last year I had the same problem I usually have - one judge loved it, one judge hated it, then the tie breaker scored just low enough to keep me out of the finals. lol. I swear this has happened to me several times. Perhaps I have a writing style that people react strongly to, for good or for bad.

But since it is only $20 or so, I guess I don't have a whole lot to lose other than $20. One thing that is nice about the contest is that you get several sheets of commentary so you can see exactly what people are reacting to.

So the next question is: which book of mine to submit? I'm tempted to do the vampire one, but it is not as perfectly polished as my second book. Hmm. Must ponder.

Pitching

2006-06-29T08:13:00.000-06:00

OK, so I've been thinking about what I did right and what I did wrong in my pitch sessions last year at the RWA conference. I think the main thing I did wrong was act like a silly, nervous ninny. lol. I mean for pete's sake, my day job is very intense and rather public. You'd think I would know how to act in a simple pitch session. But no, I guess it's so close to what I really want in life that I kind of lost my training. Despite all that, I still got requests for two full manuscripts, which was very cool, but still. I need to get a grip. :-)

So THIS year, I'm going to kick some ass and be me. Be professional, confident, chatty, personable, etc. and show them what I can do. In fact, some of the ladies in my crit group will be there so I'm thinking we should get together beforehand and practice. Yes, that is what we shall do!

*takes a shot of whiskey*

I took a test. Hmm. I'm a bad person.

2006-06-15T09:36:00.000-06:00

You Are 72% Evil

You are very evil. And you're too evil to care.
Those who love you probably also fear you. A lot.

How Evil Are You?

Prologues and Websites

2006-06-14T08:50:00.000-06:00

OK, two topics today:

The first is Websites. I got my address redirected to a simpler web address. My site is now merely www.aliciapaige.com Much easier! That way people can remember it. And it satisfies my sense of order and neatness in the world. lol.

Next topic is prologues. They seem to be out of fashion at the moment. Now, I haven't ever written one myself, but I could see how they could drive editors and agents crazy if used incorrectly, like as an info dump. In my critique group, I've seen this problem repeatedly. So much so that I figure it must be a common problem and I think that editors and agents must be attempting to discourage it by insisting people start with chapter one.

However, if used correctly, why not? What if you have a scary, tension filled scene of something that happened to the person several years or months before the beginning of the actual story? That sort of thing is better conveyed in real time rather than later on in the course of conversation and make an effective prologue, imo. If you do that, would that be bad? No idea, lol.

Sometimes I don't get these fads other than maybe people just get sick of things. Maybe in a few years people will like them again. :-)

2006-06-08T20:59:00.000-06:00

I love long weekends

2006-05-31T10:19:00.000-06:00

Ooh, I just got through another difficult part on my vampire book and I like it so much it was cracking me up as I was writing it. I love it when inspiration hits! I love humor. I think perhaps it is one of my strengths.

I can't wait for Atlanta and the RWA conference this year. I've made such progress on my writing that I'm really looking forward to sinking my teeth into everything.

Sex Scene Language

2006-05-29T12:13:00.000-06:00

I've been working on a side project where I'm compiling a list of words to use in sex scenes. Yes, this is a very big project which I intend to piddle around with for a while until it is finished. About a year ago I begin to build a database of words in order to vary the language I use in love scenes so I can really bring it alive without being repetitive. Because let's face it - they're basically doing the same thing every time. I have it distilled down to action words, mood words, setting words, textures, tastes, sounds, touch words, scents. The idea is to have a book-sized list of words to be used by a writer as a reference to help with inspiration and vivid writing.

One writer that I admire greatly for her ability to bring impact to her love scenes and yet make them all different is Emma Holly. That woman has a creative streak a mile wide. There's just something about her word choices that really bring it out a visceral reaction.

Another writer that comes to mind is Christine Feehan. Very sensual, whereas Emma's tend towards aggressive, kick-ass sex. Both are good. :-)

Anyway, it is interesting to pick out my favorite authors, look at what they've done and try to decide why they have a certain impact. Very educational.

100th Post

2006-05-26T16:15:00.000-06:00

Cripes, the server must have weirded out. Duplicate post.

100th Post

2006-05-26T16:04:00.000-06:00

Cripes, the server must have weirded out. Duplicate post.

100th Post

2006-05-26T15:53:00.001-06:00

Cripes, the server must have weirded out. Duplicate post.

100th Post

2006-05-26T15:53:00.000-06:00

Cripes, the server must have weirded out. Duplicate post.

Take a Deep Breath. Get Back on the Horse.

2006-05-25T10:07:00.000-06:00

OK, it's been a week since I had to put my dog down, so back to writing I shall go. I have a ton of crits to get caught up on. Of course, I have a lot of writing to do too. Thankfully, I have Monday off for Memorial Day so three days is an incredible luxury of time. Should be able to get a lot done!

Oh, and congrats to Taylor Hicks for winning American Idol. What a goofy, loveable soul. :-)

Sad Day

2006-05-19T15:50:00.000-06:00

Haven't been able to write for the last two days. My poor little beagle/collie mix, Riggs, had to be put to sleep. She was 17 years old, so I can't complain. But still, she was my baby and I'm SO bummed.

I'll rest up this weekend and get back on the horse Monday. To everybody out their: give your furry friends a hug today!

Judging in Contests

2006-05-17T14:17:00.000-06:00

Ooh, I get to judge again on this year's FF&P contest. I do so love reading other people's stuff. Sometimes writers have the greatest ideas. And it's just nice to see what other people are doing. So I'm looking forward to that.

Oh, and last night I figured out a better ending for my vampire book. I feel like it's far stronger and has a lot more satisfying impact. Yay! What I had planned out before was bothering me. I have learned not to ignore my instincts. If something's bothering me, I look at it, figure out why, and fix it. Even little, niggling stuff. It takes a lot of thought, but it's worth it in the long run.

Blocking out all the Naysaying

2006-05-16T10:11:00.000-06:00

<---Here's the image for the day. I don't know why I like this. I'm in a weird mood.

For some reason I have heard an avalanche over the loops, on blogs, etc. on why writing is an impossible dream for most, blah blah blah. I'm sitting here with my fingers in my ears.

It seems to me that if you have even one shining talent - maybe characterization, creativity with your worlds, a really distinctive voice - then you have a chance. Every time I write a book, I get better. I can see it, hear it, instinctually I know it. I keep learning, keep having people critique my work, keep practicing. I know what my strengths are, and I know what I need to work on. As far as I'm concerned, it's just a matter of time. I don't see why that can't be true for other people too.

Groovin' on my writing

2006-05-15T21:25:00.000-06:00

OK, so lately I've been totally clicking along with my writing. Ideas have been bubbling to the surface. I'm in a great mood. I'm getting a lot done and ALSO getting my critiques done for the FF&P group. I have 2.5 months to Atlanta and the RWA conference and I'm going to be SO ready.

I signed up for editor and agent appointments there. I got Esi Sogah from Avon and also got Kim Lionetti from BookEnds. I'm totally psyched. I'll do my homework, make sure I'm prepared, pitch my books and we'll see how it goes.

Life is good. Knock on wood. :-)

Good god, where did my weekend go?

2006-05-08T11:16:00.000-06:00

OK, so I spent the entire weekend reading through my book, polishing it, making sure it was as good as I can get it before sending it off to Kensington. I'm pretty psyched about the book. I love it and I'm still not tired of it. So maybe that means other people will like it too. *crosses fingers!*

The downside to this is that I did almost nothing else. The sun was out, the temp was warm, and there I was, sitting in my office working away. It's a good thing I like being by myself a lot!

My husband is a very understanding man, that's all I can say!

Weekend Plans

2006-05-05T14:02:00.000-06:00

OK, so this weekend the plan is as follows:

Do a read through of The Shape of Her Heart, flag anything remaining things that bother me, fix it quick. Write the cover letter. Then get the entire package ready to send off to Kensington. Mail it Monday.

Then, continue to work on my vampire book. Oh, and do some gardening and chores. And sleep in. I should also probably do a crit for someone in my crit group. And have some "quality time" with the hubby.

Hmm. Looks like I have my work cut out for me. Well, the last part's not work but you know what I mean. :-)

Ooh, another nibble!

2006-05-04T11:16:00.000-06:00

I got a request, hand written, from John Scognamiglio, head of Kensington, asking to see the full manuscript of The Shape of Her Heart. Whew. Even if he rejects it, I feel pretty lucky that he pulled me out of a slush pile and asked to see the whole thing. So I'm in a really good mood today, lol. Yay!

Onwards and upwards...

Progress on my writing

2006-05-03T11:32:00.000-06:00

OK, I got through a tough part on my vampire book last night. I was having trouble deciding the tone. I hate it when you get stumped on something and it makes you not want to write. Yet the only way out of that is to sit the hell down and write. Pah.

Anyway, FINALLY, I figured out what was bothering me about it and fixed it. I shall be forging ahead now, still mostly on schedule. I'll have to double time it this weekend to get caught up. Still, I'm so relieved. Getting stuck sucks.

I'm getting excited for the RWA nationals in Atlanta this year. On May 15th I get to sign up for editor and agent appointments. I can't wait to see who I get to pitch to. It is always a very rewarding experience and while I'm not pubbed yet, I've gotten really good comments on any rejections that have come out of the meetings. Ha ha. And one of these days, maybe one of them will actually say yes!

*knocks on wood*

Critique Group

2006-05-02T12:46:00.000-06:00

OK, so the critique group I belong to is exploding, but in a good way. They've managed to plow through my first book and really help me take it to the next level. Now they're working on my second. In the meantime, I've done a boatload of critiques in return and I've learned a lot in the process.

Apparently my biggest issue is POV shifts. However, I'm not convinced that headhopping is a bad thing or even necessarily distracting if it's done right, but I've learned to be far more conscious about when, why and how. I feel much more confident now that I'm doing it well and for good reasons, and that the flow is pretty invisible yet clear to the reader.

Anyway, very happy with the whole thing. I'm polishing my third book now and will be starting my fourth soon. Making progress!

My Website is up!

2006-04-21T19:35:00.000-06:00

OK, after a bit of work, here is my new Website. I'm so excited! It is so nice to finally have it together.

I'll start posting regularly again. I swear it!

Click here

Writing even when you're tired

2006-02-14T11:15:00.000-07:00

OK, sorry I haven't written in a few days. My day job has been insane, and for some reason my personal life has been really busy too, so I've barely managed to sleep, write, work, eat and pay attention to my husband. lol. I haven't even called my mother in three weeks. I'm a bad girl.

So I'm finished up my book. I'm at that cathartic point of knowing that I pretty much have it all down, now its just a matter of punching it up, polishing, layering, and then voila! Thank god. For some reason this one was tough to write. I think because there's so much humor in it. It's a careful balance to strike.

I have a critique partner coming out to do a writer's retreat in April, so I'm totally psyched about that. I'll be able to run this book by her and see what she thinks. Perfect!

Well, that's about it. I'll think of a better topic for next time, I swear!

Writing Tips Blog

2006-02-07T12:31:00.000-07:00

OK, found a new blog I really like. This one is by Angela and she's a copywriter. She posts on writing tips, things that drive her crazy to see, etc. Very helpful.

Click Here

I also added it to my list on the right. Anyway, she's got some really cool stuff on there. Stuff I hadn't thought of. Read away!

Experimenting with Backstory and Setup

2006-02-06T14:26:00.000-07:00

I got some interesting advice on how to play with your book once you have it finished to make sure you don't have more backstory and setup in there than you really need.

Just take it all out, saving the cut parts of course, then reread the book. Print the parts you cut out and keep next to you as you read, weaving in only small pieces in logical locations, leaving out anything that isn't essential. Then voila, your book has backstory and setup cleverly woven in without doing info dumps or pulling the reader out of the story.

Very freaking cool.

I was running into the problem where my first chapter or two of every book was running slow because I was amateurishly trying to stuff all the setup and backstory up front. Uh. Stupid, I know. Although it helped me as an author to have it in there temporarily so I could write it, then take it out as appropriate later.

Anyway, I will add this to my list of "things to do when writing a book". Good lord, the list is getting a bit long. :-)

Doing better today

2006-02-05T17:12:00.000-07:00

OK, so my critique partners are flabbergasted at the comments I got in my rejection letter, so I'm going to drop it. One person suggested when I'm a best seller, I fax said letter to the woman and also include a photocopy of my hand flipping the bird. lol.

Ah, the things we'd like to do in our fantasies. I wonder if anyone has actually ever done that. Ha ha.

Ooh. REJECTION

2006-02-04T12:36:00.000-07:00

Aww. I just got a rejection from someone on one of my books who not only rejected me, but was really, um, harsh about it. She said: WAY too much showing, not telling. The dialogue is stiff and unnatural. She didn't like my heroine's world, or my hero's world. She didn't get into it, nothing grabbed her. She didn't say anything positive or encouraging. Just, "this sucks, that sucks, these other five things suck. Oh, and p.s. you suck."

Ouch, lol.

And the funny thing is, I don't think the book is anywhere near that bad. I went back and looked at it and I don't see it. There are things I can improve on, yes, but I don't see what set her off so vigorously. I mean, she REALLY hated it.

My critique partners are also mystified, and were shocked about the response. But still, Dear God, please don't let me be like those people on American Idol that are totally terrible yet are absolutely surprised when the judges loathe them and kick them out the door. lol.

Anyway, I've decided I'll look at her comments in another couple of days, compare it to my manuscript and see what I can do. And if I don't see it, I'm going to throw the rejection INTO the trash and it go. Gargghghgh.

Progress

2006-02-02T12:08:00.000-07:00

OK, I have 330 pages and I think my book is coming along nicely. It is so frustrating to keep myself from fixing as I go, thus slowing my momentum. Trouble is, if I slow too much, I get a little depressed I'm not getting the danged thing done so I have to find a happy medium.

I have solved this somewhat by keeping a second document open at all times, and when things occur to me that I will want to go back and fix, layer, clarify or whatever, I list it in that document so I don't forget anything. That way I can let it go for now but not worry that I'll lose the thought.

This seems to be helping and I should have this first draft out pretty soon. Maybe a week more. Thank god, lol. Did I mention I hate this part?

Writing - Fun or Pain in the Ass?

2006-01-31T12:01:00.000-07:00

Today I can't decide whether I like writing or not. lol. The stuff I'm coming up with is fun and I like it. IF I can get myself to sit the hell down and write it already.

Maybe I'm just one of those people that groans and moans until the first draft is out, then things magically resolve. I like fixing it, layering and polishing. I just hate getting out the first draft. I tend to do it in massive, caffeine induced spurts to lessen the pain of it. Speaking of which, I will be finished with the first draft of my next book by this weekend. Thank god. It's been pissing me off.

Hmm. I guess this goes back to the thing that writing is hard work. Work I generally don't mind, but first drafts can kiss my butt.

On the flip side, I can't tell you what a rush it is to have a full, polished book in hand and I AM THE ONE WHO WROTE IT. I absolutely love it, so I guess that's what keeps me coming back for more punishment.

Yes, sir! May I have another sir!

Writing Synopses

2006-01-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

OK, so I was critiquing someone's synopsis today and it brought several issues to mind. First of all, I don't think there's any preferred method, but I'm starting to come to the conclusion that there's a certain way to writing them so you can convey the main idea, tone, voice, GMC, character, etc. and somehow get all that into 1000 words. What a fucking pain in the ass, excuse my language. I pray someday I'll have an agent who will just write the damned things for me.

In the meantime, here's what I came up with for my vampire book and I think it's pretty good. At least I hope it is. God. Who the hell knows. Some days I stare at these things and think I've lost all sense of perspective. lol.

In which Ella Murphy wins a free vacation but ends up kidnapped by space-faring vampires, carted halfway across the galaxy, and set to scrubbing floors.

Earth, St. Petersburg, FL, 4128 AD

The fates have played a cosmic joke on Ella for the last time. Whenever her family gets a “feeling” about something, their hunches invariably prove right. They have beautiful houses, loving spouses and happiness to spare. But her hunches only got her a crappy job, a sucky ex-boyfriend and a termite-infested house.

Standing in the Gas ‘n Go holding a Scratch ‘n Win ticket, Ella closes her eyes and gets a “feeling” about the silver patch on the left. But she knows better now. The fates can kiss her ass. She scratches off the patch on the right and wins a trip for two to the Saturn Hilton. A hotel orbiting Saturn.

Ecstatic, Ella rushes home to invite her best friend Marie along. Then she calls her boss to ask for time off, but he refuses to give it to her. It’s end of quarter and she’s an accountant. She hates her job, so she quits. If only for two weeks of her short, pathetic life, she’s free.

On the Saturn Hilton, Marie keeps dragging her to musicals and setting her up with boring guys. Ella’s vacation isn’t as fun as she thought it would be. Which is why she’s quite relieved when a ship full of vampires raid the hotel and take her and Marie as slaves. At least she won’t have to look for a new job.

A hotty vampire, Enric Mandruleneau, knocks her off her feet with a scorching kiss. Her aura is the same silver color as his, and the match is reputed to enhance sexual response. He vows to buy her at auction.

Ella and Marie are taken to the vampire homeworld, Sirona, a world where one side always faces the sun, and the other always faces the dark. The vampires live on Darkside, never having to fear the sun, their estates protected in great domes topside.

Ella and Marie are put up for auction. Marie is psyched. She’s hoping she’ll get sold to a hot vampire as his sex slave. She always wanted to be a sex slave. Ella is hoping Enric will buy her. He bids for her, but another vampire outbids him. Marie ends up with Enric, and Ella is led away by a stranger.

Ella freaks out, thinking she is going to be a sex slave to a vampire she doesn’t even like, but when they reach his castle she is set to scrubbing floors. She’d almost rather be his sex slave.

She escapes and uses her psychic gift to find her way through underground tunnels to Enric’s estate. He panics when he sees her. Lord Dragomir, the vampire who bought her, will be pissed if he realizes she is here. It could start a feud between their Houses. He smuggles her to the Borderlands, the margin between Darkside and Sunnyside, and implants her with a false ID chip so she can work on a farm. He can’t let her go without a taste, so he drinks from her and gives her a little blood in return.

This has unfortunate side effects. Every time he fantasizes about her, she is brought to her knees in orgasm. In the lunch line. In the fields. Not even enhanced vision and strength is enough to make up for the ignominy of gasping in pleasure in front of her new supervisor.

Turns out, her new supervisor hates her anyway. They make a pact to help Ella escape to Sunnyside and Ella runs to freedom.

Meanwhile, Lord Dragomir tracks Ella to Enric’s castle and accuses him of stealing Ella. Enric claims innocence, but gives Marie to Dragomir as a peace offering. Dragomir is appalled at Marie’s hot pink aura. Pink is not a dignified color, but he is forced to accept. A human is a human. Marie is delighted. He is hot, and she’s convinced she’ll make him an excellent sex slave.

Back on Sunnyside, Ella is only grudgingly accepted. Her vampire blood makes her “tainted”, but her strength and enhanced abilities are an asset. They threaten to send her back to Darkside if she doesn’t help with their rebellion. On a raid, she gets into trouble. Enric “hears” her and helps her get out of a tight spot.

Back at Enric’s estate, the Queen’s guard takes Enric captive and delivers him to Sunnyside in a coffin. The Queen has discovered that he smuggled Ella to the Borderlands and wants to punish him. Even worse, Ella kicked butt in the raids and she is given Enric as a reward. Keeping him in her underground abode, she chains him to a wall to “get to know him better”.

Back at Lord Dragomir’s castle, Dragomir finds himself unaccountably attracted to Marie. He drinks her blood, only to discover it has “tainted” his aura. Instead of sparkling black, his aura is now tinged with pink. She is delighted. He faints.

Meanwhile, the biggest vampire holiday of the year, the Hunt, arrives. An eclipse turns Sunnyside dark, allowing vampires to reclaim humans. Of course, they could wear protective suits and raid at any time, but it isn’t thought of as sporting. In a moment of weakness, Ella frees Enric, but he turns on her and drags her back to Darkside.

They fight, make up, then sleep together. Ella asks him to make her a vampire so she can have the freedom she craves. He agrees and makes her a vampire in a hot, steamy interlude in his library.

Meanwhile, Dragomir is humiliated by his pink aura and sues Enric for damages. Marie hears of it and tells him this means war. Her dress drops to the floor, and she arches an eyebrow at him. He sighs and pulls her to him, unable to resist her.

The Queen calls them all before her, relishing the chance to bring Enric down. Except Dragomir changes his mind and refuses to testify against Enric. Ella is free at last and lives happily ever after with a hot vampire as her eternal love slave.

Web page

2006-01-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

So I've been working on my webpage with the help of my husband. I'm learning all sorts of interesting things. And my webpage is shaping up. I hope to be able to point to it and say it is finished in a week or so. Yay! I swear, I'm only about ten years behind the rest of the universe. I suppose better late than never.

Writers Conferences

2006-01-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

I think the only conference I will go to this year is the RWA conference in Atlanta. I go for a few, very specific reasons:

1. To get in front of agents and editors
2. To listen to what the agents and editors have to say
3. To spend time with one of my best friends in the world and share a hotel room with her.
4. To order room service.

Not necessarily in that order. The workshop that they offer are hit and miss for me - a lot of it I already know. But I do enjoy checking things out and meeting new people. So when I balance cost against my reasons, I think the rwa conference is the only one I'll tap this year. Still, I'm excited and do love to go to these things. Woohoo!

The Cadence of Writing

2006-01-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

I was trying to explain to a writer friend about the importance of cadence in writing. Her paragraphs were coming off a little choppy, so I suggested reading it out loud and listening to the flow. Wherever it sounds a bit off or trips you up, that's what you need to fix.

It reminds me a little of listening to music. You can't always pinpoint why something sounds right, but you can always pinpoint what sounds wrong. Every sentence, every paragraph, every scene and chapter has to have a flow and be easy on the "ear", imo, and if it doesn't have that then you've got a problem.

Of course, this is all subjective and what trips one person up might not trip up another. Still, I think there's a common ground to be had, and I find that reading my stuff out loud helps me catch a lot of problems right off the bat.

Aha Moments

2006-01-21T09:06:00.000-07:00

One of my critique partners is turning out to be extremely helpful. She has a good eye for catching certain things that I hadn't been able to see before. She catches when I drift from "show" to "tell" so I can rewrite it to return it to deep POV. And she's good at pointing out when I need more description sprinkled in to provide visuals to the reader. Now that she's critiqued about half of one of my books, I'm starting to see it on my own which makes me happy. So now I'm going through my books with what I've learned. It's really helping, I think.

Whew. Every time I advance a stage in my writing it is so cathartic. Does this make me a nerd that I get so excited about stuff like this? Too bad. It makes me happy.

Character Motivation

2006-01-19T10:25:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm on this list that is discussing character motivation and there's been some really good comments. The most helpful were:

Make sure your character has some un-heroic goals. Ones that aren't too horrible, but ones that a reader can identify with.

Make sure there's something that they're avoiding. A truth about themselves, or a confrontation, or something that they don't want to face or deal with.

So how do you know when to quit asking questions about what your character wants? When can you tell if you've gone deep enough? Once the character has revealed something NON-heroic...something they wouldn't want known by the public, something they'd just as soon not even know about themselves...you've gone deep enough. You can quit. Because now you've got what the character will have to struggle with throughout the course of the book.

Anyway, I find this extremely helpful, because really I think this hits the core of coming up with a good character. Nobody wants a one-dimensional character. Whether you're talking about the hero or the bad guy, it's boring. Even the bad guy should have something they hide, something they wouldn't be caught dead admitting, or maybe something a little bit herioc about them just to make them interesting.

So I've been asking these questions of each of my characters and it's bringing out a depth that wasn't there before. Yay! I will add this to my list of "things to review" when writing a book.

The Tone of a Book

2006-01-17T09:58:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a book where the tone of the heroine is primarily humor, and the tone of the hero is alpha male/serious. What I am finding out is that the tone of my opening chapters dominated by the heroine are totally humorous and sarcastic.

Then the tone in scenes where only the hero is in are more like his character - serious with only light smatterings of humor if at all. Then when the heroine gets kidnapped and enters his world, the tone sort of blends, but despite the difficult circumstances that she runs into, humor remains the primary coping method. Especially since her outlook on life provokes him and ends up providing humor as well. At the end of the book the tone evens because they are together, and her influence on him will mean that humor will remain the dominant tone.

What I'm wondering is if it is odd to do it this way or if it will be perceived as uneven. I suppose I'll have to see how it reads once I have it all out, but my instincts say this is OK. It emphasizes his character, her character, and the progression of conflict and humor through the book.

Got another request!

2006-01-15T17:48:00.000-07:00

OK, got another request! Good lord. All of a sudden I'm getting all this interest. I'm pretty psyched. Let's hope they like what they see and ask for more.

I had a really good weekend writing. Polished a synopsis for my third book. One which cracks me up to read it so I hope it gives other people the same reaction. And I began work on polishing my third book so it will be as perfect as I can get it should someone ask to see the whole thing. All in all, making progress!

Agents!

2006-01-12T10:02:00.000-07:00

Got another request to see a partial, this one on Dreams are for Lovers. I really like this book and hope people see the same when they read it. We shall see!

Here's the first two chapters. Let me know what ya'll think...

Chapter One

Magnolia Hamilton burrowed under the covers and curled into a fetal position, wishing for the umpteenth time she could dream about anything but her parents’ murder. Was it too much to ask? Normal people didn’t have such screwed up nightmares.

But every night for the last eighteen years she’d been forced to relive their screams, forced to see the blood and their staring eyes. Just once she wanted a normal dream. Something dull or mundane, exciting or scary - she didn’t care as long as it was different.

A good sex dream would be nice. A good sex dream with an unbelievably hot guy would be fantastic.

Threatening her subconscious to obey or else, Mags grabbed three sleeping pills off the battered, bedside table, washed them down with water and laid her head on the pillow. Despite the usual impending panic attack, she resisted the temptation to take four. That many would probably send her straight to the ever after, and despite her hellish existence, she wasn’t ready for that yet.

Mags forced deep, even breaths and let her eyes roam over the wall tapestries she’d designed for protection and serenity. Tonight they were providing neither. Sighing, she flipped her sage green, down comforter over her head and prayed the pills would kick in soon so she could have a few precious hours of rest.

Years of exhaustion and fear weighed heavily, body and soul. She barely noticed her shredded, tattered self except when she caught sight of her reflection in a mirror. She always looked like hell, her face sallow, dark circles permanently etched under her eyes. She had no memory of what being well rested and healthy felt like. In her world, a good day meant she needed only one pot of coffee instead of two.

A familiar lethargy overtook her limbs, the drugs forcing her towards unconsciousness. She fought it every step of the way, wishing she could excise the part of her brain that produced such terrible nightmares. Most people welcomed sleep, but to her it was the enemy.

She mumbled a plea to the heavens above. Maybe this time things would be different; maybe this time things would be better. She prayed someday she’d be able to go to sleep without fear. In a small corner of her mind, a stubborn flame of hope burned bright, fighting back despair. She had to believe there was something better out there for her. Even after years of hell, she refused to give up.

Her eyes closed, and she sank into the darkness.

Standing in the middle of her bedroom, Mags’ heart sank at the familiar surroundings.

She was dreaming. The walls were no longer a soothing shade of green, but had altered to a little girl’s pink, hung with pictures of flowers and butterflies. A small, fairy nightlight in the corner gave the room a comforting glow, but she wasn’t comforted. Everything was exactly as it had been when she was four. Even her pajamas were an adult sized version of what she used to wear – a pink fluffy nightgown with bouncing sheep printed at random.

It tugged at her heart to think of the day her mother had bought them for her. They’d been her favorite, but now they were forever linked to blood and death.

Any moment they would start screaming. By the time she reached them, they would be dead. Even in her dreams she’d never been able to change the outcome, and the ending was always unmercifully the same.

Then she would wake up in a cold sweat, shaking from the trauma of reliving what she could not escape. After that, not even sleeping pills could keep her unconscious. Not if she wanted to live.

The rest of the night would be spent drinking coffee until she got the shakes and watching infomercials on the television. She’d drunk more coffee in her lifetime than any human could reasonably expect to survive. She didn’t care. Whatever it took to stave off the nightmares. Precious hours awake made the caffeine-induced headaches worth it.

Mags waited resignedly for what came next, eager to get it over with, but nothing happened. Frowning, she tiptoed over to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Family pictures lined the walls, barely visible in the meager light.

Her parents should be screaming by now, but they weren’t. Hope flared. Maybe something was different this time?

Running full tilt, she swung into her parents’ bedroom and ran smack into a well built someone. She bounced and landed hard on the shag carpet. Swearing loudly, her backside bruised, Mags looked up and her mouth fell open. She squinted in the dark, making out the shape of a man.

A man too large to be her father.

Who the hell was he and what was he doing in her dream? While she welcomed anything different, this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. What if he was the killer and attacked her too? Hadn’t she suffered enough?

She opened her mouth to scream, but he yanked her to her feet and muffled her shrieks with his hand. She fought like a wildcat as he dragged her to her bedroom. She’d be damned if she let her nightmares get any worse.

Kicking out, she braced her feet on the door jam, but he grabbed her legs and jerked them away. Entering the room, he threw her on the bed. She jumped off and hit the ground running, but he caught her around the waist. Refusing to admit defeat, she elbowed him in the stomach and was pleased to hear him grunt in reaction.

“Stop,” he said, his voice breathless. “You cannot interfere.”

“Interfere with what? My parents’ murder? Did you already kill them?” Mags spun in his arms and slapped him hard, her rage spilling in vicious waves. The blow broke his grip, and he staggered back.

Then she remembered she was dreaming. He wasn’t real, and he certainly wasn’t the person who killed her parents.

Which meant she could do whatever she wanted to him.

So she kicked him for manhandling her, then kicked him again out of sheer amusement. After all the years of suffering and praying, how thoughtful of her subconscious to provide someone to beat out her frustrations on.

“Please stop kicking me.” The man hunched to protect himself and winced in pain as she landed another blow on his shin.

“Then let me see my parents!” Mags wanted to reassure herself they were all right, if only in her dreams.

She dove around him, but he caught her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, hushing her quiet as he wheezed in pain. She glared up at him, furious, then stopped short as the dim light of the nightlight shone full on his features.

He wasn’t just gorgeous. He was unbelievably gorgeous.

Instead of her parents’ murderer, maybe he was her sex dream. Maybe her subconscious had ordered him up just like she’d asked. Perhaps she should stop beating him up and start kissing him instead.

Congratulating herself on conjuring such perfection, she drank in the sight of him. He had long, straight, dark hair, and eyes of a light, indeterminate color framed by well-shaped, expressive brows. He looked shocked, although she didn’t know why he would be surprised. He was here for one thing, and she was impatient to get it. Her life had been an isolated, agonizing wasteland. Far be it from her to reject such a gift.

Mags leaned back and continued her perusal of him. He was wearing a white shirt open at the collar. A leather thong hung around his neck, and a small stone dangled from it. She leaned to the side to check out his tan pants and black boots. His getup looked like some sort of historical costume. Odd, but she didn’t care. He looked great in it.

He felt even better. She ran her hands over his hard, tight muscles and pressed her length against all that rock-hard masculinity. He cautiously angled himself away, shielding his groin.

“I can’t let you go. Events must pass as they did before. We cannot change the timelines.” The man paused, his brow furrowing. “How is it that you can see me?”

“Of course I can see you. You’re my sex dream. I can do whatever I want with you.” Despite his odd question, she wiggled against him in excitement. Her dream was different. Maybe her parents were sleeping and safe in the other room. And there was no doubt she had a gorgeous man in hers. He even had a hot accent she couldn’t place.

Ooh.

Her therapist, Natalie, was going to be so pleased. Maybe her subconscious had worked through the trauma at last. Maybe she had a hope of being a normal person. Someday. The thought was exhilarating.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Taran.”

Mags drew a finger down his chest, mesmerized by the hard lines under his shirt.

“That’s a weird name Taran, but OK. Look, I’m going to go check on my parents. You stay here for a sec, then when I come back we’re going to have some fun. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for something like you.”

Taran blocked the door and cupped her face in his large, callused hands. He murmured words in a language she didn’t recognize.

Taran finished his incantation and waited for her eyes to glaze, indicating she had plunged her back into full dreamstate. They didn’t. He tried a different one, hoping to force her awake. Nothing.

He said the words again, a note of desperation entering his voice, but she merely gazed up at him, her eyes hungrily roving over his features, her expression a mixture of haunted pain and desire.

His mind cycled rapidly through his options. He’d never encountered anyone with such a strong resistance to his commands. At most, people perceived him as part of their dream and forgot him soon after having seen him.

But this one saw him and interacted as if awake, and she wasn’t responding to the usual tricks. It was unheard of for anyone from Earth to have such talent.

Perhaps by playing along with her misconceptions he could prevent her from realizing this wasn’t just a dream. Then maybe he had a chance of walking away from this unscathed.

Promising himself he was going to take a bite out of his boss for this, he sought to distract her from her parents’ fate.

“So you think I’m a sex dream?”

Mags flashed a quirk of a smile, her blush visible in the dim light. “Yup. Stay right here, and when I get back we’ll get on with it, OK?”

She wiggled to free herself, but he had other ideas.

“I think we should get on with it now.” He lifted her off her feet and kissed her thoroughly, soundly, her moans muffled as he tried to drive every sane thought out of her head.

She was adorable and sexy. Her curly brown hair stuck out in all directions; her sweet rosebud lips beckoned for his kisses.

He wished all his duties were so pleasurable.

Mags responded with enthusiasm, parting her mouth and plundering him right back. It was only a dream after all. She’d check on her parents later.

She wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to play with such a delectable dream of a man. Her hands tracked up and down his sculpted back, amazed at how real he felt. She’d never held anyone so fit, so tight. Despite the velvet of his skin, he had the aura of a wild animal, all hard, pent up muscle. She wallowed in his heavy, male scent, breathing it deeply like a drug.

Making a mental note to ask her subconscious for a sex dream every night, she unbuttoned more of his shirt and slipped a hand inside, running her fingertips over the light hairs on his chest. She tweaked a small, flat nipple and shivered as he rumbled into her mouth.

Taran carried her to the bed. Mags considered redirecting him to the living room couch, but she didn’t want to break the mood. She wondered if it was overly kinky to have hot, wild sex in the fluffy, pink bed she’d slept in when she was four. If it was, too bad. A girl like her had to take what she could get.

Taran trapped her against the small mattress with his body, relishing the feel of her curvy, voluptuous shape under his. He unbuttoned the front of her pajamas, laying bare the glorious sight of her breasts, round and full. He drank her in, glad he was already off his feet or he would have fallen to his knees from the decadent sight. She was a goddess.

He thanked the heavens that his job required this of him. Otherwise she would be forbidden fruit, and he did so much want to sample her at his leisure. Guardians were not allowed to interact with people in their dreams, but she was a highly unusual situation. He had to keep her distracted until events ran their natural course.

It was a pleasant way to pass the time until Xavent appeared, then Taran would follow him to his hideout and nail the bastard to the wall for his crimes.

Slipping a nipple into his mouth, he rolled it with his tongue, the taste of her making his head light. The stone around his neck dragged across her belly, leaving a cool, sensuous trail as he moved. Mags buried her hands in his hair, loosening it from a leather tie, the long, silky strands fanning around them.

Arching into him, Mags fought to contain her joy. He was so gorgeous, and she’d been so alone. It had been eighteen years of nightmares. Eighteen years of unrelenting exhaustion and trauma. A sense of relief settled in her soul. Perhaps all the therapy was paying off. Judging from the skill Taran was showing her, the endless sessions had been worth every penny.

Taran parted her legs with his knee and ground himself languorously against her. He glanced up at her face and soaked in her rapturous expression. He frowned, a rush of guilt dampening his desire. She didn’t know this was real, but he did. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t nice.

Any moment her parents would be murdered, and then she’d hate him forever. This felt like betrayal. He should stop.

No sooner than the thought entered his head, a woman’s scream rang through the house. Mags’ eyes snapped open and widened in panic. She shoved at Taran’s chest with her small hands, frantically kicking him off. He let her go, his heart heavy, knowing it was already too late. He’d studied this case from all angles and knew it would be mere moments before they were dead.

Xavent was nothing if not efficient.

Sometimes he hated his job. Taran ran down the hall after her, determined to catch the man once and for all. It was the least he could do to make up for his treatment of the woman.

“Mama!” Mags screamed as she buttoned up her nightgown, running down the hall, heart pounding. She burst into her parents’ bedroom, breathing heavily, hoping beyond hope that she’d reach them in time.

Her mother lay dead on the floor, her cheek pressed to the carpet, her eyes sightless. Mags’ father bellowed in grief and anger as he struggled with a tall man. This was new. She’d never arrived in time to see who murdered her parents. She ran to help, but her father jerked and froze as the man plunged a knife into his heart.

Mags screamed in rage and flew at her parents’ attacker, but Taran caught her around the waist and threw her out of the room. The door slammed shut, and Mags landed hard in the hallway, stunned.

Undeterred, she rushed to the door and flung it open. Taran tussled with the man, smashing furniture as they fought. Mags grabbed a ceramic, green lamp and cracked it over the tall man’s head. The murderer staggered and raised an arm in defense. Mags stepped over what was left of the lamp to pummel him, but Taran got to him first and slammed him against the wall. Taran turned his face to the corner of the room and muttered words in the same strange language she’d heard before.

A black, sparkling hole appeared, about the size and shape of a door. The intruder shoved Taran back, then leapt into the hole, disappearing from the room. Mags rushed to follow, but Taran caught her by the arm.

“You cannot.” Taran spoke more words she didn’t understand, holding her face in his hands. “You will forget this. You will wake up refreshed and rested. I swear I will get the man who murdered your parents and avenge them. Be at peace. Go live your life and leave this place of death behind you.”

He kissed her lightly on the lips and followed the tall man through the hole. Mags ran to catch him, but it closed behind him and she smacked into the wall. Clutching her bruised forehead, she raised shaking fingers, but felt nothing but drywall. She was alone, the silence deafening.

She turned, loathe to see what she saw every night of her life. Her father lay dead, sprawled in front of the bed. Her mother lay a few feet away, bathed in blood, her wild curly hair matted and dull.

Tears poured down Mags’ face. Nothing had changed. Not even an unbelievably hot guy could make her nightmare go away.

Still, tonight’s events gave her hope. Perhaps Taran would catch her parents’ murderer and avenge their deaths, if only in her dreams. Then maybe someday the nightmares would stop. She had to believe that. What else did she have to look forward to?

Mags awoke with a start, her body drenched in sweat, her heart racing in panic. She scanned the bedroom, relieved to see the familiar green walls and soothing tapestries. Much to her satisfaction, there wasn’t a drop of pink to be seen.

She smoothed her dark green silk pajamas, and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Running a hand through her tousled hair, she gave a shaky sigh, her mind replaying her dream. Taran had told her she would forget everything, but she remembered it all. And despite his exhortation, she certainly wasn’t at peace or well rested. Natalie was going to have a field day when she told her about this at their next therapy session.

Still, progress was progress. Her dream had changed. Excitement and hope spread through her, the unfamiliar feelings buoying her spirit.

Checking the window, she wasn’t surprised to see the moon still up. She never slept through the night, her sleep continually framed by the dark. She slipped her feet into black terry slippers and padded into the kitchen.

Almost happy, the dreary surroundings didn’t depress her as they usually did. Her parents’ house was much the same as it had been when they were alive. She’d never had any money to update it, so she’d left it as it was. Mags felt like it still belonged to them. The couch was a little more tattered, the china chipped, but everything stood intact from the day they had died, a shrine to unfinished business.

The only room she’d remodeled was her bedroom. She’d redecorated it in the vain hope the lack of pink would stave off the nightmares.

Mags brewed a strong pot of coffee, then retrieved a bar of dark chocolate from the pantry. She broke off several chunks, ate several, then stirred a small piece into her coffee, the chocolate swirling on the surface. Nothing like a sugar-caffeine buzz to keep a person awake. Sipping it as fast as she could stand, she made her way into the garage, determined to convert her buoyant mood into art.

She’d changed the garage into a workshop years ago. She didn’t need a place to park a car anyway. She didn’t trust herself with one, terrified she’d fall asleep at the wheel and kill somebody. So she biked everywhere and used the space to weave her livelihood.

A large, wooden loom awaited her. Cheap remnant rugs in shades of tan, brown, burgundy and green covered the cold concrete wall to wall, softening her steps. Fine skeins of wool lay in heaps on the floor and draped over the loom. The room was a cacophony of muted tones by design – she found bright colors jarring to her already frayed senses.

She settled herself onto an old, padded piano bench in front of the loom and placed her mug on a carpet square stained with masses of brown rings. She worked doggedly, combing each weft thread into place, her latest work coming to life inch by painstaking inch. Her loom was an unusual, simple style, not at all like modern looms, closer in design to those from the Middle Ages. She preferred the simplicity, and refused to give it up since it had been her mother’s.

Despite all the hard work that went into her art, she wasn’t sure if she was going to sell her current project or not. Only when finished did she decide if a tapestry belonged with her or someone else. Then again, she’d probably end up selling it. Even a small rug took upwards of three months to create, and she needed the money.

Her eyes closed as she worked by feel, her movements so practiced she could do it in her sleep. Her mind descended into calm meditation as she tied off and changed from color to color, her choices dictated by the ebb and flow of her mood.

The familiar movements helped her deal with the night’s events. The dream had been astonishingly focused and real, so tangible she could remember every touch, smell, and detail as if she’d been there in the flesh. Her dreams had always been unusually vivid, but this one had taken it to a new level.

She wondered what Taran represented to her subconscious that he not only gave her a taste of her wished for sex dream, but had also fought her parents’ attacker. She wasn’t some helpless female who needed a man to save her, yet it had been comforting to have someone there with her. For once, she hadn’t been alone.

For the first time since the murders, she found herself eager to go to sleep again, wanting to know where her nightmare would take her this time. Would it be the same as always, or would something new happen?

Her mind burgeoned with questions and speculations. What was the strange door Taran and the murderer had escaped through? And her parents’ attacker – did he really look like that? There was no earthly way she could know his face since she’d been visiting her aunt the week her parents had been murdered, but stranger things had happened.

She wondered if it would be possible to waylay her parents’ attacker in her dreams and kill him. Such a dark thought, but maybe it would resolve her trauma, allowing her to move on and live a normal life. It was worth a shot.

Mags considered calling Natalie to ask her what she thought, but didn’t think her therapist would appreciate being woken up at four in the morning. No, the exciting news of her breakthrough would have to wait until a reasonable hour. It had long been a source of irritation that no one was ever up at four in the morning, but years before she’d resigned herself to her isolation, at least until the sun was up.

Mags opened her eyes to check her progress. She cocked her head in surprise. The earlier section of the rug was dark and chaotic, a study in the abstract. Nothing out of the ordinary there. She’d never had much luck keeping her rage, fear and exhaustion from manifesting in her work.

But tonight’s small portion was unusual, much like her dream. There were threads of true pattern in it, threads of order. Lighter colors of green and yellow had crept in, giving it a sense of changed direction and mood. She’d bought the colors months ago, hoping she’d reach a point in her healing where she’d be comfortable using them, but up to now the spirit had never moved her.

Interesting. If her weavings were tarot cards, she’d say something was afoot.

Beatrice should see this. She’d be way excited. Making a mental note to call her best friend as well as Natalie in the morning, Mags stared at her work, unable to believe what she was seeing. People considered her tapestries works of art but ones not suited to a happy, sunny atmosphere. Her torment had produced success, having engendered a darkness and complexity that people found compelling.

Perhaps tonight’s work signaled change and transformation. Perhaps Taran was a dream guide, someone her mind conjured up to lead her out of her nightmares and into the light.

She prayed it was true. At twenty-two she was tired of a life that had brought her little but terror and deep, soul wrenching grief. Things had better turn around, or she feared the day would come when her nightmares would drive her to take too many sleeping pills, leaving her body for one of her friends to find. She didn’t want to bring anyone that kind of pain, but her strength was running out.

Change had better come soon or it might as well not bother.

Chapter Two

Taran lunged into the portal and hit the sand crystals running. Pain lanced into his eyes, the glare of the sun a harsh desert mistress. He squinted and sprinted after the young Xavent, the man’s black-clad figure barely visible through the sand ladened winds. Taran focused on the man’s dark head, thinking it odd to see him without grey hair.

Taran tore down a dune, closing the distance. He‘d never live it down if Xavent outran him, and it was best to keep moving. The Gaka lizards were relentless and loved nothing better than a tasty, live meal.

The amber sand crystals glittered in the unforgiving light, the pale blue sky offering a striking counterpoint. Beautiful. Not at all to Taran’s liking, but he’d had no choice in the matter. Somehow Xavent was finding or building portals without the Guardians’ knowledge. This one wasn’t even on the maps.

Taran consoled himself. At least Xavent couldn’t hide here, and the next portal was several miles away. It gave him time to catch up. Taran cursed the gods that he wasn’t allowed to change the timelines and bring in this younger Xavent, but at least the rules didn’t forbid him following the man to see where he led.

Taran relaxed into the chase, thankful he would finally have some answers. He was sick to death of this case. Xavent had been a Guardian until he’d turned his back on Parantha, using his Talents to his own, unauthorized purposes. He’d been hiding out for years, shifting through time and space to elude them.

Taran couldn’t relax until the man was safely in a Paranthan prison. Xavent would have a master plan, a scheme that would keep him free from the clutches of the Guardians. The man was organized, methodical, and unerringly several steps ahead of everyone.

It frustrated Taran that the Imperial House refused to loan him a finding stone, a stone that would have allowed the Guardians to locate Xavent years ago. He’d been denied repeated requests for its use, so Taran had been forced to find Xavent the old fashioned way.

Over the last ten years, he’d investigated the man’s activities and tracked him carefully, determined to end this one way or another. He prayed his current scheme would bear fruit and lead him to the man’s hideout.

Which led him to the current mystery. He didn’t know why the younger Xavent had killed the woman’s parents. They appeared to be no one of import. He didn’t even know their names, but they looked like normal, average, people living quiet, happy lives on a backwater planet. It would require more investigation.

The lack of an obvious reason worried him. Xavent never did anything at random.

Taran’s eyes widened as the young Xavent slid to a stop and opened a portal. So much for this being easy. How the hell was Xavent finding portals that weren’t on the map stones? Taran swore and closed the distance with a burst of speed. He couldn’t afford to be left behind. Couldn’t afford to return home empty handed. His boss would hand him his head for breakfast.

Xavent jumped through; Taran seconds later. As Taran emerged, Xavent spun and upper cut him in the jaw, laying him flat on his back. The man took off as Taran struggled to his feet, his head swimming from the impact. Warm, wet mud dripped down his body, and his feet began to sink. He stepped quickly to solid ground, his nose wrinkling at the rank smell of the bog.

Ignoring the pain, he pushed on, half blind and stumbling over uncertain ground. Taran’s head cleared, and he scanned the area as he ran, searching for clues to his location. Heavy vines hung from odd, fern-like trees. Strange, sinuous eels swam in the water, their beady eyes inspecting him as he passed.

He didn’t recognize this world.

His lungs threatened to seize in the heavy, humid air, but he had to keep up or he’d be lost forever. Without Xavent to lead the way, his spirit would be trapped here, his body left to die a slow death on Parantha.

He forged ahead, splashing through tepid, fetid water, certain there must be another portal ahead. Which meant there were at least three portals unknown to the Guardians – a highly unlikely circumstance. The Guardians had been exploring the known universes, timelines and their respective portals for thousands of years. One undiscovered portal he could understand, but three?

Xavent halted and a black, sparkling door opened in front of him. Taran’s expression grew grim, and he bounded through the portal, praying Xavent was taking him somewhere he recognized.

The new world had purple trees and bluish grass. Ah, yes. Tars.

Relieved he knew where he was, he pounded the soft earth in pursuit, only to spot Xavent opening yet another portal. Make that four previously unknown portals.

Taran launched his body at the man, but instead of turning to defend himself, Xavent shot him a triumphant look and disappeared through the doorway.

Taran hit the portal, bounced, and landed firmly in the grass.

Shocked, he studied the swirling patterns of the door. The portal stood open and appeared to be functional. Why hadn’t he passed through?

He heaved his aching body up and poked at it with his finger. The black sparkling light gave, but the resistance increased as he pushed inward until he could go no further.

Taran realized what he was looking at, and his spirits sank. He wouldn’t be able to follow Xavent through here. The portal had been constructed to allow only its master through. Incredible.

It meant Xavent had a specialized portal stone, a stone so rare the Imperial House owned only three. The stone would allow him to create portals of any kind, anywhere. Either Xavent had found a fourth stone, or whoever was in charge of inventory for the Imperials was doing a crappy job.

Either way, with such a stone, Xavent had the potential to wreak havoc on the universes. The stakes had jumped a thousand-fold.

Taran swore loudly. To follow Xavent, he needed an expert portal cracker. But those people were almost as rare as the specialized portal stones and loyal to the Imperial house, helping out only when the mood took them. Damn.

Then again, a rogue former Guardian with a possibly stolen portal stone qualified as an emergency – one that might be enough to overcome any Royal capriciousness.

Taran retrieved a green map stone from his pocket, the weight comfortingly heavy in his hand. Activating it with his dream mind, the stone projected a map of the portals in the known universes, the lines, colors and shapes floating in the air. Taran poked at the locations he wished to magnify until he reached Tars. With a twitch of his finger, he logged the precise location of Xavent’s portal, as well as the other portals, ensuring he could find them again.

Dropping the stone in his pocket, he manipulated the dreamworld patterns and cycled eighteen years to the future. Trees changed through the seasons and grew rapidly, marking the passage of time until he reached the present.

He held his hand in front of him and used his dream mind to activate the door. It sprang to life. He frowned as it gave him the same resistance, preventing his entry. Still, while this wasn’t the breakthrough he’d hoped for, but it gave him a thread to follow.

Taran turned and hiked to the nearest portal. The day’s work had been fruitful, but his body had been without his spirit long enough. Time to go home.

He walked, head down, deep in thought. The bucolic, pastel landscape of Tars held no charm for him today. He considered conjuring a vehicle, or willing his dreamself into flight, but it was difficult to maintain either effect, and he was tired.

So he spent the time planning his next move and rehearsing what to tell his boss. Halent was a pain in the ass with a temper, but he was fair. Considering all he’d learned today, Halent might not even yell at him.

And then there was the matter of the woman. He was tempted to keep her existence to himself, provided she forgot about her dream. He’d check on her later to make sure she had. If she didn’t, he’d have a whole new set of problems.

Her awareness of him indicated she had talent in the dreamworlds, and the Guardians made it a rule to inform them of any potential students. Those with the gift were usually “adopted” whether they wanted to be or not.

Normally he wouldn’t have hesitated to report her, but she’d looked tired and heart-worn. She’d clearly been through hell, and he didn’t want to add to it by uprooting her from her life.

He wished he knew her name, not that it mattered. To protect her, he’d never let her catch sight of him again.

He wondered if she dreamed-visited her parents’ murder often. People with talent often had trouble controlling their trauma without training, particularly in the dreamworlds. They uncontrollably visited the event again and again, unable to stop the vicious cycle.

As a Guardian, she’d be taught how to keep herself from time traveling in her dreams to her parents’ murders. Perhaps it would be in her best interests to come to Parantha after all.

Well, he wasn’t about to make any decisions today. He’d think about it and decide what to do later.

Taran reached the next portal, opened it with his mind, and walked through. He emerged in a deep, dark forest, the familiarity of the scene comforting. Beams of pale sun broke through the trees, lighting his way along the well-worn path. He made his way from world to world until he reached home – Parantha.

Stepping out into the tropical air, he took a deep breath, pleased to be home. The portal had been formalized with rare white marbled columns and a gabled roof overhead. He trotted lightly down the steps, treading over the stone paths to his home. Palms swayed in the breeze and the air was heavy with the perfume of flowers. The sky shone lavender, a color he found more soothing than the shocking blue of Earth.

Most people couldn’t see him as he passed, but a few Guardians nodded at him as they glimpsed his dreamself returning home.

He cherished this place. He belonged here. He lived to explore the dreamworlds, but he treasured his home above all else. He’d been disappointed when he’d been assigned to Earth – he’d been hoping to be named one of the honored Guardians of Parantha. Perhaps catching Xavent would distinguish him enough to earn a promotion into the Homeguard.

His house came into view - a beige marbled, open aired mansion surrounded by dense, tropical hedges for privacy. His job paid extremely well, not that it mattered. He rarely stayed awake to enjoy the fruits of his labor. His servants watched over him, kept him safe while he worked, leaving him in peace and security. They got to enjoy his house far more than he did.

He trotted up the wide steps into the entryway, wending his way through the house. The large, stone fountains set in the middle of each room calmed his mind, the tinkling sounds soothing his spirit. He found it odd that most Earth dwellers didn’t have fountains in their homes. On Parantha, a home wasn’t considered a home without at least a few.

He half floated into his bedroom. His body lay under light, silk sheets, waiting for his return. He overlaid his spirit into his body, his aura melding with flesh, his consciousness fading as he was overcome by sleep.

He let himself rest as long as he dared, then awakened to face the day. His boss wasn’t going to wait much longer for his report. Xavent was clever, and there was always the danger that a Guardian would get caught in one of his traps, unable to return to his body. Halent would check on him soon to make sure Taran wasn’t in trouble.

Taran wished he had a lower profile investigation on his hands. There was too much riding on bringing Xavent in after all these years. The Imperial House wanted him badly, considering the man had once been arranged in marriage to one of their princesses.

Odd they didn’t help more. They refused to provide a finding stone or any resources to locate the man. The uneasy political alliance between the Imperials and the Guardians became an obstacle in cases like these. The Royals were under no obligation to help. Besides, the Guardians were honor-bound to bring in one of their own, not the Imperial House. Failure would not bode well for his career.

Hoisting his protesting muscles out of bed, he ignored the pain, knowing exhaustion served its purpose. It would help him sleep later when he needed to be back on the job. He’d worked out too hard yesterday, hoping to keep himself unconscious long enough to find Xavent’s hideout before he woke up. It had taken him less time than expected, and his body hadn’t finished resting.

There was nothing for it, though. If you missed reporting to Halent after dreamwalking, you’d better be dead. There was no other acceptable excuse where his boss was concerned.

Taran considered it a testament to the man’s competence that he wasn’t even from Parantha, had spent less than fifteen years immersed in their culture, yet had already made tertiary rank.

Most transplants took years to adapt, but he’d blended in quickly and even changed his name from ‘Hal’ to a more Pananthan ‘Halent’. Some Paranthans were prejudiced against working with him. He had medium talent – even Taran had more – but the man was a genius when it came to planning and motivation. Taran respected him highly and followed where Halent led without qualm.

He dressed in his work uniform of a loose cream tank and black pants. The cloth was light and airy, designed to keep a body comfortable in the warm climate. Retracing his steps through the house, he enjoyed the cool feel of stone on bare feet, the light breeze refreshing as it wended through the spacious halls.

In the entry he slipped on soft, leather shoes and strode down stone paths to the Guardian headquarters, mulling over the best way to break the news of Xavent’s escape and possession of a contraband portal stone.

Halent was going to be pissed.

The headquarters came into view, surrounded by a green lawn and majestic palms. Taran snorted. He had no idea what the hell they’d been thinking when the architects had designed it. The tall, open-air structure had been built from gray marble, a dignified stone, yet it had been carved with masses of flowers, vines, and all manner of plant life, so artsy it looked like it housed a harem rather than a motley collection of ass-kickers. He supposed it was amusing to pretend they had a softer side.

Taran strode through the open, rare wooden doors. Their very existence was a sign of power and wealth. Borer beetles usually made fast work of such a thing and only fastidious attention kept them at bay.

Several Guardians noted his entry, nodded their respect, then returned to work. Heavy wooden tables were covered with charts and maps as they planned out routes. They all looked furtive, their voices low, their eyes glancing nervously at Halent’s office. That didn’t bode well. The boss was in a bad mood.

Just great. Taran glanced up at the tall, marbled ceiling for strength.

A deep, male voice boomed off the walls, berating someone for some sort of infraction, confirming Taran’s suspicions. More often than not Halent was irritable, but he sounded particularly cranky today. Taran waited outside the office, listening to the onslaught. Some poor hapless apprentice had royally screwed up. He remembered well what that was like. Not fun, but there was no room in their line of work for half-assed effort. Not if you wanted to be a Guardian.

The beleaguered apprentice would either wise up, or he or she’d be booted out of the program, simple as that. The timelines of entire worlds were at stake. As rare and valued as their Talents were, they were useless if the person wielding them wasn’t meticulous, reliable and acted with honor.

The barrage stopped and the apprentice, a boy of about fourteen, ran out of the room, his face a little pale. Taran hoped for his sake he’d learned his lesson. They needed every one of the Guardians; they couldn’t afford to lose any of them. To fail the program was a great dishonor, so fortunately it was rare anyone fell short of the mark. Halent merely tortured them until they measured up.

Taran stepped into the room, steeling himself against his boss’s temper.

Halent glanced up at Taran with an absent-minded grimace. His marbled desk was scattered with parchment, and the map stones were rocking and projecting at wild angles. The man’s light brown hair had half escaped its leather tie, and his clothes were stained and rumpled.

Taran supposed the man worked too hard to care for his appearance. Halent was focused, driven, and sharp as a tack. He even spoke their native language with barely a trace of accent. Rumpled or no, Taran would have to handle this interview carefully.

“Please tell me you have him,” Halent said.

Taran winced. “I don’t. I followed Xavent’s younger self to Earth, but he has somehow managed to acquire a specialized portal stone. I counted no fewer than four new portals as I traced him through several worlds. Then on Tars he jumped through a portal that wouldn’t let me through. I literally bounced off it. We’ll need a portal cracker to open it.”

Halent sat with his mouth hanging open, a vein on his forehead pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. Taran feared someday that blood vessel was going to burst right out of the man’s head.

“That’s it? You’re sure the world’s not ending too? Dammit Taran, where the hell did he get that stone?”

Taran held his chin up, refusing to be cowed. “I don’t know, sir. Since it was the younger Xavent I tracked, it looks like he’s had it at least eighteen years. He either got them from an unknown source or the Imperial House doesn’t want to admit they’re missing one.”

“I’ll send out discreet inquiries.” Halent slammed the desk in frustration, sending the map stones rocking, the images wildly whipping through the air. “If the Imperial House is missing a stone, we have to handle the information carefully. If we embarrass them in any way they’re going to take an Imperial dump on all our heads. It’ll take years to get rid of the stink.”

“Yes sir, my thoughts exactly,” Taran replied, fighting not to laugh. The madder Halent got, the more colorful his language. The man was famous for it.

Taran cocked his head hopefully. “While you’re at it, you could petition for a portal cracker. I’m positive whatever’s on the other side of the Tars portal will lead us to Xavent.”

“And you think the Imperial House passes those people out like candy? You know better than that.”

“I don’t see how else we’re going to get through.”

Halent stood up abruptly, his chair rocking back, and leaned into Taran, pinning him with a forbidding expression. “Too bad. We’ll get no help from the Imperial House. They’re too caught up in their own dramas. And if they’re missing a stone, they may secretly not want us to find Xavent because it might embarrass them. We have to find some other way to get through that portal. So find it.”

Taran suppressed a sigh. The discussion was over. After long years of working for the man, Taran knew when he’d hit a wall. He shot his boss a disgruntled look but saluted his agreement to the man. “Yes sir.”

Halent’s expression softened at Taran’s frustration. “I know this isn’t your area of expertise, Taran, but if we ask the Imperial House for a portal cracker, they’ll want to know why. If they don’t want us to find Xavent for fear of exposure, they’ll block the investigation and we’ll be worse off than we already are. Find another way.”

“Understood sir,” said Taran. Halent was right. Involving the Imperial House was probably more trouble than it was worth.

Walking stiffly from the room, his back ramrod straight, he glumly contemplated a whole new set of problems. Taran had little talent at portal cracking, but now would be a good time to revisit what little skill he had. He didn’t see any other way to solve the case. He had to get through that portal. Everything hinged on it.

He returned to his house and to his bed, settling back into the oversized pillows with a contented sigh. He burrowed into the feather mattress, his aches and pains receding as he relaxed into sleep. He closed his eyes and the woman’s face unexpectedly swam in his mind, her cute little upturned nose bringing a ghost of a smile to his face. He let her image lull him, wishing he could go visit her instead of having to work.

Once deeply asleep, he detached his dream spirit from his body and made his way back to the Tars, present time. Taking out his map stone, he let it guide him until he found Xavent’s portal. He willed it awake and it sprang to life, the black, sparking light obediently appearing in front of him. He touched it, but it was the same as before, gently resisting any attempts to enter.

He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and meditated on the patterns within. He studied it, recognizing Xavent’s influence. The complexity of the patterns was bewildering. Taran doggedly sorted the threads, determined not to fail Halent, but the more he understood the intricacy of the construction, the more he had to admit he was in over his head. He was good at solving mysteries, tracking criminals and policing Earth, but teasing out the solution of a well-constructed portal had never been his forte.

He ripped up fistfuls of blue grass and whipped them into the air, frustrated. Success was so close he could taste it, but the colors were dizzying, the puzzle too intricate. He understood the general idea of what Xavent had done, but it only gave him an appreciation of just how out of his depth he really was.

He kept working until he sensed his body fighting to wake up. Sighing, he rubbed his neck and returned home. He’d come back later when he’d tired himself out again. As of now, cracking this portal was his only goal in life.

If he didn’t, his hope of becoming a member of the Homeguard would remain a distant, untouchable dream.

The rest of Chapter Three

2006-01-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

OK, here's the rest of chapter three...

Elder Printin planted himself heavily in his office chair, livid. That maniac had almost killed him, and his throat was painfully sore from the abuse. He’d underestimated Quoi and it was humiliating.

He’d sent parties of townspeople out to search, but the man had vanished into thin air. The irony of the town’s one Tracker on his way to Lumax did not escape him. It forced him to hunt Quoi the old fashioned way until a Tracker could be called in to help. Whatever it took. Quoi could not be allowed to reach Rasa.

He could kick himself for blurting out the truth to Quoi. He supposed a man’s head didn’t work as well with the oxygen cut off.

If Quoi managed to find Rasa, well, Printin didn’t want to think about it. He had too much at stake for one stupid man to ruin it.

He waited for news, hoping beyond hope they would announce Quoi’s capture, but with each passing hour his optimism faded. He needed a backup plan.

Fredi, his assistant, burst into the room. “Elder! Braden is here to see you. He says it’s important.”

“Well show him in for god’s sake!” Finally, some luck. Maybe Braden knew where Quoi was. Fredi showed him in. “Braden,” Printin modulated his tone into a state of calm, as if nothing were wrong in his world. “What brings you here today?”

Braden shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the fancy surroundings. Books lined the walls and the desk was the finest Shaped maple. The room was wealthy by Galena standards, and he gaped like the country boy he was. Printin was dressed in his morning robes, a deep rich green linen, and the man’s speckled black hair was glossy and trimmed.

Despite the civilized surroundings, something about the man made Braden nervous. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Braden cleared his throat to speak, wanting to get this over with.

“Sir, I had a conversation with Quoi after the sentencing. Thought you might want to know what he said.”

Printin fought to keep the impatience from his voice. “Go on.”

“He said we weren’t safe. That Rasa wasn’t working alone. He sounded like he knew what was going on,” said Braden. “And now that he’s disappeared, well, I thought maybe he went to get Rasa.”

The Elder sighed in disappointment. “Of course he went to get Rasa! They’ve been friends since they first learned to walk. What else did you think he was doing?”

Braden stepped back, taken aback by the Elder’s anger.

“But sir, he said that it wasn’t just Rasa behind the disappearances. Ain’t you curious about what’s going on?”

The Elder grimaced. Braden wasn’t going to give him any useful information. “We all know Rasa is always into something he shouldn’t be. Why would this time be any different?”

Braden hesitated, not wanting to anger the Elder. “Sir, Quoi was concerned, like maybe Rasa was in over his head. Like maybe someone was forcing Rasa do what he did.”

“No, I’m convinced it was just those two. Quoi was trying to cast suspicion away from them both.” He had to nip this in the bud. He couldn’t afford any suspicions the townspeople might have. A few well-placed lies should solve the problem. “Look, this isn’t public knowledge, but from what witnesses told me, Rasa and Quoi harbored jealousy against the eight missing Metal Shapers. They found a way to get rid of them. We only had enough evidence to convict Rasa, so we resolved to keep an eye on Quoi to prevent him from doing any more harm. It’s as simple as that.”

Braden shifted on his feet, wavering in his resolve. “I guess that makes some sort of sense. I mean, Rasa was more than a little jealous when Quoi discovered his Stone Shaping Gift, and they were good friends. I suppose it could have happened that way.”

“That’s exactly what happened, I’m afraid.” Printin stood and pasted a sad, sympathetic look on his face. “I understand how difficult it is to accept this from people we’ve known since birth. But there’s the ugly truth, plain for anyone to see.”

“All right. Thanks for explaining.” Braden shuffled his feet and stared at the floor.

“Fredi, would you please show Braden out? Thank you for your time, Braden. And if you hear anything else, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Fredi led Braden from the room. Printin made a mental note to keep an eye on the man. These days you never knew when people would do something foolish. He disliked all this unpredictability.

He sat down with a huff, the chair creaking under his weight. The Elder pulled out some sheets of parchment and began to write. It was imperative he get Quoi back in his control. He would send missives to all surrounding townships, hoping someone, somewhere, would spot the man and bring him in. Quoi’s distinctive, amber eyes were his weakness. It would make it easy for people to identify him.

Printin finished the missive and called to his assistant. Fredi came running in, bouncing with energy, filled with excitement over Quoi’s disappearance. Galena was normally such a quiet town. “Yes, sir?”

“Take this and make seven copies, one for each township,” said Printin.

“Yes sir,” the assistant bobbed and took the missive from him. He scanned it and then cocked an eyebrow in surprise at his master.

“Just do what I say, boy, and don’t you dare breathe a word of it to anyone. Get out of here.” Printin waved him away, irritated and exhausted by the energy of youth. The boy ran out of the office, happy to have something important to do.

Printin tipped back in his chair, worried. It angered him that everything could come crashing down around his ears because of one, stupid ex-farm hand. This had better work or he’d be the one headed to Lumax.

Chapter Three of The Shape of Her Heart

2006-01-08T17:42:00.000-07:00

I'm really getting back into the swing of things. I've gotten a ton of writing done this week and I'm pretty happy with it. I feel so much better, lol. It's better than therapy.

OK, here's the next installment of The Shape of Her Heart:

Chapter Three (the rest of it to come in a couple of days)

Quoi crouched in the pre-dawn light, anxious and tense, his forehead pressed to the grass, eyes closed. The jail was a hundred yards away, a dark shadow against the night sky. He connected with a rock half buried in the ground and drew on its emanating force, gathering his Gift into a tight ball. Energy leaped from his soul into the earth, zipping from stone to buried stone until he reached the foundation of the jail, leaving his body far behind.

The life forces of four humans glowed within, three on the other side of the building. There were no dogs or horses to give away his presence. Questions answered, he retreated and opened his eyes, winded from the effort.

Setting his pack down, he considered his options as he crept to the back of the jail with light, quiet steps. He laid a large palm against the stone and closed his eyes, throwing his Gift into the walls, flitting from cell to cell, scanning for a particular signature. None of the four felt like Rasa, but the occupants were deep asleep, making it difficult for him to ‘see’ them.

He frowned. He’d waited until pre-dawn, hoping it would give him the best chance of breaking Rasa out, but if he’d already been moved, Quoi wouldn’t know where to find him.

Time to do this the hard way.

Quoi circled the jail and bellowed, startling the guards. They stared at him in shock, their faces barely visible in the moonlight. He didn’t recognize them. Why would Printin hire guards from the outside when there were plenty of strapping men in Galena?

No time to worry about it now. Quoi ran into the trees, hoping to draw them away from town.

Using the darkness as cover, he dove behind a cottonwood and waited for them to come. As they ran by him, Quoi swept the feet out from under the nearest one. He leaned down and grabbed the man by the collar, neatly knocking him out with an efficient punch to the temple. The second one dove for him, but he jumped back, giving himself room to move. He scanned the area, but didn’t see the third one.

He widened his stance and settled in for a fight, circling. It was imperative he take this one out quickly. He didn’t want to give the other guard time to alert the town.

Quoi lunged at the man, catching him in his middle and hauling him to the ground. Quoi held a forearm over the man’s windpipe until he passed out. He flashed a grim smile, glad the years of bar fights were paying off. It felt good to dish back a little of what he’d been given the day before.

He quickly checked both men’s pockets – no keys.

He tore back to the jail at breakneck speed, praying the third hadn’t run for help. Quoi was thankful to see the man still standing there, waiting for his comrades to return. He looked absolutely terrified, and Quoi didn’t want to disappoint him.

The guard braced himself for impact. Quoi flew in swinging, punching him hard across the jaw. The man was huge and merely stumbled under the blow. They grappled, but Quoi’s strength quickly waned under the man’s superior size. Using brute force wasn’t going to be enough.

Quoi wrenched out of his grasp, grabbed his collar, and shifted his weight, throwing the man against the wall of the jail. The guard’s head smacked with a sickening thud, and he fell without further protest, his body motionless on the ground.

Quoi knelt down and placed two fingers his pulse, relieved to find his heart beat steadily, and his breathing was even. He hadn’t meant to hurt him quite that much. He’d have one hell of a headache come morning.

Rifling through the man’s pockets, Quoi found the keys. He unlocked the door. It was pitch black inside. He wasn’t surprised, remembering the nights he’d spent there. They never wasted candles on drunks and disturbers of the peace. He groped his way to the first cell. He had to move fast. The guards wouldn’t remain unconscious for long.

Quoi kept his voice low. “Rasa! Are you in here?” There was no response. He ran from door to door, and peered inside. The small barred windows let in just enough light to make out the occupants.

One contained a loudly snoring drunk. The next cell revealed another drunk. Then he saw Cherist, the troublemaker from Rocky Comfort. And the fourth man appeared to be yet another drunk. Obviously too many people had been having fun last night.

He swore loudly. Rasa was indeed gone. They’d moved him, and he had no idea which way they’d gone. He returned to Cherist’s cell.

“Cherist, wake up! Do you know which way they took Rasa? Did you hear anything that could give me a clue?”

Gods knew he needed one he thought tiredly. He was turning out to be a lousy hero.

Cherist roused from a deep sleep, protesting with a deep growl. Quoi shook the bars in frustration. “Wake the hell up! Where did they take Rasa?”

“They just took him away.” Cherist’s voice was thick and scratchy with sleep, and he looked pissed to be awake. “How would I know where they went? It’s not like they handed me a detailed map and itinerary. Say, you wanna let me out? I’ll owe you one!”

Quoi rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I’m in enough trouble as it is.” Cherist slumped, somewhat dejected.

“Tell you what. You let me out, and I promise not to tell them you were here.”

“Nice try. But I’m pretty sure the guards are going to remember what I look like, and the townspeople will put two and two together. Go back to sleep Cherist.” The man was not the brightest star in the sky.

Besides, he had bigger problems than the guards ratting him out. He stalked out of the jail, angry. The plan was falling apart; he had to think of something.

Retrieving his pack, he returned to town, uncertain what to do now. He wondered if his outburst in the courtroom had spooked the Elders into moving Rasa early or if it had been planned that way. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t stay here now or they’d throw him in jail for sure.

His mind churned rapidly, casting about for a solution.

Elder Printin. He would know what was going on. Quoi knew the man wouldn’t want to tell him anything, but Quoi was very good at persuasion when he set his mind to it.

A shout rang out behind him. One of the guards must have awakened. It was only a matter of time before they roused the town to search for him. Taking off like he’d been shot out of an ancient cannon, he headed for Elder Printin’s house. Printin would tell him what he wanted to know, or Quoi would make him suffer.

The more he thought about it, the more he wondered about the Elder’s involvement. Any reasonable person would have questioned why Rasa was so unwilling to talk. They should have explored the possibility that he was being threatened.

The fact that Printin hadn’t set off Quoi’s internal alarms. He was hiding something, Quoi was sure of it. It made him feel less inhibited about adding assault and battery of an Elder to his list of crimes.

He pounded on the door, but only silence answered. Feeling exposed standing on the street, he kicked it in. Guess they’d have to add destruction of property to the list.

He ran up the stairs and opened doors at random, not knowing which room was the man’s bedroom.

The first one elicited a girlish scream. Mara, the Elder’s daughter. He felt guilty scaring her. Children teased the poor girl because she had the unfortunate appearance of a small troll, but she was a kind girl and didn’t deserve what she got. He resisted the urge to comfort her; he didn’t have the time. He’d make it up to her later if he got the chance.

The second door wouldn’t budge, so he gave the lock a swift kick. The door opened, slamming into something on the other side.

“Elder Printin?” Quoi asked. He could tell it was the Elder on the floor - the man’s barrel shape was unmistakable. “I’m going to give you a choice. You can tell me which way they took Rasa, or I can hurt you and then you’ll tell me.”

Quoi pulled the man up from the floor and slammed him against the wall. Printin gasped, the wind knocked out of him.

“Why should I? The shouts outside mean you’ve already done something stupid. In minutes they’ll think to look for you here.”

Quoi was glad Printin was giving him a reason. He needed someone to vent his anger on. He towered over the man and squeezed his neck with both hands, willing him to talk.

“You will tell me, Elder. The sooner you give me a direction, the sooner I’ll leave.” Quoi compressed Printin’s windpipe, enjoying the sight of the man’s eyes popping out of his head. “Tell me, or I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re involved in a conspiracy. Admit it. You sold out Rasa to cover up your own guilt.”

The Elder clawed at Quoi’s hands, but Quoi refused to relent. He was beginning to think he didn’t care whether the nasty little toad lived or died.

“All right,” the Elder squeaked. “All right! I’ll tell you.”

Quoi let up, but didn’t let go. He didn’t want to give the man an opportunity to fight back. He kept him pinned, waiting expectantly for his answer.

“They went south,” Printin said. “Towards the Old Ozarks. The prison is there, but I don’t know the exact location, I swear.”

Quoi studied the man’s beady little eyes and sent his spirit outward, ascertaining the truth of his words. After a moment, he let the man go, satisfied he wasn’t lying. “You don’t mind if I use your back door, do you?”

“Just get out. They’ll find you soon enough, and I’ll have you back under my control. You want to see Rasa? So be it. I’ll send you to him, and you can spend your days in Lumax talking about whatever it is you think you know.”

Quoi punched him, pleased to see the man slump to the floor, swearing vociferously. “I will find out what’s going on, and if you’re involved, I promise I’ll make you pay.”

Quoi ran back down the hall past a terrified Mara. He patted her head in sympathy for having such a troll of a father, poor girl. He flew down the stairs, taking two to three at a time, and whipped to the back of the house. The townspeople were rousing and filling the streets, so he took the alleyways, not wanting to get caught in the open. He had to get out of town.

Quoi veered to the southwest, hoping Printin would direct the people to look towards the south. Slipping out of town, he used the surrounding forest as cover, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low hanging limbs.

Even at this distance, he could hear sounds of men and women calling to one another, and he could see flickers of torches in the dawning light. He shoved down rising shock that his own people were hunting him. There was no time for self pity. The sun would be up soon, and he couldn’t afford to be exposed in the daylight.

Many of them knew the countryside as well as he; they would find him if he gave them half a chance.

He ran like a deer, letting the effort leech away his anger. Quoi pounded it into the earth, quickly nearing his chosen hiding place. He would rather keep moving, but it was too dangerous to travel the light of day. Printin would not be merciful if he were caught.

He reached the other side of the forest and burst into an open field. The sky was growing lighter. He would be visible from miles away. He didn’t have much time.

Veering to the left to a small hill covered in oaks, he reached his destination and ducked down behind a cluster of barberry bushes. Thorns caught on his pack and scratched his skin. He disentangled himself, pulled off the backpack and tucked it to his chest, scooting along until he reached the mouth of a small cave.

Quoi tucked himself in, knees to his chest. It was a tighter fit than he remembered. He tried not to crack his head on the ceiling, snorting in amusement at how much he’d grown since he was ten.

Now there was nothing to do but wait and hope no one thought to check the cave. In his favor, there were hundreds of places to hide in the country. With any luck, they’d check all the other ones first.

He sent a prayer into the earth to safeguard his sanctuary and laid his head back, on guard for sounds of approach, impatient for the night to come.

Chapter Two of The Shape of Her Heart

2006-01-03T12:05:00.000-07:00

OK, here's chapter two!

Chapter Two

Jeroen was having a hell of a day. And not the good kind. The mansion sat in complete disarray, and her maids resembled headless chickens as they straightened her things, cleared her lunch and cleaned her room. She appreciated their work, but it was driving her nuts.

She was supposed to be writing her father's speech for the Fall Gala. Impossible with all the noise and chaos. The staff was readying the house for the coming festivities. Cleaning her room didn’t exactly fit into the picture, but her parents were obviously using the fall season’s parties as an excuse to clean everything.

Time to make her escape, if only for a little while.

Her ladies maid, Dana, was nowhere to be seen, and Jeroen didn’t feel like hunting her down to have her hair done. She settled for pulling her long white hair into a simple black ribbon and tied it firmly, leaving the ends to dangle.

Grabbing her quill, ink and paper, she headed for the library, hoping it was in a better state. Making her way down the beautifully Shaped staircase, she lovingly caressed the smooth, flowing wood of the banister, sculpted into a long swath of driftwood. The style was at odds with 18^th century English Regency fashion, but it was so striking her mother had insisted on it. It made quite the statement as people entered the house.

A familiar flash of light appeared in Jeroen’s mind, soon replaced by an image of an older woman with wispy gray hair. Every time she touched the banister, the woman’s face appeared, her features now as familiar as her own mother’s. She looked kind.

Jeroen guarded the knowledge of her vision Gift carefully. She’d often wondered who the woman was, but didn’t dare ask. As a rule, the upper crust did not have Gifts, and if they did they were sent to the Clans to be raised, forever exiled from the peerage.

Her small Gift was a trifle anyway, not worth alarming anyone over. She owed it to her parents to keep her oddities to herself.

Jeroen reached the landing. The vision dissipated as she removed her hand from the banister.

Her eyes snapped into focus, and she tensed at the scene before her. Staff whipped to and fro in a cleaning frenzy. Her search for peace did not look promising.

She ducked through the crowd into the library, only to see scores of servants dusting and oiling the Shaped furniture, brushing the carpet and straightening the bookshelves. The invasion jarred her. Normally the staff tidied out of sight, so quiet and careful not to be seen it seemed the house stayed clean by magic.

Jeroen fled to the gardens, wincing in the bright sun. She supposed she should have worn a bonnet but refused to brave the cleaning hoards to retrieve one. What she really wanted was a nice, dark room lit only by candlelight, but that wasn’t an option at present. She would have to suffer.

At least the temperature was comfortable. The warmth of the summer air hadn't entirely given way to fall. She could get some work done as long as they weren’t dusting the damned bushes.

Jeroen stepped briskly down the rose-lined path to a light, airy gazebo set with a table and chairs. The suns rays stabbed at her eyes. She squinted at the ornate, whitewashed shelter, supposing normal people would like such a setting. Trouble was, she wasn’t exactly normal, although she’d die before admitting it.

She laid out her things on the table, barely able to see. Her vision was a hundred times better in the dark, but piercing light or no, she simply had to get the speech written or her father would have her head. She sat with the sun behind her, using her body to shade the paper, took her pen, dipped it in ink and began to write.

My esteemed ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming here today. First, on behalf of us all, I’d like to thank Lord and Lady Hentelsen for making their lovely home available to us to celebrate the most important event of the year - the Fall Gala. (wait for applause)

Fall is a time of harvest and profit, and this year has proved to be no exception. The crops are in, the new plumbing system on the north side of Springdale has been finished, and the shipping routes have been largely clear of pirates, resulting in excellent profits for all.

Her pen hovered over the words, a drop of ink dangling precariously from the nub. She frowned. It was probably a bit too dry. Then again, so was the intended audience. It practically put her to sleep just to write it, but her father liked to do what was expected. A dry, boring speech for the Gala was certainly expected.

She sighed, cursing whatever god or goddess hated her enough to make sure this was her job. She’d much rather be out ruthlessly haggling decent prices for high grade sand or driving aggressive business deals with her peers, but today was not the time for such things. Her father would not be pleased if she didn't present him with the expected speech.

She dutifully continued to write, but her mind rebelled against the task as if putting it off would put off the Gala. It was the social event of the year, but she was not looking forward to it. She'd been announced last season, changing her status to ‘marriageable’ in the eyes of her Peers. Ever since, men had been beating down her door.

Even though her exotic snow-white hair, dark eyes and honeyed skin were striking, she knew better than to think men were interested because of her looks. She was very tall, a good six feet, and had yet to meet a man who didn’t consider her height a negative. And to add another nail in the coffin, she was aggressive, strong and blunt – the kiss of death for a young maiden who was expected to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and talk about the weather.

No, the real reason they were interested was her father’s wealth and position. And the small fact that she was the sole heir to the Alhalla fortune.

Money and power. That's all that seemed to matter to

people.

Normally she’d agree, being quite familiar with the attraction herself, but being bartered to the highest bidder made her sick to her stomach. The Gala was just another event where men would swarm around her, her height, strange hair and intimidating presence suddenly irrelevant, and all the while she’d know it wasn’t for her, but for her family name and money.

To make matters worse, she hadn't met anyone she could stomach marrying. Most of them were boring or liked to talk to her chest instead of her face. She particularly hated the ones whose eyes would glaze over when she launched into her favorite topics of business and commerce.

Apparently intelligence wasn’t an asset in a wife.

And was it too much to ask that he not be completely hideous? It wasn't that she was shallow. If a man happened to be the right sort of person but not so attractive, she could live with that. But ugliness and stupidity rolled up into one package made her want to run for the nearest cave.

Not that her father cared what she wanted. He'd been pressuring her to choose and choose soon. Yesterday he’d hinted twice that he would be providing her with a short list of suitable men if she didn’t make her preferences known posthaste.

Her world was growing smaller, bringing on a distinct attack of claustrophobia. Her parents had planned her whole life, leaving her nothing to do but live through it. At best she would get a husband she could manage, then she would dutifully give birth to two children, one as the Alhalla heir and one as the backup plan. She snorted. She couldn't believe she had to socialize with people who considered a second child a "backup plan".

And if the stars favored her, her husband would kindly drop dead so she could live the rest of her days as she pleased. She supposed she’d hit rock bottom if her hopes pinned on her future husband’s early demise.

She stood up, stretched, and shut her eyes tightly against the glaring sun. Jeroen had tried so hard to be what her father wanted, but she’d been doomed the moment she’d been born. He’d wanted a boy, as all men did, and to make matters worse he firmly believed women had only one place in society. Too bad for him she was too smart and stubborn to allow him to mold her that way.

She’d reluctantly bent to a few of his edicts to keep the peace, like wearing proper dresses when she knew she’d be seen, and not arguing with people in public, but she’d gone her own way with her education, becoming shrewd and aggressive in all her business dealings. He had no chance against her. She would marry when she was good and ready.

Jeroen thought it ironic her father saw no conflict in treating her like a commodity, a fragile female flower, yet he gave her responsibility for one of their most successful businesses - Alhalla Glassworks. He accepted she had a knack for making money, yet somehow thought she’d defer to him in this marriage business.

She had no idea what he was about, thinking he could have both from her without a fight.

Jeroen supposed she should count her blessings. Some of her friends had it much worse, forbidden to do anything but worry about which dress to wear each day. At least she had something she could sink her teeth into. Something that gave her life meaning.

She’d built the Glassworks into a successful business with some of the best Glass Shapers in the district producing everything from windows, glass sculptures, figurines, tableware and vases. She imported some of the country’s finest silica sand from the St. Peter sandstone formation in Illinois. After the cataclysm it had been buried in ash along with everything else, but fortunately for her, people had long since dug it out and put it back into production.

The Glassworks had truly taken off once she incorporated a line of reproductions from ancient days. Her glass soda bottles were a rousing smash. Anyone who was anyone had them lining their mantles, arguing over tea and scones on whether Coke, Pepsi or Mountain Dew was better. Not that anyone knew what Coke, Pepsi or Mountain Dew had tasted like.

Regardless, Alhalla Glassworks was well on its way to becoming known as the place to go to for anything glass.

And Jeroen made it a point to be fair to her employees, paying them well for their work. Their loyalty was her success, enabling her to drive a hard bargain with customers. Her peers paid high prices for the prestige of Alhalla glass, the name lending an air of exclusivity her customers couldn't resist.

A maid popped up to the gazebo wielding a broom. Jeroen sat down and continued to write, hoping if she looked busy the maid would go away. No luck there. The woman climbed the steps and began to sweep.

“Sorry my lady, they said I had to tidy up in case guests want to use the gazebo.”

“Please do it quickly. I need to concentrate.” She winced at her tone. She hadn’t meant to sound so irritated. Half the staff was already terrified of her, and it wasn’t the maid’s fault she had to sweep the gazebo.

But still, she wished everyone would go away. All the activity made her edgy. She really wasn’t a crowd person.

The maid swept enthusiastically behind her, kicking dirt into the air. Jeroen felt a tickle starting in the back of her throat.

“My lady? I’m sorry, but I need to sweep under the table.”

Jeroen coughed, the flying grit adding to the discomfort of her eyes. “I’m not getting much done here anyway. I think I’ll go back to the house and leave you to it.”

She was finished with most of the speech anyway; she could write the rest later. Maybe if the maids were done cleaning her room, she could work on the Glassworks accounts. Numbers were comfortingly concrete, and profits always cheered her up.

Once in the house, she wended through the staff and ran back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. She sighed in relief as she found her room blissfully deserted.

Jeroen closed the heavy wooden door firmly behind her and locked it, vowing they would have to break it down if they wanted to clean anything else. She drew the blue velvet drapes closed, darkening the room to a level that suited her and sat down at her little writing desk, glad to have found some peace and quiet in her own space. In the dim light, her eyes came into focus, her vision razor sharp.

She opened a heavy leather bound book and worked yesterday's numbers, tallying how much money the Glassworks had brought in. Another year or two and her business would be the most profitable in the family. The thought gave her great satisfaction. It was a relief to be good for something besides breeding and connections.

There was a knock on the door and Jeroen jumped, startled at the sudden noise.

"Jeroen! Are you in there? You’re late for your dress fitting! I’ve been looking all over for you!"

Jeroen’s heart pounded, and her blood rushed with adrenaline. Unable to restrain herself, she stabbed her metal-nubbed pen into the desk in frustration. She hated dress fittings and had conveniently forgotten about this one. But the dressmaker had been exacting in her standards, making her return four times to get her Gala gown just right.

To Jeroen, it was pure torture from which there was no escape. Her family valued image almost as much as money. She had to look the part.

Jeroen unlocked the door and her ladies maid, Dana, practically fell into the room. Jeroen’s mouth quirked in amusement. The young woman was constantly having accidents. She supposed it was an adventure to have someone so unpredictable in her life.

"We have to leave right now,” Dana said, “or Mrs. Terwen will not be happy with you!"

Jeroen forced herself not to grin – she had a ruthless reputation to maintain after all – and she was hardly worried about Mrs. Terwen. Jeroen’s social standing meant she could be late with impunity. If the woman gave her any crap, she would intimidate her with her height. Being six feet tall had its occasional uses.

“Dana, help me throw on a dress. Father will have a fit if I leave the house like this.”

Dana took in Jeroen’s silk shirt and jeans. Jeans were all the rage, an echo of ancient America, but it definitely wouldn’t do to be seen in public in such a getup. It was all well and good for women of the lower classes to be seen in them, but women of her station were expected to wear gowns.

Dana helped her change clothes, starting with a chemise and a short corset. Jeroen laced up the front herself, having always insisted on one she could get in and out of on her own. She topped it off with a dark blue muslin dress trimmed in simple blue ribbon, gathered under the breasts and flowing down to her feet. It was one of her favorites. Her mother liked her to wear pastels, belying her unmarried status, but she couldn’t stand those shades. She’d never been the sort of girl to wear pink.

Dana quickly dressed Jeroen’s hair, then Jeroen slipped on her walking shoes, donned a smart light blue straw hat that gave her a rakish air, pulled on gloves, grabbed her reticule and dutifully floated down the stairs. The getup always made her feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. All the better to ambush people with.

She flew out the front door with Dana close on her heels, but slowed when she saw how busy the streets were. She did not need the gossip columns reporting ‘Miss Alhalla’s most indecorous mad dash to the dressmaker’s. The family carriage pulled up, and she quickly dragged Dana in after her. She’d always made it a point to be seen as little as possible. She was less likely to expose herself to gossip, and it was always good to cultivate an air of mystery.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Mrs. Terwen’s shop. It was a most exclusive establishment and very expensive. Even the sign was edged in gold. Jeroen had worn her father down until he agreed she could patronize the place. The latest cutting edge fashions were an essential tool in her arsenal and made excellent body armor, keeping people at arm’s length.

The shop was bustling with activity. They were led directly to a private room and brought hot tea and dainty iced cakes. Jeroen unfastened her bonnet and hung it on a peg, then handed the plate of cakes to Dana, who promptly and happily indulged her sweet tooth. Lounging on heavily embroidered chairs, they sipped tea and ate in silence until Mrs. Terwen strode in. The woman gave Jeroen a critical look for being late, but said nothing, not wishing to alienate a well-paying customer.

Jeroen felt a stab of disappointment. She had been looking forward to a fight. Too bad.

Cynically, Jeroen suspected Mrs. Terwen put up with her chronic lateness because the clothes hung well on her tall figure. With her striking hair and social standing, everyone always took note of what she was wearing. Jeroen was the best sort of advertisement in Mrs. Terwen’s line of business.

An assistant brought in the dress, a daring color of deep red, so dark it faded to black. It was an homage to the Regency style her peers loved so much, but broke with current fashion by hanging just off the shoulder and dipping into a low décolletage. Not exactly an acceptable color or cut for an unmarried woman.

It was exactly what she wanted.

Mrs. Terwen and the assistant helped her into the fine silk, horribly expensive and imported from California. Her father would have a heart attack when he got the bill.

Jeroen checked the mirror for the result. Her image reflected exactly what she’d been hoping for – mostly.

She loosened her hair and repined it over her ears. They came to points like a small dog and had been the cause of much teasing as a child. She hated it when people stared, but with the right hairstyle, she’d look ravishing, ears and all.

She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.

“My lady, you look absolutely stunning!” said Mrs. Terwen.

Jeroen rolled her eyes. She could see the wheels turning in the woman’s head, already counting the money that would pour in after people saw this dress. She had to admit she did look striking. The deep red brought to mind some wild creature, and her flowing white hair lent an air of the unnatural. It also showed her perfect, honeyed skin to great advantage. She’d be the talk of the ball.

The dress was her ticket to meeting every gentleman at the Gala. Anyone who was anyone would be there. Hell or high water, she was going to find a man she could tolerate having children with. And even more importantly, someone who wouldn’t interfere with her life. She’d grown too independent to accept anything less.

Irritated beyond belief any of this was necessary, Jeroen consoled herself. At least she was thwarting her father. She refused to let him choose her husband.

And if the plan backfired, bringing every slimy example of man climbing out of the woodwork, she’d scare the hell out of them until they went away. She grinned in triumph, the tension leaving her shoulders. This was going to work.

“Absolutely perfect, Mrs. Terwen. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. You will have to turn customers away after I wear this to the Gala.”

Mrs. Terwen rubbed her hands gleefully. Jeroen half expected the crotchety old woman to jump up and down in undignified excitement. “Thank you, Miss Alhalla. I’m most pleased you like it. You’ll have to beat the men back from your door after this.”

Jeroen winced at that, not looking forward to being besieged, but she was not the sort of woman to back down from a challenge. It was her future she was planning after all.

She spent another hour trying on other dresses for upcoming parties before gratefully creeping into the carriage, thankful beyond words it was over.

She slumped into the corner as they headed home. She envied those who had the freedom to live their lives the way they wished. The Shapers in her employ appeared to have a great deal of liberty. They had their Gifts and could work for whomever they wanted, their success dictated by talent and dedication to the craft.

Despite her hair, ears and minor vision talent, she was just an ordinary young woman who happened to be wealthy, had a good head for numbers, and no freedom at all. She supposed she could run away but knew she had no skills to survive outside her insulated world.

No, she was well and truly trapped, forced to take matters into her own hands to find a suitable husband.

Jeroen fought the urge to sink into despair and visualized the upcoming Gala as a battle. The image buoyed her spirits. She liked nothing better than a good fight.

Rest of Chapter One

2006-01-01T18:38:00.000-07:00

OK, here's the rest of chapter one.

Quoi stalked down the street, pounding his frustration into the paving stones, angry with himself for losing control. The Elders would be on guard now, making his plan more difficult to implement. He had to be careful. His high standing in the community would only take him so far. If they got nervous, he wouldn’t be surprised if they turned on him too.

The thought saddened him. He'd lived in Galena in the country-state of Missouri his whole life. He had been raised to believe in his people’s inherent goodness and wisdom, but he'd seen no evidence of those values today. It bothered him far more than he wanted to admit.

To his mind, they had no justified reason for their hatred and fear of Rasa. The man had never given them true cause to fear him – at least until recently. But instead of giving him the benefit of the doubt, they’d betrayed him in an instant.

The well kept wood shingled houses sheltered people who were wonderful in the good times, but as he saw now, unreliable in the bad. Quoi hated them for it.

He scanned his hometown with disillusioned eyes. It was quiet today, but usually the air was filled with sounds of chatter as people baked, cleaned and went about their daily chores. There wasn't much left to do this year; the harvests had been brought in over the last month. Now was a time of celebration. The next weeks would be filled with festivals and parties.

For the first time in his life, he had no wish to participate. He was surrounded by the fullness of life, but it meant nothing to him if there was no honor in it.

"Quoi! Wait!"

Quoi spun to see who it was, not bothering to hide his irritation. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for company.

Braden. The man had worked in the fields alongside him for years. Not too bright, but a good man. At least he thought he was. He no longer trusted his own judgment. Quoi let his voice rumble with annoyance.

"What do you want, Braden?"

The man slid to a stop several paces away, reluctant to get too close. Had word of the fight at the courthouse already reached him?

"What happened Quoi?” asked Braden. “What was the verdict? I had to run the horses and didn’t make it to the sentencing."

Quoi cast about for a way to cut the conversation short. He really wasn't in the mood.

"They sentenced him to life in Lumax prison. He'll be dead in no time. Then the Elders can go back to thinking they're safe when they're not."

Braden recoiled. "Life in Lumax! That is harsh.” He looked thoughtful. “But what he did was bad, Quoi. Everyone says those Elders are dead."

Quoi snorted. He’d already heard snippets of this conversation several times today. "Braden, the Tracker only said he couldn’t find them, not that they were dead. They’re probably alive and well, just out of range. You know Rasa as well as I do. Do you really think he would do something like this on his own?"

Braden looked at the ground, not wanting to meet Quoi's eye. "Rasa had a reputation for mischief, everyone knows that. Who knows what he got himself into?"

Quoi crossed his arms across his chest, resisting the urge to punch Braden to the ground. He shook his head, astonished his people refused to see what was right in front of them.

"Don’t bother repeating that crap to me, Braden. Use your brain and think for yourself. He didn’t do this alone and sending him to Lumax doesn’t make us safe. Look, I have to go. Maybe I'll see you at the Halloween Festival next week."

Quoi knew it was a lie. With any luck, he’d be far away from here finding out the truth.

He turned to leave, hoping he’d effectively shut down the conversation. He glanced back and caught Braden staring at him speculatively. Braden probably assumed what everyone assumed: that Quoi knew something about Rasa’s activities. As longtime friends, they were forever linked in people's minds. The townspeople had been asking him about the missing Elders for weeks, hoping to glean any tidbit of information.

Quoi didn’t know anything, but to his eternal shame he felt he should have. Ever since the discovery of his own Gift, he hadn’t spent much time with Rasa, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should paid more attention. He should have known something was wrong. They’d always taken care of each other, but this time he’d failed miserably.

Early on in the investigation the Elders had questioned him, then let him go. At first he'd been surprised they'd taken him at his word, then it dawned on him it was because of his status as a respected Stone Shaper. Just because of what he was, they'd believed him. And just because of what Rasa was, they'd assumed his guilt. Perhaps nothing had really changed from the Before times, when people routinely feared, persecuted and ostracized those who were different.

Quoi picked up the pace, needing to be alone. Preferably before he hurt somebody.

He arrived at the outer edge of town. His house faced north out into the fields, affording a glorious view of rolling green hills and farmland lined with trees. The simple, granite cottage suited him nicely. Except for the flowerboxes hanging off the windows. Those were his mother's idea.

She'd filled them with flowers, insisting the homey feel would attract a future bride to his doorstep. Not that he needed it. Thanks to his good looks and status as a Stone Shaper, he could say the word to the woman of his choice and he’d have himself a wife. Trouble was, he'd never found one he wanted to marry.

He supposed no woman would be interested in him now. Being a suspected accomplice of a convicted murderer wouldn’t do much for his love life.

He swung the unlocked front door open and marched into the house. He brushed the polished granite walls with his fingertips, hoping for comfort, but the energies felt cold and spare. There would be no joy in his life until he cleared Rasa’s name.

He splashed his face with water from the washbasin in the kitchen and slicked back his dark blonde hair, ridding himself of the sweat and dust of the day. Drying himself with a soft cloth from a nearby peg, he strode to his workshop behind the house. He needed a distraction.

The Elders had built it for him out of a community fund when they'd discovered his Gift. The last six years he’d lived and breathed in the workshop, determined to catch up to his peers.

Most Gifts were discovered by early puberty but not Quoi’s. His father had been an extremely Gifted Stone Shaper, but his mother had been unGifted, making Quoi a half-breed. As a result, his Gift hadn't surfaced until he was nineteen. By then his peers were far ahead of him in skill and education, so he’d spent every waking hour making up lost ground, trying to be as good as everyone else.

It had been difficult. The rift between the Gifted and non-Gifted was so deep his father had been ostracized by his own family for marrying his mother. Quoi had one foot in both worlds, with no one side entirely accepting him.

But the miracle of his Gift made it well worth the trouble. When he touched stone, he could feel the spirit within and coax it to a new form, creating any Shape he wanted. Perhaps he was merely psychic, but it felt like magic. Maybe it was. Everyone had their pet theories, but no one really knew the answer.

All anyone knew was 2058 A.D. had been a very Bad Year. The histories taught that a wizardess had constructed a powerful ritual designed to bring magic back into the world. One that switched on the Earth’s ley lines and reversed the magnetic poles of the Earth instantly, severing the age of reason and bringing on an age of magic. But her well-intentioned ritual had gone awry, and the abrupt change caused great geologic disruption, and volcanoes planet-wide covered the earth in deep ash.

Civilization collapsed and millions died, but after a few thousand years the human race began to recover, and it became apparent the ritual had been a success despite the destruction. The magnetic shift had not only changed the face of the earth, but the people as well, switching on abilities that previously were only legend.

In Quoi’s case, he had an affinity with stone, but others found they worked best with wood or gems. Rare ones like Rasa could leave their bodies and fly through the air as spirits, tracking anyone, anywhere. Some could see visions and others could feel the energy lines in the earth. Still others had odd abilities not easily defined.

Quoi knew there were far more Gifts than officially accepted, but people kept it to themselves, not wanting to invite fear and suspicion. Considering the reception Rasa had gotten today, he was beginning to understand why.

Over time, Gifted people banded together, creating a society devoted to order and peace. Quoi suspected it was more to calm the unGifted and keep them from burning Clansmen as witches rather than out of a true need to give back to the world. Nevertheless, the Gifted Clans were tolerated as long as they kept to their code of honor and service.

Not that he was helping serve the world all that much. He knew Shaping garden statuary didn’t solve the world’s problems, but it gave him far more satisfaction than his previous occupation as a farm hand. He'd improved his skills so much he’d earned the right to sell his creations at the country fair. For extra money he also helped maintain the stone walls that dotted the countryside. It was a good life.

Before Rasa had been convicted of murder, he had thought it would be enough.

Various blocks of marble, quartz and granite littered his workshop, set haphazardly to the side, leaving the middle open to work. Quoi settled on his leather, padded work stool and studied a block of white marble he’d chosen for the fine grain and subtle chips of gray sparkle.

There was no point in dwelling on Rasa’s fate. There was nothing he could do about it until later. Better to focus on something constructive while he waited.

A local farmer had commissioned a wood spirit for her garden. He had no idea why she wanted a wood spirit made out of stone, but whatever she wanted was fine as long as he got paid.

He’d had to ask the town library for permission to do research in the ancient books room to find out what the hell a wood spirit was. They’d made him fill out piles of paperwork, but he’d patiently jumped through the hoops, knowing it was for the best. Towns zealously guarded books recopied through the centuries from originals found buried under ash from the cataclysm. So few people had survived those times; the books were all they had to help them understand what life was like Before. The knowledge was worth more to them than gold.

Even the wealthy read them avidly, modeling themselves after scant, tantalizing descriptions of 18^th century England, each trying to outdo the other on authenticity. Quoi thought their obsessions silly, but recognized it was a form of keeping the power and money in their own hands. He had to admit it worked quite nicely. They had set themselves apart, their fine clothes, carriages and mannerisms neatly maintaining their class.

And they weren’t the only ones obsessed with ancient books. He could have happily spent his life in the library, no matter how much paperwork they made him fill out. He’d worked through the books slowly, savoring each one, and finally found a sketch of the wood spirit. He thought it was hideous, but a little tweaking would make it attractive enough.

The farmer was going to love the prestige of having something straight from the minds of the ancients. No matter the class, anything ancient was all the rage these days.

Quoi removed his stone rings, not wanting to ruin them, and placed his hands on the cool stone, closed his eyes and let the solidity of it calm his mind. It took longer than usual to summon his Gift, but in moments energy flowed from his fingertips into the marble. He connected with the stone’s spirit and visualized what he wanted, moving his hands over the surface in precise movements. Pieces flaked to the floor, first in large chunks and then in smaller ones as he moved inward. He worked tirelessly until the rough shape of the statue emerged.

He stood up and circled her, eyeing the proportions to make sure he had it right. He traced lightly over her head, letting the stone ripple into the Shape of her face, enjoying the sensitivity of his fingertips next to her smooth cheeks and arched brows. The stone fell off in whispers, revealing a classically beautiful arrangement, her hair spilling down her back in waves. Then he outlined small wrinkles at the corners of the spirit's eyes, giving her life and character.

Quoi whimsically kissed her on the lips and Shaped the fine lines of her body, pulling and teasing the spirit with the finesse of his hands. Leaning back, he assessed his work, trying to be objective. She was turning out quite well; exactly what he’d want in a woman if he could ask for one from the gods, made to order.

He worked her body, molding a strategically draped cloth to preserve her modesty. He gently kneaded one small breast into Shape, then the other, careful to leave just a hint of nipple showing through the fabric. Erotic images flew through his head as he worked, the stone warming as it rippled and Shaped under his touch.

Quoi journeyed down to her belly, his pants tightening uncomfortably as he pulled in the nip of her waist. Painfully aroused, his mouth quirked in amusement. It had been too long since his last lover. When the business with Rasa was over, he needed to find a partner and fast.

He thought about all the women he’d known and created a composite of them, pulling out their best features, imprinting his spirit with hints of what had left him hot and wanting.

He ran his hands lovingly over her belly and touched a finger to where her navel should be. He wished she were a nude statue so he could go further south in great detail, but it was not meant to be. Instead, he gave her just a hint of V at the juncture of her legs, the cloth pressed against her, hiding her secrets. His large hands flowed down her legs, kneading her thighs and calves. Then kneeling down on the floor, he molded small, perfect feet.

He paused, panting lightly from his exertions, laughing softly under his breath. He’d practically made love to a block of stone. If only she’d come to life and wrap herself around his waist.

He positioned himself behind her, his hands roving down her back. She wasn’t going to move for him, but it was better than nothing, better than thinking about Rasa.

Rasa.

His anger flared and his power surged out of him into the statue. The energy soured and warped her with his rage, flowing into the wood spirit full force. She bucked and twisted, her body bubbling and melting like molten lava under his hands. He pulled back quickly, but it was too late.

He scrutinized his unfortunate handiwork and swore loudly. A perfectly good piece of marble, and he had nothing to show for it. Her face was screwed up in a grimace, and her body contorted backwards in an unnatural position.

Dammit, she looked like she was in pain.

One moment of inattention had ruined his wood spirit forever. Large chunks of her lay on the floor and melting it back together would ruin the grain of the marble. There wasn’t enough left of her to make a full statue, and he hadn’t the heart to make her less than what she was.

He rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the tension, doubting the farmer would be pleased with his work.

He went to pack. Nothing was going to be normal until the business with Rasa was over. The wood spirit would have to wait.

In his small bedroom, he opened a chest and pulled out a backpack. He violently stuffed it with clothing, bringing enough for a few nights’ travel. If it took longer than that, his plan would fail. He slammed the chest of drawers shut, venting his bad mood on the furniture, then went to the kitchen and packed cheese, bread, dried fruits and meats. The route he planned kept him close to water, so he wouldn't have to carry much.

He finished off with blankets and a knife, then sat down at the kitchen table. Someone knocked at the door - he ignored it. They could all go to hell. When they left, he sighed with relief. Provoking him in this mood would land him in jail right beside Rasa.

He ate an early dinner, then returned to the workshop to stare at his poor wood spirit. He glumly ran his hands through his hair. She was a bad omen. He just knew it.

Back from the Holidays!

2005-12-29T09:39:00.000-07:00

OK, sorry everyone, I've been out and about for the holidays, but I'm back now. I needed a break from everything, so I disconnected and played way too much playstation. The Ratchet and Clank series grabs me like crack, lol.

Now that I've saved the universe from supervillains, I'm back to my regular writing schedule. I feel so much better. I was totally burned out. Too much going on with my day job, too much going on at home, too much going on with writing. Such is life!

I was thinking that maybe I will post small installments of my first book, and people can read along and tell me what they think. Writing is such a subjective thing, and when people read my stuff I get the most interesting comments, often about things I didn't think of or angles that help me to clarify something. They're also amazing at catching stupid typos. I swear you go blind after reading this stuff 50 times in a row.

Anyway, here is Chapter One of The Shape of Her Heart. This is a fantasy romance with paranormal elements, a full sized book based in an alternate Earth. Read away and tell me what you think!

THE SHAPE OF HER HEART

12,261 A.D.

10,225 Post-Apocalypse

Missouri, New America

Chapter One

The rough-hewn stone of the courthouse walls radiated a steady, earthy pulse, one that Quoi couldn’t hear in the face of the coming storm. In frustration, he slammed his hand against the cool, irregular surface and closed his eyes. He soaked up the spirit of the granite, preparing him for battle. His spirit would be like the stone, not calm or steady, but unyielding in the face of danger.

His honor wouldn’t allow him anything less. Whatever happened today, he’d be damned if he let them send his best friend Rasa to a long, bitter life in the local jail.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, bidding his energy to settle. He removed his hand from the wall, wincing at the handprint left clearly in the stone, his shape outlined in a shallow depression. He usually had more control, but today his Gift churned like his state of mind, pouring out of him whether he wanted it to or not.

Hopefully no one would notice the imprint until he was long gone.

He switched his attention to the proceedings, appreciating the advantage of his height as he peered over the crowd at Rasa’s slumped shoulders and bowed head. He saw the Elders had tied Rasa’s hands and feet. Ridiculous. Were they really that afraid of the man?

Quoi battled his temper, forcing himself to stay put. The situation sucked, but starting a fight would help nothing.

The news of Rasa’s arrest and subsequent accusations of kidnapping and murder had set Quoi reeling. They'd grown up together. He knew Rasa better than he knew himself – the man would never do anything this bad unless forced.

But the truth remained a mystery. The court deliberated in secret, leaving Quoi helpless, furious and impatient. He prayed for a merciful verdict, but judging from Rasa's stooped posture, he feared the worst.

He drew a reluctant breath of stale air and wished the Elders would get it over with already. The townspeople fanned themselves and craned like vultures. They were dressed in their finest, the men in waistcoats and the women in their best dresses, as if attending a festival. It was nauseating.

Quoi eyed them with a tinge of contempt, his innocence stripped by the hate and vindictiveness on their faces. He had thought them good people, but prejudice against Rasa’s kind had been waiting in the background, ready to rear its ugly head at the first excuse. They were afraid of Rasa, afraid of his Gift, and all too willing to believe the worst. Even Rasa’s family had abandoned him at the first sign of trouble. Quoi couldn’t find it in himself to forgive such betrayal.

Up front a heavy oak door opened and the Elders filed in. The crowd stirred and murmured at the sight. The Elders wore full crimson court robes - unusual for a town given to informalities. Clearly they meant to put on a show.

The Elders wouldn't make eye contact with the crowd as they lined up behind the dais and sat down in high, mahogany chairs.

Head Elder Printin remained standing and regarded the people with a forbidding expression until the whispering died down. He was a stocky, powerfully built man, and although he was famous for his rather hideous appearance, his size gave him a presence and command no one could deny.

Under the force of Printin’s black stare, a hush descended on the room. Quoi wiped sweat from his forehead, willing them to finish this farce. Once they announced the verdict, he would be free to move, free to take back the control. He resented being at the mercy of others.

Printin scowled at Rasa, silent and grave. Rasa lifted his head to meet his gaze but quickly retreated, unable to withstand the man’s heavy stare. Quoi’s temper kicked up a notch. His friend normally exuded strength and mischievousness, not this aura of weakened defeat.

The Elder’s booming, grating voice rang straight to the back of the room.

"Rasa Gerwen, the court has heard your testimony and the testimony of the witnesses. We are appalled. There haven’t been such horrific crimes committed in our township for hundreds of years. Your actions bring great dishonor to us all.”

The Elder paused, letting the gravity of his words sink into the crowd. Quoi shifted on his feet, livid. The verdict was obvious. He didn’t need to hear the rest. Quoi repressed the urge to explode in protest, determined to give them every chance to act honorably before he intervened, but his gut told him Rasa had no chance for justice.

Printin cleared his throat, the twinkle in his eye at odds with the grim weight of the matter at hand. The man was clearly enjoying himself.

"The charges are as follows: using your Gift to Track eight Metal Shape Elders, conspiring with an unknown enemy to kidnap them, withholding information about who these people are, and resisting arrest."

Quoi winced at the list, disturbed that someone had the power to drive his friend to such desperation.

To the very end, Rasa had refused to reveal those who stood behind him, leaving the Elders no choice but to prosecute him. Quoi thanked the gods his people did not believe in execution, because if they did he had no doubt of the verdict.

Rasa was in enough trouble as it was. Unless Quoi helped him escape, he’d be sent to jail and forced to spend the rest of his life in a dank, dark cell, hidden away from the sun and trees he loved so much.

He clenched his fists, angry and bitter that his people were so quick to believe the simple answer, so quick to assume Rasa's guilt. If only he could talk to him and find out what was going on. Quoi crossed his arms across his chest as the Elder continued.

"As you well know, Rasa, it is considered the highest crime to use your Gift for immoral purposes. We are all utterly shocked with how you have chosen to use yours. After much deliberation, the Elder court finds you guilty as charged on all accounts.”

The room erupted in cheers. Clearly public opinion had swung against Rasa long before the trial. Printin raised his hand, commanding their silence. Quoi narrowed his eyes in suspicion at Printin. The man was enjoying this, and Quoi was dying to know why.

“Before deciding your fate, we called in a Tracker to hunt for the missing Elders, but he couldn’t find them,” Printin continued, “We can only assume they are dead. According to the edicts of our ancestors, executing you is out of the question. However, due to the severity of your crimes, you are sentenced to life at Lumax prison. It is only fitting that you spend the rest of your days in hell, with criminals, thieves and murderers as your only companions."

Quoi went rigid with shock. He’d expected Rasa to be sentenced to life in the local jail, not this. He fought the urge to barrel through and beat some sense into the Elders. Lumax prison was reserved for the most hardened, murderous, psychopathic criminals, and security was so tight even its location was secret. Rasa would for all intents and purposes cease to exist - not that he would live long once interred. He wouldn't stand a chance.

The Elders were tucking Rasa under the rug and merely leaving the nasty business of execution to somebody else.

Screw this.

Quoi shoved through the crowd, heedless of the protests. Elder Printin’s gaze latched on to him, and he shot Quoi a warning look. Quoi ignored it.

"This is wrong, and you know it!" Quoi bellowed, letting it reverberate around the hall. "All of you know it!” He swung his arm around, pointing to everyone in the room. “You’ve known Rasa his whole life. He is a good man, and here you are, celebrating as you send him to his death.”

Quoi shot Rasa a desperate look. “Rasa, come on, tell them what happened to you.”

Rasa’s usually warm brown eyes were alarmingly dull and lifeless. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he hung his head, refusing to answer. Quoi hauled him to his feet.

"Rasa, we can fix this. Just tell them who made you do these things. Tell them everything, and they will help you."

Even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure they were true. Rasa’s ability to Track was a rare Gift, misunderstood and viewed with suspicion. A Tracker could find almost anyone, anywhere, and the potential for abuse was very real. People were all too ready to shut him away rather than deal with their own fears.

Quoi concentrated on the soothing energy of the stone floor beneath his feet, letting it seep into him, trying to settle his rage. He wanted to beat the crap out of Rasa, willing to try anything to get him to respond.

Two men approached Quoi from behind and began to drag him away. He twisted loose, spun, and uppercut one of them under the chin, knocking the man out. Townsmen poured in to help, securing his arms, then one put a forearm around his neck to cut off his air. He fought to free himself, but the men grimly held on. Quoi had worked in the fields all his life and was a strong man, but even he couldn't do much if he couldn't breathe. Black spots appeared in front of his eyes, his head grew light.

They hauled him through the courtroom towards the exit, wanting to avoid further disruption in front of the townsfolk.

Time was running out.

Quoi bucked and hooked a leg behind an ankle, bringing one of the men down. They both fell like deadweight, and Quoi let his weight fall hard and heavy, eliciting a sharp crack as the man's head hit the floor. Quoi sucked in a deep breath and his vision snapped into focus. He heaved himself up, rotated away from the group and raised his hands, palms out, signaling his wish not to fight.

He wasn't done with them by a long shot, but he’d be no help to Rasa holed up in the local jail. Those orchestrating the kidnappings were still out there. They would merely find another Tracker and continue with their plans. He had to free Rasa before he reached Lumax, then Track their enemies before they kidnapped anyone else.

The guards hesitated, unsure of his true intention. Quoi shot Rasa a this-is-not-over look and bowed jauntily to the crowd. He glanced at the stone walls, taking strength from the granite’s clean power, then passed out of the courthouse into the blessedly fresh air.

Submitting Too Soon

2005-12-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

Miss Snark talked about how writers tend to submit their work several drafts too soon and she recommends no less that 10 drafts. Hmm. I'm wondering now whether I committed this sin on my first book. I've gone over it quite a few times, but since it's my first book, maybe it will take 15 drafts to get it right. I think over the holidays I'll go read it again with a fresh eye and see what I think.

I do go over my books quite a few times and for different things, focusing on each aspect as I go. I'm amazed at people who say they only have to do one or two drafts. Gah. I wish! To me, books are too complicated for that.

Anyway, it is an exercise in patience, that is for sure. Finishing a book, even in rough form, is a bit of an accomplishment. 450 pages new courier 12 point is a lot of freaking text. :-)

Taking inspiration from TV

2005-12-07T10:12:00.000-07:00

OK, my three favorite shows on TV right now are: 24, Lost, and My Name is Earl. I like them for different reasons. Earl reminds me of silly midwestern stuff I grew up with, lol, so I suppose it's a nostalgia thing. I love 24 and Lost because the plotting is fun and the characters, particularly on Lost, are done really well.

It gets me to thinking about how to make my characters and plotting more interesting in my books. It's good to think about why something grabs you and won't let you go. Why the plot makes you want to keep watching. Why you worry for the characters and hope for resolution. HBO also does a number of shows that have grabbed me, like the Sopranos and Six Feet Under. Different kinds of writing, humor, and aim, but all fun shows, and all well done enough to make me look closer at them.

What would I do without my entertainment? lol.

Tag Lines

2005-12-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

OK, today I was reading Miss Snark's blog and she mentioned this website. It's quite funny, but also helpful to see how a person can distill an entire plot down to a sentence or two and come up with a tag line. Very cool. Now if only someone would write good synopses about these books so I could mimic them, I'd be in heaven.

Writing a Synposis

2005-12-05T11:02:00.000-07:00

So I hate writing synposes. I know this is hardly new news that a writer hates writing them, but damn they suck. They suck to write and I'll bet they suck to read. I know they're necessary, but for pete's sake, how the heck did such a thing evolve? I mean, god forbid we just tell people what the book is about, gmc and conclusion. No, it has to be written in first person, include tone, and be snappy to read. And be short. And have a tag line they can use when pitching the book. Pah. Grumble grumble. Barf.

Ok, I'm done being a big baby now. Just had to get that out. I can only hope that people don't hold it against a writer if their synopsis sux but their writing is good. In the meantime, I shall keep writing these danged things, do my best, and try to send them out without cringing. lol. Stupid synposes.

Taking a Break or Vacation from Writing

2005-12-04T09:05:00.000-07:00

OK, I think I need to take a break. Not from blogging, but from writing my book. Maybe for a couple of weeks. I'm reaching burnout level and I'm finding it difficult to produce anything. Usually a sign I just need to drop it for a minute and go back to it later.

So for the next couple of weeks I'll read, critique other people's stuff, write on this blog, and generally not think about my book. Then when I go back to it I should be able to begin again with a fresh eye.

I think I'll do lots and lots of reading. That always refreshes me. And interests me. I like to see what's out there and what gets the best promotion (and I assume sells the best). There are lines that they promote like crazy, but I read them and hate them. And there are small little books hiding in the shelves that I absolutely love. lol. There's no predicting what I will like, which I'm sure maddens the heck out of people who buy and promote books for a living.

Anyway, I feel better now. A weight has been lifted and I've given myself permission to take a vacation. Aaahh.

Learning Curve and Finding Your Voice

2005-12-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

OK, so I think my first book is getting better and better. I wrote it over a year ago, but through critique groups and a lot of thinking, it has far more punch than it had when I originally wrote it. I'm to the point that when I read it it doesn't trip me up anymore. I just read and enjoy. I suspect that is a good sign.

It is somewhat discouraging how much of a learning curve this has been, but with each book I've internalized a lot of the lessons I've learned so it gets easier. No wonder not everybody kicks out a novel, and no wonder not everybody gets published. Lots and lots of work, thought, discussion, and patience go into it.

So anyway, I have discovered that the more I write, the more my internal voice is coming out in the books, and I think that's a good thing. My writing has drifted from a generic, cautious style to a more amusing, punchy style now that I am more comfortable with the medium. I am so pleased.

So note to anybody on the writing path: keep trying and keep learning. It takes a lot of time, but you do get better as you go.

I'm Back

2005-11-30T10:09:00.000-07:00

OK, sorry people. I've been so busy my hair has been smoldering for four continuous days. For the love of god. My day job has been insane, my dad's getting a divorce, my sister is getting a divorce (am I the only one happily married these days??), and my friends are all having mini-crises. The phone won't stop ringing (did I mention I hate phones?). I haven't had two seconds to sit down and write anything. Not my book nor my blog. Bah. So much for a relaxing holiday!

*deep breath*

OK. Back to my real life now. Tonight I will sit down, reread a couple chapters of my book, and get cracking again. I shall not be thwarted, dammit. I shall finish this book as well as the next 50, so help me god.

And I shall start writing in this blog every day again. I always have something to say, just didn't have time to write it down. *bangs head on desk*

Hopeful Comments from an Editor

2005-11-25T10:23:00.000-07:00

OK, got a rejection from an editor today, but it didn't feel like one exactly. She read the whole book and even sent the manuscript back. She said my writing is very strong (and she used the word "very"!), that my plot and hook are original, and that the book was entertaining. She said I need to work on making my characters more memorable and that she thought my book was a bit too magical.

I'm not exactly sure about what the "magical" part means. I mean, the book is magical, so why wouldn't it be magical? Is it possible to be too magical? Hmm. I'm not sure what to do about that comment.

On the other side, I will take another look at my characters and see what I can do to add more depth and interest. That's a critique I understand and can run with.

And I'm very pleased that she said my writing is strong and that my stuff is original. That's the part I worry about the most, so if I have that right, it seems I can't be too far off from success here! lol. I know no one who does happy dances over rejections, but I do. The editor is well-known from a large publishing house and took the time to read the whole thing and comment, so it feels like I'm getting close!

Hurray for me. :-)

Naming your book

2005-11-25T08:20:00.000-07:00

I was dreaming last night (what a surprise) and was mulling over what to name my latest book. It has a very specific flavor, sort of like a vampire chick lit in space, so the title needs to reflect that. I finally came up with something. Thank goodness. It was driving me batty. I wanted something that distinguished myself from other vampire books, reflected the flavor, and was kind of catchy. lol. Not that I have a tall order there or anything.

So at present I am going with, "How to Tame a Vampire in 31 days". lol. I like it. I may change my mind, but I doubt it. My chapter headings are going to each start with a vampire taming tip that hints / relates to the events of that particular chapter. I am so happy with this.

Anyway, Thanksgiving was lovely and here I am back in the saddle already. Pah! Sometimes I hate being in the saddle. I'd rather be in a hammock with a pina colada. Ah well. Tonight I get to decorate the house for Christmas so that's what I'm bribing myself with. Work and write, then decorate the house.

Thanksgiving

2005-11-23T10:43:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be out of pocket tomorrow as I suspect most people are, so I'll write today and be back to my regular schedule on Friday. The topic today is: What am I thankful for this year?

I'm thankful that my husband's friend decided to buy a new computer and give me his old one about a year and a half ago. This gave me no excuse not to write!

I am thankful I have my own office so I have a place to call my own and write.

I am thankful I have people who like my stuff and are willing to critique it.

I am thankful to the editors and agents who have asked for and read my work so far. I appreciate that they are giving me a chance!

I am thankful to my husband for being cool about the long hours I'm cooped up in my office writing. And for being so cool about leaving the dirty dishes for him. :-)

And most of all, I am thankful for being alive. Life is indeed precious, and I try not to take any moment for granted.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and see you Friday...

Research

2005-11-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

Today I added a link on the right, Cool Science, because I love websites like this. There's a never ending onslaught of interesting scientific articles distilled down for people like me. I get the best ideas from these places. You never know what plot twist or hook might occur to you while reading about photons!

Almost makes it feel like cheating, but who am I to ignore a resource?

I also love the Odd News section at Yahoo. Odd News They always have the craziest stories that help me come up with interesting ideas.

I frequent these places because I'm a big believer in coming up with a unique hook. Something that sets you apart from everybody else while still in a recognizable, hopefully sellable, vein. Research is your friend!

Onward and Upward

2005-11-21T09:17:00.000-07:00

I am excited about all these new movies coming out. Need to see The Chronicles of Narnia because I grew up on the books. Need to see Memoirs of a Geisha. Need to see Brokeback Mountain. So many movies, so little time!

Got a ton of writing done this weekend, and also sent out more queries to agents. Feel like I accomplished a lot. Plus the weather was lovely yesterday which is rare for Colorado this time of year, so I sat outside and got some sun. My pale skin is shrieking in protest. I'm such a mole.

All in all, a lovely weekend. And Thanksgiving is coming. I suppose normal people think of it as a time for family and friends. Which I sort of do, but I'm mostly excited to have the extra time to write, ha ha.