Apr
2014

Fundraiser [edited to add donation button]

I don’t usually go over family stuffs here but this is important. My daughter got recommended by one of her teachers to attend the National Youth Leadership Forum; S.T.E.M. From the website;

The National Youth Leadership Forum (NYLF): Explore STEM is a six-day Envision program that introduces high-achieving middle school students to innovative and rewarding academic experiences and careers in science, engineering, medicine and technology.

She has attended several Science and Math geared day courses and this has just blown us away. I do have a bit of a dilemma, the cost involved. It’s not cheap.

I put together a fundraiser over here to put together the $$ to cover her tuition. If you could spread the word, I’d appreciate it.

 

Edited to add;

For those who would rather just donate straight to the cause and bypass buying anything here’s a donate button;



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Apr
2014

Planning

J.A. Marlow gave me this project planner back in Jan, but I kinda forgot all about it. Sat night I dusted it off and started planning out projects, setting dates and OCDing on what I want to get done this year. I may have overloaded myself :P but I have a clear cut idea of what I want to get done over the next…two years 0.0.

You read that right, two years.  Just take a look at my Series List and you’ll see I have more than enough planned stories to write XD (Yes J.A. Marlow, this is ALL YOUR FAULT!!!  **shakes fist**)  :P

The rest of this year needs to be an Avaria year, and next will be the dragons. I’ve also got smaller projects that I want to put out in between the larger ones. I need to get this ball rolling. I’ve pushed The Bastard Prince back to September at the latest. I have the project The Fallen staring patiently at me waiting for me to finish the edits and put it up for sale. The plan is to do that for this May.

I also have some digi art plans, and plans to do a really awesome computer build (think alienware, but homemade, it is going to fucking ROCK!) so there’s a lot to think about, aside from the family shtuff. I am still around, have just been drowning in life stuff.

Hope yall have a great Monday!

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Apr
2014

Just an update

Life kinda got topsyturvy lately and that has negatively affected my writing, blogging and social media.I am still learning how to plow through it all. I’ve pushed Zander’s release date back to June or July and have to sit down and rethink a lot of my writing goals. There have been a few life changes and I need to adjust when I plan on putting things out.

I’ll update with those changes when I finalize them.

N

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Mar
2014

Old story revisited, 2

Ok, so here’s the rest (sorta) of the scene I posted the other night. Honestly my brain is happy and has shelved this story in liu of finishing Zander so I can get the timeline written up to this story. I could, I suppose, write on, I know what happens, and it doesn’t mess too badly with spoilering things, but I’ll have to think about it. Anyways, here’s the first bit over here if you need to have a refresher. Okay, ready?

 

The song seeped into his mind, telling of ages past, long gone times. The shadows on the ceiling of the cave flickered and danced. He frowned, blinking. How long had he been staring?

“I have got to stop doing this.” He muttered, trying to push himself up.

Nit, nit! Hoynia ei zi!” Hands pushed him back and he found himself staring up at large green eyes peering from beneath filthy hair.

The woman, the singer. She turned her head towards the fire, reaching for something out of his vision, and he saw the elegant double tips of her ear. Rahaun. She was rahaun. She turned back to him, holding a small salve jar. She spoke again, gesturing toward him. Her hair, her face were filthy, her hands were clean, slender and scarred. She dipped a finger into the jar and it came out covered in a dark brown cream. He held up a hand and shook his head. She said something and his hand was brushed aside. Wherever she touched, numbing cool spread, the burning and itching he’d grown used to, stopped.

She spoke as she smeared it, going down his neck and shoulder. He belatedly realized his clothes were gone, a covering spread over his lower half. He wanted to ask where his things were, but he was growing tired. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain ease away, the woman began to sing again, low and haunting, words that made no sense.

 ~*~

It was dark when he woke again, his body aching and skin burning. He pushed himself up slowly, looking around. The fire had died down to embers. In front of it, curled up under a ragged looking blanket, was the woman. They were in a small cave. Against the wall was a stack of something, he couldn’t tell what. It wasn’t wood, he wondered how she’d managed to get a fire going. What was she using for fuel?

His things were stacked neatly beside him, the orb on top. He glanced back at the woman, then around the cave. The tunnel leading off behind him appeared to be the the only way in and out. He pushed aside the coarse blanket and pulled on his pants, leaning against the cave wall to rest. It was infuriating, the act of getting dressed made him dizzy. He leaned over, intending to pick up his tunic and found himself sitting, blinking. He pressed his palm to his forehead.

A jaw-breaking sentence rattled off and he looked over. The woman was watching him, shaking her head.

“I don’t understand you.” He said, fearing it came out as a groan. Eyes narrowed and she moved over to him at a crouch, saying something else. A different language, vaguely familiar, but still incomprehensible.

He shook his head again, flinching when she touched his face. She was looking back and forth between the burn and the other side of his face. She said something, an inquiry.

“I stepped between my friend and a fireball.” He spoke in high rahaun, hoping the ancient language was one she’d recognize. She tipped her head to one side, eyes narrowing.

“Fire-ball?” The words were thick, accent heavy. He nodded half grinning.

“You speak high rahaun.”

She blinked several times and nodded. “Is old speech. Am out of practice.” Her voice was rough.

“What’s your name?” He spoke slow, watching her face. She frowned again, looking away, whispering something in another language, and looked back at him.

“Dee.”

“Dee? I’m Zindith.”

She repeated it, working the sounds then nodded. “You rest. You fell far. Should have died.”

“It’s not the first time.” He said dryly. He should just avoid high places all together.

“Then, it probably won’t be the last.” She skampered on all fours, animal like, over to a stack of things, then returned with the jar. He shook his head, held up his hand.

“Wait,”

“You hurt.” She batted his hand aside and lathered the concoction over the burn.

“What is in that stuff.” He asked, the blessed numbing of his face enabled the other aches and pains to rear their heads.

She didn’t answer, her lips moved though no sound came out. She finished applying the salve then pointed at the mat he’d been sleeping on.

He shook his head. “I need to find a way out of here.”

She blinked, moving back towards the fire and tossed something wide onto the embers. It flared up, casting shadows over the cave. A clumped strand of hair hung over her face.

“No escape. No way out.” She moved, skittering out of the cave, disappearing into the looming dim tunnel.

 

~*~

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Mar
2014

Old story revisited

For some reason I started thinking about this old Avaria story which disappeared on a lost hard drive years ago. I decided to try to re-write the intro (I don’t remember how much of it I had actually written) and I have to say, rough as it is, I like this version. Have some slightly raw words;

(quick note, this story will actually pick up right where the prior story, The Darkening Marsh, left off.)

~*~

Time was suspended. Somewhere in the distance something dripped. A slow and steady sound, something to listen to besides ones own heartbeat. Zindith drifted in and out of consciousness, on waves of pain reminding him he was still alive. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, his breathing harsh. Whispers echoed in the dark caverns, memories of voices long since silenced. He heard a groan, realized belatedly that it was his own. He opened his eyes, fighting to stay awake. Darkness closed in around him, and he noticed a faint glow nearby. He frowned and turned to look closer at the glow. Pain shot through his body, a throbbing burning settled along the left side of his face and torso.

Memories rushed at him, who he was and how he’d gotten there, he groaned again. Trapped between enemies, he’d acted, tackling the Slayer, knocking them both over the edge of the ravine. How far had he fallen? The Slayer vanished, opening a rift and sliding into another realm leaving him plummeting towards the river below.

Zindith remembered hitting the cold water, the shock of it sent waves of pain through him. Then nothing. He rolled over, gasping for breath and fighting a churning stomach. Sand, he was on sand. He pushed himself up, peering around. He didn’t remember anything beyond hitting the water. He was far underground, deep in the Labyrinth, but where? How long had he been in the river? He didn’t know. He glanced back at the glowing. Thin ropes of pale green glowing things hung from above. The light they provided was faint, almost useless.

He ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply. Musty, moldy, with the faint metallic scent that permeated everything in the Shadowlands. He coughed and groaned. His sides hurt, bruised ribs? Cracked? He hoped nothing was broken. There were no healers in this place.

“Thank the gods for being half telaxian.” He murmured. His voice was loud in the cave, echoing and joining the faint whispers in the distance.

He closed his eyes fighting a wave of dizzy, and heard the singing. A woman’s voice, echoing through the tunnels, singing a song in a language he’d never heard. The tone was haunting, full of loss and deep longing. It tugged at him. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a bit. He was tough. Like his brothers and sister. Like his father. A little fall wasn’t going to stop him. He gritted his teeth, his stomach doing dangerous flops. What little he’d eaten before needed to stay where it was. He had no rations, no idea of what was edible in this place. He couldn’t afford to lose his lunch. Then the song changed in pitch, lower, angry. He listened, focusing completely on it, willing his body to obey. Now was not the time to be ill. He wanted to find the singer. No, he needed to find her, though why he wasn’t sure.

He quickly took stock. His pack was gone, lost in the river no doubt. With it were the torches and the healing salve for his burns. His belt pouch, though soaked, was still firmly secured on his wide belt. He unfastened it and opened it, swearing.

He put his hand over the top and flipped it upside down, letting the water pour out. Everything in there, the herb packets, the small parchment for writing notes, all ruined. He let them drop to the sandy ground, keeping ahold of the small light orb his brother, Auron, had given him. He hoped it still worked. The glowing ropes didn’t provide enough light to see. He wiped it on his tunic, and tapped it as he’d been taught. It flared to life, sending rays of light dancing over the cave walls. He finally got a good glimpse of where he was and his stomach did another dangerous flop.

He stood on a narrow sandy beach beside the river that coiled away, disappearing into the darkness. How far from the bridge and ledge was he? He shuddered, afraid to know. He looked upriver, trying to get an idea for where he was. There wasn’t a riverbank except the strip of beach he was on. The river had carved a tunnel through the rock, sheer cliffs on either side made going back the way he came impossible. He wasn’t about to try to risk walking in the river itself. Who knew what might be lurking beneath the surface? He edged toward the sloping walls, ducking under the ropey-glowing moss. It glowed brighter the closer he got, reflecting the light of the orb. He frowned, peering at the walls. Deep in his mind he felt a tug, faint, but persistent. He moved closer, lifting the orb, hoping to get a better glimpse. There was a jagged tear in the rock, a passage leading up and away from the river. He leaned against the edge of the entry letting another wave of dizzy pass. He needed to get out, to find the singer. He dared not guess what sort of creepy crawlies were in the passage.

The tug in his mind was insistent. He needed to go into the passage. He nodded. So far it hadn’t led him wrong. It guided him to where the Slayer had hidden Mayhren, it had guided them back to the surface before the fireball. He swallowed, aware of the tightness in his left cheek, the pain that he was getting used to. He glanced back towards the river and took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his sides, and stepped into the looming darkness.

It pressed against the orb light, closing around him, blocking off all view and any hope of escape. It felt alive in some way, a malevolent presence that wasn’t willing to let him leave. He forced one foot in front of the other, trying to think of anything other than the dark. His companions, his brother, they probably thought he’d died in the fall. He’d find a way back to the surface and back to Avaria. He’d get beyond the reach of this darkness and find a way to let them know he wasn’t dead.

The passage wound its way upward, in some spots he had to tuck the orb in his tunic and climb steep slopes. With each step the tug got stronger, a pressure in his head that was almost painful.

The passage ended at a stone carved doorway though the door itself had long since rotted away. Zindith stared, disbelief and awe blocking out the pain. How long had it stood silent in the dark, waiting for its masters to return? The tug pulsed, pain shot through his head. He gasped for breath, and edged closer to the doorway. He stepped through the doorway, wishing he had a weapon. Who knew what might be in this place? Stepping away from the door, the light of the orb illuminated an ages old walkway carved into the sides of immense cliffs. Guardrails once stood along the far edge, but most of those had long worn away. All that were left were posts that would have held the railings. Overhead he could see the orb’s light glinting off of what might have been metal chandeliers or some sort of lighting devices.

“Impossible.” He murmured, his voice bouncing off the walls. In the distance, to his left, a stone bridge spanned the chasm, the far end concealed in the blanket of darkness. The tug pulled him in that direction. Bemused and in awe he went where it led, noting the archways that dotted the sides of the chasm, and the passageway. Who had carved these ways? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. The rahaun hadn’t lived underground. He didn’t recall any other legends that hinted that these passages existed. His heart pounded and the tug became a pounding at his temples. It stopped, as suddenly as it started, when he reached the bridge.

He stared up at the steps leading across the chasm, his heart loud in his ears. The steps led to a wide flat platform, then a walkway arched back downward to a second platform from which another set of stairs led, he hoped, to the other side. He couldn’t tell. The orb’s light cut off, unable to penetrate the wall of dark ahead of him.

He took another look around. The archways, with their passages gaping at him, gave him the shakes. He could almost imagine things just on the other side of the dark, watching him, waiting to strike when the orb flickered out. He shook it off, looked back at the stone bridge. He felt it, briefly. The tug, gently pulling him towards the bridge. He stepped onto the stone bridge, testing it. Who knew how long this had stood, alone, in the dark underground of the Shadowlands. It felt firm.

He  went up the steps, wishing there was a rail of some sort. When he reached the first platform he got a glimpse of the other side and smiled. Another passage, but it veered upward towards steps coiling towards the distant ceiling. His ticket out, perhaps? He hesitated, glancing back the way he’d come, listening. His own breathing was loud in the hush. No echos, no drips, no bodiless voices lamenting in a dead language. Silent. The caverns were holding their breath, the darkness waiting for a misstep. He shook himself. Too many knocks to the head.

Zindith wiped his hand on his breeches. He felt clammy, ill, and dizzy. He hurried across the wide arch toward the second platform. He felt the tremble through his boots, and swore. A cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chasm. He swore darting towards the platform as he felt the bridge beneath his feet crumbling. He jumped, landing on his stomach on the platform the air knocked from his lungs as the arch crumbled, clattering far below. He barely caught his breath, starting to pull himself up when the platform shuddered. He swore, the crack of shattering rock deafening. The platform dropped out from beneath him and he was falling again. He closed his eyes, there was no river below to save him. The fall halted and pain exploded across his jaw and nose as he hit the stone face first. Darkness wrapped around him.

 ~*~

 Part 2

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Feb
2014

Re-Release

One of the greatest things about self pubbing, is if you need to change something, you can. If you don’t like the cover, you’re not stuck with the pubbing co going SOL.

The Magic Maker is one of my favorite stories, and the first of what I hope, many set in that world. To date I haven’t been able to really dabble much with it but I plan to. I redid the cover, and did a skim through to correct things (typos, misspellings, random commas etc) and have gotten it back up.

The Magic Maker

In a corrupt city, Tia struggles to keep her small family together. She finds herself caught between a sorceress and local crime lord, and to top it off, an unknown voice begins begging her for help. With time running out, can she escape the city with family and sanity intact?

Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Smashwords
Kobo

In other news, I’ve had to push Zander back 1 month due to personal reasons. Mid may is the new target.

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Feb
2014

Things make up things

I don’t usually participate in twitter chats much, usually because I find myself chasing short people into bed around the same time that the chats are taking place. Somehow, tonight, I managed to slip into the #indiechat with the topic on Hugh Howey’s Author Earnings report thingy that has, apparently, whipped up a frenzy of deniers and what not.

Now, while I did read the report itself and heard writer pals talking about the panicky, accusatory anti self pubbers who attacked it, I really don’t pay much attention dramaz going on. I’ve got my own rl dramaz I’m dealing with, and following the naysayers and the yeahsayers and everyone in between isn’t going to pay the rent or water bill. Anyway, I sat in on the convo, figured I’d learn a thing or three. Hugh showed up and the whole chat trended. It wasn’t as in depth as I would have liked. But it was fascinating to see the perceptions and views expressed.

It was fun, stimulating, and thought provoking. I went back and reread the report (over here if you want to look at it) and then, since I missed the dramaz, went over to PG to see what he was sharing. And it’s…

You know what? go see for yourself;

The Passive Voice just start reading and going back. You’ll find some interesting views, some I agreed with, some I don’t. It’s educational, and (imo) very interesting.

It think, when it’s all said and done, JW Manus summed it up fairly well (emphasis mine):

……It’s really not about the money…. Money is very nice and pays the bills. But every real writer I’ve ever met (and by real, I mean the passionate, even hypergraphic wordsmiths and storytellers who love nothing more than bringing mere words to life) will write and tell stories even there is no money in it. Their real goal is not money, but readers. Because without readers a piece of writing is incomplete. It exists, it is tangible, but without readers it is dancing on an empty stage in a closed theater or singing in the shower. Readers complete the connection.

 

Go read the whole post over here, I was nodding and agreeing all the way through.

~*~

SO, I’ve been kinda MIA these days. There are reasons, some have to do with unexpected house guest staying for a time, some are health related, mood related and digi art related. Yes, digi art. My other obsession. I’ll get to that in a moment.

I’ve been caught up in some very not cool things that have had to be dealt with. We’re still trying to get the fires put out, and it might be a few weeks before things start looking back up. In the meantime I’m plugging away at Bastard Prince and trying not to feel guilty for not having as much done as I wanted to. The tentative release date is April 12th, but depending on the current RL issues, I may have to push it back a month.

I started redoing covers, starting with The Magic Maker and have hit a wall. I know what I see in my head, but doing it is another thing. I’m worried (I always worry) that it is too dark. Here are two examples. I have a third I haven’t rendered yet, but I’m not too sure I’m going in the right direction with these.

testcover      testcover1

There was something else I was going to mention but I’ve forgotten. -.-  Remind me, I owe yall a post on digi art, but now, it’s late, I’m behind on words and I need to get to bed. Hope yall are having a great Febuary.

**waves**

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Jan
2014

Still here

I have been sick, still trying to get writing stuff handled. Zbk1 edits are in full swing, shooting for an April 12 release (my birthday). I have some awesome betas who are giving me great input. Have a mini snippage:

 

Valen handed Zander a small sphere with odd indents and markings on it. Zander frowned and looked up at his friend.

“What is this?” He whispered.

“A charge.” Valen grinned, lifting up another one. “Push down here,” he tapped a raised, circular impression in the middle of it. “Till it clicks, then toss it at enemy, and it goes boom. Big explosions. Sometimes messy, always loud.”

“Fun.”

“You have no idea.”

 

Hope yall are doing okay. **waves**

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Jan
2014

Another rough snip

Okay then

Rough, it needs scrubbing. I KNOW this….  Mikial’s nickname is Shaderunner fyi 

~*~

The odd hut was divided into three small rooms with a large central fire-pit area. Mikial built up the fire as the women divided making it comfortable. He tried not to notice how closely they watched him, his injuries were still healing and he could feel their concern. On some level it was touching. On another, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to be healed, he wanted to be done. He wanted to go back to the caves, to confront Avari and demand an explanation.

He was going to get one. He’d given his existence to her. She’d better damn well give him one. Or else,

He hesitated, crouched in front of the fire, watching the flickering flames. Or else what? She was a goddess, what could he do, after all?

He stood, stretching sore muscles, testing the healing tissue. Years of life, of living, slowed his body’s healing. Velvet, despite her assistance, couldn’t counter that. And there was the damn monitor. It wouldn’t allow his body to heal faster than the algorithms programed years ago. He absently rubbed at it as he left the dome.

The fields of Tives stretched out before him and in the distance the broken and tumbled city walls of Tives itself stood, silent testament to the anger of the gods. He tightened the cloak around his shoulders, staring towards the rubble.

Gods, Goddesses. His life was caught up in a massive joke. What was the point? Time rolled past him, for a brief moment he could almost see the faces of his past lovers, lost friends. Dria would have raged, Savna counseled, Rinoa exploded, he shuddered. Too many. And now, with the bond he couldn’t rightfully seek solace of death. Velvet’s life lay on his shoulders.

He sensed her, before he heard her, old friend, one of the few who knew Dria, who fought in the goblin wars and managed the catacomb collapses. Emmalin stopped a little bit behind him, not saying anything though he felt her mind brush his, ever so gently, gauging, testing. Almost too light for even him to detect.

“You know, Vel feels awful about the whole binding issue.” She said softly.

Mikial couldn’t respond. How could he? What was there to say?

“It saved her life, repeatedly though.”

He half turned frowning at her. “How?”

“She’s never explained. But I’ll say this, if she’d died, when attacked, if she’d died way back when being tortured, she wouldn’t have been able to save Zin, or pull the unbound together.” Emm was staring at him, her overlarge dark eyes very serious. Mikial felt his stomach twist as she stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Avari betrayed you to your enemy, I see that, you’re in shock, I know. But when I see you I remember the man who faced down the dragons, who stood firm against the spider queen.” She glanced over her shoulder towards the dome, then back at him. “We’ve seen some crazy shit in our day, Mikial. She has no idea. And the man you were back then, got buried under bureaucracy.” She touched his face. “I miss that man.”

“Perhaps that man is dead.” He said softly.

Emm smiled sadly and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She leaned forward hesitated and brushed a kiss against his lips. “There’s game a few miles south of here. You and Vel, you have some things you have to work out. I’ll get out of your hair,”

“Emm,”

“So you can get that straightened out and,”

“Emm, she needs you here.” He wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be left alone with the little red-head, but Emm shook her head with a sad smile.

“No, because she’ll hide behind me, because you scare the ever-loving piss out of her.” She patted his arm, then squeezed gently. “She’s tough, yes, she’s had to be. But she’s as alone as you are, and the bond was the only thing that kept her sane.”

He nodded. Emm took a deep breath and grinned. “Have fun.” And was gone.

He swore under his breath. Typical. There were times, like then, that she reminded him so much of Dria it made him want to weep. It was why he’d cut off contact. He couldn’t handle the pain that welled up every time he thought of the lost free-spirit.

 

###

 

I will clean this up, I promise.

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Jan
2014

Snippet out of the blue

This is from….a project I really shouldn’t be working on.

~*~

 

The voices of the patrons of the One Winged Angel created a mildly comforting din as they cheered the pit fighters on. Velvet leaned against the bar watching, amused, as her customers yelled, laughed and cheered. She couldn’t see the fighters, but could tell by the cheers, who was dueling. A slim brunette, curls bouncing around her shoulders, wove her way through the crowd, a tray of empty dishes held overhead. She nodded at Velvet and glanced over her shoulder.

“They’re actually fighting rather well tonight.” She said as she slid the tray on the counter and turned around. “The bets are getting ridiculous!”

“Who’s winning?” Velvet leaned closer. She brushed a kiss against the brunette’s shoulder. Emm glanced at her with a grin.

“I couldn’t tell, they’re both fairly bloody.”

“Great, we’ll have patching up to do.” Vel chuckled.

“You’ll have patching up to do.” Emm laughed, moving around to the back of the counter. “I just work here.”

The door to the tavern opened, and Vel got a glimpse of swirling snow outside before the view was blocked by a tall figure. Her smile faded and she pushed herself upright watching the tall man and his two companions step into the taproom.

“Shut the gods be damned door, fool, unless you want to pay to heat this place!” Emm yelled.

The man looked her way and smirked. The door shut behind him, cutting off the howling wind. His companions looked at him in surprise. He’d not touched the door with his hand. He strode forward, aware that most eyes were on him. Pale hair, albino skin, and brilliant green eyes that laughed at her. Velvet shook her head. Trouble. Pure trouble.

“Kale, I’d be careful were I you, I’ve seen your tab here.” Emm pointed the cudgel she kept under the counter. “I’ll make you go wash my dishes!”

“You don’t want me to do that.” Kale said with a laugh, leaning against the counter. “Just ask the staff at the caves, I break more than I clean.”

“On purpose, I’d wager.” Vel snorted and glanced at the two silently following Kale and back at him with a frown.

“They were set to follow me.” He turned, gripped the shoulder of the nearest man, hauling him to the counter. “But I caught them, so I invited them along for a drink.” He smiled.

“Poor fools.” Emm said. She leaned towards the man at the counter. “You might just want to give up the commission, my friend. Really not worth it.”

“I figure they’ll be kind enough to pay my tab, after trying to chase me through this gods-forsaken city.” Kale looked down at the men and held out his hand. “Your purses, please, if you’ll be so kind.”

The men looked at each other and slowly reached for their belts.

“Nothing funny gentlemen,” Vel said softly. “Neither of you will walk out alive.”

They gulped and nodded, handing over some very heavy looking money pouches. Kale bounced them in his hand and nodded, glancing at them. “Go away.”

The men vanished.

“Where did you port them?” Emm asked, eyes wide.

“Creshna, near the Sable mountains.” Kale grinned.

“Evil.” Vel snickered. “What are you doing here, Kale? I thought the Goddess Avari frowned down on her pets consorting with us uncouth unbounds.”

“She does. Except when she’s given orders to hunt you out.” He rested elbows on the counter. “And I have specific instructions to ask you to kindly come for a visit to the caves.”

“What does she want?” Vel asked, heart pounding in her ears.

“Father has been asked to host a meeting of immortals, namely unbound, to discuss the current Slayer situation.” Kale leaned towards Vel. “Rumor has it you’d be the best one to ask about the Slayer.”

“Ooo an invitation from the Shaderunner.” Emm said leaning against Vel’s shoulder. “Sounds exciting.”

“A meeting?” Vel looked at her. “Sounding exciting?”

“The Staff of the Caves make the absolute best pastries and I know several back passages to get them.” Emm grinned impishly at her, then turned towards Kale. “When does his grumpyness want us there?”

“Us?” Vel eyed Emm.

“Grumpyness?” Kale snickered. “In two days. I’ll port you…”

“Kale, I’ve been porting since before your mother’s people were a clan. I think I can handle it.” Emm said. “Just tell us when we need to be there.”

Kale snorted. “One of these days Emm, I’m going to get you to tell me a tale or two. Loren say’s you’ve got a lot of them.”

She laughed. “Not today, Kale.”

Vel stewed, leaning against the counter. “Great. Just what I need to deal with.”

“Aww come on red, it’ll be fun.” Emm said. She kissed Vel’s cheek. “You’ve never seen funny until you’ve seen a startled centaur on marble.”

Kale snorted.

“I’d rather not have to deal with Shaderunner.” Vel said, voice low. The idea made her blood run cold. There were some beings in the world far too powerful for their own good.

“Why? Father’s not that bad, Vel, not really.” Kale looked confused.

“God-like powers, not that bad?” Vel snorted.

“Just hand him some ancient tome or book and he’ll be happy.” Kale winked. “Besides, I heard he likes redheads, kind of a weakness thing!” He vanished, leaving a money bag on the counter.

Vel stared at the bag and glanced at Emm. “I really didn’t want to hear that.”

 

###

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Jan
2014

Inside The Author’s Mind released

The series is done, for now, and compiled into a complete collection.

cover

 

Inside The Author’s Mind is a collection of shorts written from the
point of view of the story elements. From characters, to ideas, to
muses, and editor, these have previously been sold singly and are
now put together. The collection is approximately 6400 words, 25
pages, and includes The Shiny, Redshirts, Muse Interrupted, Editor In Chains, 
Daydream Paradise Beach

It is available at:

Smashwords
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
Kobo

Now on to the next project!

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Jan
2014

2014 Goals, Plans, and Expectations

A new year, new goals. I’ve made up a tentative publishing schedule for this new year, starting with the goal of one new publication (large or small) a month with three large releases for the year. We’ll see how it goes. Goals are dreams with a date on them they say. And I’ve even taken into account the usual grueling summers I have.

There are plans to move to another house sometime in late spring early summer which may disrupt things.

The big releases, the first three Zander books, are slated for April, ?June?, and September/October. The final book, Crossroads (which *might* be 2 books) *might* be ready by December.

I’m still dabbling with the idea of E1 up as a serial, but I’m not sure with everything else I have on my plate, that I have the mental capacity to to that atm. I might do something like that over the summer since E1 is, for the most part done.

Other smaller projects will be released through the rest of the year, hopefully on a monthly basis. I’m not hinging all my hopes on any one project. As a writer who plans to be around for a long time, my larger goals are long term, not hinged on any one book. A career isn’t built on one book, rather multiple projects. I’ll refer you to Dean Wesley Smith for more on that particular viewpoint.

I also have the goal of doing a Friday Flash fiction every week this year. Lofty? Maybe. I’m gonna try to do it though.

Last year’s sales;

With the lack of new material up for sale, sales were fairly non-existent. I haven’t pulled up the actual numbers yet, but I know they were spotty. There are a number of reasons why, ranging from pricing, covers that need to be improved and just lack of new material to keep my name up at the top of the new release lists and whatnot. Last year was fairly brutal for me. For a number of reasons and that impacted me finishing and releasing stuff. In short; sales sucked and I’m the reason why.

That was last year. This is a new year, new opportunities, new information to learn. This year. I want to write more. I need to write more. I need to get a better handle on covers, formatting and get back in the game so to speak. The paralyzing that halted me over the past year and a half, seems to have melted away. While there is a touch of anxiety, it isn’t halting me. Onward and upward! I’m ready! Are you?

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Dec
2013

2013 Winding Down

2013 is almost over, and I have to say, writing-wise, I didn’t do as much as I’d planned. But what’s done is done and I’m not going to beat myself over the head about it. I’m still writing, and that’s a lot more than a lot of ‘writers’ these days. I’m putting together a 2014 business plan atm, will post it as soon as it’s more than a vague idea.

Dean Wesley Smith has a 2013 wrapup over here which I thought was very interesting.

I hope you all have a great Christmas (If you celebrate it), Yule, Winter Solstice, etc.

 

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