Meet the Villain: Wrothe

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No story is complete without a good villain. In my book, Stonebearer’s Betrayal, the immortal Jarand has got one heck of an enemy.  Not only is she beautiful, she is also cunning, deadly, and a little insane.  The powerful demoness Wrothe is bent on taking her revenge and will stop at nothing until get gets it.  In this world twelve demons haunt the land, causing trouble wherever they go.  One of the duties of the Stonebearers is to protect the public against them.  Wrothe is different from the other Demons, she targets immortals as her victims.  She craves their power and will stop at nothing to get it.

Writers and fad diets don’t mix

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I’m staring at a blank screen, it’s hard to think.  Images of sandwiches and pasta won’t leave me alone.  Writing an emotional scene between characters doesn’t really work when all I want them to do is sit down and enjoy a nice supper. Fantasy world food is always enticing, think of thick stews, juicy roasted meats, soft warm breads with fresh butter, and hand aged cheeses.

This is day two of attempting a three day detox diet and the only thing that I can think of is how much I want to just chew on something.  It’s odd really, I’m not that hungry.  I just want to chew.  This particular diet is three days of blender disasters. Kale, spinach, coconut oil, avocado, and an endless parade of fruit all get pulverized to a multihued sludge that reminds me of vomit.  It doesn’t taste that much better.

One of the sad truths of writing is that it’s a sedentary affair.  It requires lots of time in front of a screen thinking and for me, snacking.  Over the last few months I’ve amped up my writing goals and with it the pounds have started to sneak on.

Fad diets are not a solution to this problem, lifestyle changes are.  There are standing and treadmill desks to keep moving while laying down text.  There are the snacks we choose to munch on, choosing grapes instead of chocolate chips.  There are the other hobbies, I know many writers that are runners as well.  In the end it has to balance out.  

As for me, I’ll be so glad when this diet is over.

The Perfect Book

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We all have our favorites, those books that are never far from our night stands. They are the worn and comfortable books that we keep coming back to year after year, like an old friend. What is it about those books that hold our attention even after the surprises are gone?

Everyone has different things that they look for in a great book.  For some, the story comes first above all else.  For others it might be a strong romantic connection between the characters.  As a writer it is important for me to recognize what makes different books great so that while writing my own I can bring all the good parts together and create a story that will resonate with readers.

For me, the most important element of a book are its characters.  Not only must they be well-written and well-rounded, they must have something about them that I find fascinating.    For some characters this might be a great back story, for others it might be a problem they must overcome.  In the end, I must care about what happens to these people and I must want to know more about them.

The story comes in close second. A great story has the power to captivate and hold my attention. It is hard to put down and even when I’m not reading I’ll think about it.  For it to do that it must be meaningful.  The characters must have real stakes against them and something either very painful or very personal to lose.  

The more I read the more I realize how important it is for a book to have beautiful prose.  I want to be able to fall into a lush weaving of words, not just read a story.  There are few authors that have mastered this skill. Sue Monk Kidd is one of my favorite authors just because her prose is beautiful.

 Last but not least is creativity.  In fantasy writing I want to be amazed by what worlds the author can create and what magic lies in them.  In standard literature I want to be surprised at solutions to problems and at twists in the plot.  All books are a result of creativity, however some have the power to grab my imagination better than others. 

How about you dear reader?  What do you look for in the perfect book? Share your thoughts below!

Friday Fiction: The Man in the Cupboard

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Welcome back to Fiction Friday where every other week I experiment with different genres.  Today’s story might become a serial depending on how it’s received.  Enjoy!

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After the whirlwind of breakfast and getting the kids off to school, the kitchen was a disaster and thankfully quiet.  Kimberly had set about the task of shoving dirty dishes into the already full dishwasher when she heard a pinging sound coming from the pantry.  She ignored it at first, but when the sound didn’t just go away she felt she had to investigate.

As she came closer to the pantry door the sound became clearer, the same sound as when metal hits glass, a kind of metallic ping.  Ping, ping, ping.  What on earth could make that noise?  She opened the door a crack and the ping stopped.  She opened it wider.  There to her surprise was a tiny man standing next to her jar of peanuts wielding a cane. He stood no taller than her hand and wore a dingy yellow shirt and green vest over a pair of worn grey slacks.

“Fer heaven’s sake, why’d ya change your brand?” he asked and gave the lid on the bottle another whack with the cane. “This lid’s all but impossible to get off.”

Kimberly slammed the door shut with a shriek and reached for a knife from the block.  There was a tiny man in her pantry raiding her peanuts.  She racked her brain trying to remember if there was anything about strange occurrences reported by previous owners in the real estate paperwork.  There were disclosures about lead, asbestos, and rats; why not tiny men?

When she had worked up enough nerve to open the pantry again she found the little man leaning against the box of Cheerios sitting with his legs dangling off the shelf. He held one toasted O, which to him was the size of a donut.

“Oh, hi again. Sorry about before, didn’t mean to give you a fright. No one told me a ginger girl had moved in.”  He said with a smile, pointing at Kimberly’s red curls.

“Who are you, and why are you in my pantry?” Kimberly asked, fighting down the tremble that threatened to leak into her voice. She adjusted her grip on the knife, keeping it out of sight.

“Well, I would have been in the liquor cupboard, but it seems all the whiskey is gone.  You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?” He waved his cane at her as if accusing her for it’s absence. “Can’t have a shindig without a bit of whiskey now can we?”

“Whiskey? . . . Shindig?” Kimberly sputtered. ” I don’t know what you are talking about.  You didn’t answer my question.  Who are you, and why are you here?”

“My apologies Miss, where are my manners?” He stood, brushing the crumbs from his pants as he did and held out his tiny hand. “Mike Finnegan, at your service.”

Kimberly took his hand between two fingers and gave it a shake, unsure whether she was dreaming or had hit her head.

Mike cleared his throat. “And who might you be Miss?”

“Kimberly Pike,” she answered.  Dozens of questions filled her mind and she struggled to catch a hold of one that didn’t make her sound insane.  It was harder than she thought.

Using his cane, Mike lowered himself to the lower shelf and began inspecting the goods there. “Ye must have a speck of the old Irish in ye.  Old lady who lived here before couldn’t see me, one before that couldn’t neither. They both had the decency of always having a flask of whiskey on hand, so it worked out just fine.  You however are different.  Irish blood in ye, and nothing for a poor fella to drink.”

“If I get you your whiskey will you go away?”

“No, why would I? I live here, have a right nice home up in the attic.”

Kimberly shook her head and set the small knife down on the counter. “What about the others, can they see you?”

He climbed on top of a bag of rice and sat down again. “Doubt it, not a ginger in the lot.”

“Listen, Mike is it? This is all a little bit much for me right now.  Tell you what.  I’m going to close this door and leave for a while and when I come back all of this will be back to normal.  I think I’m just under a lot of stress right now.  I mean listen to me, I’m talking to a little man in my pantry.  Okay?”

He tipped his hat at her. “Whatever makes you happy Miss.”

Kimberly shut the door, got a soda from the fridge, and a candy bar from her secret stash.   She hoped a few hours running errands away from the house would be enough to calm her nerves, but as she pulled the car into the street she had the sinking feeling that this was far from over.

 

To read part 2, click here!

Enter the Summer

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This week marks the end of structured days of kids in school and the beginning of summer vacation.  For kids, this is a magical time of freedom, discovery, and lots of play.  For parents, this time comes with mixed emotions. There is no longer the pressure of the morning school rush and all its battles, but there are also whole long days of nothing on the calendar.

For me, I’m looking forward to the change.  There are so many fun things I want to do with my kids that were too complicated to manage during school.  Now is the time for swimming lessons, day camps, play dates, sleepovers, summer crafts, and lots of outside play.

At the same time I’m terrified.  I need structure.  The thought of having whole days with nothing on the calendar is very daunting.  My first instinct is to go a little crazy and create a mommy school where my kids can grow their minds and hone their skills.  There would be field trips where we would have in-depth discussions about science and art.  I would become super mom plus, and drive myself crazy planning and creating activities.

Then I realize, I also have a toddler who will make most of these plans really difficult.  Having one-on-one time with older children to focus on their needs is super important.  Doing it while wrestling a curious toddler is an exercise in patience.  Planning outings and activities is harder when nap schedules need to be considered.

This summer can’t all be about the kids either.  I have goals as well.  I would love to make some real headway on the current draft of my book.  To do so requires hours of work at the computer, undisturbed when possible.  There will be less of those with the kids home, yet I feel there should be more now that I don’t have to drive the taxi to school and back.  This might just be the summer that the kids learn that mommy needs time to work on her projects as well.

I wish I could say I have a brilliant plan about how this is all going to work.  With only a few days left I better start making one or the summer is going to slip away before we even get started!

To all those parents out there, good luck! May this summer vacation be the best one yet.

Meet the Cast: Bremin

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For every hero there is the friend who makes it possible for him to succeed.  In the Stonebearer’s story one of the most important members of the supporting cast is Bremin.

Bremin is the clever, quick-witted, sharp-tongued friend to our hero, Jarand.  They’ve known each other for over three hundred years.  He has traveled the world many times over gathering knowledge to aid his fellow Stonebearers.  If there is a plot against them, he will uncover it.  In his travels he has also become very skilled in healing, picking locks, setting traps, and plenty of other skills, making him an extremely useful fellow to have around.

Bremin does have a weakness, he is very limited in what he can do with his power.  This fact has made him very humble, but also bitter.  He compensates for his weakness with his knowledge. But, he won’t offer his opinion until it is asked for. 

Soccer and Herding Cats

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My favorite shorty

The battle lines are drawn, the players are ready.  Well . . . almost. One of the players is swinging from the goal post, and another won’t leave his mothers lap.  Half the defending team has their backs turned to the ball because the ice cream truck has driven by, three are already making a bee line to their parents screaming to get a treat.  Several players on offence have tackled each other to the ground in fits of giggles and screams.  And we pay to be a part of it.  Every year.

Coaches for preschool soccer have a tough job.  First, they must keep all the children on the field.  This is harder than it sounds. Children move like a group of cats, running in every which direction the wind takes them.  The children that the coaches manage to get on the field then must be herded towards the ball and convinced to kick it in a specific direction, namely, the goal.  There are always one or two that understand how the game works and will dutifully run and usually kick the ball out-of-bounds.  Other duties of the coaches include tying shoe laces, scooping downed children back on their feet, removing children from the goal posts, and being endlessly positive and perky.  They make nowhere near enough for all that.

The only thing that might be more amusing than watching the game is to listen to the parents in the side lines.  At the beginning of the season expectations are high and parents shout and cheer for their little one to kick goals or steal the ball from the other team.  As the season progresses these cheers change to more practical goals like not throwing fits when they don’t get a turn, or when someone breathes on them.  If you closed your eyes you might almost imagine you were at a dog park.  “Where’s the Ball Baby? Get the ball, get the ball!  Good girl! Way to go!” 

At times as a parent it is necessary to make a few ridiculous rules to preserve some family dignity.  My #1 rule to my daughter – There is no crying in soccer.  She believed me for about the first five practices before she realized she’d been duped.  Another ridiculous rule – keep your shirt down.  For some reason soccer jerseys only come in one size for the little kids, super large.  The temptation of pulling the circus tent like shirt up and over the head for some is too hard to resist.

In the end, the pictures are taken, the trophies are given, and we all cheer that the season is over.

Fiction Friday: The Music of Heaven

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Today’s post is a piece of flash fiction inspired by this piece of abstract art.  For more terrific public domain abstract art, check out The Public Domain.  Enjoy!publicdomain-free-remix-share-texture-abstract

“They’ve broken the sky, now there’s no going back.” Balzac said, reaching towards the cacophony of color and light that arched overhead.  The sky seethed in billowing masses of reds and deep purples.  Sparks of lightning, like brilliant stars, dotted the heavens, filling the boiling clouds with flashing light.

Sabine pulled the rough woolen blanket tighter around her, so that nothing below the curve of her neck could be seen.  “I’m scared, I never imagined it would happen this soon.” she said, her voice soft compared to the thundering above.

Balzac lowered himself down next to her with a grimace, he wasn’t as young as he used to be and after the day’s journey he ached all over.  A cold breeze pulled at his hair, teasing the silver strands into his face.  “There is no need for fear now.” He patted her shoulder. “If only they had listened sooner, they should have heeded my warning.  This wouldn’t have happened.”

“It isn’t your fault, you never intended your studies to lead to this.  Your’s was a search for truth, for understanding of our world.  If anything your discovery should have been used to heal the rift in the sky, not to tear it further.”  She opened the blanket and beckoned him to join her inside.  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?’

“Of course it’s beautiful, even in its death throes it manages to put on a show.  I imagine it won’t be much longer before the transition is complete, then all this will fade to nothing.  Dark grey clouds will blanket the earth so thick that the sun’s light will no longer pierce through.” He pulled the blanket around them both and shut it tight, closing out the chill.  Inside her warmth was welcome.  The cold would only grow more bitter as time passed.

There on the crest of the southern ridge they sat, below lay a city in ruins, their city.  But Balzac knew, he had predicted that it all would happen.  The diplomatic disputes, the wars, the destruction, and finally, the breaking – he had seen it all when he discovered the secret to the music of the sky.

To him the world and everything in it was organized in numbers and frequencies, harmonics and resonances.  To discover how it all worked he immersed himself in his lab, measuring the vibrations of the heavens and then engineering exact matches.  The university provided the funds and equipment as long as he published his findings.  Perhaps that was his first mistake, but then there was not other way to get the money. Tools for studying celestial vibrations didn’t come cheap either.

“Balzac?” Sabine asked, “Are you certain that there is no way to repair the damage?  Could the vibrations be neutralized?”

“No, I’m certain. I would have to discover the exact frequencies and patterns they used, which is impossible as both change as soon as they meet the harmonics that exist above. Although now I’m not sure if I would want to.  The effort, if it were possible, would take years of precise applications, maybe even decades.  By then there would be no society to save, civilization would have returned to a primal state, that is if anyone managed to stay alive for that long.”

Sabine curled in tighter to him, hugging her knees to her chest.  He wrapped an arm around her and breathed in her scent, she smelled of sweat and floral shampoo.  Having her here with him here at the beginning of the end felt right.  The thought of facing this catastrophe alone made his stomach twist.

“It’s final then, you plan to carry out your orders?” To his surprise she had tears on her face.

He wiped away her tear with a thumb. “Yes. I’d rather it end this way than watching countless millions suffer.  It’s clean. . . ” he sighed, “it’s humane.”

“And what about us? We’ve been together for so long, seen so much.  Should that all be lost?”

“No Sabine, we won’t be lost, we will be changed, transformed into the very harmonics and vibrations that I’ve studied for so long.  There is a place for us in the heavens among all of our family and friends.”

“I wish I had your faith. For now I must rely on yours, it is enough.  You were always the strong one.  Do it.  Do it, before I lose my nerve.”

Balzac pulled the activator from his pocket and the silver key from its chain around his neck.  He slipped the key into its slot and turned it, opening the cover.  After he entered the complex arming code the device chimed to life.   When he discovered how to break the sky, he had also discovered the frequencies that would annihilate the life from earth.

Together they pushed the button.  From deep within the bowels of the earth it started, a deep thrumming rhythm unlike any they had heard, it sent a chill that started at the back of his neck then shot down his limbs.  The sound thrilled him, electrified him. From a distance higher tones flowed in undulating patterns all across the land and sky counterpointing the music from below.  Tears of joy bathed Balzac’s face.

It was the music of the death of earth, and it was beautiful.

Holding on and Letting go

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IMG_1624Hubby and I spent time this weekend cleaning out the vast graveyard that is our closet. It seems that whenever there isn’t an obvious home for something somewhere else in the house it ends up being shoved in the corners and on the upper shelves of our small walk in.  In time the habit of squirreling things away in there starts taking its toll and it’s time to purge.

For some things making a decision about whether they should stay or go is easy;  especially things that aren’t expressly mine like the old GPS, a boardgame, and a set of sheets that are no longer used.  Lots of broken, outdated, and useless things were sorted and dealt with without a second thought.

Then there are the other things that I don’t want to make decisions about, the things that had goals and dreams attached to them.  I’ve been meaning to craft a quiet book for my children as a special family gift, made with lots of love and thought.  The basket holding all the fabric, buttons, zippers and other odds and ends for this project has been sitting on top of the bin of off season clothes for the past year and a half, untouched.  I still want to finish it, but I struggle to find a bit of time where I can get out the sewing machine without being ambushed by curious children. Taking the bin to the basement makes me feel like a failure  and have given up.

The same feeling goes for the expensive running shoes that have been kicked around the floor for the past year.  At one time I had a dream to be a distance runner.  I trained and ran for about a year before the pain and injuries caught up to me. Turns out running might not be my thing.  Even though I’m ok with not being a runner, getting rid of the shoes has a finality to it that is hard to swallow.  

Things like these were the hardest things to make a decision on.  It is as if by saying it’s time to go I’m abandoning a dream, I’m giving up on something I’ve been excited about. There are things that are worth holding on to, the things that make us smile, the things that excite us.   These are the things we should surround ourselves with.  For everything else, it’s time to let go.

The Search is Over

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Oh happy day!  For the past three years I’ve been working on this story and, up until this week, had yet to find a good face to put on my main character Jarand, an immortal Stonebearer. I needed a face that looked neither old or young. He also has a presence about him, an inner strength that radiates out.  He is noble and mighty but has a troubled past and an uncertain future.  So many elements make his character complex, I never thought I would find a face to match.

Imagine my surprise while watching Les Miserables in Concert when everything I had been looking for walked onto the screen and began to sing with a sensitivity and earnestness that brought tears to my eyes.  I’ve loved the music from Les Mis since I was a little girl singing along to cassettes in the car with my mom.  As I grew older that love grew into a keen interest in the history of revolutionary France.  In college, I attempted to read the unabridged novel, but after three renewals from the library they wouldn’t let me check it out anymore.  I’ve since bought the book but haven’t yet attempted to start reading it again.

 Meet Alfie Boe, amazing tenor and star of the 25th Anniversary Les Miserables in Concert, playing none other than the unconquerable Jean Valjean.  His performance embodies everything I’ve been looking for in Jarand.  Whether or not he’s like that in person I will never know.

One day I hope you all will get to know Jarand and his story in my novel Stonebearer’s Betrayal.

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