Last week the modern section of the story was here for you to read. Here is part of the heroine and hero's life in the past. This is Egypt. Other characters are introduced that will also follow through life after life.
Seshat stood at the entrance to her workroom built against the wall of the villa. She stared into the garden. Though chaos ruled the Two Lands, in this house at a distance from Thebes, only echoes of the troubles were heard. How fortunate that her father, Nomarch Sehetep, had distanced himself from the politics of both halves of the divided land.
She heard her younger sister giggle and watched her run toward the workroom. "What have you done now?"
"Spied on Father," Tiy said.
Seshat shook her head. Tiy hovered between childhood and womanhood. She delighted in mischief. Seshat left the doorway and reached for the tallies of the recent harvest.
"Don't you want to know what I heard and what I saw?" Tiy's warm brown eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Tell me."
"We have guests. From Thebes. Oh, Seshat, they are the most handsome men I have ever seen. They seek father's support. One of them wants the Double Crown. Maybe he will choose you as his wife and ignore Nefru."
Seshat sighed. If she were chosen, Nefru, daughter of their father's dead first wife, would be furious. Though Seshat's mother had been a princess of a past dynasty, Nefru denied the claim. Seshat sighed. Anyone seeking Sehetep's support would choose the oldest daughter. Since no sons had been born to the house, Nefru's spouse would claim the nome when Sehetep left this world.
"We're to eat the evening meal with them," Tiy said. "Nefru stamped her foot when she heard. When these men see you, they won't look at her."
Seshat shook her head. That would bring spiteful attacks from her sister. Besides, Seshat had no desire to leave her father. Wasn't she his right hand and his star to comfort his last days? She lifted a quill and began to record the number of baskets of harvested grain.
Before she finished the tally, Bastet, her aging maidservant, entered. "Come, child. You must make ready for the evening."
Seshat put her quill and papyrus aside and followed Bastet to the bathing room. After washing, her skin was rubbed with scented oil. Bastet combed and braided her hair. Not for Seshat the shaved head and the hot, heavy wig. The maid applied kohl to make Seshat's gray eyes appear more luminous and darker.
"What will you wear?" Bastet asked. "These men have come from Thebes. You don't want to appear a country girl."
Seshat chose a robe of fine linen that covered her body from beneath her breasts to her ankles. The broad straps formed a vee as they crossed her shoulders. For jewelry, she selected the necklace her mother had left her. The electrum semi-circles of the collar were inlaid with lapis. Carnelians dangled above her bare breasts.
"Will you wear the crown?"
Seshat shook her head. She was sure Nefru would wear her finest linen tunic and adorn herself with jewels. Her wig would be ornamented as well. A subtle touch is best, Seshat thought.
She and Tiy entered the large hall where their father, sister and the guests waited. Sehetep smiled. "Daughters, come and meet our visitors. Seshat, how like your mother you look. She was the loveliest flower in my garden. You are indeed the star to delight my last days."
Nefru's lips thinned. She glared. Rings glittered on her fingers. Her armbands were studded with gems. The nipples of her heavy breasts had been colored with henna.
Seshat ignored her sister's displeasure. She kept her eyelids lowered as her father drew her toward the guests. "Mermeshu, Commander of the Army, and Intef, his advisor, my daughters, Seshat and Tiy."
Seshat glanced at the men. Both wore kilts and tunics. A jeweled pectoral gleamed against the pale linen of Mermeshu's tunic. The men were taller than her father. Mermeshu had the arms and shoulders of an archer. Though of slighter build, Intef seemed fit. She shuddered. His eyes had the coldness of a serpent.
Mermeshu's dark eyes captured her gaze. As though to see her better, he smiled and stepped back. Her skin felt hot. A throbbing low in her belly brought an urge to touch and be touched by him. Her nipples tightened. His smile broadened.
In that instant, Seshat knew she desired this man for all eternity. Hathor, goddess of love, bring him to my side. Fill him with desire for only me. Let him see my beauty and my grace. Bring him to me.
Nefru clapped her hands. The serving maids set the individual tables before Sehetep's chair and the stools for the others. Since this was the main meal of the day, course followed course. Beef, lamb and goose were served with lentils, carrots and spinach. Wine and beer were lavishly offered. The meal ended with melons, figs and dates. Though Seshat ate, she tasted nothing.
Mermeshu and Intef spoke of the Hyksos who controlled the north and of the troubles in the south. Many men competed for the Double Crown, but only one could wear it. Mermeshu had come to ask for men, supplies and coins. He believed with the army's backing, he could win the crown and drive the usurpers from the land.
Bits of conversation entered Seshat's awareness. For twenty years, the land had been torn asunder by men who wished to be pharaoh. Then came the Hyksos with their chariots and armies. Only a united Egypt could repel them.
Seshat had no care for tales of war or warnings of battles to come. Her body thrummed with a desire she didn't fully understand.
When the meal ended, Nefru signaled the slaves to remove the tables. "Mermeshu and Intef, would you like to stroll in the gardens?"
The men rose to follow her. Seshat paused beside her father's chair. "Do you wish me to play the harp?" Though she wanted to join the others, her first duty was to him.
"Go to the garden." He patted her cheek. "Star of my last days, you have your mother's heart."
Seshat kissed him on the forehead and strolled into the garden. Nefru walked with a hand on each man's arm. Tiy was nowhere to be seen. Had Nefru sent her away? The trio paused beside the pool.
"Alas, my father has no sons or male kindred," Nefru said. "The husband I choose will be fortunate. All this will be his."
"And your sisters?" Mermeshu asked. "Have they no share in your father's wealth?"
Nefru snorted. "Daughters of concubines have no standing. They will be grateful for what I give them."
Intef laughed. "Don't you mean what your husband gives them?"
Nefru smiled. "He will be so entranced with me, he will do as I wish."
Seshat joined them. Anger sizzled through her veins. "Nefru, you can insult me but not my mother. She was wife to our father, duly witnessed in the temple."
Nefru giggled. "I'd forgotten. She was only second wife and brought nothing of value to the marriage."
"She was a princess."
"So she said."
Seshat bit her lip. Quarreling with Nefru before their guests was in poor taste. She looked up. Mermeshu grinned. Heat seared her core. He stepped away from Nefru and took Seshat's arm.
"Come and enjoy the beauty of the garden," he said. "The night and the company are too lovely for heated words. Your father said the garden was your realm."
"And the fields and herds," Nefru said. "She acts like she's our father's son."
"And for that reason, I must leave," Seshat said. "'Tis harvest time and I have much to do."
Mermeshu leaned toward her. "Pleasant dreams." He lightly caressed her arm.
* * * *
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Friday, April 8, 2011
4 Writer's Tip - The last ones from Becoming Your Own Critique Partner
Here's where I finish up the tips from Becoming Your Own Critique Partner.
The first tip is on Wandering Body Parts.
Her eyes roamed the room.
His knees dropped to the floor.
Her feet marched to the door,
Do they make you chuckle. They do me. Believe me when I say in the heat of writing I've done them all and sometimes I've missed them during the revisions. Just put the image of this happening and see if you can keep a straight face.
Second tip - Active voice vs passive voice. While there's nothing wrong with passive voice active makes the event become immediate. It's a matter of verb choice that turns a boring moment into an immediate one. It's also show and not tell.
Third tip - Dangling participles. This can also create a funny picture.
Walking to the door the dog barked. One I read once said Walking down the street she met Stan walking down the street. Scratched my head over that one. These are easily mended. While walking to the door, the dog barked. The second one needs to be made into two sentences.
Fourth tip - It or other such words - To me the frequent use of It and It was is like scraping fingernails on the blackboard. Not always avoidable but usually can be mended with a bit of change in the wording. We've all seen this sentence. It was a dark and stormy night. There are a dozen or more ways to change this sentence so it becomes dynamic. I've judged contests where all I've done is underling all the non-specific terms used.
Next week's tips will be gleaned from who knows where.
The first tip is on Wandering Body Parts.
Her eyes roamed the room.
His knees dropped to the floor.
Her feet marched to the door,
Do they make you chuckle. They do me. Believe me when I say in the heat of writing I've done them all and sometimes I've missed them during the revisions. Just put the image of this happening and see if you can keep a straight face.
Second tip - Active voice vs passive voice. While there's nothing wrong with passive voice active makes the event become immediate. It's a matter of verb choice that turns a boring moment into an immediate one. It's also show and not tell.
Third tip - Dangling participles. This can also create a funny picture.
Walking to the door the dog barked. One I read once said Walking down the street she met Stan walking down the street. Scratched my head over that one. These are easily mended. While walking to the door, the dog barked. The second one needs to be made into two sentences.
Fourth tip - It or other such words - To me the frequent use of It and It was is like scraping fingernails on the blackboard. Not always avoidable but usually can be mended with a bit of change in the wording. We've all seen this sentence. It was a dark and stormy night. There are a dozen or more ways to change this sentence so it becomes dynamic. I've judged contests where all I've done is underling all the non-specific terms used.
Next week's tips will be gleaned from who knows where.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Thursday's Interview -= Saphirre Phalen
Today's guest is Sapphire Phalen. We met at EPICon and talked about her doing an interview for me. So here it is.
1. What's your genre or do you write in more than one?
I write erotic and sometimes sweet paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy and science fiction romance. I have also done erotic horror too—“Jack” in Sinister Tales Magazine and the Lovecraftian novella, Unwitting Sacrifice, published as an eBook and in paperback by Under the Moon.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
I choose it, though the erotic part choose me.
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Maybe mystery, though my current erotic paranormal romance (male/male) release, Dark Leopard Magic (second novella in the Beast Magic trilogy) from Phaze Books has elements of the mystery in it.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
Erotic and regular paranormal romance, historical romance, horror, science fiction, fantasy, dark fantasy, urban fantasy, Young Adult, romantic suspense, and other romances.
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
I’ve been writing since I was 8-years old. But I first was published (for poetry) in a magazine when I was seventeen and got paid for it, too!
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
That’s like asking a mother which is her favorite child. I admit a nudge toward Tina and Charun of my erotic urban fantasy, Being Familiar With a Witch. So much that I wrote a sequel that was accepted by Phaze Books, A Familiar Tangle With Hell.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
Yes, there are. Most of them anyway. In Being Familiar With a Witch, not just a demon army, but the demon leading them, Byleth. The names of most of the demons in this short novel came from a real demonology. In Dark Leopard Magic, there is some bad werewolves. Same goes for any of my writings. Most come out of my head, with some research even.
8. What are you working on now?
At the moment I put aside the third novella in the Beast Magic trilogy, Wolf Magic. But that is the current one—this one will have a werewolf hero, who was introduced in Dark Leopard Magic. Wolf Magic is male/female, like the first novella in the series, Beast Magic.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive?
When I began to write Dark Leopard Magic, it flowed out of me in first person (a departure from Beast Magic, which is in third person) from both heroes’ POV and as a male/male romance. It just seemed to speak to me that way.
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
I said it all about Dark Leopard Magic in Question #9.
In the Beginning
I’d always been different. I had a rough life, too. Well, not for the first part
of it, when my mother was still alive.
I don’t remember my birth, but then what child does? Not much afterwards,
either, not until I was three years old. Mother told me some details, and about my
father. It seemed that he wasn’t like her and me. He wasn’t a shapeshifter, but
human. He also was an American—she originated from India.
Guess you could say that I am a half-breed—half human, half wereleopard. I
took after my mother and was born a leopard, remaining a cub until I turned one
year old, and made my first change to my human body, just like most
shapeshifters.
The only things I inherited from her were my ink-black hair and amber yellow
eyes (wereleopards have these color eyes). Everything else—my pale
skin, height, and muscular shape—came from my father. I even inherited the
darkness that lived in his soul, as I would learn later on.
My father wasn’t in my life, ever. Before I’d been born, Mother had killed
him. He had been beating her as he always did when he came home drunk, and
that last time was the final straw for her. She described with relish the look of
horror in his eyes as she revealed what she really was before she killed him.
Though she never said it to me, I suspected that—like the black widow spider—
she’d feasted on her lover’s remains, too.
We never went back to her country, India. When I asked her why, she would
say, “I had my Dreaming the next night after I had just killed your father and saw
my wereleopard mate was in India, but he had been killed by hunters.” She gave
a sad little smile. “I would have killed myself when the Dreaming let me know,
for when one mate perishes, the other does not want to live. But then, I found I
was pregnant with you. The last time the human raped me before I killed the
bastard, his seed had managed to take root in my womb. You kept me alive, my
darling son.”
I could never get her to tell me anything else. The subject remained closed.
Sapphire Phelan
http://www.sapphirephelan.com/
http://sapphirephelanspassioncorner.blogspot.com/ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SapphirePhelansParanormalNewsletter
http://twitter.com/SapphirePhelan
1. What's your genre or do you write in more than one?
I write erotic and sometimes sweet paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy and science fiction romance. I have also done erotic horror too—“Jack” in Sinister Tales Magazine and the Lovecraftian novella, Unwitting Sacrifice, published as an eBook and in paperback by Under the Moon.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
I choose it, though the erotic part choose me.
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Maybe mystery, though my current erotic paranormal romance (male/male) release, Dark Leopard Magic (second novella in the Beast Magic trilogy) from Phaze Books has elements of the mystery in it.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
Erotic and regular paranormal romance, historical romance, horror, science fiction, fantasy, dark fantasy, urban fantasy, Young Adult, romantic suspense, and other romances.
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
I’ve been writing since I was 8-years old. But I first was published (for poetry) in a magazine when I was seventeen and got paid for it, too!
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
That’s like asking a mother which is her favorite child. I admit a nudge toward Tina and Charun of my erotic urban fantasy, Being Familiar With a Witch. So much that I wrote a sequel that was accepted by Phaze Books, A Familiar Tangle With Hell.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
Yes, there are. Most of them anyway. In Being Familiar With a Witch, not just a demon army, but the demon leading them, Byleth. The names of most of the demons in this short novel came from a real demonology. In Dark Leopard Magic, there is some bad werewolves. Same goes for any of my writings. Most come out of my head, with some research even.
8. What are you working on now?
At the moment I put aside the third novella in the Beast Magic trilogy, Wolf Magic. But that is the current one—this one will have a werewolf hero, who was introduced in Dark Leopard Magic. Wolf Magic is male/female, like the first novella in the series, Beast Magic.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive?
When I began to write Dark Leopard Magic, it flowed out of me in first person (a departure from Beast Magic, which is in third person) from both heroes’ POV and as a male/male romance. It just seemed to speak to me that way.
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
I said it all about Dark Leopard Magic in Question #9.
In the Beginning
I’d always been different. I had a rough life, too. Well, not for the first part
of it, when my mother was still alive.
I don’t remember my birth, but then what child does? Not much afterwards,
either, not until I was three years old. Mother told me some details, and about my
father. It seemed that he wasn’t like her and me. He wasn’t a shapeshifter, but
human. He also was an American—she originated from India.
Guess you could say that I am a half-breed—half human, half wereleopard. I
took after my mother and was born a leopard, remaining a cub until I turned one
year old, and made my first change to my human body, just like most
shapeshifters.
The only things I inherited from her were my ink-black hair and amber yellow
eyes (wereleopards have these color eyes). Everything else—my pale
skin, height, and muscular shape—came from my father. I even inherited the
darkness that lived in his soul, as I would learn later on.
My father wasn’t in my life, ever. Before I’d been born, Mother had killed
him. He had been beating her as he always did when he came home drunk, and
that last time was the final straw for her. She described with relish the look of
horror in his eyes as she revealed what she really was before she killed him.
Though she never said it to me, I suspected that—like the black widow spider—
she’d feasted on her lover’s remains, too.
We never went back to her country, India. When I asked her why, she would
say, “I had my Dreaming the next night after I had just killed your father and saw
my wereleopard mate was in India, but he had been killed by hunters.” She gave
a sad little smile. “I would have killed myself when the Dreaming let me know,
for when one mate perishes, the other does not want to live. But then, I found I
was pregnant with you. The last time the human raped me before I killed the
bastard, his seed had managed to take root in my womb. You kept me alive, my
darling son.”
I could never get her to tell me anything else. The subject remained closed.
Sapphire Phelan
http://www.sapphirephelan.com/
http://sapphirephelanspassioncorner.blogspot.com/ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/SapphirePhelansParanormalNewsletter
http://twitter.com/SapphirePhelan
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
What does Exposition have to do with Plot
Exposition means giving information. Exposition means stepping away from the action of the story to do this. Exposition can be short or long. Think of books written in the past where there are paragraphs and pages of facts, sometimes more than you really care to read. This being the case, why use it at all? There are times when this must be done and times when the information can be brought in by other means. Or seemingly other means. What this means is exposition in disguise.
You can halt a scene to bring in the information or you can put the information within the scene. What kind of information tends to build to a blizzard. Research that you've done Research that has become so interesting you want to share it with the world. The characters' back stories that you need to know to bring them alive on the paper. Does the reader need to know every bit of what happened while they were growing up? Not really. The world where the story takes place and this doesn't mean just for fantasy or science fiction. There is the house, the street, the rooms where they exist. Some of this is needed but going on for pages about a bit of scenery will pull the reader out of the story. So how is this information given to the reader in short pieces that are easily digested?
First thing to remember is the plot comes first. Moving the characters from the start to a satisfactory ending is what one must concentrate on. Building the information into a scene is a good way to share with the reader. Place it as a small segment between scenes. Have one character explain to another. Use it as internal dialogue. Find a way to inject emotion into the information. This is something I used when one character had to warn his friends about ratis. These creatures akin to our rats have a substance in their saliva that causes wounds to continue bleeding. No one seems to know the cure but our character had been bitten and lived. His and his companions allowed a lot of information about these vermin to be shown without a long but of exposition.
You can halt a scene to bring in the information or you can put the information within the scene. What kind of information tends to build to a blizzard. Research that you've done Research that has become so interesting you want to share it with the world. The characters' back stories that you need to know to bring them alive on the paper. Does the reader need to know every bit of what happened while they were growing up? Not really. The world where the story takes place and this doesn't mean just for fantasy or science fiction. There is the house, the street, the rooms where they exist. Some of this is needed but going on for pages about a bit of scenery will pull the reader out of the story. So how is this information given to the reader in short pieces that are easily digested?
First thing to remember is the plot comes first. Moving the characters from the start to a satisfactory ending is what one must concentrate on. Building the information into a scene is a good way to share with the reader. Place it as a small segment between scenes. Have one character explain to another. Use it as internal dialogue. Find a way to inject emotion into the information. This is something I used when one character had to warn his friends about ratis. These creatures akin to our rats have a substance in their saliva that causes wounds to continue bleeding. No one seems to know the cure but our character had been bitten and lived. His and his companions allowed a lot of information about these vermin to be shown without a long but of exposition.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Inspired by Bird BY Bird
This section of the book is about The Writing Frame of mind. When I read the first short piece in this section, my mind wandered off on a tangent. Anne Lamott was speaking about paying attention and communicating what is going on. That brought to mind an incident that later became a short story called "A Small Smile." The incident and my observation during that brief moment has played in several of my stories. Not as it happened but what I learned from it.
As a new student nurse I was scared during the first time I worked with patients. We will not go into the comedy of errors that occurred but with an encounter with a patient. He'd had a leg amputated for gangrene and might lose more. Yet there as a special cheerfulness about him. As I was dashing around not accomplishing anything of use he called me aside. "Just smile. That's better medicine than anything the doctors or pain medicine can bring."
Those words were buried in my memory until I began to write. The patient became a dying man. The me became an older nurse who had no family or even close friends. She worked nights. The friendship that developed between the two became love but a love that wouldn't ever come to fruition. All that came from a short observation made by an eighteen year old frightened young woman.
That brings me back to the point of what I found in this essay. Keep your eyes and emotions open to the things you see around you. As a writer you never know what bits and pieces of real life you can twist and change to make a story work.
As a new student nurse I was scared during the first time I worked with patients. We will not go into the comedy of errors that occurred but with an encounter with a patient. He'd had a leg amputated for gangrene and might lose more. Yet there as a special cheerfulness about him. As I was dashing around not accomplishing anything of use he called me aside. "Just smile. That's better medicine than anything the doctors or pain medicine can bring."
Those words were buried in my memory until I began to write. The patient became a dying man. The me became an older nurse who had no family or even close friends. She worked nights. The friendship that developed between the two became love but a love that wouldn't ever come to fruition. All that came from a short observation made by an eighteen year old frightened young woman.
That brings me back to the point of what I found in this essay. Keep your eyes and emotions open to the things you see around you. As a writer you never know what bits and pieces of real life you can twist and change to make a story work.
Monday, April 4, 2011
4 April - Week Behind and Week Ahead
Yesterday I joined fellow authors, Chelle Cordero and Charmaine Gordon at the Haverstraw Alliance for the Arts to give a program. Though we had only four people attending their interest kept us able to talk for the entire two hours of the time on several aspects of writing. The interest was great and would love to see our small speaker's bureau of three find other venues to give our talks.
Last week writing went well and now am within 2000 words of ending the saga. Then it will be down to nits and picks another term for revision. I really love that part of the process and find it satisfying when one finds some bit to add or to take away that makes a scene stronger. Not everyone enjoys thispart of the writing process but to me it's fun.
During the week ahead, I'll finish that 2000 words. On the blog tomorrow will see Bird to Bird Inspirations, More on Plot, Thursday an interview with Sapphire Phelan, Friday nearing the end of Writer's tips from Becoming Your Own Critique Partner, Saturday, part of the first segment of All Our Yesterdays, Sunday, three blog visits. I've found two neat ones already. Also on Sunday I'll be signing books at the library in Warwick, NY.
Last week writing went well and now am within 2000 words of ending the saga. Then it will be down to nits and picks another term for revision. I really love that part of the process and find it satisfying when one finds some bit to add or to take away that makes a scene stronger. Not everyone enjoys thispart of the writing process but to me it's fun.
During the week ahead, I'll finish that 2000 words. On the blog tomorrow will see Bird to Bird Inspirations, More on Plot, Thursday an interview with Sapphire Phelan, Friday nearing the end of Writer's tips from Becoming Your Own Critique Partner, Saturday, part of the first segment of All Our Yesterdays, Sunday, three blog visits. I've found two neat ones already. Also on Sunday I'll be signing books at the library in Warwick, NY.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
3 Blog visit Sunday
Some interesting sites to visit.
http://clarionfoundation.wordpress.com/ Focus on science fiction and fantasy. An interesting article on linguistics.
http://historyundressed.blogspot.com/ interesting articles on historical things. Love potions was one I saw and about apothecaries.
http://www.savvyauthors.com/vb/content.php There is a wealth of information here.
http://clarionfoundation.wordpress.com/ Focus on science fiction and fantasy. An interesting article on linguistics.
http://historyundressed.blogspot.com/ interesting articles on historical things. Love potions was one I saw and about apothecaries.
http://www.savvyauthors.com/vb/content.php There is a wealth of information here.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
1st Chapter Saturday -- All Our Yesterdays
This is a reincarnation novel that was begun as a spicy serial and migrated into a book. I won't be publishing the whole first section since there are no chapters in the book. This week, we have the contemporary section. Next week there'll be a bit from Egypt.
EGYPT
In her rush to reach the ringing telephone, Astrid Logan nearly sprawled on the suitcases she'd left in the apartment hallway. She grabbed the receiver on the seventh ring. A deep voice spoke her name and her heart thudded in her chest. "Clive?" Had something happened to her father? Was there a problem at Antiquities?
"Been trying to reach you for hours. Where have you been?"
Astrid sucked in a breath. "Dad knows how to reach me at school." She sank to the floor. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's had a stroke."
"How is he?"
"Doctor believes he'll recover completely, but he'll need time in rehab."
"When did this happen and where?"
"This morning at the gallery. We were discussing the placement of several new pieces. He groaned and collapsed. Ambulance arrived maybe fifteen minutes later."
Astrid frowned. What was he holding back? Her father liked and trusted his younger assistant, but for no reason she could discover, Clive had always made her edgy. "Did they do tests?"
"CAT Scan. Then they gave him some kind of special IV. Guess this will make you change your summer plans."
"Why should it?" Clive had been her father's assistant at the gallery for a year and a half. He knew she spent every summer at Antiquities.
"Then you're really not coming."
"What are you talking about? I had planned to drive down tomorrow." Since she'd turned twelve, she'd spent every summer at the shop with her dad. In sixteen years, she knew as much about the shop as her father.
"Thought your dad said you wouldn't be here. Never mind. It's just ... I was going to move into his apartment."
"Why?"
"To keep an eye on the gallery."
Astrid frowned. That didn't make sense. The thirty-year-old playboy had an expensive co-op on the river. "Isn't there a sophisticated alarm system?"
"Alarms can be by-passed."
"Are there problems?"
"In a way. A few pieces have gone missing and your dad won't hear of calling the police."
"I see." She didn't, but once she was sure her father was recovering, she intended to check.
"When are you coming?"
"As soon as I pack the car."
"Imagine you'll arrive between five and six. I'll close the shop and meet you at the hospital."
"No need. I have keys. After I check on Dad, I'll stop by the gallery." She hung up and started to call the hospital. Why? It would be a futile gesture. They would merely confirm her father was a patient, but they wouldn't disclose the information she wanted.
She made a quick check of the nearly empty apartment. Her furniture was in storage until she found a place closer to the university where she would begin a graduate program in September.
Twenty minutes later, she'd packed the car. On the way out of town, she dropped the keys at the real estate agency and began the four-hour trip to Rockleigh, the Hudson River village where her father lived.
During the drive, she tried not to think about her father. If she didn't dwell on her fears, they wouldn't come true. Think positive, she told herself. She recalled her father's excitement over the changes he and Clive had made at Antiquities and the enthusiasm over a new customer. What would happen to the gallery if he wasn't there? She gripped the wheel and shifted mental gears.
Astrid parked in the hospital lot and stopped at the information desk. With a visitor's pass in hand, she went to the third floor and found her father's room. The odors, the moans and cries, the bustle of activity made her feel as though she'd entered an alien land. Her job as a school nurse held none of these scenes. She paused in the doorway of the semi-private room. One bed was empty. Her father lay in the window bed.
For a moment, she stared. How had he aged so much since the last time she'd seen him? Easter had been just two and a half months ago. During their weekly phone calls, he'd sounded the way he always had. She approached the bed, checked the intravenous site and the rate and looked at the oxygen meter on the wall. Seemed fine.
"Dad."
He opened his eyes and tried to smile. She took his hand. He spoke, but the words were so garbled she couldn't decipher them. Tears threatened. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
"Don't worry about Antiquities. I'll keep Clive in line. I'll have the records in order by the time you're back."
Her words seemed to give him peace. The lines around his mouth relaxed. Until the urge to cry grew too strong, she remained. "I'm going to the apartment, then the gallery. I'll be back this evening."
He mouthed a word.
"Good?" she asked.
He nodded.
Outside the room, she pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes. At the nurses' desk, she paused. "I'm Mr. Logan's daughter. How is he?"
A gray-haired woman looked up. "He's stable and responding to treatment. We were able to start things within hours after the stroke."
Astrid cleared her throat. "I'm a nurse." She asked a series of questions about the prognosis and course of treatment.
"You'll have to speak to his doctor."
"Who is?"
The nurse gave Astrid a name and phone number. "Thanks."
After paying the parking fee, she drove to Antiquities and pulled onto the paved area behind the building. As she took two suitcases from the trunk, Mrs. Rayson, her father's tenant and long-time friend, stepped onto the deck. "Astrid. I'm so glad you're here. That Clive said you weren't coming this summer."
"He misunderstood Dad. Probably confused my decision to resign my position at the school and go to grad school with my summer plans. You know how Dad sometimes carries on two discussions at once."
Mrs. Rayson laughed. "How true. What happened to Lloyd this morning was dreadful. I was so scared."
"Were you there?"
The older woman nodded. "Heard him arguing with Clive so I stepped in. Saw Lloyd collapse. Called 911. That Clive just stood and stared."
"Shock." Astrid started up the steps. Would Clive have called an ambulance? She chewed on her lower lip. She couldn't let her distrust of the man color her opinions.
"How is Lloyd? I wanted to visit, but wasn't sure if he was in Intensive Care or a regular room."
"I stopped by on my way here." Astrid sighed. "He looked so old and fragile."
Sarah Rayson hugged Astrid. "He'll be fine."
"Aunt Sarah, I'll take that as a prophecy. Let me unload the car. Then I need to check the gallery."
"Come to dinner. Around six."
"I'd like that. We can go see Dad together."
Astrid opened the door and stepped into the apartment's main room. She turned on the air conditioner. The large picture window showed a view of the river. Breakfast dishes were still on the counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the room. Stacks of books covered the couch, chairs and coffee table.
A groan escaped. Not only would she have to organize the gallery records, she'd have to make order here. She carried the suitcases to the small bedroom she used when she visited. At least the clutter hadn't invaded her space. After several trips to the car, she stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
What had caused Dad and Clive to quarrel? They seldom disagreed. Would Clive tell her?
When she entered Antiquities, she turned a full circle. The usual disorganized appearance had vanished. The enormous room was now broken into small areas. Dividers of wood and glass separated the displays.
"Astrid."
Clive strode toward her. The tall, blond man moved with a predatory grace. He looked like the Viking hero some of her acquaintances had dubbed him. He was handsome, but the coldness of his blue eyes made her wary. "Hello, Clive."
"You made good time. Have you seen your dad?"
"I stopped at the hospital." A sigh escaped. "I can't believe he had a stroke. He's always been so healthy."
Clive clasped her hands. "He's tough. Before long, he'll be back cluttering the place."
"Hope not. You've achieved wonders here." She tried to free her hands. He tugged her closer. "The apartment looks like a magpie's nest."
"Good description." He brushed her lips with his.
Astrid shook her head. She wanted to wipe her mouth. Would he start another pursuit this summer? "Let's stick to business. I like the arrangement of the stock."
"A suggestion from a new customer. Rich playboy type, but he has good taste. Garrett and your dad connected. Act like they've known each other for ages."
She crossed her arms on her chest. "Why were you and Dad arguing?"
He groaned. "Guess you talked to nosy Sarah. Was more like a heated discussion about displaying two new pieces he recently found. Bought this sealed box at a sale. Odd assortment."
"How odd?"
He laughed. "Nothing bad. Mostly a collection of Victorian jewelry and these two pieces. He wanted to research them before they were offered for sale. I wanted to price them immediately. You know how hard it is to date the things we acquire."
She nodded. "So where are they?"
"Most of the jewelry is in the vault and I can't get to them."
"I--" She cut off her response. She knew the code for the vault and would see what he meant in the morning.
He took her arm. "I'll show you the two pieces I kept out and introduce you to Paula Winters. She's photographing a number of our best pieces for a catalogue we're launching."
"Another suggestion from Dad's new friend?"
"In a way." He entered the Egyptian area. "Astrid, Paula Winters. Astrid is Lloyd's daughter. She's here for the summer, then it's back upstate."
Astrid didn't contradict him. Her plans weren't his business.
The woman turned. "Teacher?" She gazed at Clive.
"School nurse." Astrid read admiration in Paula's eyes. Did Clive return the interest? He usually went for petite and curvy. Paula was slim, almost boyish. The blunt cut of her shoulder-length auburn hair reminded Astrid of styles she'd seen on ancient Egyptian women.
Paula's crooked grin warmed Astrid. "Glad to finally meet you. Your dad talks a lot about you."
"Don't believe everything he's said. What are you photographing today?" Astrid asked.
"Starting with the Egyptian collection. The new pieces are stunning. Clive thinks it's a good idea to have a visual record of the things in the shop."
Astrid turned to Clive. "Then there is a problem."
"I told you several pieces were missing."
"Thieves?"
"I hope not, but this has been going on since right after Easter."
Astrid frowned. Why hadn't Dad mentioned the problem? She edged toward the stand where a necklace and crown were displayed on a black velvet cloth. Where had she seen these pieces before? The necklace resembled a wide collar. Semi-circles of a pale gold metal were inlaid with lapis. From the last row, carnelians dangled. The headband of the same metal had flowers of inlaid lapis with carnelian centers.
"Are these the items you and Dad argued about?"
Clive nodded. "He wanted to put them in the vault."
"Why have you displayed them?"
"One, I can't open the vault and two, they're too attractive to hide."
Astrid brushed a finger over one of the dangles. Sadness washed over her. As though under a spell, she lifted the necklace. Waves of dizziness rocked her.
EGYPT
In her rush to reach the ringing telephone, Astrid Logan nearly sprawled on the suitcases she'd left in the apartment hallway. She grabbed the receiver on the seventh ring. A deep voice spoke her name and her heart thudded in her chest. "Clive?" Had something happened to her father? Was there a problem at Antiquities?
"Been trying to reach you for hours. Where have you been?"
Astrid sucked in a breath. "Dad knows how to reach me at school." She sank to the floor. "What's wrong with him?"
"He's had a stroke."
"How is he?"
"Doctor believes he'll recover completely, but he'll need time in rehab."
"When did this happen and where?"
"This morning at the gallery. We were discussing the placement of several new pieces. He groaned and collapsed. Ambulance arrived maybe fifteen minutes later."
Astrid frowned. What was he holding back? Her father liked and trusted his younger assistant, but for no reason she could discover, Clive had always made her edgy. "Did they do tests?"
"CAT Scan. Then they gave him some kind of special IV. Guess this will make you change your summer plans."
"Why should it?" Clive had been her father's assistant at the gallery for a year and a half. He knew she spent every summer at Antiquities.
"Then you're really not coming."
"What are you talking about? I had planned to drive down tomorrow." Since she'd turned twelve, she'd spent every summer at the shop with her dad. In sixteen years, she knew as much about the shop as her father.
"Thought your dad said you wouldn't be here. Never mind. It's just ... I was going to move into his apartment."
"Why?"
"To keep an eye on the gallery."
Astrid frowned. That didn't make sense. The thirty-year-old playboy had an expensive co-op on the river. "Isn't there a sophisticated alarm system?"
"Alarms can be by-passed."
"Are there problems?"
"In a way. A few pieces have gone missing and your dad won't hear of calling the police."
"I see." She didn't, but once she was sure her father was recovering, she intended to check.
"When are you coming?"
"As soon as I pack the car."
"Imagine you'll arrive between five and six. I'll close the shop and meet you at the hospital."
"No need. I have keys. After I check on Dad, I'll stop by the gallery." She hung up and started to call the hospital. Why? It would be a futile gesture. They would merely confirm her father was a patient, but they wouldn't disclose the information she wanted.
She made a quick check of the nearly empty apartment. Her furniture was in storage until she found a place closer to the university where she would begin a graduate program in September.
Twenty minutes later, she'd packed the car. On the way out of town, she dropped the keys at the real estate agency and began the four-hour trip to Rockleigh, the Hudson River village where her father lived.
During the drive, she tried not to think about her father. If she didn't dwell on her fears, they wouldn't come true. Think positive, she told herself. She recalled her father's excitement over the changes he and Clive had made at Antiquities and the enthusiasm over a new customer. What would happen to the gallery if he wasn't there? She gripped the wheel and shifted mental gears.
Astrid parked in the hospital lot and stopped at the information desk. With a visitor's pass in hand, she went to the third floor and found her father's room. The odors, the moans and cries, the bustle of activity made her feel as though she'd entered an alien land. Her job as a school nurse held none of these scenes. She paused in the doorway of the semi-private room. One bed was empty. Her father lay in the window bed.
For a moment, she stared. How had he aged so much since the last time she'd seen him? Easter had been just two and a half months ago. During their weekly phone calls, he'd sounded the way he always had. She approached the bed, checked the intravenous site and the rate and looked at the oxygen meter on the wall. Seemed fine.
"Dad."
He opened his eyes and tried to smile. She took his hand. He spoke, but the words were so garbled she couldn't decipher them. Tears threatened. She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
"Don't worry about Antiquities. I'll keep Clive in line. I'll have the records in order by the time you're back."
Her words seemed to give him peace. The lines around his mouth relaxed. Until the urge to cry grew too strong, she remained. "I'm going to the apartment, then the gallery. I'll be back this evening."
He mouthed a word.
"Good?" she asked.
He nodded.
Outside the room, she pulled a tissue from her bag and wiped her eyes. At the nurses' desk, she paused. "I'm Mr. Logan's daughter. How is he?"
A gray-haired woman looked up. "He's stable and responding to treatment. We were able to start things within hours after the stroke."
Astrid cleared her throat. "I'm a nurse." She asked a series of questions about the prognosis and course of treatment.
"You'll have to speak to his doctor."
"Who is?"
The nurse gave Astrid a name and phone number. "Thanks."
After paying the parking fee, she drove to Antiquities and pulled onto the paved area behind the building. As she took two suitcases from the trunk, Mrs. Rayson, her father's tenant and long-time friend, stepped onto the deck. "Astrid. I'm so glad you're here. That Clive said you weren't coming this summer."
"He misunderstood Dad. Probably confused my decision to resign my position at the school and go to grad school with my summer plans. You know how Dad sometimes carries on two discussions at once."
Mrs. Rayson laughed. "How true. What happened to Lloyd this morning was dreadful. I was so scared."
"Were you there?"
The older woman nodded. "Heard him arguing with Clive so I stepped in. Saw Lloyd collapse. Called 911. That Clive just stood and stared."
"Shock." Astrid started up the steps. Would Clive have called an ambulance? She chewed on her lower lip. She couldn't let her distrust of the man color her opinions.
"How is Lloyd? I wanted to visit, but wasn't sure if he was in Intensive Care or a regular room."
"I stopped by on my way here." Astrid sighed. "He looked so old and fragile."
Sarah Rayson hugged Astrid. "He'll be fine."
"Aunt Sarah, I'll take that as a prophecy. Let me unload the car. Then I need to check the gallery."
"Come to dinner. Around six."
"I'd like that. We can go see Dad together."
Astrid opened the door and stepped into the apartment's main room. She turned on the air conditioner. The large picture window showed a view of the river. Breakfast dishes were still on the counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the room. Stacks of books covered the couch, chairs and coffee table.
A groan escaped. Not only would she have to organize the gallery records, she'd have to make order here. She carried the suitcases to the small bedroom she used when she visited. At least the clutter hadn't invaded her space. After several trips to the car, she stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.
What had caused Dad and Clive to quarrel? They seldom disagreed. Would Clive tell her?
When she entered Antiquities, she turned a full circle. The usual disorganized appearance had vanished. The enormous room was now broken into small areas. Dividers of wood and glass separated the displays.
"Astrid."
Clive strode toward her. The tall, blond man moved with a predatory grace. He looked like the Viking hero some of her acquaintances had dubbed him. He was handsome, but the coldness of his blue eyes made her wary. "Hello, Clive."
"You made good time. Have you seen your dad?"
"I stopped at the hospital." A sigh escaped. "I can't believe he had a stroke. He's always been so healthy."
Clive clasped her hands. "He's tough. Before long, he'll be back cluttering the place."
"Hope not. You've achieved wonders here." She tried to free her hands. He tugged her closer. "The apartment looks like a magpie's nest."
"Good description." He brushed her lips with his.
Astrid shook her head. She wanted to wipe her mouth. Would he start another pursuit this summer? "Let's stick to business. I like the arrangement of the stock."
"A suggestion from a new customer. Rich playboy type, but he has good taste. Garrett and your dad connected. Act like they've known each other for ages."
She crossed her arms on her chest. "Why were you and Dad arguing?"
He groaned. "Guess you talked to nosy Sarah. Was more like a heated discussion about displaying two new pieces he recently found. Bought this sealed box at a sale. Odd assortment."
"How odd?"
He laughed. "Nothing bad. Mostly a collection of Victorian jewelry and these two pieces. He wanted to research them before they were offered for sale. I wanted to price them immediately. You know how hard it is to date the things we acquire."
She nodded. "So where are they?"
"Most of the jewelry is in the vault and I can't get to them."
"I--" She cut off her response. She knew the code for the vault and would see what he meant in the morning.
He took her arm. "I'll show you the two pieces I kept out and introduce you to Paula Winters. She's photographing a number of our best pieces for a catalogue we're launching."
"Another suggestion from Dad's new friend?"
"In a way." He entered the Egyptian area. "Astrid, Paula Winters. Astrid is Lloyd's daughter. She's here for the summer, then it's back upstate."
Astrid didn't contradict him. Her plans weren't his business.
The woman turned. "Teacher?" She gazed at Clive.
"School nurse." Astrid read admiration in Paula's eyes. Did Clive return the interest? He usually went for petite and curvy. Paula was slim, almost boyish. The blunt cut of her shoulder-length auburn hair reminded Astrid of styles she'd seen on ancient Egyptian women.
Paula's crooked grin warmed Astrid. "Glad to finally meet you. Your dad talks a lot about you."
"Don't believe everything he's said. What are you photographing today?" Astrid asked.
"Starting with the Egyptian collection. The new pieces are stunning. Clive thinks it's a good idea to have a visual record of the things in the shop."
Astrid turned to Clive. "Then there is a problem."
"I told you several pieces were missing."
"Thieves?"
"I hope not, but this has been going on since right after Easter."
Astrid frowned. Why hadn't Dad mentioned the problem? She edged toward the stand where a necklace and crown were displayed on a black velvet cloth. Where had she seen these pieces before? The necklace resembled a wide collar. Semi-circles of a pale gold metal were inlaid with lapis. From the last row, carnelians dangled. The headband of the same metal had flowers of inlaid lapis with carnelian centers.
"Are these the items you and Dad argued about?"
Clive nodded. "He wanted to put them in the vault."
"Why have you displayed them?"
"One, I can't open the vault and two, they're too attractive to hide."
Astrid brushed a finger over one of the dangles. Sadness washed over her. As though under a spell, she lifted the necklace. Waves of dizziness rocked her.
Friday, April 1, 2011
16 Hints on the Why inspired by Becoming Your Own Partner
Motivations are what make the stories go. Without characters who have reasons for their actions there would be no story. A character whose motivations don't suit the plot will make the story go flat. If the writer chooses a character bent on revenge and puts that character in a romantic comedy the reader will scratch their head. So...
Motivations must be equal to the goal. They can be either good or bad.
1 Motivations explain the character's actions
2. Motivations fit the plot.
Motivations are many things but the main ones are.
3. Internal
4. Can be internalized
5. Often contain secrets the character fears will be revealed.
6. Are often layered.
7. Goad the character into action.
Motivations lead to goals. With out a reason to desire something a character has no reason to reach for anything. There are many goals but they can usually be fitted into one of the following categories.
8. Survival
9. Love
10. Emotional or spiritual comfort
11. Power
12. Social acceptance
After looking at your character's reasons and selecting the goal how are these shown?
13. Reaction
14. Actions
15. Dialogue
16. Inner thoughts
Motivations must be equal to the goal. They can be either good or bad.
1 Motivations explain the character's actions
2. Motivations fit the plot.
Motivations are many things but the main ones are.
3. Internal
4. Can be internalized
5. Often contain secrets the character fears will be revealed.
6. Are often layered.
7. Goad the character into action.
Motivations lead to goals. With out a reason to desire something a character has no reason to reach for anything. There are many goals but they can usually be fitted into one of the following categories.
8. Survival
9. Love
10. Emotional or spiritual comfort
11. Power
12. Social acceptance
After looking at your character's reasons and selecting the goal how are these shown?
13. Reaction
14. Actions
15. Dialogue
16. Inner thoughts
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday's Interview - Pamela Kinney
Today's interview is with Pamela Kinney, another eclectic writer. I met her at EPICon in Williamsburg this year and enjoyed learning about her various journeys in the fictional world.
I write horror, urban fantasy, Y.A. (writing on a YA paranormal now), science fiction, fantasy, poetry, and nonfiction ghost books.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
I write what I like to read.
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Maybe mystery one day. I have no interest to do literary fiction.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
Horror, urban fantasy, Y.A., science fiction, fantasy, poetry, paranormal romance, historical romance, romance, and nonfiction ghost books.
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
I have been making up stories since I was eight years old, but was first published when I was 17, for three poems, “The Horse,” “Leopard,” and “Sands of Time” in Hyacinths and Biscuits Poetry magazine. I was paid for them, which was cool to a teenager. Several months later the magazine published another three poems of mine.
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
Of my fiction? Gosh, most of those are short stories, though I do have an urban fantasy now to start querying agents on. I think in the U.F. it would be Larry, the demon shaped like a large eyeball (size of a poodle). He gives new meaning in there’s now eye drops in Hell. Of my short stories in Spectre Nightmares and Visitations, it would be the werewolf in ‘Werewolf for Hire” and the alien ‘redneck’ in “Redneck.” Actually, I like all the characters in my short stories. It’s like asking a mother to pick a favorite child.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
There is in my unpublished urban fantasy—mainly, demons, and an angel gone bad. In my horror stories, there are a lot of scary “villains” in my tales.
8. What are you working on now?
A Young Adult paranormal/urban fantasy, plus the last edits and getting it altogether, my last and fourth nonfiction ghost book, Haunted Richmond II, to be sent off to Schiffer Publishing by beginning of April 2011.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive?
Spectre Nightmares and Visitations. I had some stories that been published in magazines, anthologies, and online zines and the rights to them mine again, plus loads of new stories. So when my editor at Under the Moon asked for something from me, Pamela K. Kinney, and not my pseudonym, Sapphire Phelan, I sent her the collection.
In July 2011, I will have a new nonfiction ghost book released, Haunted Historic Triangle: Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations published by Schiffer Publishing (www.schifferbooks.com).
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
Since Spectre Nightmares and Visitations is it, giving you not the first page, which is about it, but the poem, “Been Warned” and the first short story, “Werewolf for Hire.”
Been Warned
Darkness roamed
like a threadbare black cat—
Bad luck for the luckless.
No moon lighting my path,
Stars neither,
Only the whisper
of a cool autumn breeze.
I hurried home,
but slipped on damp rocks.
Caught myself
just in
time; pushed on.
Roots snaked out
hooked my ankle,
Damn it!
tripped me,
knocked the breath out.
Scrabbled to my knees. . .
What the hell. . .
A rancid odor on the night air,
Like something dead
for a long, long time.
They’d warned me
back at the bar.
Told me to beware,
Other innocents on
other nights,
stolen away:
never seen again.
No evidence,
no bodies.
They say whatever,
whoever
behind those other nights,
still waited for
another victim.
No one in the village
ever left
the safety of indoors,
when night slithered in.
Except, one foolish hiker
who didn’t believe,
not in urban legends.
At least . . .
not until now.
Werewolf for Hire
It was after sunset and the unemployment office was still open. A tall young man with long brown hair walked in. He went up to an empty window where on the other side an unemployment clerk stood, looking bored. The clerk looked up when he heard the footsteps stop and smiled automatically.
“How may I help you?”
“I need a job,” the young man said.
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Your qualifications?”
“Well... I’m five-hundred years old. I like to howl at the full moon, eat little children–they’re sweeter-tasting than adults–dance in graveyards, and, in general... be the werewolf I am!”
“Yeah-right! Sir, your teeth look a little sharp. I really think you need to see a dentist.”
“Oh, for those good old days! That’s when I used to go to parties at the mausoleum, dance with other werewolves and she-ghouls, and have a howling good time.”
“Sir, you seem to be getting hairy. I think you need a shave.”
The young man sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
“I really need a job. It’s hard to be scary these days. It used to be that I would just howl, and people would get the shivers. But nowadays if I howl all I ever get is an old shoe thrown at me.”
“Sir, you’re getting a tail–I think.”
“I’m a has-been, a–”
“I do believe I see a full moon rising,” the clerk broke in with a frown etched on his face, “and by my watch it’s also time to close. Let me get another appointment for you.”
The loup-garou, whose shape seemed to be changing, and long silky hair sprouting over his face and body, stared out a nearby window. The sky had deepened into shadows of the night, an unrelenting shade of black. The only light that bathed the scene came from the round yellow moon that risen high in the sky. The shape shifter’s face longitudinally metamorphosed into a wolfish snout. He turned back to the clerk writing on an appointment card and who seem unaware of what was transpiring.
“Sir, I think it’s time for you to leave, but here’s an appointment time for you to come–”
“Grrrrrrrrrrrr–”
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
* * *
The unemployment clerk patted his bulging belly and picked his teeth with a toothpick. He completely changed into a large black wolf that loped away, leaving the building. The doors closed shut behind him, locking securely for the night.
Pamela K. Kinney
http://FantasticDreams.50megs.com
http://PamelaKKinney.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/people/Pamela-K-Kinney/100000470673866
Be prepared to take a journey into Pamela K. Kinney's fantastic dreams of horror, science fiction and fantasy, plus the ghosts and legends of two nonfiction ghost books, Haunted Richmond, Virginia and Haunted Virginia: Legends, Myths and True Tales.
I write horror, urban fantasy, Y.A. (writing on a YA paranormal now), science fiction, fantasy, poetry, and nonfiction ghost books.
2. Did you choose your genre or did it choose you?
I write what I like to read.
3. Is there any genre you'd like to try? Or is there one you wouldn't?
Maybe mystery one day. I have no interest to do literary fiction.
4. What fiction do you read for pleasure?
Horror, urban fantasy, Y.A., science fiction, fantasy, poetry, paranormal romance, historical romance, romance, and nonfiction ghost books.
5. Tell me a bit about yourself and how long you've been writing,
I have been making up stories since I was eight years old, but was first published when I was 17, for three poems, “The Horse,” “Leopard,” and “Sands of Time” in Hyacinths and Biscuits Poetry magazine. I was paid for them, which was cool to a teenager. Several months later the magazine published another three poems of mine.
6. Which of your characters is your favorite?
Of my fiction? Gosh, most of those are short stories, though I do have an urban fantasy now to start querying agents on. I think in the U.F. it would be Larry, the demon shaped like a large eyeball (size of a poodle). He gives new meaning in there’s now eye drops in Hell. Of my short stories in Spectre Nightmares and Visitations, it would be the werewolf in ‘Werewolf for Hire” and the alien ‘redneck’ in “Redneck.” Actually, I like all the characters in my short stories. It’s like asking a mother to pick a favorite child.
7. Are there villains in your books and how were they created?
There is in my unpublished urban fantasy—mainly, demons, and an angel gone bad. In my horror stories, there are a lot of scary “villains” in my tales.
8. What are you working on now?
A Young Adult paranormal/urban fantasy, plus the last edits and getting it altogether, my last and fourth nonfiction ghost book, Haunted Richmond II, to be sent off to Schiffer Publishing by beginning of April 2011.
9. What's your latest release and how did the idea arrive?
Spectre Nightmares and Visitations. I had some stories that been published in magazines, anthologies, and online zines and the rights to them mine again, plus loads of new stories. So when my editor at Under the Moon asked for something from me, Pamela K. Kinney, and not my pseudonym, Sapphire Phelan, I sent her the collection.
In July 2011, I will have a new nonfiction ghost book released, Haunted Historic Triangle: Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown, and Other Haunted Locations published by Schiffer Publishing (www.schifferbooks.com).
10. Tell me about your latest book and how it came about. Enclose the opening of the book around 400 words.
Since Spectre Nightmares and Visitations is it, giving you not the first page, which is about it, but the poem, “Been Warned” and the first short story, “Werewolf for Hire.”
Been Warned
Darkness roamed
like a threadbare black cat—
Bad luck for the luckless.
No moon lighting my path,
Stars neither,
Only the whisper
of a cool autumn breeze.
I hurried home,
but slipped on damp rocks.
Caught myself
just in
time; pushed on.
Roots snaked out
hooked my ankle,
Damn it!
tripped me,
knocked the breath out.
Scrabbled to my knees. . .
What the hell. . .
A rancid odor on the night air,
Like something dead
for a long, long time.
They’d warned me
back at the bar.
Told me to beware,
Other innocents on
other nights,
stolen away:
never seen again.
No evidence,
no bodies.
They say whatever,
whoever
behind those other nights,
still waited for
another victim.
No one in the village
ever left
the safety of indoors,
when night slithered in.
Except, one foolish hiker
who didn’t believe,
not in urban legends.
At least . . .
not until now.
Werewolf for Hire
It was after sunset and the unemployment office was still open. A tall young man with long brown hair walked in. He went up to an empty window where on the other side an unemployment clerk stood, looking bored. The clerk looked up when he heard the footsteps stop and smiled automatically.
“How may I help you?”
“I need a job,” the young man said.
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Your qualifications?”
“Well... I’m five-hundred years old. I like to howl at the full moon, eat little children–they’re sweeter-tasting than adults–dance in graveyards, and, in general... be the werewolf I am!”
“Yeah-right! Sir, your teeth look a little sharp. I really think you need to see a dentist.”
“Oh, for those good old days! That’s when I used to go to parties at the mausoleum, dance with other werewolves and she-ghouls, and have a howling good time.”
“Sir, you seem to be getting hairy. I think you need a shave.”
The young man sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
“I really need a job. It’s hard to be scary these days. It used to be that I would just howl, and people would get the shivers. But nowadays if I howl all I ever get is an old shoe thrown at me.”
“Sir, you’re getting a tail–I think.”
“I’m a has-been, a–”
“I do believe I see a full moon rising,” the clerk broke in with a frown etched on his face, “and by my watch it’s also time to close. Let me get another appointment for you.”
The loup-garou, whose shape seemed to be changing, and long silky hair sprouting over his face and body, stared out a nearby window. The sky had deepened into shadows of the night, an unrelenting shade of black. The only light that bathed the scene came from the round yellow moon that risen high in the sky. The shape shifter’s face longitudinally metamorphosed into a wolfish snout. He turned back to the clerk writing on an appointment card and who seem unaware of what was transpiring.
“Sir, I think it’s time for you to leave, but here’s an appointment time for you to come–”
“Grrrrrrrrrrrr–”
“Ahhhhhhhhh!”
* * *
The unemployment clerk patted his bulging belly and picked his teeth with a toothpick. He completely changed into a large black wolf that loped away, leaving the building. The doors closed shut behind him, locking securely for the night.
Pamela K. Kinney
http://FantasticDreams.50megs.com
http://PamelaKKinney.blogspot.com
http://www.facebook.com/people/Pamela-K-Kinney/100000470673866
Be prepared to take a journey into Pamela K. Kinney's fantastic dreams of horror, science fiction and fantasy, plus the ghosts and legends of two nonfiction ghost books, Haunted Richmond, Virginia and Haunted Virginia: Legends, Myths and True Tales.
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