Joely Sue Burkhart

Someone pass me the toothpicks to prop my eyelids open!  I’m so groggy this morning.  We had storms last night, and all three monsters ended up in our room along with a shaking dog.  The dog and MM ended up in bed with us.  The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. and I wanted to die. 

I got up, but I can’t say that I got a significant amount of work done.  I’m so tired!  YAWN.  Two cups of coffee and I still can hardly string words together to get a sentence.  Today at the EDJ will be exciting, because I’m swamped there, too.

So dark and early was a bit of a bust this morning, although I did get another 500 or so words.  Must make more coffee….

As for Hell’s Kitchen last night, I was so ticked off when the three snobs voted Julia, the short order cook, as one of the two for elimination.  I could not believe Jen tried to take food out of the garbage and serve it!!!  I mean, how many times has this happened in a real restaurant?  The thought is enough to make me barf.  Anyway, I was proud of her when she stepped forward and offered herself for that mistake.  Thankfully, Gordon recognized Julia’s skills and sent her back to her team.  Come on, ladies.  Julia helped you WIN the breakfast challenge singlehandedly!  So what if she doesn’t know how to make creme brulee yet–give her a chance!  And thank God Aaron is finally gone.  What a weak, whiny pitifiul excuse for a cook!

Still not getting my 1K a day, about half that, actually, but I finally eeked over the 10K mark.  The Fire Within sits at 10,141 this morning after a Dark and Early session.  I plan on hitting it early each morning this week to get as much done as possible before our weekend in St. Louis.

Sometimes I have to sacrifice sleep to get my writing in.  This is one of those weeks.  Our summer schedule is just too wacky right now.  Work is crazy.  Lots of meetings and reading documentation and creation documentation, which tends to weary me into not feeling like dragging my own story out at night.  Hence the change in schedule.  I’ll do it first!  Assuming I can drag my sleepy ass out of bed.

Oddly (at least for me), I still haven’t had a love scene in this story yet.  I’m nearing one, which may help or hurt the turtle pace I’ve established. 

How was your week?

I hope That Man enjoyed his day, because I’m exhausted.  Yesterday, we drove over to the lake AGAIN to see his family AGAIN only this time both of his brothers and their families made it too.  The kids had a great time swimming, while I helped MIL in the kitchen.  I don’t think that was a very fair trade off. 

Today, my Dad and my Beloved Sis came over.  We stayed home from church and cleaned for company after sleeping in a little.  I had planned to do hamburgers for an early dinner, but at the last minute, That Man decided we should just eat out.  So we tried a new Mexican place we’ve been waiting to check out, and it was pretty good if not diet friendly.  The kids played in the sprinklers and wrestled Papa around, while I folded laundry.  Then I made a killer Monkey Bread, if I do say so myself.  The secret is to cut up those biscuits and soak each piece in lots of butter.  Time consuming, but well worth the effort.

To top the night off, we put the Hip Hop Ab tape in with PM to “assist” and laughed ourselves silly.  We did about 10 minutes without keeling over.  Then the two littlest monsters heard us laughing and snuck out of bed for their try.  We promised to do it again tomorrow night before they go to bed.  Should be hysterical as long as no one has a coronary.

Next weekend will be even busier, since That Man’s Dad is having surgery this week in St. Louis.  We plan to drive over Friday night and spend the weekend in a hotel, assuming he’s still in the hospital (surgery is scheduled for Tuesday morning).  I think I need a vacation to recover from vacation.

Some ”The Rest of the Story” elements:

1. the alien species Quag came from “quagmire”, since their planet is swampy.  Kermit’s name is hard for Rackman to pronounce, but it sounds a little like Kermit, and well, he does look like a man-sized frog! 
2. Fen-Ddai:  keeping the swamp theme, I chose Fen.  Then I added “ddai” = “die” as a subtle clue to what happened there when Rackman’s people began their genocide.
3. Im-Muir is the name of a prison, from the word “immure” to enclose within walls or imprison.
4. The underlying premise is about hate, hope, forgiveness, and redemption.
5. Obsession for the ship’s name is rather obvious, reinforcing Rackman’s story goal.  As well as “Hope’s Haven” and Hope Brennan’s name.  Even Briggs’ name is slang for “brig”, prison, to reflect the premise and what hatred does to us.
6. There was a historical pirate named Calico Jack Rackham who inspired Rackman.  I pictured him as the Colonel in Sense and Sensibility, played by Alan Rickman, which also influenced the protagonist’s name.

If you missed it, week one is here.  Since the next two sections are relatively brief, I’m including them both today.

“You have your target.” Rackman waited for each of the four crewmen to nod. He only hoped the dockmaster was telling the truth about the presence of a certain crate from Tentar. “Grab your target and exit as quickly as possible. Remember our code. Shoot only as a last resort, and anyone who kills other than to protect our crew or ship will lose their share of the bounty.”

With his nod, Frank lit the laztorch and in seconds cut a hole in the frigate’s hull. “Let’s go.”

Leading the way, Rackman scanned for armed guards. Two. He stunned the one running toward the intercom and Frank nailed the other. Their docking position was perfect, with the main hold before them.

His crewmen split off in different directions, using their comms to locate their quarry. Rack didn’t need specifics; they were emblazoned in his head. He trotted through the maze of barrels and crates to grid H2. The white plaz pod caught his gaze immediately, glowing like a beacon on a stack of boxes marked mining samples.

A quick touch of each heel to the inside of the other boot sent razorblades shooting out the tips. Kicking and stabbing his way up the boxes using the blades for footholds, he climbed up enough to reach the pod and stuck it beneath his arm, cradling it against his body.

Jumping down, he barely heard Frank’s check-in. His heart pounded too loudly.

“Captain, all targets acquired.”

His hands trembled. It took all his control to leave the pod unopened beneath his arm. Besides, he would likely need his research materials in his quarters. He must be absolutely sure. Hundred-year-old mysteries were not magically solved. “Copy. Return home.”

Running back onto his ship, he forced himself to observe the successful and speedy detachment of the Obsession and the opening of the other crates. The boarding party did well enough, but by the grim lines of their faces, they weren’t pleased.

“This is it?” Briggs frowned. Rackman could hear the creaky wheels turning in his head as he added up the market value. “A few crates of antibiotics and foodstores. That’s it?”

“The best pick of the frigate’s hold.” Rackman made his voice deliberately pleasant. Casually, he extended a foot and studied the blade protruding from his boot. “I’m not claiming a portion of this haul, so that increases the crew’s portion. Antibiotics don’t sell as well as painkillers, but it’s still a worthy amount.”

Even Frank, who flew on the Obsession over a year, clutched his hands into fists at his sides and glared at him. “You risked our lives for this?”

Clutching the precious pod tighter beneath his arm, Rackman tapped the tops of his boots and sent the blades sliding soundlessly back into their hiding place. “There was no more risk than usual.”

“And exactly why is the hyperdrive inoperable, then?” Briggs raised his voice. “When I signed on, you promised high returns, significant hauls. This… This is nothing! At this rate, it’ll take me twenty years to buy my own ship!”

Frank gave a hard stare at the pod. “What’s your share, Captain?”

Smoothing his face, Rackman shrugged. “Just a pod containing some old books. You know I love to add to my collection every chance I get.”

“If you risked our lives for a moldy old book–”

Rackman stepped into the other man’s space. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t make threats. All he did was let the years of hardship, torture, and suffering darken his eyes. The many deaths bloodying his hands.

Frank turned away and jerked his head to the rest of the party. “Get the booty stored. Let’s get out of here before the cavalry arrives.”

Blandly, Rackman nodded. He wasn’t proud of his past, but it sometimes worked to his advantage, even when his men didn’t know the full story. “Use the secondary engines until the hyperdrive is up.”

“Course?” Briggs asked shakily.

“Anywhere for now.” Rackman’s pulse raced at the thought of the pod, and the location that would hopefully be revealed. “I’ll change our course as needed in a few hours.”

To Hope’s Haven.

#

Rackman slammed his fist on the table. Thrusting his chair backward so hard it bounced into the wall, he paced the small cabin, his mind stuffed with inconsequential details.

Kermit whistled softly. “No Hope?”

“If the location of New Haven is there, I don’t understand it.” Dropping back into his chair, Rackman raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve read every single one of her journals, finally this last one. I’ve read every single theory and collected hint relating to the legend. With my own eyes, I’ve seen the port of origin their colonization ship left from. I’ve read every passenger’s background. Every piece of the puzzle is right here in front of me, and I still don’t know where Hope’s Haven is.”

“What if Hope’s Haven is only a legend, as you say? A galaxy hoax?”

“No.” Rackman ground his teeth at the thought of such a vile betrayal. “It’s not a hoax. I’ve proven too many details. Hope Brennan did exist. She was ship’s doctor for the Orion out of Tentar ninety seven years ago. She was real. The ship was real. It truly was lost in space. Her journals are real–even fifty years ago someone verified her handwriting using her patient notes. Hope was real, is real, and I’m going to find her!”

“Odd, a woman writing by hand in that day and age.” Kermit made a low tinkling sound that Rackman knew was supposed to soothe him. It did, despite his determination not to be swayed. “Few used such archaic writing implements so long ago, let alone today.”

“Hope was… is special,” Rackman retorted. “She lost a patient database on Tentar, all her notes, all her research. Ultimately, she blamed the epidemic and her failure to contain it on the lack of hardcopy notes. Afterward, she always wrote by hand and then scanned all her personal correspondence.”

“You sound as if you know her.”

“I do, in a way.” Sighing, he bowed his head. “She’s so strong, so fierce in her determination to live.”

Determination he himself lacked for so long. If he didn’t have the galaxy legend of Hope’s final resting place to tantalize him, he would have given up on life long ago. It was the least he could do, considering how many lives he’d wrongfully taken.

Betrayed by his government, lied to, brainwashed, he killed thousands of Quags to avenge his brother, only to learn the truth. The most precious thing on the Quag swampy homeworld? Coal. Fuel. Enough for extermination of an entire planet, initiated by his own brother.

When Rackman tried to stop the atrocity, his own government imprisoned him for war crimes, deliberately in the same prison as the few surviving Quags. It should have been a fitting end for the Butcher, slaughtered in Im-Muir by the very race he helped murder.

Kermit whistled again. “Not your fault, Rack. Even I have forgiven you. Why do you not forgive yourself?”

“There is no forgiveness.” Pain clutched Rackman’s lungs in a vise. He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “Not when so many are dead and the Butcher of Fen-Ddai still lives.”

A sharp note from Kermit made him wince. “Fen-Ddai. Yes. But you paid the price in full in the years you spent in Im-Muir. The rest should be paid by your government, not you. Prison enough.”

Rackman stroked the thick, raw scar on his cheek. “Not enough. I’m still alive.”

“Barely.” Kermit patted him on the back, an extremely rare sign of respect and friendship. Quags very rarely touched anybody, let alone a human. “Find your Hope, my friend. If anyone can, you will. Fraud or not, she keeps you alive.”

“If Hope Brennan is a fraud, then I’ll get busy dying.”

Thirteen Ways I Get Story Ideas One of the writing lists I’m on had a weekly talk prompt today about where we get our ideas.  Since there’s so many, I thought it was the perfect opportunity for TT! 1. Other really good or unique books.  No plagerism–don’t get me wrong–but inspiration.  Wow, I never thought of what it would be like for vampires and shapeshifters to exist in modern day St. Louis with a main character known as The Executioner.  (Laurell K. Hamilton)  This includes myths and fairy tales.  I LOVE mythology of all kinds. 2. Other really bad books.  You know, the “I can’t believe this got published!  I can write waaaaay better than that!” 3. Really good movies.  Just watching Jane Eyre gives me goose bumps and I want to whip out a historical RIGHT NOW. 4. Really bad movies.  Underworld.  I created vamps and shifters the “right” way (in my not so humble opinion!) in Beautiful Death as a result. 5. Music.  Certain lyrics, or the music itself.  Every story I write ends up with a theme song.  Sometimes the song comes first. 6. Overheard imaginary conversation.  Sounds weird, but I get snippets of dialogue in my head and they will not go away.  I don’t know who’s speaking, and the voices aren’t speaking to me (or I’d be really worried about my sanity). 7. Overheard real conversation, whether TV or at a restaurant, etc.  Once I was watching Judge Judy and this older lady was mad at a landscaper because her yard was “nothing but weeds and crabgrass.”  That inspired a story idea where all the characters had the personality of plants, in particular crab grass, thistles, stink weed.    It would have been really fun, but it’s still in my “ideas” folder in my brain. 8. Dreams.  I dreamed the My Beloved world (Survive My Fire, Blood Rose) for YEARS before I ever tried to write it down.  I would prime a scene in my mind, fall asleep, and dream it.  Lovely.  Now with three monsters, I rarely get enough sleep and those “dreaming” sessions are long gone. 9. Pictures.  There’s a certain picture I stumbled across that IS Gregar (picture in the sidebar yowsa!) the Shadowed Blood, of the My Beloved world.  I see that picture and I’m so deep into his mind that I wonder if I’ll ever come out.  10. Submission calls.  My overachieving perfectionist brain sees an “assignment” and gallops ahead at full speed! 11. News.  Remember the horrible pictures of people stranded in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina?  That still haunts me, touching the people locked out of New Olympia in Beautiful Death as well as a gothic I want to write next month. 12. The monsters.  Sometimes it’s just their unique, crazy, sweet personalities, especially MM.  She is a mix of contradictions.  One minute fearless; the next afraid.  I really try to blend complexities into my characters as a result. 13. Church.  Okay, you might think this is a stretch.  But especially in the My Beloved world, one of the underlying themes is that everything happens according to the gods’ will, even the bad stuff.  That horrible events can be used for good; that even the worst creature of Shadow can be redeemed.  And of course, the blood of salvation.  I think a lot of my blood/sacrifice themes can be traced back to my background as a Christian.

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You know that little something in a story that makes it fantastic versus just good?  Maybe you can’t even put your finger on it.  The characters are fine, the plot fine, the author’s voice is maybe already one of your favorites, but there’s just something… meh about the story.

For me, what makes the difference from “meh” to “OMG!!” is the cost involved.  Nothing in this world is free, and I personally love stories where characters have to pay the greatest price of all to achieve their story goal.  Sometimes a death of some sort is required:  a treasured dream, an old self, innocence.  Sometimes a character is truly willing to lay down his life for another.  Just that willingness to sacrifice for another is enough to win the gods’ favor.

So I was working on The Fire Within last night, and thinking about my plot, and it’s a pretty good plot.  I’ve got the notecards all filled out.  I know what the dark moment is, blah blah blah.  And yet… 

I’ve really struggled to get these 7K+ words.  Survive My Fire came smoothly and wonderfully in a month.  TFW has been a slow crawl.  When this happens to me, it’s usually a problem.  There’s something not quite right somewhere, even if I think it’s all good.  And the story is good.  But I think I can make it even better.

One thing that bothered me all along is the “similarity” in theme between SMF and TFW.  Now, this series has a common theme:  Love, the greatest gift of all.  And the greatest sacrifice.  So all stories in this world will have that flavor and tone–dark, bloody, sacrifice, agonizing love.  Yet the heroes’ goals were too similar for me.  I realized last night that a slight change to the motivation and goal can really up the stakes.

I asked those timeless romance questions:  Why should they NOT be together?  Why is she the worst possible choice for him?

Ah ha.  His emotional cost changed, the story’s problem is completely different, yet most of what I have doesn’t change much at all, and both main characters’ underlying problem is unified at the same time.  The biggest change:  Zahak is no longer tal‘Cobra, the chieftain of his tribe.  His beloved brother is.  A man as opposite from Darius as night from day.

Eleni was never meant for Zahak at all.  But in a land of poisoned sands and endless thirst for generations, once a Keldari has tasted pure, sweet water, he will die to keep it.  No matter the sacrifice.

Another week of slow progress, but a step in the positive direction.  The Fire Within is up to 7,853 words. 

I spent some time over the weekend fixing a few continuity problems.  Sometimes, I can push through a first draft and know a few things need to be fixed in revision; other times, the error is so troubling that I simply can’t move forward until I smooth it.  In the dream sequence I mentioned last week, I showed my whole hand way too early.  I cut nearly 700 words and saved it for later, and then fixed that scene to better hint at what will happen later.  Much better.  The phrasing throughout is still rather rough in places–I tend to write a few too many fragments in first drafts–but the bones and muscles are there and growing nicely.

Oh, I also found another great theme song for this work, particularly Eleni:  Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply.

I didn’t hit 1K a day last week, but that will be my goal this week.  How about you?

So here’s a funny on myself.  I sat down this weekend while the two littlest monsters were napping to finally watch Apocalpyto.  I have a Mayan Fantasy I want to work on later this year, so I’ve been quite anxious to finally watch this movie.  But timing it when That Man and monsters aren’t around, well, that took some doing.

The movie started, and I noticed the characters were all blueish.  Cool, I thought.  I wonder what other affects Mel might have done to give it a ghostly, otherworldly tone.  I only got about 1/2 hour through and of course here came a monster.  Sigh.  I let PM put in Charlotte’s Web, and she immediately began complaining because the duck’s bill and the pig were blue. 

BLUE.

I checked the DVD cords and realized I switched two of the three prongs by accident the other day.  Duck and Wilbur now look normal.

Hmmm.  I can’t wait to re-watch Apocalypto and see what the characters *really* look like. 

If you haven’t stopped by Drollerie’s website lately, go see the new look!  The author pages and covers are up, and everything is gorgeous.  Also, you can read a free story, Helen, by Imogen Howson.  And if you haven’t yet, you can read some of my free short stories here, or take a look at many free reads as part of PBW’s e-book challenge last year.

We had a busy, great day today.  After sleeping in, we drove over to the Lake of the Ozarks and visited That Man’s family.  His dad is going back in for surgery in a week, so we wanted to see him beforehand just in case.  Plus, their condo community has a pool, so the monsters swam this afternoon.  On the way back from dinner, we stopped at a local farmer’s market and I bought tomatoes, corn on the cob, white peaches, strawberries, blueberries, and vidalia onions.  Yummy!

I’ve decided not to post any more of The Fire Within.  I plan to send it to Drollerie as soon as I get it finished and polished, so I can’t post the whole thing here.    However, I have a short story I wrote earlier in the year that I’m going to share over the next few weeks in its entirety, and then I’ll put it in a .pdf over in Free Reads.

This is my attempt at a space pirate, sort of a ”Moby Dick meets Sleeping Beauty in Space.”

“Charge the ion cannon,” Captain Rackman ordered. The frigate’s hull loomed ahead, filling the viewscreen like some dark storm on the horizon. “Any mercs about?”

His first officer squealed so shrilly that the new navigator sitting beside him winced. After flying together all these years and surviving hell, Rackman knew the Quag’s language well enough to recognize “no” before the computer’s translation. Although Kermit didn’t have to respond quite so enthusiastically.

Briggs kept his gaze locked on the controls before him. “There’s four scatter guns down the sides and a monster cannon aft that’ll shred our shields. Are you sure this–”

“Bring us in hard and fast beneath,” Rackman broke in. He still wasn’t sure how to read the new man. Briggs could definitely fly, but he wasn’t meshing with the ship’s crew, especially Kermit. The man couldn’t even look at the Quag without flinching. “The Obsession can outmaneuver this hunk of junk. That’s what I hired you for, Briggs.”

“But Captain–”

“You heard me, Briggs.”

Briggs muttered but his hands flew over the panel entering the flight information. “This boat’d better be loaded down with a cache of guns and meds.”

One small item in the frigate’s cargo was priceless, at least to Rackman. His pulse raced and the old burn scars across his cheek tightened. So close.

A quick flurry of fluted whistles from Kermit was interpreted by the tinned computer voice. “They spotted us, Rack.”

Briggs sent the Obsession under the frigate so close a hard sneeze would collide their small ship into the monster’s belly. The smaller guns peppered their shields, hissing and flaring.

More whistles translated to, “Shields holding.”

Briggs wheeled the ship up and around the frigate, zigzagging to miss as much fire as possible. “Where are the engines, Captain?”

Ah, now came the dicey part of this mission. Rackman let a small smile curve his lips. “Aft. Right beneath the big gun.”

“Are you crazy?”

Kermit made a sound like a large, juicy burp. Thankfully, Rackman had removed that particular word from the computer’s database.

“Get us as close as possible and with one shot we’ll bring down the whole ship.”

Muttering, Briggs tightened the ship’s course even more, barely skimming the frigate’s hull. Dead ahead, a glowing nimbus surrounded a three-foot-wide barrel. Red blazed to gold, searing Rack’s eyes and tightening the muscles in his scarred cheek until his mouth twisted into a grimace.

Kermit held his three-fingered right hand over the ion cannon’s detonator. An eye rolled back, watching Rackman expectantly.

Briggs swiped sweat out of his eyes. “Captain!”

“Sometimes you have to take a hit to win the fight,” Rackman whispered.

“The shields–”

“They’ll hold.” I hope. Rackman smiled even though it felt like his face would split open. Hope was something he lost a long time ago. “Brace for impact.”

The nimbus turned blue, burned toward violet, and the intense wave enveloped the Obsession. The ship shuddered. Alarms shrilled. Briggs cursed and when he wiped sweat out of his eyes, his hand trembled.

Kermit’s hands flew over the panel and he chirped reports too fast for Rackman to translate without the computer’s assistance. “Shields to twenty percent. Structural damage in the engine room. Speed dropping. Secondary engine is firing up, and crew is responding now.”

“Keep our heading dead ahead. On my mark, drop our shields entirely.”

Briggs whirled around, eyes wide and face clammy. “We can’t survive another shot!”

“We won’t have to.” Mentally, Rackman counted the seconds, watching the cannon recharge, recalculating the window of opportunity with their decreased speed.

Briggs was a mistake, though. No fine flying could make up for his lack of courage. Under pressure, the man turned into bracken swamp water fit for the Quag.

Rackman snapped, “Man your station!”

Briggs jerked around, his shoulders hunched.

The glow intensified toward blue again, blazing in Rackman’s eyes. They had to be close enough to fully disable the engines and the guns. Another second… “Drop shields! Fire!”

Kermit depressed the igniter, and the hull hummed beneath Rackman’s feet. Raging blue-violet shone brighter, swelling, only to sputter. The glow about the big gun dissipated and lights failed on the frigate’s hull.

“Status, Kermit?”

“The frigate is dead in the water, Rack.”

“And the Obsession?”

“Hyperdrive is inoperable. Crew expects an hour or two of work to bring systems online.” Kermit paused his whistles while the computer translated. “No casualties. Boarding party standing by.”

At last. Rackman smiled. The final puzzle piece was within his grasp. “Excellent. Tell them I’m on my way. Kermit, you have the helm.”