Joely Sue Burkhart

I’m going to post a few more of Rae’s letters to Conn as I work on my next project.  Warning:  they are raw, emotional, and contain some elements of BDSM.  I’ve put the letter behind the cut in case you don’t care to read any further.  There is another yummy picture of Clive Owen included to tempt you, though.  *wink*

(more…)

Continuing the Maya short story, Well of Sky (read part 1 here):

The crowd roared with approval. Five Shield seized his defeated opponent by a shank of hair and dragged him up the pyramid steps. Cheering, stomping, the crowd was hungry for blood. Lady Jade Mirror could well imagine the noise shaking the very earth, disturbing the gods of Xibalba.

Head splintering, she wished she could silence the entire crowd. She longed for the solitude of her hut, the secret dark places of the jungle, and her haunting jaguar.

At the top of the pyramid, Five Shield and his brother bound the defeated warrior foot to bent knee, knee to chest, hands wrapped around himself, bending him tightly into a man-sized ball.

And then they tossed him down the steps.

She made herself watch. Sacrifice, blood, death–it was all crucial. Enough blood might persuade the sun to shine again after the eclipse. Enough sacrifice might bring the rains. The captive’s head smashed open, splattering brains and blood down the final steps, and at last, she looked away, swallowing the bile rising up in her throat.

Please, don’t ask me to jump.

Light-headed and fingertips tingling with cold, she stood with Lord Itzam and bowed to her future husband. Five Shield held out the severed, very battered head of his opponent, dripping blood onto the obsidian mirror at their feet. “Tell us of the eclipse, great sorcerer. Tell us of the coming rains.”

Lord Itzam took her hand. “Sit, child, and see with me.”

Dread rolled in her stomach, seizing her lungs. Her breath turned to ash in her mouth; her blood thick and heavy like tar. Knees trembling, she collapsed on the mat opposite Lord Itzam with the mirror between them.

Chanting softly, he took a cup–her jaguar cup–of water and filled the mirror. Blood stained the water, a pink cloud of sacrifice.

I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see.

Swirling clouds of blood began to coalesce. Itza’s Well. The Pyramid of Kukulcan, reaching to the sky. The smaller yet still impressive buildings: the House of the Sorcerer, the Temple of the Jaguar, the Temple of the Warriors, the Great Ballcourt. Yet there were no people clamoring and betting in the court.

The city in the vision was deserted.

Weeds and saplings grew in the courtyard. Fire pits long burned out. Buildings crumbling to nothing. The proud display of skulls along the Great Ballcourt were scattered, mixed with more bones.

Her people were dead.

The mirror darkened, and a fearsome pressure built. A rolling weight of rock crushed her mind, a mountain of stone on her chest. Her ears echoed, blood rushing and pumping through her body as if eager for sacrifice. Her lungs felt too full, as though she had no right to breathe.

In the vision, she stood at the edge of the Sacred Cenote. A bottomless pool of water waited fifty paces below. Shadow crept across the land. She glanced up at the sun in time to see it swallowed by the black maw.

Pain stabbed her tongue, so badly it was surely severed. She couldn’t speak. Blood choked her, metallic and thick and hot.

People lined the Sacred Cenote. Terror clawed her heart from her chest.

Don’t throw me in again!

Instead, someone jumped. Tears poured down her face, and she was so ashamed. So terribly relieved.

It wasn’t me.

A ragged, shrill sound like a dying animal’s cry penetrated the vision. She whimpered, a horrible mewling sound of pain and terror. Scrabbling back from the mirror, she looked at Lord Itzam. His face was reverent and calm, with such hope and love as he stared into the vision waters.

Her gaze darted among the onlookers. Five Shield, his mouth even tighter than usual, pale around his lips. He flinched when she looked at him. Others backed away, dropping their eyes, hands rising up to block her gaze.

No. No, she couldn’t bear it.

She staggered to her feet and fled, ripping the heavy ornaments from her body and dropping them on the ground. Down the steps of the Temple of the Jaguar, across the plaza in the opposite direction of the Sacred Cenote, through the stretching sinuous shadow of Kukulcan’s Pyramid, down the rows of quiet huts, she raced. Yet she saw it all as in the vision: abandoned, overgrown, dead.

Sobbing, she fled into the trees. She ran where the people feared to go alone, so deep into the heart of jungle that she found hints of green. Lush, cool, a balm for her terror.

In this great time of need, why am I such a coward?

 

You Might Be A Coffee Addict When… 1. You have to set up your coffee pot the night before so you can get up in the morning.  2. You’re more likely to arrive at work NAKED than without a cup of coffee in hand. 3. You special order your beans. 4. From two different places! 5. You buy filtered water to make the best cup possible. 6. You daydream about Cadillac coffee machines. 7. You’d love to travel to a coffee planation to see how the beans are picked and roasted. 8. When traveling, you take your own beans. 9. Without a cup of coffee ASAP in the morning, you turn into the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  10. Simply THINKING about cutting out caffeine gives you a headache. 11.You could fall asleep with a cup of coffee in your hand. 12. The thought of Folgers makes you violent. 13. You’re ashamed to admit how many pounds of coffee you actually drink each month.

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One of the coolest, most useful things someone ever taught me is the first-person character letter.  In building my next project, I started writing backstory–nearly 30 pages of history already!!–and my heroine, Rae, chose to write a letter to the hero, Dr. Connagher, Conn for short, her English professor the previous semester.  The day of finals, a SIGNIFICANT defining moment happened in his office, one I’ve explored in agonizing detail already.  But once I started thinking about this letter, I realized she could write more of them throughout the next five years. 

Yes, this is all still backstory.  It takes five years+ before she runs into Conn again.  Five years of hell.  But meeting him is far from a happy little reunion.  I’m actually thinking of using these letters somehow in the novella, but I’m not sure yet.  They are helping me tremendously as I iron out the internal conflicts.  Rae is hugely, desperately conflicted, and rightfully so.  Each letter helps me define her.

So here’s her first letter to Dr. Connagher, written a little over one week after the fateful moment in his office, the last day of finals week.  She was supposed to meet him one week later, a Friday night.  This is her explanation for why she wasn’t there. 

Dear Dr. Connagher:

A simple letter probably isn’t the best way to tell you all of this. But I need to write this out for myself, as much as you. If we talked on the phone, I don’t think I could get it all out. All the emotions. The fear, the longing, the turmoil, the agony. Oh, the agony. Every moment I’m not there with you is torture.

If I’d met you this past Friday night–one week to the day as we agreed–I know I couldn’t have sat there on our first real date and told you the truth. It’s not that you’d intimidate me, or scare me, exactly. It’s me. I lose my will when I’m with you.

I just want you so damned bad. I’d do anything to be with you. So this is really for the best. I know it. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Daddy was in a freak accident Friday morning and nearly died. I’ve spent the last few days at the hospital, waiting with my family to see if he’ll live, how badly he’ll be handicapped. He’s never going to be the same, and he’ll have years of physical therapy and doctor’s visits. I need to stay here. I need to help Mom, try to find a way to pay his medical bills, save his business. I don’t know when, if ever, I’ll be returning to Drury. Finishing my degree is the last thing on my mind right now, even though I only have a few semesters left.

Every single word of that is true. However, it’s also true that I didn’t have my car completely loaded to come back to campus before the accident. I hadn’t decided for sure to come back to you.

You know me, don’t you? Indecisive, desperate to please you, worried about making the wrong choice, wavering, waffling. Why was it so hard to decide? It’s simple, isn’t it? Would I see you again or not? Would we have our first date? Would we begin a relationship, a serious commitment as you said?

Self preservation, Conn. I have to protect myself. When I’m with you, I want what you want. I don’t even know what I want. You hurt me in your office. You embarrassed me. And yet you made me feel incredible, too. You made me want it. You made me want you to hurt me. How messed up is that?

Yet I lie awake at night remembering, and it’s all I can do not to jump in my car and drive straight to you.

I know you’ll never read this. You hate e-mail. It would be better to mail it to your office. But what if someone read it by accident? True, again, but it’s also true that maybe deep down in my dark, scary place only you’ve seen, I know I really don’t want you to read this at all.

~ Rae

See why this story is going to be incredibly difficult and uncomfortable to write?  I probably won’t even share more than snippets of the rest.  They’re too… raw. 

Yet I can’t wait to write this story, either. It’s one of those have-tos.  I HAVE to tell Rae’s story.  Another 2,964 words for Sven despite sitting at urgent care with LM tonight for nearly two hours (double ear infection).

I’m out of my comfort zone, entirely, with this next project.  Just writing the backstory is exciting, and terrifying.  I’ve already had several discussions with my Beloved Sis, bless her heart, and I haven’t even started page 1 of the real novella yet!  This is one of those stories that I could never have written before now, for a variety of reasons.

There is one particular defining moment that I’ve got to get right for Conn and Rae before a single word of story will work.  It’s raw, uncomfortable, and wrought with conflict.  Out of five years of backstory, I know everything about them, EXCEPT for one week.  One very vulnerable, tense week.  Both of them make mistakes with huge consequences.  Mistakes that will take 30K to fix in the novella (or more).  But they’ve got to be REAL believable mistakes, defining their characters, their beliefs, everything about them. 

Without this exploration, the main story is nothing but fluff.

So as agonizing as it is to dig deeper into their angst-riddled past, I must.  Another 3300+ words tonight in prework for ”Letters to An English Professor” or “Fix-It Lady” or whatever the heck I end up calling it.

I also edited 3 pages or so of TFW.  I meant to do more, but I’ve got to get this backstory right so I can finish plotting the darned thing.  I need to know the mistakes of the past to make sure they face–and overcome–those same pitfalls in the Dark Moment.  Fear.  A good hero’s journey is all about fear.

Even my own.

So how many times have you seen Lord of the Rings–and did you watch it again this weekend?  :D  I caught the last of The Return of the King last night.  It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen it, I still love it.

This was a great weekend writing wise.  I finished The Fire Within Saturday night, and spent some time on Sunday smoothing the last 27 pages into the main draft.  Then I started at the beginning and began re-reading and editing, through the first 9 pages.  Much more work is required.

Ah, but Sven is a tough taskmaster and demanded new words.  From where, you ask?  Why, my next project of course.  No rest for the weary. 

I began writing backstory for the next novella I’m tentatively calling “The Fix-It Lady.” (very likely to change, although that’s a big part of the theme)  A whopping 2,786 words in backstory.  Too much?  Nope–because none of this will actually end up in the main story.  I need to get the details straight in my head, first.  The heroine’s name is Rae (different from what I planned to use in Unbelieveable, the very old first attempt), and she was a very different person 4 or 5 years ago.  This is very much a reunion story! 

Conn’s pretty much the same, other than being older, harder, and more determined than ever to get what he wants.  Okay, so he’s changed quite a bit from my original vision, too.  I can’t help it.  This picture Anna sent me of Clive Owen just did me in.  I saw it, and KNEW it was Dr. Connagher and his personality changed accordingly.

*drools* 

I even know some of the theme music for this novella already.  As odd as it may sound, it’s Johnny Cash, particularly Man in Black.  It’s not the lyrics, so much, but the movie Walk the Line that’s inspiring the theme of the story.  I was *this close* to using Joaquin Phoenix for Conn, until I remembered I already had this wonderful picture in mind.  This picture defines Conn in my mind.  There’s a certain look in his eyes…  And away I go into unchartered territory.  Yeah, that’s vague, but I can’t help it.  Maybe you’ll see what I mean in some Friday Snippets, if I’m brave enough to share.

Okay, so my plans this week are:

1. Continue smoothing the first draft of The Fire Within with intent to submit to Drollerie by Sept. 30th. if not sooner.  I need it ready to go ASAP to accompany SMF for the larger distribution sites.
2. Continue plotting and prework of The Fix-It Lady, with intent to start this project in earnest Sept. 1st.  My goal is to have a rough first draft of a 30K+ novella by Sept 16th when I go to the Twin Cities for the EDJ.  Maybe that’s pushing it, but I’m ITCHING to write this story.  I have a feeling it’s going to fly.

How about you?

We watched Walk the Line again this weekend and I wrote down the following wonderful section:

If you was hit by a truck, lying out in that gutter, dying, and you had time to sing ONE SONG, ONE SONG that people would remember before you’re dead, ONE SONG that would let God know what you felt about your time here on earth, ONE SONG that would sum you up… Are you telling me that’s the song you would sing? 

And Folsom Prison Blues was born.

Writers, how about you?  Are you writing any old story or theme, or are you writing the ONE STORY that defines you and your view of the world?  I don’t think any of us have just one story to tell, but everything I write seems to have a very similar THEME.  There are things that speak to me as a person, that make me cry or grin for no reason, that intrigue me, that fire me up enough to drag myself out of bed at 4:00 a.m. to write.  That’s the kind of story I want to write.

That’s the kind of story I *have* to write.

I guess I can avoid the Witness Protection Program for those of us sweaters who need to hide out from Sven.  Why?

I FINISHED THE NOVELLA!

*cheers*

Okay, it’s only a first draft, and the last 20+ pages are pretty rough at that, but now the polishing can begin.  I knew I was close to finishing!  While I knew in general what needed to happen, there were some details I hadn’t figured out yet.  Finally, I just pushed my way through the uncertainty like a bull in a china shop.  I took a few wrong turns–actually, I started out the day by cutting 182 words–but I think I got pretty close.

I will admit to some concern about how the end all played out.  Will it make sense?  I hope so.  I kind of confused myself there for awhile by blending dream and reality, and there’s a leap that I didn’t expect to make.  It makes sense now to me, but I’m not sure if it actually works, if that makes sense.  So I’ll give it a few days, smooth out the last section (I got lazy and section 016 is 27 pages!), and get a “complete” first draft that’s ready for readers.

Total for today:  3,578 words.

Word count for TFW:  37,528 words.

Sven total:  43,584 words.

There’s nothing better in the world than “The End.”  Except maybe “sold.” 

I’ve been hugely busy on writing stuff, but alas, Sven is really pissed at me right now.  I have not gotten my 1K a day for like two days in a row.  I didn’t even write on The Fire Within last night.  *cringe*  I’m so close to finishing it, but I just…  There’s an avoidance there, or something.  My mind wasn’t ready to finish it for some reason. 

Meanwhile, I’m plotting another novella that’s quite a departure for me.  I’ve had the idea for nearly a year now (actually much longer than that, as you’ll see).  Originally, I thought I would write it for the Black Orchid contest.  Yes, it started as a mystery, contemporary setting at that.  But then it began mutating over time.

See, I’m a sponge.  I pick up little things, bits of dialogue, themes of real life, colors, descriptions from all over everywhere, movies, stories, blog posts, news…  I don’t even realize it’s happening as those bits float into my brain and stick.  I always think there’s no rhyme or reason to the process.  Why does this bit stick to the mystery-mutant-story and not something else?  I have no idea.  But the bits accumulate, morphing, breeding in the darkness of dreams and sometimes nightmares.  Multiple ideas collide and blend together.  

Until something sparks.

The whole thing detonates in my mind, an explosion of story, character, plot, and in that illumination, I can see the story arc.  It’s those flashes that make me manic, obsessive, staying up half the night to scribble the idea down before the vision fades into oblivion.

The original mystery has morphed into a contemporary romance with a paranormal/mystery flavor.  At its foundation, if you search really hard, you can find bits of a contemporary romance I started years ago called “Unbelievable,” my anya (Sha’Kae al’Dan for gift) to my Beloved Sister.  I’m ashamed to say I never finished it.

So when I finish this one, it will be her anya.  I’ll be doing a modified Fast Draft in September to finish it.  ASSUMING, of course, that I’ve finished the CURRENT novella.  It must be done first.  But if the vision holds, and the story doesn’t slide into category-land (which I unfortunately tend to do when I write contemporary romance), I might enter this new project in the Brava contest.  Hence the urgency.  I’ve got a good bit plotted.  I understand the three main characters.  It’s mostly character driven, huge on the internal conflict aspect, with the mystery/paranormal part to balance the rawer, darker conflict with a little lighter humor.

My other distraction last night is due to PBW’s freelance post yesterday.  At Craigslist, I found that a local magazine is looking for writers.  So last night we drove up to Borders and I bought several copies of the magazine, began jotting ideas, and sketched out a first-draft of my very sparce writer’s resume.

So lots of writing work, but none of it for Sven.  I’m laying low today and will try to make up a chunk of words.  Hopefully Sven won’t find me until tomorrow!

From Front Street Reviews:

The story starts off strong, immediately grabbing the reader’s attention and sweeping her along on a fast-paced, exciting journey. The descriptions are vivid, the characters are strong, and the sex is not only well written but also actually pertains to the plot. It is erotic fantasy at its best – hot and sexy without loosing the thread of the story or becoming bogged down in unnecessary intimate moments.

Though at only 72 pages, Survive My Fire is more a short story than a novel, it lacks little because of that. Burkhart weaves her story well. The first page is as enticing as the last and the pace never lags but never feels rushed. It’s an unbelievably fantastic tale, but one that makes it delightful to suspend disbelief.

Read the entire review here.  Thank you so much, Vanessa!  She, too, makes a request for a glossary, which I’ve created here.

A special thank you to Susan for giving me the name of this review site!

As promised, this week I’ll start a Maya Fantasy short story entitled “Well of Sky.” This story will be available as a freebie on the Drollerie Press website eventually (I’ll post a link when it’s up). In the meantime, I’ll share pieces of it here. If it sounds familiar, I did share the opening section several months ago (maybe not part of Friday Snippets, though). Since then, I’ve rewritten the whole piece in third person and tightened it a little.

Background: Eventually, I plan to write a fantasy series of some type using some elements of this short story as a basis. I hoped to finish the first draft this year, but I still have a *ton* of worldbuilding to do. Maybe next year!

A black jaguar crouched above, muscles coiled to pounce. In the meager shade, his eyes glowed as golden as the glaring sun.

Ignoring him, Lady Jade Mirror walked beneath the ceiba. Fire ants marched up and down her spine, stinging her scalp, but she kept her gaze locked to the dusty path. If she refused to acknowledge him, he couldn’t speak.

:Do you think so, Lady?:

Wincing, she quickened her step and concentrated on building mental stone walls taller than Kukulcan’s Pyramid. Dust kicked up beneath her sandals, and she sneezed. In all the years she’d made this solitary trek from her hut in the jungle to Itza’s Well, it had never been so dry.

The ceiba’s barren branches clacked like Lord Itzam’s ceremonial belt of finger bones. Stomach fluttering, she shivered as if those icy bones trailed over her skin.

It’s only an eclipse, she told herself. The sun will emerge triumphant.

Yet in her mind, she saw a monstrous black snake swallowing the precious sun, demons feasting on her people, and eternal darkness engulfing the dying jungles. The land was so terribly dry, and with an eclipse…

The gods required sacrifice.

Her stomach cramped harder and her hands trembled as she smoothed her hair back from her face. The people already thought she was crazy. Running across the plaza flashing her strange jade eyes and babbling about the eclipse would do little to alleviate their fear. She took several deep breaths, painted a wide smile on her lips, and stepped out of the surrounding jungle.

Huts crowded the low wall of the city’s perimeter; within, man-made mountains touched the sky. Once a major and powerful city, Itza’s Well had faded in the last year. Several huts stood empty, thatched roofs caved, doors ajar. A tapir squealed and ran into the dark, abandoned depths of a hut. Carefully tended gardens baked in the unending heat, maize stalks brittle and as empty as the cloudless sky. The black rows of fertile dirt were cracked and dry. So very dry.

As Lady Jade Mirror entered the village, solemn dark-brown eyes watched her, heavy with silent hope and fear. People lined the path, their whispers trailing her, prodding like a pointed stick. A sick heaviness settled in her stomach. Her feet slowed, stumbled, until she stood at the White Road.

The road which lead to the Sacred Cenote of Sacrifice.

Heart racing and lungs burning for air, she struggled to push away the black, cold memory. Water closing over her head. Sinking, sinking, so cold. So dark. So alone. She couldn’t breathe. She would never see the sun again.

In her mind, something brushed that horrible memory, nudging it aside like a warm muzzle in the palm of her hand. Slinking away, the jaguar growled softly, claws clicking on the stone walls she’d built to keep her sanity. Walls which these people demolished with a glance.

As a child, she’d brought the rain. That she still lived was nothing short of a miracle, the change in her eye color proclaiming she’d been touched by the gods. If they try to sacrifice me again…

Lifting her chin, she walked slowly and proudly toward the plaza. She refused to run from the White Road, from the stares and whispers. She’d made the sacrifice ten years ago. She’d paid the price for rain with her innocence, her safe brown eyes, and the final breath of her body.

I will not risk my life ever again. Not even for them.

 

# 

In the House of the Sorcerer, the air was thick with burning copal and sweet, heavy incense. With heart-felt emotion, Lady Jade Mirror smiled at Lord Itzam. Despite the master sorcerer’s awesome power, she wasn’t afraid. They had more in common than any two people in all of Itza’s Well. They’d seen the gods, and lived to tell of it.

He was the only other person with all-seeing jade eyes.

Eyes she hated.

Eyes she deliberately blinded.

Lord Itzam inclined his head to the mighty warrior at his side. “Lady Jade Mirror, this is our player today, Lord Five Shield.”

Stiffly, she inclined her head. She was suddenly very aware of the stone, the walls, the clamor of people. Forcing a deep breath, she gave her future husband a brittle smile.

As warriors went, Five Shield was impressive: tall, muscular, strong. Yet she met his flat gaze, noted the stone-carved, empty expression on his face, and disappointment welled in her heart. Of course he would not be thrilled to win the village crazy as his bride. Struggling to keep her face smooth, she dropped her gaze and surreptitiously scrubbed her damp palms on her cotton tunic.

“Do you have any questions for this warrior?”

She couldn’t pretend silent acceptance. Not when she must give up her life of solitude in the jungle to live among people in this city she’d once called home. “Why have you agreed to this?”

The warrior blinked and a small spark gleamed in his dark eyes for a moment. Surprise? Or dislike? She couldn’t be sure. “You are Itza. Marriage to you will increase my honor.”

She tried to swallow the hard lump of tears strangling her throat. I will not cry, not for him, not for any of them. “Of course.”

Five Shield inclined his head and left. Heart aching, she stared down at the floor, afraid to meet the sorcerer’s all-knowing eyes.

“Come, child, sit with me awhile. I want you to sample a new brew I made for the celebration of the sun’s rebirth.” Lord Itzam guided her deeper into his private lair. Skulls lined the walls, painted a brilliant blue-green like the sacred bird. Unfortunately, the queztl abandoned them long ago when the rains ceased. Another sign of coming doom.

For all his fearsome reputation and magics, Lord Itzam had always been kind. Even now he gave her time to compose herself, sipping his new brew from a hand-carved wooden cup. Marked with a jaguar glyph, it was the cup she always used when she came to visit him.

“Are you sure you wish to marry?”

She studied his face a moment. Ageless, unlined except for the crinkles about his eyes, skin as dark as tanned leather, his face was as much a mystery and a testament to his power as the man himself. Lord Itzam alone conversed with their ancestors. He knew the gods’ will. He told the king when to go to war against neighboring tribes, and when the people should plant. He healed the sick, helped resolve disputes, and even named each new baby’s spirit companion.

His ears were tattered, thick with old white scars, bearing witness to the many sacrifices he’d made over the years. Yet even Lord Iztam could not tell when the rains would return.

Despite the drink in her hand, her mouth was dry. “I will marry Lord Five Shield if he wins the ballgame.”

“Why?”

She respected him too much to not tell him the truth. Lord Itzam had pulled her from death to life. “I want to be normal. I want to marry, have children, and live in the city. I’m tired of living alone. I’m tired of the fearful stares, the whispers as I walk by, mothers drawing their children away as though I am some terrible monster.”

“Marriage to Lord Five Shield will not change how the people see you, child. You touched death and lived to tell of it. They will not soon forget.”

“They…” Her voice cracked, but she forced the words out. “I fear they contemplate sending me back.”

“In these dark times, with the eclipse coming, I’m sure they do. The people are afraid. They do terrible things when they’re afraid.”

Yes. Like throw children to their death in a bottomless well.

“I won’t.” Her face hot and furious, she raised her gaze to the sorcerer’s. “I won’t go into the Cenote again!”

“Of course not.” He smiled mildly, immediately diffusing her rage and fear. He was the only person who could sanction such a sacrifice. “However, I ask that you look closer at Lord Five Shield’s proposal. In many ways, marriage to him will be like leaping into the Sacred Cenote with no hope of climbing out again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only you can decide.” He reached out and lightly touched the jaguar on her cup. She felt an echo in her heart, like a pebble tossed into the sacred pool. “Will you leap for love? Or will you leap for duty?”

“Duty? I don’t marry for duty. I won’t leap at all.”

“You believe that if you lead a normal, simple life, the people will no longer fear you. But they will remember a year from now or ten. Jade eyes tell all, child. You are Itza, which is why Lord Five Shield considers you for wife. Whether you like it or not, whether you deny it or not, the gods have touched you. You feel. You see.”

Itza, sorcerer of water. Suddenly, she found herself staring into her cup. Swirling shadows formed. A warrior, holding a spear over a kneeling figure. A woman, her hands bound. The warrior grasped a hank of the captive’s hair in one hand and prepared to sacrifice her. Her jade eyes glowed in the dark liquid. Me. The vision woman allowed the sacrifice with a calm, distant look of beatific peace on her face.

A peace Lady Jade Mirror had not known since she’d drowned ten years ago.

Snarling, tail lashing, the jaguar paced the walls she’d built to keep him out of her mind. :Don’t let them sacrifice your spirit!:

Chills crept down her arms so viciously she felt as though a knife flayed her skin. Suffocating waters closed over her head. She shoved the cup away so hard that liquid sloshed on her hand. Trembling, she set the cup on the mat and refused to look at it. No water was safe, not for a child of Itza.

“You can be more, more than you ever imagined. More than the honored yet imprisoned wife of Lord Five Shield, subject to his whim. Will you let him sacrifice you if he makes such a decision? Will you sacrifice everything you are in a futile attempt to make him happy?”

“What do you want of me?” She retorted, her cheeks blazing and her chest banded with fire. Trapped, she felt trapped, suffocating, lungs full of water. She lurched to her feet and paced the small chamber, just as the jaguar padded, growling in the depths of her mind. “I don’t want to be alone!”

“No one said you had to live outside the walls, child. I begged you to come live with me.”

“Walls.” She choked, waving her hand at the stone. “Trapped.”

“Yes. And you would trap yourself even further in marriage.” Lord Itzam stood and patted her shoulder gently. “You must look into the mirror unflinchingly before you can expect others to do the same.”

He paused at the doorway and gave her a warm, loving smile that clenched her heart. Her hated eyes burned, as hot and dry as the sun. How she yearned to daily feel such love, to belong with a family where she would never be alone again.

“Dress for the ballgame. Don’t rush to a decision, child. Even if Lord Five Shield is victorious today, you are under no obligation to wed him. The choice is always yours, but you must see, child. See, and then make your choice.”

Always, his words were more riddles than advice. See what? After a simple cup of liquid proved so unsettling, she dared not look into a mirror. What magics would she see then? What horrors?

The walls of the building marched inward, looming shadows. She felt every press of stone weighing on her chest until she could barely draw breath. Whispers and laughter echoed in her mind, grating on her bones. Can I honestly live inside the city, even to belong?

Despair twisted in her stomach. Woodenly, she donned the scarlet and green woven huipil over her plain white cotton. She plaited her hair and settled the heavy shell and jade headdress on her head. She slipped the jaguar claw necklace around her neck.

And every item was another link of chain dragging her down once more into the cold, dark depths of the Cenote of Sacrifice.

You Know You Love Books When… 1. You need an addition on the house for your private library.   2. You have books stashed everywhere.  In the closet, under the bed, in the car…. 3. Because you can never leave home without a book! Or two. 4. You need an extra suitcase when you travel–just for books. 5. And you still buy another one (or three) at the airport. 6. You might have 3 or more books started at any one time. 7. When memes ask you to name your favorite book(s), you panic.  How can you possibly narrow it down? 8. You’ve joined strangers’ conversations because you overheard a discussion about your favorite author’s series. 9. You named your kids after favorite characters in a book. 10. You won’t lend your prized books to certain people because you’re afraid you won’t ever get them back. 11.Or you’re afraid they’ll dog-ear your pages, crease the spine, leave Dorito fingerprints on the pages… 12. You always check the bookshelves at Wal-Mart, the grocery store, even the gas station (despite have a leaning Tower of Pisa TBR pile) just in case you find a new book you can’t live without. 13. The kids own just as many books (if not more) than you do, and the school LOVES your Scholastic Book Club orders!

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Something I’ve gotten lax on that I’m reminded of from my Fast Draft success in March:  avoiding e-mail and internet until the page goal is met.  In fact, the chance to check e-mail can be used as a reward every x words/pages.  Now that I’m on the EPIC lists, I’m getting bombarded with e-mail.  A lovely excuse to dwaddle.

No more.  I need to shut down my internet completely except for my music.  By the way, my playlist for the end of the novella includes:  Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler, Desert Rose by Sting, and Everything I Do by Bryan Adams.

Word Count last night:  519 words

Sven total:  39,234 words

TFW total:  33,453 words

Climax one is complete.  Rough and patchy, but complete.  Now for climax 2 and Eleni’s greatest fear.  Will she be able to resist her brother’s corruption in the end?