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Friday Snippet: The Bloodgate Guardian

Since I’m not writing new material this month and June is not that far away, I decided to start teasing you with snippets of The Bloodgate Guardian, coming this June from Carina Press. 

You’ve been seeing bits of this story under several different names for quite some time.  The original first draft was my first NaNoWriMo project in 2007, then titled Night Sun Rising.  Over a year went by before I got around to the first round of Revision Xibalba.  I spent a lot of time expanding the book, adding subplots and tons of characters.  However, I kinda went overboard, and ended up cutting those subplots out.  Can you say too many characters? 

Now the story is leaner, tighter, and concentrates only on Jaid and Ruin (yes, he got to keep his name!!).  Ironically, exactly the story I ended up with in 2007, just revised, polished, researched, etc.  Not to worry, though — those subplots I spent so much time on will become the fertile soil for the next book.  *winks*

So, here’s part of the opening scene of The Bloodgate Guardian, Chapter One. 

He never hated his magic until it compelled him to kill.

From the broken shadows of his temple, the priest watched the encroacher attempt to work his doomed magic.  Brilliant ruby pooled in the pocked basin of the altar and overflowed, streaming across the hand-carved stone in vibrant filigree.  The blood glowed like molten rock hot from the earth’s heart, releasing magic into the night.

The once all-powerful priest shuddered, his skin crawling with the caress of power.  His nostrils flared to catch the tantalizing scent of sweet copper.  Such temptation.  He tightened his grip on the starved jaguar pacing within him.  Such power.

The city once known as the Mouth of Creation had kept his secrets for a thousand years.  Now he must kill this man to protect that forbidden knowledge.  Keeping to the shadows, the priest called out, “As Gatekeeper of Chi’Ch’ul, I command you to leave my city or die.”

The man whirled and whipped the bloody heart behind his back.  At least this one’s victim had been a goat and not human.  “Nobody else should know the name of my dig.  Who are you working for?”

The priest stepped into the moonlight, and the other man recoiled.  With the jaguar prowling the cage of his body, he knew all too well the image he made:  eyes gleaming like golden lamps, jaguar spots dotting his arms and blending with the tribal tattoos on his upper body, angular cheekbones and sharp forehead compounded by the stark topknot pulling his hair back from his face.   The man had discovered the city, unburied it stone by stone. He could not help but recognize a priest of what had once been a grand and powerful nation.  “My city has already been destroyed.  Would you destroy the world as well?”

“I have powerful, rich friends,” the man said, backing away slowly.  “Name your price.”

So be it.  Small golden lights began buzzing around the priest and his bones throbbed with magic.  “Nothing you can offer will stay my hand.  As long as I live, these sacred waters shall lie still and silent.  My curse demands your death.  The Gates must remain locked until the Return.”

Ignoring his threats, the man smiled with elation.  “We were right!  I knew it.  After all these years, I finally found the center of the world!”

The balls of light blazed brighter.  A golden swirling wave obliterated his vision.  Bones cracked and twisted.  His scream of pain rumbled bass, a jaguar’s roar piercing the night. 

Tail lashing, the jaguar crouched in a pile of torn denim.  The sharp stink of his prey’s fear burned his nose. It had been a very long time since he’d hunted. The big cat knew his purpose.  He was only called forth to kill.

The foolish man turned toward his modern equipment stationed on the nearby boulder, presenting his back to the jaguar.  “Jaid, don’t come here!  Don’t trust anybody and don’t let the codex out of your hands!  Especially don’t give it to Venus Star!” 

The jaguar growled a threat.  If this person possessed the codex, he must die too.

Whirling, the man ran up the peninsula that extended over Lake Atitlan.  He slung the goat’s heart out over the water and threw his weight off the side, angling toward the beach instead of the lake.  Effortlessly, the jaguar leaped after him.  The man gasped in pain and rolled away, narrowly escaping the slashing claws.

Wet with rain, a sudden gust of wind swept across the shore.  Clouds boiled across the sky to hide the moon and stars.  Thunder rolled through the night and the ground trembled.  Lightning split the sky, winds increasing until the trees thrashed and waves whipped the surface of the lake.

A shape formed in the darkened waters.  Thrashing, bulging outward, a hand rose from the depths.  Water broke, cascading down the sceptered arm, which was white and blotched with spots of age and disease.

The jaguar clamped his ears and tail tight to his body and terror rippled through his fur.  Oh, stupid human fool!  Why had he opened Xibalba, with no wards to lock the demons beyond?

Shuddering with horror, the man whimpered.  “Where are the golden plumes?  The jade feathers?  This isn’t Great Feathered Serpent!”

The jaguar swiped at the man’s abdomen.  Jerking away, the man screamed and fell backward into the lake.  He thrashed helplessly, then sank like a stone through the Gate as a Lord of Death crawled onto the beach with another demon right behind.

Snarling, the jaguar slammed into the first demon, trying to knock it back through the Gate.  Even weak as a newborn babe, it refused to go back to the Place of Fright.  The other Death Lord crawled out of the lake clutching a small hunk of flesh.  Cradling the now-cold heart to its mouth, the demon feasted, while the other sniffed the air.  His gaze turned unerringly to the goat carcass above.

Every drop of blood would give them power.  Power that could destroy the world. 

 

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Inspiration: Movie Review

One of the things I’ve been trying to do is watch more old Westerns.  That Man enjoys watching them (much more than something like Star Trek, although he’s watched several with me), but mostly because I was so impressed with Firefly.  I know it’s basically a Space Opera Western, and I loved how familiar it made the world feel despite the science fiction.

That’s one thing I think I need to work on.  I can worldbuild all day long and I love it, but I don’t think my worlds are always immediately accessible.

So thanks to Netflix, we just watched Once Upon a Time in the West.  It was ranked as one of the top 100 Westerns of all time, and starred some big names like Charles Bronson and Henry Fonda.

I have to admit that we were confused quite a bit.  It was hard to figure out how the characters were related and what was happening.  For example, at the beginning, three characters arrive at a train station and basically take it over.  This scene goes on and on, with the characters sitting around, waiting, flies buzzing, wind blowing, etc.  Literally, at least 10 minutes were spent on this, and we had no idea what they were waiting for.

Then Bronson’s character arrived and it was a shoot out.  Why?  I have no idea.  Was Bronson a bad guy?  Who was he looking for? 

The other characters were introduced in the same way.  Gah, so confusing.  And oh, the long, meaningful stares and looks.  It became hilarious by the time we got to the last huge showdown.  Oh, look, a stare!  Now closer!  Get a good shot of Fonda’s nostrils! 

For all the loooooong stares and our confusion, we really did end up enjoying the movie (although I wouldn’t watch it again).  Bronson’s character was especially well done with the harmonica and what that meant, but we didn’t learn WHAT THAT MEANT until the last 10 minutes of the movie!  Very nice static trait, though.

The part that sticks with me is the ending.  Jill McBain, the widowed prostitue who’s struggled to keep her dead husband’s land, ends up falling in love with Bronson.  It was very subtle  (more meaningful stares, snickers) and she actually has a sexual relationship with Fonda’s character to save her own skin.  But in the end, Bronson walks away. 

I guess a lot of old Westerns end this way, with the moody cowboy/hired gun riding off into the sunset alone, but yeah, it didn’t do much for this romantic heart.  More, I just wasn’t satisfied with the ending.  How was Jill going to manage Sweetwater Station by herself?  She had dozens of workers to keep, and we know women didn’t do “business” type work back in those days.  Yet both of the men she’d come to rely on left her.

I couldn’t help but translate this to a science fiction setting.  Think about it:  a colony, with an older, established woman trying to make a go of it against bandits and the land itself.  She doesn’t know who to trust.  The men she counts on walk out on her.  How is she going to rally her workers even if they don’t respect her?

Ah.  Inspiration.  🙂

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Guilt and Ulterior Motive

First, I want to get something off my chest.  I hate feeling guilty.  I especially hate making MYSELF feel guilty over something that’s stupid.

I’m talking about Vicki.  I was really making myself feel guilty because I wasn’t getting the progress that I wanted.  Any other month (e.g. look back at May, Nov, and Dec. last year) I could have written 50K no problemo.  Way back in 2007, I wrote 50K in 11 days. 

I used to worry about never finishing a book (I’m glad the 2005 archives are gone!!) but I know that I can and will finish.  I can file something and bring it out again later and finish it (e.g. Conn, Victor). Yet for weeks, I made myself open Vicki’s file, whispering the fear–the lie–that if I filed her, she’d die.  I’d never finish. 

I tortured myself with that fear.  Daily.

Writers write every day, right?  How many times have we heard that?  Typically, I’d even agree.  Write 1K a day and finish 3 books a year, I know I’ve said that many times before.

But there’s no need to flail myself with guilt when a book isn’t going the way I want.  I could have put the book aside in March and moved on, instead of forcing myself to keep stabbing away at its lifeless corpse, because that’s really what it felt like.

Don’t get me wrong – if Vicki had been contracted, I would have been stabbing MYSELF to finish.  But she’s not contracted.  I’ve made no commitments.  It was just a book for me (right now), a personal challenge.  So why beat myself up?

So, note to self and any of you that might flail yourself with guilt about writing:  If it’s not feeling good, don’t do it!  If you’re leaving scars on your Muse, put the @#&%* whip away!  

We pick up enough scars each and every day just by being writers.  Bad reviews, rejections, opening up the dark scary places and peeling back layer after layer to reveal the horror and truth within.  Don’t make that scarring worse by tormenting youself with “shoulds” and “but the rule is….” or “but everyone else…”

There.  I feel better.

Now then, what do I mean about ulterior motive?  I’m declaring April my personal brainstorming month.  I’m not going to set a single goal for writing or finishing a single project.  I’m going to brainstorm.  I’m going to write snippets of dreams and secrets that characters whisper to me.  I’m going to write in my journal.  I’m going to go picture hunting.  I’m going to watch movies and read more books and cross-stitch.  I may even draw pictures!  Gasp!

One thing I’m learning from the harder exercise program I started in March: listen to my body.  Or in this case, listen to my Muse.  Gregar has never failed me before.  I’ve worked him hard and long, for years, with only minimal breaks.  I already have THREE contracted stories coming out this year. 

Yes, but but…  the shrill, annoying voices start.  Keep the pipeline full!  What about next year?  If you stop now, you may never start again.  Quitter!  Failure! 

Now there’s a very good reason my Muse carries a wicked ivory rahke, because I just borrowed it to slit that nasty little demon’s throat.  My greatest strength is my drive and my determination to succeed at all cost.  But that drive can also be my greatest weakness.

I have to learn to listen, both to my body and my Muse, before something tears or simply breaks.

So I hereby declare April to be my fun month.  I’m going to try some new things, build some new ideas, and just generally have a good time.  I will not write hard on any single project — but if I get an idea for a short freebie, I may allow myself to finish it. 

My ulterior motive:  MayNoWriMo.  I’m hoping that with an “enforced” writing restriction this month — and lots of fun idea time — that May will be a huge output month.   I’m being sneaky with my Muse and telling him no writing this month.  Just laugh, tell jokes, be that wicked smirking Blood I love so well.  Because next month, he’d better be the vicious Shadowed Blood again.

May, June, and July will be finishing whatever project I settle on for MayNoWriMo.  Top contenders at this time:  Vicki, Deathright, and Maya#2 using the subplots I axed from the original Bloodgate story.

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Writing Cycles

This is something I’ve been thinking about off and on for years, and the past few weeks have made me think about it again. 

I’ve talked before about the writer’s journey — how each day can begin with a call to adventure, is fraught with peril, and yes, most of the time, requires passage through the Inner Cave. 

But there’s another cycle I’m thinking about now, more like a life cycle, specifically for a computer program (my Evil Day job).  There are stages of coding, just as there are stages of writing.  I might spend weeks on a design, meeting with the business area to hash out the requirements and then building an outline or “synopsis” of the solution I’m going to deliver.  The longer we spend on business requirements and design, the better the final product will be.

Granted, not all projects — or books — require detailed analysis and design.  But for large, complex projects, a solid design is crucial.  Typically, the person writing the design may not even be the final programmer.  Components may get handed off to others to code, and they need to be able to read the design document and understand how their piece fits into the cog.

For some projects, the requirements and design stage goes on and on and on.  Lord, I just want to CODE, I need to go go go!  I’m tired of the endless meetings and reviewing spreadsheets.  Let’s do something.  Anything.  Go!

That’s the stage I was at when I started Vicki, even though I hadn’t done any of the normal “business requirements and design” that I normally do for a book.  After heavy revisions in January, I needed to just sit down and write.  Just go.  Grab the words, write freely, don’t worry about spreadsheets.  Just go!!

And it was fun — while it lasted.

That’s really the point I originally started with.  Like moon phases and hormones, I think there can be cycles for a writer too where we just naturally do one stage of the process better than others.  Sometimes, I can write 1K, 2K a day, for weeks, and feel energized at the end of each day.  Other times — even though I love the story as much as any of them — I can’t get but a paragraph, and it’s agonizing.  I can’t concentrate.  I don’t WANT to concentrate.  I’d rather clean toilets or fold laundry — anything! — than write, even though I love to write, I need to write.

But if I’m paying attention, a different cycle of the writing process is usually sparking.  e.g. if I don’t feel the words coming fast and strong, maybe it’s a good time to plot.  Or brainstorm. 

Or maybe I just need a break before all circuits melt.  🙂

I’m still sitting in a pretty good position for this year.  I have three contracted works in various stages of production.  That kind of work takes very different muscles from simply wallowing in a lovely draft, where the words are mine and mine alone.  When I get the editor’s file, it’ll be a drop everything and MOVE sort of push to get that work done and returned as quickly as possible.

Not a good time to be writing deep in the zone on a new book.  That’s what really started the sputtering on Vicki–I received revisions on The Bloodgate Guardian, and I just never got my flow back.

As much as I want to be writing new words right now and finishing Vicki, it’s just not happening.  Because I didn’t do a thorough design (plot) at the beginning, I don’t have much story left, and the book hasn’t broken 30K yet.  I’ve discovered some wonderful things, but they need work.  Lots of work. 

So last night, I sat down, opened Vicki’s file (the first time in days, honestly), and typed out every note and dream I’ve had in synopsis (telling) form.  It was a brain dump.  Even writing about the scenes I envisioned, I did not get the burn to write.  I didn’t slip into story (showing) mode once.  That tells me more than anything that it’s time to set Vicki aside for awhile.

Don’t worry – that seems to be my process for writing contemporary erotic.  I did the exact same thing for Conn and even Victor’s books.  I had about 15K written in loose chunks for Victor long before I sat down last year to write his complete draft.  I have a good start for Vicki in a few months, after I let her story stew just a bit longer on the back burner.

So what’s on the writing plate this month?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  I seem to be in an idea-generating cycle.  I’m hearing voices of characters, very very clearly, who have no business talking right now. 

e.g. Shannari was really blaring in my head yesterday.  I’m like, hey, your story is DONE.  Why are you bothering me?  But she just kept talking about the dream, how real it was, how easy it would be to slip there and never come out, because HE’S there.  Of course, I thought she was talking about Gregar, but then…

I got the chills on my arms that told me maybe she wasn’t talking about herself after all.  Maybe she’s trying to help me understand someone else.  *shivers*

Anyway, if I seem disjointed this month and jumping around like a duck after a June bug, that’s why.  The ideas are coming hard and fast — so I’ll be jotting them, brainstorming, while I wait for the editor revisions to come.

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Winner: Launch Vicki’s Line

Thank you to everyone who helped me brainstorm Vicki’s new fashion line.  I didn’t end up using your recommendations, but talking about it helped me come up with the idea I’m going to use (for now):

Bound by Madame, with a swirling V on her label

The winner drawn from comments is:  Marie!  I think I already have your address, and I’ll drop you a note once I get your signed Dear Sir, I’m Yours in the mail!

Thanks, everyone!

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Dear Sir I’m Yours Review

This is an incredible back-and-forth dual (duel!) review of Dear Sir, I’m Yours, between The HEA Lover and The Geeky Lover at Book Lovers Inc.  They get into characters, go way back to the free prequel Letters and free sequel Take Me — what an incredible, detailed review!  Plus they had some awesome things to say about Conn.  *winks*

Conn… *drools*  Sorry about that, Conn is just perfect. When I read Letters I was intrigued by him. He had so much power about him, he really is a Dominant. I was under his spell! I still am in fact. I loved him even more after reading DSIY, he’s perfect! He took his time to explain everything to Rae. And such a wicked mind!! Spank me Conn Spank ME!!

Haha, I love it.  It made me laugh out loud!

Overall Impression:

The HEA Lover: I want to say: Go read it!! This is an amazing story, and if you are, like me, a newbie to BDSM you will enjoy the ride. The characters are so attaching I didn’t want to leave them. Letters is a Free read, every one should at least try to read Letters. If you love letters you will love DSIY.  You won’t regret it, I am VERY happy I listened to Susi’s recommendation, it was a perfect book for me. I cannot wait for Victor’s book to be out, I’m so excited *bouncing* I feel like I didn’t do justice to how amazing this book is.

The Geeky Lover: Agree with all the above. If you alway thought you are to vanilla for BDSM this book will change your mind. It’s such a lovely emotional story that will take your hand and approach this topic in a way that will leave your heart touched and body overheated. Take a look at Letters if you are unsure and believe me, you won’t regret it.

Thank you so much, Book Lovers Inc!  I’ll have an interview with them on April 5th, so watch for the link!

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Easter Egg Hunt & Vicki Snippet

Welcome to all the Long & Short of It Scavengers!  My egg should be easy to find (look in the right sidebar) but I hope you stick around awhile and at least check out the Free Reads.

And since I missed the Friday Snippet last week (we were on vacation), and I was generally missing Vicki and the gang something fierce, I decided to post a bit more of Vicki’s story.  This scene is after the last one posted at VCONN Tower and occurs in Victor’s penthouse suite.  Hopefully you remember Mal — e.g. Malindre Kannes, the Mistress of Dallas — from Victor’s book.  She’s not just a side character, because she’s been clamoring for her own book lately.   *headdesk*

Warning:  first draft, subject to heavy revision later.  Genre:  Contemporary erotic (BDSM) romance. 

Mal, on the other hand, took one look at the man hovering at Vicki’s back and a huge smile broke across her face. “I knew it.” She hugged Vicki and gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Good for you, hon. If you need help housebreaking him, you give me a call.”

“I’m not a dog,” Jesse muttered.

With a low, wicked laugh, Mal stepped around Vicki and leaned in close to him. “If I tell you to heel, you will.”

He tipped his chin up and broadened his stance, but he didn’t take his hand off Vicki’s back. “No, I’m won’t. Not for you.”

A sharp thrust of emotion tore through her. Rage, jealousy, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she didn’t want Mal touching him, or Jesse doing anything for her. “He’s mine.”

“Of course he is, hon.” Mal drawled, not at all fazed by the sharpness in Vicki’s voice. “But do you know what he likes? Can you take care of his needs, whatever they are?”

She started to open her mouth, but Mal cut her off.

“If he needs you to put a collar on him, strip him naked, and force him to sleep on the floor at your bedside, can you do it? If he needs you to pick up a paddle and whip him until he can’t sit down, will you do it?”

Vicki felt him hovering at her back, nervous, yes, but terribly eager, his muscles tight, his heat rising.

Her stomach churned with anxiety. Her mind felt jammed full of images: Jesse naked, Jesse bound, Jesse begging, helpless, crying, screaming…for me.

A shudder wracked her shoulders and he pressed closer, dropping his forehead against her neck, burying his nose in her hair. “Do you need stuff like that?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered raggedly, but she felt his erection like a steel rod against her ass.

She lifted her gaze to Mal’s face, thoroughly prepared for a smug I-told-you-so look, but the other woman only nodded solemnly. “People think it’s all fun and games being a Dominant, but it’s not. We have a huge responsibility not only to keep the submissive safe but to also learn what they need and then, we have to provide it, no matter what that need requires. It’s your job to help him find out what he needs. You have to push his limits, explore his fears and his desires, and those desires will not always coincide with yours. If you care about him, you’ll make sure he gets those needs met. Your boy claims he doesn’t know what he wants, but I guarantee he’s got a few things in mind that will knock you reeling, and you haven’t even gotten started yet.”

Shaken, Vicki turned her attention to her brother, checking to see his reaction. He nodded as solemnly as his friend, his eyes dark and grim. “When I first met Shiloh, she scared me shitless.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Shiloh purred, turning away from her glowering Master and offering a hand to Jesse. “Let’s all get comfy before we scare the big bad Dominants too much.”