So far, 2013 is shaping up to be a busy year.  This past week, I’ve finished up line edits on Her Grace’s Stable, finished a 35K novella (but that’s another story, literally), revised Sig’s book (Lord Regret’s Price) for the second time including adding 2K+ to the end (bringing total to 77K), and written a synopsis.  Even better, Sig is now out visiting on submission!  Keep your fingers crossed that we hear good news in a few weeks.

As for the novella, it’s not really a novella.  It’s part one of a big story.  A story that both terrifies and excites me.  I’ve been working on the premise for this story for over a year.  A hint to what it’s about is in this interview.  I’ve got part two very well plotted, but part 3 is still a vague mess.  It might be one of those stories that I have to write the next act before I can figure out the end.  I have some ideas of what I want to happen, but there are certain elements that still escape me.

Now that Sig’s away and the 3/15 deadline is regretfully out of reach, I’ll be rereading what I have so far and tackle part 2.  I’m also going to make notes on Lady Wyre’s Rebel while the story’s on my mind.  It’s gonna be one wild crazy ride!

I finished the wip tonight.  Yep, I know.  It’s crazy.

I was on fire.  Drunk on words.  I couldn’t stop.  The story consumed my every free moment.  Even when I was working or cooking dinner or picking up kids from school, I could hear Ranay and Charlie in my head.

And surprisingly, I finished under the 35K mark.  Granted that’s first draft, but IF–and that’s a huge if–I want to submit it for the antho call, I met the size requirement.

I flirted with the road less traveled but didn’t quite go there.  Or rather, I went there, but it’s so subtle and woven into the narrative in little ways that I don’t think you would know.  Until I write the next book that’s in my head.

7756 words for the day.  Yeah, I know.  I haven’t written that much in… I can’t remember.  Combine that with yesterday’s total, and it’s insane.  When the story’s right (write) though, it just goes.  I couldn’t type fast enough.  In this case, I’m thankful I’m a pretty fast typist, because I didn’t want to lose a single moment.

Another snippet, continuing from yesterday.

Yet I couldn’t stifle the kernel of anticipation that had sprouted in that dark secret corner I’d fought so hard to control this past year.  Even worse, that little sprout threatened to grow into Jack’s beanstalk when he and Sheba followed me into the break room.  Clients never came back here, but I didn’t think Dr. Wentworth would mind.  She claimed not to have any favorites, but Sheba was too perfect not to make it high on our office’s most beloved list.

I wasn’t sure what Mr. MacNiall did for a living, but we often had the pleasure of boarding Sheba while he was out of town.  Truth be told, we spoiled her rotten and gave her the run of the office when she was ours for a few days.

I started to scoop him a cup from the crockpot, but I decided I’d better warm him first.  “This didn’t come out of a box.  It’s a concoction I came up after making it over and over and now it’s become a sort of tradition.”  I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stop babbling like a nervous twit.  “It’s got coconut milk in it.  Is that okay?”

He shrugged off his coat, treating me to hints of the powerful cuts of muscle beneath his sweater.  “As long as it’s hot and chocolately, I don’t care.”

And then he looked at me.

I mean, he really looked at me.  Not through me, not in my general vicinity required through polite social interaction.  He looked at me like he could see everything inside me.  Everything I’d fought to fix, and if I couldn’t fix it, the things I ignored and pretended weren’t broken and painful.  Some days those things ached so badly I was afraid I’d shatter into a thousand pieces.  His eyes saw that darkness in me.  He saw how damaged I was.

And he didn’t turn away.

He didn’t look at me with pity.  Or revulsion.  His gaze didn’t skitter away.  He didn’t start making excuses so he could retreat unscathed before my compulsions trapped him in a web of crazy he’d do anything to escape.

Oh, the way he looked at me…

I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t blink.  I couldn’t breathe.

With all that scorching intensity, he was either all in or completely out.  No in between.  No safety net.  No flirting.  No escape.

A lot like me.

Which makes him entirely off limits.  I jerked my gaze away and the effort made sweat bead on my forehead.  Too dangerous by far.  Neither one of us would be able to escape a relationship unscathed.

He took a long drink, giving me respite from his gaze, enough that I was able to suck in a loud breath.  I managed to get my heart beating again.  My fingers were icy, my hands shaking, and as hot as my face felt, I was probably glowing as brightly as Rudolph’s nose.  Desperate to hide my reaction, I bent down on my knee and concentrated on Sheba.

The dog gave me a knowing look, as though to say, I know he’s a great master, but he’s all mine, human.  I scratched behind her big perked up ears and under her jaw.  Her long ebony coat was immaculately groomed.  If she jumped up on her rear legs, she’d be almost as tall as me.  Yet like her master, she was unfailing gentle despite her power.

“Ranay?”

The soft tone of his voice made me close my eyes, even as I wanted to turn my face up to him and let my hunger show on my face.  Hunger for him, for the control he wielded so effortlessly.  I was already on one knee.  It’d be so easy…

Too easy.

I buried my face against Sheba’s neck and made a sound I hope he took for “Yes?”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

I clutched the big dog harder.  Luckily she didn’t mind.  In fact, she licked my cheek and made a low whuff in my ear.  “Of course, Mr. MacNiall.”

“Mac,” he chided.  “Hell, you could even call me Charlie and I wouldn’t mind, even though the only other person who calls me that is Mom.  I’ve been coming to Dr. Wentworth for years and I’ve known you since the first day she hired you.  Surely you can call me by name now?”

He remembered when I’d been hired?  Had Dr. Wentworth talked to him about me?  How much did she know about my unsavory past?

Considering she was Mom’s best friend, probably way more than I wanted her to know.  She’d probably only given me the job out of the kindness of her heart, though I think I’d more than earned her trust.  I was never late, I loved the animals, and I was determined to do my best work every single day.  I was holding it together.  Nobody had any cause to suspect I might have a few screws loose.  “Dr. Wentworth likes us to be professional at all times.”

“She calls me Mac.  Why can’t you?”

He didn’t have to remind me.  For a while, I’d burned with jealousy when I heard the easy familiarity between them, until I understood there was nothing between them but friendship.  The first few months at my new job, I’d been oblivious to the clients–concentrating instead on their animals.  Eventually I’d realized those animals only came to us via their human counterparts, and I’d found myself reconnecting with the world.

I wish I’d never looked into Sheba’s human’s eyes.  I wish I’d been able to crush that first hint of attraction.  I wish he wasn’t such a dedicated pet owner who brought Sheba in faithfully every single month for grooming.

How could I even begin to explain it to him?  If I cracked that door open even just a little, the whole avalanche would slip free and bury me beneath dozens of feet of roiling, uncontrollable emotion.  It took all my will and effort to keep all that locked away so I could function.  It’d taken me two years to get over the last man I’d dated.

Although “dating” wasn’t exactly the right word for such a disastrous and dysfunctional relationship.

“I have to get back to the front desk.”  Without looking at him, I pushed to my feet and carefully edged around him.  Part of me was afraid he might lay a hand on my arm to halt my escape.  The other half of me frantically pleaded that he seize both of my arms and haul me against him until I had no choice but to tell him the truth.  I refused to be disappointed that he merely followed me back to the front of the office.

I took my seat, firmly entrenched behind the high counter that walled me off from the world.  Only then could I attempt to meet his steady, piecing gaze again.  Nope, I couldn’t do it.  Not yet.  I settled my gaze on his sweater, tracing the weave of each thread, the way the colors met and blended.  That distracted me enough to answer him.  “What do you want to know?”

He merely stared back at me, waiting.

Waiting.

Oh God.  This man was so dangerous.  He knew how to play me.  How to tempt me.  Without ever talking about more than Sheba’s next appointment, he knew secrets about me that I tried so hard to hide.  Secrets I buried, denied, and prayed I could erase, but they were always there to torment me.

I didn’t want to let him in.  I didn’t want to play his game.

That’s a lie.  I want to play his game so badly I’m scared to death.

I’m slinging words on the new project I’m considering for the 3/15 deadline.  The first 20K is very solid.  But I have two possible difficulties to deal with.

1. Word count.  I’m already over 26K and I can only play with 35K.

2. Content and tone.

This is supposed to be for a Christmas call, and yeah, the holiday does play an important part in the story.  But the tone and content of this “Christmas” story isn’t very ho-ho-ho-happy holidays, if you know what I mean.

I’m more of a Blood and Shadows kind of girl.  Even at Christmas.

I’m also fighting the hero something fierce.  Well, fighting isn’t quite the right word.  He’s cooperating way better than Sig – I got 6K today.  Yep! *boggles*  Words aren’t a problem right now.  It’s what he keeps edging toward.  I’m not prepared to discuss it yet, because honestly, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do.  Do I take the road less traveled…and definitely the harder sale?  Or do I stick to the chosen path, even though it’s overgrown and twisty?

I’m not exactly the safe path kind of writer, even when I try really hard to be.

But who knows.  The market’s a crazy beast.  In the end, I have to be true to myself, and despite these struggles, I’ve been true to the hero who keeps wanting to lurk in the shadows.  He’s still dark and as unpolitically correct as most of my heroes.  Whether the hints he keeps trying to drop to me are meaningful or not, I guess I’ll find out.

I haven’t posted anything about this project yet, so I’ll share the opening scene below to give you just a taste of this holiday craziness I’m working on.

You could tell a lot about a man by watching him handle his dog.  Working as a receptionist at a vet clinic, I saw all kinds of men come through our doors.  Sometimes the dog came charging into the office, tangling up his owner’s legs in the leash, ignoring any sort of command.  Big dog, little dog, it didn’t matter.  Some men just didn’t know how to handle a pet.  I didn’t mind those dogs or their owners, even if I often had to clean up some odorific messes around the office once they were gone.

It was the dogs who came in cringing with their tails between their legs that worried me.

Those dogs–and their masters–often gave me nightmares, sometimes so bad I seriously thought about changing professions before I completed my vet tech training.  Not that I suspected the dogs were being outright abused–Dr. Wentworth was very careful about ensuring the safety of her charges.  It just broke my heart to think any sweet, devoted dog wasn’t loved unconditionally with patience and understanding.

Dr. Wentworth had lots of clients, but none of them were like Sheba’s human.  As queenly as her namesake, Sheba strolled in like she was entering a world-class dog show instead of her vet’s office.  A king shepherd in prime condition, she could have torn the place up before I could even clear my desk at the front.  Yet she sat at her master’s feet and looked up at him, ears perked, tail wagging.

“Good girl,” he murmured in a low, sweet voice that still managed to thrum with power.

Power that made me clench my thighs together.  Oh, to have that delicious rumbling voice heap such praises on me.

Charles MacNiall wasn’t your typical tall, dark and handsome sort of man.  His hair–while dark–was curly and a little too long for today’s styles, and while he was taller than me, that wasn’t really saying much since I’m barely more than five feet tall.  His physical size wasn’t impressive, but he was lean and tight and hard.  He had the strength, both physically and mentally, to be alpha to a hundred-plus pound, extremely active and strong dog.

More importantly, he had presence.  He wore an aura of controlled energy like a force field about him.  Even though he stood on the opposite side of the receptionist counter, I could feel that warm power licking at my attention.  His energy was a compelling heat that made me want to curl up at his feet just like Sheba.  Always mindful of his power, he rarely turned the full force of his gaze on me, as though he sensed that I was far too susceptible.

Kind and gorgeous, he allowed me to peek at him without trying to draw me out or to catch me staring.  In fact, he seemed oblivious to anything other than Sheba’s health, which suited me fine.

I’d probably fall apart if the man looked at me.

My cheeks flushed and I concentrated fiercely at the computer screen, hoping he thought I was merely shy, not appalled at my own stupid weakness.  It didn’t matter how many times he came in since I’d been working here.  He always hit me like a sledgehammer between the eyes.

I held my breath for several moments until I felt more in control, and then I turned and gave him my best customer service smile without exactly meeting his gaze.  “Good afternoon, Mr. MacNiall.  Dr. Wentworth is almost ready for you.  You’re our last client today.”

He kept his gaze directed down at his dog, but he smiled, flashing a killer dimple in his cheek.  “I’m not in a rush.”

It was all I could do not to let out a ridiculous little sigh of pleasure.  I soaked him in quickly–the way his curly hair tumbled down across his forehead, his full, sensual lips, the warmth in his dark eyes.  His cheeks and nose were ruddy, his hair windblown more than usual, like he’d been outside a long time.  If he were younger, I would’ve guessed he’d been sled riding for hours, even though there was hardly enough snow to make it worthwhile.

As if he’d heard my thoughts, he said, “I’m playing hooky today, much to Sheba’s glee.  She’s had me at the park all day.”

On Christmas Eve Eve, our unpredictable Missouri weather had finally chilled enough to be called winter, putting me in an extremely rare holiday mood.  It had to be a temporary sugar stupor that made me open my mouth.  “We’ve got a pot of hot chocolate in the back.  Would you like a cup to warm you up?”

“I’d love one, thanks.”

I bit my lip to keep from cursing out loud.  I wasn’t supposed to engage him in conversation.  It was too risky.  I certainly wasn’t supposed to serve him anything.  That led my wayward fantasies down a twisty narrow road of snake pits and creepy caverns.  Relax, I ordered myself sternly.  It’s just a cup of cocoa.  I’m not hitting on him.  He’s not hitting on me.  This is just a nice friendly offer of a hot drink on a chilly day.

I don’t have to go into take me-to-your-dungeon territory.

 

When I sat down to do the first read-through of Lord Regret’s Price, I was braced for disappointment.  As long as it took me to grind through the draft, I was sure I had repetition and inconsistencies to correct.  I couldn’t remember some of the plot elements I’d done in the middle, so I was afraid I’d dropped the threads entirely.  I was sure I had some shaky characterizations too, along with numerous [notes] to go back and figure out.

And I did have some of all of those situations, yes.

But it wasn’t as bad as I feared.

In fact… I’ve already made the first full revision pass and corrected all the issues.

Surprised?  Yeah, I was too.  I’m pretty happy with it, even after all the blood, sweat, and tears it took to finish that draft.  I kept everything, except for about 700 words I cut out and replaced with other stuff.

Sure I had to shore up some slips.  Go back and drop some hints.  Delete other hints that I’d dropped a little too heavily.  But overall, it was a pretty solid draft.

WHEW!!!

So now, the call goes out for beta readers.  If anyone has the time and inclination to do a beta read for me before I submit to my editor, drop me a note (joelysueburkhart AT gmail DOT com).  I’m looking for general impressions (I was confused here, or this didn’t make sense, or wow, I really liked this and wished it been more/bigger), although if you catch me in a typo I’m grateful.  I’ll include everyone’s names in the acknowledgements and provide a complete final copy assuming it’s accepted for publication.

Then it’ll be synopsis, final pass, and Sig will be off to my editor!

Meanwhile, I’m shifting gears to the other novella I’m hoping to finish by 3/15.

Finally, finally, finally, the first draft has been achieved!  He was a smug, reticent bastard for 99% of the book.  I had to beat him within an inch of his life.  Not once but several times.  I had to warp some more British history to figure out his House.  I also had to ruin–I mean, blur–some Chinese Imperial dynasties.

There were many times when I wanted to do anything, I mean ANYTHING, but work on his book.  Clean toilets.  Sort rocks.  Do my taxes.  Yeah, I was desperate.  But little by little, I kept chiseling.

It still needs work.  A lot of work.

But the first draft is DONE.  And there’s very little else that feels as good as working so damned hard and finally achieving the goal.

Stock photo by Ferelwing

ETA:  74,000 words!

After the big day last Thursday, I had hopes that I’d finish the book this weekend, but we were busy as always with basketball (the last weekend for games!!) and family stuff.  However, I’ve chipped and chipped away, gradually finishing the fourth to last scene.  I’m about midway through the next big scene.

But it’s BIG.  This is the showdown with Majel, the climax where everything hits the fan at the same time.  It’s going to take a couple of smaller scenes between various POVs to get the whole thing done.  I’m still playing a few things by ear, letting them unfold slowly as I work.  There are still surprises popping up that I didn’t expect.

Despite very little sleep all weekend, I made it D&E this morning to break 66K.  I WILL finish the first draft this week.  But it’ll need another week or two of revisions before I’ll be willing to send it onward.

Now hoping I don’t get the wicked cold that’s keeping Littlest Monster home from school today…

I’m finally deep enough into Act 3 that I know exactly how many major scenes are left.  Only four.

FOUR.

FOUR!

I’ve had a big day already, but I’m hoping I can keep pushing now that the end is close enough to smell.  These are major suspensful action scenes, plus one huge emotional love scene as the resolution, so they won’t be easy.  I honestly don’t believe I’ll finish tonight.  Or even tomorrow.  But I’m close.  Finally.

Is it just me, or do I hear angels singing?

We’re having leftovers tonight for dinner, giving me a little more time to keep pushing those words.  I’ve had a ton of coffee already today, so I made myself a luscious hot chocolate with a little coconut milk, one square of Dove dark, a little sugar, and a shot of my strongest espresso.

Loading up scene one of four…

I’m still writing Dark & Early 4 days a week and getting at least 1K in most days.  I’m on the verge of the climax but not quite there yet.  I’ve got Sig’s dreadful past figured out.  I know who contracted him.  I know what the Empress has planned.  I even know that Majel is closer than any of them suspect.

Yet I’m still not done.

And the book is just shy of 60K.  Yep, that’s twice as long as Lady Doctor Wyre.

There’s just so much more to investigate and explore this time around.  I’ve got Sig’s issues to deal with.  Lady Wyre’s learning more about the side effects of her invention.  Majel’s desperate enough that she might even consider letting her old enemy live if only so she can help her stop what’s happening.  Then there’s the worldbuilding necessary for Zijin.  I’m so glad that I’d already done quite a bit of research for Golden (although that was based more on the Tang Dynasty), so I had a good idea of the flavor and elements I wanted to build on.

I’m getting there, but deep down, I fear this book may never end.  I keep hoping that one day I’ll sit down and spew out 3-5K and finish the damned thing, but it hasn’t happened yet.

And I still have to get through edits before it’s fit for my editor’s eyes.

So the last few days of February are winding down and it’s all Sig, all the time.  I’m going to have to shelve the other novella I was hoping to finish by the 3/1 deadline because I don’t even have the first draft finished yet.

Sig is more important.  I *have* to finish.

After weeks of faking it, I might have finally “made” it this week.  *crossing fingers, throws salt over shoulder, makes sacrifices to all writing deities*

I didn’t get much done over the weekend between basketball, a trip to my Dad’s, and laundry.  I could have written some Sunday afternoon but I was feeling lazy and sleepy, so I just played Garden Rescue instead.  (P.S. one of the best purchases I’ve ever made – in sheer game time I’ve played this one for hours and hours.  Well worth the money!  Same goes for the Christmas Edition.  I’m obsessed with completing all levels with three stars at each difficulty!)

I might not have made a bunch of words, but the most important thing I did Sunday night was jot a few lines to start the next section so I didn’t have to think about what I was going to do Monday morning.  It’s a candy bar scene with Majel – one I’ve been waiting for a looooong time.  I knew it was going to be fun.  950 words yesterday morning, and then I got a little more last night to get over 1K.

This morning, I got up at my usual 5 AM but the puppy wanted to go out early too.  That put me 10 mins late getting into my office and then I had her getting into the trash, jumping up on me, shredding napkins, etc.  Generally making a nuisance of herself like only puppies can do while looking too adorable to actually scold harshly.  I only had about 350 words and I was NOT happy.

I was still in that candy bar scene but I wasn’t sure how I was going to end it.  I wasn’t sure how it was going to flow into the next scene I’d started but then decided I needed to move Majel’s scene up.  Then I had that interruption with the dog and I was mad.  Really mad.

But something clicked over lunch and boom.  I mean BOOM.  Sig’s life went to hell in a handbasket in a hurry.  I suddenly have a ticking bomb for the last Act of the book.  I know exactly what I need to do and how I’m going to get there.  I’ll need to go back and drop a few little threads for an upcoming event and maybe do a little bit of research, but that can wait until after I finish.

Yes, the end is in sight.  I knew if I could just get over that hump and get into the final showdown, things would pick up.  I’m about 95% sure I’m there.  Hold on for a wild and crazy ride to the end!

P.S. Although I did just get 2nd round edits on Her Grace’s Stable last night.  Isn’t that always how it works?  I’m hoping to turn them around quickly too.