Category: The Writing

Posted on by — 2 Comments

Pony Hack

(I’ll be back later today with some guest post links – I’ll be out and about this entire month to help bring Vicki out into the world.)

Lady Blackmyre is still riding me hard.  *snickers*  I’m just her pony hack at this point.  Her Grace’s Stable broke 15K this morning Dark & Early.  The story’s still going strong and it’s killing me every time I have to take a break and work or go to a band concert (last night).  Three huge days in a row and my wrists are holding up, though I’m definitely hitting the Motrin a little more than usual to keep inflamation down.

I had a hard decision to make yesterday that my beloved sis talked me through whether she knew it or not via texts.  I had to decide what to do with Cole.  One thing would be easier and definitely within my comfort zone.  The other option is something I privately had drawn a line at years ago.

Without formally deciding, I was already going the easy route.  I’d even played a few options in my mind for Cole.  Perhaps Dottie…  No.  That wasn’t right.

In fact, the more I thought about it, easy wasn’t right at all.

I have to be true to the story that’s driving me, no matter how much I balk.  Lady Blackmyre requires nothing less than the painful, awful truth.  It hovers like a gigantic impossible jump ahead of me, a black hole ready to swallow me on the other side, but she already gave me the signal to jump.

I’ll just have to trust that the story takes me over and onward.

“Have you been happy with him?”

Another man might have dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet in embarrassment, but Cole continued to meet her gaze levelly.  “No, Your Grace.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not there with us.”  At the stricken look that must be on her face, he quickly moved on.  “Besides, I don’t know that he particularly likes men.  I mean, he didn’t hesitate to use me at first because his need was too great to ignore.  But if he has his choice, I don’t know that he’d select me again.”

Surprised, she reached out to Cole and he came around her desk immediately to drop at her feet and bury his face in her skirts.  “You mean he hasn’t…”

“Only the time in the stable when I first found him, and then once after that when he was fully recovered.  He seemed… to regret it.”

“Oh, pet, I had no idea.  I thought you might be happy with him and I was perfectly willing to step aside.”

“I don’t want another man if I can’t have you too, Mistress.  I certainly don’t want a man who can only stomach the thought of touching me in a desperate moment of weakness better quickly forgotten.”

“Of course not,” she murmured, smoothing her hand through his hair.  “You deserve more than that, Cole.  I swore I’d take care of anything you might need, and I shall.”

“I don’t understand why you set me free in the first place.”  He kept his head buried against her, muffling his words, but each one sank like a barbed arrow straight to her heart.  “I don’t want to be free, Mistress.”

“You need more than I can give you.”  And I can’t bear to make you watch me die a slow, agonizing death.

“I need you more than another man, Mistress.  Please, you’re my sun and my sustenance, the very air I breathe.  Tell me to drop dead at your feet and I shall but don’t send me away from you, please.  Keep Arthur, I don’t mind.  Just keep me too.”

What could she say that might allow him some assurance?  The last thing she wanted was for this dear boy to waste away at her bedside while she coughed up her lungs and slowly expired.  Yet I can’t bear to let him think I don’t love him as much as I do.

“We shall see, all right?”  She cupped his cheek and pressed her forehead to his, letting him see the tears in her eyes.  “I love you dearly, Cole.  It’s hurt me more than I ever imagined to give you your freedom.  But I can’t explain the entire situation to you at this time.  Please, trust me to do everything I can to see to your wellbeing and happiness as long as I’m able.”

His eyes narrowed and she feared she’d said too much.  No one knew she was ill besides the Queen.  That’s the way she preferred it.  She wouldn’t have even told Majel, except no one refused Her Majesty without a death wish.  I have nothing to fear in that regard, for my death has already been signed, sealed and delivered.

“The Duchess of Blackmyre is able to do a great many things.  If you can break a wild stallion to your hand, then you can surely keep this mischievous pony in your stable, too.”

Posted on by — 5 Comments

Scratch the List of May Goals

I was going to post today about kicking my backside and getting back in gear but a strange thing happened at lunch.

These voices came to me very clearly.  I mean, I was hearing dialogue clear as day.  Two ladies.  And they would not. shut. up.  They just went on and on and on until I gave in and wrote some of it down tonight in between kids coming home and dinner.

Then I looked up and I had 4,200+ words.

Insane, huh?  I haven’t written that much in a month, let alone in one day.  It’s not the story I’m supposed to be working on (although it is in Lady Wyre’s world).  I’m not even sure it’s something I would try to sell.  It’s pretty off the wall, even for me.  :mrgreen:

But it’s been fun — and sometimes it’s nice to have fun again.  So for now, I won’t make a bulleted list of all the stuff I have to get done and I’ll just listen to Dottie and Vi chat some more.

First draft of the fun I’ve had this evening.  Happy May!

Lady Violet Meacham, the Duchess of Blackmyre, yawned behind her gloved hand, though she made no effort to hide her boredom from her companion.  “Why did I allow you to drag me to Vauxhall’s again?”

“For the scenery,” Lady Ruthanne, Countess of Dottham known affectionately as “Dottie,” replied with a wink at the young gentlemen promenading about the gardens.  “Hasn’t Her Majesty ordered us all to marry as quickly as possible?”

“Oh, Dottie,”Violet sighed, shaking her head.  “Surely you don’t expect to find anything interesting enough to bed here.”

Dottie feigned a stuffy arrogance.  “But these are the finest blooded young lads in all of Britannia, Your Grace.  If you can’t find an interesting prospect for marriage here, than where do you propose to look?”

Violet made the mistake of allowing her gaze to meet the eyes of one of the young men hovering a polite distance away.  His friends whispered and laughed, encouraging him to approach and beg an introduction.  She ran her gaze down his young body attractively dressed in the finest Londonium had to offer.  His buckskins were spotless and so tight it looked as though his modiste had sewed him into trousers.  His package was a nice size.  Not too large, nor too small.

His manner eager and dutifully shy, whether he was truly an innocent debutante or merely feigning the role to gain her eye, she didn’t care to hazard a guess.  His features were fine and elegant, his eyes wide and sparkling with the dare of approaching one of the richest and most eligible catches in Town.  Even her own mother’s curse on her deathbed and whispers of Blackmyre’s darkest urges couldn’t keep them away from the lure of her money.

He scurried to her side and took her hand in both of his to press his mouth to her knuckles.  “Forgive my rudeness, Your Grace.  I am overcome by your presence and beauty.”

Barely, she suppressed the urge to jerk her hand away.  Thank God she’d worn gloves this evening, or she’d have to endure his sloppy affection on her bare skin.

“Blackmyre, may I introduce this young man to you?”

The amusement in Dottie’s voice made Violet grit her teeth, but her friend ignored the fierce glare.

Again throwing custom and manners to the wind, he introduced himself, tripping over the words.  “Garrett Wellesley of House Wellington, Your Grace.  It’s an honor to meet you at last.”

Surprised, Violet allowed him to keep her hand, even wrapped her own fingers around his to keep him now that her curiosity was piqued.  “Wellington let you out alone, did she?  I’m surprised you’re so honored to meet me, young man, when your grandmother must have many vile and inflammatory things to say about Blackmyre.”

He hesitated only a moment, allowing a spark of intelligence to glint in his eyes that attracted her more than his pretty clothes and virile young body.  “She has indeed, Your Grace.  Yet the honor is mine.”

Ah, a young rebel, then.  No doubt a finely educated bluestocking who’d take the first opportunity to lecture her on men’s rights and how the Queen should be deposed immediately.  For a moment, she actually allowed herself to consider courting this young man.  It’d be amusing to see how quickly Wellington could pop a vein in her forehead once she realized her precious grandson had fallen into Blackmyre’s clutches.

She allowed herself the pleasure of a small test.  Incrementally, she tightened her fingers, watching his face.  His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his tongue slipped between his perfect white teeth to nervously moisten his lips.  Most importantly, he didn’t pull away.  He even gripped her hand back as tightly, indicating at least an initial show of spirit.

This could be interesting.  Plus I would have the chance to get back at Wellington…

“Your Grace.”  A man wearing her livery dropped to his knee beside her, head bowed.  “There’s an urgent situation that needs your immediate attention.”

“Very well.  Please excuse me, Mr. Wellington.  It was a pleasure to meet you.”

The purr of her voice made his cheeks flood with crimson.  Stammering and bowing, he backed away to rejoin his friends.  If nothing else, word would get back to Wellington about the near miss.  Surely the old hag wouldn’t let her precious grandson out to romp about Londonium without an escort next time.

Violet followed her man outside.  Dottie tagged along, still chuckling to herself.  “You made quite an impression on that young fool, Blackmyre.  I hope his dear grandmamma doesn’t drop dead of an aneurism as soon as she hears about his little coup tonight.”

“Hmm, the Queen would never forgive me if the field marshal dropped dead.”

“Indeed,” Dottie laughed.  “The Season would certainly be ruined.  Majel would have to stop the parties long enough to find a new House desperate enough to accept the task of defeating Francia when so many others have failed.  I’m surprised she hasn’t asked you to fill in with your formidable reputation.”

Violet didn’t respond.  In fact, Queen Majel had invited her to accept that very position before she’d extended it to Wellington.  Where Wellington thought taking the helm of the army meant dressing up like a soldier while she continued to attend the same whirl of parties all Season, Violet would have actually relished the opportunity to command the troops to war.

Yet her health wouldn’t allow it.  Even walking rapidly after her servant toward the stables was enough to make her heart beat alarmingly fast.  With the damned corset squeezing her ribcage, she could hardly breathe.  Forcing herself to slow down and breathe as deeply as possible, she asked, “What’s the emergency, Cole?”

“I interrupted something I wasn’t supposed to see, Your Grace.”  Cole glanced back at her and ducked his head a little, his own form of apology and dedication to his mistress that immediately conveyed the gravity of the situation.   That little sign of respect told her exactly what kind of scene he’d interrupted.  “I couldn’t help myself.  I heard a commotion and once I saw him, I couldn’t leave him.”

Cole knew more about her secret inclinations than most, because he’d been on the receiving end more often than not.  If he hadn’t been able to leave…  “Dottie, perhaps you’d better return to the party.”

“I’m not leaving, Violet.”  The use of her given name carried a solemn weight of their long friendship.  Yet Dottie didn’t know half the things that Cole had already seen at her hand.  “I’m your friend regardless of what secrets you carry, and you might need my help.”

“Very well,” Violet answered gruffly, but linked her arm with her friend’s gratefully.  “Just remember that I warned you.”

Posted on by — 12 Comments

The Magic of RT

I hope you follow me on Twitter or Facebook – that’s where I’ve been posting the bulk of my pictures from RT12 (upper right hand sidebar if you need the links).  But after tonight’s events, I had to open up the laptop for the first time so I could capture this moment.

At the Ebook Expo, I got to sit by Monica Burns and Sharon Buchbinder and we talked and talked for two hours.  I got to meet my Samhain editor, Tera Kleinfelter, and Carina Press’s Executive Editor, Angela James (and my old Samhain editor) for the first time.  At the Samhain Stampede, I met dozens of other Samhain authors that I’ve seen online on Twitter or on groups.  It’s so funny to see these names over the years but have no real face or voice to match.  Now I do!

But here’s where the REAL magic happened.  Ann and I walked into the Scottish Fling dinner party and sat down at a table of strangers.  This table must have had some kind of cosmic energy drawing us all to this table.  I swear it was a weird convergence spot.

I sat by Kate Pearce, whom I’d heard at the “What’s Hot” erotica panel earlier in the afternoon.  We started chatting and I learned she’s a new Carina author.  We’re both going to the Award Ceremony tomorrow – which is when the private Carina author dinner is scheduled.  I was worried about finding my way alone (it’s not at the hotel) after the ceremony, and so was she.  We talked the entire evening about the business, our families, etc. and agreed to meet up tomorrow night after awards and walk together.

As the evening passed, I mentioned I was from MO.  Cecily White came around shortly after and said where at in MO?  Ironically, she’s from Springfield – only 8 miles away!  She’s also involved with the Ozarks Romance Authors group, which I’ve thought about joining several times but just never did.  Now that I’ve met her, I’m definitely joining and I plan to go to their conference in June.

Then she introduced me to the person with her and we both screamed (well, Noelle’s was a silent scream – she lost her voice) and hugged each other.  I met Noelle Pierce through Romance Biggest Winner last year and we planned to meet up at RT but it just hadn’t happened yet.  We’d been sitting together at that table all night and didn’t know it.

And earlier today, I finally met Larissa Ione in person – after “knowing” her online for years.

Maybe this sounds weird, but I think these connections I made tonight could be life changing – or at least career changing.  I’ve certainly made so many wonderful connections here at RT, meeting dozens of readers and authors face-to-face that I never would have met otherwise.  It’s been absolutely incredible.

There’s nothing better than walking around as a “nobody” and just having a wonderful time, when a fan walks up to you and says, “OH, I LOVE YOUR BOOKS!”  *beams*  It’s so cool!

RT has definitely hooked me and I’m already raving about how much I want to go next year in KC!

Posted on by — 4 Comments

Clearing the Baffles

March hasn’t been nearly as productive as I wanted, for numerous reasons or excuses.  In the end, it comes down to distractions.  I’m bad at letting things distract me.  Anthology calls.  Dreams.  New shinies.  Of course I’ve had deep, thorough edits on two projects that I’ve worked through in the past month, too, as well as gearing up for my first conference and two releases sooner than later.

It’s time to clear the baffles (one of my favorite things from The Hunt for Red October, along with the delicious Sean Connery).

I didn’t make a deadline.  And while I hate having incomplete projects lying around, I’ve got to turn my attention to the things I most need to accomplish.  Incompletes are filed away for another day.  If they’re meant to be, I’ll be able to finish them later.  No little call for submission or shiny is more important than fulfilling my current streams, my “promises” to my readers.  So my priorities for the rest of this month and forward are:

1. Get Survive My Fire reformatted and up for sale.

2. Get The Fire Within reformatted and up for sale.  (I have the new covers for both of these so I have no excuse, other than I put off formatting because it’s boring and tedious and I just didn’t wanna.)

3. Drag Lord Regret out by his hair, tie him up in a chair right here beside my desk, and figure out what his problem is.  Because I’m pretty sure the next Lady Wyre story is actually about him and his hangups.  Naturally he’s been resistant.  It’s been a year since her release and I’ve *got* to fulfill this pipeline.  Once this novella is done, I can move on to Deathright and finally finish it.  I’ve got at least half a dozen ideas in this universe.  It’s stupid not to write them.

4. Only after Lady Wyre’s pipeline is fulfilled, I need to give Mal and Colby a call.  I’d like to have their book submitted before Vicki’s release in August, but that might be pushing it.  A more likely goal is by the end of the year.

5. Then come back to the poor neglected project that’s been staring at me for months on my wall directly above my desk…before the sticky notes fall off and I lose my plot.  Phantom is calling.

That’s it.  No new projects, no new series.  It’s time to roll up my sleeves and get to work.

Posted on by — 8 Comments

Fun With Line Edits

Or why line edits can be hard.

Comment from Alissa:  You used “take” three times in this paragraph.

Me:  Seriously?  Oh.  Gawd.  I did.  Hmmm.  I need a new word for take.  Confiscate?

He wants me whimpering, begging, pleading, held down and helpless before he confiscates me.

Er, no.  Wrong synonym.  Get?  Well, it might be awhile before Tecun “gets” Cassie in that sense.

Obtain? Receive?  *headdesk*  No No No!

Before he procures me?

*looks at clock*

Geez, I’ve spent 30 minutes trying to replace one “take.”

Calgon, confiscate me away!

Posted on by — 2 Comments

Friday Snippet: Lady Wyre’s Regret

Sorry for my absense the last few days.  I’ve been working on more edits for Vicki (YOURS TO TAKE) and this weekend I’ll be tackling line edits for Tecun (THE BLOODGATE WARRIOR) so it’s been a bit hectic around here!

This is the final section of the free read prequel (previous snippet), Lady Wyre’s Regret, that I currently have.  My goal is to intrigue people enough to go in search of Lady Doctor Wyre – not provide a complete short story…while still balancing a satisfying ending.  What do you think about this final section?  Is it satisfying without giving away too much?  Or do you feel robbed that no actual consummation happens…?

Sig healed so rapidly that it scared her.  Before Charlotte’s eyes, his skin seemed to knit together.  Within a matter of hours, the fever had raged in him so hotly she’d feared the chills would break his bones, but suddenly broke into a sweat and left him sleeping like a baby.

My assemblers not only repaired the damage to his heart, but compressed the normal healing time into hours, not weeks. 

After just forty eight hours, she was having a hard time keeping him in bed.  Which was why she’d left him tied up.

“I have to see if the bounty hunter tracked us down!”

He’d given up on a reasonable tone of voice, but his increased volume only made her arch a brow at him.  No one had ever been able to intimidate her by yelling.  “We’ve already scavenged everything useable from the wreckage and I went over it with a fine-toothed comb to make sure nothing was broadcasting any sort of electronic signal.  I’d use the Razari crystal to destroy the entire ship but I’m afraid that hot of a fire would draw unwanted attention.  If the bounty hunter was able to track our crash, he’ll still have to brave blizzards and snow drifts to get here, and I’m assured by Gage that no one is foolish enough to brave these woods until spring.”

“That information is only good if you trust Gage and I trust no one.”

Obviously not even me. 

The flat tone of his voice combined with the blank empty-eyed stare finally made her lose her temper.  She slammed the datapad down on the bedside table and poked him in the stomach hard enough he grunted.  “That man has done everything possible to help us.  You’d better not even think about killing him.”

“He’s a loose end.  If the Queen’s Ravens find him, he will talk, eventually.  I don’t care how much you like him.”

Mild irritation flamed into full-fledged fury, fed by anxiety and stress of the last few days.  Where his volume went up, she pitched her voice low and vicious.  “Do you honestly think I’m nothing but a fluff-brained chit out on her first Season?”

She poked him again for good measure.  “Gage has agreed to go on an expedition with some of his aboriginal friends far to the west as soon as the snows begin to thaw.  He’d already planned to join them—we just moved up his timetable.  He won’t be here for anyone to torture.  We won’t be here either, even if I have to keep you tied up and drag you by your hair!”

Now it was his turn to arch a brow at her with surprise.

Shame churned in her stomach.  Here she’d pinned him down, trapped him against his will after everything he’d done to help her, and then she abused him when he was hurt and unable to defend himself.

“I can’t help being suspicious of everyone,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing in on her reaction.  Because he was watching so carefully, she refrained from wincing or dropping her gaze.  “Besides, you could drag me around by much more willing body parts than my hair.  And if you don’t know that I trust you after you saved me during the crash and healed me, I don’t know what else I can say to convince you.  So what’s really bothering you?”

She put on a clinical air and picked up the datapad, even though the numbers on it made her heart go cold and heavy in her chest.  “You’re recovering rapidly.”

“So I see,” he said dryly.  “Considering I was knocking on death’s door, I hardly see why that’s a problem.”

She’d run scan after scan, trying to make sense of what was happening inside his body.  Staring down at the numbers, her eyes burned hot and dry.  I learned nothing from my mistake with Majel.  I shouldn’t have risked another human experiment.  It’s too risky.  Dear God, what have I done to him?

She dragged her gaze up to his face and made herself tell him every gory detail.  “I injected you with an invention I call my assemblers, which are extremely tiny nanobots that work inside the body.  I’m afraid they’re working a little too… well.”

He didn’t appear alarmed that microscopic robots were roaming around inside his body.  “I’m not complaining, Charlie.  I’m thankful to be alive, whatever you’ve done.”

She sighed heavily.  “I made the mistake of leaving them inside my first subject indefinitely.  They integrated themselves into her biological systems to the point where they couldn’t be safely extracted.  I thought to counteract that risk with you by recalling the assemblers as soon as they’d repaired your heart, but I can’t, Sig.  I’m sorry.  Your heart was too damaged to beat on its own without them.”

He gave a brief jerk on the rope binding his right hand to the bed, as though he reflexively reached to touch his chest.  “It’s still beating, though.  I feel it.”

“They’re reinforcing your heart, forcing it to pump, but…”  She hesitated, her mouth dried with decaying dust.  “They won’t stop there.  You’ve already received miraculous healing.  Your strength has returned, if not increased from even before the accident.”

“What else?”

His voice remained even and calm, as though they talked about a fine new carriage equipped with the latest racing technology, not his life.  “I don’t know!  I don’t know what else they’re capable of.  I’m going to need to extract a few and download as much data as possible so I can figure out the best way to proceed.”

“So they’ll still respond to your programming.”

She nodded, relieved that he wasn’t horrified at what she’d done, and yet also crippled with her own guilt.  “I don’t know how long they’ll run, Sig, let alone what they’ll do now that you’re out of danger.”

“Your other subject,” he said with emphasis, confirming he knew exactly who her first test subject had been, “is still living.  I’m not concerned, but if we have a problem, the famous and dashing Lord Regret has the most talented and brilliant Lady Doctor Wyre at his disposal.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said each word low but vehement.  “You asked me to let you to die, but I couldn’t.  Not after you’d risked so much to save me.”

“No regrets, Charlie” he whispered, twisting his body toward hers.

He curled his lower body around hers and her determined guilt was shaken by his very evident interest.  Oh dear.  He very well can’t be that incapacitated if he’s aroused, yet here I’ve kept him trapped for days in bed.

She reached up to untie his hands.

“Leave it,” he said in a husky voice that fired her blood.  “I like being bound for you.”

Sliding her palm over his bare chest, she watched the darkness spread in his eyes.  “This is all very new to me, but I admit, the idea has merit.”

He nudged harder against her back and let out a soft groan that tightened her body.  I wonder what sort of sounds I can draw from him if I stripped him nude and stroked every inch of him with my mouth.

As if he heard her thoughts, he groaned louder.  “Charlie.”

She leaned down and rubbed her mouth against his, letting her breath become a caress.  “Sig?”

“When we’re away from here and you’re safe, I hope very much that you’ll experiment on me some more.”

Posted on by — 4 Comments

Revision Xibalba: Theading the Plot

First the good news:  I finished the revisions to The Bloodgate Warrior and shipped them off to Alissa this morning.  Even BETTER news – she likes what she’s read so far!  Woot!  That’s always such a relief.  Did I interpret her revision letter correctly, thoroughly, and then most importantly, did I carry those revisions through the ms in a logical way?

Which brings me to today’s revision topic.  It’s something I’ve been thinking about the last few days and decided I should blog about it in case it might help anyone else working through a rough patch of revisions.

As I told Raelyn earlier this week, I was so deep into the forest that it was hard to see the trees.  All the threads (changes) I was juggling began to get muddled and tangled, and I was starting to lose my grip on what to pull forward when.

What am I talking about?  It’s that chaos theory I’ve joked about before:  A butterfly flaps its wings on page one and you suddenly find yourself revising every single chapter until it’s an entirely different book.

This is why revisions are hard.

I’m not talking about minor line-edit type revisions, but something more challenging.  For instance, Alissa wrote that she’d like to see more of a contrast between Cassie’s driven focus for her job and what happens when Tecun climbs into her bed.  *winks*  I already had some bits of character traits that I really liked for her — her static trait involves her nightly ritual before getting into bed, for instance — but I didn’t go far enough.  (In fact, I realized as I got into the revisions for this element, that I’d gotten a few things terribly wrong that didn’t jive with her character at all.)

Now you might think this was an easy change.  I’ll just throw in a new trait – like maybe she’s OCD about her schedule and has every minute of this “vacation” mapped out down to the minute.  Easy peasy right?

Wrong.  Because if you’re going to ADD something to a finished manuscript, it has to have impact.  If the butterfly flaps its wings, there’s wind, no matter how faint, that must spread and ripple throughout the story.  Otherwise why even bother with the change in the first place?

So if I’m going to add a character trait, I have to SHOW it again and again.  It has to affect the plot in some way, no matter how small, or it’s just noise.  Like a random hair color or scar that I mention without ever explaining where the scar came from or how it changed the character’s life.  Why even bother if it’s not important and crucial to the story?  I couldn’t just mention this trait once and let it drop – that would be doing a lazy injustice to my character.

Everything has to matter.  It has to have impact.  WHY is she doing this?  HOW can I show it?  WHEN does this affect the plot?

And that, my friends, is where the real bite of Revision Xibalba comes into play.  Once you start affecting plot, um… news alert… your plot changes.  Scenes change.  Actions mean something else entirely.  If you change one turning point, then all the others are affected too.

See that trickle down effect?  More than shit begins to roll down hill at this point.  And oh, all those pesky trees.  I had several items I was changing at the same time, not just this one character trait, each one like a colored thread that had to be pulled all the way through to the end in a logical manner.

For example, Alissa mentioned in passing that she liked the idea of the family journal that Cassie brought with her to Guatemala and wondered if there was any way to make that more important.  Well sure.  I could — and did — write several thousand words of journal entries, which became a cool way for me to resolve several items in the revision letter at once.

But which events should the entries cover (I ended up spanning over 500 years!!)?  It couldn’t just be backstory or it’d slow the plot too much.  It couldn’t be all emo whining or moaning about the past.  They had to have real, measurable impact.  Things had to change because of these entries.

What clues could I drop in the journal that would make the reader go OOOOOOOHHHHHH when I finally laid out the live-action scene before them?

Notice that if I’m changing the plot or character…that’s more than just copying and pasting a new journal entry into place.  That means I’m changing significant elements of the plot itself.  Alllllll the way through the ms.

So then it becomes a balancing act requiring a delicate touch and a sharp eye.  If I’m going to drop in this little tidbit here, and make it really really matter, then I have to do it again over here.  I can’t drop a bunch of bright red paint in chapter two and never ever paint with red again.  I also have to remember the green and blue I’m adding and balance that with what’s already there and the new red.  It has to be consistent from start to finish.  All of these new colors are important now so I have to drop some over here, and again here, and then yeah, it’d better become crucial and important before the ending again, or…

Again, why bother?

Threading the plot — carrying these changes through in meaningful and consistent ways — building momentum page after page, THIS is the difference between making your editor happy when she opens up your revised document and making her groan and pull out her red pen again.  I truly believe this is where you can really learn to shine as a hardworking professional.

No, I don’t mean you have to blindly accept every change proposed by your editor.  But when you dig in and begin to make those changes, carry them through.  Don’t just plop a few things in and send it back.  Really think and dig.  Yes, it’s more work.  Yes, it’s painfully hard to come up with new ideas once the story’s already done.  Trust me, I know.  I added over 5K to this story (net – I added way more new words but deleted other passages that didn’t work any longer), and wrote another couple of thousand words of journal entries that I didn’t end up using at all.

But you know what?  I loved Tecun and Cassie before I sent The Bloodgate Warrior to Alissa (or I wouldn’t have submitted it, obviously).  But now?

Well.  I always say this but I think with her help, it’s become the next best thing I’ve written.

Posted on by — 1 Comment

Friday Snippet: Lady Wyre’s Regret

Continuing the free read prequel to Lady Doctor Wyre:

Sig was awake enough to know that he shouldn’t be alive, but he couldn’t seem to make his body work.  His eyes refused to cooperate and his head weighed like a ton of bricks.  He fought harder, swimming laboriously through layers of gray fog.

“Shhh.”  A gentle hand touched his face, but that only made him struggle harder.

Charlie.  I have to get her to safety.

It took all his strength, but he finally worked his eyes open.  She hovered over him, her dark hair smooth and tidy.  How could she look so elegant after crashing on a barely-populated colony?  He tried to sit up, or at least lift his head, but nothing responded.  He couldn’t feel his fingers or toes, couldn’t sense whether he was cold or hot, dressed or nude, on a bed of feathers…or nails.

She leaned down and pressed her mouth to his ear.  He felt that much at least.  “We’re safe, for now.  A colonist named Gage has taken us in.  As best as I can tell, he’s living in the wilderness between Bostonia and York.”

“Henry.”

She sat back up and raised her voice slightly.  “Yes, your name is Henry, and my name is Charlotte Wilder.  Do you remember now?”

A man loomed into Sig’s vision, a large, broad shadow that dwarfed her.  Danger sent shards of ice through his body.  No, that was his heart pounding harder.  His heart.  Hadn’t it been cut all to hell?  What did she do to me?

“Well, I’ll be, he’s awake,” Gage said with a huge smile.  “I didn’t think he was going to make it.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet.”  Charlie pulled at something on his chest.  From the sting and tug, it must be a bio-bandage.  He welcomed any sensation, even pulled chest hairs.  “But he’s doing much better.  How do you feel, Henry?”

“Danger.”  His lips fumbled the word, but he was sure she understood.

Humming as though they hadn’t crashed, he wasn’t on death’s door, and a huge wild man didn’t loom behind her with God only knew what kind of weapon, she prodded his chest with gentle but sure fingers.  “Yes, you’re still in danger, but the wound is healing nicely.”

He gritted his teeth, silently screaming at the stranger to go away so he could talk to her.  There’s so much we need to do.  If the bounty hunter tracks us down, while I’m sick and weak…

“Everything’s taken care of.”  She leaned down, her gaze heavy with significance as though she knew he was desperate to gain information.  “All you need to do is heal.  Right, Gage?”

“Aye, Miss Wilder.  I wiped away our tracks and fetched the other things you asked for.  Not much I could do about the debris other than toss some branches on the hull to disguise it.  The winter snows have even York piled up to their ears.  No one’s going to be coming out here any time soon to look for you.”

He knows too much.  Sig tried to convey the urgency with only his eyes.  Don’t trust him.  Don’t trust anyone.

Maybe all this concentrating was doing his frozen limbs some good, because he managed to shift his head enough to look down at himself.  Pale pink skin covered his chest, not a gruesome gaping wound.  Dread tightened like a fist in the pit of his stomach.  How long have I been unconscious to heal like this?

Terror pounded in his skull and he struggled harder, thrashing his entire body.  We have to get away from here!

Charlie pressed against him, using her slender body to try and still his struggles.  His strength ran out quickly, leaving him shaking and so sick with worry he wanted to weep.  I’ve failed her.  Snows or no, the Queen’s Ravens won’t be far behind.

“Trust me, Henry.”  She kissed his cheek and rubbed her palms on his shoulder in a soothing circular motion.  Bare skin.  He felt that much.  “I’ve got everything in hand.”

“I can’t move,” he whispered, his voice more broken than he cared to admit.  “I don’t even feel my arms.”

“I’m so sorry, but I had to tie you down.  You thrashed too much with fever and I was afraid you were going to harm yourself even worse.  Let me loosen the ties and see if you feel better.”

Tied.  Thank God his eyes were closed, so she wouldn’t see the horrible darkness that knowledge must be spreading in his eyes.  He hadn’t been tied up in a very long time.

Dark memories threatened from his childhood.  Memories he’d killed a long time ago.  He’d always thought those feelings of helplessness would stir him into a murderous rage, but all he felt…

Whatever bound his wrists loosened.  His fingers tingled, cramped muscles stretched, and a surge of enormous relief washed over him.  Peace.  That’s what this feeling was.  After all the suffering he’d survived as a child and the countless executions he’d committed in effort to blot out those memories, he’d never felt this completely at peace.

He flexed his fingers and turned his head to see his arm stretched out on a pillow.  A strip of white cotton still tied his left wrist to the simple wooden headboard.  His other arm sagged, too, still bound but looser and more comfortable.

Sensation coursed through his body, tingling like fire ants nibbling his extremities.  Charlie finished loosening the tie and turned back, leaning down over his chest.  “Better?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.  So much better.  Impossibly better.  He’d hated the last woman who made him helpless.  Every time he accepted a contract on a female mark, it was her face he saw when he terminated the target.  He often made wry jokes about all his regrets, but in truth, his only true regret was that he hadn’t killed her himself.

So why don’t I hate Charlie?

Posted on by — 2 Comments

February Goals

But first, a quick recap of January.

My goal in January was to set a Dark & Early writing schedule before the Evil Day Job starts at 6:30 AM.  Since I have a hard time getting to bed before 10 PM, the earliest I felt comfortable (and able!) to get up is 5 AM.  By the time I get dressed, grab coffee (set up the night before), etc. I have about 35 mins before I have to get Princess up for school.  She’s been conning me into getting her breakfast and making her sandwich for lunch, so I haven’t been getting any more writing done before I start work.  (But she gets up a little easier that way, and it’s worth the cost in my time to help her out if that puts her in a better mood!  Age 13 oh the drama!)

I made it every work day in January except the one day I took a vacation day.  Woot!  I averaged 556 words a morning, not counting some plotting and general notes I wrote up the last week or so, for a total just shy of 14K.  Not the best month by far, but steady.  I’m behind of where I need to be if I’m going to submit this story by the deadline, and looking at what I have to get done in Feb, I may have to keep this story and submit it at another date.  We’ll see.

Because dun dun DUN….  Edits for The Bloodgate Warrior have popped into my inbox and they need to be turned back in by Feb. 15th.  Edits on a contracted work ALWAYS take priority over uncontracted drafts.  Always.  These are not minor little tweaks, either.  BGW fans will probably be thrilled to know I’m adding some fairly significant new material.  If I get away adding less than 10K to the story through revisions, I’ll be lucky.  (Yes, I know that’s almost my entire Jan total and I only have two weeks.  Please don’t remind me.)

So my goals for Feb are short and sweet.

  1. The Bloodgate Warrior edits, due by 2/15.
  2. Pick up “3Aliens” again afterward and see where I am.  Even if I don’t feel like there’s any way I’m going to hit the deadline (my word count is probably way off too so there’s several things to consider), I’d still like to finish this one.  It fits my brand nicely and I’m having a really fun time writing it.  It’s the first erotic SFR I’ve done that’s entirely in the hero’s POV.
  3. When I need a little break, continue scouting for stockphotos so I can get Survive My Fire and The Fire Within re-released.  I’ve created a Keldari storyboard of the ideas I’ve found so far, but if you have any recs, I’d love to see them!
  4. Continue posting Lady Wyre’s Regret each Friday and decide if I’m satisfied with the ending.

What are your goals this month?

Posted on by — 1 Comment

Friday Snippet: Lady Wyre’s Regret

Continuing the free read prequel for Lady Doctor Wyre:

As Queen’s Physician, Charlotte had enjoyed every luxury Londonium had to offer as well as full backing for every scientific exploration she’d ever wanted to undertake.  Yet she’d never crashed a ship on an unknown planet before.

“Another thing I need to learn,” she muttered, pushing up out of the cupboard into which she’d tumbled.

Sig was sprawled on the floor and half buried by rubble.  From the brief look she’d gotten at his chest before the crash, she didn’t hesitate to grab the small black case containing her most prized research.  Tossing the broken panel and twisted hull aside, she called out to him.  “Sig?  Are you still with me?”

“Charlie.”  He tried to laugh but his chest wheezed like a ghastly broken pipe organ.  “Did we make it?”

She dug into her case and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors to cut open his lawn shirt.  A pity, because the fine linen and delicate hand-woven lace looked like it’d come straight from Parisii.  “A bit worse for wear, I’m afraid.  I hope you weren’t terribly fond of Henry for I’ve broken him beyond repair.”  She kept her voice light and cheerful, despite the severity of his wound.  Any other physician would merely make him comfortable until his final moments.  But not I.  “What manner of planet have you sent me to, Lord Regret?”

“A colony.”

“A rebellious colony.”  Not good.  The shard had pierced his heart, possibly beyond even her repair.  “It won’t surprise me if Majel simply blows the entire planet out of the sky for their audacity.”

“Safest I could find on such short notice.”  His voice weakened, breathy with pain.  His pulse fluttered in his throat, frantic and uneven.  “Don’t bother, Charlie.  I know it’s bad.”

As if to illustrate his words, he wrapped his hand around the shard and yanked it out of his chest.  Blood spurted immediately, his life draining away in an alarming fountain.

Planting her right hand over the wound, she laid the precious glass tube out on his heaving chest.  Inside, tiny bits of silver metal glinted in the emergency lights.  She leaned down over him so he could see her face despite his weakened senses.  “I can save you, if you want to live.”

“Too many regrets,” he whispered, his words stumbling together until she could barely understand him.  “Let me die.”

She hesitated, searching his face.  The lines of pain eased about his eyes, smoothing into acceptance.  He’d risked his reputation as the galaxy’s most famous assassin to help her.  He could have left her at Pier 371.  He could have tossed her to the bounty hunter and escaped unscathed.

But he didn’t.

How can I stand by and watch him die without at least trying?

She flipped the cork out of the tube.  She removed her hand from his chest, braced for spraying blood, but he’d already lost too much.  In the open wound, she could see the torn remains of his heart and the white of broken bone.  Into that cavity, she sprinkled the metal bits from the tube.

All of them.  The more assemblers in his body, the more likely they can repair the damage before he dies.

She pulled out the datapad and typed in simple commands.  Heart. Infection.  Blood loss.  Her assemblers weren’t sentient, so without programming, they’d simply be bits of debris in his wound.  While they worked their magic, she gave him a shot for pain.  At least he’d be comfortable if they failed.  Then she spilled a bio-bandage over the wound and hoped for the best.

Settling back on her heels, she closed her eyes and allowed emotion to wash through her for one brief, luxurious moment.  Relief, joy, terror, heart-pumping adrenaline.  Her hands trembled, and with no one to see her moment of weakness, she even allowed a few tears to fall.  She was so close to freedom!  So close to losing the man who’d helped make it all possible.  So close to death herself.  But at least I’ll die fighting for my freedom, not trapped in the Tower while Majel scribbles down every secret her torturers yank out of me.

With that out of her system, she forced herself up and moving.  She couldn’t assume the bounty hunter had given up on them so quickly.  They were down in strange territory, helpless, unable to flee, and one of their party severely wounded.  If they had to make a run for it, she needed to gather the most crucial supplies.  There was nothing else she could do for Sig at the moment, although she couldn’t help stealing glances at him to see if he were still breathing.

Packets of food.  Every weapon she could find.  Anything she might be able to sell or trade for information or protection.  She had a tidy pile by Sig when she heard the first rustling and cracks of undergrowth outside the ship.  Arming herself with a lazor he’d thoughtfully installed beneath Henry’s main dash, she wiped all emotion from her face, hit the button to open the hatch, and walked outside with all the regal confidence of the Duchess of Wyre.

“Hello, there!”  She called in her most imperious voice as though summoning the butler for her afternoon tea.  “We need assistance immediately.”

A man stepped out of the shadows, crossing the torn earth and smoldering tracks of their crashing descent.  He approached with hands palm up and empty, his manner hesitant despite his lumbering giant-like size.  She kept the lazor hidden against her skirts, ready to slice his head off if he even thought about attacking them.  His much larger bulk wouldn’t matter one iota against the razor-sharp weapon.  Dressed in a strange mishmash of furs and leathers with the skin of some small rodent wrapped around his head, he appeared to be a colonist, not the bounty hunter who’d shot them down.

“Are you hurt, my lady?”

English, at least.  She could thank her lucky stars a Britannian colony had been close, although she hoped the colonists weren’t too sympathetic to Her Majesty’s command.  Americus had been the first colony to attempt to cast off Majel’s yoke.  If she hadn’t been busy wiping out the Razari, she might have already destroyed Americus’s pitiful little rebellion.

“No, but my companion is.  Do you have shelter nearby?”

“Only my cabin, my lady.  I’m afraid we’re several klicks from any real civilization.”

Perfect.  She stepped aside to allow him to peek inside the ship at Sig.  “That’ll do.  What’s your name, sir?”

“Gage, my lady.  I’m no bloodletter, but your friend doesn’t look well at all.”

Briskly, she gathered up her research equipment and as much of their provisions as she could carry.  “Bloodletting is for ignorant fools who know nothing better.  Now make yourself useful and help me get my friend to safety.”

The man easily scooped Sig into his arms like a child, emphasizing his bear-like size.  I have no contacts in this place.  My title and House cannot help me here.  All I have are my research—which I daren’t use too openly else Majel will catch wind of it—my feminine wiles, and my wits.

Putting as much seductive sway as possible into her hips, she stepped out of the wreck and cast a flirtatious glance back at Gage.  The poor bumbling man gaped at her like she’d sprouted another head and almost dropped Sig.

It’s a damned good thing I’ve been blessed with a brain.