Author Archives

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The Tentative Return of a Serial

So, last night in the midst of my grief and insomnia, I somehow found a way to answer the question that had held up the serial I’d started and removed last year, Even Better than Dreams.

I could be wrong in thinking this, since I can’t deny that I am under the influence of a cold and grief, but I may have a way of fixing the major plot hole in the story, the one question I couldn’t answer to my satisfaction or anyone else’s.

I am going to attempt to post the edit as I go along, though I admit… I’ve already gotten quite a bit done there, so it will be a while before it catches up to where I am. I was very impressed with the edits I’d done before when I looked them over, and I think there’s some value in posting them and trying to complete the serial.

This may be a mistake, which is why this is a tentative return. I can’t say I won’t pull it down again, and I can’t promise that I made every flaw in the story go away (sometimes I like the flaws when I shouldn’t) but I am going to try it. At this point, I’m still figuring out what makes things go and what doesn’t, but I think having something to share and post is still a good thing. At least it’s out there to be seen, which is more than a lot of stories get.

So… Today marks the return of Even Better than Dreams.

For now, at least.

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Alternate Universes, Nano, and the Loss of a Cat

Yesterday we lost a cat we’d had in the family for twelve years. He was fifteen. He was very sick, but that doesn’t make it easier. He was a sweetheart and a favorite and I used to spoil him almost as much as I do the namesake of Kabobbles. (I’ve been telling that cat he’s not allowed to die and better not even be thinking of it. He glares at me, but he’s gotten very skinny in his old age and he worries me.)

I flailed desperately for some kind of distraction. I was having a hard enough time before we came home from my sister’s, but when we were home, everything reminded me of Leo and it was worse.

Incidentally, crying with a chest cold is very painful.

So while we watched a movie, an old standby favorite that is one of our cheer up or “feel good” movies, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t have the ability to play computer games or read, couldn’t focus.

I wanted desperately to write. I started considering every possible angle I could after I failed to find any prompts online that I could use and annoyed a few friends asking for them. I thought of trying to create an alternate universe for some of my characters, only the ones that need it the most were ones I couldn’t bring myself to write for, much as I like them.

I would have done things with the original Effie Lincoln and Nick Tennant because their story is tragic and they should have a world where they have a happy ending, but I couldn’t get myself to do anything on it.

I almost went back to this project I had… a project I shouldn’t have started, in retrospect because I did it for all the wrong reasons (albeit subconsciously, my conscious mind didn’t think of them until much after the fact.) I’d just ended it the night before because I figured stopping myself was better, and I was only going to take away from it the basic satisfaction that if it had been my Nano project I’d have gotten 50,000 words on it. I don’t think I would have counted them, but I did have that. Only thing is… I did so much wrong with it that I couldn’t go back in even with the loose threads and the possible domestic cuteness it offered.

So then I went back to a few older pieces, not thinking I would do much of anything, but my brain actually came up with an explanation for the world in Even Better than Dreams that I liked and could run with. I talked it over some this morning, and I think I will try to resume my edits there. I really like Tolan, and I am looking forward to doing more with him, though it’s dangerous because he could end up taking over the story.

I owe Leo, I guess, because even in the darkness of that moment when I was missing him so much and needing a distraction… a bit of light came, and when I feel up to it, I’m putting him in a story to honor him. I don’t know when I’ll be able to do that as thinking of him still makes me cry, but I will.

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Now If I Only Had a Novel…

I have a migraine-threatening headache, but no story to turn into a novel, at least not at present.

I would say, with some minor pride, that if I had a project for Nano this year, I’d be on track for it, as I have managed about nine thousand words since the beginning of the month. Sadly, though, it’s been on more than one story, and the bulk of which comes from something that could not be counted for Nano anyway.

*sigh*

I do wish I had a project I could write on like a real novel, but I just keep bouncing from project to project without managing to do more than some reading in some cases or a few words or lines in others. I can’t focus, can’t pick, can’t make progress. It’s frustrating, and I feel like my insomnia is tied to it as well, because if I could follow a plot for more than a few minutes, I could fall asleep unraveling it in my head.

As it is, I can’t, and I can’t sleep.

Though it is pretty tempting to try again with this headache.

I miss having an audience and people to bounce ideas off of. I did seem to make better progress when I did have people to ask, but as I’ve managed to alienate most of them, I’d say that’s not going to happen any time soon.

Still… I wouldn’t mind having some kind of direction to try. I seem unable to pick, so maybe I need someone to pick for me. 😛

I miss doing Nano. 🙁

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Fire Dancers

Author’s Note: So I didn’t want to continue this idea. I figured it was… bad. Yet for some reason I felt compelled to do the other part of it, since Cress and Occie aren’t the only fourth generations in the Fire and Water universe. In fact… I found an interesting connection when I went looking, and I liked it, so… I wrote a bit for it.

I went with the fire side of things, looking not just at Enya’s possible ancestry but also someone else’s. 🙂

Fire Dancers

“You pretty dancer.”

“Thank you. From you I consider that the highest complement.” Eshne Royston laughed, turning around to smile down at her nephew, glad she was not in her whole costume yet. The mask scared him, and she did not like wearing it herself, but she found it was a bit of protection that they both needed. If only Aedus hadn’t died, then none of this would be necessary, but she knew better than to think too much about what would be different if her brother was alive. The past was done. The present was now, and they all had to survive it however they could.

“Dance?” Egann asked, holding his little hands up to her, and she took them, moving in a small circle that would not make the little one dizzy. He laughed, his smile so bright and so like his father’s… Eshne bit back a sigh. She knew she would always remember her brother when she looked at his son, but she would like for it to stop hurting every time she did.

If only their village hadn’t decided she was a witch—No. She was dancing. She was happy. All of that was forgotten. That was how it must be, how it should be.

“Eshne, lass, yer on in five minutes.”

“Phemie,” Egann said, letting go of Eshne’s hands and running toward the door. He stood on his toes and tried to reach the handle, but he was still too small for that, thank goodness. One of these days, she’d lose him, always afraid he would run off during one of her performances and she’d lose the only family that she had left.

She crossed over to the door, scooping him up before she opened the door to the other woman. “Are you able to watch him while I’m gone? I hate asking, but he’s still too young to be alone and I don’t have anyone—”

“It’s no trouble,” Phemie said, taking Egann into her own large arms. The strong woman had no trouble carrying about the three year old, and she never seemed to tire of it, whereas Eshne knew that she would want nothing more than sleep after she was done with her routine. “I miss the days mine were as young as this wee one.”

“He grows more and more like his father every day,” Eshne said, shaking her head. “Aedus would be so proud of him…”

“No tears now, lass. Ye’ve got to finish getting dressed, and ye cannot be spoiling your makeup with no tears,” Phemie admonished, pointing a thick finger at her. “I’ve got this one, now ye get yerself out there and make them stare in wonder.”

Eshne laughed, forcing herself back to the table and to the mask. As long as Egann couldn’t see it, she could wear it. She pulled it down off the back of her mirror and placed it on her face, adjusting it to where she could see. She looked at herself and shook her head. She’d been ready to be a nun, and now look at her. She did not know of much more wanton or disgraceful outfit, even as much as she tried to give herself some modesty.

The people saw only the fire anyway. She knew that. She was only a shadow in the flames, and even if her neckline was low and her skirt had a scandalous number of slits in it so that she could move without burning herself—not that she ever did, ever could.

She was the fire.

No one knew that, not even Phemie, and Eshne would not tell her, not after what happened to Aedus and his wife. This was a secret she knew must die with her, but not before Egann had grown, not until she’d seen to his safety. He was innocent, and he need not suffer because his aunt had some strange—she would not call it a curse for she did not believe that was what it was, but she did not understand how she could command fire, either.

She was not a witch. She’d never opened a spell book, never thought to ask anyone for any kind of spell, and though she knew her ancestors participated in pagan rites, she never had.

Still, when she wanted it, fire was hers.

She opened her palm, seeing the flame there, and closed it again, shaking her head and knowing that she would never allow anyone else to be harmed because of what she was. Egann would always be safe. She’d make certain of that, even if it took being whatever monster she was to do it.

Hugh Astin liked fire.

He liked it more than he should. That was the trouble, same trouble as always. He knew that he shouldn’t like fire as much as he did, shouldn’t enjoy seeing things burn or the way the flames danced, and he knew that no one would see his affection for the blaze as natural. Or harmless.

He didn’t know how many times liking fire had gotten him too close to something burning, close enough to be blamed for it, and sometimes he thought it should be his fault, he loved the sight of the blaze so much, but he’d never so much as lit a match, not once in his life.

He wasn’t sure he needed to—sometimes fire seemed to come just because he wanted it or needed it. He didn’t even need a bit of flint to start one in the wild.

Then again, he didn’t know that he was sane, either. He knew most people would say he wasn’t, given his love for fire, and he had his own doubts about it at times.

He looked again at the poster for the carnival. This was a tame way of indulging his love for fire, especially since the weather was too warm—other than a few strange bouts of heavy rain—for a fire in his room even at night. He did that, and people assumed he was either sick or some kind of freak. He supposed he was a bit of both.

A freak show was a fitting place for him, then, almost where he belonged. He purchased a ticket and went inside the circle, looking around at the tents. He figured the main arena was the best place for him, a nice seat where he could watch people do stunts with fire—he hadn’t seen a fire-eater on the playbill, but he didn’t find that as interesting as he did the flaming hoops people would sometimes jump through. He didn’t notice the people so much as the flames, though.

He sighed. Something was wrong with him. This obsession with fire had to be unnatural.

“Come on, laddies! Not a one of ye wants to miss the amazing talents of Bedelia, the ancient goddess of fire! See her invoke her most sensual of rites as she bedevils all ye!” The crier called out to the crowd, and Hugh stopped. How was he supposed to resist a goddess of fire?

Oh, he didn’t believe she was any true thing, of course, but if her act involved fire, he would enjoy it even if the rest of it was stupid or talentless. He paid for his entry into the smaller tent, taking a seat in front of the stage, wanting to be close to the fire.

Something pulled on him, some force he couldn’t see, and he frowned, but then his eyes caught the shadow—she wasn’t behind the curtain as they would have expected. He could not see much of her, just a faint outline of her form, but he felt her, aware of every movement before she made it.

The stage burst into flames, and she leapt forward into them, rolling to a stop, the flames flaring up as she turned to face her audience. Some of the others exclaimed in surprise, but Hugh just frowned. He knew that some effects could be achieved by rigging elements a certain way, and he didn’t know all the details of that, no, because he didn’t trust himself with that kind of knowledge, but he remained aware of what she was doing more so than the others, he thought, because it was easy to lose her in the shadows as she wove in and out of the flames, dancing with them as she might a lover.

He would have sworn that the fire was bending to her will.

A part of him was tempted to—no, that could hurt her, and he was only fooling himself if he thought that he could do it, but he wanted to see the flames go against her, just once. Not to hurt her, he didn’t want her harmed, but he wanted to know if she could truly do it. They called her a goddess, but he knew eighty percent of the carnival was fake and the other twenty percent was tragedy. She should be a fake.

He kept thinking she wasn’t, though.

Impossible. He didn’t believe she was a goddess. She wasn’t a witch, either. He didn’t believe in either thing, and so he would just prove it. She couldn’t control fire.

He didn’t know how he’d prove it without matches, though. He didn’t allow himself to carry any, and a flint wouldn’t work. Still, if just that little patch there was stronger, taller—he sat back, telling himself he’d imagined it changing, but then she hissed out a curse and her dress caught fire.

She spun around like it was a part of the dance, extinguishing it at the end of her twirl, but he swore he felt her eyes glaring out into the darkness, searching for him as though she knew what he’d done—only he couldn’t have done it.

No matter how much he liked fire, he knew he couldn’t control it. That was impossible.

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Uneasy Waters

Author’s Note: So a fit of insanity overtook me and despite being this close to deleting all of Fire and Water a few days ago, I was compelled by the idea of the whole “fourth generation water” concept and going back to an earlier generation. I was thinking maybe historical fiction was a better idea for now, since sci fi and mysteries and the fusion there of was not working, in fact, nothing contemporary was.

Still, I don’t know that Fire & Water is anywhere I should be, and I don’t know how viable this concept is.

If I’m honest, I don’t know much of how to feel about anything anymore. I’m celebrating losing my job, after all, and this isn’t really the piece for that, but I decided it had to be at least partially written, though most of what I thought of did not make it into this brief section.

I’d almost be amused to see if anyone who has read Fire and Water would make the one connection, but then again, I’m not sure if it’s obvious… and I know not many people read F&W, so that’s something to consider, too.

Plus… I am talking mostly to myself even if I’m online because no one uses this site anyway, so I don’t know why I bother sometimes. 😛

Uneasy Waters

“Please tell me I do not have to do this,” Dayla whispered, looking out at the window, not back at her mother. She could not face the woman, would rather not see that indifference on her face when she did. She forced herself to breathe despite the tightness of her dress, wishing she could free herself from that, if nothing else.

“You know you must,” her mother said, coming over to put her hands on Dayla’s shoulders. “Your sister is too sick to manage it, and your brother is still trying to salvage the business. We need the money. You must marry him.”

Dayla’s stomach twisted. She did not even like the man. He was more than twenty years her senior, and even if he were not, if she could overlook the differences in their ages, she knew it was almost impossible to do that with the conflicts of their minds. He treated her as though she were a child—or incapable of thinking on her own—tried to dictate her opinion and her clothing when he was no relation to her, no one to make those kinds of decisions for her, especially since they were hers to make. Her parents might think they had that right, but not him. He was not her husband.

She never wanted him to be that man.

“It won’t be as terrible as you seem to think.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be for Hlynn,” Dayla disagreed with her brother, wanting to face him even less than she did her mother. “She’s quiet. Dutiful. I’m not. I never was.”

“Yes, but Hlynn has been sick for months now, and he likes you, sister dearest, though heaven knows why,” Cain told her as he came closer. Dayla wanted to throw her mother’s hands off and run, wanted to get far from that sense she got from her brother. Sometimes she wondered if Cain was why Hlynn was always sick, if that tug she felt from him whenever he was near was stronger for his twin, more like a poison. He drained her, made her feel empty and tired, so sick…

They would say she was crazy, thinking that, considering Cain to be a monster, but she thought his name said more about him than it should, that he was too alike that first murderer, and she shouldn’t be frightened of her own brother, but she was. If only she could see this marriage as an escape, but she knew it wasn’t. She was trading one prison for another, and she could not do it.

Outside, the sky darkened, rain clouds moving in fast, and she almost smiled when she saw it. Some people’s spirits would falter with such a sky, but hers always improved. Sometimes she swore she could make that rain come right to her when she wanted it, and now was the right time for it—let the sky cry since she was not allowed to, since she could not let Cain see her tears.

“Come now, off with you, Cain,” her mother said, moving away from her. “You need to go so Dayla can get ready for the wedding.”

Dayla looked back at the window. What if the rain could wash all of it away? Not just the dirt in the street or that clinging to the house but the house itself and all her family? Then she could run. She would be free. She would take Hlynn away from Cain and get her better for once.

“I wonder if you’ll have to cancel, Mother. Look at that rain,” Cain said, and Dayla did turn to frown at him. Since when did rain bother him? The look in his eyes was dark, though, and his tone was not at all in line with his thoughts, but their mother missed it as she stared out at the water.

“Oh, dear. I’ll have the coach brought around. I hope her dress won’t be ruined on the way to the church.”

Dayla shook her head, wishing the storm strong enough to sweep away the horses—no, she didn’t, that wasn’t fair to them. She felt a hand on her arm and swallowed when she saw Cain’s expression, feeling the grip tighten with that same darkness in him.

“The rain won’t save you, Dayla,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re not the only one who can pull it to you, after all.”

“Oh, good, I think it is stopping,” Mother said, and Dayla knew that Cain had done that somehow—if she’d pulled it, he’d stopped it—but the idea of her brother having that kind of power… She shuddered, and he laughed.

“Try not to do that around your new husband,” Cain warned her. “I admit it’s tempting to let them burn you as a witch, but I might need to use you again, and so we can’t have that, can we?”

He was still smiling when he walked away, leaving Dayla with her mother and a mess of confusion. She couldn’t control the weather, could she? No—but then she always knew when it would rain, and it did seem to follow her moods, but she had to be wrong—Cain couldn’t do that. That was like magic or witchcraft, and that was a sin if even existed, and she wasn’t like that.

Yet when she looked out the window at the silenced storm, she didn’t know that she could reason away that doubt or the fear. She was afraid of Cain, yes, but she was now afraid of herself, of what she might truly be capable of doing, and how was she supposed to live with herself after that?

“Strange weather we’re having tonight.”

Destan Washbourne grunted, not wanting to make conversation at the moment. He did not know why they always seemed to seek him out when all he wanted was a drink and a few minutes of peace, but somehow he was forced to speak with men no better than gossipy women every time he stopped to rest for a while. He lifted his drink to his lips and gave the man a pointed glare.

A glare that got ignored.

“That kind of rain should have lasted more than a minute. It’s like someone snuffed out its candle.”

“I don’t care about your weather or anything else here,” Destan muttered, shoving his glass back toward the barkeep. “More. Now. Before this one has an accident.”

“What kind of accent is that?”

“The kind that is going to kill you if you don’t leave me alone,” Destan warned, taking the bottle from the bartender and carrying it with him to the only open table. He would have preferred one that wasn’t at the window, but he didn’t need this now. He needed the liquor, needed to shut out the awareness he had of everyone in this place. He was fortunate—at least there were no prostitutes here trying to seduce or men lusting after them—but there were still too many emotions and no way to make them stop without more than this bottle.

“You watch that voodoo, honey chile,” Arline warned, shaking a big dark finger at him. “Ain’t nobody supposed to know what others are feeling the way you do.”

“That mean it’s the devil’s work?” he asked, frowning. “I don’t want it. I swear I don’t. I just… know things. I can feel them. I want it to stop. S’il te plaît, Arline. Help me find a way to stop it. Help me make it go away.”

“Hush now,” she said, taking him into her arms and holding him against her as he cried. He knew she was worried, and he wanted to take that away, too, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to be rid of it, not even to sleep, and he didn’t think he’d managed to do much of that since he was twelve. “Ain’t no devil in my boy. He’s a good one.”

“I’m not your son,” he reminded her quietly. His parents had always left raising him to her, and he loved her more than he did his own mother, but he knew he wasn’t hers. He wasn’t anyone’s. They didn’t want him because he was wrong somehow.

Destan leaned his head against the wall. Arline was gone, his last sanctuary with her, and he didn’t know how much longer he could wander, drinking enough to block the feelings he got from everyone, without either his body or his mind giving out on him.

He tensed as he felt a new emotion enter the room, one unlike most of the ones he’d felt so far this evening or any time in the past. He had never known something that felt so tangible, almost as though the hatred this man felt toward… everyone was something that could be touched and measured. He saw the man frown as he saw Destan, and then he went to the back, where the private rooms were.

Destan glanced at the bottle, wondering if it had affected him more than usual, and then he felt something else—a pull. He’d never known anything quite like that, either. He went to the door, leaning against it as he looked out into the night.

He focused in on the coach, and since he was already half-drunk and not feeling much like stopping himself, he went toward the door, opening it up and leaning inside. “Strange time for a wedding, isn’t it?”

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Having a No Job Party

It was suggest to me that I put a positive spin on my current employment situation with my other job.

You see, the union went to bat for other people who had hours cut and what naught, and the higher ups settled with the union by cutting my position. Well, by saying all the people working jobs like the one I have must be this other title/position and quite possibly belong to the union.

Anyway, since union dues would break me at my current rate of pay, the new position may only allow one of us per office, and I can’t even try to take the exam I need for this other position until the job is posted and still have no guarantee of getting it, I’ve decided on this for a positive spin: a no-job party.

I’m going to treat being fired (which they lack the guts to say they’re doing) as a reason to celebrate.

I’m currently not sure all that entails, but I know writing will be a part of it. So, if anyone wants to join the celebration with prompts or share music or pictures, feel free to do so.

I am toying with doing a bit of combined genre stuff. I’ve been rereading some of my historicals and was thinking of blending some of them with science fiction. I was starting a blend of sci fi mystery with the Integrated Division stuff I did, and I think I’d enjoy doing more of that even though I keep getting stuck on Division stuff.

I was, of all things, thinking of using the Fire and Water universe to try this fusion. Cress and Occie are fourth generation water, after all, and I see some real potential there, though only a day or so ago, I almost deleted all Fire and Water files from my computer.

I guess that proves the need for a positive spin on the other job. So, let’s celebrate.

Let’s see if there’s some fun or at least some writing left in me.

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About Nano

I don’t think I’m going to do Nanowrimo this year.

I usually do, have since I found out about it and thought it was a step toward getting me to finish something.

I thought I’d need it this year to get me back to completing stuff, but the more it loomed out in the distance, the more I realized that I’m already drowning in enough stress, and I’m not going to add to it artificially by imposing a deadline and a goal I’m not capable of reaching right now.

I can’t sustain a 50,000 word novel. It galls me to admit that, but it’s true. I only had one get that far since last Nano, and that has become a disaster in several ways, and I just don’t think Nano is a good idea this year.

I went ahead and deleted my nano account. I was already frustrated because I couldn’t change my username, and I haven’t gone by that one in over two years anyway, so why not make another clean break? I’m done with livejournal, done with Nano.

Sometimes I rather feel like being done with myself, but that doesn’t quite work. Still, I think it’s better if I don’t try and force myself through Nano. I may even shut down the website for the rest of the year because I’m not so sure any of the upcoming events/time will be a good mental place for me. Holidays, even though I don’t celebrate them, make my life miserable at my other job, and as long as I have it (which might not last though the date is currently December 22 when I’ll lose it) and the winter months and a certain other event I won’t specify because then people want to celebrate it, will all combine into making me a very unhappy person, and it will likely mean no writing or at least none worth showing.

So that’s where things stand now.

No Nano.

Possibly nothing new until next year.

I’ll see.

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Hiccups and Hosting

If, by any chance, you were visiting the site sometime between last night and this evening and experienced some downtime or other weirdness, that owes to the site switching hosting.

There were a few minor hiccups along the way, but it seems to be back in order now.

I keep telling myself I’m writing something to celebrate the move, but I had a very lousy day at my other job and have no inspiration. If someone has some to pass along, I’ll give it my best shot, but in the meantime, at least the site is back up and running.

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Digital Thank You Basket

So I was considering doing something else in addition to the digital care package.

I have been struggling to make more for that of late, but I was gripped by a bout of brilliant insanity that said I should make more than just a package for sending when people are sick. Think of the many reasons people send gift cards.

This was in part inspired by the idea of how much I owe people who were willing to read my stuff and give me comments, and also how much some of them liked music and how we liked to share music, and so I thought… Well, maybe, as a very overdue thing, I should give the twins (and maybe others if it’s not too overwhelming for all parties concerned) a thank you basket.

It’s kind of awkward because I don’t know that anyone wants the stuff I’d put together, even the music, but only once giving a lame thank you card isn’t enough.

So I am thinking of collecting prompts for digital thank you baskets as well, trying out putting some of that together. I don’t know how well that would work, but it is worth trying too, I hope.

If anyone has any suggestions or if someone has read stuff and wants to opt out of me testing this by sending it to them, just let me know.

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Once More Stymied

I seem to have become stuck again.

I didn’t manage to get all the way through testing the digital care package. I’m not sure why I can’t find more with Dillon and Larina for it, they should be easy, lots of past and present and perhaps even future to fill in, but I can’t seem to get anything there.

Nor can I seem to summon up anything for my other project.

So… I may be off the site for a few days while I try to reorganize my head and get unstuck. Or until this mood passes. Or I find another story or other characters to fill in some of the gaps with.

To that end, if someone could point me in the direction of something different, I’d appreciate any suggestions I might get and will do my best to fill them in.

The basis for the care package is here, but I’m open to other prompts as well, since I don’t want to lose momentum now, not when I finally got things back almost stable again.