A glimmer of hope

I like to think of writing as a big puzzle. The story is all there, it’s just a matter of connecting the right pieces to see the whole picture. Sometimes that’s all it takes to work yourself out of a slump. Other times you just have to force yourself to write. I was able to work almost all day today, which is quite the pleasant difference from the last few months.

I didn’t feel overwhelmed, I wasn’t looking for something to distract me. While I don’t have a lot to show for my dedication today, I have the pride of knowing that this isn’t a lost cause. I can look past the veil of stress and fear and grief and know that there is still hope beyond these dark days.

Now please excuse me while I figure out how to build a magic curriculum to be able to write into my books.

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Hello random afternoon thunderstorm. Okay, this is FL, I shouldn’t be that surprised, but still, I am. Today has been one hell of a week. Kicked it off with a sick kid, doctor appointment for my mom meant she had to go to the hospital. Moving along to sick boyfriend and low and behold, sick ass me. Blegh. 

So I sit here, recuperating from a long day. I stuck it out today, I probably shouldn’t have because I feel like crap, but oh well. I’ve used so much sick time lately between my mom, son and self. 

It occurred to me that I have a world created where I can throw around as much lalafrufru magic that I want. We’re talking books here people, keep up. I have centuries of writing to be filled in for what happened on the other side of the veil after the fae from Avalon separated the worlds. Every fairy tale creature just waiting to have a new back story explained. Not so much new, as combining all of the myths. It’ll all come later, and definitely something to do on the side… but I won’t have to hold back. Different series, different set of magic rules. 

Of course it would be smart to finish editing one book before I start writing the next. I wouldn’t say I’ve started writing the next… so much as getting ideas out. I’m still floundering from lack of inspiration and I just don’t know why. Fatigue, stress, depression – who knows. I just wish I could pull myself out of this slump.

I’d say let’s keep going, but I think I’m going to go lay down while I listen to the storm. Maybe a bit more sleep. Once I’m no longer sick and coughing, I’ll try working again. 

Michael and Mikaela

Crud… where do I start? It has been another hell of a month with another bombed vacation attempt. I’ve currently lost all creative motivation and am just taking each day as it comes. I suppose it takes a little time to recover when  you feel like you’ve been kicked in the gut. 

I’ll get everything back on track soon. Soon – you hear that universe! Not another 6 months like last time. I don’t have Howl-O-Scream to contend with this time so not much to stress over besides the usual. Once money is back on track – which it will be. 

10:30 – or there abouts anyway. What about an attempt at a writing exercise? Something simple before bed. 

***

She had been comfortable, blissful even when he started tossing and turning next to her. As she slowly climbed back to consciousness, she realized that his skin was burning hot against hers. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a contented sigh, hand snaking playful around his side. It was the tone of his soft moans that brought her fully awake and she sat up. Her hand was wet when she pulled it away from his fiery skin. 

“Michael,” she breathed. There was the faintest of light fluttering through the heavy curtains as the air conditioning unit pumped a cold breeze beneath them. The moistness on her hand was sticky as she rubbed her fingers together. Even in the dim light she could tell it was blood. She bolted to her knees and rolled him over. 

“Michael!” she shook him by the shoulder, reaching behind her with one hand and flipping on the light. 

He flinched at the sudden glare and groaned loudly. She quickly found the source of the blood; set just under the joint of his arm was a set of four deep gouges across his ribs. His eyes cracked open ever so slightly, revealing the white sclera as they rolled back into his head.  

“-kaela,” he choked out. Mikaela quickly jumped out of the stiff hotel room bed to the vanity at the back. The ice bucket was the closest item and she quickly filled it with cool water. She froze in mid-stride before carrying it back over to him as she caught sight of herself in the long mirror. Her naked body was covered in dried blood. She couldn’t help but think she looked like the product of some crazed director’s vision from a horror flick as she finally urged her feet into motion. 

The tall man was writing on the bed, breath caught in his throat as he clawed uselessly about. She didn’t know why she thought the water would help. She threw the bucket of water against him and she wasn’t as surprised as she felt she should have been when he gasped and sat up straight. His green eyes snapped back into focus and he found her immediately, standing over him with the now empty bucket. 

“Mikaela, what happened?” he asked breathlessly. The bloody sight of her must have kick-started his senses as well. She dropped the bucket and quickly rushed to his side on the soggy bed. 

“Do you remember getting scratched earlier?” she asked, her hand once more going to the oozing wound on his left. His beautiful face screwed up in confusion as she glanced down. 

“No – I was never…” the words died in his throat as he spied his own ribs. There was angry red lines taking over his entire left side and the edge of the scratches themselves were dark and tough. “I don’t even feel that,” he looked up at her hopelessly, and edge of panic to his baritone voice. “How do I not feel that?”

“We need to get you to a hospital,” she gushed, flying out of bed and casting about for her clothes. Michael rose from his side of the bed, only to crumple over with a yell. Mikaela turned back quickly at the sound, his hands wrapped around his bare stomach. 

“No,” he croaked. “No hospital.” 

“You are burning up with fever, those are horribly infected…” the sound of bones cracking killed her words as he yelled once more. The pain dropping him to his knees. 

“I don’t think it’s an infection,” he gasped after a moment. “That… thing…” 

“No.” 

“Come on, the stories had to come from somewhere!” he snapped as he pushed himself back up to his feet. 

“You of all people? You’re going to sit here and wave the idea of a… a what? Werewolf around? Or have you shot too many movies with them in it?” She was pulling her pants on as she stomped across the room to him. 

“Do you have a better idea of what that -” Michael screamed again and dropped helplessly to the floor; the muscles beneath his skin visibly contracting. She reached down to take his hand and they both went stony. He was larger than her to begin with, but her fingers barely stretched across his palm now. The fear was thick in his eyes as he looked up at her. 

“I can’t turn into that thing Mikaela,” came a husky whisper. She stared down at her hand against his and met his eyes. She’d watched those eyes for years before ever meeting him just yesterday. There was pleading and panic that no amount of acting could ever duplicate in them now. “Please.”

“Please… what?” she asked. She was shaking her head because she already knew the answer as he spoke.

“Kill me now. I can’t…” he doubled over with another set of sickening pops coming from beneath his skin. 

“No,” she breathed, stepping away and reaching for her shirt. 

“Please…” he cried between ragged gasps. 

“I can’t!” she shouted back. 

“Can’t or won’t?” he demanded. She knew the words must have come naturally to him, a common quote from his movies. 

“Both,” she admitted. “There has to be a way to fix it. Otherwise there would be these monsters all over the world. They’d be all over the news, the internet – not just on the big screen. And if there is a way, don’t you owe that much to your daughter?” 

He held her gaze for a few heartbeats, his teeth grinding against the pain. 

“If there’s no cure…”

“Then we’ll figure something out. I’ll be back. Do NOT leave this room,” she ordered as she snatched up her purse. It had just turned six o’clock, the predawn light was barely painting the eastern sky. If anyone would be able to help them, it would be Steven. 

She let out a frustrated sigh as she pulled away in the small S.U.V. they’d stolen. 

Creative differences

… and poor communication skills. *grumble*

You’d think two writers would be able to get their points across in email. Alas, sometimes this is not the case. I have been going back and forth all day. She’s been talking about one thing, and I’ve been talking about an entirely different thing. So now I wait. Could be persuaded my ass – sorry toots, who’s the one actually working on writing? That’s actually making progress? I think you’ve forgotten that the reason I have these offshoot stories was because I couldn’t get you to focus on anything to make any decisions or write. You got mad at me for writing and contributing because you felt jealous and left out. I didn’t stop you from writing. I was just trying to keep things moving to not waste my life.

So I started a new series, something I could work out without someone attempting to dictate my own creativity to me. Many of the same themes were there, because that’s what I enjoy working with. There were character similarities, because I was trying to replace the ones you were holding hostage with some others I could love and work with easily. Because THIS… writing, creating, breathing life into new worlds and new characters… THIS is what I want to do. This is what excites me and comforts me.

WHY do you have to be the only person on the planet that shares my freaking wavelength?! Why are you the only person that I can talk to about these ideas effectively – because sometimes I’d like to throw you off a building – as I’m sure there are days you’d like to drag me behind a semi. So I’m quite certain we’re equal.

The stories are not about magic, they’re about the characters. It’s about that person’s life – and okay, so they can use magic. Flash, bang, boom – a lot of people enjoy that sort of thing. It’s enchanting, it draws them in. It strikes the simplistic “what if I could do that?” chord in their own imagination. I’m a fantasy/science fiction writer, so guess who I’m catering to?

Oh please oh please don’t let this set the tone to my long weekend. Sunday is already gone because of game. I know Terry is going to try and drag me out Monday to SOMEONE’s memorial day thing. Tonight we’re going out with friends… Can you please just leave me alone with my own overboard ideas and let me write.

 

PROGRESS!

Magic, it is the building blocks of the universe. It is the in between the science cannot explain. It is where faith and proof butt heads. And it runs rampant in my mind…. and allow me to interrupt my own train of thought for a moment to be thoroughly creeped out. 

So my son is a magpie… has OCD and hoarding tendencies. I am aware that I will have a constant battle with him as he grows older. A few weeks ago, he found a piece of an old earring or necklace or something out in the yard and brought it in to me. I set it on my desk, where I keep most of his little treasures that he brings to me. I glance at it every now and then. I happen to glance up this evening and notice that it looks strange. So I pick it up. And it procreated. There are now 2 of them… like…

Magic, as I was saying. To be a wizard, one must train hard. A simple wave of the hand will not suffice. One must learn what motions trigger a spell, and then practice with that focus. It isn’t until years of use that one would learn the muscle memory required to produce that spell without words, without your focus item. And even then – it’s more difficult. Stages, of magic so to say.

Why am I speaking of nonsensical things tonight? Because to me, they are not nonsense. I had a business meeting with Nikki this evening. Originally it was designed to go over Syndicate items. However I asked for her assistance in coming up with some magical ideas to rework the part of the book that got changed. We made more progress tonight on the series than we have made in a year. The last big leap like this… was when we decided on Kaidd and Skye’s parentage. That in itself opened up a HUGE vault of amazing ideas. Tonight, opened up some more. It fused things together that we can work with in the Koshu era and post-guardian era. 

Consider the design of the universe as a game of dominoes for a moment. The goddesses hands are bound from directly interfering with human affairs. Primarily because they cannot directly converse with most humans, only a select few. Each goddess selects a millennium of dominoes, and take turns setting them up on end. Once the pattern is set, a quick push… Now comes the race. Quickly trade this piece for that, move this one, turn this one… you have until the last domino falls and whoever has the most colors face up, has just won. And that is the goddess that with the lions share of power. 

Each of those dominoes represent, a life, an action, a decision, a planet, a belief… In the ethereal beyond our plane, it is all they can truly manipulate. This is my vision… this is how I see the background being built… I am still trying to sell this idea to Nikki. Perhaps more than anything it is the game analogy that she doesn’t care for. I do not know, but it’s the closest match to what I see. It’s the closest match to the game that I see the goddesses playing against each other for eternity. Once that match is over… it’s time to reset. And the next age begins. 

The only reason I’m sharing this with you is because it is NOT set in stone. If it doesn’t get used in this series… I do believe I’ll start another. I already have one that I haven’t worked ALL of the kinks out as of yet… I might be able to incorporate it into that setting.

But I think for tonight… I’ll leave you with a conversation in my head of a few of the characters. Whether or not it will get used in an actual book – or just as background fodder – I’ve yet to decide. 

“Talsyn… We are the tenth most powerful family on my planet. Even with the piss poor exchange rate, I’m still fucking loaded,” Kaidd pointed out. He caught the urgent shake of Harmon’s head before glancing back over to Talsyn. The older man glowered over at him and Skye leaned in close. 

“It would appear that is not common knowledge out here.” Talsyn’s sour expression did not alter as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No, not common knowledge at all,” Talsyn concurred. “Your father actually had it in his contract that his compensation for his assistance would be very costly trips back to your little planet, to visit you through the years.” Kaidd didn’t allow his face to change as he considered the words.

“Okay, my dad’s a genius Talsyn. That was kind of a brilliant move – you have to admit,” Kaidd replied with a smirk. His smile threatened to fade under the older man’s dangerous glare. “So seriously, how does one go about getting licensed to fly?” 

“Funny. As the son of a genius – I’d think you could figure that out.” 

Writing exercises

Gah… where do I start? Okay, nix that, I’ve already started. It’s not even that I’ve hit a wall… It’s like someone cut a wire in me connecting my imagination to my hands. I’ve lost all desire to do anything. I have late gifts to make, I have foods I want to try and make… Hell I have books I’m dying to write. I just spent the last half hour reading through clips of things… or trying to. I can’t stay focused enough to even make sense of what I’d already written. I know what I need to do, how I even want some of them to go… But everything feels… bland. I don’t know… maybe it’s knowing that my plans have all fizzled apart – like a chain reaction, it burnt away that spark of creativity in me. Part of me can’t help but feel – what’s the point? I can sit here and write and write… but at the end of the day, it’s the daily grind that puts a roof over our heads. You’d think with how simplistic my goals were, I could have attained them by now. But the year keeps slipping away, and I’m looking closer and closer to 31 with little to show for it. I can’t even get my son to an ideal place to live and grow. For every step I take I keep getting pushed back two or three. 

Oh well, writing exercise… 1000 words in the middle of a book – go.

There was a light shining through at the end of the long, narrow tunnel. Rhiannon felt her heart leap as they turned in that direction. 

“Are we finally there?” Dani asked hopefully. 

“There, where?” Olend asked, glancing back over his shoulder. 

“You know, to the end of the tunnel,” she clarified. 

“My dear, we have but merely reached the most treacherous part of the caverns,” Afra informed her as we approached the mouth of the cave. Rhiannon wasn’t sure if “mouth” is really what she’d consider the exit of the cave, but she’d preferred that over the alternative.

The light was blinding for a second as they emerged. Rhiannon couldn’t quite place where the source of the light originated from. The cavern didn’t end, so much as expanded what appeared to be infinitely. The trail lead down nearly three hundred feet on a sharp decline. It ended abruptly at a wall, and beyond this wall was the most magnificent thing Rhiannon had ever seen. Her breath caught in her chest as she recognized what she saw in the cavernous valley. As heart stopping and imaginative as Jim Henson and Brian Froud could be, they did not do the labyrinthine city justice.

It appeared to stretch for miles into the cave, encompassing everything before them. The wall ran up the hill toward them, funneling them down to the large gated entrance below. Just as in the movie that Rhiannon remembered, a tall twisted castle rose from the center of the maze. It was surrounded by what appeared to be a bustling city. Two guards were standing below them at the gates, halberds in hand, watching the group tentatively. They were clothed similarly, in blue and gold with what looked like it might have once been polished silver armor. There were heavy gouges and scuffs dug into each guards’ armor. These were no men however.

One, a tall, slender, hairy beast of a creature with large slow eyes and long drooping ears. The other was short and slightly dumpy with a large crooked, actually crooked, nose.

“What the hell is that?” Josh snapped.

“It is the Goblin City. Our only recourse is to ask for safe passage through the maze,” Olend explained.

“Those are goblins?” Andi asked, a hint of a smile on her lips. She glanced back and shared a smile with Rhiannon.

“So is there a Goblin King?” Rhiannon offered in jest, sharing a smile with her friend. Afra and Olend almost looked surprised.

“There is, but how did you know?” Afra asked.

“Rather than ask how we know – which one spent time down here? Jim Henson or Brian Froud?” Andi asked.

“I’d guess Brian. Just look at all of his other works,” Rhiannon pointed out as she took a couple steps down.

“That name is familiar, I believe it was before my time, but there was once Froud at the school wasn’t there Madame?” Romney asked, glancing over at Afra.

“Yes, a young man from your world stumbled through. Instead of rushing straight home, he spent time studying our world. I did not know what happened to him, but it sounds like he must have made it through the caverns,” Afra explained. The tall elf turned and looked down to Olend.

“Young sir, I believe your people have had more experience with the Goblins than we elves ever have. Do you feel prepared to request an audience?”

“I think I can manage,” Olend said, rubbing his thick white stubble thoughtfully. “The Dwarves and Goblins have never necessarily had an alliance, but both sharing a love for the underground, we at least have a few things in common.” He took a long steadying breath and turned to the group of humans.

“Yes, there is a Goblin King. He is very recently the Goblin King, and the youngest in an age. Do not think him untried though. The Goblins have taken a neutral stance in the fight against the Darkness, and only within the last couple of months have fought back an invasion of Grootslangs and Trolls. I’ve heard that he is something of a recluse, so we may only have one shot at this. Please keep your heads down and respectful.

Olend took point, leading the way down the trail. Logs had been cut and put in place of steps periodically. Many of these were scorched and trampled under what looked like hundreds of footprints.

The guards watched the group’s descent with interest, adjusting their weapons quite obviously. Olend raised his hands as a show of peace, the armed elves followed suit.

“Greetings Goblin neighbors. I wish to be so bold as to request an audience with your King,” Olend said with his strong voice. The goblins exchanged looks and started laughing. The tall one had a high, wheezing groan of a laugh, while tubby’s was a deeper guffaw.

“What a ragtag group to make demands of one so important,” the tall one said. His voice as slow as his eyes suggested.

“It is imperative to the success of our mission that we make it through your city, and I’m afraid we don’t have time to solve your labyrinth. I must speak with King vonDeicken, right away.” Olend tried again.

“The King is busy! We will not summon him for the likes of you, baby Dwarf! If you want in the Labyrinth, just lay down your arms and we’ll let you pass,” Tubby said. There was a deep grumble to his voice.

“As I said, we do not wish to go INTO the Labyrinth… we wish to go around it. I must speak to the King!” Olend demanded once more. The short one moved to open his mouth, but a voice from behind startled the group instead.

“So speak young Dwarf, but be wary of wasting my time.” His voice was smooth as silk and tenor. He was tall, and very humanoid, unlike his guards. His skin was a sparkling gold with pitch black eyes and longish, wavy gold hair. 

 

What? I said 1000 – count ’em.