I haven't updated in a while. I've been writing a bit, and I've also found a new hobby that I absolutely love and is taking a lot of my spare time--time I was previously using to write this blog.
Sooo, I'm shutting this down officially. Not that it makes a huge difference; posts were becoming steadily more sporadic, and I think we all saw the writing on the wall.
Any blog follower who wishes to keep in touch may do so through my facebook page; given the address of this blog, it shouldn't be hard to find. ;)
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Crit of PD, part 1
The problem with this piece starts as soon as the main character speaks.
[“Achossebein,” she whispered, “I have summoned you because I need your advice.”]
Vera is supposed to be a young girl, and this seems both stilted and wordy. It could work if, a short while down the line, she slipped into a more natural speech pattern, then made an effort to put on airs again. Otherwise, she should start and finish sounding believable for her age, situation, and character.
As it is, her dialog just gets worse.
[“Don’t even suggest such things, Demon.”]
If I were a magazine editor, I'd probably put this down, figuring this issue holds for the rest of the story. And I'd be right...except, strangely enough, for Achossebein, who randomly slips into common vernacular.
[Achossebein laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, you sure don’t ask for much...]
On the plus side, dialog tags are being handled well--that is, avoided most of the time.
But the biggest problem this has is that at the end of this short section, we don't feel a strong attachment to Vera, and the central conflict of the story is still rather vague. That's what dooms this to the slushpile.
As to the rest of the story...if the first few paragraphs don't grab an agent or editor, the chances that they'll even read that far are nil.
[“Achossebein,” she whispered, “I have summoned you because I need your advice.”]
Vera is supposed to be a young girl, and this seems both stilted and wordy. It could work if, a short while down the line, she slipped into a more natural speech pattern, then made an effort to put on airs again. Otherwise, she should start and finish sounding believable for her age, situation, and character.
As it is, her dialog just gets worse.
[“Don’t even suggest such things, Demon.”]
If I were a magazine editor, I'd probably put this down, figuring this issue holds for the rest of the story. And I'd be right...except, strangely enough, for Achossebein, who randomly slips into common vernacular.
[Achossebein laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, you sure don’t ask for much...]
On the plus side, dialog tags are being handled well--that is, avoided most of the time.
But the biggest problem this has is that at the end of this short section, we don't feel a strong attachment to Vera, and the central conflict of the story is still rather vague. That's what dooms this to the slushpile.
As to the rest of the story...if the first few paragraphs don't grab an agent or editor, the chances that they'll even read that far are nil.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Why Does "Personal Demons" Suck?
I've learned a lot over the years, and much of what I know about good writing comes from analyzing bad writing.
Obviously, we can all learn a little something from "Personal Demons."
So why does it suck? Oh, let us count the ways!
We could focus on the stilted language or flat characters. We could talk about the excess of adverbs. We could do a line-by-line critique, or focus on the big picture. We could crit it in a box, we could crit it with a fox. We could crit it with some ducks; we have to crit it, 'cause it sucks!
So that's my challenge to you, oh readers of this blog. Go back and look over the first installment of "Personal Demons." Try to figure out what made it suck so bad, and how we can all avoid those mistakes in the future. I'll give my critique in the next blog post.
Until then, happy shredding!
Obviously, we can all learn a little something from "Personal Demons."
So why does it suck? Oh, let us count the ways!
We could focus on the stilted language or flat characters. We could talk about the excess of adverbs. We could do a line-by-line critique, or focus on the big picture. We could crit it in a box, we could crit it with a fox. We could crit it with some ducks; we have to crit it, 'cause it sucks!
So that's my challenge to you, oh readers of this blog. Go back and look over the first installment of "Personal Demons." Try to figure out what made it suck so bad, and how we can all avoid those mistakes in the future. I'll give my critique in the next blog post.
Until then, happy shredding!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Personal Demons, part 5 (final)
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.
.
The Harvest Festival had been held at nightfall, and now it seemed as if it had happened years ago, or in a dream. Despite her fear, Vera’s eyes began to close of their own accord, and she began to realize how long it had been since she last slept. She went to the corner of the room and pulled her knees up to her chest, allowing her back to rest against one wall and her head to rest on the adjoining one. Soon, she was asleep.
Much later, she was woken by a familiar clang and the sound of the door opening. It took a moment for her to gain the fortitude necessary to open her eyes, but once she did, a sudden bolt of adrenaline assured that she was completely awake. She pushed herself onto her knees and bowed deeply before the prince.
“Rise,” he said.
Vera swiped a bit of dirt off of her cheek, then stood, being careful not to further sully her silken dress. She stared at her feet.
The prince chuckled, though there was no mirth in it. “Look at me,” he said. “I want you to see.”
Confused, she looked up. The prince looked the same as ever; same handsome features, same raven hair, richly appointed clothes…but something was wrong.
He chuckled again, and this time he slowly looked her over. She could feel his gaze on her, as if it were caressing her, and it felt for all the world like the gaze of…Achossebein.
The Demon laughed. “I’m afraid the king has fallen ill," he said in the prince's honey voice, "and all guests of the palace are being detained shortly, asked about their business, and then being sent home. You will have to leave.”
Vera tried not to tremble. She had faced Achossebein many times, but never without the barrier of glass between the two of them, never with him unbound and at full strength. Part of her wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also felt an obligation to do something, anything, to stop what was about to happen to her kingdom, her home, and her family.
“You didn’t fulfill your promise…” she whispered.
“What do you mean? You are being allowed to go free, your virtue intact…if, indeed that is what you wish.” His eyes offered more.
“My dinner. Before the Harvest Festival, you said I’d have what I desired.” She was grasping at straws and she knew it, but she pushed forward anyway, brazen and mad. "You must fulfill your promise, Demon."
“Do you still wish to sit at the king’s table? I could arrange that, if not tonight, then soon. Perhaps you would like to be my concubine, and sit there every night?”
Vera shook her head. “No.”
“Then you are free to go.”
She raised her chin. “This is not over, Achossebein. I will call on you, and when I do, you must fulfill your earlier promise and grant me dinner with the king. You cannot let him die until this is done. I will not release you from your oath.”
His eyes narrowed. "You will not release me?" He took a menacing step toward her and reached out--she shrank away from him and he laughed. "My dear, I am already released."
"No," Vera said. "You must obey your word, even if you twist those words to breaking. You promised me that I would have what I desired, and that promise is yet unfulfilled."
"You would give up your chance at freedom in exchange for a dinner in a Demon's palace?"
"I plan to have both," Vera said.
The Demon's lips curled into a leering grin. “Very well,” he said. “I will look forward to it.”
“As will I,” Vera answered. "We will have our day of reckoning."
.
.
The Harvest Festival had been held at nightfall, and now it seemed as if it had happened years ago, or in a dream. Despite her fear, Vera’s eyes began to close of their own accord, and she began to realize how long it had been since she last slept. She went to the corner of the room and pulled her knees up to her chest, allowing her back to rest against one wall and her head to rest on the adjoining one. Soon, she was asleep.
Much later, she was woken by a familiar clang and the sound of the door opening. It took a moment for her to gain the fortitude necessary to open her eyes, but once she did, a sudden bolt of adrenaline assured that she was completely awake. She pushed herself onto her knees and bowed deeply before the prince.
“Rise,” he said.
Vera swiped a bit of dirt off of her cheek, then stood, being careful not to further sully her silken dress. She stared at her feet.
The prince chuckled, though there was no mirth in it. “Look at me,” he said. “I want you to see.”
Confused, she looked up. The prince looked the same as ever; same handsome features, same raven hair, richly appointed clothes…but something was wrong.
He chuckled again, and this time he slowly looked her over. She could feel his gaze on her, as if it were caressing her, and it felt for all the world like the gaze of…Achossebein.
The Demon laughed. “I’m afraid the king has fallen ill," he said in the prince's honey voice, "and all guests of the palace are being detained shortly, asked about their business, and then being sent home. You will have to leave.”
Vera tried not to tremble. She had faced Achossebein many times, but never without the barrier of glass between the two of them, never with him unbound and at full strength. Part of her wanted to leave as soon as possible, but she also felt an obligation to do something, anything, to stop what was about to happen to her kingdom, her home, and her family.
“You didn’t fulfill your promise…” she whispered.
“What do you mean? You are being allowed to go free, your virtue intact…if, indeed that is what you wish.” His eyes offered more.
“My dinner. Before the Harvest Festival, you said I’d have what I desired.” She was grasping at straws and she knew it, but she pushed forward anyway, brazen and mad. "You must fulfill your promise, Demon."
“Do you still wish to sit at the king’s table? I could arrange that, if not tonight, then soon. Perhaps you would like to be my concubine, and sit there every night?”
Vera shook her head. “No.”
“Then you are free to go.”
She raised her chin. “This is not over, Achossebein. I will call on you, and when I do, you must fulfill your earlier promise and grant me dinner with the king. You cannot let him die until this is done. I will not release you from your oath.”
His eyes narrowed. "You will not release me?" He took a menacing step toward her and reached out--she shrank away from him and he laughed. "My dear, I am already released."
"No," Vera said. "You must obey your word, even if you twist those words to breaking. You promised me that I would have what I desired, and that promise is yet unfulfilled."
"You would give up your chance at freedom in exchange for a dinner in a Demon's palace?"
"I plan to have both," Vera said.
The Demon's lips curled into a leering grin. “Very well,” he said. “I will look forward to it.”
“As will I,” Vera answered. "We will have our day of reckoning."
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Personal Demons, part 4
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.
.
The Queen had a great love of rare and beautiful things, and surrounded herself with them whenever possible. Her chambers were the most opulent in the palace; the walls were almost entirely hidden behind fantastic paintings and tapestries, the floor was practically layered in rugs from exotic lands, and the furnishings were the finest to be had anywhere, at any cost.
She adorned herself in much the same way, with glittering rings and a swath of necklaces, baubles in her hair, and the most fabulous gowns; not even the wealthiest baroness could afford half as much. Some had said that the Queen’s style was gaudy; other’s believed her to be compensating for an otherwise unremarkable persona.
Marcella could not have disagreed more.
She curtsied deeply, the only formality required of her after so many years of loyal service. “You called for me, my Queen?”
“Yes," The queen said without looking at her. "Marcella, I must know where your loyalties lie.”
Marcella’s breath caught at the question; she frantically searched her memory for anything that she could have done or said that would have cast doubt on her fealty to her queen. Then, realizing that hesitation was probably worse than any answer she could give, she answered, “My loyalties are with you, as always…”
“With me? Or with the royal family? The kingdom, perhaps?”
Again Marcella was caught of guard. The king and prince each had servants of their own; there was no better way for her to serve her kingdom than to spend her life in servitude to the queen. She looked the queen in the eye, and with all her heart, she answered, “My loyalties are with you, my Queen.”
“Very well, then. I have a favor to ask of you, Marcella, and it is crucial that no one ever know of it.”
Marcella nodded.
“You must give this to a member of the kitchen staff. Which one is up to you, but you must not be overly fond of them. This powder is to be placed in the evening tea of the king.”
Marcella took the powder, but her confusion must have shown.
“Will you balk at this request, Marcella?”
She shook her head. “No, my Queen.”
“Good. Now listen to me. This powder will make the king fall ill, but do not despair. It is entirely undetectable, and even were someone to suspect you, I would vouch for your whereabouts and your innocence. Remember also that this is not a fatal poison, and the king will recover shortly.”
Marcella nodded, and swore to do as she was asked.
#
Vera gently slid a single finger across the mirror’s smooth surface, tracing the lines of Achossebein’s lips, forming a connection between his world and hers. When the Demon’s eyes seemed to focus on her, she quickly stepped back; the bindings on Achossebein were weaker than she had ever dared before, and she intended to take no chances.
“Nice dress,” he purred, his tone both appreciative and mocking.
Vera narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“I assume that all did not go as you planned, then?”
“Achossebein, you will get me out of this or pay dearly.”
“Ah, but I thought you wanted all this…”
“You heard me, Demon.”
Achossebein chuckled, then seemed to look not at Vera, but through her. “The bindings on me are weakened. All that holds me now is a thin line of impure salt.” His voice was a mixture of hunger and conjecture.
Vera swallowed hard as she realized that she had no idea how impure the bath salts were, or what they were mixed with, or if they would even hold. Combining that with the lack of candles…
“Get me out of this, Achossebein!”
The Demon licked his lips. “Gladly, my sweet. Simply run your finger through the salts. Give me a pathway out of here, and I shall provide you with a way out as well.”
“No.”
“No? Really? But I thought you wanted out. You know very well that all I can do while trapped like this is speak to you.”
“If I let you out, the only path to freedom you would grant me is that of the grave.”
The Demon’s eyebrows went up in mock surprise and his lips curled cruelly. “I am shocked. Surely you know me better than that? There are many things I would rather do to you than kill you…though that is still on the list, of course.”
“I will not avoid letting the king have his way with me by allowing you that same privilege. I know ways of hurting you, Achossebein, and you will find me a way out of this situation you have created, or I will use them.”
Again the Demon laughed. “I have other aspirations besides tasting your flesh, girl, and pain holds no fear for me. I find it interesting, though, how often you are calling me by name. It’s as if you think that that word has power over me.”
Was he lying? Vera had been taught that knowing a Demon's name was one of the ways to bind him, but if not, then she had even less control than she'd thought. And now that he mentioned it, she had to wonder what aspirations he had, other than devouring her soul. Why else did he come when she called? “What aspirations do you have, Achossebein?”
“I want what everyone wants,” the Demon answered, “I want power. Wealth. Women. Let me out now, and I will have them all.”
“And why would I grant you that?”
“Because you secretly want the pleasures I would grant you?" She opened her mouth, furious, but before she could speak, he said, "No? Then perhaps because in exchange, I shall let you leave here unharmed and with your virtue intact. I assume that at the moment, I am the only one who has such an offer for you?”
Vera considered. She knew that the Demon was evil, but he was a familiar evil, an evil she had dealt with comfortably for many years. She was much more comfortable here, in a dark room with a trapped Demon, than she would be if left alone with either the king or his wife. But still…
“What would you do if you were loosed on the world?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“None of my concern? How can a Demon being loosed on the world be none of my concern? Especially if I am to be the one doing the loosing?”
“We will have made a bargain, and each of us will have fulfilled our end. After that, we shall part ways.” He paused to watch Vera’s face. “Let me ask you this: if you give a beggar coin, and later discover that he used that coin to commit an evil act, are you to blame? Are you to blame if you fail to kill a stray animal that later goes on to maul a child? You cannot control the beggar or the stray once they are out of your sight, and it isn’t your job to do so. Worry about yourself, girl, and let me do as I will. My doings are no more or less in your control than are anyone else’s.”
“But that isn’t true.”
“Oh? How so?”
“You do not belong in this world, and if I don’t allow you into it, you cannot harm it. If I let you in, knowing the harm you will do, then I am responsible for that harm.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“I don’t know," she said quietly, "But I will remedy that now. I cannot risk the world in order to save myself."
For the first time, anger flashed in Achossebein’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but as he did the bedroom door opened, and two large guards walked in. Vera panicked and turned her back to the mirror, hoping that the breadth of her body and the dimness of the room would be enough to block the guards’ view of the Demon she had summoned.
The guards remained focused on Vera, and before she realized it, they were close enough to grab her arms. She panicked when one of them stepped on her circle of salt, and threw herself on him, screaming for him to stop. In response, he stepped back and jerked her forward rather brutally, dragging her feet through the circle. The barrier was broken.
Vera screamed. "Let me go," she begged, "Please!" But there was no reply, other than the guards becoming even rougher, more heavy handed than before. She began to scratch and kick, fighting as if for her life, but all she accomplished was getting herself hoisted up and carried away instead of simply being drug. Soon, she was reduced to pounding her fists uselessly on the guard’s strong back and sobbing uncontrollably.
#
Vera was taken to a small dark room with no windows; there was only a single hardback chair and a small lantern on the floor. She assumed that she was to be punished; that the guards outside her room had overheard her conversation with Achossebein. But if that was the case, then why had they come in only after she had said that she was going to send the Demon away? And why were they not mindful of the protective ring?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud clang and the room’s only door coming open. A tall, wiry man wearing royal livery stepped in, after which someone outside pulled the door closed once more.
The man said nothing, but looked her over closely, seeming to take in even the smallest details. His gaze made her shudder.
At long last, the man asked, “Are you the girl they’re calling Vera?” Vera was confused by the phrasing of the question, but she nodded.
The man narrowed his eyes slightly. “You were brought here by coach, just after the Harvest Festival, am I right?”
Again, Vera nodded.
“Can you tell me what you have done since then? Leave nothing out; if I suspect that you do, or that you are lying, you will be tried for treason.”
Vera swallowed hard. “Where exactly should I begin?”
“The moment you walked through the palace doors. Tell me what you were wearing, what items you were carrying, who was with you, and what they looked like. I need to know everything.”
She told him of the guard leading her in and the matron’s derisive sniff, of the warm bathwater and the red powder that was put on her lips, and of the bedroom she had been left in afterwards, but oddly enough, that is where the wiry man stopped her. “Once you were there,” he asked, “you didn’t leave?”
Vera shook her head.
“And no one came in until the guards?”
“No.”
“Very well then.” And with that, the man turned and left the room and Vera found herself unexpectedly and abruptly alone once again.
.
.
The Queen had a great love of rare and beautiful things, and surrounded herself with them whenever possible. Her chambers were the most opulent in the palace; the walls were almost entirely hidden behind fantastic paintings and tapestries, the floor was practically layered in rugs from exotic lands, and the furnishings were the finest to be had anywhere, at any cost.
She adorned herself in much the same way, with glittering rings and a swath of necklaces, baubles in her hair, and the most fabulous gowns; not even the wealthiest baroness could afford half as much. Some had said that the Queen’s style was gaudy; other’s believed her to be compensating for an otherwise unremarkable persona.
Marcella could not have disagreed more.
She curtsied deeply, the only formality required of her after so many years of loyal service. “You called for me, my Queen?”
“Yes," The queen said without looking at her. "Marcella, I must know where your loyalties lie.”
Marcella’s breath caught at the question; she frantically searched her memory for anything that she could have done or said that would have cast doubt on her fealty to her queen. Then, realizing that hesitation was probably worse than any answer she could give, she answered, “My loyalties are with you, as always…”
“With me? Or with the royal family? The kingdom, perhaps?”
Again Marcella was caught of guard. The king and prince each had servants of their own; there was no better way for her to serve her kingdom than to spend her life in servitude to the queen. She looked the queen in the eye, and with all her heart, she answered, “My loyalties are with you, my Queen.”
“Very well, then. I have a favor to ask of you, Marcella, and it is crucial that no one ever know of it.”
Marcella nodded.
“You must give this to a member of the kitchen staff. Which one is up to you, but you must not be overly fond of them. This powder is to be placed in the evening tea of the king.”
Marcella took the powder, but her confusion must have shown.
“Will you balk at this request, Marcella?”
She shook her head. “No, my Queen.”
“Good. Now listen to me. This powder will make the king fall ill, but do not despair. It is entirely undetectable, and even were someone to suspect you, I would vouch for your whereabouts and your innocence. Remember also that this is not a fatal poison, and the king will recover shortly.”
Marcella nodded, and swore to do as she was asked.
#
Vera gently slid a single finger across the mirror’s smooth surface, tracing the lines of Achossebein’s lips, forming a connection between his world and hers. When the Demon’s eyes seemed to focus on her, she quickly stepped back; the bindings on Achossebein were weaker than she had ever dared before, and she intended to take no chances.
“Nice dress,” he purred, his tone both appreciative and mocking.
Vera narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.
“I assume that all did not go as you planned, then?”
“Achossebein, you will get me out of this or pay dearly.”
“Ah, but I thought you wanted all this…”
“You heard me, Demon.”
Achossebein chuckled, then seemed to look not at Vera, but through her. “The bindings on me are weakened. All that holds me now is a thin line of impure salt.” His voice was a mixture of hunger and conjecture.
Vera swallowed hard as she realized that she had no idea how impure the bath salts were, or what they were mixed with, or if they would even hold. Combining that with the lack of candles…
“Get me out of this, Achossebein!”
The Demon licked his lips. “Gladly, my sweet. Simply run your finger through the salts. Give me a pathway out of here, and I shall provide you with a way out as well.”
“No.”
“No? Really? But I thought you wanted out. You know very well that all I can do while trapped like this is speak to you.”
“If I let you out, the only path to freedom you would grant me is that of the grave.”
The Demon’s eyebrows went up in mock surprise and his lips curled cruelly. “I am shocked. Surely you know me better than that? There are many things I would rather do to you than kill you…though that is still on the list, of course.”
“I will not avoid letting the king have his way with me by allowing you that same privilege. I know ways of hurting you, Achossebein, and you will find me a way out of this situation you have created, or I will use them.”
Again the Demon laughed. “I have other aspirations besides tasting your flesh, girl, and pain holds no fear for me. I find it interesting, though, how often you are calling me by name. It’s as if you think that that word has power over me.”
Was he lying? Vera had been taught that knowing a Demon's name was one of the ways to bind him, but if not, then she had even less control than she'd thought. And now that he mentioned it, she had to wonder what aspirations he had, other than devouring her soul. Why else did he come when she called? “What aspirations do you have, Achossebein?”
“I want what everyone wants,” the Demon answered, “I want power. Wealth. Women. Let me out now, and I will have them all.”
“And why would I grant you that?”
“Because you secretly want the pleasures I would grant you?" She opened her mouth, furious, but before she could speak, he said, "No? Then perhaps because in exchange, I shall let you leave here unharmed and with your virtue intact. I assume that at the moment, I am the only one who has such an offer for you?”
Vera considered. She knew that the Demon was evil, but he was a familiar evil, an evil she had dealt with comfortably for many years. She was much more comfortable here, in a dark room with a trapped Demon, than she would be if left alone with either the king or his wife. But still…
“What would you do if you were loosed on the world?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“None of my concern? How can a Demon being loosed on the world be none of my concern? Especially if I am to be the one doing the loosing?”
“We will have made a bargain, and each of us will have fulfilled our end. After that, we shall part ways.” He paused to watch Vera’s face. “Let me ask you this: if you give a beggar coin, and later discover that he used that coin to commit an evil act, are you to blame? Are you to blame if you fail to kill a stray animal that later goes on to maul a child? You cannot control the beggar or the stray once they are out of your sight, and it isn’t your job to do so. Worry about yourself, girl, and let me do as I will. My doings are no more or less in your control than are anyone else’s.”
“But that isn’t true.”
“Oh? How so?”
“You do not belong in this world, and if I don’t allow you into it, you cannot harm it. If I let you in, knowing the harm you will do, then I am responsible for that harm.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“I don’t know," she said quietly, "But I will remedy that now. I cannot risk the world in order to save myself."
For the first time, anger flashed in Achossebein’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, but as he did the bedroom door opened, and two large guards walked in. Vera panicked and turned her back to the mirror, hoping that the breadth of her body and the dimness of the room would be enough to block the guards’ view of the Demon she had summoned.
The guards remained focused on Vera, and before she realized it, they were close enough to grab her arms. She panicked when one of them stepped on her circle of salt, and threw herself on him, screaming for him to stop. In response, he stepped back and jerked her forward rather brutally, dragging her feet through the circle. The barrier was broken.
Vera screamed. "Let me go," she begged, "Please!" But there was no reply, other than the guards becoming even rougher, more heavy handed than before. She began to scratch and kick, fighting as if for her life, but all she accomplished was getting herself hoisted up and carried away instead of simply being drug. Soon, she was reduced to pounding her fists uselessly on the guard’s strong back and sobbing uncontrollably.
#
Vera was taken to a small dark room with no windows; there was only a single hardback chair and a small lantern on the floor. She assumed that she was to be punished; that the guards outside her room had overheard her conversation with Achossebein. But if that was the case, then why had they come in only after she had said that she was going to send the Demon away? And why were they not mindful of the protective ring?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud clang and the room’s only door coming open. A tall, wiry man wearing royal livery stepped in, after which someone outside pulled the door closed once more.
The man said nothing, but looked her over closely, seeming to take in even the smallest details. His gaze made her shudder.
At long last, the man asked, “Are you the girl they’re calling Vera?” Vera was confused by the phrasing of the question, but she nodded.
The man narrowed his eyes slightly. “You were brought here by coach, just after the Harvest Festival, am I right?”
Again, Vera nodded.
“Can you tell me what you have done since then? Leave nothing out; if I suspect that you do, or that you are lying, you will be tried for treason.”
Vera swallowed hard. “Where exactly should I begin?”
“The moment you walked through the palace doors. Tell me what you were wearing, what items you were carrying, who was with you, and what they looked like. I need to know everything.”
She told him of the guard leading her in and the matron’s derisive sniff, of the warm bathwater and the red powder that was put on her lips, and of the bedroom she had been left in afterwards, but oddly enough, that is where the wiry man stopped her. “Once you were there,” he asked, “you didn’t leave?”
Vera shook her head.
“And no one came in until the guards?”
“No.”
“Very well then.” And with that, the man turned and left the room and Vera found herself unexpectedly and abruptly alone once again.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Personal Demons, part 3
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.
From a distance, the palace seemed to rise out of the perpetual mists of lake Aned, its towering spires and stone walls hovering, lighter than air. Vera had spent many nights staring in awe at the sheer size of it, entranced by the way the glass in the upper windows caught the moonlight and boldly reflected it back to the heavens. She had always wondered how it would look up close; wondered if its dreamlike qualities would melt away under closer scrutiny.
Now that it loomed over her, dreams had given way to nightmares, and as the carriage driver called for the horses to stop, a sudden bolt of panic robbed her of breath and sent a tear down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away, and the guard who came to escort her into the palace didn’t seem to care. His large hand enveloped both her hand and her wrist, and he led her firmly if not forcibly up the palace steps, under a pair of magnificent arches, and into the palace proper. From there she was turned over to an elderly matron, who sniffed derisively at Vera's obviously common appearance and muddied dress, then walked away saying, “You will follow me” as if she was speaking to a particularly naughty child.
She was taken to a room with a large wooden tub at its center. The matron nodded curtly towards a small table that stood near one wall, then turned and left without explanation. Vera watched her go until the heavy wooden door was shut firmly behind her. There were no windows in this room, save one small, slitted opening near the ceiling. There would be no escaping through there. With no other options left to her, Vera wrapped her arms tightly around herself and went to investigate the table.
There she found a good-sized jar of bath salts, a choice of sweet smelling oils, a bar of scented soap, and a tiny hand held mirror. This last she picked up almost without thought, and in it she saw her own image; her hair was tangled from hours spent dancing in the night air, and her eyes were slightly swollen from fighting back tears. Earlier this evening, she had thought herself a very pretty young woman, radiant with the full bloom of life. Now she saw herself clearly as a crying, disheveled little girl.
She remembered Achossebein, the way the Demon had sneered as he promised that she'd get what she desired. She threw the mirror down in disgust, and it clattered across the stone floor but stayed intact.
Another tear trickled down her cheek, but determination was building inside her. Achossebein. It was he who had done this to her. She would find a way to repay him. But first, she had to find a way out this situation. She disrobed quickly, then threw her dress over the jar of bath salts, grabbed the bar of soap, and stormed over to the tub. She found the water surprisingly warm, but she refused to allow the pleasant sensation rob her of her newfound anger. .
By the time the servants came to prepare her for her audience with the king, Vera was calm, clean, and dignified. She stood perfectly still while they took measurements and tailored a silken white dress to fit her lithe form, and even made small talk as they brushed and styled her hair. They placed jewels around her neck and painted her cheeks and lips with fine red powder. They fussed over her for what seemed like an eternity, and when at last they were satisfied with their work, they retrieved the mirror from where Vera had thrown it and offered it to her. She refused. Then, just before she was led away, she grabbed her own dress from its place on the table. No one noticed that the jar of salts was taken along with it.
#
Vera had imagined that she would be led up a long flight of stairs, to a small room high in a tower. Instead, she was kept in a large, well lit bedchamber only two doors down from where she had bathed. She had noticed immediately that there were no windows, and a tentative peek through the crack underneath the door revealed two large pairs of boots.
She nodded. She had been hoping for guards. Guards meant that she would be left in this room for at least a short while, and she hoped that a short while was all she would need. She removed the bath salts from their hiding place within the dress she carried, threw the dress on the floor near the bed, and looked around the room. There was a large chest, several small tables with lanterns on them, and a writing table. Two tapestries, a small portrait, and a mirror hung on the walls.
She scooted the chest underneath the mirror, and with a little effort, she was able to wriggle the mirror free of its holders and lower it to the ground. She then carried it across the room, propped it against the writing desk, and used the salts to make an almost complete circle around it.
Vera had all she needed to summon the Demon, though she wished for black candles to make the binding stronger, or incense to ensure that Achossebein would heed her call. She shook her head and told herself that she would just have to make do, then went about dimming the lanterns.
After one last peek under the door, Vera took a deep breath and went back to her makeshift summoning ring. She put the last bit of salt into her left hand and stepped up to the mirror, then carefully completed the circle with herself inside. Before speaking the ancient invocations that would summon Achossebein, she took a moment to look the circle over once more. Any gap, any break at all in this protective ring, and the Demon would escape his prison and be loosed on the world.
Slowly, barely above a whisper, she began to mumble the words that would call the Demon forth. The incantation was ancient and powerful; as Vera chanted, it wove its spell not only over the salt and mirror, but over her, as well. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back as her body began to sway. Her voice grew louder and deeper, and she began to hear her own words as if they belonged to someone else.
The air grew thick, the room darkened, and deep within the mirror, grey mists began to swirl.
.
From a distance, the palace seemed to rise out of the perpetual mists of lake Aned, its towering spires and stone walls hovering, lighter than air. Vera had spent many nights staring in awe at the sheer size of it, entranced by the way the glass in the upper windows caught the moonlight and boldly reflected it back to the heavens. She had always wondered how it would look up close; wondered if its dreamlike qualities would melt away under closer scrutiny.
Now that it loomed over her, dreams had given way to nightmares, and as the carriage driver called for the horses to stop, a sudden bolt of panic robbed her of breath and sent a tear down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away, and the guard who came to escort her into the palace didn’t seem to care. His large hand enveloped both her hand and her wrist, and he led her firmly if not forcibly up the palace steps, under a pair of magnificent arches, and into the palace proper. From there she was turned over to an elderly matron, who sniffed derisively at Vera's obviously common appearance and muddied dress, then walked away saying, “You will follow me” as if she was speaking to a particularly naughty child.
She was taken to a room with a large wooden tub at its center. The matron nodded curtly towards a small table that stood near one wall, then turned and left without explanation. Vera watched her go until the heavy wooden door was shut firmly behind her. There were no windows in this room, save one small, slitted opening near the ceiling. There would be no escaping through there. With no other options left to her, Vera wrapped her arms tightly around herself and went to investigate the table.
There she found a good-sized jar of bath salts, a choice of sweet smelling oils, a bar of scented soap, and a tiny hand held mirror. This last she picked up almost without thought, and in it she saw her own image; her hair was tangled from hours spent dancing in the night air, and her eyes were slightly swollen from fighting back tears. Earlier this evening, she had thought herself a very pretty young woman, radiant with the full bloom of life. Now she saw herself clearly as a crying, disheveled little girl.
She remembered Achossebein, the way the Demon had sneered as he promised that she'd get what she desired. She threw the mirror down in disgust, and it clattered across the stone floor but stayed intact.
Another tear trickled down her cheek, but determination was building inside her. Achossebein. It was he who had done this to her. She would find a way to repay him. But first, she had to find a way out this situation. She disrobed quickly, then threw her dress over the jar of bath salts, grabbed the bar of soap, and stormed over to the tub. She found the water surprisingly warm, but she refused to allow the pleasant sensation rob her of her newfound anger. .
By the time the servants came to prepare her for her audience with the king, Vera was calm, clean, and dignified. She stood perfectly still while they took measurements and tailored a silken white dress to fit her lithe form, and even made small talk as they brushed and styled her hair. They placed jewels around her neck and painted her cheeks and lips with fine red powder. They fussed over her for what seemed like an eternity, and when at last they were satisfied with their work, they retrieved the mirror from where Vera had thrown it and offered it to her. She refused. Then, just before she was led away, she grabbed her own dress from its place on the table. No one noticed that the jar of salts was taken along with it.
#
Vera had imagined that she would be led up a long flight of stairs, to a small room high in a tower. Instead, she was kept in a large, well lit bedchamber only two doors down from where she had bathed. She had noticed immediately that there were no windows, and a tentative peek through the crack underneath the door revealed two large pairs of boots.
She nodded. She had been hoping for guards. Guards meant that she would be left in this room for at least a short while, and she hoped that a short while was all she would need. She removed the bath salts from their hiding place within the dress she carried, threw the dress on the floor near the bed, and looked around the room. There was a large chest, several small tables with lanterns on them, and a writing table. Two tapestries, a small portrait, and a mirror hung on the walls.
She scooted the chest underneath the mirror, and with a little effort, she was able to wriggle the mirror free of its holders and lower it to the ground. She then carried it across the room, propped it against the writing desk, and used the salts to make an almost complete circle around it.
Vera had all she needed to summon the Demon, though she wished for black candles to make the binding stronger, or incense to ensure that Achossebein would heed her call. She shook her head and told herself that she would just have to make do, then went about dimming the lanterns.
After one last peek under the door, Vera took a deep breath and went back to her makeshift summoning ring. She put the last bit of salt into her left hand and stepped up to the mirror, then carefully completed the circle with herself inside. Before speaking the ancient invocations that would summon Achossebein, she took a moment to look the circle over once more. Any gap, any break at all in this protective ring, and the Demon would escape his prison and be loosed on the world.
Slowly, barely above a whisper, she began to mumble the words that would call the Demon forth. The incantation was ancient and powerful; as Vera chanted, it wove its spell not only over the salt and mirror, but over her, as well. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes rolled back as her body began to sway. Her voice grew louder and deeper, and she began to hear her own words as if they belonged to someone else.
The air grew thick, the room darkened, and deep within the mirror, grey mists began to swirl.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Personal Demons, part 2
The Harvest Festival was always held during a full moon, and tonight, the Silver Lady was bright enough for Vera to find her way to the festivities without additional illumination. Soon, she was amongst the dancers; swirling, mingling, drawing close enough to feel one another’s breath before parting once again. The stringed instruments sang sweet serenades, while the big, wooden drums pounded with all the depth and need of a lover’s pulse. Vera’s breath rose and fell with her steps, and she was acutely aware of the cool night air on her skin and the beating of her own heart. She was dressed in her finest dress, made to rise and flutter with her every movement, and already she had caught the eye of more than one attractive young man.
In years past, this would have been more than enough. She would have lost herself in the dancing, partaken only lightly of the sweet food and bitter wine, applauded as the king and prince chose their evening partners, and then disappeared amongst the jubilant crowd. In years past, she would have come home exhausted but thrilled, too excited to sleep. But not this year. This year, she had come for a bigger prize.
While others danced for enjoyment, Vera danced to impress the prince; as she spun, her dress revealed an ample view of her thighs, and always she searched to make eye contact, to catch a smile, to give just the right glance. Several times she was sure that he noticed her, but as the night wore on, it became clear that she had more than one rival for his attentions.
Too soon, it seemed, the dancing was over and the king ascended his raised dias, surrounded as always by a small retinue of servants and armed guards. Vera struggled for a spot near the front, where she could be seen, and where she would be able to hear the announcements, but no one was willing to budge in any direction other than forward. Exasperated, she gave up on pushing her way through and moved towards the outer ring of the crowd.
A large man grabbed her by the arm, and instinctively she tried to wrench free of his grasp; doing so twisted her arm painfully but failed to pull it free. Panicked, she turned to face her attacker, and was stunned to see the livery of the palace guards. “Vera Rhineheart?” the guard asked. She nodded, and as she did, she heard her name once more, this time from further away. The king was announcing her name.
Vera felt dizzy as she was led towards the dias, and she stumbled, stepping on the hem of her beautiful dress and muddying it. The king had called her name. Not the prince, but the king. He had done the unthinkable and chosen Vera over his own notoriously jealous wife. The servant pulled her forward through the crowd, relentless, even when she stumbled. The mass of people parted, and now Vera could see the king stepping down from his dias, and the prince replacing him in order to make his own choice. Dimly, she saw the cold glare of the queen--a look that promised death, if not worse--and heard the shocked mutterings of the crowd. The air suddenly seemed much too cool, and the pace of the guard much too fast. She tried to pull her arm free, tried to protest, but the guard refused to look down at her, much less respond to her increasingly panicked pleas. She was pulled alongside the dias, past a line of guards, and to stand before the king. A heavy hand on her shoulder pushed her downward--trying, she realized later, to force her to curtsey--but in her stupor, Vera fell to her knees. The king eyed her much the way Achossebein had. "Clean her up," he said. "Get her ready for dinner." The guards closed in around her, blocking her view of the royal family. Once again, she was grabbed roughly by the arm and lead away by a man who refused to meet her eyes.
Vera tried to compose herself and come along with dignity, but a sickly sweet nausea was spreading inside her, causing her limbs to shake and threatening to make her vomit. She stared at the back of the guard in front of her and focused on placing one foot in front of the other, until she was unceremoniously deposited in the carriage that would deliver her to the palace.
#
In years past, this would have been more than enough. She would have lost herself in the dancing, partaken only lightly of the sweet food and bitter wine, applauded as the king and prince chose their evening partners, and then disappeared amongst the jubilant crowd. In years past, she would have come home exhausted but thrilled, too excited to sleep. But not this year. This year, she had come for a bigger prize.
While others danced for enjoyment, Vera danced to impress the prince; as she spun, her dress revealed an ample view of her thighs, and always she searched to make eye contact, to catch a smile, to give just the right glance. Several times she was sure that he noticed her, but as the night wore on, it became clear that she had more than one rival for his attentions.
Too soon, it seemed, the dancing was over and the king ascended his raised dias, surrounded as always by a small retinue of servants and armed guards. Vera struggled for a spot near the front, where she could be seen, and where she would be able to hear the announcements, but no one was willing to budge in any direction other than forward. Exasperated, she gave up on pushing her way through and moved towards the outer ring of the crowd.
A large man grabbed her by the arm, and instinctively she tried to wrench free of his grasp; doing so twisted her arm painfully but failed to pull it free. Panicked, she turned to face her attacker, and was stunned to see the livery of the palace guards. “Vera Rhineheart?” the guard asked. She nodded, and as she did, she heard her name once more, this time from further away. The king was announcing her name.
Vera felt dizzy as she was led towards the dias, and she stumbled, stepping on the hem of her beautiful dress and muddying it. The king had called her name. Not the prince, but the king. He had done the unthinkable and chosen Vera over his own notoriously jealous wife. The servant pulled her forward through the crowd, relentless, even when she stumbled. The mass of people parted, and now Vera could see the king stepping down from his dias, and the prince replacing him in order to make his own choice. Dimly, she saw the cold glare of the queen--a look that promised death, if not worse--and heard the shocked mutterings of the crowd. The air suddenly seemed much too cool, and the pace of the guard much too fast. She tried to pull her arm free, tried to protest, but the guard refused to look down at her, much less respond to her increasingly panicked pleas. She was pulled alongside the dias, past a line of guards, and to stand before the king. A heavy hand on her shoulder pushed her downward--trying, she realized later, to force her to curtsey--but in her stupor, Vera fell to her knees. The king eyed her much the way Achossebein had. "Clean her up," he said. "Get her ready for dinner." The guards closed in around her, blocking her view of the royal family. Once again, she was grabbed roughly by the arm and lead away by a man who refused to meet her eyes.
Vera tried to compose herself and come along with dignity, but a sickly sweet nausea was spreading inside her, causing her limbs to shake and threatening to make her vomit. She stared at the back of the guard in front of her and focused on placing one foot in front of the other, until she was unceremoniously deposited in the carriage that would deliver her to the palace.
#
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Personal Demons, part 1
This is an older story of mine (like, from a couple of years ago.) I recently found it in the dusty recesses of my hard-drive...
Personal Demons
Darkness and candlelight mingled within the mirror’s surface, nearly obscuring the angular, leering face within. Vera knew that face all too well; fearful, twisted, and yet…
She took another step forward, through a heavy fog of incense that filled her lungs, leaving no room for air. Her head swam, and her body felt unnaturally light, but still she was drawn forward. Slowly, she raised one hand and gently ran it across the mirror's surface, directly over the image’s lips.
Warmth flooded her body, and she inhaled sharply to quell her sudden trembling. Within the mirror, the lips parted, and it seemed as if they would have kissed her fingertips were they not held back by their cage of glass. Vera was sure that they would. And they would not stop there.
She stepped away from the mirror, although, as always, part of her was reluctant to do so. It was part of the Demon's power.
“Achossebein,” she whispered, “I have summoned you because I need your advice.”
Inside the mirror, lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “Oh?” His voice was both mesmerizing and terrible. “Are you sure that is the only reason?”
Vera narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even suggest such things, Demon.”
Achossebein laughed at the title. “Well, what is it then? What is so important that a young, nubile…” His eyes slowly traced the lines of her body, and his snake like tongue darted across his lower lip, almost too fast for her to see, “…delectable morsel like yourself would summon a Demon?”
She felt her cheeks color. She tried to push past the embarrassment and answer, but Achossebein interrupted. “Ah,” he whispered. “I know. It must be a man.”
Vera nodded.
“Well,” smiled the Demon. “You have come to the right place. You see, no one knows the way of a woman and man better than myself.” His eyes were smoldering, an open invitation for her to come to him and learn all that he knew.
“Listen, Demon,” she said, trying to sound unflustered and failing miserably, “I have come because tomorrow night is the night of the Harvest Festival. The king and the prince will each choose their partner for the evening from amongst those in attendance--”
“--And you would trade your chastity for a queenship.” It wasn’t a question.
“Do not speak that way to me, Achossebein!”
The Demon smiled, pleased with the ferocity of her response.
Vera took a deep breath and said levelly, “The king always chooses his wife, and it is well known that the prince requires his chosen to have dinner with him, and nothing more.”
“Then what is it that you so desire that you would summon me?”
Vera looked away from the Demon, her eyes falling on the candles, the dresser, the dirty, moth-chewed bed, before finally coming to rest on her own feet. “All I want is to spend a night in the palace. To sit beside the prince, dressed in finery, and to partake in the evening meal of the king.”
Achossebein laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, you sure don’t ask for much, my little morsel, do you?”
Vera opened her mouth to respond, but Achossebein cut her short. “Don’t worry, my dear. You shall have what you desire.”
"I will have dinner at the king's table?"
"Yes."
"Do you give your word?"
"I do." And then the mirror showed only Vera, standing within a circle of salt amidst the flickering dimness of her own room.
***
Personal Demons
Darkness and candlelight mingled within the mirror’s surface, nearly obscuring the angular, leering face within. Vera knew that face all too well; fearful, twisted, and yet…
She took another step forward, through a heavy fog of incense that filled her lungs, leaving no room for air. Her head swam, and her body felt unnaturally light, but still she was drawn forward. Slowly, she raised one hand and gently ran it across the mirror's surface, directly over the image’s lips.
Warmth flooded her body, and she inhaled sharply to quell her sudden trembling. Within the mirror, the lips parted, and it seemed as if they would have kissed her fingertips were they not held back by their cage of glass. Vera was sure that they would. And they would not stop there.
She stepped away from the mirror, although, as always, part of her was reluctant to do so. It was part of the Demon's power.
“Achossebein,” she whispered, “I have summoned you because I need your advice.”
Inside the mirror, lips curled into a mockery of a smile. “Oh?” His voice was both mesmerizing and terrible. “Are you sure that is the only reason?”
Vera narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even suggest such things, Demon.”
Achossebein laughed at the title. “Well, what is it then? What is so important that a young, nubile…” His eyes slowly traced the lines of her body, and his snake like tongue darted across his lower lip, almost too fast for her to see, “…delectable morsel like yourself would summon a Demon?”
She felt her cheeks color. She tried to push past the embarrassment and answer, but Achossebein interrupted. “Ah,” he whispered. “I know. It must be a man.”
Vera nodded.
“Well,” smiled the Demon. “You have come to the right place. You see, no one knows the way of a woman and man better than myself.” His eyes were smoldering, an open invitation for her to come to him and learn all that he knew.
“Listen, Demon,” she said, trying to sound unflustered and failing miserably, “I have come because tomorrow night is the night of the Harvest Festival. The king and the prince will each choose their partner for the evening from amongst those in attendance--”
“--And you would trade your chastity for a queenship.” It wasn’t a question.
“Do not speak that way to me, Achossebein!”
The Demon smiled, pleased with the ferocity of her response.
Vera took a deep breath and said levelly, “The king always chooses his wife, and it is well known that the prince requires his chosen to have dinner with him, and nothing more.”
“Then what is it that you so desire that you would summon me?”
Vera looked away from the Demon, her eyes falling on the candles, the dresser, the dirty, moth-chewed bed, before finally coming to rest on her own feet. “All I want is to spend a night in the palace. To sit beside the prince, dressed in finery, and to partake in the evening meal of the king.”
Achossebein laughed. “Oh, is that all? Well, you sure don’t ask for much, my little morsel, do you?”
Vera opened her mouth to respond, but Achossebein cut her short. “Don’t worry, my dear. You shall have what you desire.”
"I will have dinner at the king's table?"
"Yes."
"Do you give your word?"
"I do." And then the mirror showed only Vera, standing within a circle of salt amidst the flickering dimness of her own room.
***
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Jacksonville, Tx Police Department SUCKS
I am generally pro-law enforcement. We need the rule of law in this country, and laws are useless unless there is someone with the authority, the guts, and the know-how to enforce it.
But I also grew up in Jacksonville, Texas.
Where? Oh, just the town that brought you Larry Pugh.
That's the guy the Jacksonville PD kept on despite 35 complaints of sexual assault. They kept him on when he tasered a pregnant woman, knocked her husband to the ground, and kicked his teeth in--even when they were forced to settle that case out of court for an undisclosed amount of money.
They continued turning a blind eye to his criminality even when a woman reported that he, while in uniform and driving his police cruiser, took her to an abandoned house and raped her at gunpoint.
It wasn't until later, when he attacked that woman again--this time choking her with a belt--that a federal investigation finally brought him down.
Note: not an internal investigation. No, the "good ol' boy" network in Jacksonville is too iron-clad for that. It took an outside, FEDERAL investigation.
And that's not all. Two women slated to testify against him have turned up missing. One of their remains was found later on. Both women disappeared while Pugh was out on bond from federal court.
On a more personal level, I've had a Jacksonville police officer look me in the eye and draw down on me more than once--but never while I was involved in any sort of crime.
Two examples:
1) Sitting outside my own house shortly after dark, talking to three friends. The police came by and asked if we'd seen anyone suspicious; we listed everyone we'd seen go by, but the officer was getting steadily more agitated and saying to everyone we listed, "That's not who we're looking for." Eventually, he left. My friends and I continued to sit and talk. Suddenly, police cruisers blocked off both ends of the street and even drove over people's yards to block us in completely. They jumped out of their cars, guns drawn and leveled at us. They were blinding us with their headlights and with spotlights, and one man was yelling, "Get your hands up!"
They searched us, harassed us, and eventually moved on. A friend who had a police scanner said there had been a murder several blocks away, and the cops were looking for several older, bearded men. My friends and I were nothing like the description, and to this day, I have no idea why they felt the need to harass us like that.
2) My husband and I were walking our dogs at about ten at night. Yes, it was late, but I worked late, and the dogs needed to stretch their legs. We walked for quite a way, and on the way back, we took a shortcut through an unfenced school playground.
Suddenly, two men were running up behind us, shining flashlights in our faces. They didn't say a word, and were closing ground fast. The dogs turned and began to bark and growl. My husband handed me both leashes and reached for a small vial of pepper spray he was carrying in his pocket. He's 6'8", and the dogs were huge, and I'm sure we looked quite ready for a fight.
Only then, with us ready to brawl and them less than ten feet away, did the men stop and announce themselves as police officers. They moved their light from out of our eyes so that we could see their uniforms. We immediately went to being apologetic and polite--as I said, I'm generally pro-law enforcement. But then the police began to harass us--about our reactions, about the dogs, about the pepper spray, the time, everything... and to suggest that we were there to rob the school. They asked us to follow them to their police car, but when I pointed out that we had two large, angry dogs with us, they reconsidered and said they would follow us home, just to make sure we were at home and not on the street.
'Cause, yanno, being on the street is illegal, I guess.
Anyway, this is the Jacksonville PD. You might think they're just overzealous--I mean, at one point they drew a gun on my husband while responding to a noise complaint. He was pushing my son on a swing, and my son was laughing and screaming, "Push me higher...faster!"
Overzealous, right?
Wrong.
My parents run a small business in Jacksonville. The first time it was broken into, the police hardly seemed interested. When mom asked, "Aren't you going to dust for prints?" the officer suggested she'd been watching too much CSI.
The next time was no better.
And last night, their shop was broken into again.
This time, the police admitted that they had responded when her burglar alarm had gone off in the middle of the night. They went to her pet store, and they saw the broken window.
But they didn't call mom. Or file a report. Or even take a closer look. No, the officer told my mom that they thought the window was just "like that"...meaning broken, in the winter, in a pet shop containing animals that have to be kept warm. I wonder if they thought the alarm was going off for the fun of it.
The criminals ransacked and vandalized the store. There were animals loose, animals missing, predators put in with prey, soap left in fishtanks. They dumped all Mom's records on the floor, destroyed her belongings. My dad's side of the store is a computer repair shop; they stole expensive laptops belonging to my father's customers. Now my parents plan to find some way, some how, to pay their customers back...but their store is their ONLY source of revenue, and they were already behind.
Reporting this does no good in Jacksonville.
The police don't care.
The police chief doesn't care.
The judge doesn't care.
The Jacksonville police department says they aren't CSI. In my opinion, they aren't even Reno 9-1-1. These are the sort of cops that give good cops a bad name.
But I also grew up in Jacksonville, Texas.
Where? Oh, just the town that brought you Larry Pugh.
That's the guy the Jacksonville PD kept on despite 35 complaints of sexual assault. They kept him on when he tasered a pregnant woman, knocked her husband to the ground, and kicked his teeth in--even when they were forced to settle that case out of court for an undisclosed amount of money.
They continued turning a blind eye to his criminality even when a woman reported that he, while in uniform and driving his police cruiser, took her to an abandoned house and raped her at gunpoint.
It wasn't until later, when he attacked that woman again--this time choking her with a belt--that a federal investigation finally brought him down.
Note: not an internal investigation. No, the "good ol' boy" network in Jacksonville is too iron-clad for that. It took an outside, FEDERAL investigation.
And that's not all. Two women slated to testify against him have turned up missing. One of their remains was found later on. Both women disappeared while Pugh was out on bond from federal court.
On a more personal level, I've had a Jacksonville police officer look me in the eye and draw down on me more than once--but never while I was involved in any sort of crime.
Two examples:
1) Sitting outside my own house shortly after dark, talking to three friends. The police came by and asked if we'd seen anyone suspicious; we listed everyone we'd seen go by, but the officer was getting steadily more agitated and saying to everyone we listed, "That's not who we're looking for." Eventually, he left. My friends and I continued to sit and talk. Suddenly, police cruisers blocked off both ends of the street and even drove over people's yards to block us in completely. They jumped out of their cars, guns drawn and leveled at us. They were blinding us with their headlights and with spotlights, and one man was yelling, "Get your hands up!"
They searched us, harassed us, and eventually moved on. A friend who had a police scanner said there had been a murder several blocks away, and the cops were looking for several older, bearded men. My friends and I were nothing like the description, and to this day, I have no idea why they felt the need to harass us like that.
2) My husband and I were walking our dogs at about ten at night. Yes, it was late, but I worked late, and the dogs needed to stretch their legs. We walked for quite a way, and on the way back, we took a shortcut through an unfenced school playground.
Suddenly, two men were running up behind us, shining flashlights in our faces. They didn't say a word, and were closing ground fast. The dogs turned and began to bark and growl. My husband handed me both leashes and reached for a small vial of pepper spray he was carrying in his pocket. He's 6'8", and the dogs were huge, and I'm sure we looked quite ready for a fight.
Only then, with us ready to brawl and them less than ten feet away, did the men stop and announce themselves as police officers. They moved their light from out of our eyes so that we could see their uniforms. We immediately went to being apologetic and polite--as I said, I'm generally pro-law enforcement. But then the police began to harass us--about our reactions, about the dogs, about the pepper spray, the time, everything... and to suggest that we were there to rob the school. They asked us to follow them to their police car, but when I pointed out that we had two large, angry dogs with us, they reconsidered and said they would follow us home, just to make sure we were at home and not on the street.
'Cause, yanno, being on the street is illegal, I guess.
Anyway, this is the Jacksonville PD. You might think they're just overzealous--I mean, at one point they drew a gun on my husband while responding to a noise complaint. He was pushing my son on a swing, and my son was laughing and screaming, "Push me higher...faster!"
Overzealous, right?
Wrong.
My parents run a small business in Jacksonville. The first time it was broken into, the police hardly seemed interested. When mom asked, "Aren't you going to dust for prints?" the officer suggested she'd been watching too much CSI.
The next time was no better.
And last night, their shop was broken into again.
This time, the police admitted that they had responded when her burglar alarm had gone off in the middle of the night. They went to her pet store, and they saw the broken window.
But they didn't call mom. Or file a report. Or even take a closer look. No, the officer told my mom that they thought the window was just "like that"...meaning broken, in the winter, in a pet shop containing animals that have to be kept warm. I wonder if they thought the alarm was going off for the fun of it.
The criminals ransacked and vandalized the store. There were animals loose, animals missing, predators put in with prey, soap left in fishtanks. They dumped all Mom's records on the floor, destroyed her belongings. My dad's side of the store is a computer repair shop; they stole expensive laptops belonging to my father's customers. Now my parents plan to find some way, some how, to pay their customers back...but their store is their ONLY source of revenue, and they were already behind.
Reporting this does no good in Jacksonville.
The police don't care.
The police chief doesn't care.
The judge doesn't care.
The Jacksonville police department says they aren't CSI. In my opinion, they aren't even Reno 9-1-1. These are the sort of cops that give good cops a bad name.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Today
It was eighty degrees today, and the sun was shining. I let my children run around barefoot and spray each other with the water hose. I went out to the back pasture and called the horses, and when they came running, I ran along with them. The ground shook with the beats of their hooves, and reaching one hand to the side, I was able to let my fingers trail along the body of my Arabian, Larkspur, while she passed me by as if I were standing still.
I did mundane things, too--but they were made wondrous by the warmth of the day. I hung laundry on the line. I chopped wood--not for tonight, but in preparation for colder nights ahead. I put new hay in the nesting boxes in my chicken coop, and filled in a hole my rabbit had dug. I sat in the open air and finished a chapter on my latest novel while watching the sun go down.
I wish I'd taken the time to shoot my bow, or to get some more housework done, but those are things that can be done tomorrow, or the day after. Other days. Colder days.
Today was special.
Today was a breath of summer, come to us in the dead of winter to renew us, body and soul. I lived it as a prayer, and am thankful.
I did mundane things, too--but they were made wondrous by the warmth of the day. I hung laundry on the line. I chopped wood--not for tonight, but in preparation for colder nights ahead. I put new hay in the nesting boxes in my chicken coop, and filled in a hole my rabbit had dug. I sat in the open air and finished a chapter on my latest novel while watching the sun go down.
I wish I'd taken the time to shoot my bow, or to get some more housework done, but those are things that can be done tomorrow, or the day after. Other days. Colder days.
Today was special.
Today was a breath of summer, come to us in the dead of winter to renew us, body and soul. I lived it as a prayer, and am thankful.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Victoria's Secret
I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday; I know I did!
I had some adventures, too...like stopping at Victoria's Secret.
It was my first time there, and the place was packed. Women crowded around huge bins of undergarments, fondling the soft cottons and fingering the lace. I stood against the wall, holding five bras, waiting for a changing room.
After about ten minutes, I was led to a small stall with a dry-erase board on the front. The woman asked how many bras I held. I told her; she scribbled the number on the board and opened the door.
It was the standard dressing room: too well lit, a mirror on one wall, a bench on the other. I went in and immediately got down to business--no point in making the half-dozen women behind me wait any longer than necessary. I had barely gotten my shirt off when there was a knock at the door.
I said, "Occupied," but I wondered how anyone could have thought otherwise. Including the one that had helped me, no fewer than four women were working the changing rooms, and there was a number on the dry-erase board on the door. "Oh," a lady from the other side of the door replied, "I was just checking to see if you needed any help."
Help? In a changing room? In Victoria's Secret?
I tried to imagine it, gave myself a mental slap for being a perv, and got back to the business at hand. It was silly, I thought as I snapped everything into place. The lady was probably just trying to hurry me along.
Fancy new bra in place, I turned toward the mirror. Not bad. But I noticed something. Next to the mirror, at eye level, was what looked like a doorbell. A small plaque said, "Press for Assistance."
All my previous questions came back, and brought friends. Like, "How many women can't manage their own undergarments?" And, "Is this really a frequent enough issue to warrant both a special button and human check-ups?"
There was another knock on the door. Again, I said, "Occupied," and was told that the employee was "just checking on me".
I don't know what I had expected in Victoria's Secret, but this wasn't it. In the last five minutes, I'd gone through a lot of emotional changes, from boredom to confusion, and now, I hate to admit, I was beginning to feel a little smug. I mean, hey, obviously I'm pretty special. I can dress myself.
I lifted the next bra out of my bag. It was a shiny blue number, with straps that made a criss-cross pattern across the back. I noticed that there were tiny hooks on the straps, making them adjustable, but I didn't see a clasp on the bra itself. Still feeling hurried, I decided to simply slide it on like a T-shirt.
That went just fine until it got down to my shoulders.
The elastic reached its max stretch at the exact moment that the hooks on the straps tangled in my hair. The damn thing was constricting me like a boa, holding me in an awkward position that made grabbing it difficult. I couldn't lower my arms, and the bra absolutely would not go down any further. I tried moving it the other way, and that didn't work, either. I was stuck.
I eyed the little button on the wall, and realized, yes--sadly, I had been defeated by underwear. I needed assistance.
That's when my cellphone rang. Maybe most people would have ignored it. Not me. Answering the phone--however awkward that might be under the circumstances--was a welcome distraction from the choice I faced.
I'd left my purse on the bench. Since my hands were trapped over my head, the only way to get at it was to bend at the waist--bend completely double--and then, staring at the floor, my hands out in front of me like Superman, fumble blindly for the phone. Luckily, I'd left it in an outside pocket.
I found it and stood. I folded my arm over my head, and held the phone upside-down against the opposite ear. My mom was already saying, "Hello? Hello, are you there?"
I was. We had a nice, brief conversation. I never mentioned the bra.
When I hung up, I dropped the phone onto the bench and turned back to the mirror. The talk with mom had calmed me and given me a little time, and I'd decided to re-evaluate my situation before doing the unthinkable and hitting that silly button.
There, in the mirror, was my answer: a small, semi-hidden clasp I hadn't noticed before.
With a little maneuvering, I undid the clasp and the bra came open. I still had to untangle it from my hair, but I was otherwise free.
I added a few more emotions to my mental tally: embarrassment, followed by relief, and then the quiet acceptance of a person who has been fully and righteously chastised.
I walked out of that room with my head held high.
But I didn't buy the bra.
I had some adventures, too...like stopping at Victoria's Secret.
It was my first time there, and the place was packed. Women crowded around huge bins of undergarments, fondling the soft cottons and fingering the lace. I stood against the wall, holding five bras, waiting for a changing room.
After about ten minutes, I was led to a small stall with a dry-erase board on the front. The woman asked how many bras I held. I told her; she scribbled the number on the board and opened the door.
It was the standard dressing room: too well lit, a mirror on one wall, a bench on the other. I went in and immediately got down to business--no point in making the half-dozen women behind me wait any longer than necessary. I had barely gotten my shirt off when there was a knock at the door.
I said, "Occupied," but I wondered how anyone could have thought otherwise. Including the one that had helped me, no fewer than four women were working the changing rooms, and there was a number on the dry-erase board on the door. "Oh," a lady from the other side of the door replied, "I was just checking to see if you needed any help."
Help? In a changing room? In Victoria's Secret?
I tried to imagine it, gave myself a mental slap for being a perv, and got back to the business at hand. It was silly, I thought as I snapped everything into place. The lady was probably just trying to hurry me along.
Fancy new bra in place, I turned toward the mirror. Not bad. But I noticed something. Next to the mirror, at eye level, was what looked like a doorbell. A small plaque said, "Press for Assistance."
All my previous questions came back, and brought friends. Like, "How many women can't manage their own undergarments?" And, "Is this really a frequent enough issue to warrant both a special button and human check-ups?"
There was another knock on the door. Again, I said, "Occupied," and was told that the employee was "just checking on me".
I don't know what I had expected in Victoria's Secret, but this wasn't it. In the last five minutes, I'd gone through a lot of emotional changes, from boredom to confusion, and now, I hate to admit, I was beginning to feel a little smug. I mean, hey, obviously I'm pretty special. I can dress myself.
I lifted the next bra out of my bag. It was a shiny blue number, with straps that made a criss-cross pattern across the back. I noticed that there were tiny hooks on the straps, making them adjustable, but I didn't see a clasp on the bra itself. Still feeling hurried, I decided to simply slide it on like a T-shirt.
That went just fine until it got down to my shoulders.
The elastic reached its max stretch at the exact moment that the hooks on the straps tangled in my hair. The damn thing was constricting me like a boa, holding me in an awkward position that made grabbing it difficult. I couldn't lower my arms, and the bra absolutely would not go down any further. I tried moving it the other way, and that didn't work, either. I was stuck.
I eyed the little button on the wall, and realized, yes--sadly, I had been defeated by underwear. I needed assistance.
That's when my cellphone rang. Maybe most people would have ignored it. Not me. Answering the phone--however awkward that might be under the circumstances--was a welcome distraction from the choice I faced.
I'd left my purse on the bench. Since my hands were trapped over my head, the only way to get at it was to bend at the waist--bend completely double--and then, staring at the floor, my hands out in front of me like Superman, fumble blindly for the phone. Luckily, I'd left it in an outside pocket.
I found it and stood. I folded my arm over my head, and held the phone upside-down against the opposite ear. My mom was already saying, "Hello? Hello, are you there?"
I was. We had a nice, brief conversation. I never mentioned the bra.
When I hung up, I dropped the phone onto the bench and turned back to the mirror. The talk with mom had calmed me and given me a little time, and I'd decided to re-evaluate my situation before doing the unthinkable and hitting that silly button.
There, in the mirror, was my answer: a small, semi-hidden clasp I hadn't noticed before.
With a little maneuvering, I undid the clasp and the bra came open. I still had to untangle it from my hair, but I was otherwise free.
I added a few more emotions to my mental tally: embarrassment, followed by relief, and then the quiet acceptance of a person who has been fully and righteously chastised.
I walked out of that room with my head held high.
But I didn't buy the bra.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
:)
The slump is over!
I set an "end date", at which point, I'd have to write--even if I wrote crap, even if I missed sleep to do it, no matter what.
When the end date arrived, I sat down at the keyboard, opened up a short story that had seriously stalled, and promised myself that I'd have it finished by the end of the week. I got it finished that day!
New goal: finish the first round of edits before 12am this Sunday.
And now for something completely different...a lullaby I wrote for my children.
Go to sleep, sweet child of mine.
Outside, stars twinkle and shine.
The moon hangs high up above,
And you're here, wrapped in my love.
Summer, winter, spring and fall,
I'll be here to hold you through them all.
Outside, stars twinkle and shine.
Go to sleep now, sweet child of mine.
I set an "end date", at which point, I'd have to write--even if I wrote crap, even if I missed sleep to do it, no matter what.
When the end date arrived, I sat down at the keyboard, opened up a short story that had seriously stalled, and promised myself that I'd have it finished by the end of the week. I got it finished that day!
New goal: finish the first round of edits before 12am this Sunday.
And now for something completely different...a lullaby I wrote for my children.
Go to sleep, sweet child of mine.
Outside, stars twinkle and shine.
The moon hangs high up above,
And you're here, wrapped in my love.
Summer, winter, spring and fall,
I'll be here to hold you through them all.
Outside, stars twinkle and shine.
Go to sleep now, sweet child of mine.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
An Overslumpification
It happens to the best of us: I've hit a writing slump.
I just finished the third revision of "An Angel's Apprenticeship", and the review copies are on their way to the author. I still plan to do a Lulu version, but I can't get started on that until the author is happy with the manuscript.
I finished the pre-edits and other paperwork for "You Don't Have to Cook in the Clink".
I'm still waiting to hear back from Tor.
So now what?
I had begun a new novel, tentatively called, "The Girl in the Gorilla Suit", but after re-reading what I'd done so far, I decided to scrap the whole thing and start from scratch. The plot's great, the story is fun...the writing sucked.
So I started a short story...but the writing wasn't flowing, the pacing was wrong, and I wasn't sure exactly what I was trying to say with the piece. I need to refocus, do some serious editing, and see where it goes from there. But right now, I have to take a break from that story. I'm frustrated with it, and for me, frustration is the death of creativity.
I've looked into a new genre, plotted a story or two, done some reading...
What do you guys do to get over a writing slump?
I just finished the third revision of "An Angel's Apprenticeship", and the review copies are on their way to the author. I still plan to do a Lulu version, but I can't get started on that until the author is happy with the manuscript.
I finished the pre-edits and other paperwork for "You Don't Have to Cook in the Clink".
I'm still waiting to hear back from Tor.
So now what?
I had begun a new novel, tentatively called, "The Girl in the Gorilla Suit", but after re-reading what I'd done so far, I decided to scrap the whole thing and start from scratch. The plot's great, the story is fun...the writing sucked.
So I started a short story...but the writing wasn't flowing, the pacing was wrong, and I wasn't sure exactly what I was trying to say with the piece. I need to refocus, do some serious editing, and see where it goes from there. But right now, I have to take a break from that story. I'm frustrated with it, and for me, frustration is the death of creativity.
I've looked into a new genre, plotted a story or two, done some reading...
What do you guys do to get over a writing slump?
Friday, November 5, 2010
Quick Update
The "author's version" of my book's blurb is now up at the website, here.
The book is tentatively scheduled for release this August.
The book is tentatively scheduled for release this August.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Another Acceptance
I just found this in my inbox, referring to a short story I had written and submitted to SageWoman Magazine:
***
This is stunning, and (assuming that the entire issue doesn't evaporate -- which, very occasionally, does happen when not enough submissions arrive for a given theme) I will be delighted to publish it in the SageWoman Protection issue, currently slated for next winter (November 2011.) Can I hold it for that long?
***
"Stunning". Wow. Now there's a word to warm a writer's heart. :)
Still waiting on Tor, and still working on both edits and another novel.
UPDATE: I replied to the above letter saying that I had written this story for SageWoman and had no other markets in mind for it, so they could keep it as long as necessary. This is the reply I received:
***
Thanks for your graciousness -- and patience. it is a truly wonderful story, and I see perhaps as many as two dozen submissions a day, so that's high praise.
***
SageWoman isn't the most widely circulated magazine, but it does have a solid audience, and I have family and friends who read it. And while the pay is small, there's immense professional satisfaction in getting another acceptance so close on the heels of my last one. If it comes out in November, "A Place For Deer" will be released just a few months after "You Don't Have to Cook in the Clink". 2011 is looking good!
***
This is stunning, and (assuming that the entire issue doesn't evaporate -- which, very occasionally, does happen when not enough submissions arrive for a given theme) I will be delighted to publish it in the SageWoman Protection issue, currently slated for next winter (November 2011.) Can I hold it for that long?
***
"Stunning". Wow. Now there's a word to warm a writer's heart. :)
Still waiting on Tor, and still working on both edits and another novel.
UPDATE: I replied to the above letter saying that I had written this story for SageWoman and had no other markets in mind for it, so they could keep it as long as necessary. This is the reply I received:
***
Thanks for your graciousness -- and patience. it is a truly wonderful story, and I see perhaps as many as two dozen submissions a day, so that's high praise.
***
SageWoman isn't the most widely circulated magazine, but it does have a solid audience, and I have family and friends who read it. And while the pay is small, there's immense professional satisfaction in getting another acceptance so close on the heels of my last one. If it comes out in November, "A Place For Deer" will be released just a few months after "You Don't Have to Cook in the Clink". 2011 is looking good!
Friday, October 29, 2010
The State of our Nation
I'm still working on edits, and I haven't forgotten that I said I'd do a blog comparing and contrasting Lulu and Createspace. But in the meantime, I found something I'd like to share.
Now, by "found", I mean "had it shoved under my nose by MacAllister over at Absolute Write". It comes from here: LINK I don't care if you like the source...facts are facts, and these are pretty damn straightforward.
Questions:
1:What was the average monthly private sector job growth in 2008, the final year of the Bush presidency, and what has it been so far in 2010?
2:What was the Federal deficit for the last fiscal year of the Bush presidency, and what was it for the first full fiscal year of the Obama presidency?
3:What was the stock market at on the last day of the Bush presidency? What is it at today?
4:Which party's candidate for speaker will campaign this weekend with a Nazi reenactor who dressed up in a SS uniform?
Answers:
1:In 2008, we lost an average of 317,250 private sector jobs per month. In 2010, we have gained an average of 95,888 private sector jobs per month. (Source) That's a difference of nearly five million jobs between Bush's last year in office and President Obama's second year.
2:In FY2009, which began on September 1, 2008 and represents the Bush Administration's final budget, the budget deficit was $1.416 trillion. In FY2010, the first budget of the Obama Administration, the budget deficit was $1.291 trillion, a decline of $125 billion. (Source) Yes, that means President Obama has cut the deficit -- there's a long way to go, but we're in better shape now than we were under Bush and the GOP.
3:On Bush's final day in office, the Dow, NASDAQ, and S&P 500 closed at 7,949, 1,440, and 805, respectively. Today, as of 10:15AM Pacific, they are at 11,108, 2,512, and 1,183. That means since President Obama took office, the Dow, NASDAQ, and S&P 500 have increased 40%, 74%, and 47%, respectively.
4:The Republican Party, whose candidate for speaker, John Boehner, will campaign with Nazi re-enactor Rich Iott this weekend. If you need an explanation why this is offensive, you are a lost cause.
Now, by "found", I mean "had it shoved under my nose by MacAllister over at Absolute Write". It comes from here: LINK I don't care if you like the source...facts are facts, and these are pretty damn straightforward.
Questions:
1:What was the average monthly private sector job growth in 2008, the final year of the Bush presidency, and what has it been so far in 2010?
2:What was the Federal deficit for the last fiscal year of the Bush presidency, and what was it for the first full fiscal year of the Obama presidency?
3:What was the stock market at on the last day of the Bush presidency? What is it at today?
4:Which party's candidate for speaker will campaign this weekend with a Nazi reenactor who dressed up in a SS uniform?
Answers:
1:In 2008, we lost an average of 317,250 private sector jobs per month. In 2010, we have gained an average of 95,888 private sector jobs per month. (Source) That's a difference of nearly five million jobs between Bush's last year in office and President Obama's second year.
2:In FY2009, which began on September 1, 2008 and represents the Bush Administration's final budget, the budget deficit was $1.416 trillion. In FY2010, the first budget of the Obama Administration, the budget deficit was $1.291 trillion, a decline of $125 billion. (Source) Yes, that means President Obama has cut the deficit -- there's a long way to go, but we're in better shape now than we were under Bush and the GOP.
3:On Bush's final day in office, the Dow, NASDAQ, and S&P 500 closed at 7,949, 1,440, and 805, respectively. Today, as of 10:15AM Pacific, they are at 11,108, 2,512, and 1,183. That means since President Obama took office, the Dow, NASDAQ, and S&P 500 have increased 40%, 74%, and 47%, respectively.
4:The Republican Party, whose candidate for speaker, John Boehner, will campaign with Nazi re-enactor Rich Iott this weekend. If you need an explanation why this is offensive, you are a lost cause.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Transcription of a Memoir
I mentioned in my last post that I had transcribed a manuscript for a friend of mine.
Seeing as that involves hours each day for over a month, followed by (in this case) a seven-hour stretch of formatting, it's not something I would do for just anyone, or for just any manuscript.
But this manuscript was extraordinary. It was a memoir, and I admit that it's probably not publishable in the traditional sense. It's mostly bare facts--true story telling only happens in snippets. The narrative jumps around and, at times, could be considered unreliable. Some of the structure isn't exactly perfect--I altered it a little as I went, correcting obvious errors, but I wanted the finished story to remain as true to the original, hand written manuscript as possible.
And let me tell you about that manuscript! It's called "An Angel's Apprenticeship", and is the memoir of a man whose precognition and supernatural experiences have often put him in direct conflict with the police. He has been jailed in multiple states (and I mean four plus) and two countries, and has been drugged out of his mind in a mental institution...until he made a daring escape! He's also fought for his life in the streets of San Francisco, going hand-to-hand with a man he first met in prison, during a "scuffle" with the guards. He met and loved some beautiful women, lived the high life and lived on the street. He sees his amazing life and chilling visions as a sort of trial by fire, during which he has learned everything he needed to know in order to deliver what he believes to be a life-or-death message to the world.
You don't have to believe in anything supernatural to be engrossed by this story. It's the voice that makes it fascinating...and that holds true regardless of what you decide about the narrator's reliability. In some cases, that could even increase the fascination.
At any rate, I had a lot of fun transcribing it. Putting it on Createspace, though, has not been fun at all. How the hell do you "imbed a font", again?
I was originally going to put this on Lulu...then I heard that Createspace produced the same product but at less cost to the consumer. I don't know...I may still go with Lulu for the e-book version. But, ultimately, that's going to be up to the book's actual author. However it's produced, I hope to be able to announce a low-cost way for everyone to read this manuscript soon. It's worth the effort!
Seeing as that involves hours each day for over a month, followed by (in this case) a seven-hour stretch of formatting, it's not something I would do for just anyone, or for just any manuscript.
But this manuscript was extraordinary. It was a memoir, and I admit that it's probably not publishable in the traditional sense. It's mostly bare facts--true story telling only happens in snippets. The narrative jumps around and, at times, could be considered unreliable. Some of the structure isn't exactly perfect--I altered it a little as I went, correcting obvious errors, but I wanted the finished story to remain as true to the original, hand written manuscript as possible.
And let me tell you about that manuscript! It's called "An Angel's Apprenticeship", and is the memoir of a man whose precognition and supernatural experiences have often put him in direct conflict with the police. He has been jailed in multiple states (and I mean four plus) and two countries, and has been drugged out of his mind in a mental institution...until he made a daring escape! He's also fought for his life in the streets of San Francisco, going hand-to-hand with a man he first met in prison, during a "scuffle" with the guards. He met and loved some beautiful women, lived the high life and lived on the street. He sees his amazing life and chilling visions as a sort of trial by fire, during which he has learned everything he needed to know in order to deliver what he believes to be a life-or-death message to the world.
You don't have to believe in anything supernatural to be engrossed by this story. It's the voice that makes it fascinating...and that holds true regardless of what you decide about the narrator's reliability. In some cases, that could even increase the fascination.
At any rate, I had a lot of fun transcribing it. Putting it on Createspace, though, has not been fun at all. How the hell do you "imbed a font", again?
I was originally going to put this on Lulu...then I heard that Createspace produced the same product but at less cost to the consumer. I don't know...I may still go with Lulu for the e-book version. But, ultimately, that's going to be up to the book's actual author. However it's produced, I hope to be able to announce a low-cost way for everyone to read this manuscript soon. It's worth the effort!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
New News...
I've filled out most of my Lyrical Press paperwork--everything but the tax forms. I'm waiting on an editor to be assigned to me. In the meantime, LP has asked me to set up a facebook page and a website, so I've done so, but under my pen name, Jennifer Catlett.
It's actually my maiden name. And I just told it to you. I have to be the worst secret keeper ever.
Anyway, the website is www.jennifercatlett.webs.com . There's pretty much nothing on it right now.
But I've been busy! I've started another novel, and so far, it's rip-roaring fun. I'm enjoying that new-novel rush. :) I'm also transcribing a hand-written novel for a friend, and let me tell ya, it's a doozy! I'll be sharing more information on that later.
Till then!
It's actually my maiden name. And I just told it to you. I have to be the worst secret keeper ever.
Anyway, the website is www.jennifercatlett.webs.com . There's pretty much nothing on it right now.
But I've been busy! I've started another novel, and so far, it's rip-roaring fun. I'm enjoying that new-novel rush. :) I'm also transcribing a hand-written novel for a friend, and let me tell ya, it's a doozy! I'll be sharing more information on that later.
Till then!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
An Acceptance!
I subbed "You Don't Have to Cook in the Clink" to agents, and over and over, I got the same response: too short.
Fifty eight thousand words is novel length, but barely. Several agents said that anything under seventy five thousand was too short for them. I had a problem.
Then I realized that e-books are typically shorter than paperbacks, and the e-reader market (Kindle and Sony, amongst others) is really heating up right now. So I began researching E-publishers that served those markets.
At first, I met with disappointment. It seemed like every publisher that specialized in the e-market wanted Romance or Erotica and just about nothing else. Then I found Lyrical Press.
Lyrical Press offers its books in formats compatible with every e-reader I've heard of and several that I haven't. I've been in communication with several of their authors who report satisfying royalty statements and great publisher/author relationships. And getting accepted by Lyrical means something: they have high standards for what they'll accept. That's better for everyone, really. For me, it means a legitimate publisher. For readers, it means they don't purchase a novel that's not up to snuff.
So when will my novel be available for purchase? That depends, but it could be up to a year, or even more. If I had to guess (and right now, that's all anyone can do), I'd say probably 6-8 months. That's because Lyrical Press's editors have to go over my novel with a fine-tooth comb, then send it back to me to fix, then wait for me to send it back to them, then go over it to make sure I didn't make an even bigger mess of things, and then, if I haven't, get it ready for print in various formats.
Again: publishing is slow. If you want to make money quick, get just about any other job in the world.
I'm still waiting to hear back on the revisions to my short stories. Even they're slow.
That's just how it is. But that's okay. While I'm waiting, I can write another book...
And for now? I can do a happy dance. :)
Fifty eight thousand words is novel length, but barely. Several agents said that anything under seventy five thousand was too short for them. I had a problem.
Then I realized that e-books are typically shorter than paperbacks, and the e-reader market (Kindle and Sony, amongst others) is really heating up right now. So I began researching E-publishers that served those markets.
At first, I met with disappointment. It seemed like every publisher that specialized in the e-market wanted Romance or Erotica and just about nothing else. Then I found Lyrical Press.
Lyrical Press offers its books in formats compatible with every e-reader I've heard of and several that I haven't. I've been in communication with several of their authors who report satisfying royalty statements and great publisher/author relationships. And getting accepted by Lyrical means something: they have high standards for what they'll accept. That's better for everyone, really. For me, it means a legitimate publisher. For readers, it means they don't purchase a novel that's not up to snuff.
So when will my novel be available for purchase? That depends, but it could be up to a year, or even more. If I had to guess (and right now, that's all anyone can do), I'd say probably 6-8 months. That's because Lyrical Press's editors have to go over my novel with a fine-tooth comb, then send it back to me to fix, then wait for me to send it back to them, then go over it to make sure I didn't make an even bigger mess of things, and then, if I haven't, get it ready for print in various formats.
Again: publishing is slow. If you want to make money quick, get just about any other job in the world.
I'm still waiting to hear back on the revisions to my short stories. Even they're slow.
That's just how it is. But that's okay. While I'm waiting, I can write another book...
And for now? I can do a happy dance. :)
Thursday, September 16, 2010
My Little Pony...
Ok, so she's not actually a pony...Caspians are technically horses, despite being only 40-44 inches high at the withers.
But I have one, and she's for sale. Her name is Tala, named after my husband, Tal, because she was born on his birthday. :)
Here is her father:
(There are many more pictures of him here: Link )
And here is my son, Emrys, taking a ride on her mother. Notice that the reigns are not attached to a bit, but simply clicked to the(rather loose)halter:
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is Tala on the day she was born:
And here she is now:
She really takes after her father. :)
She is too young to be ridden, just yet--with Caspians, you wait until they're four, and Tala is two--but this would be a great time to get to know her, get some ground work in, and let her settle in to her new home before getting to work. She hasn't been handled much and can be a bit of a handful at this point...she really needs a special person to bond to her and commit to working with her.
Her underbelly is getting lighter all the time, and I suspect that as she ages she'll lighten, as her mother did...but right now, her coat really shines in the sun; it has a beautiful golden sheen when hit at the right angle.
Despite the rarity of Caspians and the high sell price of her parents, I'm willing to sell Tala for $1,000. I just don't have the time to work with her, and she has too much potential to be "just a broodmare".
But I have one, and she's for sale. Her name is Tala, named after my husband, Tal, because she was born on his birthday. :)
Here is her father:
(There are many more pictures of him here: Link )
And here is my son, Emrys, taking a ride on her mother. Notice that the reigns are not attached to a bit, but simply clicked to the(rather loose)halter:
And here, for your viewing pleasure, is Tala on the day she was born:
And here she is now:
She really takes after her father. :)
She is too young to be ridden, just yet--with Caspians, you wait until they're four, and Tala is two--but this would be a great time to get to know her, get some ground work in, and let her settle in to her new home before getting to work. She hasn't been handled much and can be a bit of a handful at this point...she really needs a special person to bond to her and commit to working with her.
Her underbelly is getting lighter all the time, and I suspect that as she ages she'll lighten, as her mother did...but right now, her coat really shines in the sun; it has a beautiful golden sheen when hit at the right angle.
Despite the rarity of Caspians and the high sell price of her parents, I'm willing to sell Tala for $1,000. I just don't have the time to work with her, and she has too much potential to be "just a broodmare".
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