Caps Lock and Stock

Character Creation

2012-02-28T15:29:00.001-08:00

I've recently been working on about four, or five? different projects. Two of those are newish, pulled from my giant "story starts" file. Yup, I have a file (two now) filled with one liners, names, descriptive paragraphs, outlines, themes, ideas, characters, quotes and a plethora of junk.

Working on the newish stuff led to some character development. So I thought, hey, why don't I talk about how I create a character? Everyone has a different method. Some people use character sheets tabletop RPG style and roll them up (I've even done it a couple times for kicks). There is a certain level of detail and simplicity that system allows.

The one thing I don't like about it is this: It forces you to concentrate on the physical traits of the character before you ever decide on what I find to be the most important part : Character! That's right. Personality, thought patterns, speech patterns, word use. These are the things that inform me most about a character, not whether or not his hair is precisely the shade of apricots in June.

Naming
I start my process by simple writing. I usually write several paragraphs before I even name a character. That name can happen a couple of ways.
* Organically - the name just comes to me. Clicks, fits. This phenomenon is occasionally referred to as "self-naming".
*Strenuously - I have stop writing, pull up Behind the Name and start looking to narrow down my options. Usually I start with a letter of the alphabet and move from there.

For instances:

Sebastien Crowle was named for me. I loved the name the moment I heard it and built the entire book around the character. Plot came secondarily to the character.

Fynn Adder was named organically as well. He pretty much named himself. There was no fuss at all.

Simon Murphy - was originally Murphy Simon. Yup, I swapped em. It was meant to be a running joke that he would switch them up whenever he needed an alias, but that never jived. So Simon he became.

Germaine (the King's Dog) - was a seek and ye shall find sort of name. Morraine name himself, but Germaine was not as helpful. I combed through meanings, alphabets, regions and finally picked Germaine because I liked the way it sounded.

The Sound of a Name
I always say a characters name out loud several times. I introduce myself ( I tend to act things out) walk around try to fit myself into the head space. If a character's name doesn't sound right to me, I go back to the drawing board. I have been known to change character names during second and third drafts. One character is on her third name change.

After the Name

So my new baby has a name, I've settled into headspace and there is still no physical description to be had. My next step is still not deciding what he looks like. Though some characters are different. I knew what Sebastien looked like before I wrote word one, but Fynn was different. Every character is different in the way that they grow on the page. You have to be willing to roll with the punches.

Anyway, after I name him I get straight back to writing. My next step is to add the layers of personality. The weird quirks, obsessions, likes/dislikes, color preferences, meal choices, etc that make the character human.

Physical Traits
Are last. Almost always. Usually it boils down to: Hair/Eyes, build, skin tone, facial structure.
I tend to generalize my facial descriptions because everyone has their own ideal beauty, and everyone will imagine a character slightly differently from the person next to them. To that end I sometimes use "types". I describe Simon consistently as "Wholesomely handsome" and "Clark Kent-like" This establishes his looks very firmly without my having to use explicit terms.

Not every character will allow you such type casting, however, so there are the occasions when I have to talk about a long jaw and that broken nose.

That said, one thing I try to ensure is that none of my characters are flawless. Every single one has scars, burns, bruises, tattoos, birthmarks, etc. Fynn is a prime example of scarred and tattooed. Sometimes the tattoos have meanings beyond what they mean to the character, sometimes they don't. But that is a discussion for another post.

Next time: Birthmarks, tattoos and cliches

On Screen Action?

2012-02-23T20:34:00.001-08:00

So, I've been thinking quite a bit recently about how often I get the remark, "Where's the on screen action?"

To be honest, it's not that I don't write it, because I have, it's that the books I've published so far are ones where I believed the "on screen" action to be unnecessary for character development, plot, et al.

Right now, however, I'm working on something which most definitely requires on screen action because of the nature of both characters and because it's a plot point.

I'm just a tad hesitant about it though and was wondering if anyone would be willing to beta this one. I don't want to go overboard, but I definitely want it to be--honest.

Quick story summary:
Dyre is one of the Faithless, a holyman who lost his faith so utterly he became unable to touch holy objects, holy water burns--even the touch of someone who has faith can burn. Isaiah is one of the faithful, an Inquisitor who was put in charge of Dyre after recruiting him to take up the cursed sword Vloek, a weapon which can kill demons. The two have worked together for three years, but lately, Isaiah has been acting strangely--little glances, strange proclamations--touches. It's enough to drive a man crazy, and Dyre's getting suspicious. Has Isaiah changed his mind about Dyre, or has Dyre been wrong about the Inquisitor's motivations all along?

I'm also kind of curious as to how everyone else makes the decision to do on screen/off screen or fade to black and what leads you to that decision. As for readers, what is your preference?

The Deadman Diaries

2012-02-22T00:21:00.000-08:00

Well, you may have noticed a new page here on the blog. The Deadman Diaries is my settled on title for the series which includes The Grave Watchers. With any luck, I'll get the next book finished soon.

My website is moving along quite well at the moment. You can see if for yourself here.

The Dogcatcher

2012-02-18T23:16:00.000-08:00

Been sinking my brain into the 1920's lately in order to work on The Dogcatcher, Ian Adder's introductory story (prior to Poisoned Spirits). It's a special headspace that involves thinking in slang and keeping a pencil handy because I don't smoke and Ian does and--yeah, it just helps somehow.

Ian headspace Vs. Fynn headspace is interesting. Ian is a bit less by the book than Fynn. He's more relaxed and a lot less self-deprecating. Plus I get to drop myself into film noire and write something like I'm inside a black and white movie (which is pretty much how I imagine what I'm doing) and voila!

So, here's a little sneak preview of The Dogcatcher, while I keep the reels in my head moving.

I folded the newspaper up and tossed it into the pile of papers hiding my typewriter. Every damn cop in the Chicago was on the Franks case and I was stuck tracking down a fifth page blip in the Times some clever jackass was calling the Dog Catcher.

“Hey, Adder, how’s the case coming?” Jimmy Lee asked. I looked up from my desk at the man framing my narrow doorway. He was an ass.

“Fair evening to you, leak anything to the papers today?”
His ears went red.

“You thought I didn’t know? The whole department knows, and pariah or not I still know what goes on.”
I thought he was going to swing at me, he sputtered for a moment before pulling himself back together, tweaking his collar. “Ah, you ain’t worth it.”

I watched him leave and sighed. It was my own fault, God knows, that I was stuck in the precinct basement chasing a dog killer. I wasn’t especially living up to the family name. To be fair the only reason I was still in the force at all was my dad’s position. Nepotism could only stretch so far, apparently.

I checked the time and pulled myself out of the creaky desk chair. Time to get home—I couldn’t wear my uniform on a date.

Especially not a date with a doll like Mona. The sweet faced flapper wasn’t real well endowed in the breast department, but I kinda liked my girl’s on the slender side and Mona reminded me of Clara Bow.

Now she was a real knock out.

Mona was a fine girl too, of course.

Da didn’t approve of me seeing her, but that was only because he didn’t like me going to speakeasies. I knew my fondness for fine whiskey was partly the cause of my relegation to the basement, but it wasn’t like there was a worse job they could chuck me into next.

Well, at least not for my drinking. If Da caught me at my other extracurriculars I’d be disowned. God forgive me, I did have my share of Confession worthy sins.

“Why do you put up with these bastids?”

I looked over at the impossibility that was my great-grandfather. Impossible because he’d died before I was born. Seeing dead people was passé at this point, but they’d lock me up for sure if anyone ever found out.

“Because, Granda, I don’t want to be out on my ass.”

The ghost of Connor Adder looked about thirty, dressed in an older version of the CPD uniform. He’d been an enormous man with fiery red hair I’d inherited and broad shoulders I hadn’t.

“That’s not a good reason boyo.”

“Granda—”

“You’re a special lad, inherited the family Gift for a reason. You should be usin it. Not molderin in a leaky cellar.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t ye roll your eyes at me boy.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Granda, the only people that believe in the Sight are loonies and women.” I grabbed my coat. “I have a date.”

“With that girl? Or is it a lad tonight?”

“Her name is Mona.”

“Shame, I liked that O’Brady lad.”

“Granda, you can’t say things like that.”

He blew a raspberry. “Get yer ass moving. Wouldn’t want to be late.”

I had to stop confiding in dead people.

Sleeping on the Job

2012-02-04T03:30:00.000-08:00

For fans of Fiends in Low Places, wondering where the hell the rest of that story is, when you're going to get it, etc. I've decided to break the ice a bit. The novel, which is in progress at the moment, is tentatively titled Sleeping on the Job.

Here's a teaser, enjoy!

Sleeping on the Job

I first met Gabriel Sheppard when I was a punk kid still boosting jewelry stores to piss off my father. We had an unconventional first meeting, I’ll grant you that. Far be it from me to ever be conventional. It was the first time I ever woke up handcuffed to a couch. I was seventeen-years-old, and I’d just broken the law.

“You know there’s a kid asleep, handcuffed, on your couch—to your couch? Right?”

“My fine deductive powers did deduce that fact, yes.”

“Why is there a sleeping kid handcuffed to your couch?”

“Remember the job at Margot’s?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s our thief.”

“Him?”

“Yup.”

“Why is he asleep?”

“He has narcolepsy.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

I took a deep breath, eyes still closed. The handcuff was cold against my left wrist, and the arm was a bit stiff from the angle it was being held at—as the metal arm of the couch was a bit higher than my head. I licked my lips. They’d taken my lock-picks. The empty feeling along my leg, and the sticky residue from the tape sticking to the fabric of my shirt just under my arm told me that. I could still feel the cold of a pin against my scalp though.

I cracked open an eye to take a look at the two guys talking. One was on the tall side, slender and wearing a cheap black suit—hair cut by a barber just down the street from his house I’d bet. His watch was new;his shoes were wearing thin but well taken care of. The dust on his shoes and the water on the cuff of his pants—added to the slight odor of garbage around him meant he was Agent number one.

The other man was shorter, stockier and dressed better. He looked like his nose had been broken a couple times. I got the feeling he wasn’t much of a lady’s man. By the thickness of his right wrist against his left I’d call him a chronic masturbator. Gross. His lips were too thin.

The first man was the sort of guy a girl would coo over. He had a bit of a lost puppy air, and his eyes were just the right shade of blue. Mussed hair and the hint of stubble on his chin gave a touch of devil-may-care and his job made him exciting, but safe. The perfect boyfriend I bet. He and the other one weren’t friends, but one probably invited two to social gatherings because that was just the kind of guy he was.

“Well, in any case, Spinelli wants a word with you.”

“All right, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The masturbator left the room and the puppy turned to look at me. “I know you’re awake, kid.”

I opened my eyes and gathered myself into a sitting position on the incredibly uncomfortable grey upholstered couch. “Good morning…” I glanced at the name placard. “Agent Sheppard.”Really? That made the dog analogy more apt. “Gabriel Sheppard?”

“And you are Simon Murphy.”

“You got a fetish I don’t know about Agent Sheppard? Cause, handcuffing me to your couch…that’s kind of kinky.”

He frowned, “You need to be less smart ass and more cooperative. Where are the jewels?”

“What do I get if I tell you?”

“A pat on the head.”

“Come on Agent, throw me a bone here.”

He scowled. “Where are the jewels?”

“I don’t do well in high stress environments. They trigger the narcolepsy.”

“You robbed four jewelry stores—you can survive me asking you a few questions.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“So, what? Sit, stay, and you’ll give me a treat if I behave?”

“I know you think you’re funny.”

“But?”

“But I have a gun.” He raised an eyebrow, and headed out of the office, shutting the door behind him. At least there were no glass walls or anything. That meant I had plenty of alone time. I pulled the pick from my hair and snapped open the cuffs in a flash.

The single door led out to the bull pen, no help there. The desk held a phone, a computer and papers. The bookshelf next to the desk looked more sentimental, although the law books looked like they’d never been touched. A window had a small ledge, and a long way down.

I took another deep breath, and opted for the phone.

Coming Out Ficlet

2012-02-03T13:01:00.000-08:00

After several attempts to find someplace in one of the next two Night Wars books to put this, and coming up empty, I figured I'd put it up here. This is the story of how Fynn came out to his parents. It being Fynn, it's definitely not according to plan.

Coming Out

“Mmm.” Timmy kissed the tender spot just below my collar bone. “I feel like a walking bruise,” I muttered.

“That’s because you were tackled six times,” he replied before kissing my neck. “I keep telling you to run faster.”

“Right.” I ran a hand through his hair. “Run faster.”

“You want to—” he ran a hand under my shirt.

Oh, if it had been any other time… “Giant bruise, remember? You want me to be able to walk at the next game we’d better not.”

He sighed. “Okay, fine. We’ll cuddle, just for your tender muscles.”

“Gee, thanks.”

We curled up in my bed under a sheet and I fell asleep, exhausted from practice. So I didn’t hear Da come home and shout to see if I was home. I sort of started to swim towards waking when someone knocked on the door to my bedroom.

“Fynn? What’s—”

I sat up as the lights came on, just in time to see Da’s face

“Da—”

He turned around and walked out of the room. I heard him head down the hall and a door slammed.

“Fuck!” I climbed out of bed and hurried to get shoes on.

Timmy was right behind me. “Oh my god—oh god. We are so dead. I am so dead. He’s going to kill me. I have to go.”

“Kill you? Can I hide out at your place?”

“Are you kidding me?” He gave me a look. “What if he tells my parents? They can not know I’m gay. Sorry, Fynn, but you’re on your own.”

“You bastard, I hope he kicks your fucking ass!” I grabbed a jacket and my wallet and hurried to get out of the house, Timmy was hot on my heels but I ignored him.

We were so through.

“Fynn!” he called after me but I didn’t bother looking back. I slung my jacket on and just kept walking. The chill of spring was still in the air, but it wasn’t what bothered me. The chill I felt was fear. I didn’t know what Da was going to do. Hell, what was Connor going to do?

I—I couldn’t go home.

So I wandered the streets of Chicago, took a bus to the lake and threw rocks in the water. I couldn’t think of where to go. I thought maybe I could go see Uncle Charlie, but what if he sent me back to Da? So I kept walking. Sometimes I sat on a bench and just… I couldn’t think at all.

It was around three a.m. when my wandering was interrupted by the sound of police sirens. A patrol car with lights on pulled up at the curb next to me. The driver’s door opened and my big brother Connor stepped out. His hat was on crooked.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Connor—”

“Get in the car, right now!”

“I—no. Get the fuck away from me!” How could I go home? What if Da was so pissed he shot me? I mean, he was a cop, he could totally murder me and get away with it.

It was so the wrong thing to say. He slammed his door shut and started after me—I ran. I was a fast runner, despite what Timmy thought, but Connor was taller and used to running down assholes who thought they could snatch a lady’s purse and get away with it. Not on Connor’s beat, that was for sure.

He snagged me by the collar of my jacket and then by the back of my neck, and then dragged me back to the car. I was tossed into the backseat. Connor’s partner, Trish, glared at me from the front seat.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Your parents are out of their minds with worry!” she snapped.

“I—”

“Just keep your mouth shut until we get home,” Connor growled. “You better believe Da is going to beat your ass.”

What was I supposed to say? Gee, sorry, I didn’t mean to run away after my dad found me in bed with another guy. Yeah. That would work out well.

That car ride was really long.

Connor dragged me up the stairs to the house, Trish at my other side in case I decided to run again, and went straight in, my arm in his grip. It was so not fair that he was—enormous. Seriously, why didn’t I get the Viking genes? There I was all of five foot nine and skinny as a fucking rail. Not fair.

Ma and Da were in the living room. Ma’d been crying. I kind of wondered where Shannon was, but was too afraid to ask.

“I’ll let you take care of this,” Trish said softly to Connor. “Don’t worry about anything—I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks, Trish.”

She nodded and left the house. Connor dumped me on the couch and then went to stand with our parents, folding his arms over his chest after he took off his hat. You didn’t wear hats in the house.

“You had your mother worried sick!” Da shouted first. “Who knows what could’ve happened to you? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I—”

“We do not run away from our problems in this house, young man.”

“Da, I—”

“And that boy, he’s what, two years older than you? That’s a crime,” Da continued. “Did he use protection? Did you? Do you have any idea how many other people he’s slept with? Do you?”

This, this is what he’s pissed about? I could have cried I was so relieved. “We didn’t have sex, Da.” At least, not on this particular occasion.

His raised eyebrows clearly said he knew we had done so, even if we hadn’t today. “Why the hell did you run?”
“I thought…cause I’m—gay.” I swallowed. “I thought you wouldn’t—” I couldn’t say anymore.

“Oh—sweetheart.” Ma sat down next to me, taking my hand into hers. “You are our son, Fynn. Nothing will change that. It’s this reckless behavior that’s more of a concern. Sex is a big deal.”

“You’re sixteen-years-old,” Da added. “Do you think he really loves you? I’ve seen that kid around, he will drop you the minute he gets bored. And I don’t see him here now. He wasn’t with you when Connor found you. Very supportive.”

“He was afraid you’d tell his folks.” I tried to defend him even though I didn’t really want to.

“Like it’s my business to tell them he’s gay.” Da shook his head. “I’m not about to open up that can of worms. Family business is family business.”

“So—you don’t care that I’m gay?”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me,” he admitted. “But you’re my son. I love you.”

“Same goes for me,” Connor added. “You’re my brother, Fynn.”

“And Shannon?”

“She’s at a friend’s house,” Ma said. “We didn’t want to worry her.” Uh huh.

“From now on,” Da said. “I meet with every boy you date. You will not sneak around in my house, are we clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. I think you have something you need to say to your mother.”

I looked at Ma. “I—I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Oh—” She wrapped her arms around me. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Also,” Da added. “You’re grounded until the end of the school year.” Three months. If I was lucky he wouldn't tack my summer vacation onto that. I wouldn't put it past him to ground me when I went to college in the fall if I did date someone behind his back.

“Yes sir.”

I suppose it wasn’t the worst way things couldn’t have gone.

I was so going to kick Timmy’s ass the next time I saw him.

Anoka School Board Policy

2012-02-03T12:28:00.000-08:00

If you have not yet read the Rolling Stone article, "One Town's War on Gay Teens" by Sabrina Rubin Erdely, you might want to do so.

I had written a rather long editorial about this. Instead, I'd rather just keep this short.

I have friends who attempted suicide. I have friends who came out to me in high school. As a camp counselor, I had kids come out to me. I had kids confide in me things that still make me wonder if I took the appropriate course of action.

More than that though, I have been bullied. I have friends who were bullied. So I can relate to this article from a few perspectives.

This story makes it painfully clear that this school board's policy played a role in these tragedies. As a writer, I can be impartial. I can look at events through the lens of the artist and stay neutral. I have to admit, when I started reading the article this morning, I had no idea how it would make me feel. Sad. Melancholy. Angry.

Furious. Heartbroken.

We have so many words for pain in the English language. I don't know that any of those words can really describe what those families, and the students of that district, are going through and have gone through.

Having been a teacher, and still teaching the odd art class now, I wouldn't be able to sit idly by while that kind of abuse was bandied about. A job is replaceable, a child is not. I truly do not understand how one death was let go without the abolition of this policy, let alone nine. True, not all of those students were gay, but the fact is that suicides can spread like a disease. The policy created an environment of fear and confusion.

Fear is the mother of tragedy.

My thoughts go out to the parents and students.

Bravo to the students for forming the GSA's in their schools, if the adults won't do anything to protect these kids, at least they're finding ways to protect themselves.

The Hanged Man's Ghost Release Day!

2012-02-01T15:03:00.000-08:00

So, apparently there was a typo in my calendar, or I'm blind, but The Hanged Man's Ghost hit cyber shelves today! I have some cool stuff up, including a knitting pattern by the lovely Sophia inspired by the book (it is completely relevant, as the MC is a knitter himself) and there's a short story companion piece to the novel as well up and...drumroll...you'll get a chance to win a signed copy of the paperback!

There could be more goodies to come, so keep your eyes peeled!

Cheers!

About the book

Detective Fynn Adder is embarking on the case that will change his life forever. The ghosts of murder victims are leaving him clues, his drinking problem is out of control, and no matter how nepotistic the Chicago Police Department might be, there are some forces his family’s reputation can’t save him from.

Just a few years ago, Fynn’s longtime partner Robert was murdered and the case went unsolved. As he gets deeper into a new investigation, it becomes apparent that somehow the two cases are connected. To make matters worse, it’s clear to Fynn that forces beyond this world have come into play.

Forces like Internal Affairs agent Daniel Voight, who’s determined to make dirt stick to Fynn any which way he can. The only real bright points in Fynn’s day are when he’s with Jack, his unfortunately straight partner. Fynn is going to have to pull himself together--because if the dead don’t kill him, his family will.

An excerpt from the book

The driving skills of Detective Jack Winchester have never been in contention. It is the manner in which he applies those skills I find disturbing. I also have my suspicions that he made a deal with the devil to always find a parking space when he needs one.

But I can’t prove it.

"So…it’s a yoga studio." I stared at the glass and metal monstrosity that was Modern Gym. Part of it was weights and treadmills, at least, the first floor was, and the sign above the very tan receptionist’s desk had the second floor labeled for yoga and meditation.

My ex with the yoga thing hadn’t gone to a gym like this. His gym had been conveniently located one floor up from his apartment that was all part of a renovated cannery.

"It’s a monstrosity," Jack confirmed. "These places aren’t gyms. My gym doesn’t have mirrors."

"Your gym is in an old car garage and run by a guy called Spider." I gave him a look. "I don’t know that you can talk."

"You can’t say he’s a bad fitness coach though." Jack flexed one arm. "I beat you in the ring, last I checked."

"Luck."

He snorted. "You wish."

The receptionist was talking on the phone in a voice that I was fairly certain was near the limits of the human ear.

"Miss?" Jack waved a hand in front of her face. "I’m looking for -- "

She held up a hand to silence him and continued to yammer away about her yorky’s delicate digestion.

"Miss, I’m with the police."

Still nothing.

I gave Jack a look and then reached over the counter and pressed down on the button, hanging up on whomever she’d been chatting with. She gave me a look that would have killed a lesser man.

"Hi." I grinned. "I’m Fynn, this is Jack, and we’re detectives investigating a homicide. I need to talk to Jason Campbell. Where is he?" After which I showed her the star dangling around my neck.

"Uh…he’s upstairs in the Shangri-la room. But there’s a class going on right now."

"That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll understand that murder comes before yoga," Jack said. "Thanks so much for your help."

We headed up the stairs, I took them two at a time just to prove to Jack I was still in shape and beat him to the top with a grin. "Ha."

"That proves nothing. You get back in the ring and we’ll talk."

"Maybe I will."

He snorted. "I’ll believe that when I see it."

We headed down the hallway the stairs opened onto and found the Shangri-la room about halfway down. I put on my cop face and gestured for Jack to go first. He opened the door and I followed after him.

The room was occupied by about fifteen very limber young women currently engaged in bending their bodies to resemble pretzels, and a man at the front of the room. Behind him was a raised platform where sticks of incense burned, giving the place an odor of musky herb over warm bodies.

The man had a sheen of sweat over his tan skin. I noticed lean muscles, and the tight shorts he wore gave a clue to the reason for the amount of pretty faces in the room. He wasn’t bad looking, but there was something about him that rubbed me the wrong way.

I tugged at the collar of my shirt and suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing so many layers.

It was kind of hot in there.

The man gave us a look. "I’m sorry but we’re in the middle of a class…"

"Jason Campbell?"

"Well, yes -- "

"Detectives Jack Winchester and Fynn Adder, we need to ask you a few questions about the murder of Jessica Yates." Jack flipped open his wallet to flash his star. "Why don’t we talk in the hall?"

"Uh…okay. Ladies, take five; I’ll be right back." He smiled reassuringly and followed Jack and me out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him.

"You and Ms. Yates dated, correct?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, like four months ago. It’s old news."

"Why don’t you let me be the judge of that," I said. If this was the guy…well, I wasn’t all that sure if he’d make it to the station in one piece. "What caused the breakup?"

"Jessica wasn’t willing to share me," Jason said. "I told her I couldn’t be monogamous, and she freaked out. She threw a bottle at my head. I had to call the cops."

"Where were you the night before last, around four a.m.?" Jack shouldered in front of me ever so slightly.

"I was giving a private lesson at my apartment," he said smugly. "I have three witnesses."

"I suppose that’s a cute little code for fucking your students?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe. I can even give you their names. We were occupied until sunrise. Dawn greeting is very cathartic."

"Right." Jack pulled out his notepad and a pen. "Write down the names of your tryst partners and the best way to contact them."

Jason wrote while Jack stared at him.

"Here." He practically shoved the notepad back into Jack’s hands. "Can I go back to my class now?"

"Of course," I said. "But don’t leave town."

Jason sneered at me and then stormed back into the yoga class.

"Well, I think his chi is off balance."

Jack rolled his eyes. "We can’t really hold him on anything you know."

"I don’t like him."

"That’s not a crime."

"It should be. Who else are we talking to today?"

"Well, I think we’d better call his little playmates. Let’s make sure that alibi is legit. If it’s not, we can arrest him for interfering with a homicide investigation." Jack’s grin was positively feral. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

God damn it. Why does he have to be straight?

"I -- I’m hungry. Let’s get lunch before we start making phone calls."

"Sure. Chinese okay with you? There’s a place just around the corner from here with really good spring rolls."

"Sure."

Jack tucked his notebook into his pocket and gave me a sharp look. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just really don’t like that guy."

"Okay." He started to head down the hallway, and I stood frozen for a moment. Sometimes Jack made me feel like a high school kid with his first crush on the captain of the lacrosse team. Timmy Mullins…a lazy smile crept across my face. Just him and me in the locker room after the championship match.

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about that? I gave myself a mental slap and hurried after Jack.

The Girl with Two Faces: Part Two

2012-02-01T14:52:00.001-08:00

Part One

Part Two

That night I slept on the spare bed in Luka’s trailer. We heard news the next morning about the Viglio’s beating up some thugs—I knew Mick would be okay. Luka’s desire to keep me from catching something was thwarted when I woke up with a fever. He relayed this to the others and I was stuck in bed.

Being sick meant I had a lot of time on my hands. Luka anticipated that with school work I was behind on. You’d think being acrobatic would give you insight into geometry, but it didn’t and I resented the triangles and their little X’s.

I managed to get better around Piedmont, and Luka revoked my punishment out of pity. Two weeks without performing set my nerves on edge and a hunger for the acclaim was building. But one couldn’t go straight to performing without practice and it was another week before I was back in condition.

I flew through my routine to give it an edge. Faking a few slips and dropping a ball or two. I felt invincible the moment the mask was on and I pushed my limits with cartwheels and a double front. I should have taken more dare but the applause…it shook through me.

Every night we performed I pushed as far as I could and in practice I pushed further. I had to find something that made me the best. I could tumble, juggle, and walk the tightrope. I practiced with torches and knives. No tightrope artist I knew of juggled either on the high-wire.

Multiple lines could give me more options, but we didn’t have the equipment for that. I would have to make do. Fire juggling I practiced alone, and knives only with the older children. I cut my hands, burned my fingers and bruised my whole body but—I had to be the better. I had to be the best act in the show.

After each show I watched my mask in the mirror become more and more life-like and took it off with more and more regret. With it, I could do anything, and as the crowds grew with my daring, I knew it was responsible. It was making me better.

We were fast approaching the biggest stop of our tour. The one night we competed with Rouvelle for an audience. It was Chicago and two stops after we’d be making for winter camp. Luka had promised me a place with him, but if I made the impression I hoped to, I’d be wintering with a bigger crew.

It didn’t matter if Everhart thought the knives were show-ready or not, I had to impress the scouts Rouvelle would send to poach the best acts.

And then—I’d be a star.

***

It was an hour till I went on, but I couldn’t stay still. I was finished with set up, and I paced the costume change room. Marie came running in, panic on her face. “Eva! I’ve torn my skirt!”

Already on edge, I snapped, “And what do you want me to do? Stop being a baby and fix it yourself.”

She started to cry.

“Go away, I’m busy.” I turned away and stalked to the make-up counter. I heard her run out, and in a tiny quiet voice.

“You’re mean Eva.”

I should’ve cared, but I didn’t. All I could see was my performance. My name in lights. What did it matter if one little girl’s feelings were hurt? I’d gone through worse. What did she have to cry about?

I sat down, taking the mask from its box and stroking the cheek. With it, I would have everything I wanted. I took the time and care with my costume I never had before, ignoring the others coming in and out. My last task was put on the mask.

I took out of the box with care, pressing it my face and tying the knots. I felt ready the moment the knot was tight and my blood buzzed with excitement. The mask’s smile echoed my own and as the act before mine wrapped, I tucked the knives I would juggle around my waist and hurried out.

This was my night to shine.

***

The darkened stands held more people than I’d ever seen in our show before, and they were all cheering. Everything else was unimportant just then. I climbed up to the high-wire, pausing when the light was on me.

“Ladies and gentlemen. May I present the acrobatic, the amazing, the princess of the high-wire, Eva!” Everhart’s stage voice thundered out over the crowd. There were more cheers, but I waited until they settled. With my left foot forward, I eased onto the rope. The walking was easy for me, it always had been.

I did a quick cartwheel to draw out some gasps before flipping onto my hands and swinging down to scare them a bit more. After a sufficient length of dangling, I pulled myself up and settled onto the rope. I walked a bit further and pulled out the first knife and sent it spinning into the air and a second later another, and another until I had four gleaming blades whistling through the air.

The only risk was to my hands, the line was too strong and no one was below me. Close to the end of the rope, I caught them—one at a time—and tucked the away. I made it to the platform and took a bow.

But I wasn’t quite done. With no care for the knives, I pulled off the cartwheel and somersault I had added weeks ago, bouncing into the net.

I climbed out, bowing again to show them I was all right. I took time to bask in the applause and tossed flowers, collecting a few before I scrambled back to the changing room. My heart beat faster than ever and my skin was warm all over from the thunder of the applause. Everhart would yell at me and Luka would lecture—but it didn’t matter.

“That was quite something,” a man stood, smart in a grey suit and shiny shoes, just by the entrance to the changing area.

“Thank you.”

“I’m Mr. Stuart. I work for Rouvelle,” he held out a crisp white car, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested? I know Everhart isn’t much for contracts.”

I took the card and pushed up the mask. “No, he’s not.”

“A masked, daredevil high-wire act would do well with us. Let’s say we meet again. How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“Where and when?”

“The diner down the street, two o’clock?”

“Perfect.”

I was going to be a star.

***

That night, Marie didn’t speak to me over dinner. Everhart and Luka both gave me looks that promised trouble but I went to bed feeling special. I was going to make it big, at last.

The next morning, there was an air of danger. Something wasn’t quite right in the circus. Marie wasn’t in her bed. She never woke up first. I shoved my feet into shoes and went out into the early morning haze. Maybe she went for breakfast…

Something…something was wrong. I started to run, and it wasn’t until I reached the Big Top that I knew even where I was going. The early risers stared as I went by and some called out, but I had no time. When my eyes adjusted to the light inside I saw her, a tiny crumpled form in a yellow nightgown.

“Help!” I screamed out the doorway before rushing to her side. “Marie? Marie?”

There was blood on her forehead and hands. I could see in my mind’s eye how she must have slipped off the wire and smacked her head into the side of the net before falling to the ground. She was breathing though. Short, shallow breaths.

“Please be all right…please.”

I heard the sound of running feet as people rushing in from the outside.

Mr. Grant, one of the hands, knelt down to get a better look. “Call an ambulance!” He snapped at the nearest idle person. “Wake Luka and Everhart!” Three youngsters hurried off and the grizzled man looked to me, “What happened?”

“I woke up and she wasn’t there…I had this feeling and…” I shook my head. “She must have fallen. I don’t know what she was doing up there.”

Yes you do. Proving to me she wasn’t a baby.

Luka arrived soon after, and I got out of his way, and everyone else’s.” When the ambulance came to take her, Luka went too. I went back to the trailer and made breakfast for the other kids—hotcakes. I gave them the news and kept myself busy with washing up. Sunk deep in my guilt.

I tried to distract them all with stories and games. It was well past dinner when Luka came home, without Marie.

Before anyone could ask, “She’ll be okay. A bump on the head and a broken wrist. They’ll release her in a couple of days.”

The relief struck me to the bone, and I sagged a bit. I was so sure she was hurt really bad.

“It could’ve been worse. Eva, I need to talk to you.” He left the trailer, and I followed him back to his own. The door closed behind me with a snap.

“I know why she tried that trick.”

“I’m sorry Luka—I shouldn’t have—”

“What’s done is done Eva. Apologize to Marie.”

“Of course, I will.”

“You’ve been acting strangely Eva. Not just to Marie either. You took Bess’s practice slot, you haven’t done any schoolwork and overall, you seem to think you are the star of the show. That stunt last night could have gotten you seriously hurt. You know how Everhart feels about performers changing their shows without letting him know. It’s not just a quirk; it’s to keep you safe.”

“Everhart is so busy looking to himself; he doesn’t notice anything around him.”

“I know you’re upset your father isn’t what you expected, but don’t you dare take that out on the rest of the circus. People are going to be watching us after what happened to Marie. The police are asking questions.”

Questions? I’d be discovered. They’d send me back to my mother…and I’d missed my appointment with Mr. Stuart. I had to call him.

“I have to go. I have a phone call to make,” I pulled open the door. “I am sorry about Marie, Luka, I am.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t the same person Eva,” he called after me. “You need to think about your priorities!”

I was. I really, really was.

***

I rescheduled with Mr. Stuart, who had already heard about the accident. I was to meet him after I saw Marie at the hospital, at a little restaurant just a street down. He seemed excited to talk to me and seeing as he agreed to reschedule, I was sure it was genuine. More, I’d called Rouvelle to ensure he was who he said he was.

You couldn’t be too careful.

Marie was awake when the whole troupe of kids and Luka…and surprisingly, Everhart, arrived in her room.

“Oh, Marie.”

She had a bandage around her head and a splint on her left wrist.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay. I’m the one who did something really stupid.”

I’d scrapped together a gift anyway, and gave it to her. It was a patchwork, stuffed monkey. The nose was a bit off, but it was a last minute sort of thing.

“”Thank you,” she smiled, “I love him. I’m calling him Chester.”

“I—I’ve got to use the bathroom.” I ducked my head and hurried out. Now, I just had to make my appointment and get back without raising suspicion. I couldn’t take too long. I felt a small twinge of guilt but—Marie would understand.

***

“It’s a test contract. You work with us on your act between here and our next stop and when we get to the New York show we’ll debut the act. If it goes well, we’ll write up a more long-term contract.”

The piece of paper in front of me was still offering more money than I’d ever earned. I couldn’t find anything about it I didn’t like or couldn’t live with. I picked up the pen and signed.

He smiled, “I’ll see you at Rouvelle in two days.”

“Right,” I nodded. “See you then.” I flashed a smile and hurried out of the restaurant.

***

I got some looks on entering Marie’s room and explained with one of the most often told lies in the English language after “I’m sorry.” And “I love you.”

“I got lost.”

***

That night, I composed two letters. One for Luka and the other kids, and one for Everhart. I went through my things on the pretense of organizing. Packing things away into my single piece of luggage, a red suitcase trimmed in brushed steel. I’d put my name on it with a paper label just under the handle. I tucked it under my bunk.

The next day I spent saying silent goodbyes. I would miss Luka and Marie and the other kids. But some things were more important. I knew they would understand.

I felt distracted during the show, but I gave it my all. After all, it was Eva’s last show.

I barely slept that night, and when morning came I was up before everyone to leave the note for Luka, dress and finished up packing. I stopped by the costume trailer for the mask and headed to Everhart’s trailer. I’d expected him to be asleep, but he wasn’t. He sat on the steps of the wooden gypsy caravan, out of costume in brown slacks and a grey sweater. He looked shorter without his top hat and his hair stuck out all over.

He sipped a mug of something steaming, it smelled like coffee. He didn’t look particularly surprised to see me. “Leaving us?”

“I got a better offer.”

“Of course. Rouvelle enjoys poaching. Be sure you keep up to their level. They’ll drop someone who doesn’t perform to par.”

“Speaking from experience?” I snapped. “I won’t become some washed-out acrobat who’s so bitter he scares off half his talent. I will be better than you ever were.”

And there it was. My father abandoned me to live with a sadist before I was even born to pursue his damn dreams and he didn’t even last a season. I would do better. I would beat the king of the high wire. I would be the star.

He laughed, “I suppose you think you know everything about me, don’t you? You’re just a silly little girl who wasn’t even born when I quit the tightrope.”

“I wasn’t born yet for a lot of things you did,” I snarled. “You’re very good at quitting, aren’t you? Quit the tightrope, quit your family. Quit before your child was even born.”

“How did you—”

“My cab is waiting.”

Before my mouth could betray me further, I ran. I ran to the waiting black taxi and climbed in. It didn’t matter anyway. He would never make up for leaving me with her. He could never be a father. He was just a bitter man who used to be a star.

***

I left Chicago with Rouvelle. I still shared space, but it was just one other girl, around my own age even. A trapeze artist called Susanna. She was sixteen, breasty and drew in a crowd with her pretty face. I resented that a little, but tried to hide it.

I wasn’t here to make friends.

Preparations for my big debut came together and practice took me to levels of exhaustion I’d never seen. My trainer, Joseph, expected a lot more of me than Bess ever had. I was going to be the best. My new act would include fire juggling, and a secondary line.

The net was bigger, to account for the two lines. The newest parts of the act were the ribbons. Two lengths of fabric I would climb up to reach the lines. It required more upper body strength than I was used to, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

There were risks, juggling fire, but it would prove I was the best, the most daring high wire act in the world. No one had done this before. I would make history. I would be a star. I would burn brighter than he ever had. I still had a bit of time before New York, and I was going to use all of it.

“Use your stomach muscles Eva! You have to be able to wrap the ribbon around you to make the climb and get loose!” Joseph—my new trainer—shouted from below me as I got tangled in the ribbon on the way to the second line.

It was just a trial run, this practice, and as I wiped sweat from my face, I wished we could practice this with the fire too. But that was too expensive. I twisted my legs up and managed to free my middle of the ribbon, pulling up and alighting onto the second line.

The net was so far down…I didn’t want to die in a fall, but that did seem to be the destiny of us all. You fell, it happened. I couldn’t let that scare me. I would have dress rehearsal soon, a chance to wear the mask again. I itched to wear it even now. The mask would help me focus. I would complete my act perfectly so long as I had it on.

“That’s better Eva! Jump on down and we’ll try it again!”

I gave thumbs-up in acknowledgement—I didn’t have breath to spare for shouting, and took a dive into the net.

***

The dress rehearsal went perfectly. The tickets had sold out. The seats were filling and I sat at the mirror, staring at the mask over my face. I felt calm. I felt ready. It was finally my time to shine.

***

The Ringmaster’s voice rang out over the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen, children of all ages. It is Rouvelle’s pleasure to present the most daring tightrope act in these United States. The Sultana of fire and blade, hailing far from our shores; Zora and her walk of death!”

My costume reflected this new persona. My pants bagged at the ankle and my shoes were pointed. My fiery red hair was explained on the posters and any skin was covered in dark make-up. The spotlight marked me and I waved at the excited fans in regal fashion. I waited for silence before starting the climb up the ribbon to the first line.

A few tricks caught their imagination, hanging upside down and spinning around the ribbon with a twist of muscles. First and foremost was showmanship. I made it to that first line and slid onto it with a handstand that turned into a slow cartwheel. At the center of the line, a hand started tossing me the torches, and as I had in practice, I managed them beautifully.

With a bit of devil-may-care, I dropped the torches and jumped for the second ribbon near the end of the first line. This was the chanciest part of the act by far. I really did not want to miss.

And I didn’t. The fabric was slick in my hands, but I managed to lift my legs up and wrap the fabric around them. As I started up it, I looked down at the crowd to swing, arms free of the ribbon and just my legs to hold me.

I knew it was impossible to see anyone in particular from this height, in this light, but I swore I saw Everhart and his top hat. I shook my head and pulled myself up to the second line.

My transfer to this line wasn’t nearly as smooth, to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. The same hand was ready to start tossing me knives, but then, I looked down again. I thought then that I saw Luka, and Marie and Mick and Jake but—

“Evelyn!” Someone, someone called my name. It reminded me of Everhart without the bitterness.

I shook my head and took the first knife to start the second part of the act.

“Evelyn!”

It was my name. No one had used it in so long…

But it was Zora now, what did it matter?

Except it did matter.

As I made to catch the second knife, I paused to let if fall. What was I doing? I didn’t even like the tightrope. Why was I doing this? I felt suffocated. It was like the mask was smothering me, trying to get inside me.

I tried to scream but I couldn’t. My limbs moved on their own, jerky at first—as if on strings. But then with all the grace I possessed. I closed my eyes, but the mask didn’t need my eyes. It only needed my body. Weeks, months of thoughts came back to me. When had I ever wanted the spotlight? All I wanted, all I ever wanted was for him to see me. For him to know me.

The mask clung tighter and as the knives alighted from my fingers with a deftness I didn’t remember having, I tried to shake it loose. The sweat from the heat of the lamps loosened it , but it would not come free. I had one chance.

I had to fall. I had to break the mask.

It took everything I had, but I managed the misstep.

But my hands found the ribbon. Mask or reflex, I couldn’t be sure.

The lights were so bright, so white. Behind my eyes…it was like a dream I entered. A white room full of the echoes of applause. In that room the mask was gone, but there was another girl there. Her hair was long, red and flowing down her back. She turned, and I caught horror behind my lips. Her face was the mask. She wasn’t wearing it; it was a part of her.

“What’s wrong Eva? Don’t you want to be star?” Her voice, it was the same nasty little voice that yelled at Marie. The same voice I heard over and over again in my head. Telling me to push higher, go further.

“Not like this…I don’t want this. I want to go back. I had a family, friends. Now what do I have?”

She laughed, “You have me. What else do you need? With me, you’ll be a star. You will shine brighter than any performer ever has.” She stalked towards me, placing cold hands on either side of my face. “You don’t need a family. You don’t need anyone but yourself, and me.”

“That’s not true,” I shook my head, backing away from her. “I want to go home! I don’t want this!”

“If I let you go, you’ll fall—and you’ll die. I guarantee it.”

“I don’t care. I won’t live like this.”

The smile turned into a snarl. “I will not let you throw away everything we’ve worked for!”

“I will not be your puppet!”

“Then die.”

***

I was falling, hands, arms, legs…nothing would respond to me. Someone shouted, but I couldn’t see anything but the light. But out of the light swept a blue blur that grabbed hold of me and swung me to the safety of the net. They supported me in a bow after helping me out of the net to be bustled into a dressing room—I think it was mine.

The vision through the mask was shrinking. It was getting harder to breath.

“It’s the mask,” Luka’s voice came from my left.

“It won’t come off!” I managed to cry, staggering away to my dressing table. I could see the mask girl laughing in the reflection of the mirror. I collapsed into the chair and managed to move my arms up to unknot the ribbons. Even with the ribbons undone and hanging free, the mask was stuck tight.

“We’ll have to break it John,” Luka said.

“Without hurting Eva?”

“I can try.”

That wouldn’t work. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. But before I could protest—I’d never been hit so hard in my life. But it didn’t hurt—at least my face didn’t hurt. My back hurt where it slammed into the edge of the counter.

I shook my head, reaching up, nails digging at the edge of the mask. It hurt, but I managed to get my fingers under it.

I could hear the mask girl screaming in my head. I could hear her…but I didn’t care. She wasn’t going to control my life. Not anymore.

With a tearing pop, the mask came off in my hands, and I threw it from me. It struck a metal tent pole, breaking in two. The mask screamed once, and then no more. I turned around, slumping over the counter, head in my arms. I started to cry, I couldn’t help it.

Someone placed an arm around my shoulders. I looked up, into Everhart’s eyes.

“Evelyn.”

“Hi.”

“I am so sorry…I’m going to make it all up to you. I promise.” He kissed my forehead, wiping tears away. “Okay?”

“Okay…can we go home now?”

He nodded; taking the blanket Luka was holding out and wrapping me in it. Luka collected the mask fragments and put them in his pocket.

“Ready?” Everhart—my father, asked Luka.

The strongman nodded. “Yes. Let’s go before someone comes to investigate.”

My father picked me up with the same ease Luka had done that night in the rain—but then, it was my father that saved me up on the tightrope. He was wearing blue.

As we left Rouvelle’s behind, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, “Thank you for catching me.”

He smiled, the first time I could remember him smiling. “That’s what father’s are for.”

I buried my head in his shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt warm. I felt—free.

***

“Evelyn, you’re up next!”

I gave a quick thumbs up to Luka, who had popped into my dressing room, putting the finished touches on my makeup and standing up. The purple heart on my face looked good with my hair.

I hurried out of the dressing room and into the ring. I climbed the ladder—pleased with my costume change and its lack of tutu to snag on the ladder—and stopped on the uppermost platform.

I’d never shared it before, and Mrs. Viglio wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders, “You ready?”

I smiled, “Yes.”

It was time to fly. Mick was ready in the trap to catch me when I did, his strong arms locking onto mine. The trapeze was about trust.

And it was so much fun.

***

At the end of the show, we took our bows, and I could feel the energy of the place. It was different. The whole circus was different. Everyone was happier—I was happier. And Everhart, he smiled at the crowd as we said our goodbyes. He’d bought a new top hat--a black one this time.

When the crowds were gone and the circus went about its preparations for dinner and sleep, I stood in the empty parking area, staring back at the lights of the circus as they started to wink out. The Ferris wheel stopped turning and its lights shut down as well. But then, the trailer lights started to turn on--one trailer at a time.

“Evelyn! Dinner!” Everhart—dad—shouted from our trailer.

“Coming!”

The lot was empty and strewn with wrappers and popcorn bags. Ticket stubs and bits of candy fluff. It would be cleaned up tomorrow morning though. I eyed the big top and smiled. There, a fabric banner advertising the Viglio’s was waving in the wind.

The Flying Viglio’s! Starring the daring Maryanne Viglio and her sons Mick and Richard. Featuring Evelyn Everhart.

It wasn’t top billing, but I didn’t care about that any more. My dad and I were together, and he was really making up for lost time. I kicked a bit of trash out of my way, an old flyer it looked like, and hurried to the trailer.

Dinner smelled great.

The Girl with Two Faces

2012-02-01T14:51:00.000-08:00

I told you there was a companion short story for The Hanged Man's Ghost, and here it is. This is a back story for a character that appears later in the book, so you may want to wait until after you've read the book to read it, though it doesn't give anything away for the book itself.

The Girl with Two Faces : Part One

“Four months ago my daughter ran away. She’ll be turning fifteen soon—Please, come home.”

“A desperate mother’s cry. If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Evelyn Pier, please call our tip-line. Next up, does smoking cause cancer?”

The radio hissed and squealed until I reached up and turned it off.

“The only thing gonna cause cancer round here is that radio.” Luka drawled. “Shouldn’t you kids be practicing?”

A groan rose from all of us “kids”.

“You practice or you do homework.”

Little Marie was the first to jump to her feet. “Practice.”

Everyone else muttered similar responses.

Luka chuckled, “Off with you then.”

Luka the Strongman was the nicest performer in the circus, he took care of us. He was our mother and father, storyteller and teacher, monster slayer and disciplinarian. We all loved Luka, except when we’d done something wrong.

He wasn’t as big as some strongmen, but he was tall. Looking at him you might not know he could lift what he did. He almost always smiled, a twinkle in those blue eyes, and his straw stack hair was always messy. Luka made me feel safe, and when had a Ringmaster like Everhart, that was a good thing.

Reluctantly, I unfolded my legs and got up to follow the others into the Big Top. I was on the high wire tonight, juggling rings. I didn’t walk without a net, but I had to prep for the higher fall—just in case.

“Eva, a word,” Luka said softly before I could exit the trailer. I paused and turned around.

The others shot me looks of pity and scurried off.

“Yes?” I put on my most innocent face.

“I know you haven’t been here as long as the others—”

This sounds like the start of a lecture.

“But the other kids have really taken to you. I want you to set a good example.”

“Of course.”

“I hope that means you will stop making faces behind Everhart’s back.”

“Uh–I—”

“Didn’t think I noticed.”

“Well–no.” I shook my head. “I won’t do it anymore.”

“Good. Get to practice.”

I nodded and hurried out before he could decide I needed to scrub dishes for a month.

The others had already started into their own routines. Marie threw fake pies, Jacques and Jack juggled batons that would be on fire during their performance. The last of the five of us, Mick, was working on the low swings. He was almost big enough to start catching his own mother–the star of the trapeze.

I eyed the high-wire with reluctance, slipped off my sneakers, and climbed the ladder.

***

I finished my act flawlessly, diving into the net at the end for the shock and awe effect and taking my bow ringside. I’m not an applause addict, but the acclaim was sweet. There were those of us who could not help but crave it. That sort usually ended up dead.

I just wanted to make them smile. More than that, I really enjoyed performing. If it wasn’t fun, what was the point? I didn’t want to have regrets.

Everhart called in the last round of clowns before the knife act and I slipped away to the curtained off section of tent the girls shared as a dressing room.

We’d strung up Christmas lights all about the singular mirror on its make-up cluttered table. From the mirror a face not my own stared back at me. My other face. My mask. I undid the ribbons holding it in place and slipped it off. Back into its velvet lined box it went.

The delicate enamel mask belonged to Luka’s grandmother and I was judiciously careful of it during performance. My own face was a sharp contrast to the white perfection and red lips of the mask. Heavy make-up covered my skin, running from perspiration. It only just hid the scar carved cruel into my cheek.

Curls of strawberry blonde locks generally hid the unsightly mark, but no one was rude enough to comment, not here.

I suppose when you’d seen some of the things these folk had, a bit of scar tissue was nothing. We weren’t much of a freak show, but there were the Siamese twins Eliza and Beth, and an extremely pale fellow who handled snakes.

But a scar carved with obvious intent did draw some eyebrows. No accident would cause such a perfectly formed shape. It brought new meaning to putting your heart on your sleeve, though mine was on my face.

Still, no one had asked about it. I was in a place where I could have secrets, privacy, I loved that. I wiped off the caked on make-up and stripped out of the striped top and battered bright orange tutu that made up my costume, a dunk into the water bucket by the door rid my hair of some of the gunk I’d smeared it in and I snagged my sweats and a t-shirt, slipped them on with my sneakers and headed back to the kids trailer for something to eat that hadn’t come from the circus kitchen. In general I found it unwise to subsist on popcorn and spun sugar.

It was starting to rain outside and it cast the lot we’d set up on in a dreary grey light. I sighed and took off at a quick clip to get into the dry safety of the trailer. I’d be glad when we pulled up stakes, the trek to winter lodgings was coming soon, and I was going with Luka to the main house. Apparently Everhart had bought the place with us kids in mind. Not the Everhart I knew–the one I was afraid of.

The guy just gave me the creeps.

I splashed through the shallow forming puddles and jerked open the trailer door to tumble inside. It was currently empty, though the TV was on and crackling. I switched about the stations, but after nothing but static, switched it off. My bunk was relatively clean, and with no duties ahead of me for the evening, I settled into it and dug out a chocolate bar I’d stuffed under the covers.

Dinner of champions that.

I munched down the chocolate, tossed the wrapper in the waste bin and curled up to fall asleep before anyone could disturb me.

* * *

“Eva–” Someone poked my side. “Eva, breakfast.” It sounded like Marie. I opened my eyes and rolled over, it was Marie.

“Good morning, Marie.” I yawned and slithered out from under the covers. “Please tell me Luka didn’t do the cooking.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with my cooking?” Luka towered over me.

“Uh–your eggs are too dry.” I muttered. “That’s all.”

“I see. This from the girl who couldn’t be bothered to help the other acrobats tear down the line?”

“We moved last night?” I took a quick look out the trailer’s side window, sure enough, we’d moved in the night. It was another empty lot, but it had grey gravel instead of brown dirt. “No one told me.”

Luka grinned. “Oh, calm down. You needed the rest.” He puttered back to the fold out table which held covered dishes that steamed interesting flavors causing my stomach to question about breakfast. “Oh, and breakfast was purchased from the diner down the street this time. We need to go grocery shopping it seems. And do laundry.”

He passed out plates and pried lids off dishes, revealing eggs, bacon, pancakes and sausage. “So who’s going with me?”

I raised my hand immediately along with everyone else. Laundry might be boring, but a grocery trip meant there were opportunities for candy. He wouldn’t take us all, but he’d take a couple.

He looked around the room as he dished out food, two pancakes, a slice of bacon, a piece of sausage and a scoop of eggs went onto each plate before he let us go for syrup. “I think–Eva and Mick will go with. I need strong arms.”

Jack and Jacques took the opportunity to show off their muscles, wiry though they were, and pout. Luka laughed. “You’ll go next time.”

With either me or Mick to keep an eye on them...The twins couldn’t be trusted and Marie was a bit small to be lugging about laundry on her own. We hurried to finish breakfast, leaving the dishes on the counter to be washed.

Mick grabbed two bags of laundry and Luka scooped up the rest and we trooped out of the trailer and tossed the items into the waiting station wagon.

I checked my reflection in the side window, makeup and hair—check. I adjusted one strand to let it fall more in front of my face and got in the car.

“Vain thing, aren’t you?” Mick laughed.

I rolled my eyes, “Shut it.”

Luka didn’t say a word, he was more than used to us arguing and he knew I was sensitive about the scar on my face.

“You look beautiful Eva,” he said. “Now, both of you get in the car.”

I took the front seat just to spite Mick; he stuck his tongue out at me. I—being a ladylike young woman, did not respond—until Luka wasn’t looking.

Mick grinned when I pulled a face at him. I rolled my eyes and kept my attention on the dashboard for the rest of the drive. The town wasn’t big, but it wasn’t so small we wouldn’t get any business either. They had a grocer and a laundry.

“Remember, best behavior. Springfield was nearly a disaster; let’s make sure Waverly still wants us around next year.”

“Yes, Luka.” Came the dutiful response.

We parked outside the laundry and were lucky that all four washers were free. Costumes went in one, work clothes divided to two and everyday clothes into the last. Delicates were hand washed in the sink at the trailer. When the loads were done they’d go into the laundry bags to be dried on the line back at camp.

We’d shop for groceries too, but laundry came first. If your costume was filthy you still had to go on, and you’d look terrible. And besides, Everhart would yell at you then Luka at least. Which you really didn’t want. Luka yelling usually ended with a whipping, and he had a firm hand.

Mick and I played jacks while the machines ran and Luka read the paper. After beating Mick for the third time, I put the jacks away and settled in to nap.

“Eva,” Mick said.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever thought about trying the swings?”

I opened my eyes and glanced over at him, “Honestly, no. I like the high wire.”

“You’ve got the strength to fly,” Mick replied. “I could catch for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s your way of saying no, isn’t it?”

I smiled, “Sorry, I just prefer the high wire.”

“To each their own then.”

I shrugged, and concentrated on napping.

***

With the laundry done at last, we wrung what water we could from it and piled it back into the bags to take back to dry, on the way, swinging by the grocer. Mick and I played our best behavior; there was candy on the line you know. I spotted my favorites right off the bat, Clark Bar, Cup-o-Gold, and Sky Bars. The last was the best really, four flavors for the price of one bar, and you could share it.

Luka picked up a basket and the door and headed for the vegetables. Mick and I exchanged a look, but neither of us commented. We both knew that staying in shape would keep us safe, and a healthy diet kept us in shape. As much as I liked chocolate, I knew that staying in shape was important if I wanted to keep walking the wire, and I really wanted to keep going.

We wrapped up our shopping with treats in our pockets it had taken ounces of cleverness to obtain, and our best behavior. We were loading groceries into the station wagon when a group of teenagers with slick backed hair and leather jackets sauntered up with nasty smiles.

“You’re from the circus, aren’t you?” the leader, whose jacket hand a red X on the sleeve, remarked.

“Yes,” Mick said defensively.

“Why don’t you perform for us then?”

“Why don’t you wash your hair?” I asked sweetly.

Lucca sent a look my way and I shrugged.

“You aren’t very polite.”

“And you smell like bathed in pomade and aftershave.”

“You circus folk are all the same, rude thieving scum who can’t get real work.”

“And what are you? Seems to me I could say the same.”

“Eva, enough, get in the car. Mick, you too.” Luka stared down the boys, “And you all should be heading home.”

By Luka’s tone, mild as it seemed, I knew he was really mad. I should’ve kept quiet.

“We want an apology.”

“Eva.”

“They started it—”

“Eva.”

The boys snickered, and I flushed with embarrassment, my throat going dry and hot, “Sorry.” I spat out.

The boys grinned and went on their way.

“You hand I have words when we get back,” Luka said.

All together we climbed in and Luka drove us all back. There was first the hanging of laundry and then the putting away of groceries before I ended up alone with Luka in his personal trailer.

He towered over me, slightly hunched, while I stared intently at me shoes.

“You could have made things much, much worse. What if that had started a fight? At least one of those boys had a knife. Someone could have gotten hurt.”

“I know—I’m sorry Luka. But I couldn’t just—”

“Words only do harm if you let them. Things we say and can, however, affect our livelihood. If we can’t perform, we can’t eat, can’t survive. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“You will not go into town. You will mend costumes on top of your other chores. No sweets. No radio. When we reach Piedmont, I will consider returning privileges if you have behaved. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t want to have any more trouble from you.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go do your chores.”

“Yes sir,” I nodded quickly and hurried out of the trailer, fully appreciating that he had chosen not to take me over his knee.

Chores—setting up the props, folding laundry, and looking after the little ones—would keep me busy until I had to get ready for the first show tonight. We always did a teaser, half-price, show our first night. The boys already had the tens and lines up and all I had to do was help put out the jugglers set and some of the barrels for Luka’s act.

One of the jugglers—Jake—had been teaching me and I’d since added it to my line routine. But I had something even more daring in mind. I’d have to practice it on a low line and approval from Everhart before using it in an act.

I wasn’t the only high-wire artist we had, and the others could do things I couldn’t. Bessie George, for instance, rode a unicycle, but I wasn’t much on a unicycle. Bessie, however, could not juggle. She’d tried once, and her attempt made me feel safer in my position as resident high-wire/juggler.

It wasn’t like I could go home.

As always, the time before the show hurried past in a bustle of activity. The sun went down and every performer hurried in to make last minute preparations. I changed into my freshly laundered striped leotard and tutu before sitting down at the tiny section of make-up counter that was mine. Heavy, cakey, foundation covered up my scars and wax went into my hair to trap it into neat little curls tight against my scalp. I took the mask from its box, a touch of electricity jumping through my fingers as my heart beat hastened and I secured the mask.

At least becoming more than plain Eva—she was gone. I slipped on my red shoes and stood, gaze narrowed by the mask. I could hear the audience cheering the strong man, which meant it was my turn.

I crept out in the shadows and climbed the ladder while Luka set down the barrels he’d been juggling and bowed.

When the spotlight moved to me, I was in place, five bright balls tucked into a purple sash across my chest. I could feel my heart beat faster and a smile that mirrored the mask’s stretched across my face. In these first moments, stepping onto the rope, I had always felt nervous—but not tonight.

I walked with confidence and a quarter in; I started to pull out the balls—one at a time. The crowd ooed and aahed and I made it to the other side with a single slip. I felt—I wanted more. More applause. I wanted to be more daring.

Rather than my usual dive into the net, I cart wheeled onto the line and somersaulted in. I knew perfectly well I risked injury, but just then I didn’t care. Something was pushing me forward. I knew my angle was wrong, and I had to twist just before to take the landing properly on my back. All the breath knocked out of me and the ropes dug in more than they usually seemed to. But the thunderous applause washed all thoughts of injury from me.

I climbed out of the net to take my box before Bessie’s act and wished it was me up next again. I had other things to do though. Dinner for the little ones had to be seen to, it was my turn and Luka had handed me two weeks of helping in the costume trailer.

I hurried back to strip down and pack away my costume. I paused on my reflection; the mask seemed so full of life tonight. I hesitated to remove it, pushing it up to reveal a diagonal sliver of my face. I could see the edges of my scar beneath the make-up. I wished I could make it disappear all of the time. I wished my cheek could be as perfect as the one on the mask.

Luka, or Bessie, would lecture me on safety tomorrow. But right now, my whole body still rang with the applause. I couldn’t imagine a better feeling in the world. Regret filled me when I put away the mask, and I dressed quickly to shove the feeling away, hurrying out to make dinner.

That night, dreams of more daring stunts and even louder applause followed me. Applause that made my body tremble from fingertips to toes. I had to do something no one expected. Something more impressive than juggling with a bunch of balls.

***

After breakfast, it was Everhart that tracked me down. As I always did when he was around, I ducked my head and let my curls camouflage my face. I suppose he thought I was afraid of him but that wasn’t even close to the truth. Everhart was tall, whip thin and always in possession of a battered top hat—currently jammed on his head and covering his own red curls.

He trapped me in the dark of the empty big-top, his slender form towering over mine.

“It was stupid, what you did. Unpracticed tricks get people killed.”

“Yes sir.”

“I have spoken to Luka about you and I want you to understand this perfectly. If you endanger anyone in this circus, you’re out. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

After he stalked away, I knew one day he would kick me to the curb. Before then, I had to have an act worthy of Rouvelle. I was going to stay in the spotlight. I wanted people to look past the scar on my face and see what I could do. Deep down, I knew there was just one person I wanted to see me, but he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Luka and the kids are the nearest thing I have to family now. I would have to accept that some things aren’t meant to be.

That night I did my act with no flourishes, and was off to help sell trinkets to the crowd with some of the other kids. After that people would filter out and the adults show would begin, which meant it was time for me to change and go to the costume trailer.

The late show after our regular one ran one night out of the five we would stay and featured nearly nude contortionists and some of the more frightening acts. A fire eater, snake charmer and the Human Hammer. We got others sometimes too, but it wasn’t for the faint of heart, or the eyes of children. Everhart didn’t seem to like running the late show, but the circus didn’t run any big names so—we needed the money.

Another reason to get more daring. If a single act got rave reviews, the word would spread and the circus would make more money. Which would draw attention to me. Put the spotlight, on me.

And who would look for me there? I’d be safe in the limelight. No one would hurt me again.

***

On our final day in that town, I had shown Bessie I could do the cartwheel and somersault perfectly if I was on the high-wire or the low-wire and she gave Everhart the go ahead for me to add it in. The night’s applause was overwhelming, but it still wasn’t enough. Any good tightrope artist could those things; I had to prove I was exceptional.

As I hurried out of my costume, I caught my reflection in the mirror. With the adrenaline from the performance still pumping through my veins, I swore I saw the mask’s smile widen.

I took it off and put it in its box with more haste than I usually did. Scrubbing my face clean of the garish make-up I’d worn to replace a sick clown.

In a loose, gingham dress and canvas shoes, I hurried out of the tent to miss the crowds that would block my way to the costume trailer, and there was a pile of tights to mend still.

There was a little rain starting to come down, but the sky threatened worse. I’m a graceful person by trade, so when I tripped, I was surprised until I saw someone had helped.

The greaser from town. He smiled nastily. “Eva, isn’t it?”

He brought friends. Two of them jerked me to my feet.

“What do you want?”

“That brat that was with you the other day, where is he?”

“Mick? How should I know? Why do you want to know?”

“He scratched up my ride,” with a swagger and menace he flicked open the knife he’d concealed in his right hand.

“I don’t know. He could be anywhere.”

X stepped closer, the knife glinting in the light from the string lights overhead. He pressed the edge to my neck. “Do better, or I’ll give you a scar you’ll never forget.”

“Take a closer look buster, someone beat you to it.” I turned my face so the light fell on my cheek. “You don’t scare me. And I don’t know where he is.”

He traced the heart on my cheek with a calloused finger. He was shaking, his nerve failing.

“I’m fourteen. You like terrifying abused little girls?”

“I—”

“You want to know how I got it?” His eyes looked too bright in the light. “My mother…she held me against the floor. She took a kitchen knife and carved this into my face. I suppose you’re a real big man, picking on me.”

“I—”

“Either let me go, or I scream and the whole circus comes running.”

He was just a coward with a knife. I’d seen real monsters. He didn’t scare me.

“Let’s go, we’ll find the brat on our own.”

His goons let go and they walked away. Mick would be safe, he had large brothers and hid dad had a shotgun. Despite my bravado, I felt my knees shake and buckle under me. The feel of his knife reminded me of that night. When my mother snapped, pressing me to the cold tile floor while she—and I screamed.

The rain started to fall harder, sticking my hair and dress to my skin. I felt a sting of pain at my neck and reached up, my hand coming away smeared in blood. The blade had been very sharp. It was just a knick, but and the blood…

The rain was cold, but my tears were hot against my cheeks. I drew my knees up to my chest, burying my face in the wet fabric.

Sometime later, warm hands lifted me into large arms. Luka.

“It’s okay Eva,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

He took me to his trailer, wrapping a blanket around me and putting a towel on my head.

“You want to talk about ir?”

I shook my head—but that was a lie. I did want to talk about it. “I…” I touched my face, fingers finding the difference between the scarred and unscarred flesh. “My mother did this.” I looked up, “She held me down and carved into my face. She said she loved me. The whole time, she just kept telling me that she loved me.

“I was afraid she would kill me.”

His arms wrapped around me, and I felt so small. I wished my father was the one holding me. But he, like my mother, cared little for me. I hadn’t known him, nothing beyond his name.

“I am so sorry, Eva. No one should have to go through that. You’re father..?”

“My parents didn’t get married. My mom’s family didn’t like him…or something. So when I ran away, I tracked him down. I wanted to tell him who I was but—” Could I tell Luka? What would he do? “Don’t tell him, promise.”

“I promise. But who am I not telling?”

“I tracked him down; to this circus…we look a lot alike. I didn’t expect that. I chose the high-wire because of him.”

“Everhart.” Luka’s voice concealed his surprise.

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t know.”

“No. I don’t want him to know.”

Luka sighed, “If that’s what you want.” There was the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. I laid my secrets, my pain bare in front of him. What was he supposed to say?

“Everybody has secrets Eva,” he whispered. “I do, and I know your father does. I’ll keep your silence…but he deserves to know.”

I closed my eyes. “If you think—if you think he needs to know. If I leave or…something happens. Do what you think is right.”

“I always do. Now, why don’t we get you in warm clothes? I don’t want you to catch something.”

Part Two

Knitting Pattern!

2012-02-01T10:27:00.000-08:00

Knitting pattern

Fynn’s Wedding Ring Socks
Inspired by Missouri Dalton’s The Hanged Man’s Ghost, available from
Torquere Press
Pattern by Sheena Pennell

The nature of the cable pattern makes the cuff of these socks rather fiddly.
Make sure you read and understand all of the instructions before you begin.
If you are willing and able to cable without a cable needle, then this would
be a perfect opportunity to do so, since all of these cables involve only
1-2 stitches each.

I’ve provided instructions for a medium-sized ladies sock. If you find that
your measurements are different, you can cast on fewer or additional
stitches in multiples of 8, and simply repeat the cuff pattern the necessary
number of times. When working the leg, center the pattern stitches on the
front; extra space can easily be filled with additional ribbing. If you
require a tighter fit (fewer than 64 stitches cast on) then adjust the
center of the instep as follows: P3, K4, P1, K2, P1, K4, P1, K2, P1, K4, P3
should become P3, K4, P1, K2, P1, K4, P3 and S2CNB, K2, K2CN, P1, K2, P1,
K4, P1, K2, P1, K4, P1, K2, P1, S2CNF, K2, K2CN becomes S2CNB, K2, K2CN, P1,
K2, P1, S2CNF, K2, K2CN [see † below].

Tools and Materials
Set of 4 US 3 DPNs (3.25 mm), or size needed to obtain gauge
2 hanks Claudia Handpaint fingering weight yarn
Cable needle
Yarn needle

Gauge: 8 stitches/11 rows to the inch

Getting Started:
Begin by casting on 64 stitches in the long-tail method, and work 2x2
ribbing (knit 2, purl 2) for 12 rows.

Cuff band:
Row 1: Purl 2, slip 2 stitches cable needle and hold to the back, knit 1,
purl 2 from cable needle, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the front,
purl 2, knit 1 from cable needle. Repeat to end of round.
Row 2: Purl 2, knit 1, purl 4, knit one. Repeat to end of round.
Row 3: Purl 1. *Slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the back, knit 1, purl 1
from cable needle, purl 4, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the front,
purl 1, knit 1 from cable needle. Repeat from * until you reach the end of
the round. Count your stitches just for good measure, and make sure you
still have the same number you cast on. Still looking for an extra stitch?
That’s because we’re going to overlap the last stitch of the current round
with the first stitch of the next one. So put that last stitch on your
cable needle, hold it to the front, then knit the next stitch. Slip the
stitch on your cable needle back onto the left hand needle.
Row 4: Knit 1, Purl 6, Knit 1 all the way around.
Row 5: Knit 1. *Purl 6, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the front, knit
1, knit 1 from cable needle. Repeat from *. Once again, the last stitch of
this row will twist with the first stitch of the next row, so slip that
last stitch onto your cable needle and hold it to the front, knit the next
stitch, then slip the one on the cable needle back to the left hand needle.
Row 6: Knit 1. *Purl 6, knit 1 to end of round.
Row 7: Knit 1. *Purl 6, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the front, knit
1, knit 1 from cable needle. Repeat from * to end of round.
Row 8: Knit 1, Purl 6 all the way around.
Row 9: Slip 1 to cable needle and hold to the front, purl 1, knit 1 from
cable needle, purl 4, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to back, knit 1, purl
1 from cable needle. Repeat to end of round.
Row 10: Purl 1, knit 1, purl 4, knit 1, purl 1 all the way around.
Row 11: Purl 1, slip 1 to cable needle and hold to front, purl 2, knit 1
from cable needle, slip 2 to cable needle and hold to back, knit 1, purl 2
from cable needle, purl 1.

Leg:
At this point, we are going to arrange our stitches in preparation for the
heel and foot. The first needle, Needle 1, will have all of the stitches for
the top of the foot, while the heel will be worked on needles 2 and 3. The
cable pattern is a 6 round repeat. Remember, if you changed the cast on
number to center it on Needle on (that would be everything from “†Purl
3....Purl 3 *” in the next step). For the medium sized sock, there should be
32 stitches on needle 1 and 16 on needles 2 and 3.
Rounds 1-5: (needle 1) Knit 1, purl 2, knit 2, purl 2, knit 2, purl 1, knit
4, purl 1, knit 2, purl 1, knit 4, purl 1, knit 2, purl 2, knit 2, purl 2,
knit 1.
Needle 2-3: Knit 1. Purl 2, knit 2 to the end (the last stitch will be a
knit stitch).
Round 6: (Needle 1) Knit 1, purl 2, knit 2, purl 2, knit 2, purl 1, slip 2
to cable needle and hold to front, knit 2, knit 2 from cable needle, purl
1, knit 2, purl 1, slip 2 to cable needle and hold to back, knit 2, knit 2
from cable needle, purl 1, knit 2, purl 2, knit 2, purl 2, knit 1. Continue
working needles 2 and 3 as before.

Heel flap
Heel is worked on needles 2 and 3 (36 stitches). S1, K1 across, turn work.
S1, purl across. Repeat these two rows until flap is square.

Heel Cup
Knit until 8 stitches remain, knit 2 together, knit 1. Turn work.
Purl until 8 stitches remain, purl 2 together, purl 1. Turn work.
*Knit until 1 stitch before gap, knit 2 together, knit 1. Turn work.
Purl until 1 stitch before gap, purl 2 together, purl 1. Turn work.
Repeat from * until all stitches are included.
Knit across the heel stitches. When you reach the end of the needle, pick up
16 stitches down the side of the heel flap. Knit needle 1 in pattern, then
pick up another 16 stitches going up the other side of the heel flap.
Rearrange your stitches as follows: Needle 1 should remain the same, with
the 32 pattern stitches for the top of the foot. Needles 2 and 3 should
each have the 16 picked up stitches plus half of the remaining heel
stitches (28 stitches each).

Gusset
Thanks to all of that back and forth, the start of the round has shifted,
and is now in the middle of the heel. So, from this point forward we’ve got
a new numbering system: Needles 1 and 3 make up the heel, while Needle 2 is
the top of the foot.
Round 1: Knit across needle 1 until 2 stitches remain. Slip 1 stitch, knit
1, pass the slipped stitch over. Knit Needle 2 in pattern. For needle 3,
knit 2 together, then knit to the end of the round.
Round 2: Knit needles 1 and 3 plain but keep needle 2 in pattern.
Repeat these two rounds until 64 total stitches remain on all needles.

Foot
Knit needle 1 in pattern, needles 2 and 3 plain until foot reaches the base
of your toes (18 cable repeats for a ladies 8.5).
Make sure there are 36 stitches on each needle. For the first 2 stitches,
slip 1, knit 1, pass slipped stitch over. Knit to last 2 stitches of on the
needle, knit 2 together. For needles 2 and three, slip 1, knit 1, pass
slipped stitch over, knit plain until 2 stitches remain on needle 3, knit 2
together.
Next row, knit plain.
Repeat these two rows three more times, then decrease every row until 8
stitches remain. Graft the toe, weave in ends.

Have questions? You can contact me as SophiaRowan on Ravelry, or follow my
blog at www.knotmagick.blogspot.com.

Working

2012-01-24T18:00:00.000-08:00

Should be moving along to edits for my third book release next week. Working on the final formatting tweaks for The Hanged Man's Ghost now.

Also been rather busy with some freelance art related business things. Yeah, that's super specific.

In any case, I have nothing shiny to show you today, but with any luck I will soon have another cover to show you.

Cheers

Teaser

2012-01-09T16:42:00.000-08:00

Here's a little teaser of The Hanged Man's Ghost. Enjoy!

Chapter One: 187

The Windy City. I was born here, and my father and his father. Caught in tradition, bleeding blue for the city. Catholic to the bone, too. It was like watching a made-for-TV movie.

    For me, the wind caught the voices of those souls lost to passion and fear. The ones that we found on the street, in back alleys and under bridges.

    But those are the voices of the past. This was the start of a case that would change things. That would change me.

    It started with a hangover, and the hangover started with a party. As it turns out, fourteen mojitos and a dozen or so Jell-o shots do not equate to a healthy morning. At least, I think it was only a dozen or so. There also may’ve been a couple beers in the count. The empty bottles at the end of the bed seemed to indicate that. The young man next to me, brunette with a slim build and pouty lips was pretty, and had probably been just as far gone when we tumbled into bed.

Blinking, clearing the crud from my eyes. I climbed out of the bed and pulled my discarded boxers back on, before stretching out my sore muscles. Where are my jeans? I looked around. His jeans, two sizes smaller than mine with a designer label, were huddled just under the bed. God, he still wore white briefs. I really hope he’s over the age of consent.

His wallet stuck out of the back pocket of his jeans, I scooped it up and flipped it open. Eric Howard, age nineteen. Thank God. I really did not need that hanging over my head. Someone needed to buy the kid boxers. Tucked just behind his driver’s license was another card, student ID? I couldn’t help myself, I jerked it out. Eric Harrison, age twenty-three. It was a fake. A good one. I kept that and put back the wallet.

My jeans had managed to climb the bookshelf. Strange. I jerked them down and pulled them on. The fake ID went in my back pocket. My shoes and ankle holster were sitting by a chair. I strapped the holster on and put on my sneakers.

Is this his place? It had a very dorm-like look to it. Book shelves crammed with junk and the occasional textbook, laundry slumped near a hamper in the corner and posters of half naked men on the walls. Okay, a gay boy’s dorm room, but a dorm room. I looked out the window. There were flowers in a box on the sill. Daisies. I didn’t recognize the street. A sign read East Monroe. Huh. Maybe I’m just down from the club. I grabbed my shirt, checked for my wallet—finding it in my pocket—and headed for the door. The kid woke up with a yawn and grabbed my hand.

“Hey, leaving so soon?” He blinked. Damn, he’s young.

“Yeah.”

He pouted. “Don’t I get a name and a phone number?”

“No, and if I see you in that club again, I’ll arrest you for underage drinking. Do we understand each other?”

He gulped, eyes wide. “Yes.”

Heh, I didn’t even have to flash my star. Hell, knowing me, I’d probably used a pick up line along the lines of, Hey, I’m a cop, you want to go have some fun? I have handcuffs. “Good. Sleep tight.” I paused. “And buy some boxers. You aren’t twelve.” He might as well have been. I buttoned my shirt on my way out the door. My cell phone buzzed as I hopped down the steps. I jerked it out my pocket and flipped it open. “Fynn Adder.”

“I don’t care how fan-fucking-tastic you think you are, Adder. You get your ass down here right now!” Captain Monroe screamed from the other end. I winced.

“Down where?”

“Don’t you check your voicemail? We have a homicide on East Adams and Wabash. You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

I winced again. “I’ll be right there.” I hung up and shoved the phone back in my pocket. On the street, I hailed a cab. Miraculously, I got one. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad. I hopped in. “Adams and Wabash.”

“Be there in five.”

Fin

The Hanged Man's Ghost
Coming February 12, 2012!

I'll be running a contest for a signed copy of The Hanged Man's Ghost in February, so keep your eyes peeled! Well, not literally, that would be horrible.

- Cheers!

The Hanged Man's Ghost

2012-01-03T12:57:00.000-08:00

Long overdue, but here's the cover art for The Hanged Man's Ghost, scheduled for release the second week of February!

The same day it comes out I'll have a side story here on the blog that ties into some of the things that happen in this book. I've heard from a few people wondering when/where there would be more information/stories about the characters from Fiends in Low Places and Poisoned Spirits, well folks, this would be the start of the series that the stories spun off from.

The Hanged Man's Ghost marks the first of three books (Should be three) from the POV of Fynn Adder, who you met in Fiends in Low Places briefly. I'm also working on Sleeping on the Job, which will be from Simon's POV and go into greater depth with his background, he and Gabriel's relationship and all those little juicy bits glazed over in Fiends.

For those of you who've read Poisoned, keep your eyes open, because there is at least one character making a return to the page in this one, and you'll be sure to see Ian take the stage in this series. I'm working on that book too, which has no title just now, but will go into Ian's activities before the events of Poisoned.

I've other ideas I'm playing with as well, and there's still the sequel to The Grave Watchers muddling around.

Once I get the cover/schedule for my other book, I'll post about it, but for now I shall keep you guessing.

Well

2011-11-13T22:55:00.000-08:00

I moved, and needless to say, settling in took time. Well, I'm still settling in actually. I've a new bed, which is awesome. The central problem was the lack of internet. I paid for services to start first of November, but I couldn't get installation until the second week of November.

And yet I get charged for having it the whole month. I find that annoying, somewhat.

Hence the lack of blogging. I have been trying Nano, slow going I'm afraid. I'm just not feeling the story I started, which means, for the first time, I may have to switch stories mid-month. We'll see. It could be for the best.

Working on edits for The Hanged Man's Ghost, I have the cover art, (it's awesome) and will post it as soon as I can (IE, when I get a router and have wireless). Most of my internet connections have been via my phone. Facebook, twitter, etc. I've been reading blogs, trying to keep up with the news. I'm a little depressed by news, to be honest, so I generally ignore it until someone tells me about something in person and then I get curious and look it up.

I'm terribly sheltered. It's a self preservation technique for the remaining shreds of my sanity. There are so few of them left.

Now that I have internet (on one computer at least) I'm attempting to catch up on television shows I missed. I also discovered a new show, Misfits, which is a very funny, strange, (Adult) British television show about five ASBO'd delinquents doing community service that get special powers after being struck by lightning. It's awesome. I'm through one and a half seasons, or there abouts, and am impressed.

To be fair to my Nano story, I haven't been watching much television that I find moves my brain into the appropriate patterns for writing a childrens' book.

Hmm. Well, I'm rambling. I'll have proper internet soon, and be at least partially settled into my new apartment with my dear friend.

Cheers.

Shifting Steam!

2011-10-26T06:36:00.001-07:00

Today is release day folks! Pick up a copy at Torquere Press or Amazon!

Snippet and synopsis forthcoming.

Moving...

2011-10-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

It is finally happening, I am moving into an apartment and shall no longer be living out of a suitcase and decorative boxes. I feel practically grown up. Not too grown up mind you, don't worry. I've been playing with the idea of a Bones short story... Perhaps set in Egypt during his hey-day.

Also thinking of doing a book from Claude's POV, which I think would be hilarious and decidedly on the raunchier side--this is Claude we're talking about.

In other news, I'll be participating in NaNoWriMo this year, it will be my third year! If you want to look me up there my username is Hemlock_key. I wrote a YA horror novel last year, the year before that I wrote the first draft of The Grave Watchers and this year? Well, I'm writing a children's book. Yup. It will be my first venture into the 10-15 age group since I myself was that age.

I'm thinking of doing a series of posts about books that shape writers. The ones that shaped me specifically, but I think guest bloggers would be fun for that. I am also toying with some YA novels for LBGT youngsters. Still plogging away at Death's Children, the sequel to The Grave Watchers, it's just not shaping up.

How does everyone feel about a female protagonist?

Contest Winner and Shiny Distractions

2011-10-10T20:50:00.000-07:00

So...there were a plumb total of one comments on the post, so the winner was relatively simple to pick. Go Brandi!

Also on the docket today is the shiny cover art for the Shifting Steam anthology, which is due for release near the end of October. Drool my pretties, drool.

Happy Halloween! (Early, I know)

2011-10-08T07:38:00.000-07:00

Poisoned Spirits is out now for those of you in the ghostly mood.

Blurb:

Chicago Special Police Officer Ian Mulhaney has never been stood-up before, so when Billy doesn't show up to the speakeasy, he's not a happy camper. But anger quickly shifts to worry, and Ian soon discovers Billy is gravely ill, poisoned by magically tainted whiskey. Ian's used to the paranormal, but witches might just be more than he can handle.

Snippet:

Thursday night the sun set and we still had no leads on the whereabouts of the ATS. What we did have were three more confirmed victims in the hospital. Nobody had died yet, but Patience was surprised. We managed to find a bottle of poisoned liquor that hadn't been opened in the Domino Room and Patience worked her magic on it.

The stuff was meant to be deadly. So either our victims hadn't drunk enough of it, or it was only a matter of time before they started to die.

Before Billy died.

Jo-Jo seemed confident in her ability to keep him stable, but she's a six inch pixie. I was having trouble putting faith in her. I spent part of the day at Billy's side, hoping maybe he'd come out of it on his own.

But nothing changed.

Sebastien Answers Some Questions and a Contest

2011-10-03T11:38:00.000-07:00

Gravetells.com was kind enough to offer an interview up to Sebastien, who after a few shots of bourbon, was more than willing to facilitate. Check out the full interview for some fun facts.

In celebration of the Review/Interview, I'm running a little contest. Comment on this post with answer to how many stars Sebastien gave Bones and using a random number generator I shall choose a winner.

The winner's name will go into my next book (if you'd like to be a dead body, random bad guy or witness I'll take preference into consideration) and a copy of my new short, The King's Dog.

The contest will run until Midnight, EST, October 8th, so get commenting!

Cheers,

Missouri

Review

2011-09-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

The Gravetells review of The Grave Watchers, is out now. An interview with Sebastien will be up on October third.

The King's Dog Release Day!

2011-09-25T17:49:00.000-07:00

Art used with permission
"Understanding"
by Nick R. AKA Bardoftheseas

The King's Dog hit cyber shelves today, much to my excitement. And an artist I love pulled together this commission of the tragic lover-birds!
Thanks so much, it looks great.

Blurb:
Morgan lost everything he cared about most during the war: the love of his life, his self respect, and his honor. After killing a man in a barroom brawl he resigned himself to madness and imprisonment until his execution. But it seems his god has another path in mind. War has broken out again in the kingdom, and the army needs every recruit they can get their hands on, including convicts. Morgan will have to fight hard to overcome his inner demons, end the war, and perhaps get a second chance at love.

Snippet

Mold. Musty with the tang of rust and piss. Mushrooms, fat white things like bloated corpses grew on the walls. There was no light to send them away. The spiders and glow-worms kept steady company on their mushroom balconies.

Dust rose from the old hay scattered on the floor when I shifted off my tingling thigh. The ceiling was obscured, though by standing on the plank bench chained to the far wall I could brush my fingers against it. It was stone, rough and cold.

The summer was a blessing, the stone kept the cell cool. Though the stink of the upper cell blocks still managed to carry down on the steps of the guards. The winter was worst. The stone refused heat and the extra blankets they provided were more hole than fabric. It was my second summer, and I dreaded it for the winter was closer. I fingered the leather strap around my neck and its dangling metal circle.

I should be dead already. Should be, but wasn't. I killed that man. Killed him because I was too drunk to care what my oath was. Too drunk to care about my own life. I was supposed to hang for it. Supposed to… but they never came for me. Forgot about me. Stupid bastards forgot about me.

Torquere Charity Blitz Release Day!

2011-09-17T15:43:00.000-07:00

That's right, today is the day. All thirty-odd sips are out now at Torquere and at our sponsor, Rainbow Ebooks.

There's even a special bundle on the Torquere site of all the stories together, and you save %15 off the total cover price!

Remember, Torquere is going to match author donations 100%, and all author proceeds are being donated. The more stories we sell, the more money we can give to the It Gets Better Project.

My Boyfriend has a Scar by M. Raiya: A review by Missouri Dalton

2011-09-10T19:44:00.000-07:00

My Boyfriend has a Scar by M. Raiya

Review by Missouri Dalton

Warning: Here lie minor spoilers...

M.Raiya’s My Boyfriend has a Scar is a quiet sort of story that starts out with a flash and bang as lightning cuts across the sky in a torrential storm. Kyle is driving home from work when he catches sight of a man lying under an overpass—and not at all looking well.

From there the story delves into Kyle’s past as the identity of this stranger is revealed as Gage, the boyfriend that left ten years ago. Kyle and Gage’s relationship ended painfully, and the reconciliation isn’t going to be any easier. Gage is badly scarred both physically and mentally, and it’s going to take every bit of Kyle’s talent with words to keep Gage off the edge. The story fit the anthology theme without a doubt. It was a wonderful look into a moment of pain transformed into an opportunity for change.

The writing was crisp and imaginative, the imagery bordering on poetic and a level of sensuality that was heated, while exceptionally tasteful. My Boyfriend has a Scar has a wide trail of hope laid straight through it, and it certainly left me feeling like I’d come in from the cold.

Author Bio:

M. Raiya was a Scottish warrior in a previous life, as well as being a sailor out of Nova Scotia in another one. Currently she lives in Vermont with her family and battles the sea and swords only in her writing.

http://mraiya.blogspot.com

Teammates by M. Durango - Review by M. Raiya

Torquere Press Charity Blitz Official Promotional Thing

2011-09-10T12:26:00.000-07:00

In 2008, Torquere Press' fantastic authors decided to support a charity with an annual short story collection called our Charity Sip blitz. In the past three years, we've donated more than $13,000.00 to charitable organizations that support GLBT causes.

For 2011, Torquere's authors have chosen the theme "Getting Better" in honor of the It Gets Better project, which helps LGBT youth understand that life as an openly queer adult is not only possible, but happening for millions of people, worldwide. More than thirty authors have written short fiction pieces and have agreed to donate all proceeds of the sales of these stories to this year's charitable organization. Torquere Press Inc. will match the authors' donations completely.

This year, we're also pleased to announce that our distribution partner, Rainbow eBooks, has agreed to be the title sponsor of our Sip collection, and will be our sole distributor outside of the Torquere Books website. Please support our sponsor by visiting them at www.rainbowebooks.com

Torquere Press and our authors truly believe we can make a difference by donating to organizations that promote awareness and equality. If you'd like to help, please support the Charity Sip Blitz and enjoy some great romance today!

Available September 17, 2011 at www.torquerebooks.com and www.rainbowebooks.com

Wheels in the Sky

2011-08-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

I'm in a very Journey mood at the moment. Possibly because I've gotten more great news than is normal for me at this time of year, and possibly because it's fall weather at last and my favorite time of year, and very possibly because I'm off to visit my folks in a few days.

Don't forget, the Torquere Charity Blitz is due out September 17!

Torquere Charity Blitz

2011-08-27T00:56:00.000-07:00

September 17 is the magical day when the anthology is due out! I hope it sells amazingly well so the It Gets Better Project will get loads of money to continue its work.

See, I'm philanthropic.

It's a really great charity, supporting gay, lesbian, bisexual transgendered and other bulled teens. You can take the pledge on their website (it's relatively painless). The most important thing you can do is pay attention. Don't let bullying go on when you can do something about it. Don't just keep your mouth shut. We have to speak up if we want to help.

Bullying is something that goes on in schools everywhere, and these days it's even worse with social networking sites and "cyber" bullying. It doesn't matter where bullying takes place, it's still emotionally damaging to the person on the receiving end.

I went to school in the middle of nowhere, at a tiny little school where I literally knew everyone's name. I was poked fun at, but mostly, people left me alone because I had this way about me. For some reason or another, I scared people, so they left me alone. Other people were not so lucky. I wish I could say that I stood up to every bully I saw, but really, I only stood up to the ones that hurt my friends. High school felt like a war, and I wanted to make it out unscathed.

Bullying can come from anyone, be it a fellow student, parent, or even teachers. Teachers can be bullies, and I think a lot of parents ignore their kids when they say something about a teacher. We're supposed to respect teachers implicitly, they are in the right, the child is wrong.

I don't particularly know where that pattern of thinking started, but I'm determined that my potential children will never feel that way. Kids might be crazy until they turn twenty-three, but that doesn't mean they're wrong about that math teacher being out to get them.

In my case, it was a crazy art teacher.

When your family supports you, it makes it easier to face off against bullies. It makes it easier for you to believe, it really does, get better.

Big News V 2.0!

2011-08-22T23:23:00.000-07:00

Two of my short stories shall be published! Fiends in Low Places, which takes place within a world I've been working on for some time now, will be published as part of the Charity Sip Blitz Anthology, proceeds for which will benefit the It Get's Better Project. I'm super excited for the opportunity to help such a wonderful charity.

The second short, The King's Dog, will be released stand alone. Not sure on a date yet for that, but I am unabashedly excited to say the least.

And, of course, don't forget, The Grave Watchers was released little over a week ago! I'm putting together a book trailer to help with promotion, and my Alma Mater did a very nice little article on the release for the Alumni blog.

I'm still working on the sequel, hoping to finish it around the end of September.

Well, that's all for now.

Cheers!

Release Day!

2011-08-10T11:16:00.001-07:00

That's right ladies and gents, The Grave Watchers has officially hit the shelves of cyber space today!

Whew

2011-08-09T13:41:00.001-07:00

Don't forget folks, tomorrow is the big day! The Grave Watchers release day that is.

Also, don't forget to check out the Torquere Press blog this evening to see my little interview.

Novellas

2011-07-31T21:57:00.000-07:00

I'm currently rolling the idea of novellas about in my mind. I've got a couple sitting fallow in the file drawers of my hard drive.

War, revenge, blood and sacrifice.

Well, and love. Decisions, decisions.

Jim Butcher Signing

2011-07-30T17:06:00.000-07:00

I attended one of Jim Butcher's signings yesterday, twas a bit of a drive, but well worth it. I love meeting other authors, and he's incredibly friendly/likeable/geeky. So, fantastic. Not only was it great as a fan, but it was also an interesting experience for me as an author.

Jim was very charismatic and sociable, he handled the crowd very well and answered questions easily. Sure, he's seasoned, but I hope I'd have an eighth of his cool in a similar situation, with even a fraction of the folks that showed up (and it was a lot). Sine and I lucked out by getting there early enough that we had seats in the front, (having seats at all was luck) and book-signing tickets close to the front so we could get home at a reasonable hour, as Sine dear had to work today.

I think it's important for authors to go to events like this, especially inexperienced ones, so that they can see ways of handling that sort of situation. You don't have to be a social animal as an author, but you do have to be social. The day of the hermit writer seems to be passing. Fans want to know who we are, what we do and why we do those things. It's important that we present ourselves as honestly as possible.

Sure, as a debut author and relative unknown, any bit of fame/recognition can go to my head, but I hope to stay grounded. Seeing how pessimistically optimistic I am, I'm not too worried.

Any who, it was lots of fun, and incredibly worth the drive. That, and Ghost Story (finished it today) was Amazing (capitalization intended). Jim was kind enough to sign the book for Missouri! which could be taken (per his words) as a dedication or a civil war battle cry.

Cheers.

Guest Appearance

2011-07-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

On August 9th (a day before The Grave Watchers release) I'll have a little interview up on the Torquere Press blog, Romance for the Rest of Us.

I hope everyone will check it out.

Cheers

Release Schedule

2011-07-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

The Grave Watchers is moving right along. Prefinal drafting is complete, and it's off for formatting and tweaks so it will be perfect for the August release.

I believe it will be the tenth actually.

In other news, wrapping up edits on a few other things, hoping to kick of the Year of Edits with a bang, though admittedly prepping for the purchase of a vehicle (my first car!) and the looming move has put a damper on my creativeness.

Yes, that is correct, I shall be moving in with a writer friend, in our own apartment, wherein I shall no longer live out of a suitcase! It's very thrilling. The day job is progressing well, I quite enjoy it, and I look forward to my new adventures as a practical adult. It's all very new and shiny, while at the same time old hat.

Cheers.

Shifting Steam

2011-06-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

Submitted my Shifting Steam short for that anthology. *fingers crossed* A thank you goes out to my beta readers today. You are all amazing!

In other news, I'm still mashing away at the Grave Watcher's sequel, still working on the sequel to something else and enjoying a couple days with my family as they just came in from the east coast.

Also reading--lots of reading. I checked my count for the year and nearly choked. So far, this year, (counting graphic novels) I've read ninety books. (Twenty five of those (I think) were graphic novels)
No matter how you slice that, it's fair impressive. My goal was 52. Well, I think I've met that goal for the year. At the moment there are seven books on the floor waiting to be read, and I know for a fact three books are coming out this summer that I want to read.

It seems Jim Butcher is coming to my neck of the woods on his book tour, which means getting to meet him and get Ghost Story signed! I'm very excited. His full schedule is here, and really, I can't believe I got this lucky! Now to get the day off work...

Anthology

2011-06-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

I submitted my short for the Charity Sip Blitz, and am now working on a story for the Shifting Steam Anthology. Entries are due August 10th, and must be between 5-10K words. At the moment I'm shy of four thousand but the plot is outlined and I think I'll be just shy of ten thousand at the finish.

As you may have guessed, it's Shapeshifters and Steampunk. Yeah, two of my favorite things rolled up into one package! Being that I am working on a Steampunkish novel already, I decided to use the world as a setting for this short. It's a tad easier for me to write in a world where I've already established the rules of engagement.

I did have to come up with two brand new characters though, and I think they're both delightful. With any luck, they'll be delightful enough to get me into the anthology.

Charity Sips

2011-06-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

I've managed to finish my charity sip and will be submitting it this week!

Working away at the sequel to The Grave Watchers, as well as couple other things because I just don't do well working on one project at a time. My beta readers are amazing folks really!

This shall be the year of editing! Which means I'm going to be looking for a lot of beta readers, asking the ones I have to look at other projects, etcetera.

Hoping to finish Death's Children's edits and the first draft of The Night Shift so I can move on to the third book in each series.

Torquere Charity Sips Blitz

2011-06-08T17:49:00.000-07:00

Torquere is looking for short stories (sips) with the theme "Getting Better" to sell for charity. The charity in question is the It Gets Better Project (which I adore) and thus I am writing a short and submitting it in hopes of joining in the effort.

Stories should be about 4-5K and the official call/yahoo group can be found here. Full details are therein.

My short is in beta at the moment, but I'm hoping to have it submitted soon. Deadline is August 1st.

Slightly New Look

2011-05-31T19:24:00.000-07:00

Changed out the template, and VOILA! The sidebars should be easier to read now.

In other news: Queryland has begun again. I'm working with some of the amazing folks at the Absolute Write Forums to get my letter polished up--because it was horrifying--and hope to start sending it out again soon.

Also on the agenda: Still working on the sequel to The Grave Watchers, as well as a couple other projects. Edits on one, finishing two others.

This year will be the year of edits I think. I have some big overhauls coming up. Do you know how long it takes to swap the gender's of two characters? Seriously, the pronouns...ages. So there's that, amongst other things I'm tinkering with, as well as a never-ending stream of new ideas.

I've got myself a part-time job, and am enjoying it quite a bit. It let's me work with my hands, a vast improvement on past jobs in general, and on unemployment a whole lot. I would like to be dedicated just to writing, but I'm realistic about that being some ways off right now.

I believe I shall post an excerpt in a couple weeks for GW, I think, but in the mean time I should be writing a charity short story...

Cheers.

Edits, Revisions, Additions

2011-05-19T14:31:00.000-07:00

I received the revisions from my super editor this week, and because it is who I am, went through the document in a couple sittings to make the asked for and necessary changes. I'm a minimalist about that sort of thing generally, especially after something has been through several peer/personal edits already.

I think I'm happier with the novel now as it stands, but we'll see what the man with the red pen says. There could still be some tweaking to do.

In the mean time, I'm working on Death's Children, working on beta-ing a story for the person beta reading DC (she's amazingly patient I think) and am looking forward to an end of summer release for The Grave Watchers.

My dear mother has been showing the cover art off to anyone who will look at it, to which I am pleased and only slightly horrified about. I'm one of those author's that finds it difficult to let family read their work.

Hopefully I'll have more news soon, as well as a riveting article about the pistolsword!

Cover Art!

2011-05-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

And here we are! The cover art for The Grave Watchers. I'm really happy, my cover artist did a great job.

Cover Art Progress

2011-05-11T07:36:00.000-07:00

My cover artist got in touch with me, and we're making headway! I think we'll have a finished cover to show you before the end of May, I'm not going to say sooner than that, because I don't like pressuring people.

So far, it's awesome.

Win

2011-05-06T16:18:00.000-07:00

Forthcoming are a series of posts on one of my favorite subjects, history. In this case, historical weaponry and more specifically, firearms.

Until then, however, I have an announcement. I have, at last, managed to get my driver's license. I am well pleased, as it's one less thing on my to-do list interrupting my writing schedule.

I should be getting edits back at the end of the month, and around then I may fish around for a few spare readers to go over the manuscript for typos that have escaped me. Past that, I hope to have cover art and a final release date for the E-book.

Cheers.

Death's Children

2011-04-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

I'm working on a couple projects right now, Death's Children, which is being helped along by my very kind new beta reader, as well as a few odds and ends kind projects. In the spirit of the holiday, here's an excerpt from the current draft of DC for your reading pleasure.

“You think you can steal from me?” Francis Malone was a big man. He wore his pin-striped morning suit too tight and the smell of cigar smoke was all over him.

I wanted to spit on him, but the leather gag in my mouth prevented that.

“Then, you go and run your mouth. You stupid slut. You think you’d get away with that?”

I wasn’t going to cry.

“Well, when my friend is done with you, you won’t be doing any of that anymore. You’ll be nice and quiet. A pretty, pretty little doll for me to play with.”

He jerked his thumb at me, and the orderly in white came forward. I knew what the object in his hand was. An orbitoclast. For…lobotomies. I jerked against the straps of the metal chair, desperately praying that someone would come in. Anyone.

This was a hospital, surely someone would know I wasn’t a patient? Someone would help me?

The orderly pressed the point of the instrument to the corner of my eye and raised the hammer.

“You’re going to be a good girl,” Malone said.

As the orderly pounded down, I jerked, sending the spike further than intended. Then—there was nothing.

I shook my head out of the memory and gripped my legs tighter. My resurrection had healed the injuries of flesh, but my hair was still shorn by the hands of cruel men to make me look insane. I grunted, unable to take the broken silence and swung out of bed. I padded into the bathroom and opened the cupboard next to the sink. A pair of sharp scissors beckoned me from one shelf. I flicked on the light and lifted the scissors free. I took a quick look in the mirror, chewing meditatively on my lower lip for a moment.

You’re long dead Francis Malone. Long dead and you won’t control me.

I took hold of the first hank of hair and took a snip with the scissors. I took a breath, and set to work on the rest. When I was done, I set the scissors down, and at last managed to settle into a form of sleep.

Traffic Cones

2011-04-23T11:01:00.000-07:00

There is a traffic cone and it is mocking me. It's the same one every time, that cone just to the right of the point cone. Every time....

For those of you thinking I've gone crazy, let me explain. I'm talking about the maneuverability test that is required by some DMV's to get you your driver's license. I took the test for the first time yesterday and promptly hit that damn cone. The same one I'd been hitting in practice. Yeah.

So the cone and I are at war. I will say, however, that had I been practicing with correct dimensions, this would not have happened.

The dimensions for the test are as follows: A rectangular box of four cones which should be 9X20 feet and a single "point" cone with should be centered twenty feet out from the "front" of the box. (IE, you enter from the back of the box).

The wording on several websites had me thinking it was ten feet out, which completely changed what I was doing. That, and I had very little sleep the night before do to dreams that I had ... failed my driver's test. Irony. I know.

Next week. Next week. (If I keep saying it, maybe it will happen).

Sleep Meter

2011-04-05T14:01:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to announce I did in fact sleep through the night last night. My computer is currently located at the end of my bed (because I have no desk and that's where it fits) and actually fell asleep clutching my keyboard.

But I did sleep. I woke up once to shift and shove the keyboard off the bed and fell back into a dreamless wonderland.

Of course, one night's sleep does not a full recovery make so I am now starting to feel a bit achy/annoyed but I think I'll be back to my usual self in a few more days. I went to the library yesterday and picked up a few...nine...books The new Jasper Fforde, a few Terry Brooks and the rest of the Artemis Fowl novels I have yet to read. Plus some films. We have Victor/Victoria, The Searchers, The Librarian: Quest for the Spear, and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.

I managed to write 2400 words on one WIP and finished re-writing what I currently have written on Death's Children to incorporate the new back story for my new main character so I'm calling it a day on writing.

Word of the Day: Revivify [ri-viv-uh-fahy] - to restore to life; revive.

Ha Ha!

2011-04-04T01:15:00.000-07:00

I thought of titles for The Grave Watchers series!

I'm still debating to be honest

The Annals Umbra
The Skulls
The Necro Files
The Dead Files
Deadman Diaries

Any and all input with be appreciated.

Word of the Day: Osculate [os-kyuh-leyt] - to come into close contact or union.

Writing!

2011-04-03T08:35:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that's it been a week since I slept more than five hours at a time (or at night) I've managed to write. I'm working on Death's Children, which should be the sequel to The Grave Watchers. (I need a name for this series.)

So, in the spirit of sharing, there's a short excerpt of the first chapter after the jump. Enjoy.

Word of the Day: Solidus [sol-i-duhs] (n) : technical name for the slash (/) punctuation mark.

Death's Children : Chapter 1
Augustine.

            A heartbeat. I could hear a heartbeat. My very own heartbeat. It pounded faster and faster. My lungs burned with new breath. My muscles ached. But it was my heartbeat that made it all wrong. It beat. My heart shouldn’t be beating. It was wrong. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t alive.

            But my heart was beating.

            I opened my eyes and I could see. And what I saw sent raw emotion rushing through every thread of me. It was unlike any emotion I’d ever felt. Stronger. Quicker.

            It was rage.

            I sat up, muscles aching and bones creaking with life. I hadn’t moved in so long. I felt the cold of the orbitoclast still stuck through my eye. I grabbed hold of the smooth handle and drew it out like a knight unsheathing his sword. The man stood, facing away from me. His dirt covered shirt offended me. How dare he? How dare he? He wasn’t watching. He didn’t see me.

            He had to see me. He had to know why he was going to die.

            “Hey, asshole.”

            He turned around, eyes widening with something like fear, something like awe. I’d never hurt anyone in my life. But rage was in control now. The disgust. I stabbed him in the throat. He drowned in blood. Gurgling like a fish before his knees shook him to the floor and he died there in his own blood—jerking against the floor just as I had when I died.

            I clutched the cold medical instrument tight and stared at the blood before retching spasms threw me to the floor. I wanted to crawl into a grave. I wanted to rest again. But there was something else, another emotion. I think it could have been passion. It could have been—

            “Hello Augustine.” It was a woman’s voice. Cold and soft like a cat come out of the snow. I turned, fighting to rise. She was so pale, and her eyes—her eyes held wonders and horrors. There was never a face more beautiful.

            “Who are you?”

            “I have many names. What do you want to call me?”

            In truth, in truth I knew who she was. She was Death. The lady death. “Lady Death. You are Lady Death.”

            She smiled, “I think I’m going to like you Augustine. A man will be here soon to get you cleaned up and settled.”

            “Settled? I am dead. I—” I looked around the cabin, staring at the floor with its disturbed boards and the dirt moved. Where I’d been buried, dropped into the ground like garbage. The wood had been fresh when I had died, not so now. How long had I been in the grave? I had flashes of memory, things I had seen or heard. Voices echoing above me. People walking on the floor but…had I been trapped there? Had I been in Hell?

            “But you feel something else, don’t you?”

            That strangeness in the pit of my stomach. Lingering emotion. “Something after the rage…something after the disgust. I don’t know.”

            “It is the calling. You rose because you are one of mine. A child of Death. It is your duty to protect the resting dead. To aid the restless and keep the worlds separate.”

            Duty. Passion. Calling…no. Purpose. I had purpose. Purpose in death I never had in life. “Purpose. You have given me purpose.”

            She nodded, “That’s right.” Her eyes flickered to the door and she smiled. “Ah, here he is.” She sighed softly, “Take care.”

            She was gone. Like fog burned away by the morning sun.

            “You must be Augustine Fluhr,” a man entered the cabin—through the door. He was tallish, handsome. Hair gold and curly, eyes brilliant blue. He smiled, revealing amazingly white teeth. “I’m Sebastien Crowle. We should hurry; the police will be here soon. Believe me, you don’t want them to find you covered in blood with a dead body on the floor.” He sounded like one speaking from experience. What kind of man did that make him?

            He took my hand, “Everything is going to be all right.”

            For some reason, I believed him.

One of the Other Dwarves...

2011-04-01T15:34:00.000-07:00

So I'm currently a combination of Sleepy, Grumpy, and Dopey. I've never had insomnia this bad, so it's sort of beating the hell out of me. Really, I ache all over and I'm starting to think the lamps are talking about me behind my back.

All right, the sleep deprivation hasn't resulted in auditory hallucinations yet, but I'm starting to wonder.

You would think I'd have gotten writing done, but seeing as all I and my body (as evidenced by the achy-ness) wants to do is sleep and possibly eat on occasion, that hasn't happened. Which is disappointing on another level as I have anime to watch (Trigun, lent to me by Sine (her name has an accent over the i I can't seem to put on here, and is pronounced She - nah) and currently unwatched. I haven't ever watched it so...) and a pair of library books. The first being Magical Kingdom for Sale, Sold! by Terry Brooks, one of the Landover novels. Oddly enough, I have read one of them, Tanglebox, which is like, the fourth book. Silly me never went back and read the others so I'm trying to remedy that.

The other is Bloodhound, the second Beka Cooper book by Tamora Pierce. Despite the fact that I am no longer a teenager, I still read them.

Yesterday morning/lunch I went and saw Sucker Punch. I was pleased to see, after, that my friends were just as unsure as I was. It is, undeniably a stunning film from visual and technical aspects. It has very neat transitions, I think it was well written and well acted.

I'm just not sure if I liked it. Seeing as I was the only sleep deprived one in the group, I thought perhaps it was altered state of mind, but the others were of the same frame and we tend to agree on films. (Not always though, there is the issue my love for John Wayne and adult comedies of the Hangover variety which Sine finds to be weird). I think I'll have to watch it again to make any cohesive decision.

Word of the Day: Somnolent [som-nuh-luhnt] - sleepy, drowsy. Tending to cause sleep.

Sneezy

2011-03-29T18:21:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day I will call Spring, because it is the day my allergies have determined to make me miserable. In addition to insomnia (which has been rampant this week) I now have sneezing, ear pressure, sore throat and fuzzy headedness to deal with.

In good news, I'm still writing! I shall not let a mere attack of allergies interfere with my writing. That said, I finished a chapter of one project, and wrote a grand total of somewhere around 4K words all told on the three projects I'm working on at the moment. (Because if I don't write on all three right now, I'll get blocked on one and laze about bemoaning my lack of creativity)

Tomorrow I am quite busy, I have a job interview, because I currently cannot support myself (IE, I have no current income) and am living on a fold out futon in a guest room/office of a friend's house out of a pair of suitcases (one of which is my computer desk and made of metal. It's very awesome). I am, of course, supremely grateful for the kindness, and therefor need income to help out around the household I have become a part of.

It's a bid mad here, but that's all right. A bit of madness helps stir the creative stew pot in my brain.

In other news, The CFM (an e-zine I help edit and write the occasional article for) has obtained a delightful interview with C.E. Murphy for the May Issue, though we are still looking for more literature to put into it. Short stories, monster movie theme. The blog has more information.

Well, that's it for me today.

Word if the day: salubrious : [sa-lou-bree-us] : a food stuff of healthful nature

A Childhood Memory

2011-03-28T09:15:00.000-07:00

Dianna Wynne Jones, author of Howl's Moving Castle, The Crestomanci novels, and many more, died this Saturday.

To say this is upsetting news would be an understatement of her books' effect on me as a writer and a person. I found Dianna's books when I was a library page, just branching out from Xanth and the Forgotten Realms, to find out what YA fiction was all about. On the whole I remember being disappointed.

Until I picked up Charmed Life. That twisty, wonderfully weird book showed me another side of fantasy that has influenced me and my work to this day. I can see elements of it whenever I pick up a pen and dive into one of my own weirdly wonderful worlds.

I did not pick up Howl's Moving Castle until much later, but it renewed my interest, forgotten like so many things from my childhood, in Ms. Jones' books.

It's difficult to know how one is supposed to act, having never met the woman or corresponded in any way, but every single person who read one of her books got to know her at least a little bit, and I for one will miss her wit and I know the community as a whole will do the same.

Is it odd, that my first thought was, I wish she'd had just one more match?

Working

2011-03-22T23:42:00.000-07:00

A question was recently asked of me. Are you planning on doing a series? Well, the answer is, yes. I started writing a companion novel to the one I've been contracted for about...a year ago. I just never finished it for various reasons.

So, I'm working on that right now, because I need to be working and while the other book I'm working on wants to be written as well, I just don't have the spark for it at this very moment. So I'll work on both and we'll see where I get.

Word of the Day: loquacious [loh-kwey-shuhs] - talkative

Cartoon of the Day: No Work for You - So You're a Cartoonist by Tom Preston

He Does Exist!

2011-03-16T15:23:00.000-07:00

On my way home from le Taco Hut (the shrimp tacos are actually not bad, but my real reason was cinnamon twists. I love them.) I realized something quite astonishing.

Santa is real!

I made this realization after remembering what it was I wrote to Santa and asked for (yes, I did write to Santa this year. I was feeling a tad...desperate) and subsequently then realized that I got what I asked for. Now before you question my sanity and attribute this gift to say, a family member, I got my gift after Christmas. Which, according to my internal thought engine, makes more sense. After all, Santa is a very busy man.

What is it that I asked for? A publishing contract. Yes. I really went there. Seeing as I now have one, that can only mean that Santa, is in fact, real. And none of you naysayers shall change my mind.

Comic of the Day: So You're a Cartoonist: Missing Out

Word of the Day: paphian /PAY fee en/ adj - Having to do with illicit love; pertaining to harlots; licentious; lewd.
(Reference: Depraved and Insulting English)

Movie I Want to See: Sucker Punch

Fun Time, Lollipops and Rainbows Everywhere....

2011-03-14T17:54:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I don't remember the rest of that song. I'm done fiddling with the look of my blog(I think) as I finally got it to the 1950's Coca-Cola type look I wanted.

I may be a touch picky, but oh well.

Nearly done with all of the paperworks, and have attempted to update my LJ seeing as I haven't touched it with a ten-foot pole in...awhile. (I'll put a link to that in the sidebar, promise.)

My reading list is starting to go down. It was over a hundred books long, that's slimmed down to around...still over a hundred, but I've managed to read a good amount of them. Currently I have two books from the library and oh...fifteen books from a friend of mine, in a stack next to my computer.

I will get to them, probably. Her last book suggestion was Lynn Flewelling's Nightrunner series, which I now own in near entirety and adore, truly. I believe I've read up to White Road, which might even be the most recent novel in the series. Prior to that she suggested the Wraethu books, with despite my best intentions I can never get into the mood to read.

As a writer of novels with gay characters and romance, it's not the transgender/non-human weirdness that's putting me off. I just really don't like future Earth set things. I never have. I have a thing about time travel novels as well, but that is solely on the shoulders of The Anubis Gates, which I read a couple years ago out of curiosity. I did finish it, but the unsettling nature of the finish was brought back into focus for me recently after finishing a series I'd been reading for the past couple years.

It left me with the same aftertaste of, "What the hell was that?" Though to a worse extent than The Anubis Gates, which at least managed to make sense despite it's twisty plot works.

The first novel on the pile of paperbacks from my friend is Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner, which I do want to read now that I know it has something to do with another book of hers I quite enjoyed Privilege of the Sword. In the meantime though, I'm busy writing.

Because really, I should be writing.

Comic of the Day: SATW Raising Children

Word of the Day:: Lairwite /LAIR white/ n : A fine formerly levied for adultery.
Reference: Depraved and Insulting English - by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea

Movie I'd Like to See: Conan the Barbarian

Tools

2011-03-12T14:32:00.000-08:00

So You're a Cartoonist?

Tools of the trade. My tools include my Wacom tablet, a pencil/pen and whatever paper I have handy. I use GIMP, Corel Painter Essentials, SAI, Photoshop Essentials and whatever else I have lying around.

Yes, I do art. I write. It's kind of a big deal.

Writing usually happens on a keyboard these days, though I also write out by hand. I prefer graph paper and a liquid ink pen.

I'm a touch picky about my pens. A touch.

Here's Sebastien, the MC from my recently contracted novel, The Grave Watchers. More news will come as I have it. Cheers!

More News

2011-03-11T10:12:00.000-08:00

Though the title of this blog post says more news, it's in fact a misnomer. I have no news at all.

Okay, I'm screwing with you. In truth, I've signed a book contract for my very first novel! Everybody dance!

Stop dancing now. It's getting creepy.

Here's another webcomic I'm a fan of.
So You're a Cartoonist?

Comic of the day:

Word of the day: cyaneous - dark blue; cerulean

Movie I Want to See : Limitless

Big News!

2011-03-10T13:29:00.000-08:00

I have big news. If I had any watchers I suppose that would be more important... So instead I'm going to talk about me. I love comics.

XKCD

Scandinavia and the World

And many, many others. I also enjoy movies, books and spend much of my over-rated free time looking for jobs, trying to get published and reading books/comics/and whatever magazines are foisted on me. At the moment I'm on the verge of starting First Among Sequels, by Jasper Fforde so I'll be prepared when the next book comes on this May.

Hurrah!

My favorite authors tend to be the ones that make a point to let everyone know who they are, what they're reading and how much insane crap they like. So in that grand tradition I will attempt to bring you a comic strip that amused me, a word of the day, and a film I'd like to see.

Comic Strip:

Word of the Day: gribble [grib-uhl] (Noun) - a small, marine isopod crustacean of the genus Limnoria that destroys submerged timber by boring into it.

Movie I'd Like to See: Rango

Welcome!

2011-03-07T17:49:00.000-08:00

First post...well, first off, I'm a writer. That should be the first thing said. I enjoy ice cream in winter, hot cocoa in the summer and may have lived out of a suitcase for a touch too long for my own well being.

More importantly, I now have a closet! This was a fantastic accomplishment, really.

That makes no sense out of context I am certain.