Camp NaNo and Muse and more

The week has not been great overall, but the writing is going well. Resurrection: Chance and Change is up to 28k. This is a Science Fiction tale and though I suspect the first part is to 'introvert' heavy with the characters, I can fix the problem later. My goal is to have 90k for the book, and I hope to have all of it written in June. We'll see if I can do it because I do have other things going on. I have a good outline for it, though the current chapter has gone far off of it. I'll be back in the next chapter, though.

But then I always have other things to do, don't I?

I am also cleaning up and editing Muse, a novel originally published in the Holly Lisle Store. This is an absolutely just for fun novel and it's been interesting to edit it and update it a bit (Palms to Smart Phones, etc.). Here's a little snippet:

"This is a real mess. We've had flooding in town before, but never anything threatening for days on end, and where there's so much trouble elsewhere in the area we can't even count on help from the outside. It's frightening to realize how much depends on a few bags of sand. I feel as though there can't be enough sand in the universe to keep us safe."

"Sand is finite," Killian agreed, brushing a few grains from his shirt sleeve and onto the table. They could hear Alain get out of the shower. "And with so many other towns in need of the bags --"

"I suppose sand is finite," Parka said suddenly. "Or can you count something constantly in the act of creation as limited?"

"Finite resources from which to create sand," he said. Alain looked in at them, shook his head, and went toward the front of the house instead. "So there can only be a limited number of grains in the world, even if everything changed to sand."

"Why are we limiting our definition to earth?" she asked with a grin.

"Because it would be very hard to get sand bags brought in from Alpha Centauri just now?" Killian offered.

"Well yes, but . . . if space is infinite, then there are infinite worlds and infinite grains of sand -"

"Not all worlds will have sand, at least not in a form we would call sand. But if you are going to go with the infinite universe theory, why not go with the infinite alternate Earths theory instead?"

"Oh! Good point! That one works much better --"

"I hate to interrupt such a mind-boggling, intelligent conversation," Alain said, coming back to the archway between the kitchen and dining room. "But I thought you would like to know there are a couple wackos heading for the door, Parka."

For the rest of the week. . . .

Let's talk about rudeness. We're all rude at one time or another. It's part of human nature. But there appears to be some people who go out of their way to annoy others. This week, a few people are upset that I created a chat room, on the site I own, called Zette's Crazed Writing Club. This one is strictly for those of us who love to write, who enjoy talking about writing, and who are often crazed when we write (no matter what the actual word count).

There are plenty of other chat rooms on the site so if the idea and name behind this room bothers you, feel free NOT to come into that one. Simple answer. Those of us who do go to the room will most likely be writing and enjoying ourselves. If that doesn't appeal to you, fine. Stop complaining to me and being rude about it. (Yes, another email today.)

End of that rant!

I accidentally startled my oldest cat, who leapt straight up and then down on my left hand, putting a claw through the lower part of the little finger. My, that's just so much fun for typing. It's better than it was, though! The swelling has mostly gone down.

We also had to have a huge old Maple taken down this week. The tree was lovely, but parts were dying and the neighbor began to rant. This, of course, cost us a lot of money we didn't have. It also means, no matter what, Russ won't be home for our anniversary again this year. Probably wouldn't have happened anyway, but there is always that little hope. (This will be our 33rd anniversary, by the way.)

So I am throwing myself into Camp NaNo and having fun. I get to write a fun novel and it's free. I'm not going to do something like the November NaNo counts, though!

Latest Release:

A low tech, backwater world and an easy assignment. What could go wrong for one of Inner World Council Security's top agents?

Humans hiding secrets are always dangerous.

Devlin's Team, File 1: Dancer

Friday Snippet

I'm late tonight. Russ and I went out for a very late dinner. It was an unintentional celebration -- it wasn't until we were talking about how strange life has gotten that I realized we had moved in together thirty years ago on May 1st. We married a year later in June.

We laughed about some things. (For some reason, he'd seemed to think my saying that I'm not hard to live with was very funny. We may have to discuss that some time.) We had a serious discussion about how difficult things have gotten over the last few years since he can't find a full time job. We're holding on, but there are times when it's difficult.

But we left holding hands and drove home. I've been working on getting the 2YN class stuff done, and now I'll post just a little bit of the story that still isn't done. No Beast So Fierce is now somewhere around 22,000 words. I can see the ending at least, though I'm still not certain how long it will take me to get there.

Here's a little tidbit. Bancroft is someone who is an unwilling ally, and who doesn't really trust Toli or Del all that much.


***


"We need to know where they are taking the others," I finally said, and he looked my way, glaring. "Until then, all we have is my word, Bancroft. Would you really go in and try to arrest these ten on my word alone? On my word and Del's trust in me? That's all it's ever been. I could not go to authorities without anything concrete. I had hoped to get more by following them."


"Why? Why do you follow them? What does it matter to you?"


"It's always mattered to me," I said. "It's what I do, Bancroft, for much the same reason you do your work, and why Del is so good at her own."


"I don't trust people who work outside the law."


"Except for Del," I said.


He turned that glare on me again, but I had made my point. And I really didn't think we had time to sit around debating this. I had, finally, a plan.


"We need bait," I said and lifted the knife I'd used for dinner.


"Toli, don't --"


I slashed along the inside of my palm -- not very deep, and just a quick sting. It bled. I nodded to Del, who had gone white, and Bancroft who looked startled. I wrapped the cloth napkin around it, though not so tight that the blood didn't seep through.


"Let me get to them before you follow," I said, starting to stand.


"Toli --"


"Watch the group, Bancroft," I said, looking at him. "You'll at least get an idea of which ones to keep an eye on."


"Damn."


I nodded, and turned away, crossing toward the men's room. I wound my way right past the table of vamps, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw all their heads turn toward me as they picked up the scent of fresh blood. I caught myself on the arm of one, leaving a taint of blood there.


"Sorry," I said, and hurried on.


I heard their breaths catch, and chairs move as I went past. I didn't look back to see who followed me, for good or bad.




Once upon a time, in the age of gilded glory that gave us Raphael and Michelangelo, I had gotten careless and... well, stupid. I had been hunting a clan of vampires for a decade -- an unusually cagey group with a bit more smarts than most. They traveled a great deal, and in those days it was easy to slip from place to place without drawing attention. We all traveled. I still missed so slow, leisurely trips where boats plied the Mediterranean, slipping into a new port each night, and sailing again with the dawn.


Ah, but the tale.


I decided the best way to finally trap the vampires was to set myself up as bait. I cut myself in the leg -- not deep, but enough that I cursed with each step, and left a thin line of blood from the edge of an alley where I knew they were sometimes seen and off into the dark of the night.


They came for me. They came in force, and the numbers doubled as other local vampires joined them, and I learned for the first time that my blood was not quite like that of other humans. They had always come to me before, but I had not considered it more than normal. I had not hunted vampires in this largue a group, either. Now I saw something different. The scent of my blood drew them like a starving man to a feast.


I survived because I changed, bit and tore at everything that came near me, and finally ran. But I bled and they followed, and it was two days before I got to the Tiber River on a stormy night and swam -- upstream, not down, where they expected me. The river water diluted the scent.


I nearly died before I dragged myself out of the water -- I had to change to do it, and almost couldn't, I had lost so much strength. Oh, I thought the locals, being Roman and found of wolves in their own ways, might care for me in that form, but I needed hands to grab and drag myself out. And then I had to find and steal clothing, or else go to the wolf again -- a naked man running through the streets wasn't going to get the same reaction as a wolf.


The first cloth I found, I bound every wound I had. Then I headed out of Rome. It was nearly twenty years before I returned and finally dealt with the group, though I took it slowly this time.


I couldn't give up the hunt, you see. It's part of me... I must hunt. And so I have made a deal with the wolf and we only hunt one prey: Vampires.


And so, here I was... still on the hunt, and still doing stupid things.




"Are you hurt?" a soft, beguiling voice said next to me. They're quick and they're quiet, the vampires.

I looked back at her and offered a little smile. "Nothing serious."

"Oh, but you're bleeding," she said. The tip of her tongue came to the edge of her teeth, very nearly licking her lips. "Here, let me help."

Her long, fingered hand reached toward my wrist. I knew the kind of power in that deceptively fragile looking hand and I drew back at the last moment.

"Is he all right?" another voice asked, coming up to the other side.

They were starting to encircle me. I took a step to the side, putting the two women closer together where I could keep an eye on them. One of the males came to join them, and then another, and we were going to have quite a little crowd here soon and draw attention if they didn't move soon.

Snippet Friday!

This is from A Plague of Rats again, but earlier in the story. I hope I get a chance to work on it again!

***
Cedric The Benevolent, The Most Holy High Priest of the Ten, slammed his beefy fist down on the table top with a resounding crash that sounded like the very doors of paradise slamming shut. His bloated face, already red, had turned nearly purple, and bulging eyes fixed on the young priest across from him.

"You will be silent!" Cedric ordered, his voice a rumble of power and hatred .

"I will not."

A full twenty other priests sat at the table. They had been silent during the tirade between Cedric and Koya, but now Koya heard an audible gasp. He paid it no attention, his own gaze still fixed on the man across from him -- the Most Holy, The Most Wise... and the Most Blind. He had hoped for better.

"There is trouble coming," Koya said, and not for the first time, even in the last hour. Cedric's mouth clamped shut, but it wouldn't stay that way for long. Koya rushed forward, repeating -- all-Gods, if he repeated it enough, maybe someone would hear him. "There is a great welling of magic to the north and west, and it does not come from any good --"

"No one else has seen this trouble!" Cedric reiterated and his beady eyes nearly closed as he glared. "And we have priests always tuned to watch the Dragon Clans and the East, boy. We're not stupid."

"I never said you were. And I don't know that it's trouble from the Dragon Clans," Koya replied. That statement won a snort of derision this time. "I can't tell you exactly where or how... but the trouble is growing, leaching magic from the land, and growing stronger with each day. It pulses --"

He had lifted his hand, but at the start of a response from the Most Holy, he lowered it again. He had lost himself for a moment in the feel of that wound, growing still. It made him ill -- the more so since the Most Holy was not listening to him.

Kenning had told him it would happen this way. Kenning had said there would be problems, but he hadn't believed the man could be this blind --

"It's out there, Most Holy. It's going to be trouble, and we should prepare as best we can."

"And you -- you alone of all of us -- can feel this trouble." Cedric's fish eyes blinked in a face grown round and soft with too many easy years as the Most Holy.

"Maybe if you tried --"

"I do not take orders from a Nort bastard priest!"

Koya visibly flinched backward. He hadn't expected that attack, though he should have, he supposed. Was that the real problem here? That he came from the magic-less north, but that he had been blessed by the gods with more magic than many of the southern priests, had been a problem for him on both sides of the border. To the north he risked being killed by those who thought magic sent by demons, and to the south he found people who treated him like a demon for having been born in the north.

Cedric's taunt had not really surprised him, though he hadn't expected it so openly. It had drawn looks of shock and dismay from some of the others, though, who probably thought the Most Holy above such mundane, pettiness. All it won from Koya was a snort of disgust, and that didn't help the situation at all.

Nothing would.

"There is a problem growing," Koya said. "And if you can't feel it, that isn't my fault."

"You have come here," Cedric said and caught himself from saying something impolite again. Koya could see it in his face. "You have come here, bringing your northern ways to our temple, demanding our attention, fabricating trouble --"

Koya leaned forward. "You really can't believe --"

"You will be silent!"

So, they were back to that again, were they? Koya felt his own lips draw back in a sneer and though he saw a look of warning from Kenning, he knew it had gone beyond any hope of a quiet understanding. Though the head of the local temple, Kenning had always been at least calm in dealing with Koya over the last four years, even when he did seem to get into a lot of trouble.

Cedric leaned forward again, his right hand in a fist and pounding on the table, obviously not ready to give up his tirade, even though Koya had stopped arguing with the old fool.

"I will not have this behavior in the temple," Cedric said. "I will not have your contamination ruining the sanctity of this place. You have brought nothing but trouble --"

"I have not --"

"Silence!"

"No!"

Koya felt the anger boil up in him, a rage that he hadn't felt in years. He'd found peace here, mostly, but this damned bigoted priest stripped it all away in a meeting that had hardly taken an hour. Koya rose to his feet, and he saw priests all around the table move as though to stop him from leaping over and attacking the old fool. He had no intention of doing anything of the like. He had intended, in fact, in walking away.

"You are crippling the Temple with your bigotry. You are blind to the truth, not because you can't feel what's out there, but because you won't look."

"Only you can see this trouble? Only you have the gift? You lack the humility needed to be a true priest --"

"Well, I'm not going to learn it from you, am I?"

He heard the gasp of several people along the table, but his eyes stayed on Most Holy Cedric whose face had gone another level of red, and who, he feared, was about to have some kind of fit. All-Gods, he had not meant --

The High Priest stumbled to his feet, his mouth as though he gasped like a fish, his hands coming up in fists. Others reached for the priest to try and calm him --

And Koya realized he was in trouble just a moment too late.

The High Priest was not having a fit. His hands moved, the fists opening, and the magic swept over Koya before he could even yelp in protest, let alone bring up any kind of defense --

His legs gave way and he tried to grab at the chair, but he tangled in his own robes. He fell, his head swimming, the world moving out from under him. More priests shouted, but Most Holy was louder than any of them.

"I will not be insulted by norter rabble! I will not have this piece of trash, flung out from his own people, to curse us -- "

"Sir -- Most Holy --" Kenning protested.

"I will teach the bastard humility!"

They were drawing the Most Holy away, his white robe conspicuous in the cloud of sky blue priest's robes. Koya could hear them going, could see the robes and sandaled feet heading away toward the distant door, voices soothing the Most Holy as they led him out of the room, and left him lying their on the floor, stunned, hurt, angry and very much afraid.

Koya tried to sit up, and got part way before his right arm gave way with an agonizing pain that left him hissing for breath. But he tried again, and fell. And again --

"Careful, careful," Kenning said as he knelt beside Koya and helped him sit up. "You fool -- didn't I tell you not to annoy the Most Holy? Didn't I tell you it would land you in trouble?"

Friday Snippet

This is a section from A Plague of Rats

I posted an earlier section a while back but I haven't had time to work much on the story since then!


Slade looked back at Malin, the rune in his hand. "I'm going to try to call a fox, but I don't know if it will work. I'll have to do it softly, because there's something else out there that might hear the magic, and I don't want to draw it. If it does come, the fox and I may talk for awhile, but it will mostly look like we're just staring at each other and making odd noises."

"I'll be still, sir," Malin said. He thought he saw something unexpected in Malin's face just then -- a little curiosity and a touch of excitement.

He hoped this worked.

Slade tried to settle more comfortably on the ground, sitting cross-legged and cupping the rune in his hand. The first step had to be forcing calm into his thoughts, and he did that with relative ease this time. It must have been the exhaustion.

Next he had to think himself into fox terms. He had to see the world through a fox point of view... low to the ground, not bound to trails, the scent of life everywhere. Slade carefully reached out, first toward the camp of the enemies, hoping to find something along the way... but he dared not go too closely in that direction. So he turned from the northeast to the east, and moved slowly, slowly along the ground. It was long, tedious work, even though he didn't stretch out more than four miles.

The day was passing into twilight.

And he found the fox. It startled them both.

"Come to me, friend fox," he said aloud, his voice a mere whisper. It helped him to concentrate, though, after nearly losing the touch in that moment of surprise. "Come to me. I wish only to converse."

The fox didn't want to leave off his hunt. Food had been scarce with the others here.

"I wish to know about the others."

A feeling of revulsion, a hint of fear... and the fox turned and started darting through the brush, heading straight for him. Slade wanted to tell Malin, but he didn't dare let go of the little thread that brought the fox to him. He only gave a nod, and hoped Malin understood.

The fox came quickly, at least. In due time the brush beside the tree parted and a fox, molting from winter grey to red, stepped out into the small trail. He spotted Malin, and his head went down and his back up.

Friend. A boy. No harm.

Priest.

Not him. But me.

Others.

I wish to know the others. I wish to see them.

It might have been too many words for the poor fox, who made a yipping sound of annoyance. Malin apologized without words, and then carefully, with the rune still in his hand, laid his fingers on the fox's head.

It wasn't pleasant to try and fit human thoughts around fox perceptions. He could see things differently, and he could sense things that were not natural to his world. It made understanding what the fox had seen an annoying mishmash of information that was not important to him.

Except the fox had been hiding in the bush when the enemy went by.

He caught onto that memory and watched -- the tramp of feet mostly... but there, the blue of a soiled robe. The fox looked up at the priest, feeling a bit of kinship with the person who went by. Koya was on his own feet, but looking haggard, bruised and miserable.

And just behind him walked someone from a Dragon Clan. At first Slade thought that meant the others were Dragon Clan as well -- but no, they were human and northers from the looks of it. Another prisoner. Perhaps it was that touch of magic that Slade could feel, out of place and unsettling --

Not.

And then, just off the side of the trail, came something else.

Huge, earth-colored, a face that turned toward them -- not right and it startled Slade out of his contact with the fox, who yipped and whined, and then quickly retreated again.

He sagged back against the tree, trembling and not certain if that came from exhaustion, the work, or what he had seen. It had been a nightmare, that creature.

"Slade?" Malin asked very softly.

"We have a problem, Malin. The northers are traveling with something... something magical, and out of place, and I don't even know what it was. But I did see Koya, briefly, in their ranks. And another prisoner, it seems. Someone of the Clans."

"Making enemies of everyone."

There was an interesting observation, and Slade gave the boy a quick nod of agreement as he tried to pull back his thoughts and figure out what they should do next. The thing was what he could feel in the woods, full of latent power, darker and tainted with blood. Not the blood of the hunt, a normal feel... but of something given to him. Sacrificed.

They had to reach Koya and get him out of there.