It's Mid-Year Verification Time over at NaNoWriYe, and since I managed to miss the other verifications, I knew I needed to get in on this one. So I spent the last hour attempting to compile my writings for the year.
I really should just stick to one story.
Quite a few of them were easy. I use a marathon template that I picked up somewhere online to keep track of how much I write and on what everyday. I just added up what I had written on a story and copy/pasted the words. Easy. And I was able to remember what I had typed "recently" (that being a fairly loose term, but this year), doubly confirming.
Ironically enough, it's the stories that I've started this year that I'm having trouble with. Namely, Speed Demon (almost done!) and Adwen, mostly the third book in the trilogy. (That whole trilogy/not is too complicated to explain just now.) They just don't want to add up. Now I know I've written so many words on each, because I started them this year. But it doesn't add up to what I have in my word count table.
From now on, I am so dumping everything I write in a nice Word document for future verification. And if I ended up with 1000 more words in my verification then I thought I had, I'll live.
So dumping writings....
Shine~Ley
Monday, June 30, 2008
Words
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Molech Prophecy by Thomas Phillips
Very good one, The Molech Prophecy. Not a dig-your-fingers-into-the-chair-and-don't-let-go suspense (gotta love that descriptive), but very, very good. Really more of a mystery... Anyway, I'll try not to wander down the genre road, as there's no tellin' when I'll wander back.
It's a galley issue, which admittedly, got me all excited. My first. It's got pretty warnings all over it about reveiwing purposes only. Fun. But...
Okay, The Molech Prophecy as I said, is a very good book. Definately a keeper. I loved Tommy. (That's the main dude's name. I know, you don't find out til chapter 2.) He's honest. I don't mean never tell a lie honest. He tells a few lies. But he's honest to his friends, and to himself. He can admit when he needs help.
This was the first book I've read that's involved Wicca. (Yeah, yeah, I didn't read the back cover.) It was pretty cool. I'm one of those curious types who wants to know the why and how of everything, so the peek in the back door was interesting. And how it twisted into the plot.... Nice. :)
I know I'm a horrible reviewer or whatever (The reason I state explicitly whether I like it or not. I'm afraid people won't be able to tell my actual opinion from my rambling words.), but let's just say I'm looking forward to some more books from Thomas Phillips, and leave it at that.
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and his book:
Whitaker House (July 1, 2008)
Thomas Phillips grew up with a reading disability. He did everything possible not to read. It wasn't until he was in seventh grade that he finally read a book from cover to cover. Now a voracious reader and prolific writer, Phillips uses his accomplishments as a motivational backdrop for speaking at school assemblies.Born and raised in Rochester, New York, Phillips has worked as a freelance journalist and currently works full time as an employment law paralegal. When he isn't writing, Phillips plays his guitar, is active in his church, coaches his children's Little League team, and plots his next story. The Molech Prophecy is his first published Christian novel.
Visit him at his MySpace, ShoutLife, and blog.
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter OneThe first things I noticed when I pulled into the church parking lot were the two police cars. Instinct wanted to kick in, but I stopped myself from turning my car around. The police weren’t there for me—couldn’t be there for me. I’d done nothing wrong. I wasn’t the same man. My days of running from the police had ended when I became a Christian. I reminded myself of this simple fact and felt a grin play across my lips. Thankfully, my days of running from the police ended four years ago.
On any given Sunday, I have come to expect many things from Faith Community Church. And why not? I have been attending weekly services for years. I expect smiles from Faith’s Greet Team—from those helping direct cars in the parking lot to those handing out programs and pencils at the sanctuary doors. I expect powerful worship music, a variety of jokes from Pastor Ross—some funny, some not so funny—and I expect, each week, a message that will impact the way I live the rest of my life.
But what I did not expect this morning was what I saw next: the complete defacing of the church building. Black spray paint covered the pecan-colored bricks in horrific graffiti.
After parking, I sat silently in the car, taking it all in. A large pentagram—an encircled, upside-down, five-pointed star—was displayed at the center of it all. Painted on every other available surface were words like “Death,” “Die,” “Faggots,” “Hypocrites,” and “God Is Dead.”
Seeing all of the graffiti felt like a punch to the gut. Faith Community was like my second home; the people who attended were like my second family. It was impossible not to take this attack personally.
Slowly, I climbed out of the car, ignoring the early November morning chill. The wind blew relentlessly all around me, howling and moaning as if it too was furious and saddened and confused by the desecration.
Other cars pulled into the lot. The people get-ting out of them emerged as slowly as I must have. I could see the stunned expressions on their faces—dropped jaws and wide eyes that surely matched my own.
Who would vandalize a church like this? I wondered as I walked toward the entrance. As I stopped in front of the pentagram and took in the mess that attempted to dirty my church, I realized that who-ever did this was hurting—hurting badly. That thought did not stifle the anger—the righteous anger—I felt boiling deep inside.
I nodded a grim good morning to the greeter who held the front door open as I walked into the church. The atrium is usually packed with people mingling before the start of the service. Free coffee, hot cocoa, and doughnuts set out on a table each and every week encourage people to arrive early for fellowship.
This morning, however, only a few people lin-gered in the atrium. Whispers were all I heard. As I entered the sanctuary I saw that this was where everyone had gathered. I usually sit toward the back, far right, as if there were assigned seating. The things I’d seen outside left me feeling hollow and alone. Today, I sat closer to the front, middle row.
I nodded hello to people here and there. Many sat with heads bowed, deep in prayer. I decided praying would be a good use of the extra time before the service.
I tried to cope with a flood of mixed emo-tions, such as anger, sadness, confusion, disbelief, and then, once again, anger. Instead of praying, questions ended up filling my mind: Who could do such a thing? Why would someone do such a thing? How are we going to get that filth off the bricks? If I ever get my…. I broke off the last thought before it got out of hand. I’m in a church, I reminded myself. There is no place for thoughts like that, but especially not in a church.
The service did not start the way services nor-mally did. The church band usually opened wor-ship with a fast-tempo song, one that got those present up on their feet, clapping and singing along, and one that brought those lingering in the atrium into the sanctuary.
Today, in dead silence, Senior Pastor Ross Lobene walked out and stood center stage, grip-ping the podium. He seemed at a loss for words. I think he knew what he wanted to say but was afraid that if he tried speaking too soon, he might lose his composure. I wouldn’t blame him.
As usual, roughly two thousand people filled most of the available seats. Two large projection screens hung on the wall at either side of the stage. Both showed a close-up of the pastor’s face. He could not hide his red eyes—or stop his quivering lips.
Pastor Ross opened a Bible, and when he finally started to speak, his voice was weak and shaky, as if he were on the verge of crying. “I want to read Matthew, chapter five, verses ten through twelve: ‘God blesses those who are persecuted for doing right, for the Kingdom of heaven is theirs. God blesses you when people mock you and persecute you and lie about you and say all sorts of evil things against you because you are my followers. Be happy about it! Be very glad! For a great reward awaits you in heaven. And remember, the ancient prophets were persecuted in the same way.’”
He bowed his head.
I felt sorrowful pain in my chest.
“Shock. Pure shock,” Pastor Ross said. “You don’t think stuff like this will happen here. It will happen elsewhere, like in run-down, gang-ridden areas, so we think. But from what I know of human nature, it happens everywhere, because people can be dark-hearted everywhere. God is always in con-trol, and He wants us to learn to deal with prob-lems in God-honoring ways. I have come to realize through this incident, and through other incidents that have occurred in our church family, that our enemy, Satan, attacks those churches that are a threat to him and his evil ways.”
I nodded in agreement, listening intently and watching as Pastor Ross released his white-knuck-led grip on the podium and began to come into his own. He paced back and forth on the stage, addressing the congregation, righteous fire heating this impromptu sermon.
“Jesus tells us in Revelation three, verses four-teen through seventeen, that He will spit out of His mouth the church whose people are lukewarm in their faith, because they are neither hot nor cold. It is my desire for Faith Community Church to be a church that is hot, making a difference for Christ and His kingdom in Rochester and the surround-ing area.”
As Pastor Ross paused, he stroked the sandy-colored goatee that covered his chin and used a handkerchief to wipe away the beads of sweat that formed on his bald head. “This, friends, this is a great opportunity for us to love our enemies as ourselves.” He pointed out at us and then pointed back at himself. “It is my desire to see everyone at Faith truly model this command from Christ and not become bitter by this incident. I pray that we have an opportunity to minister to the needs of the person or people responsible, so we can share the life-changing message of the gospel with them.
“I have known many people who have been enslaved in the bondage of satanism and witch-craft, and although the hold these things have on them is strong, it is no match for our all-powerful, all-loving God. It will take time, but if we can be models of Christ’s love to this person, I have full confidence that he will become a child of the light instead of a slave to the darkness.” A second, brief pause followed. Then Pastor Ross added, “Don’t get me wrong. I also hope that the person who did this crime is caught and processed fairly through our justice system.”
I tried to let my own anger subside. If Pastor Ross could move on, so could I. All I needed now was help unclenching my hands, which had been rolled into solid fists since the beginning of service.
Used by permission of the publisher, Whitaker House (www.whitakerhouse.com/ ). All rights reserved.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Mixed Bags by Melody Carlson
I just finished reading this one, and I must say Mixed Bags wasn't what I expected. (Mm-hmm, that's what I get for barely reading the back cover copy. Even I did do it on purpose.) That isn't to say I didn't like it. I loved it. It just wasn't what I expected.
I gotta say, I feel for DJ. I am not a fashion diva or a social butterfly. Quite the opposite really. Although neither am I a sporty tomboy. I'm rather a quite book-loving homebody. But still, it's nice to know I'm not alone. The way DJ deals with peer pressure is believable and good. She doesn't always give in, she hates it when she does, and she sticks to her convictions on the important stuff. That's a refreshing thing to see in a teen, especially one that isn't even supposed to be a Christian.
And now that... Well, I won't give away the ending, but let's just say I'm praying that my library has book 2. And if they don't... what else is ILL for? (I so take advantage of that feature. *grins*)
It's June 21st, time for the Teen FIRST blog tour!(Join our alliance! Click the button!) Every 21st, we will feature an author and his/her latest Teen fiction book's FIRST chapter!
In sixth grade, Melody Carlson helped start a school newspaper called The BuccaNews (her school’s mascot was a Buccaneer...arrr!). As editor of this paper, she wrote most of the material herself, creating goofy phony bylines to hide the fact that the school newspaper was mostly a "one man" show.Visit the Melody's website to see all of her wonderful and various book titles.
Don't miss the second book in this series: Stealing Bradford (Carter House Girls, Book 2)
And one of her latest, A Mile in My Flip-Flops will be featured on FIRST Blog Alliance on July 1st!
Product Details:
List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (May 1, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310714885
ISBN-13: 978-0310714880
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
“Desiree,” called Inez as she knocked on the other side of the closed bedroom door. “Mrs. Carter wants to see you downstairs.”“The name is DJ.”
“I’m sorry, but your grandmother has instructed me to call you Desiree.”
DJ opened the door and looked down on the short and slightly overweight middle-aged housekeeper. “And I have instructed you to call me DJ.”
Inez’s dark eyes twinkled as she gave her a sly grin. “Yes, but it’s your grandmother who pays my salary, Desiree. I take orders from Mrs. Carter. And she wants to see you downstairs in her office, pronto.”
DJ grabbed her favorite Yankees ball cap and shoved it onto her head, pulling her scraggly looking blonde ponytail through the hole in the back of it.
“You’re wearing that?” asked Inez with a frown. “You know what your grandmother says about — -”
“Look,” said DJ. “My grandmother might pay you to take orders from her, but I’m a free agent. Got that?”
Inez chuckled. “I got that. But you’re the one who’ll be getting it before too long, Desiree.”
“DJ,” she growled as she tromped loudly down the curving staircase. Why had she let Dad talk her into living with her grandmother for her last two years of high school? She’d only been here since last spring, late into the school year, but long enough to know that it was nearly unbearable. Boarding school would be better than this. At least she’d have a little privacy there and no one constantly riding her — -telling her how to act, walk, look, and think. She wished there were some way, short of running away (which would be totally stupid), out of this uncomfortable arrangement.
“There you are,” said Grandmother when DJ walked into the office. Her grandmother frowned at her ball cap and then pasted what appeared to be a very forced smile onto her collagen-injected lips. “I want you to meet a new resident.” She made a graceful hand movement, motioning to where an attractive and somewhat familiar-looking Latina woman was sitting next to a fashionably dressed girl who seemed to be about DJ’s age, but could probably pass for older. The girl was beautiful. Even with the scowl creasing her forehead, it was obvious that this girl was stunning. Her skin was darker than her mother’s, latte-colored and creamy. Her long black hair curled softly around her face. She had high cheekbones and dramatic eyes.
DJ noticed her grandmother smiling her approval on this unhappy-looking girl. But the girl looked oblivious as she fiddled with the gold chain of what looked like an expensive designer bag. Not that DJ was an expert when it came to fashion. The woman stood politely, extending her hand to DJ.
“I’d like to present my granddaughter, Desiree Lane.” Grandmother turned back to DJ now, the approval evaporating from her expression. “Desiree, this is Ms. Perez and her daughter Taylor.”
DJ shook the woman’s hand and mumbled, “Nice to meet you.” But the unfriendly daughter just sat in the leather chair, one long leg elegantly crossed over the other, as she totally ignored everyone in the room.
Grandmother continued speaking to DJ, although DJ suspected this little speech was for Taylor’s mother. “Ms. Perez and I first met when my magazine featured her for her illustrious music career. Her face graced our cover numerous times over the years. Perhaps you’ve heard of Eva Perez.”
The woman smiled. “Or perhaps not,” she said in a voice that was as smooth as honey. “According to my daughter, kids in your age group don’t comprise even a minuscule part of my fan base.”
DJ smiled at the woman now. “Actually, I have heard of you, Ms. Perez. My mom used to play your CDs. She was a serious Latin jazz fan.”
“Was?” She frowned. “I hope her taste in music hasn’t changed. I need all the fans I can get these days.”
Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree’s mother — -my daughter — -was killed in a car accident about a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
DJ sort of nodded. She never knew how to react when -people said they were sorry about the loss of her mother. It wasn’t as if it were their fault.
“Desiree,” said Grandmother, “Would you mind giving Taylor a tour of the house while I go over some business details with her mother?”
“No problem.”
Grandmother’s recently Botoxed forehead creased ever so slightly, and DJ knew that, once again, she had either said the wrong thing, used bad grammar, or was slumping like a “bag of potatoes.” Nothing she did ever seemed right when it came to her grandmother. “And after the tour, perhaps you could show Taylor to her room.”
“Which room?” asked DJ, feeling concerned. Sure, Taylor might be a perfectly nice person, even if a little snobbish, but DJ was not ready for a roommate just yet.
“The blue room, please. Inez has already taken some of Taylor’s bags up for her. Thank you, Desiree.”
Feeling dismissed as well as disapproved of, DJ led their reluctant new resident out to the foyer. “Well, you’ve probably already seen this.” DJ waved her arm toward the elegant front entrance with its carved double doors and shining marble floor and Persian rug. She motioned toward the ornate oak staircase. “And that’s where the bedrooms are, but we can see that later.” She walked through to the dining room. “This is where we chow down.” She pointed to the swinging doors. “The kitchen’s back there, but the cook, Clara, can be a little witchy about trespassers.” DJ snickered. “Besides, my grandmother does not want her girls to spend much time in the kitchen anyway.”
“Like that’s going to be a problem,” said Taylor, the first words she’d spoken since meeting DJ.
“Huh?” said DJ.
“I don’t imagine anyone is going to be exactly pigging out around here. I mean aren’t we all supposed to become famous models or something?” asked Taylor as she examined a perfectly manicured thumbnail.
DJ frowned. “Well, my grandmother did edit one of the biggest fashion magazines in the world, but I don’t think that means we’re all going to become famous models. I know I’m not.”
Taylor peered curiously at her. “Why not? You’ve got the height, the build, and you’re not half bad looking . . . well, other than the fact that you obviously have absolutely no style.” She sort of laughed, but not with genuine humor. “But then you’ve got your grandmother to straighten that out for you.”
DJ just shook her head. “I think my grandmother will give up on me pretty soon. Especially when the others get here. She’ll have girls with more promise to set her sights on.” At least that was what DJ was hoping.
“Has anyone else arrived?”
“Not yet.” DJ continued the tour. “This is the library.” She paused to allow Taylor to look inside the room and then moved on. “And that’s the sunroom, or observatory, as Grandmother calls it.” She laughed. “Hearing her talk about this house sometimes reminds me of playing Clue.”
“What?”
“You know, the murder game, like where Colonel Mustard kills Mrs. Peacock with a wrench in the observatory.”
“Oh, I never played that.”
“Right . . .” Then DJ showed Taylor the large living room, the most modern space in the house. Grandmother had put this room together shortly after deciding to take on her crazy venture. Above the fireplace hung a large flat-screen TV, which was connected to a state-of-the-art DVD and sound system. This was encircled by some comfortable pieces of leather furniture, pillows, and throws.
“Not bad,” admitted Taylor.
“Welcome back to the twenty-first century.”
“Do you have wireless here?”
“Yeah. I told Grandmother it was a necessity for school.”
“Good.”
“This house has been in our family for a long time,” said DJ as she led Taylor up the stairs. “But no one has lived here for the past twenty years. My grandmother had it restored after she retired a -couple of years ago.” DJ didn’t add that her grandmother had been forced to retire due to her age (a carefully guarded and mysterious number) or that this new business venture, boarding teen “debutantes,” was to help supplement her retirement income. Those were strict family secrets and, despite DJ’s angst in living here, she did have a sense of family loyalty — -at least for the time being. She wasn’t sure if she could control herself indefinitely.
DJ stopped at the second-floor landing. “The bedrooms are on this floor, and the third floor has a ballroom that would be perfect for volleyball, although Grandmother has made it clear that it’s not that kind of ballroom.” She led Taylor down the hall. “My bedroom is here,” she pointed to the closed door. “And yours is right next door.” She opened the door. “The blue room.”
Taylor looked into the pale blue room and shook her head in a dismal way. “And is it true that I have to share this room with a perfect stranger?”
“Well, I don’t know how perfect she’ll be.”
“Funny.” Taylor rolled her eyes as she opened a door to one of the walk-in closets opposite the beds.
“I try.”
“It’s not as big as I expected.”
“It’s bigger than it looks,” said DJ as she walked into the room and then pointed to a small alcove that led to the bathroom.
“Do I get any say in who becomes my roommate?”
“I guess you can take that up with my grandmother.”
Taylor tossed her purse onto the bed closest to the bathroom and then kicked off her metallic-toned sandals. “These shoes might be Marc Jacobs, but they’re killing me.”
“So, you’re really into this?” asked DJ. “The whole fashion thing?”
Taylor sat down on the bed, rubbing a foot. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good.”
DJ felt the need to bite her tongue. Taylor was her grandmother’s first official paying customer to arrive and participate in this crazy scheme. Far be it from DJ to rock Grandmother’s boat. At least not just yet.
“Well, thanks for the tour,” said Taylor in a bored voice. Then she went over to where a set of expensive-looking luggage was stacked in a corner. “Don’t the servants around here know how to put things away properly?”
“Properly?” DJ shrugged.
Taylor picked up the top bag and laid it down on the bench at the foot of one of the beds and opened it.
“Don’t you want to go down and tell your mom good-bye?” asked DJ as she moved toward the door.
Taylor laughed in a mean way. “And make her think she’s doing me a favor by dumping me here? Not on your life.”
“Here are some more bags for Miss Mitchell,” said Inez as she lugged two large suitcases into the room, setting them by the door.
“Put them over there,” commanded Taylor, pointing to the bench at the foot of the other bed. “And don’t pile them on top of each other. This happens to be Louis Vuitton, you know.”
DJ saw Inez make a face behind Taylor’s back. But the truth was DJ didn’t blame her. Inez might be a housekeeper, but she didn’t deserve to be treated like a slave. Suddenly, DJ felt guilty for snapping at Inez earlier today. She smiled now, and Inez looked surprised and a little suspicious. Then DJ grabbed the largest bag, hoisted it onto the bench with a loud grunt, and Taylor turned around and gave her a dark scowl.
“Thank you,” she snapped.
“Later,” said DJ as she exited the room with Inez on her heels.
“Mrs. Carter wants to see you downstairs, Desiree,” announced Inez when they were out on the landing.
“Again?” complained DJ. “What for?”
“Another girl just arrived. Your grandmother wants you to give her a tour too.”
“What am I now?” asked DJ. “The official tour guide?”
“That sounds about right.” Inez gave her a smirk.
DJ wasn’t sure if she could stomach another fashion diva with an attitude problem, but on the other hand, she didn’t want to risk another etiquette lecture from her grandmother either. Once again, she clomped down the stairs and made her appearance in the office, suppressing the urge to bow and say, “At your ser-vice, Madam.”
“Eliza,” gushed Grandmother, “This is my granddaughter, Desiree Lane. And Desiree, I’d like you to meet Eliza Wilton.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Desiree.”
DJ nodded. She could tell by how formal her grandmother was acting that Eliza Wilton must be someone really important — -meaning extraordinarily wealthy — -even more so than the Mitchells. And that’s when she remembered her grandmother going on about “the Wilton fortune” this morning at breakfast. Of course, that must be Eliza’s family.
“Nice to meet ya, Eliza,” DJ said in a purposely casual tone. This girl was pretty too, but not like Taylor’s dark and dramatic beauty. Eliza was a tall, slender, impeccably dressed, blue-eyed blonde. She wasn’t exactly a Paris Hilton clone — -and she didn’t have a little dog as far as DJ could see — -but there was a similarity, except that Eliza’s face was a little softer looking, a little sweeter, but then looks could be deceiving.
DJ wondered if the Botox was starting to wear off, as her grandmother studied her with a furrowed brow, probably comparing her to Miss Perfect Eliza. Naturally, DJ would not measure up.
“Eliza is from Louisville,” said Grandmother. “Her parents are presently residing in France, where her father just purchased a vineyard. But Eliza’s grandmother and I are old friends. We went to college together. When she heard about what I was doing up here in Connecticut, she encouraged her daughter to send dear Eliza our way.”
“Lucky Eliza,” said DJ in a droll tone.
Eliza actually giggled. Then Grandmother cleared her throat. “Desiree will give you a tour of the house,” she said. “And she’ll show you to your room.”
“Which is . . . ?” asked DJ.
“The rose room.”
Of course, thought DJ as she led Eliza from the office. Next to her grandmother’s suite, the rose room was probably the best room in the house. Naturally, someone as important as Eliza would be entitled to that. Not that DJ had wanted it. And perhaps her grandmother had actually offered it to her last month. DJ couldn’t remember. But she had never been a flowery sort of girl, and she knew the rose wallpaper in there would’ve been giving her a serious migraine by now. Besides she liked her sunny yellow bedroom and, in her opinion, it had the best view in the house. On a clear day, you could actually glimpse a sliver of the Atlantic Ocean from her small bathroom window.
DJ started to do a repeat of her earlier tour, even using the same lines, until she realized that Eliza was actually interested.
“How old is this house?”
“Just over a hundred years,” DJ told her. “It was built in 1891.”
“It has a nice feel to it.”
DJ considered this. “Yeah, I kinda thought that too, after I got used to it. To be honest, it seemed pretty big to me at first. But then you’re probably used to big houses.”
“I suppose. Not that I’m particularly fond of mansions.”
“Why aren’t you with your parents?” asked DJ. “In France?”
“They’re concerned about things like politics and security,” said Eliza as they exited the library. “In fact, they almost refused to let me come here.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I think they felt I was safer in boarding school. If our grandmothers hadn’t been such good friends, I’m sure they never would’ve agreed.”
“So, you’re happy to be here?” DJ studied Eliza’s expression.
“Sure, aren’t you?”
DJ frowned. “I don’t know . . . I guess.”
“I think it’ll be fun to go to a real high school, to just live like a normal girl, with other normal girls.”
DJ tried not to look too shocked. “You think this is normal?”
Eliza laughed. “I guess I don’t really know what normal is, but it’s more normal that what I’m used to.”
“But what about the whole fashion thing?” asked DJ. “I mean you must know about my grandmother’s plans to turn us all into little debutantes. Are you into all that?”
“That’s nothing new. Remember, I’m from the south. My family is obsessed with turning me into a lady. That was one of the other reasons my parents agreed to this. I think they see the Carter House as some sort of finishing school.”
Or some sort of reformatory school, thought DJ. Although she didn’t say it out loud. Not yet, anyway.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Summer Is Here...
Spring is over. I feel sad. I miss it already. Why people like summer is totally beyond me. But anyway, with the beginning of summer come the end of SRT. Which means a post! (Be happy, my minions!)
First of all, no I didn't finish all of my books. And I feel horrible. Just not horrible enough to do anything about it. Yet anyway. Don't worry. They'll all get read eventually, as they hit the "two-week" stack. My complete list, showing the ones I've read as marked with a ~, is here. But still, I feel I've got to explain Anna K. See, I started it, read 10 chapters, even liked what I read! (Oblonsky is a jerk and Levin is cool. *smiles*) But my history books are starting to become threatening in their assertions that they be read. Now. I just don't have the time or willpower to read it right now. Mom talked me out of it, so I don't feel guilty.
I always fail miserably at talking myself out of things, because obviously, I am completely biased. I don't want to do it, therefore I have to do it, because it be unfair not to. Make sense?
But Mom talking me out of it? Well, she's not near so biased as I am, and she puts up some good arguements. And really, I'm not going to talk back to my mom, now I am?
Anyway, if my fall isn't too busy, it'll probably go on the fall reading list. *shrugs*
If I had to pick a single favorite book from this challenge, it would probably be.... hmm... Leaper. It was funny, and I love my rather twisted sense of humor. The electronics store scene... *giggles* Yes, I love comedy, but it was the ending on this one that really cinched it. If you haven't read it, my gosh, do. It's amazing. And it'll certainly make you think.
Hmmm. I'll admit, there really wasn't much on this list that wasn't me. My type of book, you know? Maybe Anna K, which as I said, surprised me. (I really will get back to this book.) Also The Honorable Imposter, as it's really not my time period or location. I've just heard too much American history overall I guess. It's never interested me much. I like ancient history. Greece, especially. *sighs* But really, anything European before the 15th century is good. But Morris's was really good. Surprised me in a good way. And rather different way than Anna K did. But whatever.
Challenges like this have never actually helped me read more books. I really read too much already to up the ante. They help me read specific books. But this year I have been reading more than is my wont. And it wasn't because of SRT. If you really want to know about that, you can read about my Stack. But I'll warn you, it's dangerous. The history books, as I mentioned are nearing mutiny, the two-weeks are frustrated at being mixed in with others not of their status (though really they have no grounds for complaint any longer, since most of my history books just got their four-week notice), and the remaining SRT books? I think they're mostly just grateful to be off the hook, though they're feigning disappointment. Appearances, you know.
Truthfully, though. Even that's getting better. I wouldn't say winding down, but it's better. I'm alive, I'm reading. Can we honestly hope for more?
Anyway, now that I've rambled on about nonsense for awhile, I think it's time to wrap this up! I give my vote in the affirmative for a Fall Into Reading challenge, and sign off with blessings.
Shine everyone.
(They're watching. *grins*)
~Ley
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Ancestors and Anna
I've been interested in genealogy for a few years. Yesterday I finally downloaded a program called Family Tree Builder. Wow. Nice. My favorite button so far is one called "Manage Spouses". You can divorce them, marry them, separate them, add children, detach children. It's fun. *smiles*
Anyway, I've been having fun entering in all my ancestors into my tree and publishing them to my site. The earliest date I have is 1827. A birthday for some #great-grandfather. That's like, wow. And the site I downloaded the program from, MyHeritage.com, have found some matches for my grandparents in other family trees. I haven't looked closely yet, but I might have already found some new ancestors.
Unfortunately, I can't spend any time on it right now. First, I have to write. It's the Full Moon! I've written one page, handwritten, so I still have a lot to go to hit 5,000 today. But I'll make it.
Then today and tomorrow, I have to try to finish Anna Karenina. Yay. I'm so... excited. Yeah. You can tell huh? Since I spent yesterday evening poking around my genealogy, I didn't exactly get far. I think I'm on page... 24? (Yeah, oops.) So I will probably not get that done before summer hits, but I will get it done. Once I start a book it's as good as. I've not finished one book in my life that I can remember. Oh wait, two books I've started and never finished. My bad.
Thinking on it, I won't have a lot of time to read tomorrow either. It's library day. (Goodie!) Books, books, books, books..... *trails off mumbling with a ridiculous grin on her face* *drools*
Yeah, soooo... not much reading tomorrow either. But I'll finish it. Watch me.
So, the 20th you can expect another post for finishing SPR, then the 21st another post... Then we'll see. I'll have to come up with something else to talk about. *gasps*
Shine~Ley
Friday, June 13, 2008
Never Ceese by Sue Dent
It's been awhile since I read Never Ceese, but I remember it pretty well. Probably has something to do with the fact that I read it twice. Don't give me that look, it was a good book. And people who know me, know that when I find a really good book, I read it over again. And again. Gosh, look at Tahn, I've read it 8 times! The only reason I haven't read Ceese that many times is that I would have to keep ILL-ing it. Maybe the library would take the hint...
I love paranormal/horror/anything-you-can-throw-at-me-with-fantastical-creatures, so it was pretty much guaranteed that I would like this book. I loved it though, because of the characters. Ceese and Richard are so funny! (Humor in books always stands out to me. Even when it isn't meant that way.) The music scene when they're in the car... The airport... The mouse... I remember way back when, when the ACFW book loop did this book. Sue Dent and I and one other lady had so much fun throwing funny quotes back and forth on the loop. I'm feeling the need to go back and find that convo...
Anyway, this is definitely not a book to miss. Please, read! And while you're at it, go ahead and try out, Forever Richard, book 2.
It is time to play a Wild Card! Every now and then, a book that I have chosen to read is going to pop up as a FIRST Wild Card Tour. Get dealt into the game! (Just click the button!) Wild Card Tours feature an author and his/her book's FIRST chapter!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
This Friday the 13th -- A vampire . . . a werewolf . . . can two who were wronged make it right? By their Faith!
and her book:
Journey Stone Creations (February 1, 2006)
(Autographed copies can be ordered through www.thewriterscafepress.com/)
Sue Dent hails from Mississippi. She graduated from Mississippi College in 1983. Since graduating she’s sold computers, taught computer classes and has worked as a Technical Specialist IV for the Mississippi Department of Natural Resources.Her first book Never Ceese was published in May of 2006. It has since been short-listed for a Bram Stoker Award in the category of Superior Achievement in a First Novel.
This past March Sue was an invited guest of Nicholas Grabowsky to the World Horror Convention in Toronto Canada. Never Ceese was also at Comic-Con 2007 in San Diego and represented by Head Press Publishing.
Of her writing, which continues to successfully cross both Secular and Christian boundaries, Sue says, “Well, somebody had to do it. Might as well be me.”
Her much anticipated sequel Forever Richard is due out in 2008 published by The Writers’ Café Press. As always, watch www.NeverCeese.com/ and www.ForeverRichard.com/ for updates.
Visit her at her website.
Product Details
List Price: $17.99
Hardcover: 300 pages
Publisher: Journey Stone Creations (February 1, 2006)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1599580179
ISBN-13: 978-1599580173
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
PROLOGUEShe was finally alone, all alone. Merideth had taken all six children with him, and she wouldn’t see them again until much later, after the church service Merideth was leading ended. The weathered, horse-drawn wagon had never looked so full, and for a brief moment, Julia wanted to go along, too. Holding back tears as they pulled away wasn’t easy. Yet when she could no longer hear the wagon wheels creaking along, or the steady plod of their mare pulling it, she regrouped. They would be back soon enough, and until then, she should enjoy this free time. After all, Merideth had planned this time alone for her. Julia wouldn’t spoil it by being sad.
She would work in the garden. No, she would sit in her garden, and absolutely no one would bother her. But first, she must tidy up. Yes, she thought. I will tidy up, then relax.
She started in the small kitchen, but only had to spend a little time there. Her two daughters had cleaned it before they left. She moved on. Instinctively, she kept looking for a child to come darting out, a daughter or a son, calling to her for one thing or another. She paused, fought back another tear. Even when they weren’t there, they were. She went along, picked up a shirt and scolded the child who had left it, though the child was nowhere around to be affected by her words. This time Julia laughed, realized how ridiculous she sounded. I’ve been a mother far too long! But she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Julia didn’t look at all like someone’s mother. After six children, she still looked very much like an older sister. She and Merideth married young and had gotten started early. She hadn’t had time to think about growing old and, consequently, it didn’t seem she had. Her face was smooth, not one line or blemish, and only seemed to attract more attention than when she was younger. Men took notice, but she wanted none but Meri. He doted on her, took care of her and loved her like no other could.
Meri was a fine catch in his own right: a man of God, strong and humble, captivating and caring. She smiled knowingly, then carried the shirt she had collected from the floor back to where it belonged, all while thinking of the one person she could never get enough of.
In the small room where the boys slept, she placed the shirt on the bed closest to the door. But just as she began turning around to leave, a shadow overtook hers, a much larger one.
“Who’s there?” she said, rattled. “What do you want?” But she got no answer.
She turned slowly, and stifled her scream. The man was much too close, blocking her way out of the room.
She would go. She would run. He would never catch her. “If . . . AWRIf you’re here to see Mer— my husband . . . he’s just out back. I’ll go and get him.”
But he grabbed her arm tight when she tried to get by.
“Husband not here. Children not here. Julia all alone. Julia woman of Go—” He stopped, placed the palm of his free hand against his forehead, as though trying to force some unimaginable pain away. After a moment, he spoke again. “Want Julia and husband to leave.”
Why was he talking like that? What was wrong with him and how did he know her name? The questions came to her at once. She didn’t care about the answers though; she just wanted to leave. She pulled again. “Please, let me go.”
But he didn’t. Instead, he led her outside, took her into the woods that thickened just past the garden, and handed her off to another man whose grip was just as firm.
“No words,” the first man said. “No kill.”
A feeling of dread overcame her as she watched the first man leave, then turned to face the one who now held her. She’d seen his lustful smile before. When Meri couldn’t accompany her on her errands in town, she got those looks sometimes. They always made her feel awkward, uneasy. But not terrified, as she was now.
The remainder of that time was a blur as Julia forced herself not to think about what the man was doing as he forced himself on her. Finally it was over, and he left.
Julia felt sick, rolled over onto her side and took deep breaths. A twig snapped behind her. She started, managed to get to her feet but froze in fear. Why won’t they just leave me alone?
The first man was back, moved toward her cowering form and spoke. “Julia not forget this day. Julia never forget. Tell husband to go. Only evil will stand here.”
What happened next, Julia was sure no one would ever believe. Right before her eyes, the man turned into a wolf. The wolf came at her, tore his claws at her right side.
She managed to get to a tree and hid behind it, certain the wolf would come after her and kill her. She waited, eyes screwed shut, but nothing happened. Long moments passed, and she finally opened her eyes to see that the wolf was once again the man.
“Leave,” he grunted at her.
Holding her bleeding side with her hands, she pushed through the pain and ran—stumbling, falling to her knees more than once—but eventually making it back to the house. The door was still open, she noticed, and, with what energy she had left, she stumbled inside, bolted the door and collapsed. When she was able, she tore at her already-ripped blouse to make long strips. Using them as bandages, she dressed the wound.
As she worked, the room became steadily darker; the sun was setting, her family would be home soon. She did what she could to pull herself together for their sakes. They couldn’t know. No one could know. No one could ever, ever know!
When her family returned, they found her sitting in the tiny parlor, sewing.
She fumbled through the next few days. When emotion overwhelmed her, she simply went to her room. One morning her oldest son questioned her. She told him it was nothing, but his face told her he didn’t believe her. She knew he’d go to his father, but no longer cared.
* * *AWR
AWRThe garden was where Julia went often to seek solace, and she was there when Merideth found her that afternoon, sitting and staring vacantly at her favorite rosebush, the one he gave her on her birthday: the one she nurtured like her seventh child.
In May of 1785, Merideth answered the call of God to go to Llandyfan, Wales. He took Bibles, medicines, his wife and small son. To the Baptists, who had established themselves in this new territory, Merideth was a Godsend. To the evil that had taken root all around, he was an adversary. Merideth won many souls over. For him and his family, it was a new beginning, something they were looking forward to. But now, his dear wife was troubled, and that troubled him mightily.
“And what thought has you staring so intently?” Merideth asked, his kind voice offset by his worry.
Julia broke herself from her trance, shook her head. “Nothing, Meri.” She tried but failed to smile.
Merideth took a few steps closer, sat on his heels next to where she’d settled on a small wooden bench, one he’d made for her so she could sit while tending to her roses. “Our oldest son has come to me with concerns about his mother. I have been far too busy, I should have seen. You haven’t been yourself, and I do so miss that. What is troubling you?”
She wanted to tell him but her words caught in her throat. The memory of that horrid day was still too fresh. All at once she felt the man’s hands on her again, could hear him breathing close to her ear, smell the earth as he pinned her to the ground. She stared at Merideth, tried to push the memories away, but they couldn’t be stopped. Tears threatened.
Merideth, seeing this, attempted to pull her toward him with gentle hands. But all Julia could see was the man in the woods. “No,” she said, and flung her hands in front of her.
His alarm grew. “Julia, please, I just— If I have done something, please tell me.”
She was staring at the ground when she spoke. “It is not you, it is me. I . . . I have shamed you.”
“Shamed me?” he sputtered. “What are you saying? You could never shame me.”
She took a wavering breath. “Two days ago, there was a man. When you took the children with you. He-He came into the house while I was alone— I tried to run, Meri, but he grabbed me and took me to the woods . . . to where another man waited and—”
“Julia,” Merideth said, his breath going out of him, and then again, “Julia.”
He took her by her shoulders this time, and Julia froze. After a second, though, she realized this was Meri, her Meri, and not some terrible memory. Seconds later, she relaxed, allowed him to hold her close, drew from his strength.
“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” he said, his voice catching. “I can’t believe you— that you didn’t say something sooner. Right away.”
“I . . . I didn’t want to upset the children.”
In awe, Merideth held her at arms’ length. “The children? Julia, what about you? What did you think would happen if you kept this inside?”
“I also didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t bear it.”
“As if I would ever consider leaving you!”
A tiny wave of relief washed over her.
“You are my life, Julia. My world.” He pulled her close again. “We’ll get through this. God will help us.”
“There’s more, Meri,” Julia said, pushing herself farther away on the bench. “The man . . . the first man, he-he came back after the other man had . . . had—”
Merideth put a finger to her lips before she could finish. “None of it matters.”
“But it’s not what you think.” She wanted to get the words out before fear overwhelmed her. “The first man, he . . . he talked about your mission, about the work you do.” The words rushed out now. “He said we should leave this place and never come back. Said there was no room for good here, that evil prevailed. He then said . . .” she took a deep breath, “if we didn’t leave, he would come back for the children and—”
She couldn’t finish, and he wouldn’t make her. Neither did he hesitate to respond. “Then we shall move—as soon as possible. We will leave this place.”
“But Meri, this is where you felt the Lord leading you! You have sacrificed so much, worked so hard—it would be like giving up.” She was remembering the stir he’d caused when he started baptizing. Immersion in water wasn’t something familiar to anyone in the area then.
“The Lord will understand,” he said without compromise. “I must protect you . . . our children.”
“But you have done so much good here. If only I could have gotten away—”
“Listen to me, Julia! This was not your fault. It was a terrible thing that happened to you, but we will get through it.”
“But Meri . . . I fear . . . I fear I am with child. His child.”
Meri’s eyes widened, but held none of the censure Julia had dreaded. “You really believe you are with child?” he said, wiping a wayward tear from her face. “His child?”
She could only nod.
“But it has only been two days, how can you—? The midwife was certain you could bear no more. We have tried, and—”
At last, her eyes met his. “I know how it must sound, and I don’t want to believe it either. But I’ve had six. I . . . I know how it feels. All six times, I felt like I do now.”
A long pause later, Meri said, “Then we will have another child—another AWRblessing.”
The words sounded harsh to Julia. No, they sounded foolish. How could this child ever be a blessing? “Not like this, Meri,” she said, more tears breaking free. “Not like this.”
“It will be fine, Julia. You’ll see. We will call it a miracle. The children will be overjoyed. No one will know the truth but us . . . and we will never tell.”
“You could love this child?” she said, not believing.
“As if it were my own. I love you, Julia and if this child is yours, then it is mine and it always will be.”
“Meri . . . there is one other thing.” Because of the bizarre nature of what she was about to say, she didn’t wait for him to ask. “Before the man left— the first man, the one who led me into the woods, he . . . he turned into a wolf.”
For the first time, she saw disbelief pass over his face—and something else.
“Perhaps you were just overwhelmed by what happened,” he said. “Delirious. It-It must have been horrible.”
Julia eased up her blouse, carefully removed the strips of cloth she kept over her wounds and revealed what was beneath. The marks were deep and still looked fresh. “He told me . . . before he changed . . . you might need proof.”
Her tears returned, but Merideth could only stare glassy-eyed. He had seen marks such as these before. A young boy and two men from his last mission. All three had died after being attacked by a wolf. All three bore marks identical to the ones his wife was showing him now. And all three had given him a message before they breathed their last breath. They had told him to leave and never come back.
“Did he bite you?” he asked awkwardly. “When he was the wolf, I mean.”
Julie shook her head. “No. Just left these scratches.” She had a hard time figuring out why he asked something so odd. “Is there a reason why you need to know that? Would-Would it make matters worse?”
“Just different,” Merideth said, and reached out to help her ease her shirt back down. “Now, let’s go have those scratches looked at.”
* * *AWR
As he left with her, the two responsible looked on from behind thick bushes. One was a man, the other . . . not quite. He’d been cursed centuries ago, his soul held captive by his own evil. He had cursed many, and would therefore remain cursed forever.
“All right,” the one beside him said. “I did what you asked. Yet I still don’t understand why you couldn’t have done it yourself.” He gave the same leering smile that had so frightened Julia. “You might have enjoyed it. I rather did.”
The man listening wasn’t bothered by the comment. His curse lessened his desire to indulge in the act the other man referred to, even made it difficult. Even if he had been able to, there was no way for him to do what the other man had done. The act, yes, but his seed wouldn’t yield any offspring. He had tried many times before without success.
“Just seems odd to me you wouldn’t want her for yourself.”
The man gave a distant nod, but said nothing. He had other ways of getting pleasure. Spreading his curse was one of those. But since this interfering minister had come to live in the town, pleasure was hard to come by. It wasn’t easy to get close to people who forever had a prayer on their lips or a cross around their neck.
He had to get rid of the minister . . . make an example of him so others wouldn’t feel inclined to take up his cause. This was his territory. He was here first, and the minister was in the way.
“So when do I get the money you promised?” his companion said. “I need to be on my way.” He gave a furtive grin. “Or maybe I’ll just visit Julia again.”
He put a hand to the talkative man’s throat and squeezed. “Julia with child. No touch Julia!”
“Why would you care?” the man croaked. “It’s not your child, but mine.”
The accusation was true, to a point. Yet the scratches he’d left for the minister to see were potent enough to affect the child. Perhaps it would develop keen hearing or an enhanced sense of smell. He’d heard of a similar attack, which yielded a boy-child who could pick up a scent as quick as any dog. When the child was old enough, weaned from its mother’s breast, the attacker, the one who’d done the scratching, took the child from his parents. In the same way, Julia’s child would be his child. When the time was right.
Gasping sounds brought his attention back to the one at the end of his arm, and he loosened his grip slightly.
“All right,” the man sputtered. “I won’t touch her. Just give me my money and I’ll be on my way.”
He might have screamed if he’d known what was coming, but he was dead the second the canine-like fangs pierced the large vein in his neck. He never felt his mutilated body being dragged, then dropped near the spot where Julia’s attack occurred.
* * *AWR
The gravedigger stood knee-deep in what he’d already dug out and shoveled a little longer, his task not far from done. The man’s remains lay, covered, a few feet away.
There were no mourners.
Merideth was there to read last rites at the request of another who’d had other obligations, and Julia had come along with him. She often did when she could arrange to be away from the children. And Merideth had said the one they were burying had no family, no friends anyone knew of, and this bothered her. Julia believed everyone deserved a proper burial, so she stood by the grave of someone she didn’t know, face veiled and head bowed, to pay her respects.
The gravedigger worked a little longer, then climbed out, plunged his shovel into the fresh pile of dirt and stepped far back, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. “Whenever you’re ready, Minister.”
Merideth nodded, clutched his Bible, and knelt beside the body. When the gravedigger bowed his head, Julia raised hers, and when Merideth lifted the shroud covering the man’s face, as he typically did to begin the service, Julia gasped, “It’s him!”
Stunned, Merideth looked back toward Julia, turned slightly to the gravedigger. When it was clear the man hadn’t heard her, he turned back to Julia. “You’re sure?” he whispered.
She brought a shaky hand to her mouth and nodded. Merideth got up and went to his wife, pulled her close, noting her rapid breathing.
“I’m taking you home,” he said, lifting her up to carry her back to their horse-drawn wagon.
The gravedigger was paying attention now, and looked confused. “But what about your duty?” he called after them.
Merideth’s words were hard. “You shall have to find the Devil himself to bury that one.”
A week after, Merideth and his family loaded their possessions and moved on.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Update on The Stack... and Junk
Good news! The two-week/SRT stack beside my bed has shrunk by half and is looking good. Of course, Dad is bringing home some of my 'missing' (aka, I didn't get them done before the library demanded them back) SRT books tonight, but they're all LIs, therefore: little. I still haven't touched my history stack, but I'll have time for that after the 20th.
I'm also officially ahead of schedule. I give myself one day for each book (it's summer after all, in winter I give two days) and two days for the 600 page ones, like The Host, In the Earth Abides the Flame and The Right Hand of God. After this I'm starting Flame. Officially *wink, wink* I don't have to start that until wednesday. So as long as I finish it by thursday, I'm good. Still on schedule. Not that that means I'll finish everything I need to. It just means that... I'm on schedule. Whatever.
I helping Grandma with a garage sale on thursday and friday, so I'm really hoping I can stay on schedule this week. If I do I will finish my two-week books (excepting some that will be moved into the stack various days this week) on saturday (according to schedule) and can focus on SRT books until the 20th when I will read Mixed Bags, which is Teen FIRST's book for June. Then I can get back to my normal schedule of two-week and history books. Preferably one two-week, one history, and etc. Makes everything just easier to cope with.
Surprisely, I enjoyed my walk today. No matter the 95 degree weather, despite the wind that felt like it came straight from the mouth of Hades. I hadn't walked in a few days and it felt good to stretch out. Dang good. And anything to up my miles. *grins* It feels so nice out there on the road, nobody watching, nobody cares. I feel slinky, sleek. A girl's gotta feel comfortable in her own skin once in a while.
I guess I should explain "hadn't been walking" because there's no good reason not to walk if I have the time and feel good doing it. Mostly it's been that my sleeping habits have gone awry. And that is for no good reason. At least none that I can come up with. It's not mono (thank God), because although I've been a touch more emotional than usual, I've not been that emotional, and it's not fatigue. It's just that I can't sleep. Whatever. It's annoying. I'll get over it. Mom suggested at first that it might be lack of exercise. I just gave her a look. I don't think sit-ups, push-ups, walks, and the occasional stair-steps counts as lack of exercise for a person as naturally sedentary as me. Mmmm... whatever.
On a random note, the time on this blog is an hour off. I even checked the settings and it set for EST, so it's just being stubborn. Whatever.
(Anyone else sensing a pattern?... Wha... Nevermind.)
And now you know why I titled this "and Junk".
Happy days and blessed lives....
(Whatever.)
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
The Stack
Sounds ominous, doesn't it? Like some cheap horror flick. In reality, at least my reality, it doesn't look all that scary. But trust me, it is.
Maybe I should explain. The Stack is a combination of history books, Spring Reading Thing books, and "two-week books". History books is an easy one. They're the books that I've gotten behind on, the ones that are too long to read in one day, let alone one sitting. For examply, the five hundred page biography of Increase Mather.
Spring Reading Thing books are also easy to explain. They're the books off of my Spring Reading Thing List that I haven't gotten to yet. And the 19th is the last day of spring. 'Ipes.
Then there are the "two-week books". This is a convenient term, though not entirely accurate. Better would be, "second renewal books", but that's just a mouthful. Basically they can't be renewed again, so I need to get up on top of things and read them.
So that's the logistical details of The Stack. The only thing unknown is when I'll be able to finish them all. Next on my list is a two-week book, also, conveniently enough, the ACFW Book Club book for June, The Other Daughter. I needed that done by the 20th anyway. So far, so good.
But then it just starts getting iffy. I have another two-week book, then The Host, and then... I don't know. I'll figure it out when I get there. *laughs* I'm so totally not gonna make it.
So my history stack (downstairs on the endtable) is getting dangerously tall and is being ignored until the official start of summer, when I get to buckle down and read the 15 or so books in it. *desperately hopes it's not any more than that* My combined two-week/Spring Reading Thing stack (upstairs beside my bed) is level with my bed. Which makes it a handy nightstand for my cell phone, but I'm afraid to leave the window open too far, lest it collapse in a stiff breeze. And the breezes get pretty stiff out here.
Essentially, I'm doomed. (Think DF... DOOOMED!) The Stack is going to eat me alive before the month is out.
Buried beneath a stack of her own making,
Ley
Sunday, June 01, 2008
DragonLight by Donita K. Paul
I haven't gotten to read this book, and I'm not sure when I will get to (mix-up on my end, oops... *grins*), but I have read the first three books in The DragonKeeper Chronicles and they are amazing. (Yes, guys, I know I haven't read DragonFire. What can I say, my life's been hectic for the past... 12 months.) I'm greatly looking forward to reading the fourth. When I don't have a history stack 10 deep. Long story.
Anyway, I don't doubt that DragonLight is just as good as its predecessors, and quite possibly better. I will read this book sometime... this year. *glares at the history stack* I will.
It is June FIRST, time for the FIRST Blog Tour! (Join our alliance! Click the button!) The FIRST day of every month we will feature an author and his/her latest book's FIRST chapter!
and her book:
DragonLight
WaterBrook Press (June 17, 2008)
Donita K. Paul is a retired teacher and award-winning author of seven novels, including DragonSpell, DragonQuest, DragonKnight, and DragonFire. When not writing, she is often engaged in mentoring writers of all ages. Donita lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado where she is learning to paint–walls and furniture! Visit her website at www.dragonkeeper.us.The Books of the DragonKeeper Series:
DragonSpell
DragonQuest
DragonKnight
DragonFire
DragonLight
Visit her website.
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Castle PassagesKale wrinkled her nose at the dank air drifting up from the stone staircase. Below, utter darkness created a formidable barrier.
Toopka stood close to her knee. Sparks skittered across the doneel child’s furry hand where she clasped the flowing, soft material of Kale’s wizard robe. Kale frowned down at her ward. The little doneel spent too much time attached to her skirts to be captivated by the light show. Instead, Toopka glowered into the forbidding corridor. “What’s down
there?”
Kale sighed. “I’m not sure.”
“Is it the dungeon?”
“I don’t think we have a dungeon.”
Toopka furrowed her brow in confusion. “Don’t you know? It’s your castle.”
“A castle built by committee.” Kale’s face grimaced at the memory of weeks of creative chaos. She put her hand on Toopka’s soft head.
The doneel dragged her gaze away from the stairway, tilted her head back, and frowned at her guardian. “What’s ‘by committee’?”
“You remember, don’t you? It was just five years ago.”
“I remember the wizards coming and the pretty tents in the meadow.” Toopka pursed her lips. “And shouting. I remember shouting.” “They were shouting because no one was listening. Twenty-one wizards came for the castle raising. Each had their own idea about what we needed. So they each constructed their fragment of the castle structure according to their whims.”
Toopka giggled.
“I don’t think it’s funny. The chunks of castle were erected, juxtaposed with the others, but not as a whole unit. I thank Wulder that at least my parents had some sense. My mother and father connected the tads, bits, and smidgens together with steps and short halls. When nothing else would work, they formed gateways from one portion to another.”
The little doneel laughed out loud and hid her face in Kale’s silky wizard’s robe. Miniature lightning flashes enveloped Toopka’s head and cascaded down her neck, over her back, and onto the floor like a waterfall of sparks.
Kale cut off the flow of energy and placed a hand on the doneel’s shoulder. “Surely you remember this, Toopka.”
She looked up, her face growing serious. “I was very young then.”
Kale narrowed her eyes and examined the child’s innocent face. “As long as I have known you, you’ve appeared to be the same age. Are you ever going to grow up?”
Toopka shrugged, then the typical smile of a doneel spread across her face. Her thin black lips stretched, almost reaching from ear to ear. “I’m growing up as fast as I can, but I don’t think I’m the one in charge. If I were in charge, I would be big enough to have my own dragon, instead of searching for yours.”
The statement pulled Kale back to her original purpose. No doubt she had been manipulated yet again by the tiny doneel, but dropping the subject of Toopka’s age for the time being seemed prudent.
Kale rubbed the top of Toopka’s head. The shorter fur between her ears felt softer than the hair on the child’s arms. Kale always found it soothing to stroke Toopka’s head, and the doneel liked it as well.
Kale let her hand fall to her side and pursued their mission. “Gally and Mince have been missing for a day and a half. We must find them. Taylaminkadot said she heard an odd noise when she came down to the storeroom.” Kale squared her shoulders and took a step down into the dark, dank stairwell. “Gally and Mince may be down here, and they may be in trouble.”
“How can you know who’s missing?” Toopka tugged on Kale’s robe, letting loose a spray of sparkles. “You have hundreds of minor dragons in the castle and more big dragons in the fields.”
“I know.” Kale put her hand in front of her, and a globe of light appeared, resting on her palm. “I’m a Dragon Keeper. I know when any of my dragons have missed a meal or two.” She stepped through the doorway.
Toopka tugged on Kale’s gown. “May I have a light too?”
“Of course.” She handed the globe to the doneel. The light flickered. Kale tapped it, and the glow steadied. She produced another light to sit in her own hand and proceeded down the steps.
Toopka followed, clutching the sparkling cloth of Kale’s robe in one hand and the light in the other. “I think we should take a dozen guards with us.”
“I don’t think there’s anything scary down here, Toopka. After all, as you reminded me, this is our castle, and we certainly haven’t invited anything nasty to live with us.”
“It’s the things that come uninvited that worry me.”
“All right. Just a moment.” Kale turned to face the archway at the top of the stairs, a few steps up from where they stood.
She reached with her mind to the nearest band of minor dragons. Soon chittering dragon voices, a rainbow vision of soft, flapping, leathery wings, and a ripple of excitement swept through her senses. She heard Artross, the leader of this watch, call for his band to mind their manners, listen to orders, and calm themselves.
Kale smiled her greeting as they entered the stairway and circled above her. She turned to Toopka, pleased with her solution, but Toopka scowled. Obviously, the doneel was not impressed with the arrival of a courageous escort.
Kale opened her mouth to inform Toopka that a watch of dragons provides sentries, scouts, and fighters. And Bardon had seen to their training. But the doneel child knew this.
Each watch formed without a Dragon Keeper’s instigation. Usually eleven to fifteen minor dragons developed camaraderie, and a leader emerged. A social structure developed within each watch. Kale marveled at the process. Even though she didn’t always understand the choices, she did nothing to alter the natural way of establishing the hierarchy and respectfully worked with what was in place.
Artross, a milky white dragon who glowed in the dark, had caught Kale’s affections. She sent a warm greeting to the serious-minded leader and received a curt acknowledgment. The straight-laced young dragon with his tiny, mottled white body tickled her. Although they didn’t look alike in the least, Artross’s behavior reminded Kale of her husband’s personality.
Kale nodded at Toopka and winked. “Now we have defenders.”
“I think,” said the doneel, letting go of Kale’s robe and stepping down a stair, “it would be better if they were bigger and carried swords.”
Kale smiled as one of the younger dragons landed on her shoulder. He pushed his violet head against her chin, rubbing with soft scales circling between small bumps that looked like stunted horns. Toopka skipped ahead with the other minor dragons flying just above her head.
“Hello, Crain,” said Kale, using a fingertip to stroke his pink belly. She’d been at his hatching a week before. The little dragon chirred his contentment. “With your love of learning, I’m surprised you’re not in the library with Librettowit.”
A scene emerged in Kale’s mind from the small dragon’s thoughts. She hid a smile. “I’m sorry you got thrown out, but you must not bring your snacks into Librettowit’s reading rooms. A tumanhofer usually likes a morsel of food to tide him over, but not when the treat threatens to smudge the pages of his precious books.” She felt the small beast shudder at the memory of the librarian’s angry voice. “It’s all right, Crain. He’ll forgive you and let you come back into his bookish sanctum. And he’ll delight in helping you find all sorts of wonderful facts.”
Toopka came scurrying back. She’d deserted her lead position in the company of intrepid dragons. The tiny doneel dodged behind Kale and once more clutched the sparkling robe. Kale shifted her attention to a commotion ahead and sought out the thoughts of the leader Artross. “What’s wrong?” asked Kale, but her answer came as she tuned in to the leader of the dragon watch.
Artross trilled orders to his subordinates. Kale saw the enemy through the eyes of this friend.
An anvilhead snake slid over the stone floor of a room stacked high with large kegs. His long black body stretched out from a nook between two barrels. With the tail of the serpent hidden, she had no way of knowing its size. These reptiles’ heads outweighed their bodies. The muscled section behind the base of the jaws could be as much as six inches wide. But the length of the snake could be from three feet to thirty.
Kale shuddered but took another step down the passage.
Artross looked around the room and spotted another section of ropelike body against the opposite wall. Kegs hid most of the snake.
Kale grimaced. Another snake? Or the end of the one threatening my dragons?
The viper’s heavy head advanced, and the distant portion moved with the same speed.
One snake.
“Toopka, stay here,” she ordered and ran down the remaining steps. She tossed the globe from her right hand to her left and pulled her sword from its hiding place beneath her robe. Nothing appeared to be in her hand, but Kale felt the leather-bound hilt secure in her grip. The old sword had been given to her by her mother, and Kale knew
how to use the invisible blade with deadly precision.
“Don’t let him get away,” she called as she increased her speed through the narrow corridor.
The wizard robe dissolved as she rushed to join her guard. Her long dress of azure and plum reformed itself into leggings and a tunic. The color drained away and returned as a pink that would rival a stunning sunset. When she reached the cold, dark room, she cast her globe into the air. Floating in the middle of the room, it tripled in size and gave off a brighter light.
The dragons circled above the snake, spitting their caustic saliva with great accuracy. Kale’s skin crawled at the sight of the coiling reptile. More and more of the serpentine body emerged from the shadowy protection of the stacked kegs. Obviously, the snake did not fear these intruders.
Even covered with splotches of brightly colored spit, the creature looked like the loathsome killer it was. Kale’s two missing dragons could have been dinner for the serpent. She searched the room with the talent Wulder had bestowed upon her and concluded the little ones still lived.
The reptile hissed at her, raised its massive head, and swayed in a threatening posture. The creature slithered toward her, propelled by the elongated body still on the floor. Just out of reach of Kale’s sword, the beast stopped, pulled its head back for the strike, and let out a slow, menacing hiss. The snake lunged, and Kale swung her invisible weapon. The severed head sailed across the room and slammed against the stone wall.
Kale eyed the writhing body for a moment. “You won’t be eating any more small animals.” She turned her attention to the missing dragons and pointed her sword hand at a barrel at the top of one stack. “There. Gally and Mince are in that keg.”
Several dragons landed on the wooden staves, and a brown dragon examined the cask to determine how best to open it. Toopka ran into the room and over to the barrel. “I’ll help.”
Kale tilted her head. “There is also a nest of snake eggs.” She consulted the dragon most likely to know facts about anvilhead vipers. Crain landed on her shoulder and poured out all he knew in a combination of chittering and thoughts.
The odd reptiles preferred eating young farm animals, grain, and feed. They did nothing to combat the population of rats, insects, and vermin. No farmer allowed the snakes on his property if he could help it. “Find the nest,” Kale ordered. “Destroy them all.”
The watch of dragons took flight again, zooming into lightrockilluminated passages leading off from this central room. Kale waited until a small group raised an alarm. Four minor dragons had found the nest.
She plunged down a dim passage, sending a plume of light ahead and calling for the dispersed dragons to join her. Eleven came from the other corridors, and nine flew in a V formation in front of her. Gally and Mince landed on her shoulders.
“You’re all right. I’m so glad.”
They scooted next to her neck, shivering. From their minds she deciphered the details of their ordeal. A game of hide-and-seek had led them into the depths of the castle. When the snake surprised them, they’d flown under the off-center lid of the barrel. As Mince dove into the narrow opening, he knocked the top just enough for it to rattle down into place. This successfully kept the serpent out, but also trapped them within.
Kale offered sympathy, and they cuddled against her, rubbing their heads on her chin as she whisked through the underground tunnel in pursuit of the other dragons.
Numerous rooms jutted off the main hallway, each stacked with boxes, crates, barrels, and huge burlap bags. Kale had no idea this vast amount of storage lay beneath the castle. Taylaminkadot, their efficient housekeeper and wife to Librettowit, probably had a tally sheet listing each item. Kale and the dragons passed rooms that contained fewer and fewer supplies until the stores dwindled to nothing.
How long does this hallway continue on? She slowed to creep along and tiptoed over the stone floor, noticing the rougher texture under her feet. Approaching a corner, she detected the four minor dragons destroying the snake’s nest in the next room. Her escort of flying dragons veered off into the room, and she followed. The small dragons swooped over the nest, grabbed an egg, then flew to the beamed roof of the storage room. They hurled the eggs to the floor, and most broke open on contact. Some had more rubbery shells, a sign that they would soon hatch. The minor dragons attacked these eggs with tooth and claw. Once each shell gave way, the content was pulled out and examined. No
hatchling snake survived.
The smell alone halted Kale in her tracks and sent her back a pace. She screwed up her face, but no amount of pinching her nose muscles cut off the odor of raw eggs and the bodies of unborn snakes. She produced a square of moonbeam material from her pocket and covered the lower half of her face. The properties of the handkerchief filtered the unpleasant aroma.
Her gaze fell on the scene of annihilation. Usually, Kale found infant animals to be endearing, attractive in a gangly way. But the small snake bodies looked more like huge blackened worms than babies.
Toopka raced up behind her and came to a skidding stop when she reached the doorway. “Ew!” She buried her face in the hem of Kale’s tunic, then peeked out with her nose still covered.
The minor dragons continued to destroy the huge nest. Kale estimated over a hundred snake eggs must have been deposited in the old shallow basket. The woven edges sagged where the weight of the female snake had broken the reeds. Kale shuddered at the thought of all those snakes hatching and occupying the lowest level of the castle, her home. The urge to be above ground, in the light, and with her loved ones compelled her out of the room.
Good work, she commended the dragons as she backed into the passage. Artross, be sure that no egg is left unshattered.
She received his assurance, thanked him, then turned about and ran. She must find Bardon.
“Wait for me!” Toopka called. Her tiny, booted feet pounded the stone floor in a frantic effort to catch up.
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