Category Archives: Fiction

Short Story: Theft

Gordon leaned against the tree, stretching his feet out in front of himself. The apple was a bit under-ripe and hard, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t had a bite to eat since the day before. The shade in the apple grove was welcome, too. This was an unusually hot late summer day. Gordon rubbed the apple’s interior across the bridge of his nose, hoping that its cool moistness would ease the pain for the sunburn he knew was there. A breeze came up, carrying with it the scent of ripening fruit and the coming fall. Gordon’s dark wavy hair blew across his face and into his mouth as he took another bite of the apple. He winced and tucked his hair back behind his ear.Continue reading “Short Story: Theft”

Short Story: Flynn

Flynn wended his way along the muddy path from the farrier’s shop to the stable. The wind gusted, carrying a late winter chill and a few snowflakes. Flynn braced himself momentarily against the wind, then continued forward, trying to keep as much as possible out of the deep mud in the center of the path. The edges of the path were slippery with half-melted snow, causing him to stagger into the mud more often than he liked.Continue reading “Short Story: Flynn”

Short Story: Jason’s Invitation

A short story, or I guess just a scene, from the early life of Jason. In the book Prince of Herongarde, Jason is on the verge of 16, the age at which young men may attain the Mark of Herongarde. This scene happens ten years earlier, when Jason first enters training.Continue reading “Short Story: Jason’s Invitation”

Writing my own romantic book

National Blog Posting Month – February 2013 – Love

Prompt – What is the most romantic book you’ve ever read?

—

I’ve read a few books in my day. I can’t say I’ve ever gone for romance as a genre. Most of the stories I really like have action and adventure, and the occasional love interest. But ‘romantic’? Yeah, I don’t know.

Then again, if I’m allowed to do this, I must admit that the book that I’m writing, Prince of Herongarde, is action and adventure, with a love story built in. So maybe, the romantic story I want to read is the one I’m writing?

Prince of Herongarde – Departure

Trey stood atop the wall of the gatehouse as the last of the King’s army passed out of sight. Tessa stood beside him, gripping his arm. She was deeply concerned about the safety of her husband, as well as Trey’s health. Trey was leaning heavily against the stone wall, unwilling to bear any weight on his injured leg. He was exhausted, and would need to rest.

Other members of the court stood nearby, peering at the departing army through the wall’s crenulations. Several of the Ladies of the court wept and consoled each other.

Jason stood close to Trey and Tessa, having taken it upon himself to be their vigilant protector. Despite all, Jason still adored Trey, and would gladly give his life for him. It bothered Jason that no other Mark-bearer remained behind to defend Trey. His Majesty had requested that Jason remain close to Trey and serve him well. Jason felt ill-prepared to defend Trey in the event of an attack, but he would do his best.

Apart from the crowd stood Hanna, observing Trey. The men of the army didn’t mean much to her, but she knew that her life depended upon the health and safety of Lord Trey. She hoped that he would take some desperately needed rest, now that the army was gone.

When the dust vanished from the horizon and it was clear that they were on their own, Trey turned to the courtiers that stood around. He stood tall, and for a moment looked as if he suffered no pain from his injury. “Then it is done,” he bellowed. “Return you to your work. We must ensure that there is a Herongarde for our King and men to return to when the battle is victorious, aye?”

The people slowly dispersed. Many approached Trey to pay their regards, which he returned courteously. Finally, all who remained were Trey, Tessa, Jason, and Hanna. Trey turned back to gaze down the road that the army had just passed. He leaned on the wall, hung his head and slumped. The pain in his leg had finally overwhelmed him.

Jason stepped forward quickly to help Trey. Trey straightened up again, with Jason’s help and the encouragement of Tessa. Hanna approached cautiously. Trey regarded her wearily.

“I shall take some rest,” he muttered.

Hanna nodded. Tessa smiled, glad that Trey was willing to rest.

Leaning heavily upon Jason, Trey walked slowly back to his chamber. Tessa stoked the fire as Hanna set about changing the bandages on Trey’s injuries. Jason assisted where he could, helping Trey out of his heavy formal clothes so that Trey could lie down and sleep.

As Hanna cleaned Trey’s wound, she realized he was already asleep. She paused for a moment and looked at him sadly. There was a lot of pressure on this man. She wondered what he would be like when there was not a war brewing. Tessa walked up beside Hanna and sighed. She, too, had noticed that Trey was asleep, despite the fact that his bandages were not yet changed. She worried for her son.

Jason looked around awkwardly. “If there is nothing further, your Highness,” he said to Tessa.

“Thank you, Jason,” replied Tessa. “I will call for you if you are needed.”

Jason bowed and left the room.

Hanna finished bandaging Trey’s leg while Tessa stood by. Carefully, Hanna laid the blankets over Trey’s leg, so as not to disturb his slumber. She was finished. He was asleep. Hanna looked to the Queen.

“Go to your bed, Hanna,” said Tessa. “I will watch him this night. Attend to him in the morning, aye?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Hanna with a bow. She walked from the room, still looking at the recumbent form of Trey. He looked so peaceful. It made her happy.

*******************

If you like the bits and pieces of this story that I’ve posted on my blog, and want to read more (like, the whole book), would you please consider being a beta reader? The success of this book is ultimately dependent upon the opinions of others and feedback on drafts is one of the most powerful tools I have to making this book the best it could be! If you’d be willing to read a draft of the whole book and provide feedback (not editorial, but where things work and where things don’t work), please let me know in the comments. I can send you a complete draft in MSword or Kindle (.mobi) format.

#PitMad and Getting That First Novel Published

Twitter is a wonderful thing. I use it to network with other scientists, other authors, and others who are affected in one way or another by autism. I use it to promote my own work, in research or fiction. I also use it in teaching, as a complement to traditional ‘office hours’ and ‘review sessions.’ I enjoy it as an opportunity to ‘hang out’ with the global community.

As an newbie in the world of fiction writing, I find Twitter to be an amazing resource. There are so many helpful and friendly people out there, authors, agents, and publishers. There’s just a wealth of knowledge out there, all in 140-character bursts!

Once in a while – and I’m not sure how these events get planned – there are ‘Pitch Madness’ events on Twitter. Authors can pitch their novels in single tweets with the hashtag #PitMad, and agents with peruse the pitches and request more information about the ones they like. One such event was yesterday. I spent the day pitching my books Prince of Herongarde and The Masters, neither of which are published.

Pitching a novel in one tweet is hard, but somehow I got two requests from agents, both for the book Prince of Herongarde. There were no takers for The Masters (though I wonder if that’s because I haven’t really identified what the main theme of the story is yet.)

For fun (and because it’s pretty-much all I’ve been thinking about for the last 24 hours), I thought I might list here the various pitches I used for each book.

I’ll point out that each pitch included three hashtags, one indicating it was for Pitch Madness (#PitMad), one for the genre of the book (#SF = science fiction, #SpecFic = speculative fiction), and one for the target age group (#A = adult). There are two reasons to do this. 1) It helps agents target stories that they really want to represent and 2) it give you a way to send the ‘same’ tweet more than once. It seems that Twitter won’t let you keep tweeting the same thing over and over again, but if you re-arrange the hashtags, it’s a new tweet. So I could tweet each pitch at least a dozen times. The downside to this, though, is that your pitches have to be that much shorter, maybe 120 characters.

Here are the pitches for Prince of Herongarde. Pitches one and two are the ones that earned requests. Some of the others got re-tweets and comments.

  1. He had no intention of being King, nor of falling in love again. Her foreign and infuriating manners changed his mind. #SpecFic #A #PitMad
  2. It had to be a dream when her car, phone, and husband were replaced with horses, swords, and a knight. It wasn’t. #SpecFic #A #PitMad
  3. When a 21st century, middle-aged woman finds herself in war-torn Medieval Europe, a nation, and its Prince, are saved. #SpecFic #A #PitMad
  4. She’s a 21st century academic. He’s a 14th century Prince. Together they’ll save a medieval nation. #SpecFic #A #PitMad
  5. The Prince, consumed by pain and rage, finds refuge in war. There, he rediscovers himself with a most unlikely woman. #PitMad #SpecFic #A
  6. It was ridiculous. She should be lecturing, not slaughtering with swords. But the Prince must be protected. #PitMad #SpecFic #A
  7. She was a university scientist. He was a medieval Prince. It was an unlikely romance. With swords. #A #SpecFic #PitMad
  8. She traded science for a longsword. He traded bitterness for love. War brought them together, and revived a weary Prince. #SpecFic #A #PitMad
  9. The Prince, consumed by pain and rage, finds refuge in war. There, he rediscovers himself with a most unlikely woman. #PitMad #SpecFic #A

Here are the pitches for The Masters. There were no comments, favorites, or retweets here. This book needs some work, methinks.

  1. Marshall thought the DUI was bad. The Masters were worse. But somehow, he’d escape, and take Katrine with him. #A #SF #PitMad
  2.  The Clastad looked pleasant, but meant to enslave men. The Zhaat were hideous but friendly. Marshall just wanted to go home. #A #SF #PitMad
  3. His privileged life as a movie star ended with being dragged to the stars by The Masters. Would he ever get back home? #A #SF #PitMad
  4. The Masters meant to break Marshall’s spirit, but his love for Katrine was more powerful than anything they had. #SF #A #PitMad
  5.  When The Masters came, Marshall was stripped of everything. But they couldn’t take his love, and he meant to get her back. #A #SF #PitMad
  6. Marshall’s capture by The Masters put everything in perspective. Only one thing mattered, Katrine. He meant to get her home. #A #SF #PitMad

So that’s the lot of them. Like I said, I got two requests for Prince of Herongarde, but nothing for The Masters. I don’t think I pitched the second book very well. I’ll work on that.

What do you think?

Stink Bug – Chapter 2

Once again, the whim to write fiction has struck me. Here is more of the Stink Bug story which started with this post. Where do you think it will go next?

**********

The bug was just floating there in front of me. It was all I could see. It filled my vision from edge to edge. And it was laughing.

How do bugs even laugh?

I tried to swat at it. My arms felt leaden. My hand passed through the bug as though it was only vapor. It flickered, then became solid again. It still laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

The bug fell quiet and dissipated. I was left in dark silence. The silence hurt. It pressed on my ear drums. I tried to cover my ears, but my heavy arms wouldn’t budge. I tried to cry out, but I hadn’t the strength. Only a tiny moan escaped my lips. “Help,” I squeaked.

The bug reappeared. “Do you need something?” it said.

“Help,” I whispered again.

“We all need a bit of that.”

“Sorry—,” I started. I didn’t mean to squish you.

“We don’t like being crushed.”

“Sorry,” I exhaled.

“You can help us,” it said.

“I can’t—.”

“I can let you move.”

“Breathe,” I mumbled.

The bug came close. “You don’t like where you are?”

“It hurts.”

“That place. Where you were. Is it better?”

I didn’t answer. My life was dull. There was a faint glimmer of interest in the back of my mind. But I was paralyzed and afraid. “Can’t move.”

“If you could move.” Suddenly breathing came easier. I rubbed my face with my hands. “Is that better?”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“We need to talk,” said the stink bug.

I looked at it and it stared back. “We need your help.”

“My help?”

“Yes. You can help us.”

“Do what? How?”

“We are prisoner.”

I shut my eyes. A vision of bugs in tiny prison cells danced through my mind.

The bug laughed. “Not like that. We are not like this.”

I looked at it again. “What—. I don’t understand.”

“Will you help us?”

“Do what?”

“Come with us. We will show you,” it said.

“I can’t just leave.”

“You already have.” The bug chuckled.

“Where will we go?”

I saw a light out of the corner of my eye. I looked directly at it. It grew brighter. “We go there,” said the bug.

“What is it?”

“A path.”

I looked at the bug. “I can’t.”

The bug looked sad. Somehow. “Please,” it said. “We are prisoner. You can help us.”

“I’m just a middle-aged, overweight, accountant. How can I possibly—.”

The bug cut me off. “You can. Please. Come.” The stink bug began to crawl toward the light. It waved me to follow. And I did.

—

Go on to Chapter 3.

Go back and start at the beginning.

Prince of Herongarde – an excerpt

Because today I’m fresh out of blogging juice, I thought I’d post an excerpt from my novel in progress: Prince of Herongarde. This chapter, for the moment anyway, is called Immediate Care.

—–

Trey felt himself being lifted from Garnog. Familiar voices comforted him and he relaxed. He opened his eyes again and stared at the wood slatted ceiling over his head. They had carried him into the castle, but he didn’t remember the move. The bed was comfortable. He drifted off again.

“Trey?” A rough hand stroked his cheek. “Trey. Please wake.” Trey opened his eyes and met the gaze of his father, King Anthony. “Thank God you yet live,” breathed Anthony.

“Aye, Majesty,” mumbled Trey.

“Gilbert is here. He will care for you,” said Anthony. “And Arin.”

“Aye,” groaned Trey. “Aye!” he said louder. “Aye, your Majesty. Tis Falgarth. Falgarth did this.”

“I know.”

Trey shut his eyes to focus on speaking. “There is… I have in the saddlebags. Garnog.” The effort was exhausting.

“We know, Trey,” came Gilbert’s voice. “Rest yourself, aye?”

“How is it?” asked Anthony.

“It must be cleaned first, your Highness. Then I can tell you,” replied Gilbert.

Anthony patted Trey’s cheek. “Rest you, then.”

A shuffle at the door announced Markus’ entrance, followed closely by Kevin. In his hands were the saddlebags off of Garnog’s saddle. A table was quickly cleared and the contents of the bag were spread out.

Markus immediately picked up piece of fabric which bore the insignia of Falgarth. “There it is,” he muttered.

Anthony took it from Markus and frowned at it. “I have been blind.” His eyes fell upon Kevin, his closest friend since the day he entered training to earn the Mark at the age of six. “Aye, Kevin. I should have listened.”

“None would hear him, your Majesty. How could you know?”

Kevin had returned the previous day with the grim news. He had spent several days patrolling the border with Falgarth and had himself discovered evidence that Falgarth mean to invade Herongarde, validating the claims that Trey had been making for more than a year. Anthony, upon hearing this news, had sent pages to summon the Lords and Mark-bearers of Herongarde to the castle for council and, most likely, to discuss defense.

Anthony looked at Trey lying helpless on the bed. Tessa was bent over him, caressing his face. “I would that I could have known before this happened.” If Trey were to die, there would no longer be an heir from Anthony. The crown would pass to Markus, and then to Balayn, as Trey’s closest relative. Anthony had hoped that Trey would remarry and bear an heir himself. On this day, it did not seem likely.

“Do we know what happened?” asked Kevin.

“Attacked by men of Falgarth,” muttered Markus, “but we know nothing else. He traveled with a woman.”

“Where is she?” asked Anthony.

“I know not, but Balayn—,” started Markus. “Speak of the Devil.”

Balayn walked into the chamber and looked around. He caught Markus’ gaze and approached, wearing a smirk.

“We were just speaking of you, Balayn,” said Anthony. “Know you where the woman is now who traveled with Lord Trey?”

“I put her in the dungeon where she belongs,” Balayn boomed.

“What? This was not my instruction,” said Markus.

“She bore the weapon of a Mark-bearer. She should be put to death.”

“She what?” asked Kevin.

“She had Lord Trey’s sword on her hip,” growled Balayn.

“She also said Trey bid her bear it,” said Markus.

“I think she lies,” muttered Balayn.

Anthony looked back at Trey. Tessa was looking up, listening to the men’s conversation. Anthony walked to Trey’s bedside and leaned close to Trey. “Trey? Remember you a woman with whom you traveled?” Trey moaned in response. “Trey. Do you remember?”

“Aye,” breathed Trey.

“She had you sword, Trey.”

“Aye.”

“You bid her bear it?”

Trey was silent. He couldn’t remember. He didn’t remember much at all. The pain in his leg was a terrible distraction.

“Did you bid her to bear your sword?”

“Aye.” He honestly did not remember, but he did know she had helped him. And she could wield a sword. He might have told her to carry it. “Aye,” he repeated, not sure if he had said anything the first time.

Anthony straightened. “Fetch her to us. I would speak with her.”

“I will go,” volunteered Tessa.

“As will I,” grumbled Balayn, casting Tessa a stern look. They walked together out the door.

Anthony watched them leave. Markus came close and put his hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Trey is strong, brother,” he said. “And Gilbert is an excellent care-giver. There is little doubt of Trey’s survival.”

A poker was jammed into the fireplace, below the coals. Anthony eyed it sadly. “Aye, he will survive, brother. But with what manner of lasting injury?”