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Short Story: Adrift

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I am super excited for launch day!

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In celebration, I wrote a short story in the same world as to Love a Prince. I hope you enjoy it!

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Emerald Point

Adrift

Gabriel leaned on his cane as he scanned the angry ocean. Its waves rose and fell like daggers as it smashed the splinters of what had been a ship against the rocky shore.

His leg ached from his exertions, but Gabriel ignored the pain. If he still wanted to still walk in ten summers, he needed to push himself now.

Anger stabbed him, but he shoved it away. Self-pity did nothing to change his circumstances. He may no longer serve Dracor as he once had, but his mental faculties were sharp, he still rode horses, and he had his faith. The ghoul hadn’t taken everything from him.

He glanced down at his damaged leg.

But it had taken enough.

A cry whispered on the bitter wind, and Gabriel glanced at the seagulls. Their plaintive calls washed over him, and a frown pinched his brow as he heard the sound again. More insistent this time if fainter.

He’d listened to the old legends about sirens luring sailors to their deaths on these rocks, but he paid them little heed. The waters around Emerald Point were treacherous, and the number of shipwrecks had more to do with inexperienced captains than mysterious demon women.

The cry came again, and Gabriel picked his way across the rocky beach and around the shattered planks deposited by a dozen or more shipwrecks. The ever-changing tide and jagged rocks made it impossible to know if the freshly splintered boards were from an old wreck or a recent one. Not that it mattered. In the rough waters of Emerald Point, no one ever survived a shipwreck.

Yet, the cry came again. Fainter now, more plaintive.

Gabriel cursed himself. He should go home, brew himself a pot of coffee, and forget whatever creature was trying to lure him. He’d fallen into a trap once, and it had cost him his leg.

But he was a Knight of Valor. Even if he no longer served on active duty, he couldn’t ignore the cries of someone who needed his help.

Limping across the beach toward the noise, Gabriel discovered a pile of boards hidden between rocks taller than a man.

The cry came again. Louder. Sharper.

It sounded close now, most likely under the boards.

The cry of a child, scared and alone. He’d fallen for it once. He’d fall for it now. He could make no other choice.

Setting aside his cane, he swallowed back the sour taste of fear and cleared away the boards. Carefully, lest one fall and crush the babe. If there was a babe.

The crying grew more urgent as if infant, or whatever it was, realized someone was coming.

Shoving aside the last board, Gabriel discovered a tiny child swaddled in a strange iridescent fabric. Tears stained the infant’s chubby cheeks, and she had strange golden hair that glittered in the morning sun. He leaned closer to her, and she opened her eyes. They glowed an unnatural shade of green and were larger than a cat’s eyes.

Gabriel stumbled back, and his bad leg crumpled.

He sprawled into the sand, water and rocks.

He cursed as he pushed himself up to sitting and brushed off a vine of seaweed.

The child cried again, her plaintive whimpers piercing his heart.

He had no idea what she was. Maybe the offspring of the very sirens he’d dismissed. Her pointed ears whispered elven, but he’d seen plenty of elves, and none of them had eyes like that.

Using his cane, he shoved himself back to his feet.

The infant whimpered as she stared at him with her inhuman eyes.

Gabriel clutched the amulet of Dracor he wore around his neck.

He sensed no evil from the child, but she was frightened, hungry, and alone. Whatever she was, he couldn’t just leave her to be carried off my wolves or worse.

Steadying himself, he limped back over to her. While dirt, sand, and seaweed clung to him, her blanket remained both dry and unsoiled.

He frowned as he reached for her, and the press of magic pushed at his hands before dissolving. Some sort of protection bubble. He’d seen them before, but never anything powerful enough to withstand a shipwreck.

Lifting the tiny infant, he held her close. She shivered and pressed against him, nudging his chest as she searched for food.

“Sorry little one, can’t help you there.”

He stroked her glittering hair, then took his canteen from his pocket. After saying a prayer to Dracor, Gabriel offered the child the water. She drank, her tiny face screwed up as she realized it wasn’t milk, but too hungry to refuse.

After she’d drunk her fill, Gabriel took off his jacket and fashioned it into a sling. Tucking the child into it, he tied his jacket in place, holding her snug against his chest. Her strange eyes closed, and she drifted to sleep.

Gabriel hoisted himself back to his feet. Thoughts of finding a wet nurse and figuring out how to care for the strange child until he could find her parents filled his thoughts, and he barely needed his cane as he walked across the rock-strewn beach to his cottage.

 

How to Not Set Goals

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Goals are important. They are how you turn dreams into reality, breaking down the ephemeral into manageable tasks.

But I set my goals a little too aggressively in March.

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Every year at the day job.

Sometimes, when you are so focused on achieving something, you can forget other obligations.

I released a book in early April. You can check it out here. It was the culmination of a lifetime goal.

I started writing my first novel when I was ten. I still remember the teal blue spiral notebook that housed that first book. I had planned to publish it before I was twelve, because I was awesome.

How I wish I had the confidence now I had then!

As excited as I was to release this book out into the wild (and nervous), it was a lot of work. On top of that, I was trying to write 1.5k words a day on a new WIP, work a demanding full time job, and be a parent and spouse.

Yeah, some things fell down.

I will never be Mom of the Year, but I could’ve been a lot a better.

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Sadly.

I will never be a perfect wife. Ever.

I will never be tracked as a “superstar” where I work. I just won’t put in enough hours, which is interesting when I think of all of the hours I’ve poured into writing novels.

But, I do need to figure out a better way to fit writing into my life. I love telling stories, though the act of writing itself is work. Hard work.

But I have this tendency to throw myself fully into whatever I’m doing when what I need is balance.

So, I’m sorting through that at the moment.

I finished a story I think of as Logan and Rita. Catchy title, I know, but it’s a fresh first draft. It’ll get better. I promise.

Now, to put my editing cape back on. And by cape I mean my comfy jammies with the most amazing LL Bean slippers. I need to figure out a pace I can manage with my children, spouse and job.

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But he still gets there.

Not sure what that is yet, but I’m not giving up on my Winter 2018 time frame for How to Love a Duchess.

 

 

 

Specter of Change Haunts Again

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Change is not something humans tend to love. I mean, Harvard can’t be wrong.

But more seriously, change is difficult. Change is stressful. There’s a reason why some of the most traumatic things in life involve change: death, new job, relocation, etc.

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Every mom’s life.

For those of you who have been following me for a while, you know I have two small children. For those who are new (hi! glad to see you!), I have two small children and a demanding day job.

For better or worse, I am the primary income in our house, and after trying being a stay-at-home dad during his paternity leave, my husband was so ready to go back to work. That meant we had to find quality childcare.

It’s insanely expensive (basically another mortgage payment per child you have in daycare), but we figured there is little more important to us than our kids, even our retirement, so we grumble and pay it. Yes, it’s meant having a smaller house and older cars, but it really didn’t feel like a choice.

We searched, found a really good daycare center, and our oldest child thrived there. She taught herself to read before she started 4K. She loved the other kids and the socialization. She loved showing off her skills and the praise it earned her. It made her work even harder. It was the perfect place for her.

But, the center had some turnover. Some of the teachers we loved have gone on to do other things. Our second child is not nearly as outgoing or self-motivated as her sister. Unless you give her a nudge, she’s happy playing by herself. She sort of cares if you’re happy with her, but she is much more concerned with pleasing herself.

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I am waiting for the day.

Yes, the teenage years for both are going to be quite the challenge for us!

Thing is, my youngest wasn’t getting the nudge she needed (okay, full on shove sometimes).

I started doing a little bit of research back at Christmas to find a new center, but then some other things came up concerning her. While everything turned out okay, it convinced me this was not the right place for her.

I discussed what was happening this with a couple of people who have a master’s degrees in teaching, and they all made me feel much better about my decision to change day care centers. Still, it’s a big decision, even if I think it’s the right one.

Now, for the huge undertaking to find a place that will be a better fit for our little one!

How about you? Ever have to make a decision like this? Or something similar? How did you know you needed a change? How did you go about deciding how to make that change?

Ailing Big Box Stores

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I’ve heard a lot of retail stores are ailing, and as I was doing research on purchasing a Mac, I decided to stop at Best Buy to do some of my shopping there.

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Okay, maybe not this grand.

In our house, I’m the researcher. I peruse websites, look up reviews, and otherwise try to figure out the best way to spend our hard earned dollars.

As such, I’ve been responsible for over 90% of the electronics purchases over the last fifteen years.

I haven’t shopped at Best Buy in a couple of years. We bought our plasma TV there, but I bought our last TV and laptop directly from Dell.

My husband decided to stay home with the kids instead of dragging them an electronics store and trying to make them behave, so I was on my own.

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Taking what I’d already learned about a Mac and my small list of questions, I drove to the nearest Best Buy.

I was somewhat surprised at how empty the parking lot was. Last time I was there, I had to park in Famous Footwear’s lot to get a spot. But, I was in the front ¼ of the parking lot, and that was just pulling in. Granted, this was on a Sunday afternoon, but even Sundays used to be so packed you had to walk far enough that your Fitbit thought you were exercising.

Shrugging, I enter the store, get my bearings, and head back to the computer section. There are two couples in the entire computer section. Two. No one else is there.

The first couple appears to be in their twenties, and they’re shopping gaming keyboards.

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It’s going to look like this no matter what keyboard you get. I know from experience.

The other couple is probably in their sixties, and they have two salesmen helping them with a third watching the other two salesmen help them. There are two other Best Buy associates strolling through the computer area.

Interestingly, no one offers to help me or asks what brought me to the store.

I eventually find the Macs, and I take a few minutes lifting them (3 pounds in really light, by the way), and trying to decide how they’ll fit on my actual lap. As I’ve mentioned, my Alienware is a powerhouse, but it’s heavy. More of a portable desktop than a laptop.

After a few minutes perusing the stock, I still haven’t had a salesman help me, and I can’t figure out how to buy one. Is there a slip I take to the front? How do I get the configuration I want?

Finally, I chase down a salesman to ask the few questions I have. Like will Word documents play nicely between a Mac and Windows if both machines are running Word.

The salesman, who is literally doing nothing else, acts like he’s super busy and says he’ll see if he can get someone to help me.

I let him go and left the store.

I called Apple, asked them my three questions, then proceeded to order a computer and have it delivered to my home.

Not entirely sure what happened at Best Buy. Maybe the guy was genuinely busy. Maybe he didn’t know Mac products. Or maybe he was on his way to break, and I was interrupting him. Not sure, but if I can’t get a better experience in person, I’m going to enjoy the convenience of online shopping and buy stuff that way.

Just an FYI Best Buy. And based on your parking lot, someone needed to tell you that.

 

How about you? Ever had a frustrating experience at a retailer? What happened? How’d you handle it?

And So I Joined a Cult

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Or am thinking about it, anyway. At least, that’s how the Mac users I’ve talked to describe themselves. They’ve all told me once I buy my first Mac, I won’t ever buy another Windows machine.

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Looks innocuous enough, and no purple Kool-Aid anywhere.

I’m skeptical, as is my nature, but I’ve never known anyone who has a Mac that hates it.

 Ever.

 Yeah, they’re more expensive, but everyone I talked to who owns one was more than willing to fork over their hard earned dollars to get another one.

And this includes some very frugal finance professionals.

So, I started to research more about operating specs, performance, etc. You need to know all of this on a Windows machine. When I bought my Alienware, I had an array of processors to choose from, video cards, hard drive space, RAM, screen size etc.

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Researching.

It’s less daunting to order your computer from Dell than to build your own, as I did on my last machine (where then you have to worry about motherboards, cases, power supply, etc.), but there’s still a lot to sort out to make good decisions.

Not so on the Mac. You have desktop or laptop. Once you choose laptop, there are only three options. A bit of research showed me the MacBook Air was probably the best choice for me in terms of functionality. I am not a high end user, and using Pages and maybe some ebook creating software is not a big deal to a Mac.

Once I chose MacBook Air, I basically had three choices left to make. Which of the two processors did I want, 8MB or 16MB of RAM, and 128GB, 256GB or 512GB for the solid state hard drive. That’s it.

 I should be in awe of the simplicity. Instead, I’m wary. Can it really be this easy? Can it really work as well as the Alienware?

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Way too much truth.

We need to replace my husband’s computer so we can each have a machine to work on at the same time. But this is a commitment. A big one.

Am I ready for it?

How about you? Ever make a big change like this from one system to another? How’d it go? Any tips or advice?

Short Story: A Dog of Her Own

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Lord Wrakar wishes she brought something like this home.

 

A Dog of Her Own

Andromeda kicked the dirt and crossed her arms over her thin chest.

It wasn’t fair.

She was bored and lonely. A dog would fix both.

Of course her grandmother didn’t want her to have one. She never wanted Andromeda to have anything nice. Laverra was still mad Andromeda had survived being born and angrier yet Andromeda’s father protected his daughter.

Andromeda glanced back at the upper windows of the gothic manor house looming behind her. It blocked out the faint trickle of sunlight that escaped the overcast sky and shrouded the grounds in gloom. The wards around the compound protected Andromeda from the outside evil, but they did nothing to protect her from what was inside.

She’d seen only six summers, but she already knew one day soon she’d have to protect herself.

Another reason for her to have a dog.

Her grandmother would be resting now, preferring to sleep during the day when her magic was weakest.

Andromeda snorted. Magic didn’t care if it was day or night, but her grandmother’s magic was fading. Laverra had deviated too far from Uzakiel’s path, and Rashalee had snared her in a web of lies, greed, and envy. The old woman would soon need a powerful blood sacrifice to appease Uzakiel.

She’d go after Andromeda’s father.

Andromeda wouldn’t let that happen, nor would her dog once she got one. Her father was the only one ever kind to her even if his studies absorbed so much of his time that he didn’t notice her most days.

She kicked the dirt again.

One of the human guards spotted her and hurried away, pretending he hadn’t noticed her.

Andromeda was used to it. She’d always been an ugly child with her too-big blue eyes and golden ringlets. But her father loved her, and people were nice to her because they didn’t want to anger Lord Wrakar.

One day, they’d be nice to her because they didn’t want to anger her.

The thought cheered her as she skipped down to the crypts. Dysentery had killed two human servants earlier in the week, and her father’s apprentices had laid out the bodies in the prepatory chambers with the flesh-eating beetles. Her father had no work for zombies at the moment, and after another week or so, one of her father’s apprentices would raise them for kitchen duties.

Fresh skeletons made the best house staff, and the apprentices needed the practice.

Andromeda liked the skeleton staff better than the human one. The skeletons never called her ugly, her father awful, or her dead mother stupid. And they always did what she told them.

Her grandmother wished Andromeda would be as well-behaved as the skeletons. Laverra could keep wishing.

Sitting on the edge of the mausoleum, Andromeda swung her legs. The crypts were quiet, like they always were. Like the manor house was. And the courtyards. And the workrooms.

She blew a golden curl from her eyes. Sometimes, she wished people would laugh. Smile. Even yelling would be better than the constant silence.

She wanted a dog. Needed it.

The crypts were situated in the most ancient parts of the family compound, and their family was one of the oldest in Oskelez. Andromeda wondered how old the bones moldering in the crypt were.

A smile teased over her lips as she thought of a way to ease her boredom.

Magic filled her, and she sunk it into the ground. It filtered over the bones of servants, then past the dust of her ancestors. Their presence intensified her own magic, and she giggled as a surge of power washed through her.

Harnessing it, Andromeda pushed the magic deeper. Burial sites from long forgotten wars lay further beneath the crypt. Deeper yet were the bones of peasants from a failed uprising.

Sweat beaded on Andromeda’s brow as she gathered the power of the dead to her, bolstering her magic and delving deeper.

Past the bones of noble knights and valiant priests who served gods she didn’t know. Deeper yet to the dust of slaves who’d built Oskelez and the bones of their masters.

The masters.

What is the seven hells were these creatures?

Things of nightmare. Things of…

Wait. Were those the bones of a dog?

A smile lit Andromeda’s face as she ripped the magic from the ancient dead surrounding the dog and funneled it into the beast.

Sweat trickled down her cheek as the dead fought her, resisted her.

She balled her tiny fists and locked her jaw. She was a necromancer of clan Xyrenia.

The. Dead. Would. Obey!

She tore the magic from them and slammed it into the dog.  Her dog.

The ground beneath the crypt shook, the dry earth cracking and tearing as a howl ripped through the silent afternoon and echoed off the magic wards.

Bone paws the size of caldrons punched through the ground, followed by two large heads and a massive body. The creature of nightmare stood taller than a man, and it tossed back both heads and howled.

Red pinpricks flickered in its eye sockets as it turned toward Andromeda.

She crossed her arms and waited.

The abomination studied her then lowered both of its heads to the ground at her feet.

Andromeda clapped her hands together in delight.

“I’ll name you Orthul, and we’re going to be the best of friends.”

She skipped back to the house, her new companion at her heels.

 

If you liked this story, you might like to check out a free copy of my debut novel, To Love a Prince.