Fantasy Romance
Yesterday was release day for my debut novel.
For those of you giving it a chance, thank you for taking the time to look at my work and giving me the opportunity to at least try to entertain you. It’s what all those years of work is about.
And if you get a chance, I would really appreciate it if you’d stop over and leave a review. Reviews are hugely important for indie authors. It’s how we get our work noticed, and how we get Amazon to take us seriously.
And thank you again.
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.
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.
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.
Not sure what that is yet, but I’m not giving up on my Winter 2018 time frame for How to Love a Duchess.
I may have been in a bit of mood the other day when I wrote this post.
But, if I put away my skeptic, I can admit that I think it’s important to manage stress. But to manage it, I need to understand what stress is. And I do want to better deal with it, especially as stress kills creativity. Hard to write Romance with dead creativity.
So, I did some research.
In a nutshell, stress is a physical response. Your body thinks it’s under attack and goes into fight or flight mode. Your body releases a whole bunch of hormones preparing you for physical action.
Despite what we’ve been told, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. During our hunter-gatherer days, this helped us escape from predators or defend ourselves and our tribes.
Where the issue comes is that our bodies haven’t adapted to modern life.
A boss with an impossible deadline triggers the same fight or flight mode as a lion trying to eat you. With a lion, we need the physical response to either flee or fight back. But this is not the best reaction in a modern environment. Here, we’d be better served if we our physical response was focused calm so we can at least try to make the deadline.
So, in addition to our evolutionary response not helping us in this situation, it also means we don’t have the opportunity to burn off those stress hormones. Not a lot of running while trying to piece together that report the boss wants. This is what causes the jittery feelings and racing heartbeat.
So, how do we deal with it?
The one thing that’s helped me the most is learning that the racing heartbeat and other aspects of stress are frequently caused by a physical hormonal response. These hormones need to be burned off, and I’ve started doing that by walking.
I try for at least a 30 minute walk at lunch, and this has helped tremendously. I burn off all my pent up stress hormones and come back to the afternoon more focused.
Sometimes, this isn’t enough, and I take a brisk walk through the halls. Other times, I’ll walk out to the lunchroom and back. Something, anything, to get me up, get me moving, and burn those stress hormones.
Now that I know stress is physiological in nature, it helps me deal with it.
My bigger issue is when I don’t have an outlet. While we are now in daylight savings time again, it’s dark when I get up in the morning, it’s dark by the time I get dinner on the table at night.
Better though than two months ago when I seldom saw the sun.
This means walking before work or in the evenings is a no-go at the moment.
I’m still trying to figure something out, especially with the kids. I have a treadmill and an elliptical in our finished basement, but it’s an act of Congress to get down there. Including the negotiating, pleading, and filibustering.
But I am working on it. I started making a play space for them downstairs so that they have something to do other than pester me while I’m trying to listen to an audiobook and burn some stress.
What do you do to deal with stress? Do you find it easier to cope with stress with physical activity?
Patience is especially touted for authors when what we want to get paid to tell stories. Instead, we must be patient and:
If anyone had told me any of the above about “breaking into” my day job, I’d have laughed at them so hard I’d have had to wipe away the tears as I changed majors.
One thing I’ve learned about virtues from raising my own children is that they are not the natural state of human beings. They are something sought after, something you aspire to achieve.
The amount of self-help articles out there professing to teach patience is impressive. But one thing I’ve learned is that the more articles there are to learn how to do something, the harder that something is and the less likely those articles are to help. Google “how to tie a shoe” versus “how to lose weight” and you’ll see what I mean.
So, why is patience so hard?
Patience is putting off something you want right now for the promise of a bigger reward later.
Think of your dog. He doesn’t care if you promise him three treats tomorrow if he doesn’t eat the one balanced on his nose right now. He’s going to eat the one on his nose as soon as you turn your back. You see this across animal behavior, and as this study shows, humans aren’t that far off from our canine friends.
So, I turned to science to understand more.
Our instinct is to seize the reward now, and resisting our instincts is hard. Check out any infant or toddler. We believe survival favored those that took immediate rewards. It wasn’t like there was a grocery store a mile away that we could stop at after work and get a tub of triple chocolate ice cream whenever we wanted. You took what came your way when it did.
If you’ve been taught throughout life that waiting gets you better things, you might learn to wait. But if you’ve been taught that people aren’t going to follow through, that you can’t trust them, then you’re more likely to grab for the sure thing. All those stories about “living like you’re dying”? They are a case study in lack of patience because you’re uncertain how much of a future you have.
The younger you are, the less patience you seem to have. Toddlers and impulse control, anyone? But life teaches us (most of us, anyway) to control those impulses. The more life experience you have, the more patient you become. Until you’re facing your own mortality, and then you’re back to point two above.
Ever stay up way too late knowing you were going to regret it in the morning? Being impatient has a similar root cause. The inability to connect your current self to your future self. The more you can visualize your future self either suffering (after staying up too late) or enjoying a large reward (after exhibiting patience), the more likely you are to choose the path that benefits your future self.
You know how time flies when you’re having fun, but put you in a corporate tax class, and minutes seem like hours? This has actually been proven by science. What this means is you have to be even more patient to get something you’re waiting for as time will seem to go even slower than if you weren’t waiting.
As I look through this list, the only thing that really seems within my control is working to visualize my future self. To know that if I keep working at my writing now, that future self will be happier.
I can apply this to things other than writing. Like parenting. Losing my patience with my children gives me a momentary outlet for my frustration, but my future self pays for it with more intractable children and a damaged relationship. Not that I should give into them, but losing my patience is not the right choice.
How about you? Are you patient? Impatient? If you’re naturally impatient, anything you do to try make yourself more patient? Does it work?
You can get the first parts of the short story here at Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.
Some said that Oskelez was a city without law and order. That wasn’t true. The laws of Humankind, Elvenkind, and Dwarvenkind were all based on the fears and priorities of their people, and they shared more similarities than differences. But the laws, rules, and regulations that governed within the obsidian walls of Oskelez were not crafted by any of the world’s mortal races.
Demons walked the boulevards and gardens in their true forms. The dead were raised by dark magic and enslaved alongside the living. But there were rules, even if most mortal minds couldn’t understand the reasoning behind them.
How long Oskelez had existed was a mystery to all but its Founders, and the few beings who remembered them spoke of them in hushed tones. But by their will were the laws of the city written in the surface of its obsidian outer walls and basalt-paved streets, in a language that only demons were able to speak aloud, and even then only on nights when there was no moon in the sky.
The Gods of Light and Justice, on those occasions when they allowed themselves to descend from the Divine Realm to the world, spoke of it to their followers by warning them to stay away. For thousands and thousands of years, Holy Kingdoms would rise and fall in the lands surrounding it, with armies of warrior-priests and devout paladins.
The foolish and prideful thought it was their destiny to smite Os-Kelez into oblivion for the glory of the Divines. The wise and the patient and the humble knew that their task was to watch, and to wait, and when necessary to contain.
Veronika didn’t know any of this. Being born and raised in the city, she accepted it as normal and knew little of the outside world other than that they hated and feared Oskelez. By her reckoning, “vampire” was just a stage in life, like “childhood” or “puberty”, that came after “adulthood” and meant you had to drink the blood of the living. Not becoming a vampire was viewed in much the same way as children or teenagers not surviving to adulthood. Some children survived to adulthood, some didn’t. Some adults made it to vampirehood, some didn’t.
Every time she met the latest incarnation of Plague-Emperor Skitterclaw, she humored him for a little while. Then killed him. At her first encounter, it was simply because she knew she had a better chance of survival with the Pest-Hunters than as a solitary orphan child.
Her reasons as a vampire were equally practical. She preferred blood from healthy victims. A devastating plague meant there would be less to feed from, and their blood would be filthy to say nothing of the taste.
She didn’t really believe he was truly the God-King of all rats and destined to bring plague and death to thousands. But why take the risk?
“Skitterclaw, I grow weary of this,” called Vordrack over the wailing. “The Howlers have gathered, and the acid is ready. It’s time to begin.”
“Begin what?” Veronika hissed in Skitterclaw’s ear.
Skitterclaw hissed back. “We release the catch that drops open the bottom of the cage. Not being very bright, the Howlers follow the frightened subject as they fall into the liquid. Vordrack has a spell that condenses spirits into crystals that he has all sorts of uses for, but the spirits have to be submerged in acid for it to work.”
Veronika surmised that the victims’ skeletal remains were just a handy byproduct. Necromancers had many uses for those, too. Still, as a grand-master alchemist, she couldn’t help but feel some professional curiosity. She’d love to compare notes with Vordrack about crystallizing ethereal spirits, if only she didn’t suspect he’d enslave her at the first opportunity.
“What role do you play in all this?” Veronika asked Skitterclaw. “Why does he need you?”
“Well, he says it’s because I’m small and light enough to run along the chains that hold the cage up so I can go whisper things to the one in the cage to optimize their fear. But I suspect it’s really for the prestige of working with I, Skitterclaw, God-King of…”
Veronika interrupted, sick and tired of hearing his full title. “You mean you’re just here to taunt whoever’s about to be dropped into acid?”
“Oh, Vordrack’s got this whole theory about how there’s seven different flavors of fear that the howlers can taste, and it results in different crystals. You’ve not exactly reacted according to script, so he’s probably not going to get the ones he’s after today.”
“No,” she said, glaring at him. “But he’ll get something!”
She squeezed her hand tighter, driving her claws into his flesh and drawing blood until he let out a shriek. Then she stuck her hand between the bars of the cage and dropped him.
As he fell, the Howlers locked on to his scream and whooshed down to surround him.
Veronika wasn’t sure what happened next. Perhaps his familiar drowning in acid stunned him. Perhaps he was trying to rush the spirit-crystallization spell because the sudden timing of the howlers’ descent caught him off-guard. Perhaps both at once, to varying degrees. But whatever the reason, Vordrack fell to his knees on the balcony above, and the cage-bottom remained solidly closed.
At least for the moment.
Thinking fast, Veronika slipped out of her long black dress.
Shadowviper silk was stylish and comfortable, at least to vampires (no one living had ever managed to wear it). It was also more elastic than wool and almost as strong as chain-mail.
She tied the sleeves of the dress in a tight knot around a bar at the base of the cage, then took the hem of the gown and tied it around her waist. A brief search revealed the catch that released the hinged cage floor. She took a deep breath and thought a silent prayer.
Gods of darkness, pain, and suffering, we souls of mortal races and undead will one day have our revenge at the end of time by swarming your horrifying magnificence like millions of tiny locusts. Though you may swat at us and destroy thousands, you will die choking on us as we enter oblivion with the satisfaction of having finally destroyed you.
It was a common prayer in Os-Kelez, often said for good luck when one was about to attempt something risky. Its origins were lost to history.
Veronika kicked the catch.
Nothing happened.
She cursed and kicked it again. Still nothing.
“What’s that?” Vordrack called. “Who’s there?”
Veronika gave a panicked gasp. The necromancer was coming back to his senses. Then she yelped as the floor gave way beneath her .
“The fear crystals! Quickly, Skitterclaw! Drain the pit before they dissolve!”
Veronika was hanging several feet below the bottomless cage, naked except for her leather boots. Retracting her claws so as not to shred the very fabric that her unlife depended on, Veronika pulled herself up the shadowviper-silk rope until she gripped the bars of the cage, then swung herself up onto the top of the cage with her vampire reflexes.
The crystals must have been important. Vordrack lurched to his feet and scrambled toward a panel of small levers, ignoring Veronika. She didn’t think she could avoid his notice forever. Best to get his attention on her terms.
She untied the dress from around her waist. Once she was free, she dashed toward the balcony with supernatural speed and grace and along the web of chains the cage was suspended from. Vordrack flipped a rat-sized lever with his finger, then turned to look down into the pit just as Veronika leaped upwards at him. She caught his chin with the hob-nailed heel of her leather boot in a flying kick.
Veronika stood over the unconscious necromancer still in nothing but her boots and resisted the urge to sink her fangs into him and feed. As hungry as she was, she knew having a necromancer’s blood inside her was a bad idea.
Killing him would be easy, but making sure that a necromancer of his caliber stayed dead would not.
At least, it wouldn’t be if there weren’t a pit of acid handy.
After retrieving her shadowviper-silk dress, Veronika made sure Vordrack’s mortal remains were entirely dissolved. It took longer than she thought, especially his bones. But given the likelihood that Vordrack had made arrangements to return as a Lich, she knew dissolving his bones could not be overlooked.
On her way out after completing the morbid task, Veronika came across what she recognized as an alchemical laboratory, and her curiosity perked up. Grand-Master alchemists were very secretive. She’d likely never get another chance to examine a rival’s laboratory. Not to mention she’d missed her appointment to get the reagents she wanted for her own experiments. She was owed some recompense.
She suppressed the growing urgency of her blood-hunger and searched the laboratory. Her patience was rewarded. A handwritten leather-bound tome entitled The sublimation of ethereal spirit essences and their applications was on a workbench surrounded by several small piles of crystals. The drawers, shelves, and cabinets yielded plenty of other rare and expensive reagents as well, along with a selection of exotic and valuable books.
His tools and instruments were tempting, but she had no way of carrying them.
A window opened out to the moonless nighttime skyline of Oskelez. Veronika smiled. With her pockets full of condensed howler crystals, in all seven flavors of fear, she swooped into the night in search of prey.
You can get the first parts of the short story here at Part 1, and Part 2.
Over the past several months, Veronika had been scouring the subterranean shops and nighttime street vendors of Oskelez. She was nearing a breakthrough in her alchemical research, but she needed some exotic ingredients. Rare poisonous mushrooms that only grew on top of the graves of murderers, and a supply of volcanic minerals rich in fossilized demon bones.
One of her regular suppliers had claimed to have a connection that could arrange for a shipment of what she needed. The price they were asking was high, but given what they were supplying, Veronika agreed it was fair. But she refused to pay until she received the goods.
She’d been on her way to meet them and make the transaction when, well, all she remembered was a bright purple light, and a humming sound. Next thing she knew, she woke up in the cage.
There was no way to be sure how much time had passed since her capture as there were no windows, but as a vampire, she was grateful for that. She estimated that she’d been taken two or three nights ago based on how strong her blood-hunger was getting. Whoever her captor or captors were, they weren’t allowing her to feed.
A handful of ghostly white, vaguely humanoid shapes came through the walls, howling and wailing and hovering in the air around the iron cage. They were fixated on the rat, but recoiled whenever they got too close to the iron.
Howler spirits? She’d never seen one in person before, but she’d read about them.
But they could hardly be considered true demons. For one thing, they weren’t smart enough. They fed on fear the way mosquitoes fed on blood and were about as intelligent. Whomever and whatever her captors were, on the other hand, were at least crafty enough to build a cage and suspend it over a pit of acid.
Maybe they keep the Howlers as pets? That seemed to Veronika like something a true demon might do. Then they’ll want a steady source of fear to keep their Howlers fed.
She thought about the arrangement: the source of fear was kept in a cage, and suspending it over acid amplified the captive’s fear. But only if they identify it as acid, from the smell. Any novice alchemist would recognize it as sulfuric acid. But would a non-alchemist know? They might guess it was just filthy liquid. Is fear of drowning that common? Perhaps if a heavy iron cage prevented you from swimming to the surface, it would be.
But then the cage itself is made of pure iron, to repel them when they swarmed around the source of fear. Why would that be?
“Skitterclaw!” A deep voice echoed off the stone walls, raised to be louder than all the howling that was still going on. “What’s taking you so long? Return to me, now!”
Veronika looked up. Ten or twelve feet above where the cage was suspended there was a balcony of sorts. But her view of it was partly blocked by the heavy iron chains the cage was hanging from. But there was someone standing there in the unmistakable black robes and bonework accessories of a Necromancer.
Now Veronika was afraid.
As the living-dead, vampires were vulnerable to necromantic magic. And certain necromancers were known to exploit this fact in rather perverse ways.
Although it was impossible for a vampire to disobey a command from the Master vampire of their Blood-Circle, they still retained the free will to agree or disagree with such commands, and a Master vampire that ruled a Circle for their own benefit, rather than considering the needs and well-being of their Circle, would eventually have their orders creatively interpreted in ways that would bring about their downfall.
But a necromancer could, given sufficient time, take a vampire’s mind away little by little until they were mentally no more than an obedient zombie.
Veronika began brainstorming ways to rapidly commit suicide that would kill her before the necromancer finished a complete sentence. But no. Without access to sunlight, nothing she could do to herself would kill her that fast.
Her only hope was to conceal the fact that she was a vampire. A desperate plan, to say the least.
“Skitterclaw?” The necromancer had a deep bass voice. “Why are you still in the cage?”
“May I answer him without you dropping me?” The self-proclaimed God-King of all rats whispered to Veronika from her clawed hand. He was close enough that she could hear him over the howling.
“That depends on how you answer,” she said. “If you betray me, do you think you can do it thoroughly enough to ensure I don’t survive?”
“Umm….”
“Because if you do betray me, and I survive…” Then I’ll be a mindless plaything, she thought with horror. But she hoped that the way she trailed-off implied a threat of vengeance.
The howler spirits were centered on Veronika now, instead of Scitterclaw. She didn’t care. Spiritual mosquitoes lapping up small amounts of her fear were the least of her worries.
“I, Plague-Emperor Skitterclaw,” the rat called up to the balcony, “God-King of all rats and faithful servant of the goddess of pestilence, am not yet finished. I shall return to your side when I am good and ready. I shall not be rushed.”
For a few moments, there was no reply. Just more howling from the swarm of spirits around the cage.
“What do you mean, you’re not done?” The necromancer sounded incredulous. “The Howlers are here.”
Veronika held up a finger to get Skitterclaw’s attention.
“Who is that?” She whispered, holding him close to her face she he could hear her over the racket of the spirits.
“That’s Necromancer Lord Vordrack,” said Skitterclaw. “I persuaded him to help me spread plague and disease in the name of the goddess by pointing out that he’d have a plentiful supply of dead to raise.”
Veronika guessed Vordrack had been the one doing the persuading, and the rat had twisted the truth in his mind to support his delusions.
“You’re his familiar, aren’t you?” She asked.
“Only until I have no further use for him,” said Skitterclaw.