Excerpt, "Sapphire Crucible"

Necromancer hovered down lavish halls and then descended into the bowels of the palace where rough stone lined the walls and there was a slow, constant stream of water running along the edge of the floor. He reached the end of a long hallway where a sign hung beside a door of no great significance. The sign read, ‘Imperial Magician’s Quarters’. Necromancer gestured with his hand and the door swung open. He entered the room and closed the door behind him.

He was in a dimly lit workshop with bookshelves and bins filled with scrolls lining every bit of wall. In the center of the room was a grand table with scrolls open in no particular pattern covering its entire surface. Seated at the table was a demure human male little bigger than Necromancer. He had been studying a text by candlelight, as there were no windows in the former dungeon to spread light.

Upon seeing Necromancer he jumped to his feet and stood at attention. The great wizard hovered to the chair and sat. He hung his head in his hands and remained silent.

“My Lord Necromancer. I take it today’s events did not unfold as we had hoped?” the man asked.

Necromancer lifted his head and looked at the man with sarcasm. “Does anything seem different to you?”

“Forgive my question Great One. I had such hopes.”

Necromancer’s eyes began to sparkle once again. “Do not fret Mordane. There is still quite a bit of good news. Our Dear Lord Mandrean now has the Blue Sapphire. It is up to us to fashion an instrument for him to use its power. We must accomplish this within two days.

“While I require no sleep, you will be forced to work this grind with me until our task is completed. You can sleep when this is over.”

“As always, My Master, I am here to serve your every need,” Mordane said with his head bowed low.

Necromancer took hold of the man’s shoulder and shook it gently. “Through all of these years, you have been my finest assistant. The day will come when your allegiance will be rewarded.”

Mordane nodded and said, “Tell me the first thing you require from me in this task.”

Christmas Sales

We’re almost at the winter solstice.  It seems appropriate that I’m writing you because my publisher is Solstice Publishing.  Everyone seems to be rushing to finish their Christmas shopping for things that will be on clearance next week.  It sounds strange but it’s true.  I must confess I must brave the mall today in order to get a gift card.  Then my shopping will be complete.  So many people wait till the last minute to do their shopping that there becomes a buying frenzy as stores prepare to close for the holiday.  Being in retail, I always root for the stores this time of year.  I want to see record sales.  The internet has taken a big chunk out of brick and mortar sales.  Without good Christmas seasons you could see Sears and J.C. Penny’s go out of business.  I never like to see that loss of business’.  Too many hard-working people lose their job needlessly.  I worked for Montgomery Ward and watched them go under.  It was sad.  I jumped ship before it went down because I could see the writing on the wall.  Many others rode it out and went down with her.  This Christmas think of what you bought on line and then ask yourself if you could get it at the store for the same price.  If the answer is “Yes” then next time buy it in the store and give that clerk a job.  Pretty soon there will just be Wal Mart and Target left to shop.  That will be a bad say for customers.

Excerpt, "Quest for the Red Sapphire"

His goal came into view at the dead end of the road, but before he could take in the grandeur of his parent’s home, a pedestrian abruptly impacted his horse.

The lady was dressed in a fine yellow taffeta frock with lace trim.  She fell in a somewhat amusing manner against the red-bricked road.  Her large bustle cushioned the landing initially but then forced her torso to slide back from the force of the fall.

With great embarrassment, she rolled back to her feet.  Deliberately pushing the horse’s head out of the way, she stamped by indignantly.

“Out of my way, ruffian!” she said, not looking at Linvin.  “You would think a proper lady could walk these streets without being accosted by such vile vermin.  Well, go beg for work elsewhere!”

Linvin laughed at the frumpy old woman.  “Could I not even rake your yard for a slice of your cherry-berry pie?”

The woman stopped immediately.  She turned her head and squinted as she looked at Linvin.  “No,” she told herself, “This can’t be.  Not…little Linvin Grithinshield, coming home at last?”

Linvin smiled widely.  “I’m not so little anymore, Mrs. Harnbottom.”

“Well, just so you’re not too big to come down here and give an old woman a hug.”

Linvin dismounted and hugged the plump matriarch.  “I have been called many things over the years, but I must say this is the first time I have ever received the title of ‘ruffian.’

Mrs. Harnbottom stroked his cheek and looked ashamed.  “Dear sweet Linvin, I did not recognize you in these rags … and armor, no less.”

“Well, my road has been a long one and my appearance may indeed show it.”

“You were probably the wiser for not appearing of status these days.  What with bandits on the roads and crime on every street, it’s hardly safe for a woman of status to travel anymore.”

“I do not recall Fraylic being so dangerous in my youth,” Linvin recalled.

Mrs. Harnbottom pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped invisible tears from her eyes.   “That was a long time ago.  The city has more than doubled its size since you left.  With the end of the war years ago, all the major trade routes began to travel through here.  That’s the reason for all of the crime.  With so much wealth passing through these streets, many unscrupulous characters want a piece of it.  Robbers, swindlers, murderers…” She stopped in mid-sentence after realizing what she had said.

 

“Are you speaking of my father’s disappearance?” Linvin asked directly.

Mrs. Harnbottom hesitated and used the rare occasion to choose her words wisely.  “No one knows what really happened to your father, but if you asked me, he was killed by one of those trading cartels.  They never could compete with Dirk Grithinshield and the Grithinshield Trading Company.  With him out of the picture, it gives hope to rivals who otherwise could not compete.”

“I don’t mind telling you, your father could trade for goods from all over the world like no one before.  No other trading house could match him.  Dirk was a charming man; shrewd, but fair.  He was an amazing businessman.  It was simply impossible not to like the man.  Well, perhaps I was wrong on that point.”

Her voice was at once panicked and embarrassed.  “Pay me no mind, Linvin.  I have misspoken.  No one knows of the course of his demise.  Your family’s fortune could have drawn many to do Dirk harm.

“Well, I would not say that my family has a fortune,” Linvin said in confusion.

Mrs. Harnbottom was taken aback.  “Either you are being falsely modest or you really have no clue of your family’s wealth.”

Linvin looked puzzled and remarked, “Mother had said in her letters that business in the store was going well.”

“Store?” repeated Mrs. Harnbottom, “Grithinshield Trading Company has stores throughout the city, even different cities throughout the country have stores.  The company has no rival.  I’d wager their worth to be more than the entire treasury of Sartan.”

“I had no idea my father’s enterprises had been so lucrative,” Linvin said with bewilderment.

It quickly became obvious to Mrs. Harnbottom, as was often the case, that she had revealed more than she should have about business not of her concern.  As was also her fashion, she shrugged it off and patted Linvin on the shoulder.

“Listen to an old woman carrying on so when you just want to get home.  Well, I’ll keep you no longer.  Give my regards to your mother and uncle.”  With that, she waddled through the gate of her nearby manor.

Linvin stood motionless in an effort to absorb what he had heard.  Perhaps, in an effort to deal with the vivid images the conversation had created, he told himself that they were the unfounded ramblings of an old woman whose only true contribution to society was her cherry-berry pie.

Writing Off Script

It’s a crisp winter’s day here in Nebraska. (I know it’s officially fall but winter sounds more appropriate; don’t you think?)  All that’s missing is the snow and from what I’ve seen of other parts of the country, I don’t mind waiting for that.  I was working on my fifth book yesterday.  I was typing along, happy as can be.  Then I suddenly thought about the script I had laid out in bullet point months ago.  Taking a look at it I was totally off the rails.  I was in a situation that was never even planned.  What’s worse is I was taking the story down a whole new tangent which would totally abandon the script.  I stopped writing at that spot and thought about it the rest of the night.  Should I continue on this tangent and write by the seat of my pants?  I’m not a seat of my pants kind of guy.  I like to know where I’m going.  Then again, it sure was fun.  Should I erase (Hate to even say that word) from where I went off script and rewrite it?  As I’ve said many times on this blog, these words are my babies.  I can’t just give them up.  Reading over what I wrote, I was impressed.  As the cursor blinked, I thought.  Then I had a revelation.  I was thinking of this as two lines.  Why not make it a loop?  I would keep what I had written and then write my way back to the script.  It is the best of both worlds.  That is what I will be doing today.  That’s the nice thing about being the writer, you can make your own rules.

Excerpt, "Sapphire Crucible"

The dreadful noise was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots on the stairs. Two human guards carrying an obscured prisoner thundered down the steps. Stopping at their floor, the guards could each be seen holding one arm of a young human woman. Her head hung down with a tangled mass of blond hair hiding her face. The woman’s feet dragged trenches in the straw on the floor as they carried her down the hall. Her clothing was tattered and shredded. Opening the cell next to the elves’ they tossed her in like a bale of hay.

“You’ll give us answers,” one yelled as he locked the door. “If you don’t I’m sure Hugon would be happy to interrogate you himself.” They laughed and then descended the stairs.

Between the cells were thick stonewalls that prevented prisoners from seeing each other. They did not, however, deafen sound. The girl cried as she lay on the floor. It was a painful, sorrowful sound.

Linvin sat on the other side of the wall trying to think of something to say. His usual greetings seemed wrong at that moment. At last he managed, “Are you hurt?” The sobbing continued. “Miss,” he called out louder, “Are you injured?”

The crying reduced and was interrupted occasionally by a sniffle. “It’s nothing that won’t heal,” she said meekly. “But it doesn’t matter. I will never leave these walls alive.”

Linvin moved closer to the bars by the wall. “My name is Linvin. What is yours?”

There was silence for a few moments and then one soft, beautiful word was spoken in return. “Mirianna,” she replied.

“You seem a little out of place here,” Linvin said.

“Everyone in this tower is out of place,” she answered indignantly. “I suspect that was their purpose in building it. You don’t sound like the usual criminals they bring in here. There must be a different reason you have checked in to this establishment.”

“I have no idea why we are here.” Linvin answered.

“Sure you do,” Mirianna said. “Everyone knows why they’re here. Some people just don’t want to admit the answer.”

Linvin was caught off guard by her banter. He tried to refocus on her. “Well then, why are you here?” he asked.

Her tone immediately changed. “So that’s your game, is it? They bring me down here and think I will tell you everything just by asking? Nice try Spy. I am wise to you. You can tell that red-eyed sorcerer you work for I have no knowledge of my country’s defenses. You can also tell him if I did know anything, I would never tell him or any of his agents.”

Linvin was stunned by the accusation. “Mirianna, you are mistaken. I am no spy. My kin and I are prisoners just like you.”

Mirianna snapped back. “That is just what a spy would say.”

Linvin sighed. “If I were a spy then why would they put three other people in here with me? Would it not be wiser to have a single person here to whom you could confess?”

Mirianna was silent for a moment and then began to cry once again. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. They have tried so many tricks to make me betray my country. I am just so tired.”

Linvin sighed and thumped the back of his head against the wall. “How about this,” he proposed. “I am not a spy and have no use for any information about whatever country you are from. Since, however, I cannot say what can be heard by others in this place, perhaps we could talk without either of us revealing anything our jailors do not already know.”

After more time Mirianna agreed. “You start,” she told Linvin in a quiet voice from just the other side of the wall.

“Well,” said Linvin as he thought. “My uncle, cousins and I were traveling through the Unclaimed Territory and were caught trying to cross the Mystic River into the Mandrean Empire.”

Patience

So there you sit with a white screen in front of you and the cursor blinking as though it were teasing you.  You want to write something but don’t have a complete thought.  Still the cursor blinks and blinks.  You don’t realize how long it has been until the screensaver comes on.  At last you have an idea for your blog.  This blog is about patience as a writer.  It is much different than patience in other things.  In writing you know the words you need are within yourself.  You just need some stimuli to bring them out.  It’s a lot like water breaking on a pregnant woman.  There’s all that pressure built up and them bam, it hits you all at once.  As a writer you try to type out the thoughts before you lose them.  Everything is a blur.  When the thought is finished you collapse in an exhausted state but are proud of yourself.  Once you read over and correct your mistakes the juices are flowing and you keep on writing.  The ideas flow like a river through your brain.  Once you are emotionally spent and you stop typing you find you have written page after page of quality content.  Just remember to avoid the trap of writing until you have nothing else to write.  That will leave you in the same predicament you had at the start.  Always, always, always leave yourself something to write at the end of your session.  That way you have something to start with next time and you can go from there.  As a writer you need patience.  All the answers are in your head.  You just have to wait for them to come out.

Excerpt, "Quest for the Red Sapphire"

Bander helped the gnome to his feet.  “I can manage,” he was told as the gnome slapped his hands away.  Stumbling, he managed to stand.  He brushed the dirt off his vest and turned his attention to Linvin.  “You had no right getting involved in that disagreement!”

“Disagreement?” laughed Rander.  “It looked like the only thing they hadn’t agreed on was how they were going to dispose of you.”

“Hey, Buttercup!” the gnome called to Rander.  “Do you mind?  I was talking to Elf-Man over here.  Just keep your mouth shut while the grown-ups talk.”

Rander was incensed “You have some nerve, talking to us like that after we saved your life.”

The gnome calmly walked over and kicked Rander in the shin with his boot.  Rander bent down to grab the leg in reaction.  Once his head had lowered, the gnome put his mouth by Rander’s ear and screamed.  “I didn’t ask for your help!  I don’t want your help!  When I have something to say to you, I will say it to you!  Now sit down and shut up.”  The gnome chopped with his open hand at the back of Rander’s knee and the elf fell to the ground.

As Rander rolled around in pain, the gnome walked over to Linvin.  “Bit of an annoying one you got there, aye, Elf-Man?”

Linvin was surprisingly amused.  “He has his moments, my good gnome, but by and by, he is still my kin.  He did not deserve your treatment any more than I believe you deserved the treatment by those men.  I do not find your gratitude for our efforts to be in keeping with custom.  Perhaps you wish we had not come along when we did?”

The gnome looked each party member in the eyes for a few moments at a time.  Bander looked away from the gnome’s brazen stare.  Rander was angered but also looked away, turning his attention to his pain.  Anvar looked straight back like some curious flower had been brought to his attention.  Linvin watched the gnome the entire time and did not blink when their eyes met.  As if they had rehearsed, a wicked smile appeared on both their faces at the same time.  They looked like they were the only ones in the group knowing the answer to a riddle.

The gnome spoke first, “I suppose you did make it a touch easier for me to disassociate myself with those ruffians.  If your ego be in such need of stroking, then by all means, accept my most gracious and humble thanks.”  The gnome placed his hand over his heart and bowed before Linvin.

The sarcastic remark and gesture enraged Rander as he regained his feet.  Linvin, however, found entertainment in their new acquaintance.  He held his open palm toward Rander in order to withhold his rage.

“Such sincerity in this day is rare, indeed,” Linvin said with tongue-in-cheek.  “As long as we are exchanging pleasantries, I believe introductions are in order.  My name is Linvin Grithinshield.  These two over here are my cousins, Rander Greenlith and Bander Greenlith.  The other fine gentlemen is our uncle, Anvar Greenlith.”

The gnome nodded as he followed Linvin’s references.  “Rander and Bander, huh?” noted the gnome.  “You must have a bunch of older siblings that used up all the good names for your ma to saddle you with those.  Not to be mean, but you sound like carnival folk.”

Rander put his face directly across from the gnome and spoke in a loud but shaky tone.  “You insult us for no good reason!”

“Now, that isn’t true,” the gnome quipped, as he gently created space between himself and Rander.  “I insulted you with good reason.  Your names are, for lack of a better word, stupid.  Remember, I did say that I wasn’t trying to be mean.”  The gnome cocked his head sideways to look around Rander and spy Linvin again.  “Bit of a touchy one, this little guy here, aye, Elf-Man?”

Rander panted hard and gnashed his teeth as he stuck his face in front of the gnome once again.  His eyes flashed with rage and his fists clenched.  The gnome shook his head in disappointment and brushed him aside on his way over to Linvin.

“Please,” the gnome told Rander, “if you were going to make a move, you would have done it already.  It’s not your fault, though.  Probably nursed too long as a babe.  Have cheer, young elf.  I have not come near to pointing out your greatest shortcomings.”

Back To Writing

Well, we had Thanksgiving with doorbusters.  Then we had the chaos of Black Friday. Not to be forgotten was Small Business Saturday.  Then Sunday was just the carryover from the wave of the previous two days.  Next came Cybermonday and all the shopping your bandwidth would allow.  Many stores extended Cybermonday into Tuesday but day was already reserved as Giving Tuesday.  So here we are on what I shall name “Back to Work Wednesday.”  The leftover turkey is gone and your bank account is empty.  Reality returns as the fever goes away and everyday life begins anew.  For me that means returning to my first love, writing.  Book 5 has been waiting for my return like a patient mistress biding her time until you are reunited again.   Writing is a love; a hunger that lingers until you can write again.  That’s how it should be.  If it becomes a chore you know something’s wrong.  So all you writers out there, find some time today and work on your passion.  Even the most patient mistress needs some attention from time to time.     

Excerpt, "Sapphire Crucible"

“Now, where are the prisoners’ possessions” he asked in a normal tone of voice. Several of the goblins ran outside and pulled the cart with the items to the door. Necromancer approached the cart and sifted through the materials. His face lit up with a wicked smile as he produced the gold chain and key Linvin had been wearing. He discarded the chain and placed the key in the folds of his robe. “Take the rest of this lot to the top floor storage area.”

“Lord Necromancer,” asked Hugon. “Should I inform Lord Mandrean of the prisoners’ arrival? They are his captives after all.”

“No need to bother him,” Necromancer replied. “I will tell him when the time his right. For now they are my prisoners and you would do well to remember that.”

“As you command,” assured Hugon. “What level do you want me to take our guests down to for lock-up?”

Necromancer walked over to Linvin and observed his condition. “Take them up to the second floor.”

“But My Lord...” began Hugon.

Necromancer slowly turned his head toward the goblin and he stopped talking. “Let me say this one last time. The prisoners are to be well treated and cared for. I want them fed as I have instructed and their wounds treated by our physicians. My patience in this matter has been exhausted. Now all of you help them to their feet and follow me.”

Gently the goblins assisted the frail elves to their feet, save for Linvin who required four soldiers to carry his frame. The goblins formed a line behind Necromancer and ascended the stairs. Everyone but Hugon came. He remained on the floor and quivered as he took stock of his injuries.

On the second level were cells in good condition with straw on their floors. Though the stairs continued up they were staying where they were. The bewildered elves were carried past several cages and halted by one at the end of the hall. A large cell door was opened and the party was gently laid on the straw. Necromancer supervised the action. He ordered the shackles removed from all but Anvar. Then the door was closed and locked.

He stepped over to the bars and looked closely. “Yes,” he said, “You shall do rather nicely I should think. Guard. Bring the food I had prepared for them. Also bring the Imperial Physicians. Their strength must return.” The guard paused as if to ask a question and then saw Necromancer’s eyes begin to glow with greater ferocity.

“Right away Sir,” he said as he hurried down the stairs.

Linvin rolled over and looked at the strange man at the other side of the gate. There was something very cold  

 

and wrong about Necromancer and yet he saved their lives. Linvin collected himself and spoke. “Are you our friend?” he asked.

“No,” Necromancer answered without hesitation. “As insignificant as you are, you are a means to an end for me. Besides, I have no friends. To be someone’s friend you must see them as being equal to yourself...and no one in this world comes even close”

Linvin was confused by his host’s actions but tried not to give much away. “What do you want with my house-key?”

Necromancer laughed. “Come now, Grithinshield. You and I both know it is not your house-key. Even if it was, I doubt locking your door would have kept them out.”

“Kept who out?” asked Linvin.

“Do not play coy with me, Little Flea. You know about whom I speak and you know why I need this key.” Then he paused and thought as he looked at Linvin’s inquisitive expression. “Perhaps you don’t know why the key is important? Do you know what it opens?”

Linvin looked at Anvar. His uncle looked as lost as Linvin.

Necromancer placed his arms on his knees and asked chidingly, “Would you like me to tell you the answer?”

“Yes,” replied Linvin.

“I am sure you would,” Necromancer laughed. “Perhaps I overestimated you. No matter. With any luck I will not need you. All the same, get some rest. You may be in need of your strength before all is finished. We want to be prepared.” Necromancer turned to leave.

“Why are you doing this?” pleaded Linvin.

Necromancer did not break stride and continued to head for the stairs. “I grow tired of filling in the gaps in your knowledge. Try putting the pieces together. Maybe you will surprise me when I see you next. I doubt it but you might. After all, I never thought you would get this far.” He descended the stairs and left the elves alone.

Black Friday

Black Friday used to be an event.  Stores would open at 6 or 7 AM and people would be lined up waiting to get that one special deal.  Then the doors would open and chaos would ensue.  I’ve worked retail all my life and watched it.  Then K Mart started opening on Thanksgiving and a new trend stared.  Other stores like Wal Mart began starting their sales at 6 PM on Thanksgiving.  Other stores followed.  Now I can’t look at my email without a Pre-Black Friday Sale staring me in the face.  Amazon even has Black Friday for a week before the actual event.  In it all the magic of the event has been lost.  It has been exploited and degraded to just another shopping day.  That doesn’t even take into account the added stress on the retail associates.  There’s no going back now.  Soon stores will be open all day on Thanksgiving.  Many of them will close due to on line shopping.  I could see Sears and J.C. Penny closing their doors in the next 12 to 24 months.  Best Buy will fall soon after.  Even Macy’s will tumble.  Customers are shopping at the smaller boutiques and on line.  Internet companies don’t have the overhead of a brick and mortar store so they can charge less.  Which brings us back to Black Friday.  The items the stores do sell are loss leaders where products are sold at a loss to get you in the door in hopes you’ll buy something else.  Lately I see most people leaving with just the loss leader.  The stores can’t go on that way.  In 5 years Black Friday will look very different.  

Excerpt, "Quest for the Red Sapphire"

Rander was beginning to fall asleep when he heard rustling from the trees across the clearing.  He perked up and looked closely at the area.  Though his eyes saw nothing out of the ordinary, his ears heard the snapping of branches caused by an animal running in the woods.

He turned to signal his brother but noticed that Bander was preoccupied trying to swipe a mosquito buzzing about his head.  Rander dared not make a sound, in fear of revealing his position.  He waved an arm to get Bander’s attention.  The gesture went unnoticed.  Bander’s interest was totally held by the flying nuisance.

The sound from the woods grew louder and was repeated in unison from other nearby clumps of trees.  Rander could wait no more.  He placed an arrow on his bow and fired it at his brother.  It struck the tree near Bander’s head.  The suddenness of the event nearly caused the burly elf to fall from his perch.

He drew back an arrow and turned to see his attacker.  When he spied his brother looking at him most crossly, Bander relaxed his bow and stared at him with his head slightly cocked to the side.  Rander feverishly pointed to the woods from which the noise had originated.  Bander stared at the woods with the same confused look he had been showing Rander.

Suddenly, the trees began to shake.  Bander joined his brother with his bow ready to fire.  It was not long before a herd of deer stepped from the woods and into the clearing.  Without hesitation, the elves fired.  Their aim was true and two deer fell immediately.  The rest of the herd charged down the clearing with great haste.

Rander pulled a second arrow from his quiver and fired again at the fleeing game.  The arrow struck a deer in the hind leg and knocked it to the ground.  Bleeding badly, the animal tried to get to its feet and resume running.

Not wanting to lose the precious meat, Rander dropped his bow, drew a knife and slid down the tree to finish his task.  As he neared the fallen game, he noticed that it was not looking at him as it tried to escape.  It was looking back at the woods it had just left.

Rander stopped next to the deer and turned curiously to look at the woods as well.  All he saw was a charcoal-colored blur as he was knocked to the ground.  An immense pain came from his leg moments later.  He looked down to see his entire calf lodged in a Trogo’s mouth.  It shook its head back and forth so hard that the motion lifted Rander off the ground.  With one last swing of the head, it threw Rander several paces in the air before he landed and rolled to a stop.

The wounded elf was in shock and looked about for the beast.  To his horror, more creatures than he could count had entered the clearing and were surrounding him.  They growled and snarled as they moved closer.  Time seemed to creepas Rander awaited the attack.  He screamed for help, but his voice was overcome by the sounds of the Trogos. Having sized up their prey, the one with Rander’s blood in his mouth attacked first.

Having lost his knife during the attack, there was little Rander could do except put his arm in front of his face and close his eyes. The sound of the barking suddenly stopped as a low-pitched whine came and went in an instant.  Immediately following it was a loud yelp from the Trogo near him.

Uncovering his eyes, Rander saw the Trogo spinning in a circle, trying to remove an arrow from its side.  It had hit near the ribs, but did not dig deeply into his thick hide.  Another Trogo came close and snapped the arrow’s shaft.

It was about that time that another arrow struck the same wolf.  It struck in the hindquarter, but again, did little damage.  A third arrow totally missed the target and lodged in the ground.

The pack spread out and did not take long to locate Bander in his tree.  They left Rander and the deer behind as they surrounded the tree and began barking at its host.  The beasts demonstrated remarkable agility as they leapt nearly to the branch where he stood.

As the terrified elf drew back his bow, one of the trogos caught hold of his boot at the apex of its jump and tore it from his foot as it fell.  The incident knocked Bander on his belly.  He struck his head on the wide branch but had the sense to hold on to it.  In order to grab the branch, however, he was forced to let go of his bow.  It fell to the ground, where it instantly became a chew-toy for the trogos.

Realizing he was within reach of his adversary, Bander tried to return to his feet.  The action was too late, however, as a wolf jumped for his dangling arm.  Bander could see the jaws coming near as if it was happening slowly.

Just as the teeth were about to strike, a high-pitched whine preceded an arrow slicing through the great animal’s neck.  The arrowhead stopped only after exiting the far side of the skin.  With a horrible yelp, the beast fell to the ground and moved no more.

Patience

Patience.  Yes, that’s what I need; patience.  My 3^rd book was assigned to an editor in August.  Still all is quiet from their end.  My mind begins to race.  “What if it is full of errors and is taking a long time to edit?”  “What if the editor only works on it periodically.”  “What if the editor hasn’t even started it yet?”  I reached out and emailed the editor and heard back a week later that she was swamped and there was much to do on my book.  Ouch.  That doesn’t sound promising. That was a month ago.  I don’t want to tick off the person editing my book but I am anxious to get it published; hopefully before Christmas.  Every day I open my email with new found hope that something will be there.  Every day I am disappointed.  I want to email again but I’m sure the editor is aware of my book and does not want to hear a writer nagging them.  So, what am I left with?  I wait and wait.  Right now, I need patience.  But it will not be long before my patience wears thin and I use my writing skills to draft an email.  It’s like someone’s testing one of your children and you’re in the hall outside waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  In the end there is little you can do but have patience.  So that is my goal.

Excerpt, "Sapphire Crucible"

In the very center of the bed lay a middle-aged human man of size slightly larger in height and substantially greater in weight than Linvin. His hair was a combination of black and gray. The latter color carried over to his morning facial stubble. On either side of him lay a voluptuous young woman of impeccable beauty. The girls attempted not to giggle while the man settled his composure.

“Has morning come early, Lord Fendri?” the man in the bed asked.

Fendri sat his tray on the bed and showed an expression of mild frustration. Then he set about drawing back the curtains around the room to allow the sunlight to enter. In a disappointed voice he proclaimed, “It is mid-morning, my Good Lord Mandrean. You have an eventful day planned. I would have presumed you would have made less active use of your bed. Your endurance will be needed later in the day more than it was last night.”

One of the girls responded. “Trust me, Lord Fendri. He needed all his endurance last night.” She smiled like a temptress and caressed Lord Mandrean’s face.

Fendri wrinkled his lips to one side as he beheld the absent attire of the ladies. Then he sighed and responded, “I am sure he did. Nevertheless, our Lord has greater demands this day.” He ushered the slaves to bring their trays to the concubines in the bed. Then he lifted his master’s tray and set it over his lap with sides extending down to hold it aloft. Once the coverings were removed, a huge breakfast was revealed. The plates for the emperor held steak, eggs, bacon, fresh bread and fruit. A small pot of tea completed the meal. The concubines had smaller portions of the same foods.

As the inhabitants of the bed ate, Fendri and the slaves gathered randomly discarded clothing from the floor and piled it by the stairs. “I shall have the maid come shortly to tidy your rooms Sire.” He picked up several empty wine bottles and placed them by the clothing. “It would seem your private wine cellar is in need of restocking. You appear to be dipping into vintages you seldom touch.”

“Make sure you do that,” Mandrean said with his mouth full of steak. “I was meaning to bring that to your attention. See to it that it is filled by this evening. I intend to have several of my ladies for the night.”

“Will we be among them?” the girl to his right asked.

Mandrean did not even turn his head when he addressed her. “No, you will not. I want variety. Tonight I shall have Sixty-two, Sixty-nine and Seventy-one brought to me. See to it early, Fendri, so they may have time to prepare.”

“My Lord,” asked the second girl. “Were we not to your liking?”

Again, Mandrean did not look at the girl to whom he was speaking. “If you were not to my liking I would have no use for you and you would be dead. You were both adequate. I will be calling on you again. Tonight I have different cravings.”

Fendri took a position standing at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his back and his posture perfect. It was as though he were at attention. “There is another matter, My Lord.”

Mandrean sipped his tea and then picked at his teeth to dislodge a morsel of steak stuck between them. “What matter is that,” he said without interest.

Fendri cleared his throat and said, “Concubine Number One is currently at the outer doors requesting an audience with you.”

“I did not send for her,” Mandrean said in amazement.

“To be sure,” Fendri agreed. “Nevertheless she awaits an audience and is determined to wait until you see her.”

“That shriveled up old prune,” called one of the girls. “This is our time with our Master. She has no right to infringe on our visit.”

“Quite right,” Mandrean agreed. “Send her away.”

“While it would give me no greater pleasure,” Fendri concurred. “It will only strengthen her resolve. She will need to be removed by force. The situation will turn unpleasant both in the hall and in the lower levels with the other concubines.”

Lord Mandrean set down his tea and sighed. “You are right as always, old friend. We cannot allow her to become a cancer among the girls. I must entertain her most recent tirade. Bring her before me now.”

Fendri bowed and struck his heals together. “My Emperor is wise as he is powerful. I shall fetch her straight away.”

Losing a Car

I had a car that I loved.  It was 9 years old and I took good care of it.  She was the place I could go and just be alone.  Then I lent her to my future daughter-in-law and she had a small accident.  At least we thought it was small.  Then insurance had the body shop take a look at it and the car ended up being not worth fixing in their eyes and so they totaled it out.  My baby that I had kept up fine maintenance on since it was new was gone.  All I had was a small check to replace her.  My wife and I looked at a bunch of cars but none were close to what I had.  Then I went to work and my wife went car shopping.  She bought me the same model of car, 3 years older.  There were some little things wrong with the car so on my day off I took it to the shop where they’re always good and fair with me.  There were a lot more than a couple of things wrong with it.  When all was said and done it cost me $2300 to make it safe.  They did tell me that now I have a car that can go for years.  Even so, it was a bitter pill to swallow.   Now I have to get used to my new car.   It shouldn’t take too long but every little difference makes me miss my old car more.

Excerpt, "Quest for the Red Sapphire"

“I hid my powers for the very reasons Rander just mentioned. Magicians are distrusted and thought to be of poor moral fiber.  Years back, magicians were bound and burned.  It was believed by those in ignorance that they were evil.  Every catastrophe that happened from the trivial, to the bizarre, was blamed on the nearest magician.  Soon, those blessed with the power were forced to hide it from the world, for fear of a gruesome death.  Before long, generations grew without ever having seen magic or a magician.”

“Both of your mothers knew of my gift and swore to keep it a secret.  Dirk Grithinshield knew of it as well and found my presence around Jelena comforting when he would travel.  None of you were told because we simply did not know how you would react.  Judging from the expressions on your faces, I would say we chose wisely.”

Rander kept shaking his head.  “But isn’t magic evil?”

“No,” Anvar answered sternly.  “It is a tool like any other.  The one who uses the tool decides its course.  It is up to the individual to decide if those powers will be used for constructive or destructive purposes.”

“So you possess the kind of power that Linvin is seeking?” Rander asked.

“Both are magic,” Anvar answered, “but the difference in the level of power is beyond compare.  It is similar to comparing a lake to an ocean.  The Red Sapphire will bring Linvin far greater power than I could ever hope to channel.  Aside from the power the gem harnesses, it also is Red Magic.”

Seeing their reaction, Anvar decided to continue so that he might answer some of their questions before they formed.

“Magic is very color-specific.  For example, I am an orange magician.  This means that when I use my power, I emanate it in an orange color.  Among magicians, there is a hierarchy based on color.  Each color has an opposite, which is equal in power and cancels out its counterpart.  Different pairs of colors have different strengths as well.  The most powerful magic is either red or blue.  A red magician and a blue magician would not be able to destroy each other, because their powers are opposites and cancel each other out.  However, they can still do harm to one another, provided the opponent does not block the incoming magic.  They simply can’t completely destroy each other with magic.

“As I said, there is a hierarchy.  Red and blue are the most powerful and rare.  No magic can stand against them when the magician is prepared.  The next tier down of opposites consists of orange and yellow magic.  Again, they cancel each other out and are not as powerful as red and blue.  This level is more common, but still not widely found.”

“The final level is made up of violet and green.  It is likely those magicians, you refer to Rander, being at fairs and the like. Their power is relatively weak.  Such places of amusement however, are the only places where they may display their gifts without being persecuted.  Violet and green magicians are the meekest of the six but also the most prevalent.  While magicians as a whole are rare, there are far more of the lower orders than the higher ones.”

Anvar still observed the blank stares and decided to wrap up his seminar on magic.  “Like I was saying, it is quite draining for me to use my powers.  The better physical condition one is in, the more power that person can channel and the less tiring it is on them.  Even at my age, I can still be of help on this journey.  I am not so feeble that I must be relegated to parlor tricks just yet.  However, I am not able to carry the burden of protecting the party myself.”

Liking The Bad Guys

Is it more fun to write good or evil characters?  Well let me first put the disclaimer that no character is totally one trait or the other.  That being said, you will always have bad guys and good guys in a story. So which is more fun to write about?  Definitely bad guys!  Writing good guys can be great, don’t get me wrong.  But with good guys you have rules to follow and honor to keep.  That’s all swell but is not exciting to write.  The bad guy has no restraints.  You can do whatever you want with them.  You can kill, rob, lie, cheat and pretty much whatever you can think of doing with them.  I am currently working on Book 5, “The Thief Master of Ravensburg”.”  The main character is Newminor from the first book.  He can be good or evil depending on the moment you catch him at.  Newminor would say he is transitioning from a killer who steals to a thief who kills.  He is arrogant and obnoxious while being cold and calculating.  He is so much fun to write because there are few boundaries with him.  See writing isn’t about drawing something in a box.  It’s about broad brushstrokes on large canvasses.  You are literally painting pictures with words.  That is not the time to feel restricted.  As an artist you want to let that brushstroke fly.  Don’t hate us for liking the bad guys.  We just want to have fun and have a little more paint to work with.  

Excerpt, "Crucible"

The man spoke with a voice that was both amplified and at a screeching pitch. “Word has reached me that my prisoners have arrived. You did not inform me as I had ordered. WHY?” The walls shook from his voice.

Hugon crawled forward with his belly impeding his progress. “Great Necromancer, we received no orders telling us to inform you.”

Necromancer grew enraged at the statement. “Do not lie to me, Vile Vermin.” He held out his palm. A wind blew through the room and gathered the ashes from the scroll. Drawing together in a vortex, it deposited the remains in his hand. With the soot in his possession he closed his fingers. The ash changed back into the scroll. Opening the parchment he read it to himself. “I seem to have found the orders,” he said as he dropped them in front of Hugon. The Jailor did not move.

Without notice Necromancer reached out one hand and unleashed a plume of fire the like of which no one but a Lava Giant had ever seen. The flame poured over the quivering bodies on one side of the room. The entire area was enveloped in liquid flame. After a few short moments, he pulled his hand back and the fire withdrew back to his palm. All the goblins on that side of the room were gone. No trace was left to show they’d ever existed. The elves had been in that area as well, but they were unscathed. Their skin had not even risen in temperature.

Just by lifting one forefinger, Necromancer surrounded Hugon in a shell of magic, which was nearly invisible. It lifted him off the ground. With a shift of his finger Necromancer sent him flying across the room until he collided with the wall of the tower. Then he soared across to the far side and again struck the wall. The process was repeated several times before Necromancer deposited the massive goblin where he’d previously lain.

Necromancer walked forward and stopped just short of Hugon’s face. The Great Goblin immediately tried to kiss his feet. Repulsed by the action, Necromancer stepped back. Then he spoke. “Were my orders unclear?”

“No,” answered Hugon.

“Then I must assume you chose to ignore them. Is that right?”

“Yes,” answered the timid Hugon.

Necromancer placed his hands behind his back and paced before the goblin. “Did you know any of the goblins I just eradicated?”

“Yes”

“Were you friends with any of them?”

“Yes,” answered Hugon.

“Perhaps you wish to join them in the Hereafter?” Hugon simply shook his head. Necromancer stopped walking. “Then consider this your only warning. If you ever disobey me again there will not be enough dust left from your body to bury.” Then he turned his attention to the remaining goblins. “Just to make sure this refuse does not choose to test me, if he disobeys me you will all share in his fate. If he cannot follow orders for himself, perhaps he will for you.”

Teaser, "Mandrean Revenge"

Linvin’s had a tough go of it in the first two books.  From assassins to his annoying cousins he has dealt with problem after problem.  There were wicked men, goblins, bandits, a dragon, an army, a very irate Emperor, the most powerful magician in the world, you get the point.  One way or another Linvin and his party battled through.  Now that he’s home again the upcoming book, “Mandrean Revenge” begins.  Lord Mandrean is furious with Linvin.  He gives Linvin a no-win ultimatum.  With little choice, Linvin agrees to go to the Mandrean Capital of Marinhalk in order to be executed.  With a sorrowful heart Linvin leaves home for the last time.  Even his cousins, Bander and Rander try to talk him out of it.  But Linvin has looked at the problem from all sides and this is the only scenario with a chance of working.  Will Linvin even make it there, all alone in the Unclaimed Territory?  Can he find a way out of this?   If Linvin’s world was a ball of string it would be coming undone in the wind.  Is there any hope for him at all?  Find out when “Mandrean Revenge” is released.  Coming soon.

Exceprt, "Quest"

Linvin looked into the darkness but only saw the swaying trees in the night’s sky.  “That wolf sounded close,” he noted.

“That was no ordinary wolf,” Rander commented.

“What is so unusual about that wolf?” Linvin inquired as he found his bow and arrows. 

“Remember those predators I was telling you about before?” Rander asked.  “That’s one of them.  You can tell from the low howl.  Up here, we call them Trogoandras Wolves.”

“What is so special about those wolves?” Anvar asked.

“Well, to start with, they are the size of a full-grown human.  Their claws can effortlessly cleave flesh from bone.  They have powerful jaws that can snap your thigh in two, like a twig.  Inside their mouths are two rows of teeth.  The outer set is for tearing and shredding while the inner ones are for grinding.

“They have been the bane of loggers and farmers.  You see, for all of the creature’s strength and power, Trogoandras have one flaw.  Their legs are disproportionately short for their body.  Most of the prey out here is long legged and too fast for them to run down, so they hunt in packs.  One will mark a target and call for the pack to assemble.  Then they will corner the herd they are tracking and attack.  They are reasonably intelligent and crafty hunters, few escape the wave of death cast across their victims.

“With the ax men driving away the herds from these woods, Trogoandras have set to devouring stock and, as necessary, people.”

“They attack people?” exclaimed Linvin as he placed an arrow on the string of his bow.

“Sure do,” said Bander.  “Lost two friends in the last month to ‘em.  Can’t run as fast as deer, ya’ know.  Outa control, them Trogos are.”

“I shouldn’t worry for now,” Rander told his cousin.  “That was only one Trogoandras we heard.  They seldom attack alone and will never come near a campfire without a pack.  As long as we keep the fire going through the night, we should not have anything to fear.”

To be safe, Linvin set up a schedule for everyone to take turns watching the fire throughout the night.  He had dealt with wolves on a normal scale, years before in Valia, and barely survived.  The thought of an animal as big as a man was fodder enough to remind him of the past and keep him awake most of the night.

Is Linvin Too Perfect?

I recently was told by a reader that I made Linvin (the protagonist in my books) “Too perfect” and that she rooted for bad things to happen to him throughout “Quest for the Red Sapphire.”  I guess that’s one way of keeping a reader’s attention.  Then I considered whether or not she was right.  On one hand, Linvin is very gifted in many ways.  On the other hand, he has his flaws just like anyone else.  Some of his flaws cause great hardship to the party.  He must also be so skilled and forthright in order to be worthy of the Red Sapphire.  He’s supposed to make the difference of an army by himself.  You can’t have a character who reeks of ineptitude wielding that kind of power.  That would be harder to believe.  It would totally ruin the question of why the Red Sapphire chose Linvin.  Is Linvin too perfect? I can see how people could see it that way.   To them I say, he’s as perfect as he needs to be.  

Linvin: A Complex Character

In “Quest for the Red Sapphire” the main character, Linvin, finds himself going through an identity crisis.  At first, he was a great general who had won many battles.  But the scale of the slaughter is bothering his conscience.  He finds on one hand he regrets what he has done and on the other he is enjoying it.  At that time, he is summoned home by the disappearance of his father.  Then he must change.  No longer a warrior on the field, he must become one in business to save the family merchant empire.  After fixing the problems with the company he feels complacent.  His mother expects him to take a wife, settle down and start a family.  But Linvin’s feet must keep moving so he opens a new store in Missandor and runs it as its manager.  Then he must change again as his mother is assassinated and he must run for his life on a quest to find what this father sought for him.  With a combination of fear and anger, Linvin sets out with his criticizing uncle Anvar to find thee gem before the assassins do.  They pick up Linvin’s annoying cousins and Linvin’s patience is tested daily.  He must remember how to be a leader and do it with people totally antagonistic to him.  That’s a lot of personality changes for one character in a short time.  Linvin is a complex character who will find all these traits will benefit him in the end.   

Excerpt, "The Sapphire Crucible"

 Donorus hardly reached his place before Tecious struggled to his feet and stepped forward with cane in hand. After a few paces, the frail senior general stopped and gave a nod of his head. A mere two pawns came forward marked Nine and Ten. They took up positions south of Marinhalk and north of the Sorrowful Sea.

“My report will be short, My Lord,” Tecious announced. “I currently command only two divisions. They are both in training and will not be ready to be activated for some time.”

Mandrean’s demeanor changed drastically. After returning his goblet to Fendri, he walked forward with concern. “How are the new Legions doing?” he asked.

Tecious sighed and leaned on his cane with both hands. “I have trained armies for this Empire for over forty years and never have I seen a sorrier group of recruits than this last batch you sent me. I understand the Cangon Clan has chosen not to sell us any more goblins. My belief is they came to that decision before sending us this lot. It is not like it used to be where the crème of their warrior crop was ours for the choosing. These goblins are too lazy, too old and too young. I expect half to wash out in training and the rest will take at least a year to be battle ready.

“As for economics, my Province has fertile farmlands producing everything from hard-fruit to grains. The grape harvest is beginning and our wine production is reaching new heights. Unfortunately, we have no one with whom to trade. Only Ravensburg accepts our goods outside the empire. While they call themselves a ‘Free City’ the taxes they charge on every transaction border the ridiculous.”

Mandrean began to pace. “I’ve heard about the Cangons,” he affirmed. “We will have to look in different directions to fill the Legions.”

“I have made this statement before and I stand by it,” Tecious noted. “It is time to reintroduce Men back into the army. The shortage of manpower has been overcome and the goblins are running amuck. Even with the best training they loot from our own people. Crops are pillaged and stores confiscated.”

“Are the usurpers dealt with swiftly?” Mandrean asked.

“Of course,” Tecious answered. “I have put more goblins to the sword for theft in the last two years than I did years ago in all the Border Wars with the Goblin Nations. We are being sent the dregs of their society. While our fine men work in the fields, these scoundrels carry the Standard of the Empire. It is time to reverse their roles.”

Mandrean was silent as he walked over and politely gestured to the seat where Tecious had been in a nonverbal request to sit. The general rolled his eyes and shuffled back to his place. “Go ahead,” he mumbled on his way. “Say it.”

Mandrean obliged. “Great Tecious, you are a Master Trainer and no finer have ever lived…”

“But?” Tecious interjected.

Mandrean despised being predictable but felt no choice but to finish his thought. “You know my plans. We stand to take considerable losses. I would rather goblins form the fodder rather than our people.”

“As always, My Lord, I am your humble servant and will comply. Do consider, if the makeup of our forces were different, our loses may be as well.”

“If you are wrong,” Mandrean corrected. “We face a decimation of the populace not seen since the War of the Unclaimed Territory. The people would revolt.”

“They are not far from that point now,” Tecious added. “Our people are tired of the goblins and the crumbling infrastructure. They are nearing their threshold.”

Mandrean walked to his throne and spoke. “It will not be long before our people’s fears are alleviated and all will be well. I assure you.” Tecious simply nodded his acknowledgement and said no more.

Leaving the Script

As a writer you plan things so much.  You plan the events of a book.  You plan the character development.  You plan every detail down to the dialogue.  And once in a while it happens.  You get bored.  There are no surprises left.  That is the time you go off script and add a new twist to the plot.  It freshens it up and gets the creative juices going again.  Some of my favorite moments in my books were off script.  In the first book, the lumberjacks were a spur of the moment addition.  They fit into the story quite well.  They saved Linvin’s Company and they in turn solved their problem with the Trogoandras.  Later in the book I decided to finally have Rander cross the line and get punched out.  I knew Linvin was supposed to be above such things but the reader in me couldn’t take it anymore.  Rander had to go down.  Breaking away from the script on these precious moments takes away the doldrums of everyday writing and reinvigorates the mind.  Writing is about planning but it is about having fun too.

Excerpt, "Quest"

One of those branches ran only Linvin's height from the ground yet was of sufficient strength to easily hold the hunter.  The overhanging web of foliage dipped down just enough to make him hard to see in the shadows; they did not obscure his view of the field.  There he perched himself, waiting for something to come into his field of view.

Linvin sat for a long time.  Through gaps in the branches, he could still see the stars as they kept watch over him.  His weary mind drifted back to sipping fine ale on his deck not so long ago.  There was not a care in the world then; his biggest concern had been the sales number for the previous day at the store.  Now he found himself in the middle of a disputed land with danger all around.  He fled from a nameless enemy that had apparently killed his parents, and he was starving.  Trying to recall the specifics of everything was simply too taxing on his brain.  Putting it out of his mind, Linvin drifted off to sleep.

He didn’t know how long he slept but a grunting sound awakened him.  His sleepy eyes opened to see two wild boars below him, digging in the ground for food.  There was what he presumed ro be a male and a female.  Using their sharp tusks they foraged, unaware of Linvin’s presence.

What luck! Linvin thought with excitement.  One of the thick beasts could feed his party for some time.  Linvin then realized there was bad news as well.  While he had been asleep, he had dropped his bow and arrow.  They lay not far below him on the ground.  He did not dare get down to retrieve them.  Once the element of surprise was lost, his chances of slaying one of the beasts were next to none.

Linvin lay forward on the branch and grabbed for his bow.  It was still out of reach.  Linvin did not want the opportunity to pass, so he took a risk.  The bow was not that far out of his grip.  He decided the best thing to do would be to lock his legs around the tree limb and hang down in order to retrieve his weapon.

Crossing one foot firmly over the other, he straddled the branch and turned upside down.  There was one simple flaw in Linvin’s hastily conceived plan.  When his head went down, all the arrows in the quiver on his shoulder fell out onto the ground.  They made a loud noise as they crashed down.

The boars’ heads popped up from their digging and saw Linvin hanging upside down from the tree.  The female turned and bolted for cover.  The male reacted in a very territorial manner.  He may have been protecting her or his area, but either way, he was enraged.  Snorting violently, he charged the intruder.

Linvin was caught off guard.  He had to act quickly.  Grabbing the bow and an arrow from the ground, he tried to get a bead on the rushing boar.  Linvin had never tried to shoot from such a position before but had no choice.  Taking quick aim, he drew and loosed the arrow.

Due to the odd angle, the arrow took an arc toward the ground.  Luckily, the boar was close enough that the arrow hit him in the shoulder on its downward curve.  For a moment, the beast staggered.  Then fury took hold of him once more.  Screeching wildly, he moved in on Linvin.  With a swipe of his head, he knocked Linvin to the ground.  Not wasting any time, he tore his tusks into Linvin’s chest.

Linvin was being shoved around like a ball.  His great mass was easily thrown by the stout foe.  Every time Linvin tried to move out of the way, the boar seized hold of him again.

After literally being thrown several paces, Linvin’s hand came to rest on a loose rock slightly larger thana grapefruit.  When the boar came at him, Linvin smashed the rock down on its head.  Again, the beast staggered.

Taking the initiative, Linvin used both hands and cracked it on the skull again and again.  Blood poured from the wound as Linvin continued to pound with all his might.  At last, the pig moved no more.  Its skull was crushed.

Linvin pulled the dagger out of his boot and slit its throat to let the blood drain and prevent the meat from bruising.  Then he fell back onto the ground and assessed the injuries he had taken.  Aside from a deep laceration on his chest, his wounds were mostly cuts and bruises.