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.”