Feature Fridays: Sneak peek at Committed

Wow, it's been a long time since I've done one of these! But it's not because I haven't been writing. In fact, I'm hard at work on Committed, my romantic dramedy serial. Things are going well and it looks like I'll start releasing episodes by the end of the month. The series will have a total of eight episodes, and I'll release them every other week.

What is Committed? Well, if you've ever planned a big wedding, you know how stressful it can be. Committed takes place starting the week before 27-year-old Ella Mikowski's wedding, and each day a disaster strikes. Mix this up with a little family drama and some misunderstandings between the bride-to-be and the groom-to-be, and you have some serious drama.

So how about a look at the first episode?

*****

Saturday, May 10: T minus seven day and counting…

10:00 AM

“Ugh, what is that smell?” Layla asked, wrinkling her perfect nose.

We’ll do the favors this afternoon, so that will be out of the way. We still have to put together the seating chart, but the place cards are done—I still need to check and make sure the name of that friend of Masato’s is spelled correctly. Did I remember to call and give the caterer the final dinner count?

“Smell?” Ella asked, tearing herself away from her mental checklist. Sniffing, she caught a strange, acrid odor that made her nose burn. “Oh my God, it’s awful.”

Pushing up the dryer hood, Layla leaned forward and sniffed again. Frowning, she leaned to her right and took another long whiff before leaning to her left—Ella’s direction—and inhaling deeply once more. Her gaze snapped to Ella, who felt a sudden, chilling sense of alarm.

“What is it?” Ella asked, scrambling up in her chair, the fashion magazine she’d been pretending to read tumbling from her lap and onto the floor, its pages a bright pool on the pale stone tile.

Without responding, Layla leaned closer to Ella and sniffed again. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened, her hands moving so fast they were a blur. It took Ella a minute to realize Layla had pushed her dryer hood away and was tugging frantically at the foil strips in Ella’s hair.

“What are you doing?” Ella squealed, trying to slap her friend’s hand away, but she underestimated Layla’s tenacity. Her friend continued to pull the foil strips from Ella’s hair while Ella protested. “It’s not done yet! You’ll ruin the color. Layla!”

But Layla’s eyes had widened, a look of horror creeping into them, and the alarm Ella had felt congealed and hardened into a lump in her stomach. “Oh, God, is it my hair?” Ella’s voice rose with each word until she sounded like a siren.

“Oh, Ella. Oh, no. Oh, oh, oh,” Layla babbled as she continued to strip Ella’s hair, her fingers moving faster than ever. Ella tried to lift a hand to her hair, but Layla knocked it aside with a forearm. Ella’s eyes landed on one of the strips in Layla’s hand, and what she saw horrified her.

“My hair! Is that my hair?” Ella shrieked, her voice taking on an hysterical edge.

They were causing a commotion, but Ella didn’t care. She was far more concerned about the sight of her reddish-blond locks dangling limply, obscenely from the bit of foil in Layla’s hand.

Feature Fridays: Dev is captured

I've had my struggles this NaNoWriMo, but I think I'm really hitting my groove with this novel.  Once I started easing up and just let it be what it wanted to be, I started to feel better about it.

When I started thinking about what I wanted to do for NaNo, I knew I wanted to write another Elizabeth Darcy book, and I decided to use the sleeping beauty story as an inspiration.  However, I didn't want to do the standard tale of the damsel in distress being rescued by the handsome prince, so I decided to have the princess do the rescuing.  Here, in its very rough form, is the scene where Dev is captured.

*****

Opening his eyes required a lot of effort, and he put the last of his remaining energy into it, managing to open them enough to see a narrow slice of the room before him.  A cloaked and hooded figure knelt before him, and at first he thought he was hallucinating, because the face looked so strange, like that of a scarecrow.  His confused brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing, and he finally realized that the other person wore a mask, which might explain why he or she didn’t seem to be all that bothered by the smoke.

“Who are you?” Dev ground out, his voice so low he could barely hear it.

“Ah, but we’ll have time for introductions later,” the voice said, each word like a caress.  The sound made him want to shudder, but he didn’t have the energy for it.  It wasn’t a voice he recognized and, besides that, it was accented, so he knew it wasn’t anyone from his realm or from Jess’s. 

“You’re from Moritan.”

“My, aren’t we a clever prince?”

“That would explain why you reek of sheep.”

Another pair of footsteps appeared, and Dev caught his breath as someone struck him across the face.  His head snapped back and he bit his tongue forcefully enough to make it bleed.  The tenuous hold he had on consciousness began to slip away.

“Enough,” growled the first voice he’d heard.  “We need him alive.”

“He’d be just as good to us dead,” a guttural voice responded.  Was it the man who’d struck him?

“No, you idiot, he would not.  The only way to lure Jessmyn to us is by using him as bait.  If he’s dead, she’ll attack, and we’ll never get close enough to get to her.”

“My apologies, greatness.”

Fear bolted through Dev, jolting him so strongly that it woke him from his stupor.  All fatigue forgotten, he lashed out at his two attackers, his swings wild.  His fist struck something solid, and he heard a grunt and a thud as the guttural-voice man dropped next to him.

“Subdue him,” the first voice ordered, and now Dev realized it was a woman.

His flailing took on a new desperation as two more pairs of feet approached.  Who would want to harm Jessmyn?  As far as he knew, her realm was on good terms with Moritan.  Moreover, it was not at all like King Mallaric to commit an act of such dishonorable subterfuge, and Dev knew Mallaric valued honor above all else.  No, if Mallaric felt any ill will toward King Amin and Queen Farah, he would make it plain.

Desperate, Dev tried shouting, but his voice failed once again.  The other two assailants descended upon him and, though he fought savagely, using his fists, feet, and teeth, he was simply too weak to beat them off.  They pinned him to the floor and he sucked in great gulps of air that seemed only to make him breathe more deeply, as if what flowed in wasn’t sufficient to feed his lungs.  The black borders of his vision filled more rapidly and he was lost, his lips unconsciously forming Jessmyn’s name.

Feature Fridays: Taking a flying leap

I'm making serious headway with Asleep, having hit the 25k mark today.  While I'm officially halfway done with NaNoWriMo, it will take more than 50k words to wrap up this story.

When it comes to the writing itself, there are portions I'm loving and other portions that rouse the vicious self-doubt monster.  There's nothing worse than trying to keep yourself going when that mocking little voice in your head says, "This stinks!  You think you're a writer?"

At any rate, I'm avoiding reading the bulk of the work because my NaNoWriMo motto can basically be boiled down to this: Just Keep Going.  No matter what happens, no matter how many typos I know I've made, no matter how much I hate the particular section I'm writing, Just Keep Going.

As with last week, this is completely raw, so there are likely some typos and random weirdness that may make little sense.  Consider yourself forewarned! ;)

*****

As the world went black, Jess’s face once more appeared to him, but this time she was around ten years old, and her eyes flashed in challenge.  Tanvir lurked nearby, but he’d already been disqualified from this particular challenge, due to his age.

“Your age must have two digits; otherwise, you’re too much of a baby to participate,” Jess told him loftily.  “Shall I explain that to you?”

“I know what two digits means!” Tanvir squeaked, his seven-year-old voice high with indignation.

“Watch and learn, children,” Dev’s cocky, twelve-year-old self called out.

“Dev, I don’t know if this is a good idea.  That tree is really high, and if you jump—” Tanvir protested.

“Keep your lessons to yourself,” Dev instructed, rolling his eyes.  “I’m not your tutor, so you won’t score any bonus points with me for cleverness.”

“Well, you’re certainly good at earning high marks for stupidity,” Tanvir snapped back.

“Or are you just trying to conceal the fact that your brother is more courageous than you?” Jess challenged.

“You’re both stupid, and I’ll have no part of this.”  Tanvir stamped his foot and ran off, heading back toward the castle.

“If you’re going to do it, best do it now, before your brother has a chance to tattle,” Jess said.

“Right you are.” 

Extending his arms in the air, fingers pointed, as he’d once seen an acrobat do, Dev launched himself from the branch on which he’d perched, feelings a rush of exhilaration as he flew through the air.  His confidence was high, his fingers steady.  There was no doubt in his mind that he’d catch the next branch, and so it came as a very rude surprise when only the tips of his fingers smacked into the branch, and he felt his hands clawing futilely at the air.

As he plummeted toward the earth, he heard Jess’s scream of horror and he couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that he had managed to ruffle the seemingly unflappable princess.  His body striking the ground wiped the smile right off his face.  Fortunately for him, he landed rear first, which cushioned the impact.  Still, he fell back, his head striking the ground, causing his teeth to snap together.  Blood and grit filled his mouth and he felt dizzy.

“Dev!  Dev!  Are you okay?” Jess cried, suddenly appearing at his side.

Disoriented, he looked up at her and gave her a smile, some blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.  “Are you an angel?” he asked, before he lost consciousness.

There was no forgetting the aftermath of that little episode.  It had caused some tension between King Amin and King Adar, both of whom knew they had impetuous and sometimes foolhardy children, but who both, in their distress, wanted to blame the other.  Dev had earned a sever concussion for his trouble, and he spent days in bed while he recovered, his head pounding, vision swimming all the while.  The boredom was almost more of a torment than the physical pain.  Eventually, his mother’s fears that he had permanently addled his brain were laid to rest, but there was no repairing the chip to the tooth on the top right side of his mouth.  As it was right next to his front tooth, it became a prominent part of his smile.  The truth was, he would have leapt from that branch again, because he had never forgotten how lovely Jess looked as she hovered over him, fearful for his well-being.

Feature Fridays: First look at Asleep

It's day two of NaNoWriMo, and I've got 7,163 words under my belt, so I'm feeling pretty good about that!  My project for this month is Asleep, the second installment in my Fairytale Collection.  Asleep is my reboot of the sleeping beauty tale and, while I was looking forward to writing it, it's proven even more fun than I thought.

Today, I had some struggles with my inner editor, but I managed to beat her into submission.  The rules of NaNoWriMo state that there is to be no editing, so the excerpt I'm posting here is raw, uncut, and likely has a few typos--don't worry, they'll be fixed after NaNoWriMo, when I can edit to my heart's content.  This excerpt is from the very beginning of the book.  I can't guarantee it'll stay like this once I get down to editing, but this should give you a feel for the book.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

*****

I don’t have time for this.  I have drills to run, that supply issue needs to be resolved…  I wonder if security is tight enough.  I hope my father didn’t entrust it to that buffoon Wynart.  Surely he closed that gap in the north tower by now?

Jessmyn tugged impatiently at her gown.  She had to admit, it was stunningly beautiful, but she’d have preferred to be in her plate at the moment.  It was one of life’s great mysteries how a gown of satins and lace could feel more confining than a sixty pounds of armor.  She’d have to keep that question in mind for the next time her seamstress asked her what sort of gown she would like, so that she could instruct the woman to fashion her something a little less encrusted with pearls and small jewels, one that would allow for greater freedom of movement.

When Jess was truthful with herself, she knew the weight of her gown had nothing to do with the disquiet state of her mind.  It was nerves that were eating her alive.  Though royal protocol was old hat to Jess, she had never before been a part of something so monumentally important to her realm—nor had she ever experienced anything of greater personal importance.

Forcing herself to stand still, Jess closed her eyes and thought of Dev, tried to imagine how he was feeling at this moment, how he looked.  A small smiled played about her lips as she imagined him, though she also felt a sense of exasperation.  No doubt he was handling it all much better than she was.  He was probably busy cracking jokes with his attendants, making them roar with laughter.  At this image, her smiled widened and she opened her eyes, feeling somewhat settled at last.  Dev always had that effect on her.  It was part of what made him so essential to her life.

Still, she knew his jovial exterior likely hid just as many nerves as she felt.  For all Dev looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he felt things very deeply, even if others weren’t always aware of this fact.  He could not have captured Jess’s heart as it had were it otherwise.  This was both good and bad.  While Jess had to admit that she enjoyed knowing she understood this hidden part of Dev, it had also caused him some pain due to the blithe unawareness of others.

“Are you ready, your highness?” Lady Lilia Vindar asked.  Shyly, she glanced up at Jess, searching the princess’s face.  Jess could tell from the look in Vindar’s eyes that she was caught up in the romance of the occasion, and it made Jess smile.  Lilia always did love a good fairytale.

“I am,” Jess confirmed.

Lilia and the two other ladies in attendance dropped low curtsies and then took their positions behind the princess.  Jess squared her shoulders, tilted her head slightly back, and began her slow procession out to the main hall.

The crowd was noisy, boisterous and jubilant because of the celebration.  Music and voices competed with one another, creating a blend that somehow still managed to please the ear.  It was impossible to distinguish any conversation from this distance, but Jess could still hear tones that we somewhat unfamiliar to her ear, evidence of the attendance of the mighty and influential of the other realms.  This was the biggest celebration in the history of the Five Realms, and it was this more than anything that made Jess nervous.  Having so many important people in any one place was always an enormous security risk and, despite herself, she found her eyes darting around as she walked, looking for evidence of guards.  It didn’t matter that she had trained most of them herself; she could not help but feel anxious about the possibility of some sort of disturbance.

“There are twenty guards in this hallway alone,” her father said, coming to stand at her side and speaking in a low tones, so only she would be able to hear.  He had been waiting down the opposite corridor, and she had been so distracted, she had noticed neither his approach or the that he was watching her.

Some martial master I am!  I don’t even notice when my own father and his ten attendants approach!

Looking at her with some exasperation, as if he could guess what was going on inside her head, her father shook his head.  “My beloved Jess, can you not relax, just for one day?  This is a day meant for you, and for Dev.”

Feature Fridays: Close encounters of the Scarlett kind

I am officially done with the first round of edits to Phoning It In!  Methinks it's time to starting thinking about a cover reveal...

And, to celebrate, how about another taste of the novel?

*****

“This is hell,” Melinda groaned, as she pulled into her office parking lot.  The building loomed before her, the overcast sky lending it all the charm of a super max prison.  She half-expected lightning to fork through the air, completing the post-apocalyptic look.

A stroke of luck enabled her to find a parking space at what appeared to be a mere five miles away from the entrance to the office.  She slung her bag and purse over her shoulder, grabbed her frozen meal and can of Diet Coke, and made her way into the building.  Murmuring a curse, she realized she’d forgotten to extract her badge from her purse before picking up her load, and would now have to attempt to juggle her things while she dug for the badge.

“Well, I do declare!  My word, if it isn’t Melinda Majors,” a bright voice drawled behind her.  “Here.  Let me give you a hand.”

Melinda rolled her eyes before turning around, a sweet smile plastered over her face.  “Thank you so much, Scarlett.  You’re a real life saver.”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t even think of mentionin’ it.”

Melinda gritted her teeth.  It was much, much too early to deal with Scarlett.  Back when they had been in training together, Scarlett’s accent had been more Midwestern than Southern, but once Scarlett realized that men went wild over her Southern belle act, she had begun to play the role with relish. 

“After you,” Scarlett said, waving her through, just as the wind kicked up.  Melinda was surprised it didn’t blow Scarlett’s tiny frame away.

“Oh my, it is quite the gusty day outside, isn’t it?” Scarlett laughed.  Though the wind flung stinging strands of auburn hair in Melinda’s eyes, Scarlett’s voluminous blond hair didn’t budge, and Melinda couldn’t help but be impressed by the holding power of whatever industrial-strength product Scarlett used.

As they walked up the stairs, Melinda tugged self-consciously at her coat and oversize tunic and tried not to think of how her plus-sized figure looked in contrast to Scarlett’s.  It was hard not to feel like an elephant in contrast to the beautiful, delicate porcelain doll preceding her.

“How was your weekend?” Melinda asked reluctantly.  Scarlett was best taken in small doses, and initiating any sort of conversation with her ensured Melinda would soon find it very tempting to beat her head against the wall. 

“It was wonderful!” Scarlett exclaimed.  A couple of people heading down the stairs started and stared at them.  Melinda cringed.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I met the most wonderful man.”  Scarlett sighed and brought her clasped hands up to the side of her face, batting her eyelashes.  Melinda wondered if she ought to applaud the performance.

“Oh really?” she asked disinterestedly.  Scarlett was always meeting the most wonderful man.  Inevitably, he ended up committing an offense that obliged Scarlett to slap him across the face and throw a drink at him before storming away with an elegant toss of her head.

“Yes indeed.”

To Melinda’s relief, they reached the third floor.  Scarlett’s cubicle was on the opposite side of the building, and Melinda hurried toward her own side, calling a hasty farewell over her shoulder.  As she stepped into the corridor leading to her cubicle, she let out a groan of relief.

“Close encounters of the Scarlett kind?” asked an ominous voice just behind her left ear.

Melinda jumped, her hand flying to her chest in an attempt to prevent her hammering heart from leaping straight out of it.  “Jesus Christ,” she breathed.  “You scared the hell out of me, Blaine.”

A very tall, gangly figure materialized in front of her.  “Do not blame me.  Blame the evil forces of Scarlett Amberson,” he intoned.

“Out of my way, moron.”  She was unable to hide her smile.

Feature Fridays: Crippling insecurities

That awkward moment where your best friend makes you realize that the news you thought was so amazing is maybe a little less great than you suspected.

*****

“I promise.  Enough about my migraine. You called me to talk about Ben, so let’s talk about him,” Lou said.

“How do you know that?” Melinda asked, amazed.

“Hello, Melinda.  We’ve been friends for a gazillion years now.  I can read you like a book.  Did you two have a nice little chat last night?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.

“Well I’m glad to hear it.  I mean, Dem’s a nice guy and all, but I think I gave him the wrong idea by keeping him away from the table for that long.  I think he thinks I was trying to pick him up.”

Melinda gasped.  “You didn’t!  You did not!”

“Was that supposed to be a thank you?  If so, it sucked.  Try again.”

“So you don’t like Dem?”

“Like I said, he’s nice, but he’s not my type.  Quit changing the subject and get to it, would you?  I want to know every last thing you two said.  When will you be getting married, and can I be your maid of honor, and how many children are you going to have, and can I be godmother to one of them?”

“You’re insane,” Melinda said, blushing.  She squirmed uncomfortably.  “Now you’re the one who sounds like your mother.  What, do you think he’s going to dress up in a red coat, grab his rifle and bayonet, and come and carry me off?”

“Whatever.  You’re just being evasive again.  Spill it, now.  You owe me.  When is your first date?”

Melinda had not thought nothing could bring her down from her high, but she’d been wrong.  She had been perfectly content with what had happened between herself and Benoit the previous night, but Lou Lou’s question, however innocent, just reminded Melinda of her own inadequacies.  Had Lou been the one sitting with Benoit for hours, she probably would already have had a second, third, and fourth date scheduled with him.

“It wasn’t like that,” Melinda mumbled.  “We had a really good time, but he’s not interested in me like that.”

There was a silence on the other end.  “Look, Melinda—” Lou finally began, but Melinda cut her off.

“No, just don’t say anything.  He wants to be friends, that much is clear.  We talked about a lot of things, and I really think he genuinely enjoyed himself.  He’s a really nice guy, and I’m glad he wants to be friends.  I’m not looking for a boyfriend anyway.”

Feature Fridays: Jane Austen reference for the win!

Some social situations are so awkward that you just can't help but think of Jane Austen.

*****

As she arrived at her sister’s house on Sunday, Melinda couldn’t help but cringe.  It was not the house she was cringing at.  Her sister had bought a beautiful colonial in Grosse Pointe Woods.  It was a very nice, affluent neighborhood full of charming older colonials that were extremely well-kept by their owners.  Mercedes, BMWs, Lexuses, and Jaguars were parked on the street and in the driveways, making Melinda’s little Ford look like a tin can.  Her sister’s colonial was right in the middle of the street.  It had a beautiful red brick front with white window boxes hung under the windows.  Her front yard was small but artfully landscaped with a graceful weeping willow and a curved flower bed.  A shiny brass doorknocker hung on the door.

The true source of Melinda’s cringe was the fact that her parents had not yet arrived.  Melinda had cut her departure time as closely as possible in the hopes that her parents would beat her to Susan’s.  However, she had begun to grow anxious and had decided that she’d best set off or risk Susan’s extreme displeasure by arriving late.  Now she wished she’d arrived late instead.

You’re being ridiculous, she told herself.  She’s your own sister, for God’s sake.  What on Earth do you think she can possibly do to you?

Ignoring the responses that instantly sprang to mind, Melinda parked her car at Susan’s curb and then hurried through the chill autumn air up to her sister’s porch.  She had just lifted her hand to knock when the door opened, startling Melinda.

“Susan,” she said, staring at her sister in confusion.  It was almost as though her sister had been standing right next to the door, peering out the sidelight and looking for her family’s arrival.  Melinda quickly dismissed the thought as ludicrous and brushed it aside.

“Hello, Melinda,” Susan said, her mouth slightly down turned in the expression of mild distaste she always seemed to wear around her sister.

“Um, hi,” Melinda said, feeling awkward and peeved.  Why the hell should she always feel so on edge around Susan?

“Come in.  You’re letting all the heat out,” Susan said petulantly.  She opened the door wider and Melinda stepped inside.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she shrugged out of her coat.

Susan let out a martyred sigh.  “Don’t worry about it.  Here, give me your coat.  Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat while I put this away?”

“Okay.”  Melinda moved into her sister’s living room and perched uncomfortably on the edge of the couch while Susan hung her coat.  Susan’s furniture was unnaturally clean and perfect, as if no human rear end had ever besmirched its surface.  She had a couch and two armchairs, all done in a tasteful top-grain, taupe Italian leather, along with a coffee table and end tables made of mahogany that had been polished until it gleamed.  The room fairly reeked of money.


“Would you like something to drink?” Susan asked.  If she hadn’t spoken the words as stiffly as a board, Melinda might have thought she was actually being hospitable.

“Yes, please.”

“What would you like?  Water?  Brandy?  Wine?”

“Wine.  Wine would be great, thanks.”

“White or red?”

“Whatever you think would be nice,” Melinda said hastily, before her sister could start naming vintages.

A look of exasperation came into Susan’s eyes before she turned away and disappeared into the kitchen.  Melinda strained to hear everything that was going on outside in the hopes of catching the sound of the engine of her parents’ car.

Susan came back into the room and handed Melinda a chilled cut crystal glass of white wine.  Melinda forced herself to take small, delicate sips, fighting hard to resist the temptation to knock back the whole glass back at once.  She usually felt as if she needed a drink to calm her nerves when she was around her sister, but she refused to give Susan the satisfaction of having one more thing about which to criticize her.

“So…how’s work?” Melinda asked, when she could stand the silence no longer.

“Fine,” Susan said, her mouth barely moving.

Holy shit, Susan, don’t be so talkative.  She had to duck her head to hide her smile from her sister.

“Glad to hear it,” Melinda told her.

There was another awkward silence and then Susan asked, “How are you doing at work?”

“Fine.”  Melinda wanted to laugh at the farce going on, but she was afraid she would dissolve into a hysterical fit if she did.  Susan was hardly the person Melinda would have chosen were she looking for someone in whom to confide.

“I’m glad you were able to make it.”  Susan didn’t sound the least bit sincere.

“So am I,” said Melinda, in a sugary voice.

Fortunately, at that moment, they heard the sound of their parents pulling into Susan’s driveway.  As her sister got up to answer the door, Melinda felt her spine slump in relief.  The meeting between them had had all the ease and casualness of a meeting between Emma Woodhouse and Augusta Elton.

Feature Fridays: This building will suck out your soul

If you can relate to this excerpt, I'm sorry.  I feel your pain, I truly do.

*****

Every Wednesday afternoon, the supervisors at New World had a meeting at two o’clock.  It was, without a doubt, the most awful part of Melinda’s week.  The supervisors almost always used every last minute, and there was nothing more deadly boring to Melinda than having to sit in a conference room for two whole hours while her boss and co-workers droned on and on and bickered amongst themselves.

On this particular Wednesday, the meeting promised to be even more fun than usual.  The CSRs had been receiving monthly bonuses for meeting call metrics and now the company had decided to do away with the bonuses.  The CSRs did not know about it yet, but the supervisors had been informed via an e-mail message from Jerry.

“Oh, great,” Blaine said, after he read the message.  He pushed away from his desk and looked at her, rolling his eyes.  “That ought to go over real big.”

“Yeah,” Melinda sighed.  She scrubbed a face over her hand.  “Score one for morale.”

“What does upper management care?  They’re not the ones who have to listen to the CSRs bitch endlessly about it.”

“Oh the joys of being a member of middle management,” Melinda sighed.

“Hi, Melinda.  Hi, Blaine,” a voice said.

Melinda stifled a groan as she turned toward the sound of the voice.  “Hi, Vic.”

“Did you see the message Jerry sent?”

“Yes.  Fantastic, isn’t it?” Blaine asked.

Vic gave him a look like a father about to scold a particularly disobedient and stupid child.  “Now, Blaine, you know that we all have to support this.  We need to support anything that’s good for the company.  The CSRs may not like it, but they’ll just have to understand that it has to be done for the good of the business.”

“Yeah, slow economy and all that,” Blaine said, with a poorly concealed expression of contempt for Vic.

Melinda felt the same way Blaine did.  She couldn’t stand Vic.  He was such an ass kisser and, besides that, he always smelled of mildew.  “It’s just going to be a big adjustment, that’s all,” she said mildly.

Vic peered at her through his too-small glasses before reaching up and fiddling with them.  “Well, we all have to adapt to change.”  He graced them with one of his phony, high-pitched laughs.  Blaine’s expression resembled that of a rabid dog.  “Anyway, Melinda, I wanted to talk to you about something.  Did you notice that Amy spent nearly five minutes chatting with Lillian rather than taking calls?” he asked in a stage whisper.

Why the hell are you watching my team?  Why don’t you pay attention to your own instead, you little prick? Melinda thought.  What she said was: “No, I didn’t.  I’m glad you told me, though.  I’ll definitely keep an eye on her.”
“I just thought I’d let you know.”  Melinda knew his tone was meant to convey a sense of camaraderie.  She wasn’t buying it, though; she knew Vic would gleefully stab her in the back given half a chance.

“I really appreciate it,” she said, making her voice as saccharine as possible.  She and Blaine both sat in silence, staring at Vic until he began to fidget uncomfortably.

“Oh, look, there’s Susan.  I needed to talk to her.  Susan!  Susan!”  He rushed out of their cube and over to accost the CSR.

“He.  Is.  Such.  An.  Asshole,” Blaine hissed through clenched teeth.

“Shhh.”  Melinda peeked around the corner and saw that Vic wasn’t all that far off.  “He is, but you don’t want to give him any fuel for his fire.”

“I just can’t stand people like him.  He’s so fake.  Why the hell don’t Jerry and the other managers see through that?”

“Because Vic is good at telling them what they like to hear, you know that.  What do you think this is, the type of place where people get where they are as a result of their honest, hard work?”

“Oh, right.  I forgot.  The most valued skill you can possess here is that of masterfully kissing arse,” Blaine said, his voice oozing sarcasm.

Melinda smiled at him.  “Tsk, tsk.  Bitterness doesn’t suit you.  In fact, it makes you even uglier than usual.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”  A grin spread over his face, obliterating the sour expression he’d worn just seconds earlier.

“I should write for Hallmark, don’t you think?” Melinda asked, grinning in reply.

“Oh definitely.  Your talents are certainly being wasted here.”

“Aren’t all of our talents?”  Melinda sighed.

“Hitchcock should have done a movie about this place.  I’m sure people would’ve paid to watch a movie about an evil building that sucks out your very soul, until you become a mindless automaton shuffling slowly from one cubicle to the other while muttering, ‘Yes, boss.  Anything you say, boss.’  Don’t you think so?”

“I’m not sure.  It would probably be far too terrifying.  It’s certainly a lot more diabolical than anything Hitchcock ever thought up.”

“And speaking of terrifying things, it’s time for us to go to our weekly meeting.”

*****

Don't forget: this weekend, you can download a FREE copy of Creators, the prequel novella to my YA post-apocalyptic series, Contributor.  Happy reading!

P.S. Please check out the poll on the right side of the page.  I want to give my readers what they want, so your feedback on your preferred Kindle book format is much appreciated!

Feature Fridays: Sisterly affection

I am really late on this!  I had a crazy day and I almost forgot about my poor little blog.  However, I wanted to offer up another taste of Phoning It In, so how about a peek into Melinda's relationship with her sister, Susan?

*****

“Hello?” she said.

“Melinda, it’s Susan,” the voice on the other end replied.  Melinda grimaced and lightly banged her head against the wall.  “What was that noise?” Susan asked.

“Nothing,” Melinda told her.

“Whatever.  Look, I don’t have much time.  I’m absolutely swamped.  I’m due in court tomorrow for this huge case I’ve been working on and the firm has taken on three new important clients, so I am just tearing my hair out.  If my damn assistant wasn’t so incompetent, maybe I could actually get something accomplished, but the stupid girl forget to take my dry cleaning in and now I don’t have a single decent suit to wear, so I’m out shopping for a new one,” Susan said, her voice brisk.

“If you’re so busy, why are you calling to tell me this?” Melinda asked her.


“I didn’t call you for my own amusement, Melinda,” Susan snapped.  The way she said Melinda’s name grated like fingernails on a chalkboard.  How Melinda hated that tone.  It was one that Susan had perfected over the years.  Even when their mother had been truly furious with her, she had never been able to say Melinda’s name in as grating a tone as Susan’s.

“Right.  You just called me to remind me of how important you are,” Melinda retorted.  She smacked her forehead as the words left her mouth.  Her sister had the uncanny ability of effortlessly bringing out the worst in Melinda.

“I don’t have time for you and your childish games.”  Susan was now using her frostiest voice, and Melinda could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.  “I called to remind you that Mother’s birthday is on Sunday.  We’re supposed to take her out for dinner.  You were supposed to call me last night so that we could decide on a time.  I waited all night, you know.”

Melinda banged her head on the wall again.  “Right, sorry, I forgot.  So sue me.  Oh wait, I shouldn’t tempt you,” she said.

She could hear her sister take in a deep breath on the other side of the line.  Melinda could just picture her at Nordstrom’s, her cell phone pressed into her ear with such force that it would probably leave an indent.  She knew that her sister’s nostrils were probably flared in anger, and her mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval.  This was the normal expression on Susan’s face whenever she spoke with her sister.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Susan said.  Melinda could hear the sound of metal hangers scraping and banging against one another as her sister thumbed furiously through the racks.  “Where are we going and what time?  Let’s get this over with so I can buy a suit and get home to review my case.”

Defeated, Melinda slumped her back against the wall and allowed herself to slide down onto the floor.  “Look, Suze, I really don’t care.  Whatever Mom wants.  But can we please make it reasonable this time?  Not all of us make six-figure salaries, you know.”

“Fine.  We’ll take her to Luciano’s.  That should be within your budget.  We’ll meet at Mom and Dad’s at six.  And don’t call me Suze!”  With that, the line went dead.

Melinda had the sudden urge to take the phone and bang it against the floor, but it was really Susan’s head and not the phone that Melinda wanted to beat against the floor.  Honest to God, her sister was just about the biggest bitch to ever walk the planet.  She appeared to have no warm, sisterly feelings of any kind.  In fact, she didn’t seem to have any warm feelings at all.  Susan was the consummate ice queen.  She was pure, unadulterated evil.

Feature Friday: Charismatic powers of persuasion

Way back when I was fresh out of college, I got my very first job working in a call center.  It was a horrible, horrible job.  Because the call center was open 24/7/365, I had to work weird hours, got Wednesdays and Thursdays off in lieu of weekends, and had to work pretty much every major holiday.  Seriously, it sucked.  There are not enough words to express how much I hated that job.  Anyone who's ever worked in a call center or who works in one now can tell you what a boring, soul-sucking grind it can be.

So how did I express my disappointment with my job?  Why, I started writing a novel, of course!  While the novel is not biographical in any way, Melinda's experiences in the call center are based on my own experiences in a call center.

And that is the origin story of this novel.  It languished on my hard drive for more than ten years before I unearthed it and saw that it had some potential.  The first chapters will require a lot of rewrites.  Let's just say, back in those days, I had a text pager and it was WAY high tech.  Most people didn't even have Internet access at home.  So, yeah, the technology in the novel is just a *wee* bit out of date.  But, still, what I really liked about it were Melinda's relationships with her friends and family, and her struggles with being in her twenties and trying to figure out what she really wants out of her adult life.  I can relate to that.

Now, without further ado, I bring you a first glimpse at Phoning It In, my forthcoming contemporary women's fiction novel.

*****

“So, what are we doing this weekend?” Blaine asked casually.  There was a lull in the calls and things were pretty quiet so they actually had a few minutes to spare chatting, unfortunately for Melinda.

“Nothing.  I have plans with my family.  My sister and I are taking my mom out for her birthday,” Melinda replied, equally as casually.

“Bull,” he said, cheerily.  “We are doing something.  You’re just hoping that I’ll let you worm your way out of it and that’s not going to happen this time.  When are you taking your mom out for dinner?”

“Sunday,” Melinda mumbled.

“Well, since we’re going out Saturday after work, that will be no problem at all.”

“I’d really rather not.  I don’t exactly want to be hung over when I’m out dining with my family.”

“You can be the designated driver.  You certainly won’t be hung over on Sunday then, will you?”

“Oh great,” Melinda groused.  “Not only are you making me go out against my will, you’re promising me a fun evening of sipping Diet Coke while all the rest of you get buzzed and happy.”

“Yep.  Won’t it be fun?” Blaine asked.

“No, Blaine, just never mind.  I’m not going to do it.”

“Yes you are,” he said, firmly.  “I meant it when I said that I would drag you kicking and screaming.  Melinda, you really do spend too much time moping around your condo.  You’ve been in a funk for a while and it’s time you snapped out of it.  You’re well on your way to being an old maid.  Do you want to be a friendless old maid while you’re at it?”

She knew he was teasing her about the old maid thing and she couldn’t help but laugh in spite of herself.  “Ass,” she said quietly, smacking him playfully.

“Hey, that’s workplace abuse and I’m not going to stand for it,” he told her.

“No, I don’t want to be friendless but is there any way for me to get rid of you?” she countered.

“”Fraid not, m’dear.  Once you’ve made friends with me, you’re stuck with me for life.  Just think, thirty years from now I’ll still be meddling in your life and pestering you into doing things that you’d really rather not do.”

“Wow.  What an appealing picture that is.”

He looked at her levelly and the expression on his face was serious.  “I’ve been kind of worried about you, kiddo.  You just haven’t been yourself for a while.  You just don’t seem satisfied anymore.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Melinda replied, with a sigh.  “And you’re right, I haven’t been myself lately and I’m sorry.  I know I’m not much fun.”

“Yes, you are, and that’s what I’m trying to tell you.  It’s time for you to get that back.  You can either enjoy life or you can sit around and wish that you did.”

“All right, all right.”  She held her hands up.  “I admit defeat.  If I don’t, you’ll never shut up.  I will go out with you after work Saturday and I will be the DD because I was serious about not wanting to be hung over on Sunday.”

“Ah, yes.  My charismatic powers of persuasion have done it once again,” he replied, rubbing his hands together in relish.

“More like your powers of annoying the hell out of people have done it once again,” she grumbled.

Tuesday Teaser: Sneak Peek at Contributor!

I'm back from my end-of-the-summer hiatus, raring to focus on my fall writing schedule.  On the agenda: book two in the Contributor series (which I've already started), and my NaNoWriMo project, which will be my alternative take on Sleeping Beauty.  I'm really excited about both of them, and am looking forward to getting back into the fairytale genre in November.

However, before those two is the upcoming publication of Contributor.  I've got an amazing cover for it, and am working on polishing up the last bit, but I'll be sending it over Amazon's way tomorrow, which means it should be available for purchase on Thursday!  Also, to celebrate the release of Contributor, I'm running a promotion: download a copy of Creators (the prequel novella to the series) for FREE on Amazon on Friday, September7.

To whet your appetite, I thought I'd offer a little taste of Contributor.  I hope you enjoy it!

*****

“As for you, Apprentice Morrow,” Andersen said, bringing her work up on the screen.  Her throat constricted and she could barely breathe.  “Your solution was quite ingenious.”

Surprised, Dara hazarded a glance at Letizia, who gave her a searing glare.

“It’s unfortunate that you made such an inexcusable error in the beginning,” Andersen continued, staring at her.  She felt like sinking down in her chair, through the floor, and continuing on down into the depths of the earth.  “Had Apprentice LeTour not caught it, your solution would have resulted in even more extensive damage.  An innovative mind is a useless quality in an engineer who makes stupid errors, errors that could cost Magnum millions.”

Dara went completely numb.  She felt as though her fingers and toes had turned to ice, and she feared they might begin to crack, shattering her into a million tiny pieces.  Still, that would probably be far less painful than the public dressing down she’d just received.

“Cheer up,” Javier murmured as they left the room.  “He did say your solution was quite ingenious.”  Surprised, Dara glanced at him.  He grinned crookedly at her.

“Um, thanks,” she said.

“No problem.”

Warming up to him, she smiled ever so slightly.  “Thanks for what you said to Ryan too.”

“Don’t think that means we’re on the same side, Dara.  There can only be one of us left at the end, and I don’t like you that much.”  He winked.

Feeling her spine stiffen, Dara nodded curtly and increased her pace, leaving him trailing in her wake.

Sample Sunday: Creators: The protests begin

What if you had to choose who will live and who will die?

*****

“There isn’t enough food, is there?” Mei asked quietly.  The angry expression had faded, replaced by one of concern, and Liang knew she was worried not just about the decrease in the food supply, but also about him.

“No, there isn’t,” he admitted.  In a way, it was a relief to unburden himself at last.  He felt lighter for not having to conceal the knowledge any longer, but rather than making him feel better, this made him feel worse.  How could he be relieved to know that his sister would now have to be as burdened by the awful knowledge as he was?

Mei picked up her napkin and toyed with it, winding it around her fingers.  “I suspected as much.  I’ve been doing calculations, and I knew the numbers weren’t adding up.”

Liang paused in his pacing and smiled ruefully at his sister.  “I should have known you’d start calculating.”

“I’ve also been calculating the yield from the hydroponics, and I know those numbers don’t add up either.  So what next?”

Righting his chair, Liang dropped into it, suddenly exhausted.  “We step up production on the domes and activate them ahead of schedule.”

He sat quietly, watching the emotions play over his sister’s face as she worked out what this meant.  It seemed she, like him, was trying to reject what was becoming apparent.

“So, that means…” she began, but her voice faltered.  She bit her lower lip, and tears welled in her eyes.

“It means that the leadership team has to do an evaluation of all our Contributors.  It means we have to place every last one of them on a scale, from necessary to dispensable,” he said, the words bitter on his tongue.

His sister stifled a sob and turned her head away from him.  He looked away as well, unable to bear her pain.  It reminded him too much of his own.

“But…but how…  What are you going to say to people?” she finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.  There will be no announcement to the public of what we’re doing.  Instead, people will be moved into the domes in stages and, after the last stage, the domes will be sealed.  And I’ll have to live with the knowledge that I condemned thousands of people to death without saying a word to them.”

“You can’t be serious!  The Job Creators can’t just keep people in the dark like that!” Mei cried, rising from her seat.

“Think about what would happen if we told them.”  He softened his voice, trying to get her to calm down.  Her shoulders tensed and then collapsed, and she sank into her chair.

“But it’s not fair.”  Her protest was a mere whisper, and Liang responded to it with a bitter laugh.

“Not fair?  It’s cruel, is what you mean.  We’re leading people to believe we’re conducting more dome tests and then, when the doors are permanently sealed and the realization of what’s happening to them sinks in, those of us who were lucky enough to have a ticket to the inside will go about our business as if millions of people aren’t dying right outside our doors.”

Mei sobbed, and Liang was stricken that he’d spoken so baldly.  He had desperately wanted to protect his sister, then he had given her the truth in such harsh terms.  But was there any gentle way of delivering such news?

They sat silently for a long time, their food untouched—which only served to make Liang feel even guiltier.  Here they were, the world on the brink of a famine that would kill billions, and he was wasting food because he didn’t feel like eating.  The thought made him sick to his stomach and he doubled over, wrapping his arms around his midsection.

“You know, I used to be so jealous of you,” Mei said softly, her voice startling him out of his miserable reverie.  “I used to wish that I was the oldest, that I could be the CEO of Zhang Agritech.  But now…now that I know what’s going on, Li, I…I don’t even know what to say.  I wouldn’t want anyone to be in the position you’re in, least of all you.”

“Someone has to make the decisions,” Liang said, clutching his stomach.

“That’s the really horrible part, isn’t it?”

Tidbit Tuesdays: The trilogy begins!

I'm really excited to offer this first glimpse into Contributor today.  This book was born during NaNoWriMo 2011, when I thought, "Hey, why don't I try writing a YA dystopian/post-apocalyptic novel?"  I had a lot more fun writing it than I would have imagined! 

*****

Dara swallowed hard, trying to fight the nausea that threatened her concentration.  As she stared at the monitor, the numbers and symbols seemed to swim through her vision, and she blinked several times, forcing herself to focus.  Though she was only seventeen, her training as an engineer had begun at the age of three, so she was more than capable of handling the task before her. 

This, however, was no exercise.  If she failed this evaluation, none of her years of hard work and dedication would matter.  She would lose her position amongst the Ballasts and would have to take up one of the menial occupations of the Cores.  If she did well, a prosperous future would be well within her grasp.

With one last deep breath, Dara looked at the screen. As she exhaled, she cleared her mind.  To her immense relief, as soon as she started to pick apart the problem, she lost all sense of her surroundings, her mind completely focused on unraveling it and implementing a solution.
At first glance, the problem appeared to be simple, but Dara knew the engineers wouldn’t lob anything quite so easy at her.  Because she had been first in her class, they would want to test the limits of her abilities, so she continued examining the schematics in front of her, her mind working rapidly to diagnose and analyze the problem.  She ran through a couple of scenarios, rejecting several possible solutions until, finally, everything clicked into place.  She broke into a wide grin as her fingers flew over the interface.  It was tempting to pump her fist in the air when the machinery resumed its smooth operation, but she managed to restrain herself—barely.

Almost instantly, a door opened and a tall, imposing man entered, followed by two women and one other man.  

“Ms. Morrow, I’m Head of Engineering Andersen, and these are my subordinates, Senior Engineers D’Angelo, Walters, and Chen,” the tall man said.

Stunned, Dara hoped she wasn’t gaping.  She’d had no idea the Head of Engineering would be supervising her evaluation, which was a good thing.  Had she known, she’d have been even sicker with apprehension. 

“P-pleased to meet you,” Dara said, cringing internally at her stutter.  She offered her hand first to Andersen, who shook it with a bruising grip.  Each of the others shook her hand in turn, and Dara tried her best not to squirm as they studied her.

“Due to the high level of aptitude shown by your evaluation results, you have been selected for a specialized apprenticeship program.  You and two other candidates will spend a year under the tutelage of the senior engineers.  The highest performer may earn the opportunity to become my assistant,” Andersen announced.  His eerie blue eyes were very keen, and it was clear to Dara that this was a man who missed nothing.

“Oh, thank you, Head of Engineering Andersen.  This is truly an honor, and I’ll work very hard to prove myself worthy,” Dara said.  She fought to remain composed as a giddy combination of relief and excitement washed over her.

“I will expect you tomorrow morning at six-thirty sharp, when you will begin your training with Senior Engineer D’Angelo.  A word of caution to you, Ms. Morrow: you must operate at your peak each and every day.  I expect nothing less than a stellar performance from you.”  Andersen’s eyes met hers, and Dara had the disconcerting sensation that his gaze was boring straight through her, stripping away skin and bone, muscle and sinew until all that was left was her very essence, her innermost thoughts.  She tried hard to suppress a shudder and thought she saw Andersen’s mouth quirk, as if he had noticed her discomfiture.

“I assure you, sir, I will not disappoint you,” Dara vowed.  The thought of working with this towering, blond, imperious man was dismaying, but she wouldn’t allow this to show—she couldn’t.  She knew full well that becoming the assistant to the Head of Engineering would mean big things for her.  If she had to work herself half to death in order to impress him, so be it.  Nothing mattered more than securing her future with Magnum.

“I will see you in the morning.”  He examined her for one excruciating moment before turning smartly and leaving the room. 

“Congratulations, Contributor Morrow,” Walters said, smiling warmly.

“We’ll see what you can do tomorrow,” Chen told her, a muscle in his cheek twitching.  The two shook her hand and left the room.

“I’ll escort you to the exit,” D’Angelo offered.  Her face betrayed nothing, and Dara’s stomach quaked.  The Senior Engineer was taller than Dara, her dark hair pulled back in an immaculate twist.  Her face would have been devastatingly beautiful were it not for the cold expression in her eyes.  As D’Angelo turned, Dara shivered.

They wound their way through the corridors of headquarters, Dara peeking into every window as inconspicuously as possible.  Though apprehensive about her severe master, she was barely able to contain the excitement that made her feel as if she wanted to fly apart.  She couldn’t believe that she was actually here, in Magnum’s headquarters, and that she was going to become a part of its team.  Her head spun as she thought about her acceptance into the elite apprenticeship.  She couldn’t imagine a more perfect beginning to her career.

They finally reached the exit, which led into the thoroughfares ringing the dome.  D’Angelo closed the door gently behind her.

“Be prompt tomorrow,” D’Angelo instructed, smiling and nodding at a man with a Magnum badge who was passing by, before turning back to Dara, all trace of the smile gone.  It was disconcerting.

“I will,” Dara promised.

“Head of Engineering Andersen is a man of many talents and one of Magnum’s most valued Contributors.  He has high expectations and misses little,” D’Angelo said, emphasizing the last two words.  “You must be meticulous.”  Each syllable was like a hammer blow, and Dara forced herself to stand up straighter.

“Of course.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sample Sunday: Mira stands up to the Beast

“Mira, you are a sentimental fool,” I said, shaking my head and smiling rather condescendingly at her.  “Your heart bleeds for those who know nothing of you and care nothing for you.  Why waste your time?”

“Why do I even bother to discuss these things with you?”  Her eyes were full of reproach, and I could see that I had ruined her cheerful mood.

“Why do you?” I sneered.

“Never mind.”  She tossed the book aside rather fiercely and rose from her seat, stalking over to the bookshelves on the other side of the chamber.

I watched the rigid set of her shoulders as she moved.  I knew exactly why she read such things to me and then attempted to discuss them with me.  She was searching for some good within me, attempting to give me the opportunity to prove myself redeemable.  She was incurably naive in this respect. 

“Would you rather I read to you about wars and pestilence?” she called, after a long moment of silence.  She remained with her back to me, and she ran a rather listless finger over the leather-bound spines on the shelves.

“Why should I wish to hear about pestilence?  I have already told you numerous times that the sufferings of others are meaningless to me.  Perhaps if I were suffering from a pestilence myself, I might muster some curiosity on the subject, if only in the hopes that it would enable me to find a cure.”

“Of course.  You care to hear of something only if it directly involves you.”  The line of her slender shoulders grew even tauter, and I watched as one of her hands balled into a fist.  I could see her body heave as she took a deep breath, and I knew she was attempting to quell her anger.

“Wars are another matter,” I said, wanting to stoke her anger before she could regain her faculties and answer my scathing remarks with smiles, as she had taken to doing as of late.

She turned to eye me warily.  “Indeed?”

“Certainly.”  I sat back in my chair.  I felt a sense of satisfaction creep over me as I watched her face.

My next words were certain to provoke her.  “There is appeal in hearing about those who have used might and brutal force to take what they will.”

There was a flicker of horror in her eyes, but her recovery surprised me.  “Not everyone is as unscrupulous as you,” she said triumphantly, her smile returning.  “I shall be glad to read you war tales.  Shall I start with the tale of the ancient Eudorian king who went to war to free the slaves of Lynere, or would you prefer the history of the knights of Altheria who swore their lives to the noble service of stamping out injustice wherever they encountered it?”

Ah, but two can play at this game.

“Neither.  I would prefer for you to read the history of Marcus the Black, who went to war for the sheer thrill of cutting down his enemy.”

I watched as Mira scanned the shelf and removed a book.  She walked over to me and deliberately flung the tome into my lap.  “Read it yourself then.”  She spun on her heel and stormed out of the library with a furious rustle of silken skirts.

Tidbit Tuesdays: The beginning of the end of life as they knew it

Creators is making its last appearance in the Tidbits Tuesday feature, because it is no longer the work in progress.  Next week, I'll be offering up a taste of Contributor, the first novel in my postapocalyptic/dystopian trilogy.  I hope you enjoy this opening scene from Creators!


They were losing the war, this much was obvious.  Standing and surveying the fields, Zhang Liang swallowed against the lump in his throat.  As far as the eye could see, the crops were dying.  Liang crouched and grabbed a handful of earth, feeling his own impotence as it trickled through his fingers.  It was so depleted it could no longer sustain life, as evidenced by the dessicated plant stalks waving forlornly in the hot breeze.  No matter how much they tinkered with the soil, Zhang Agritech Systems was unable to successfully replace nutrients in the soil.

Wiping his hand on his thighs, Liang stumbled over to a vivid green patch.  In a blind rage, he began yanking plants out, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction as he tore their roots from the earth.  Even so, he knew it was an empty gesture.  No matter how valiantly the corn and soybeans fought, they were helpless against the onslaught of the virulent pigweed, horseweed, and countless other so-called superweeds.

A sudden pressure on his shoulder reminded Liang that he wasn’t alone, and he looked up into the sober gaze of Anya Ragulski, his second-in-command.

“The collectives are no longer viable,” she told him, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the drone of machinery trying desperately to provide enough water, enough of a precise chemical cocktail to support the crops needed to feed millions.

“But without the collectives…” Liang began, but the thought was too horrible to contemplate, and the words died in his throat.

“There will be widespread famine,” Anya finished, her voice so collected that Liang stared up at her, caught between horror and admiration that she could remain so calm.  However, as he studied her face, he realized there were tears in her eyes, that her expression was rigid.

“Maybe we just need more hands.  We could institute another selection process, bring more field workers into the collectives.  There are more than enough candidates,” Liang suggested, the words falling out of his mouth faster and faster, as he tried to cling to this one last surge of hope. 

Just this morning, throngs of people had stood outside the secure, electrified, razor-wire topped gates of the collective, their starved faces staring avidly at his armored motorcade as it glided by on nearly silent electric motors.  Though life in the collectives involved a great deal of grueling, back-breaking labor, its workers went to bed with a full belly every night, something about which many people could only dream.  The first ten years after the launch of the collectives had been rough because it had been so difficult to find people willing to spend hour after hour toiling in the blazing sun, but conditions on the outside had deteriorated to the point that there were now more people desperate to work the collectives than there were jobs.

“If we increase the number of hands, we won’t be able to provide them with food in exchange for work, let alone supply those who don’t work the collective,” Anya reminded him, her patient tone cracking around the edges.  She’d told him this already, but the knowledge refused to enter his head.  The more he tried to accept reality, the more his brain fought to reject it.

“Then why did you bring me here?”  Liang was unable to keep the bitterness from his voice as he pulled himself up from the ground.

“Because I knew you had to see it.”  Anya studied him with an unwavering gaze until he turned from her, yanking his protective goggles from his face and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.  She was right; he wouldn’t have believed numbers on a report, would have rejected the graphs and projections. 

After several moments during which Liang stared unseeingly at the hands toiling at their fruitless labors, Anya finally spoke.  “We knew this day was coming.  You know we’ve done all we can, Liang.  Our scientists have been working around the clock—but I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.  You’ve seen the data.  You know how many of them have collapsed from exhaustion, how many have had cardiac episodes due to the stress.”

Unable to speak, he simply nodded in acknowledgment of her words.  Yes, he’d seen the data, but how could anyone be expected to process the beginning of the end of life as they knew it?

Sample Sunday: Angering the Beast

After spending a night in the Beast's castle, Mira's father takes what he thinks is the perfect gift for his daughter and suffers the consequences...


Peering out, I could see that the man was approaching the gates.  He paused as he reached them, glancing back over his shoulder.  I moved into the shadows, concealing myself from his gaze.  He stared at the castle for several long moments before stepping down from his wagon and walking carefully across the gravel path to the castle walls, casting glances about him as he went.  I was perplexed, but then I saw his object.  Slowly, he approached the castle wall and reached out a hand to touch one of the roses.  I went perfectly still, my spine rigid.  Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a small penknife and used it to cut the rose from the vine. 

Pure, sheer rage washed over me like a black wave, and I let out an ear-splitting roar.  Before turning from the window, I could see the man start, his face as pale as milk.  I ran on all fours from the second floor, down the stairs, and burst through the front entrance of the castle.

“Merciful heaven!” the man shrieked, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms over his head at the sight of me.

He was tall and thin with arms and legs that were ropy and well-muscled.  His hair was a drab shade of brown, and what I could see of his face was very plain and trembling with terror.

“You dare to steal one of my roses?” I roared.

He cried out in terror.  “For-forgive me.  I d-did not mean any harm,” he said, sinking closer to the ground, as if he sought to sink directly through it, the rose still clutched in his hand.  I could see a bright spot of blood on his thumb from where he had pricked himself with one of the thorns.  He had dropped his knife and it laid useless on the ground, far too small to be any threat to me and my rapier-sharp claws.

“You did not mean any harm?” I asked, my voice lowering into a deep and menacing growl.  “I offer you my hospitality, feed you and shelter you for the night, and you repay me by taking what I hold most dear?”

“I did not think anyone lived here.  I did not think the rose would be missed,” he said, in a small and terrified voice.

“Then who fed you, built you a fire?” I asked, astounded by the stupidity of his statement.

“I am sorry.  Please, I beg you, have mercy on me.”

“Mercy?  Why should I have mercy on a thief?  I should strike you dead where you cower,” I growled furiously.

He lowered his arms and looked up into my face.  I could see an expression of abject terror in his eyes, and a shudder of revulsion passed over his features.  I raised one of my arms, ready to strike him down, but he held the rose out and pleaded with me.

“I beg you, do not kill me.  I have three daughters waiting for me at home.  What will become of them if I do not return?” he asked, his voice pitiful.

“Your daughters are none of my concern!” I shouted unthinkingly.  “Why did you take my rose?”

“I took it for my youngest daughter.  Her sisters asked me for expensive gifts, but she asked only for my safe return.  I wanted to bring her a book, but could find none,” he babbled.  “She is such a good child, such a kind and generous child, and I could not bear to return without a gift for her.  When I saw this rose, I knew that she would love it.  She has always loved flowers.”

Slowly and in spite of my rage, my mind was beginning to work.  This man had three daughters, one of whom he described as kind and generous and who loved roses.  Surely it would be a waste to simply kill him.  Perhaps there was another option.  I was silent for so long that the man ceased to shake and sob and went into what appeared to be a state of shock.  His eyes went dull, and I knew that he believed I was going to kill him.

“You have two choices,” I growled, speaking slowly.  “Your first choice is to go home and, in a fortnight, return to me.  You will be placed in my dungeon as my prisoner, where you will die.  Your second choice is to send your youngest daughter to me in your place.  I will not confine her to the dungeon, nor will I mistreat her in any manner.  She will be well cared for and protected in my castle, but she must remain with me forever.”

The man began to shake and sob again.  “Please, have mercy!  I will not send my youngest to you!  But if I die, how will my daughters survive?”

“Those are your choices,” I replied coldly.  “I care not what difficulty they cause you.”

“Please, sir, I beg you…”

“Silence!” I roared.  “Be gone before I change my mind and kill you after all!”

My words spurred the man to action.  Without looking at me, he clambered up into his wagon, his hand clutched so tightly around the rose that it was white.  The rose itself was a deep, deep crimson, the color of the blood that ran from the puncture wound in the man’s thumb.  The horse was nearly screaming in fear.  His eyes rolled back in his head, showing me their whites, and he reared and nearly toppled both the wagon and himself.  The man managed to hold on and, as he applied the whip, the horse shot forward and sped out of the gate at breakneck speed.

I stood watching the man as he disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road.  Then I closed the gates and walked back into the castle, finding my servants assembled in the great hall.

“I expect you heard every word of that exchange,” I growled.  They stared at me with their blank eyes but did not move.  “Then you know what needs to be done!  Ready both the dungeon and one of the guest chambers!  We shall be prepared to deal with whoever returns here in a fortnight’s time.”

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Sample Sunday: Mira and the Beast meet at last

 After all of the agonizing anticipation, Mira and the Beast finally meet...


“Who are you?” I asked, my voice sounding hoarse and dusty.  My eyes wanted to dart about the chamber, but I was afraid of what I might see, so I resolutely fixed my gaze upon the light of the candle.

There was a long silence and then I heard a slight rustling from the other side of the library.  Someone was sitting in the shadowy far right corner, which was a good distance from where I stood.  That thought offered some comfort, and I felt the tension in my body ease slightly.

The silence became so long that I grew vexed.  It was unspeakably rude for this creature to sit in the chamber watching me but refusing to acknowledge me.  “I would appreciate the favor of an answer to my question,” I said.  I was surprised at the sharpness of my own voice, and relieved that the edge concealed a slight quaver.

From the corner came a deep rumbling that baffled me upon first hearing but, when I listened more closely, I realized it was a voice so roughened by bestial sounds it was nearly unintelligible. 

“Why do you ask who I am?  I would imagine you are capable of guessing,” the voice said.
Any courage I may have mustered was quickly quelled by the sound of that strange voice, but I did my best to conceal this.  “I suppose you think I should conjecture that you are the master of this castle, but I know that there must be servants, and I cannot be certain that you are not one of them.”

Another silence followed this declaration and then the voice rose from the corner once again.
“Indeed, there are servants in this castle, but you are incorrect that I could be one of them.  They are mute, as you will discover for yourself when you see them.”

“They are all of them mute?” I asked, astonished.  Had the beast purposely chosen them as his servants because of this—or had he done something to ensure they could not speak?

“Aye,” he said, and I noticed for the first time that he sounded…antiquated.  There was something odd about his accent and the manner in which he phrased his speech.

“You have been living here without another soul with whom you could speak?”  I was intrigued in spite of myself.

“By choice,” was the succinct response.

“Then why am I here?”  The question escaped my lips before I could stop it. 

The tension in the chamber crackled to life once more and I took a faltering step backward, bumping into one of the ladders that were spaced throughout the chamber, allowing access to the upper shelves.  My hand curled around the rail, and I found myself leaning against the ladder for support.

“You know why you are here,” the voice replied, at last.  There was a dangerous undercurrent in it, a low growl that had not been there before.

I could say nothing in response to this and, instead, turned to leave the library, but the voice stopped me. 

“There are some things of which we will never speak,” it said.  “But we must learn to live and even to converse with one another, for there is not another soul in the castle with whom we might speak.  Or do you believe yourself capable of enduring an eternity of silence?”

“No,” I admitted, though I was loath to answer the question. 

I heard more rustling from the corner and imagined that the beast must have been moving about impatiently, though I had no wish to look and confirm my conjecture.  I did not understand what was passing between us.  When he spoke, he gave me the distinct impression that the sound of my voice pained him, but he was making the assertion that he and I needed to converse.  The contradiction confounded me and, once again, my nervous tongue betrayed me.

“It seems apparent to me that you have no wish to speak, so why are you suggesting that we converse with one another?” I asked.

The beast growled and I tightened my hold on the ladder’s rail.  “What do you suggest?  Do you suggest I return to my quarters and remain there forever without seeing or speaking to you?”

“I suggest you do whatever pleases you,” I responded, an impatient edge to my voice.  “I also ask that you have the courtesy to tell me what it is you have planned for me.”

“Planned for you?  You are a guest in this castle.  You may do as you wish.”

“A guest?  I would have called myself a prisoner.”

“You have not the slightest idea what it means to be a prisoner,” he said.  The words were spoken so softly and were so layered with bestial growls that I nearly did not understand them.

“You frighten me,” I said, bluntly.  I could not fathom how it was that I found the courage to be so honest with him.  Perhaps it was simply because I had lived in such fear and gloom that I had not the tolerance for it any longer.  Perhaps I merely wished to provoke the worst so that I might weather the storm and have done with it.

“You have not yet seen me,” he said.

“No, I have not, but my father described you, and that description was enough to frighten me.”

“I give my word that, though I may frighten you, I will not harm you.”

“Why should I believe that?” I demanded.  “You threatened harm enough to my father.  Why should your behavior toward me be any different?”

“Your father stole from me,” the beast snarled.

I flinched but refused to relent, even though my heart pounded so hard that I thought it might burst from sheer terror.  “He did not mean to steal from you.  He was simply looking for a gift for me, and he did not know the rose belonged to anyone.”

“That does not change the fact that he took something that was not his.”

“And how was he to know that you did not wish him to take it?  You offered him food and lodging freely enough.”

“That is why he should not have dared to take more from me.”  It sounded as though the beast was exercising every bit of self-control he possessed not to begin shouting at me.

I was suddenly weary of this fight.  I had to admit that the beast’s words were not devoid of truth, though I felt his reaction had been unreasonable.  Papa had made a simple error, and a decent soul would have been more understanding.

“Very well,” I said.  “I have no wish to quarrel with you.  You do not know my father as I do, and it seems you will not be persuaded to believe anything different from what you have already decided to believe.”

“What I find curious is that you defend the man who sent you here to live with me,” the beast said, with a cruel edge to his voice.

“You think he sent me here?” I asked, amazed. 

“Why else would you be here?”

“I came here of my own free will.”

“Why?” the beast asked, sounding amazed in return.

“Why?  Is it not obvious to you?  I was afraid of what might happen to Papa should he return here, so I came in his place.  I could not help but feel responsible.  He brought the rose to me out of the goodness of his own heart, out of a desire to please me.  I could not allow him to be punished for the kindness of his actions.”

The beast said nothing, and I had the sense that he was finding it hard to believe what I had told him.  This was both surprising and rather sad.  Had he never loved another enough to wish to sacrifice his own comfort and happiness for the sake of the person he loved?  A life without sound was punishment enough, but what of a life without love?  What sort of punishment was that?

Tidbit Tuesdays: Making difficult choices

It's now time for Tidbit Tuesdays, a weekly feature in which I post an excerpt from my current work in progress and discuss some of my thoughts about that particular section.

I hit a milestone this week by finishing the rough draft of Creators, so that was a very good feeling.  I'm taking a short breather because I always need some space between me and my work, and then it will be time for the dreaded editing process.  (Did you hear that ominous music in the background?)  So, without further ado, here is this week's excerpt:

*****

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I was led to believe that the dome technology was still untested on anything larger than a prototype scale,” one of the smaller Creators spoke up, looking around meekly as if waiting for the major Creators to pounce all over him. “What are the risks of enacting this technology now without running a few more scaled tests?”

“We don’t have time to do more scaled testing,” Sylvie said, bluntly. The other Creator’s face blanched, and Liang could see he was not the only one who looked uncomfortable. Despite Sylvie’s formidable presence, murmurs began to sweep through the room.

“I’m sorry, I think my numbers may be off,” interjected one of the other small Creators. “During our last meeting, we were told a total of thirty of the domes were being built, and that each dome could support a maximum population of 250,000 people. The current population of the Midwestern region is…”

“We are aware of the current population of the Midwestern region,” Sylvie interrupted. Her voice was calm and her gaze was steely as she surveyed every other person in the room. “When we met last, we talked a great deal about maximizing our resources, if you’ll recall. I called you all here today so we could begin laying out plans for how we will go about evaluating our resources over the course of the next several months.”

“Wait, maximizing resources… You don’t mean that we’re going to have some sort of a…what…selection process?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”  

*****

Thorny moral questions like this always interest me.  I think it's a good idea to sometimes pose a morally difficult question to yourself and think, "What would I do in this situation?"  The more difficult the question, the better, because it really forces you to analyze your stance on an issue, and I think that kind of self-evaluation is always a good thing.

Much of my writing comes about because of thoughts like these.  More than anything, I tend to be interested in characters, in how they think, feel, what they like, etc.  When I write, I try to really inhabit them and think, "How would this particular character react to this situation?"  

There was a lot of that going on throughout the writing of Creators.  Because so much of Contributor deals with the thoughts and feelings of characters who are caught up in the system the Creators devised, I wanted to explore why that system had been created, and what effects creating the system had on those who had to establish it.

End-of-the-world scenarios like the one in Creators are interesting precisely because they represent such an enormous test to our morality as human beings.  In no situation is a person put more to the test, and at no time do their true colors come shining through than in a moment of calamity.  I think this is especially true of the characters in Creators.

Tidbit Tuesdays: Fun with agriculture

Today, I am debuting my new feature, Tidbit Tuesdays.  On Tuesday of each week, I'll post an excerpt from my current work-in-progress, along with some of my thoughts about the excerpt.

So, without further ado, may I present to you an excerpt from Creators, my prequel novella to the upcoming Contributor trilogy:

They were losing the war; this much was obvious.  As he stood and surveyed the fields, Zhang Liang swallowed against the lump in his throat.  As far as the eye could see, the crops were dying.  Crouching, he grabbed a handful of earth, feeling his own impotence as it trickled through his fingers.  It was so depleted it could no longer sustain life, as evidenced by the dessicated plant stalks waving forlornly in the hot breeze.  No matter how much they tinkered with the soil, Zhang Agritech Systems had been unable to successfully replace nutrients in the soil.

Wiping his hand on his thighs, Liang stumbled over to a vivid green patch.  In a blind rage, he began yanking plants out, feeling a vicious sense of satisfaction as he tore their roots from the earth.  Still, he knew it was an empty gesture.  Though the corn and soybeans fought valiantly, they were helpless against the onslaught of the virulent pigweed, horseweed, and countless other so-called superweeds.

*****

My thoughts: When I began working on Contributor during NaNoWriMo 2011, I thought a lot about what kind of dystopia I was creating.  Why did it exist?  What did it look like?  How did the society function?  These are all questions I tried to answer in Contributor without doing it in info dumps--which can be quite challenging.  Still, I'm happy with the end result and feel that lots of writing and editing have led to a Contributor that creates a good sense of the society it examines.

Still, I couldn't find a way of exploring the origins of the dystopia without doing some sort of info dump or faux history lesson within Contributor, and I didn't want to do that.  Then, it hit me: write a novella.  Just like that, Creators was born.

The first question I needed to answer in creating the dystopia was why did it exist in the first place.  I'm a big fan of speculative fiction, and I've read many great authors who root their dystopia in a current truth, which makes it feel all the more ominously possible.  I wanted to do the same thing, so I asked myself what might make a society grow so dependent on a certain structure and the answer I kept coming back to was food.

I'm not shy about stating right up front that food safety and security is an issue of particular importance to me.  I read everything I can about food production, and I've watched many documentaries on the subject, and all of these things have led me to this ultimate conclusion: if we don't carefully examine our current system and fix its flaws, we may back ourselves into a corner.  The population on this planet continues to grow, but this planet only has finite resources.  How can we best utilize them?

The real trick in writing Creators is writing it in a compelling way.  Though I often find reading articles about farming practices and GMO crops fascinating, I know that not everyone feels the same way.  I wanted to create a face-paced story without making readers feel like they were sitting through Crop Sciences 101.  Hopefully, with Creators, I've reached that goal.

If you're interested in the topic, here are a couple of articles I found particularly interesting:

NY Times op-ed about Congress's revamping of the farm bill 
Mother Jones article about the rise of so-called superweeds

I also suggest reading and watching the work of people such as Jamie Oliver and Michael Pollan.  Though this is by no means a complete list of people who are instrumental in driving the conversation about food safety and quality, they are a good starting point.