A Real Excerpt This Time!

Five minutes ago I opened this page to paste an excerpt from the novel. I chickened out.

Then I did it again anyway.

So here's a bit of the book. This part hasn't been fully edited, so don't jump on me quite yet. It's just actual proof that this is a real thing. 

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Anya tugged thick string that hung from the attic door. "I think there's some old albums up here." With a squeal of metal, the attic opened like a mouth in the ceiling.
"Why pictures?" Matt asked as she unfolded the ladder.
Anya climbed up. "Sometimes my family keeps more than pictures. Birth certificates and stuff, too. Maybe I'll find something. Maybe more letters."
The clatter of rain on the roof was louder up here, the dark room cooled off in the afternoon storm. The big windows let in the gray light.
A partly smushed cardboard box rested in the corner. The word "Pictures" was scrawled across the side in marker, now faded. She pulled it to a clear area on the floor and sat. Matt settled across the box from her.
The box hadn't been taped shut; rather, the four panels were tucked into each other. Anya pulled them apart, and they flipped open, flicking dust into the air. She coughed, and Matt sneezed.
"Oops," she said.
A layer of creased yellow tissue paper concealed the inside of the book from Anya's view. She pulled it away, carefully, and revealed an old photo album. The word Photographs in gold adorned the leather cover. Underneath where it had been in the box were more books, some a little newer, and newspapers lining the bottom.
"Nice find," Matt said.
Anya grinned. "Pretty cool. It might have something in it, at least." She pulled the book into her lap. She saw Matt move out of the corner of her eye as he sat beside her. The book felt dry in her hands, like the leather was about to crack. She pulled the cover open.
On the very first page an old black and white photo, yellowing at the white edges, showed a middle-aged man and his wife in front of a house, both smiling. In pencil, someone had scrawled "Pop and Mom" underneath the picture. A card with flowers printed on it was tucked into the crack of the spine.
"Think that's him?" Anya asked her friend.
"Could be," Matt said. "What's in that card?"
Anya picked it up and opened it. A short note in neat handwriting took up the inside.

"Elijah,
    My parents had this picture of your mama and daddy at the house.
    I thought you might like to have it. Please let me know if you find out
    anything more concerning our conversation last week.
           
                Best,
                Mildred"

Anya read the note over again. "Who's Mildred?"
"Well, who's Elijah?" Matt answered.
"That one's easy," Anya said. "He's my great-grampa. Elijah Dupree, so Gavin's son."
"So that means his daughter is..." Matt trailed off.
"My granny." Anya cleared her throat. "She married a McCall." Anya placed the card back into the edge and carefully turned the page again. More pictures followed, all of them old and sepia toned or black and white. She paused on one of a little girl sitting on the same porch in the first photograph. A different hand had written "Jeannie" underneath. Anya smiled.
The rest of the pictures, of family dinners and days at the beach and one of her Granny dressed up and standing stiffly beside some boy, filled the remainder of the book. The last few pages were Christmas pictures, all of a tree in a living room. There was Jeannie again, a little older, and a few other young people. Anya's gaze paused on one detail of the photograph, a frame beside the tree. It didn't look like a picture, but there were words. She pointed at it.
"What do you think that is?" she said.
"Any pictures closer than that?" Matt asked.
Anya turned the page. "Might be." The rest of the photos were all of a Christmas tree, and all of Jeannie beside it, older each year. The frame appeared in each one, but the pictures varied in distance. The last photograph of the book was a group picture, with a much older Gavin Dupree seated in an armchair and surrounded by family. A few branches of the Christmas tree protruded into the edge of the photo, and the same frame in the other pictures hung above the chair, just over Jeannie's head. The words in the frame were a nonsense poem.

I'll sell you a riddle for a dime
said the bishop at the chime.
With tables and ravens and eggs on a wall
and diamonds and pennies and keys and all
the top of the tower pressed down to fall
my riddle is finished sir; what is your call?

Matt leaned in closer. "What is that?" he asked.
Anya frowned. "I think it's one of those sampler things." That poem doesn't make any sense... "Wonder what it means?"
Matt shrugged. "Maybe nothing?"
"Maybe," Anya said. "I mean, samplers like that were usually meant to just show off skills and stuff...Might be more, though. Some weird government code or something."
"Think whoever made it was crazy?" Matt asked with a smirk.
Anya laughed. "Maybe." Anya shut the book and peeked into the box at the rest of the stack. The yellowed newsprint caught her eye again. "Sweet, old newspapers." She hefted the remaining books and set them to the side before pulling the soft old paper into her lap.  The date in the corner was March 3, 1972.
"Pioneer 10 Launched" read the headline in big letters.
"Cool," Matt said.
"Seriously." They quieted and read the article silently. The block of text took up half the front page, and at the end, in a tiny bit of dead space, were more words, handwritten.

It wasn't insanity. They found other stars first.

Anya blinked and looked at Matt. He met her gaze.
"What the heck does that mean?" she said.
"Are there any other pieces?" Matt asked.
"Nope." Anya let the paper slide to the attic floor. She reached for another album and pulled the cover open as Matt folded the paper. "Let's look through the rest of these," she said.
"Okay."

The photographs moved forward in time as they progressed through the books. One of the last ones even showed Anya as a little girl, sitting on a porch swing with one of her cousins. The embroidered sample appeared on the wall in several of the pictures, sometimes only a corner, but always in the pictures of that wall. The next to last picture showed a different room in color, the wood paneling on the walls lending a dimness to the scene of a family together, some in Christmas sweaters. The sampler was on this wall, too.
The last picture had the same room, same paneling, and some of the same people, older now, and a few new faces in the frame.
The sampler was gone. Not replaced by anything; the wall was empty.
She poked at the glossy paper. "It's gone."
"Maybe they moved it." Matt closed the book in his lap.
"Maybe." What did those words mean, and who wrote them? Anya sighed. "Do you know what time it is?"
Matt looked down at his watch. "Two o'clock."
She tilted her head. "Wanna go to the library with me?"
Matt shrugged. "Sure. What for?"
"Family research." Anya grinned and stuck the old newspaper back where it had rested for so long, then followed it with the stack of albums. "Might be some cool stuff." She stood.
"I still swear I've heard Dupree's name somewhere," Matt said as Anya backed down the ladder. "Not sure where, though."
Anya smiled. "Maybe we'll find out."

------------------------------

Rough, but an actual thing I'm pretty excited about. And editing now. 

Not A Lot To Say

I worked all day today. I didn't do any typing, but I'm going to do some now. Tomorrow is the last day of 14 days to book. I should have worked harder and longer on typing it. At least the raw draft is done. That's something at least.

Basically, today I played with using MyPaint and Gimp together and actually came up with some nice designs for the book cover. One element I want on the cover looks good as I did it in Gimp and MyPaint, but it also looks hand-drawn, which isn't what I want. It's a small, simple thing, so I'm thinking I'll have to make one out of polymer clay, photograph it, edit it insanely, and then add it. Also, I came up with a title for the book yesterday, to be revealed later.

It's going well, and I'm still pumped.

Book Review: Grimoire: Lichgates by S.M. Boyce

Today you get a book review.

Ever since my hometown library and local bookstore both displayed a depressing inability to stock the books I liked when I was a teenager, I looked for the perfect "young person goes on epic adventure" book. I've been able to find books that I've massively enjoyed, of course, but I still like the coziness of a nice, warm adventure. It's like a great cup of chai in paper and glue form.

Or, in this case, digital.

I actually bought the Kindle version of Lichgates because it was pretty affordable, but Boyce also has a paperback version available. I used my phone to read most of the book and, eyestrain notwithstanding, really enjoyed it.

The book starts out with Kara, one of the  main characters, going on a hike in the mountains and stumbling on something called a Lichgate that leads somewhere else. Before this even happens though, the reader is drawn in by the main character's emotional struggles, the reasons for which are revealed slowly. We also get into the head of Braden, a dude from Ourea, who first forms a friendship with Kara that hints at something more. Lichgates is far from being a romance, though. It's just sheer adventure.

One thing I liked was that it was free of long, drawn-out explanations of every moment in a duel between two swordsmen. It described if the characters were fighting, but the author really seems to understand how to keep the audience interested.

I very much recommend Grimoire: Lichgates to anyone looking for a good book to read this weekend.

Silly Library, Books are for Kids

I've mentioned before how much I looked forward to the Bookmobile making its appearance on my street when I was a kid, and how much I loved reading.

We moved the summer after third grade, to a neighborhood sort of across town, where the Bookmobile didn't go. I started fourth grade, made new friends, and got both a computer and a puppy. The library sort of took a seat on the backburner, and I made use of the one at my Christian school, or just went to B. Dalton in the mall. When I was in seventh grade, Books-A-Million came to the Wal-mart shopping center, and suddenly, between it and B. Dalton, a wealth of books and magazines was suddenly available.

I literally did not visit the library again until I was in 10th grade.

Not joking. What books I wanted, I saved for and bought, or asked for them for my birthday or Christmas.

That year Clive Barker released his YA novel Abarat. I saw an ad for the book in a kids' magazine and thought "hey, that looks pretty cool." By this time, I'd of course devoured all of the Chronicles of Narnia, buffet style, and discovered The Lord of the Rings. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was a huge favorite of mine, as was A Wrinkle in Time, and I wanted more adventure. More worlds to step into. So Abarat looked pretty cool.

It was also pretty expensive at BAM. What money I had, I didn't want to spend. So I decided, after seven years, to get a library card for the Wilson County Public Library.

I felt rich there, standing in the YA section. I remember (because I'm a freak who remembers stuff like this, don't judge) borrowing Wolf Tower by Tanith Lee and Many Waters, by Madeleine L'Engle. They didn't even have a copy of Abarat, but I still couldn't wait to check out more.

Problem was, a lot of YA books back then weren't all that interesting, especially the ones they had at the Wilson County Library. Usually they were "poignant, coming of age stories" written circa 1982. If there was any fantasy at all, it was all mythological Wales type of stuff, and a lot of the time they'd have the second book in a series, without having the first. I eventually did buy Abarat. As I got older, books became less of a cool thing for me. I wasn't at all interested in things like Pride and Prejudice; I wanted something more along the lines of my favorites. The bookstore wasn't much help either, though I'd known that. B. Dalton had closed a few years before, and BAM either didn't stock things as much or just plain sold out. I was restless and not content with basically having very little to read that I liked. The library didn't have anything because they purchased from BAM, and the local store didn't have all that much either.

But my mind had entertainment. It craved a story so much that it wrote one.

See, we had to read some story in English class that was sort of like the poor man's version of the story of Icarus. Only this tale read like a bad driver's ed film, because the kid's dad was Apollo, and he totally borrowed and wrecked the car. Or something. At any rate, my teacher decided we needed to write our own myth, preferably with a happier ending and that didn't graphically detail what happens to a body in an auto collision. I wrote some dumb little page-long thing where this chick found a clearing in the woods that was magical and turned blue when she walked into it. There's more details, all of which I remember, but they're dumb. Sorry. 

I turned it in and got it back, and promptly shoved it into my backpack, whereupon it was immediately stained with banana.*

I didn't forget about it, though. There was more to this story, so I wrote out another copy for myself to continue later. I went to my Gramma's that weekend and started working.

I confess, I have no idea what we did in my 6th period class for the rest of the freaking year, because I wrote the whole time. Like really. I think it was World Geography, but I know I didn't pay attention because I still suck at geography.**

I figured I was freaking brilliant by writing a novel at the age of 15. I finished it and began the process of rewriting, changing and taking out and putting in and having a ball. Then I got the idea for the sequel, then another idea for the third book. The second one was finished by the next winter, shortly after my library adventures began.

I never finished the third one, and here and there I'd work on it between high school and finishing college.

It's funny when you re-find things you hadn't touched in a while.

That book sucked.

Like, it was really bad. Childish and confusing and often times, downright dumb. I threw in plot devices like they were candy at a parade, and often characters existed just to remind the main character that she was special. Yeah, I was one of those writers. I wanted to make it as fantastical as possible, but keep it down to earth and for some reason, partially set in West Virginia (which at the time, I had never been to.)*** There was a gap somewhere in there, where I grew up and started writing a little better. Characters were more complex, there were more secrets, and the dog no longer talked. Dogs, by the way, were the only creatures that could talk in the story. I had two dogs at the time, so I blame that.

And yet, still, even after all my emo-ness and stuff, it still wasn't ready. Like at all.

Like it read like a horrible fan-fiction that wasn't even clear what exactly the author was a fan of.

Lo and behold, college! It was great, and it was awful and I had a lot of friends and did a lot shopping and hanging out and basically not ever working on my book.

But it simmered back there, on the back burner. All the bad stuff cooked off, and spices were added, and my story became mental comfort food. I like where it is now. Heck, I love where it is now. Granted, it is like a fickle lover, sometimes frustrating and many times amazing. Yes, the bare bones are there. Teenagers, quest, weapons. Like the human skeleton, this formula is literally everywhere in YA fiction, whether you know it or not. It's extremely basic. Now I have on my side a weird obesession with the Cold War, lots more attitude, many movies without hobbits, and a temper upon which I blame genetics.****

But that's all I'll say about that.

Because I think it's time to pretend I had a few too many and do the writer's version of dancing on a table at a wedding and launching my stilettos across the room.

I'm going to put some annotated excerpts from the previous work on this blog. Many of the notes may just contain exclamations of shame or LOLs because it's seriously bad, but funny bad. Seriously funny bad.

So prepare to enjoy.

Or just stare awkwardly. Your choice.







*I still have the sheet of notebook paper, and it still has banana on it. It's a beautiful sort of gross.
**Seriously, as far as I know, every state that isn't Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Missouri, or West Virginia floats around in this weird archipelago. Of freedom.
***I did go in 2005, on a senior ski trip with my class. And I have the shoulder pain and loss of motion to prove it!
****Yeah, if you think the Hatfields and McCoys were bad, you shoulda seen my family and the neighboring family where they lived, back before 1950. Apparently, an uncle of mine busted home one day and asked his mama (my great-grandmother) where the gun was, because he was gon' kill him somebody. She was all "heck to the naw" and I don't think anything came of that. Also, my Granny once frightened a school principal into actually punishing other students that jumped both my dad and my aunt. I am so proud of both of these events, you don't even know.

Titles and Covers and Elves, Oh My...

I hate sci-fi and fantasy.

I'm a hypocrite. I know.

I didn't really realize this until sort of recently. Like last week*

Now let me back up a bit. I obviously don't actually hate the genres as a whole. They really are the most interesting to me. I love the Harry Potter books, liked Twilight, have published a small collection of short sci-fi stories, and am currently working on a novel with its roots in fantasy and its leaves in the stars. That's not hate, but I'm really good about making overstatements.

So last week. I was at the library, poking around and looking for something to read that would satisfy my very picky nature. (I ended up getting Absolute Midnight by Clive Barker, which I know I probably won't finish, and The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, which I really liked. When they do the movie, Alan Rickman needs to play Silas. So anyway.) I had read something on io9.com about a couple of books that looked to be hard sci-fi. The second one had lovely cover art, and it was newer, and the library had it. I figured I should start with the first, so I found it on the shelf and took a look at the inside of the cover.

It took me about two seconds to slide it back on.

Why?

The blurb was way too freaking long.

While that sentence makes me sound, well, lacking, I have a valid reason for thinking that. This book's description, coupled with cover art that reminded me of bad mass-market sci-fi coupled with Harlequin romance, only if the characters were electronics instead of people, were a major turnoff.

I didn't need to read the whole plot of the book on the cover. It didn't tease me or invite me in at all. The art was, eh, about as interesting as my microwave with its broken turntable (so not much.) The length of the blurb threatened to tell the entire story. Suddenly the novel became a hard sci-fi infobook.

I don't read textbooks anymore. I barely read them in college.

Worst part was, this was done by a publishing house. I'd react the same way with the fantasy books at the library. All of them will have an elf, or bow with arrows, or a leather bikini, or maybe a centaur. Possibly a blatant ripoff of hobbits. All that is pretty much why I avoid high fantasy like the plague. Yeah, this makes it really hard for me to describe with any helpful accuracy what sort of books I like to read.

Well first, it has to be attractive. There are a lot of movies that I haven't seen (and most likely won't) for the simple reason is that they just didn't look that interesting. I really could not care less how they "made you think about...life." Uhm, well, yeah. A lot of movies do. First time I saw The Matrix, I was a little freaked out for a couple days. Not from the movie. It's still one of my faves. But just because I sat in Geometry class wondering if my pencil was real, doesn't mean it's a cinematic masterpiece. It was just a fun movie, and it got my attention.

Second, it has to entertain. If a book goes on incessantly about the politics and religious practices of vampire elves living in a 23rd century version of New York on a distant planet, I don't care if the setting is really cool, I'm done if there's no plot. Even the most interesting characters are boring if nothing ever happens to them. Pride and Prejudice didn't get popular because Lizzy Bennett spent the book pondering life while working as a waitress. It has an actual plot.

So writers, if you've chosen the self-publishing route, as many including myself have, you're gonna be doing a lot on your own, unless you want to hire some talented friends. This means cover design, and blurbs, and all that.

Please make it interesting. Deign to use a one-word title if it keeps things mysterious. Get a friend to read your book and help you if you need to. Avoid long plot summaries. Good food isn't interesting because the person eating it is full from consuming the meal. It's interesting because it smells good and teases the eater.

Be a tease. Leave a lot to the imagination.

You may find you sell more books that way.

*This happened longer ago than a week. Several weeks. I just remembered I had this post.

Book Review: Trials of Fire (Divine Order Saga)

Back in November, I purchased Trials of Fire by Richard Hein for $.99 on Amazon. The author had put it on sale, and it looked pretty cool. I downloaded the book to my Kindle and began the long, ADD-laden journey of finishing it. I'm easily distracted.

Trials of Fire is the first in the Divine Order Saga. If I remember correctly, the book will soon be available in print as well. It's a fantasy novel with its roots in the steampunk genre.

The story begins with the graduation of a few twentysomethings from their training for the religious Order, after which they are able to basically act as the will of the gods that they worship, armed with swords. They're a little like the Jedi, only the swords are your basic magic weapons. The main characters set out on what seems to be a routine investigation into some local disturbance, and along the way pick up and shelter a girl who appears to be on the run from the law. There's magic, battles, and all that good stuff. I won't spoil it for you.

But this is a book review, so I must critique. While an interesting concept, the book probably could have used a second eye during the editing process. There were many places where easy-to-catch typos just ran rampant. It seems that find and replace was employed with one of the interesting wording choices, because it was consistent but didn't fit quite right, which leads me to believe that it was a mistake, rather than quirky in-story dialogue. There were often times in the end of the book where "there/their" mistakes, and similar, appeared. A few times, whole verbs were absent from the story. Instances where characters "seemed" to do this or "seemed" to feel that way just occurred too frequently.  As a reader, I found these things pretty distracting, and that's never good.

As far as story, it was solidly plotted and does leave some questions open at the end, welcoming a next installment in the series. I did notice that the author took great care, several times and very conspicuously, to mention that there hadn't been a war in a long time. It was a little ham-fisted. I didn't find the descriptions of battle very interesting, but this probably rests with me. I'm not a fan of reading about sword-fights. It's too much like watching something in slow motion, and often I'm lost simply because I know almost nothing about swords or using them in combat. Admittedly, this is a bit of a nitpick.

If you want a nicely plotted steampunk homage to Star Wars, you'll probably like this book. It wasn't quite my cup of tea, but with some tidying up in the grammar department, it would be pretty decent.

Drapes and Other Trials of Patience

So it's officially summer here in the South. Officially. Most days it's been in the 90s anyway, so we're all practiced for summer. Or warmed up, I should say.* To keep the costs of utilities down, I had to put up drapes in my room, because my corner of the house takes the brunt of the sun every day, mostly in the morning between 9 and 11. (You can actually feel the temperature rise. It's a little scary.) We bought them one at a time, just to see if they work before committing. I had help with the first window the evening we bought it. It worked well, so we got another one, and it stayed on the floor until today, when I decided to put it up.

So apparently, the window frame is made of steel-infused oak. I really think it's just a special kind of tree that the builders grow using secret knowledge. After eventually getting the brackets mounted, I put up the drape, and my room is cooler and a little darker. I really think that marriage counseling should include the couple trying to put up a pair of drapes in an un-air-conditioned room, just to see how fun it gets (and mind you, I put this one up myself.)

Moving on to the books. I'm making huge progress through the first book, but sometimes key characters just don't know when to be quiet. Okay, really, it's just me. I think I'm feeling like I need to explain stuff or provide this huge convoluted catalyst for certain actions. Eventually I get frustrated, make it simple, and then have the information dump marked for movement to another place, occurring later in the narrative, where it fits better.

I try my own patience sometimes. But working through it is really the only remedy. Are you having the same problem? Keep writing, and a better option will present itself, I promise.

So starting tomorrow, I'll be posting some snatches from the original copy of what I'm working on. It's delightfully atrocious. Stay tuned!

*I'm terrible, I know, but I really couldn't resist.

Sentience Part 3

Here's part 3 of Sentience.  It's a bit short, but this part is where the story begins to pick up.  Enjoy!

**************

His tablet was starting to lose power, and he'd read most of the interesting articles by now anyway.  With a sigh, he slipped it into his pack and stared at his shoes, glancing up every few seconds to watch the passersby.  He pretended to search his pockets when he glanced up.  A figure in simple clothing walked down the street, not slowly, not quickly.  Her red-brown hair was covered by a hat.  As he watched, it became evident that her clothing was a uniform of some sort, probably for one of the shops nearby.  He did not look away. 

Frederick found himself looking into the eyes that were neither gray nor blue, just for an instant.  Her-its- eyebrows rose, it looked away, and Frederick dropped his gaze.  It was walking more quickly now.  He kept watching.  The machine was thinking.  Learning.  It knew, and it turned into the entrance of a department store.  The automatic doors slid open, and Marie the machine was gone. 

He stood.  He had to follow her; no question, and now if he was to ever catch her.  He stood, walking quickly to the department store and in.  Marie was disappearing up the glass elevator.  It was facing away from the door, but he followed up the antiquated staircase that stood in the middle of the store, running.  The robot stopped at the third floor and got off, walking toward some tall clothing racks.  Frederick kept after it, and it directed a quick glance behind, and he knew he'd been seen. 

"Excuse me!"  He called to her-it- as she sped up.  "Ma'am...excuse me!"  He caught up to it, grabbing the upper arm. 

The reaction was fast.  It spun around and slapped him across his face.

"Leave me alone, creeper."  The android pulled away and kept going, seeming panicked. 

Frederick was only shocked for a second.  He collected himself and fished in his pocket for the strong magnets he'd brought.  This would disable it for sometime, if not fry something.  He hurled them, connecting solidly with the back of the torso area, the cranium, and the neck.

"Ow!"  Marie spun around, then came closer.  "Look, I have no idea why you're throwing junk at me, but leave me alone or I'll find out who you are and call the police.  Just...go away, freak."

It stalked to the stairs and ran down them, going out the door.  Frederick watched as she turned neither right nor left.  Other customers were watching.  Silently, he collected the magnets.  For today, he'd lost Marie the robot, and he'd have to go back to his apartment for more ideas.  Fear raced up his spine.

This job he knew had to be done. 

Niche? Goodness, I Hope Not...

One of my most recent worries is that the novels I am working on are too much of something that fits only into a niche.  My dream is to be the next J.K. Rowling (I'm really only half joking...) and her books appeal and apply to all, even adults like me, despite the very young main characters in the Harry Potter series.  Imagine my surprise that, despite the always full shelves at Books-a-Million, speculative fiction (fantasy, sci-fi, horror, etc.) is a niche that not everyone can get into.  Honestly, I don't like the pure fantasy genre.  Maybe it's the astounding number of chosen ones, or maybe it's the vital-organ-exposing leather bikinis that female characters wear, but all the Tolkien (or Greek epic) clones out there really bug me.

Don't get me wrong, I like fantastical elements.  One of my favorite books is The Neverending Story.  (Not the movie...the book.)  I like it because it reads like a story book, but there's a little bit of scary, a little mystery here and there ("but that's another story and shall be told another time..."), and I love the characters.  I love the Harry Potter books.  I was recently thrilled to get the first two in hardcover for my 24th birthday.  They combine fantasy with a little mystery (yes, I did wonder endlessly about R.A.B.) and some comedy, with a touch of scary on top.  Add the characters that feel real and you've got a great story.  Concerning sci-fi, the jury's still out on that one.  My favorite movie is Star Wars, but that film doesn't really count as sci-fi (space opera is the applicable term.)  I enjoyed J.J. Abrams' take on Star Trek (the man knows how to mess with your head...), but it's also that the movie was just plain entertaining.  I occasionally indulge in some Next Generation, but that was a very character driven show (and Data is just like my boyfriend.  Awesome.)  I generally don't read or watch horror, but I enjoyed Sleepy Hollow, mostly because it's a fine mystery, an early CSI: NY, quite literally.  These particular stories do well because they can appeal to so many people for different reasons.

That's what I want to do with my books.  I'm gonna need encouragement in this area.  It's a fantasy mystery that combines the amazing locale of modern Eastern North Carolina, lacks the teenage romance that seems to be the norm these days, a mystery that has to be solved, and time running out for a world that resembles colonial America (seriously, tired of the all-too-common pseudo-Germany/France) with a little interesting machinery thrown in (think the Antikythera mechanism, and little to no steam.)  Will it work?  If I'm nitpicky enough, yeah, it'll work fine as long as I make it work.  As long as I can keep two teenage characters from turning into just another Edward and Bella couple clone (they're nothing like them.  Don't worry; I can't stand blatant copies.)  I'd like for anything I write to appeal to all audiences of all ages.  Wish me well, because I'm writing for everyone's enjoyment.  In fact, I'll keep my self accountable.  I'll post my progress daily, and y'all feel free to remind me or leave comments.  I love comments.  I welcome them.

Thanks for stopping by today, and tune in tomorrow for more!