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Hey! It’s Saturday! Last week was hectic as anything, but I managed to survive. No one likes almost $700 in car repairs, but they were necessary. Now to try and sell some books and recoup at least part of that.

I had a couple of really good things happen last week. One just came to pass last night. My blog’s now a syndicated one on Authorsdb!

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The other one…well, it started coming about earlier in the week. But I’m still grinning about it.

I was checking my email late one night. There was a message from a gentleman who was part of a comicon at a community college. They were going to do a charity silent auction at the con, with the proceeds going to a local food bank. And he was hoping I could donate a book or two.

Oh, and the school was located in Scotland.

After I got past my momentary glee and sense of wonder for being asked, I did my due diligence. Made sure that the school was legitimate, that the con was listed on their website on the day he mentioned, and found social media information about the contact person and con itself.

Here’s where things got a little sticky. The con’s on April 25th. In order to get any books there, on time, it was going to cost a lot. I couldn’t find shipping options lower than $35 for a single book. I asked if they could help cover part of all the cost, as the abovementioned van repairs were still pending. Nope. Wasn’t going to be able to help.

So, I thought about it. And asked him what he thought of me doing a digital prize. He loved the idea!

I’ve sent him my covers, bio, headshot, and the Solstice Publishing logo. He’s going to come up with a display using those. The winning bid will be able to email a code to me and I’ll send them .df versions of all 18 titles I currently have out.

To sweeten the pot, I suggested he set a minimum amount (high enough to really benefit the food bank, but not so high that no one would ever bid on it) and, should the winning bid be at that point or higher, I’ll either name a character or dedicate my next book to them.

I don’t consider being an author as a money making scheme. I don’t necessarily want to hire bodyguards or an assistant who screens my emails. Because it’s not all about me. It’s about the stories, the readers, and the good that you can do by being a public person. I’m still relatively unknown. But if I can do something like this and help a food bank out, yeah. It’s worth it.

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Hey everyone!

I’m snowed in today. LOL. Seattle got a rare blanket of white last night. Hubby made it to work, but getting from our neighborhood to a main road was interesting. If there’s no pressing need for me to go anywhere, I’m waiting for it to melt. Power is still on, meaning we have heat and internet. Yeah!

There’s a cold hard fact to being an author that most people don’t realize. Even most writers don’t have a clue until they put a book up for sale or sign with a publisher. And that there’s absolutely NO direct path to success and sales.

You’re going to be bombarded with ads claiming to know the ‘secret’ to getting good sales. Treat it like you would any other spam and get rid of it. Plain and simple, they want to make you spend big bucks to see little or no lasting success. Unless you count them growing richer as they suck you into the process.

Being an author is tough. It’s work. 99% of us are NOT ‘special snowflakes’ that get their every whim catered to because they make money left and right. You have to be willing to face that fact. Want a lasting career? Don’t be a jerk, stop pretending you know everything, and do the work. Roll up your sleeves, dig a trench, and keep trying.

At one point, I was looking at a career in performing arts. My degree’s actually in technical theater, specifically props and stage management. We’ve all grown up with the stories about how hard it is to become a star in Hollywood. Thing is, it’s JUST as hard to get to the level of Stephen King as an author. I know that. And I’m willing to do the work to get myself there. I believe in my writing. I stay positive. I work with people instead of demanding I be given special treatment.

Get over yourself. Stop imagining that you should be shielded from the reality of the job you claim you want, and get to work. Put in the time to make a solid foundation to your work. Try new things to promote that are free before investing thousands of dollars in a promotion that has no guarantees of getting you enough sales to recoup the investment.

Don’t just sit back and expect money to come pouring in because you wrote a book. Because that’s simply just not how it works.

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Okay, I need your help. Each and every person who follows this blog!

‘Guarding Charon’ is up for Preditors & Editors Best of 2016 as a scifi/fantasy novel. Right now, it’s sitting in 3rd. It’s hit the top spot off and on during voting, so I know it’s close. Which means every single vote counts.

Here’s what you do:

  1. Go to this site: http://critters.org/predpoll/novelsf.shtml
  2. Vote for ‘Guarding Charon’. It got listed twice, so be sure to hit the first one so we don’t split the votes.
  3. Enter your name, email address (you can vote once per email address), and do the captcha to prove you’re human.
  4. Go to the email you used and click on the link to make your vote count!

Solstice Publishing is in the running, too, for best publisher! Please help!

I’m done groveling and begging now, so here’s the teaser for the week!

Guarding Charon-001

“Mr. Dixon, is this a safe place to talk? After what happened with the limo…” her voice trailed off.

“Very secure and safe, I assure you. No one would’ve been allowed to come close enough to the plane to put any sort of devices on the exterior, let alone gain access to the inside. Bruce will not be listening in.” He smiled. “If you like, you can call me Larry. Mr. Dixon is extremely formal. ‘Stuffy’ is what your great aunt called it. We will be working closely for the next several months, getting the estate transferred to you. There is no reason to be formal when we’re alone.”

He leaned back, his face taking on a more serious appearance. “Grace, this is a hard thing to ask right now, but it must be discussed. You have the chance now to reinvent yourself, disappear in some ways. Amanda knows what Bruce tried to do, and how he was forcing you into a corner so you’d have to marry him. She was making plans to bring you to her home herself, when she passed away. If you want, everything is in place for me to create a new identity for you. A new name, new social security number, new driver’s license. We can get the paperwork started now, have it all in place by the time we arrive in Cavendish. I only need your permission, and a name you’d like to be known by.”

She stared at the bottle in her hand. To truly disappear, become someone else, would guarantee Bruce would never find her again. Even if she didn’t stay in Maine after her six months were up, he would never find her.

“What about my parents?” Her voice was hushed.

“They accepted a check. Enough to guarantee your father can retire; their debts are paid in full if they choose to do that. But the money is conditional that they tell no one where you went. They know it is likely they’ll never see you again, and traded the money for contact with you.”

Grace slouched in her chair. Her entire body shook. They abandoned her, cut her out of their lives forever, for money. She knew she should be shocked, upset. But she felt numb. “I think I need a drink,” she whispered.

She kept staring at the bottle of water in her hands, fascinated by the motion of the water as the tremors continued. Distantly, she heard ice hitting the bottom of a glass, followed by liquid being poured. It appeared on the edge of the table.

Shaking, she put the water on the table and grabbed at the glass. Amber liquid swirled around a giant ball of ice. Before she could stop herself, she downed the scotch. It burned as it traveled down her throat, numbing her stomach to match her emotions.

If they were ready to be done with her, then she would be done with them. “Let’s do it.”

“Very well. What would you like your new name to be?”

She stared at the glass in her hands. “Did she have any family with her last name?”

“No. She was the last Cross. Her sisters took the names of their husbands, and she had no brothers.”

“That’s it, then. I’ll be Amber Cross.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

He raised his as well, “To new beginnings, Amber Cross.”

Swallowing some more of the alcohol, she began to try and adjust to the new name. “So, this house. What’s it like? And why’d she choose me?”

myBook.to/guardingcharon

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I didn’t forget! I just got swamped with…stuff! LOL!

Here’s the teaser for the week, from ‘Emile’s Blade: A Book of the Amari’.

Grear darted past the streams of people fleeing the caves. The amassed forces of five separate kingdoms bore down on their home, intent on rounding up the last free home the Amari had.

“Grear! To me!” A voice screamed at him over the crowd. Looking toward the sound, he saw an arm beckoning him. As quickly as he could, he wove through the throng and found the uniformed man who called to him.

“What is it?” he asked, his breath coming in gasps. “My family…are they alright?”

The blonde man nodded his head, the gold eyes darting past Grear’s head to survey the crowd. “I’m sure they’re fine. Artemis needs you.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No. I have to get to Bella and Serafina. Tell him he can find me at the rendezvous spot and impart his kingly wisdom there!”

A hand reached out, grabbing his arm. “Grear, it’s set in motion. Bella took her to the river already.”

The blood rushed out of his face as fear settled on his heart. “Lead the way,” he said, his voice wooden and heavy.

The other man wove a path through a series of caverns and tunnels, avoiding as many people as possible. “The raid started earlier than we thought it would,” he spoke over his shoulder. “Artemis got Lyssa into hiding, and summoned Bella as soon as he ordered us to evacuate.”

Grear didn’t answer. It was too late for talk, too late to say goodbyes.

They stopped in front of a plain looking set of double doors. “He’s in there. Refuses to leave. Says it’s not part of the plan.” He reached out his hand to Grear. “Take care of yourself. Stay free. Or try to.”

Grear took it in the friendship it was offered. “You as well, Titus.”

As Titus disappeared down the corridor, he pushed open the doors in front of him.

Artemis stood at the far end, his back to Grear. The sheer curtains that kept the sitting room separate from the balcony had been pushed aside. Ignoring the shelves of books, he strode past the leather chairs and finely carved tables.

“Might as well grab yourself a drink, Grear,” Artemis’ deep voice called out. “You’ll need one soon enough.”

He hesitated, the amber liquid in the crystal decanter tempting. “No, Artemis. I don’t need a drink. I need to know why you gave the order before I could say goodbye to them.” He walked out to the balcony and leaned against the rail. And waited for an answer.

Artemis stepped back from the edge, his hands resting on the barrier. He kept his focus on the people below fleeing Uamh nan Amari. “It was time. If we waited for you, we would’ve lost the opportunity. The humans will be on us soon. Most of our people will be rounded up as they leave the caves. If the ruse is to work, it had to happen when it did.” He turned, “I’m sorry, cousin. I really am. I know this will be hard on you. Raising her without any knowledge of who she is, what she is, who you are. And now she’ll think her father is dead.”

“What about Bella?” he whispered.

“She’ll remain at the river, as planned. When they find her, she’ll give them the story of how the last royal for my household is far from their grasp. Everyone will think it’s my own daughter.” He took a deep breath. “Given the magic she’s going to harness to send Fin downriver safely, she won’t live long enough to be chained. You’ll never encounter her as someone’s pet. Fin won’t have to see it, either.”

Grear’s heart constricted. His wife had agreed to this. He did, as well. It was the only way to ensure both Fin’s safety and the continuation of the royal line. But, now that the events were in motion, it cut deeper than any wound he’d ever gotten.

Artemis placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re going to take me, Grear. They’ll make me tell them everything. I can only say I saw your wife leave with your daughter and you went after them. Make me believe, now, that Grear is dead.”

Grear looked at him, slowly making his gold eyes fade into brown. The dark brown hair darkened to a midnight black. “Grear’s dead.” Without another word, he turned and left the room.

emile%27s-blade-001

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This book is dear to me, for several reasons. One of which is the way women are viewed in the world. It bothers me that too many are denied an education, are sold off, or otherwise demeaned simply because of their gender. By doing a role reversal, I hope I was able to bring a unique spotlight to this problem. After all, if it’s okay to do this to girls, shouldn’t it be okay to do it to boys?

 

The wagon bounced hard, jolting Arine awake. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around at the landscape. It was early morning, just past dawn.  The forest was familiar in the dim light. Home wasn’t far off. She stretched her arms towards the sky, willing the muscles in her back to wake with the rest of her.

She shifted a bit in the bed of the wagon. It was laden down with several boxes and bags, as well as a few other people from her village. Theos wasn’t isolated, but it wasn’t on a major caravan route either. Odd peddlers and such passed through often enough. Still, once or twice a year several of the tradesfolk banned together and made the run to Recor for supplies.

Arine moved aside the oilcloth covering the bundle next to her. The leather underneath it remained dry. It wasn’t the rainy season, but she’d spent far too much of her mother’s money on it to run the chance of spotting. Their shop was the only one for days in any direction to either have shoes made or repaired.

She bounced along with the wagon as the sun continued to climb over the horizon. Reaching a hand into her tunic, she felt the small bundle within. A smile crossed her face. Ian would love the colors she’d chosen. The pencils were a good quality, and far more expensive than she would normally have spent. There wasn’t much she could give her brother that would make him as happy, though.

A smile crossed her face at the thought of her brother. While only two years younger than she was, he was small for fourteen. Ever since the accident that had claimed their father’s life, Ian had lived in a world of his own creation. He could hear well enough, but rarely spoke to anyone besides Arine. She was the only one in Theos who could understand him. Not even their mother could. It seemed to Arine that their mother had given up trying to help Ian before she finished burying her husband.

For all his problems, Ian could draw beautifully. Sometimes she’d find him curled up at the hearth, charcoal and parchment on the floor next to him, where he’d fallen asleep while drawing the night before.

The creaking of the wagon seat alerted Arine, breaking her out of her reverie. Elaine looked down at her. “Last bend coming up, Arine.  Wake the others.” The older woman turned back around, her long silvery braid swinging slightly.

Arine pushed a stray lock of her coppery hair out of her face before slowly waking the two others in the wagon with her. More had wanted to come on the run, eager to see the sights of Recor, but there wouldn’t be enough room for them and their goods on the return trip home. Winter had been brutal, depleting stores below normal levels. Only four of them went this time, but the shopping list had been long.

The trees parted, giving way to the clearing where Theos sat. Arine took in the familiar houses and shops, dominated by the inn that took up the area behind the central well. Their wagon had been spotted already. Women poured forth from the buildings, voices calling out for help unloading, as they eagerly watched the wagon creep forward.

Arine kept silent, letting Elaine and the others answer the questions being put forth by everyone at once. She could barely keep the voices separate. Quickly, the wagon was emptied of all but the leather for Arine’s mother and Elaine’s own purchases.

Jumping down from the wagon, Arine reached in and pulled the leather bundle towards her. Her eyes scanned those still near the wagon, but Ian wasn’t among them. That’s strange, she thought. Normally he’s right here to carry the leathers for me. Puzzled, she rearranged her own pack and lifted the package from the wagon bed.  At least the shop wasn’t a long walk away.

Struggling slightly to keep her hold on the package, Arine found the latch to the door. The door swung wide at her urging, announcing her presence with a loud bang as it hit the interior wall. Arine carefully maneuvered past the tables and racks of wares, grateful her mother had put off rearranging the store until she returned. Arine put the package on the back table with a grunt.  Leaning on it for a moment, she called out, “Ma!  Ian!  I’m back!” When she didn’t hear a reply, Arine removed her pack and placed it quietly on the floor behind the table. The door to the work area was cracked open. A small knot of fear formed in her stomach. She moved to open the door, looking inside the workroom.

Her mother sat at a workbench, her back to Arine. The small fire, just big enough to keep the room comfortable, burned merrily in the fireplace.  Tools were placed on various surfaces, waiting to be used. The chair Ian preferred sat empty.

“About time you got back, Arine. Though Elaine said it might take a few more days, given the lists of stuff everyone wanted.” Her voice rang in Arine’s ears. The tone was wrong.

The older woman shifted, turning around to face Arine. Her dark hair was disheveled, strands fought against the tight braid she usually wore. “Did you get a decent amount of leather for me?”

Arine scanned the room. There was no sign of Ian. Not even a sketching. Those normally cluttered the corner of one of the tables. “Yes, Ma.  I put them out on the table. You should be ok for a while.” The fear in her stomach was growing. “Ma, where’s Ian?”

The woman stood. Grabbing a thick cloth, she moved a steaming kettle away from the fire. Calmly, she poured herself a cup of tea before responding to Arine. “He’s gone. Caravan came through, saw his drawings. Offered me good money to take him with them. Said the Domines loved having artists in their houses.”

“You sold him?” Aghast, Arine’s voice shook with shock and fury.

“Not really. It’s not like I could’ve gotten him a wife around here, Arine. He’s not worth much to anyone. If the Domine likes having a mute fool for an artist, why shouldn’t we get a chance to profit?” Reaching into the pocket of her trousers, the woman tossed a small pouch onto a table. The heavy clink of coins echoed in the room. “That’s your share. Go ahead. Take it. It’ll go to your house, anyway, so might as well enjoy it now while you’re young.”

Arine stared at the pouch, her mind reeling. Ian had been sold. Like a piece of property. His only sin being born a boy. Slavery was illegal, but the Domines usually looked the other way when it came to boys.

“When did you do this?” Arine struggled to keep her voice neutral. However, if she could get information on when the caravan came through, she might be able to go after him. She kept her eyes on the pouch, unable to look at her mother.

“Two, maybe three days ago. The caravan didn’t stay long. Lynn’s stores in the inn were already fairly low. There were too many for her to feed beyond that.” Her slurping of tea reached Arine’s ears. “Pretty sure Lynn did some trading of her own. Saw a few new boys cleaning tables for her today. I’ll bet you saw them as well. She would’ve sent them out to help unload Elaine’s wagon.”

Arine’s mind worked frantically. Two or three days’ head start! Very carefully, she reached out and took the pouch from the table. It was heavier than she expected. She’d need to find Bess first. Her friend could get all sorts of information from the new boys at the inn, and probably already had.

“I’m a bit thirsty from the trip, Ma.  I’m going up to Lynn’s to have a drink or two, recoup a bit. Don’t wait up.” Keeping a tight rein on her anger, Arine darted from the shop before anyone could stop her.

 

***

 

Two days later, Arine sat in an inn in some town. She’d lost track of names, of what direction she’d gone, searching for the caravan that now owned her brother. And of how much ale she’d had.

“This seat taken?” A voice, barely above a whisper, asked. Before Arine could raise her head to reply, the speaker pulled out a chair and sat down.

“You ready to listen to options, or are you still wanting to wallow in grief?” the voice asked.

Looking up, she took in the speaker. Dark hair pulled back in a braid, brown eyes that saw everything. The hilt of a sword peeking up past her ear. “What options?” she croaked, her voice raw from the alcohol.

“My mistress tasked me with seeking out those who had lost much, those who would do anything to regain what was taken from them. I’ve been following you since you left Theos. Heard you’re searching for your brother.” The young woman leaned in across the table. “She can train you, my mistress. Teach you how to save other boys from a fate like Ian’s. And, one day, may be able to find him for you.”

Arine shook her head, trying to take in her words. “And in return?”

The woman sat back in her chair. “Nothing. Mistress Bryn does not command loyalty, but earns it. The only question that remains is if you’re willing to follow me.”

“Follow you where?”

“To Sanctuary.”

Arine's Sanctuary

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Yep! Time for another teaser!

I hope you all like this sort of thing…gotta admit, it’s fun for me to do!

‘Amari: Three Tales of Love and Triumph’ is a collection of the first 3 stories about the Amari race. I say ‘first 3’ because I can honestly say I haven’t given up on the world entirely. There may be more stories yet to come.

Christoph leaned back in his chair, pushing his empty plate away. “Not sure I should say this,” he hesitated, “but I think Alaric’s a better cook than the ones in the palace.”

“Only from necessity. Trystian was the real chef among us.” Alaric stood, picked up his plate, and moved to the small counter that served as their kitchen area. “Christoph, how about some air?” he asked.

The other man looked at him, confusion on his face. Alaric pointed over to their wives, deep in conversation.

“Oh, ah, yeah,” the man sputtered. “Sounds good to me.”

The pair left quietly. Alaric knew Fin was close to the end of her pregnancy. She hardly left their home now, complaining about how lonely things could be. Having Lyssa and Christoph come over to eat was his idea. Fin was so used to people around her, she didn’t take solitude well.

The two men settled into a pair of chairs that sat underneath a small overhang. “She’s giving Lyssa ideas, you know.”

“Those two get enough ideas between them to change the world. Putting them together may have been a mistake,” Alaric laughed.

“She wants us to have a child. Started talking about how secure things are now, that my line needs to continue.” Christoph leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know that I’m ready for fatherhood.”

“No one’s ever ready for it, Christoph,” Alaric replied. “You do have a bit more pressure on you than I ever did though.”

“I know,” he sighed. “One day I’m glad I’m the king, the next…”

“You want to run away from it.” Alaric finished for him. “I know that feeling. Far too well.” For a moment, he let his mind drift back to his childhood back on the island. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. There were times, when his brother was sick, he prayed for him to recover. If only to spare Alaric from inheriting the throne.

“You know, Fin told me something about you when you were gone. Wouldn’t mind getting the story from you, though.”

Alaric turned, his brow furrowed. “Just what did she tell you?”

“When I told her you were heading back to Lorien, she asked if Kaerdan was still on the throne. Though she didn’t use those words.”

“Exactly what words did she use?”

Christoph looked away, watching the few people wandering the street. “She called him ‘not even half the man his brother is. And a rotten bastard that needed to be slit open’.”

Alaric laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “That sounds like him. And her.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Am I going to get the full story?”

Alaric looked down the street, choosing his words carefully. Christoph had been nothing but kind since they came here. No reason not to trust the man. But his own experiences with royalty made him leery. “It’s a long one.”

An elderly woman, flanked on each side by a youth, stopped in front of them. She bowed once, with great care, at Christoph.

The king rose, holding out his hands to greet the woman. “Great Mother, you honor me tonight. Will you now let me release you from your bondage?”

Alaric looked closer. A small iron bracelet encircled the old Amari woman’s wrist. Strange, he thought, Christoph set all the Amari free when he came to the throne. Why is she still wearing that? It was the first time he’d seen any Amari in Caerlynn wearing any iron.

She nodded, “The time is come for the truth to be said. For all stories to be told.” She leveled her gaze on Alaric. “Fin must learn the truth before her child comes. Before the first truly free Amari comes into this world. One whose parents never knew the burden of being a pet.” She dug a withered hand into a satchel that hung across her body. Withdrawing a worn leather book, she looked back at Christoph. “I accept now, the freedom you have offered. And then I will discharge my most sacred task and give this to Seraphina nan Grear.”

Christoph’s hands moved to the woman’s wrist. “And I am grateful, Great Mother, that I am honored to be the one to free you at last.” He slid the bracelet across her bony hand, pocketing it as soon as it left her body. Standing aside, he watched as the old woman entered the house.

“Who was that?” Alaric asked, confused. “I’ve never seen her in town before.”

Christoph settled back into his chair. “She was ancient when the raid happened on Uamh nan Amari. Stayed with Lyssa, raised her. Every other Amari my father chained deferred to her. I’ve tried, every year since he died, to get her to let me release her. She always said it wouldn’t happen until her most sacred task was near completion. I never asked what that was. It felt…wrong for me to do so.”

Alaric rose and started to move toward the door. Christoph stretched out an arm, blocking his way. “I wouldn’t, my friend. Whatever is going on in there is for Fin and Fin alone. I know that much. I know you’ll be told, in time. There are no secrets between the two of you. For now, though, I think we’ll be out here for a while longer.”

Settling back into his chair, Alaric kept a wary eye on the door. “I suppose so. But what do you propose we do while they’re in there?”

The king smiled. “You did say the story was a long one. Looks like we’ve got the time.”

Nodding, Alaric replied, “Yes, I think you’re right.”

amari-001-2

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Happy Halloween everyone!

Samhain is still a few days away, but why not have some fun today? LOL

Now, I know a lot of you might have been expecting my normal ‘Last Monday with…’ interview. In accordance to the time of the year, I’m changing things up!

First off, I decided to take a break from one of my FB accounts. I’d created a new one a few months back, in hopes to better connect with my readers. The joke was on me, though, as 90% of the people who wanted to be friends had ulterior motives. Scam artists, unsolicited dick pics, pleas to help sponsor them to the U.S., and a score of men who couldn’t understand that I set my boundaries and not them.

Basically, it was a whole lot of lost time blocking people who had no interest in me as an author. Yeah, I’m not wasting my time any more.  When it got so bad I started to feel gross before I even logged in…it’s time to change things up.

My original FB page is still operational, and will continue to be so! I encourage you – plead or beg might be better words LOL – to go there and like the page. Keep on top of what’s going on beyond this blog!

https://www.facebook.com/KateMarie-Collins-217255151699492/

Last weekend, I was honored to be a guest author at an inaugural comicon! Renton City Comicon was a BLAST! So hoping they do this again. I hosted a panel, met some great people, and sold a few books.

Now that it’s done, and knowing that I’ve got booked weekends for a while, I’m determined to get working on ‘Consort of the  Successor’ like mad. Today was a mess with writing time, due to having to get things put away after the con! But I know where the story is going to go. The big picture is set, the subplots ready to be woven in when it’s time.

In the Wiccan calendar, Samhain is our new year. We celebrate the passing of those who have died, and prepare for the renewal of both the earth and our own soul. Now, more than ever, is a time to clean house. I’m not talking about a physical cleaning. A mental, emotional one. It’s time to finish grieving and start living again. To know that the great Wheel that our lives are tied to is about to turn upward to light and life again.

It gives me a sense of purpose I haven’t had for a few months now. One that reminded me that I still have a lot to give in the way of stories and wisdom. To acknowledge my past, but not let it hold sway over the now.

Oh, and if you’ve read ‘Mark of the Successor’, I have one teaser for you before I go. Iris is far more than a bad girl now!

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