Living the Dream

Tomorrow marks the official first day of autumn. Personally, I’m hoping for more summer, but Mother Nature has been anything but predictable this year. Our word this week is SIMPLE. I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time.

Hezekiah, a lawyer friend of Meg’s had accompanied her to France and had helped her deal with all the paperwork. The fact that the area was too unstable to recover the bodies had been upsetting, but he would continue to ask the authorities to try. They’d left France for London a week ago, and he’d settled her in a simple but elegant flat in Mayfair while he finished getting her English inheritance settled. Strange how she hadn’t known that she’d been born in the UK or that her mother had a twin brother. As soon as she was healthy enough, Meg would pack up their lives in Canada and join her. The plan had been to travel from London to Wiltshire together, but the note had arrived and changed everything.

After she’d spoken to Meg, she’d called Hezekiah. Her call had gone to voice mail. He had yet to return the call, but her mind was made up. She needed to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later, and the idea that people she trusted were keeping secrets from her didn’t sit well. She reread the note.

Danger haunts thee both, my Fairie Queen,

Evil threatens the world that was once serene.

Together, ye can save Keltoi and humanity

Act now to protect and preserve thy destiny.

The message, written in an old Celtic dialect, one long dead that few would understand, a language she’d studied in her quest to be an archeologist like her parents, had been slipped under her door three days ago. No doubt she’d mistranslated the honorific Fairie Queen, which was probably more likely my lady or something equally banal. She had no idea to whom the both referred, unless it was her and Aunt Meg, and that made little sense. How she could save Keltoi and humanity was a mystery, but that whoever had sent the missive thought that the danger was real vibrated off the page. From what or from whom, she had no idea, but the poet-messenger had activated her senses of responsibility as well as curiosity. Meg had spent years instilling the idea that “Curiosity killed the cat,” as she often said, but after everything that had happened to her in the last six months, the losses she’d suffered, what could possibly go wrong now?

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Here we are, mid-September. I don’t know about you, but I could use another month of summer. This week, the Tuesday Tales word prompt is LIVELY. We’re back with Samantha. The forces of evil have been busy! I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time.

Six months later

England

Sam walked into the empty compartment, stowed her backpack on the ledge above the seat, removed her navy wool coat, and sat down. The blast of the whistle indicated that the train was ready to leave the station. The trip would be a short one since the train covered the distance from London to Swindon in less than an hour.

She settled back in the seat and sighed before taking out the note that had brought her to Wiltshire ahead of schedule. Aunt Meg wasn’t happy with her decision, and their discussion had been a lively one, but for what was probably the first time ever, Sam had put her foot down and insisted she would be waiting for her aunt at Keltoi Manor, the family ancestral home that was now hers, and not in a rented flat in London.

She stared down at the paper, an ancient scrap of parchment. As odd as it sounded, it seemed as if the paper emitted its own energy, and her fingers tingled as she held it. When she’d mentioned it to Aunt Meg on the phone after she’d received the note, her guardian had laughed it off as being someone’s idea of a joke, but there had been something in her tone … why would Aunt Meg lie about something like that? It was true that she’d been different since the accident that had killed the girls, her own life only being spared by an attack of appendicitis that had sent her to the hospital in an ambulance and not in the old Volkswagen she’d driven. Then there had been her great-uncle’s accidental death, a man she hadn’t even known existed. His death had made her mother Lady Keltoi, a peer of the realm, something else that had come as a surprise. Sadly, her mother never claimed her title, since within a few days, there’d been an earthquake near the archeological dig in France that had changed Sam’s life forever. She sighed. If only she’d taken Gabe with her. The cat had been a comforting presence these last few months when it seemed as if there was no hope left in her life. Aunt Meg should’ve been here with her. Unfortunately, she’d caught some sort of bug and had been unable to travel. Doctor Astrid had insisted that the cat stay with her since she found great comfort in him—a strange thing to say, but it was true.

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Hello. I hope you all enjoyed Labour Day, the last official holiday of summer although we have two weeks until fall arrives. This week, the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word prompt, GHOST. I’m continuing with The Bonds Of Time, my romantasy.

What did a spy do when he couldn’t be a spy anymore? He became a consultant, living with the ghosts of his mistake, and to Foxfire the fourteen months he’d spent in that wheelchair had been a lifetime. Now those months of lecturing and dealing with high finance and corporate crime paid off. Thanks to them, he’d recognized that whiny voice.

Nathan Vickers! He’d been taking care of his uncle’s estate since the old boy’s accident several months ago. He was slick, pat with his answers, and far too condescending. Vickers cared nothing for the people or the land; he had his own agenda. The man was slime, pure slime. He’d met his kind too many times before, and finding out that he was mixed up in something underhanded like smuggling should’ve come as no surprise. What was that scum up to now? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

While he would report everything he’d seen and heard tonight, until he knew more, Foxfire would keep a closer eye on Sir Nathan and Lord William. If that woman were serious, His Lordship’s accident may not have been an accident at all; now it looked as if his health might be about to take a turn for the worse.

Foxfire finished collecting his gear, picked up his pack and headed towards the car he’d hidden about a mile down the coast. A strange sound from the bushes ahead stopped him. He stared into the blackness towards the reeds that marked the river’s edge until he identified its cause. A large, black cat stood outlined against the marsh.

“Well! It seems I’m a little jumpy tonight, kitty,” he said softly and shrugged his shoulders. “What are you doing so close to the water? Out looking for mice or maybe a fat frog or two? Well, best of luck! It looks like I have a few rats of my own to catch.”

Resettling the bag on his shoulders, he walked past the cat and started towards the car when a second sound stopped him. Pain exploded in his head. Suddenly, there she was.

“Dearest one,” she whispered cradling his head in her lap. “You’ve taken a nasty bump on the head this time, but don’t worry. Be brave. It won’t be long now.” She kissed him and everything went black.

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Welcome to September. Hard to believe how quickly summer passed, but I seem to be saying that all the time now. The fact that I was away from home for a 19 day vacation in August made it seem shorter than ever. I had a fantastic time, but time did pass quickly. I went on a bus trip to the East Coast–New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland, with one overnight stay in Quebec City, one of my favorite places. The bus traveled over 6,600 km, and an aditional 376 nautical miles on the ferry to and from The Rock, Newfoundland, Canada’s tenth province. Long, busy days, but I made many new friends and got tons of new ideas for books.

But the summer wasn’t unproductive. I released two new ebooks when I returned home and one before I left, so I do have something to show for my spring and summer. Cold Heart is a Romance suspense, A Case of the Missing Prince is the second book in the Evie Chambers Mystery Series, cozy mysteries with a woman detective, and The Bonding is the third book in my Paranormal/fantasy/romance series, Listen to the Stones. When I get back to work, I’ll be my works in progress will include a Christmas romance as well as continuing with my romantacy The Bonds of Time. I have several other ideas percolating inside my head including a Valentine’s Day novel. That’s everything that’s been happening in my literary life.

September 2 question – Do you have a favorite character archetype you tend to gravitate toward in your writing?

I tend to created characters who’ve had to struggle with hardships and pain. This is especially true in my Vengenace is Mine series where I have two amputee heroes, one male, one female, one temporarily blind hero, an abused woman who escapes from her abuser–or so she believes, and two psychologically and physically traumatized heroes who have to overcome their fears of failure to succeed when they confront the one responsible for their pain.

I like to make my character as real as I can, so they all struggle with self-doubt. They are people I meet everyday; some of them are modeled after friends and situations they’ve faced, and some after my own fears. I don’t shy away from what’s happening in the world around me in my books, although I’m by no means a historian, but the historical facts given are accurate and researched, and I like to think that my characters embody the best of what we are and what we can be.

That’s it for today.

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I’m back and full of energy and ideas. I had a wonderful vacation, but now it’s time to get back to work. This week, the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word prompt SQUASH. I’m jumping back into my romantasy, the new term coined for novels that involve romance and fantasy, The Bonds of Time. It’s been a while, but as you may recall, I left the changeling princess in surgery. While she’s there, let’s see what the one who put her there is doing.

“You’re late.” The wind carried the muffled, angry female voice inland.

To Foxfire’s ears, it sounded as if she was speaking into a scarf or the collar of her coat, and her tone added to his discomfort.

“We’ve been waiting for you for hours. You know how much my baby and I hate the cold and the water!”

“I’m sorry.” The whiny voice was anxious and apologetic. “He was restless all day and wouldn’t settle tonight. I’m getting sick and tired of humoring and catering to him.”

“He’s right.” The second passenger spoke with an unusual accent, one that Foxfire, with all of his training, couldn’t quite place. “He may have outlived his usefulness; we’ll have to see. These delays are becoming too frequent and more and more inconvenient. Not all of our partners are as patient as I’d like them to be. I relish the small comforts our business associates provide, but I don’t think I’d enjoy one of His Majesty’s little necktie parties, nor a prolonged stay in some dreary prison, and certainly not being exiled to an isolated, backwards or barbaric country. I enjoy the trappings of civilization far too much for that.”

“Perhaps it’s time we helped him along.” The ice in the woman’s voice made Foxfire shiver. “If the other has done his job, then we no longer need the old fool. It’s a simple matter to arrange another accident, a fall down the stairs…”

“Well, leave me out of it!” the familiar voice exclaimed. “He’s my uncle, for God’s sake! Why not get one of your henchmen to take care of it? Or, for that matter, do it yourself! You’re supposed to have power, aren’t you? And, as I recall, poisons and accidents are aspects of your work that you generally enjoy.”

“Coward!” She barked the word at him. “I could squash you with a single thought, but perhaps torture would be better.”

“Enough!” the man raised his voice. “You’re squabbling like children. She has a point, and this petty arguing doesn’t help. I’ll deal with it as soon as I can. Once the estate is yours, our business can proceed at a quicker pace. For the moment, we have to wait. Our host deserves our thanks. After all, it’s his tiresome stories and fantasies about little people, witches, fairies, ghosts, and magic that provide our excellent cover.”

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Well, we’ve entered the month of August, the one most people consider the last month of summer, even though summer doesn’t end officially until September 22 this year. It’s still July as I write this since I’ll be taking the month of August off for a much-needed vacation. I’m traveling to Newfoundland, Canada’s tenth province, and hope to come back with lots of writing ideas.

This month’s topic:

August 5 question – As a writer/author what is something you regret? Or something that you wish you’d done differently in your writing process?

I regret not starting my career as a writer sooner. I regret never having taken marketing courses so that I would know the easiest, most cost effective methods of promoting my work.

Let me put my first regret into perspectivesince there is nothing I can do now about the second. As a child with asthma in the fifties and sixties, I spent a lot of time alone in bed. I learned to read early and always aspired to be an author, so that I could share my stories with others. At sixteen, I entered a non-fiction writing contest and won third place. That’s when I told my parents that I wanted to be a journalist. Their response was a loud and final NO. Careers for me were: teacher, nurse, secretary, salesclerk. End of story. I put away my dream like the good obedient child I was and went on to be an English teacher where I taught how to write short stories, news reports, poetry, but didn’t write myself.

In the later years of my teaching career, I got the opportunity to write curriculum for the Ministry of Education and I loved it. Around the same time, our local newspaper was looking for someone to write children’s stories for a family page. I got the job, and although the page only lasted eighteen months before the paper was sold and the feature ended, it was my first attempt at being a fiction writer.

Time moved on and between work, church, and family responsibilities, there was never enough time to write. But once I retired, I had lots of time, and I gave in to my desires. I wish someone had encouraged me to write in my spare time, but knitting, crocheting, even selling Tupperware were higher up the to-do list than indukging my imagination. The fact that I published my first novel at 63 proves that I should have tried harder to do what I wanted to do and not what others considered acceptable. Never give up on your dreams, but don’t set them on the backburner either. Fight for what you want and what you believe. It may take a while, but in the end, anything is possible. My career as an author is proof of that.

That’s it.

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Last Tuesday in July. I’m sorry to see the days go by so quickly, but it is what it is. This post will be my last one for the summer since I am taking the month of Augus off. I’ll be back in time for Labor Day. This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are working to the word prompt TROT. I’ll admit that it wasn’t an easy word to fit into the story. I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time, my fantasy.

The sound of the door opening struck momentary terror in her heart. It was too soon for Astrid to have returned. She grinned when she recognized the one who stepped into the room. Meg had dreamed of their reunion, but their secret assignments had kept them far apart. Working undercover for the council wasn’t an easy career. She hadn’t expected to see him until the transformation.

“Gabriel, this is a surprise. How are you here?”

“Lorna sent me. She assigned another to my charge and bid me come here to help.” He smiled down at her from his six-foot frame. “There’s more to you, my sweet than there was the last time we met.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a trout out of water, while her cheeks heated.

“It’s the sweets,” she stammered aware that she didn’t resemble the angel she’d been only a quarter of a century ago. “When I can return to Sanctuary, I’ll be my old svelte self. It’s unlikely I’ll be called upon to do this work again. Now, you’ve told me how you’re here to help, but why? A assumed they would dispatch more fairies.”

He trotted over to her, as sleek and fast as ever, and took her hands.

“You’re pleasing to me in any form, Margaret, although the nickname Meg suits you.” He sobered. “Lorna and the Celestial Council are concerned about what’s happened. Garth has lost the ability to communicate with Rogan. He’s found a way to block himself from them. They don’t know where he is or who is with him, other than the sorcerer Galen, and the fact that the fairies couldn’t sense him may indicate that one of their own is now in league with him.”

She gasped. “By the Maker. I’ve never heard of a fairy turning on another. These are dark times.” She licked her lips. “How will you help me? Samantha may not know about the magic but she will notice a man living with us.”

He chuckled. “But how will she feel about a cat?”

Meg laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Then, I shall see you shortly, until then, now you see me…” He vanished, but she could sense that he was still there. “Now, you don’t.”

The door opened once more and Astrid entered the room. She looked around.

Shaking her head, she smiled. “Clever disguise, Gabriel, but I can sense you.”

He chuckled softly. “I may be looking over your shoulder.”

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