Chapter Titles

Wow... so I found this saved as a draft from almost a year ago.  I decided I'll finish it and post it now; hopefully it still makes sense.

Happy End of the World, everyone!

I always seem to have a lot of trouble coming up with chapter titles.  I've heard that you're supposed* to title books after you finish writing them and I know a lot of people have trouble with this -  but to be honest, I have a much harder time titling the individual chapters.

I feel like the chapter titles should all sort of fit together, or have a theme or something.  Sort of like those young adult novels where every book in the series is an adjective (Broken, Taken, Flowing, Smelly) and it would be weird to have one out of place.

The big issue I'm having with Quicksand at the moment is titling the chapters (/parts).  The narrative is so long and convoluted (and will eventually put into an even less linear order) that I think separating it into chapters is necessary - but then I'm not sure how, or if the chapter titles should somehow indicate which of the three plots that chapter is technically about.  I've even considered little icons to indicate this - suns and moons and stars or rabbits and foxes or... something.  I don't even know.

I had this same problem with Aigaion Girl, and I think I was only saved by the fact that I wrote it in first person, so I very lazily titled each section with the name of the narrator, then counted down the signs of the apocalypse and BAM!

Of course, there's a little part of me that wonders if titled chapters are things that belong in children's books and fantasy novels only.  I'm racking my brain and I can't think of where else I've seen them.  Of course, I'm in Slovakia at the moment and don't have any books I can run and check.



*whoever decided that...

Quicksand - Part 15

Minty stood as straight as she could and pushed her back against the thick bark of the tree. She knew fully well that if she made a sound, they'd catch her.

It had been a long chase. Not just the running, which by now seemed to have been going on an eternity, but the stalking and circling, the whole process of her becoming prey.

Minty's ears twitched slightly, waiting to hear some sound, some indication of where her pursuers were and how long it would take for them to reach her. She was tired, so tired, and somewhere in the back of her mind she started to think that if they caught her, at least she wouldn't have to run anymore. But she wasn't ready to give up – and every horror-filled, trying moment she'd suffered up to that point made her that much more determined to get away.

It was Frisco who finally caught her – and, somehow, Minty had always known it would be. She didn't hear him approach; he melted out of the shadows beside her and had grabbed onto her arm before she'd even felt his breath on her cheek. He did not let go. Darren, the possum, came from the other side, breathless, and together, the two of them dragged her away.

Minty's instincts told her to run, but she couldn't. Everything about her leaned toward flight, so when struggling free proved impossible, her brain seemed to shut down – and despite her desperation to escape, she allowed herself to be led, wordlessly, back through the forest to the factory.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 14

Craven Lorne paced in the field. He had been walking for hours, it seemed, trying to clear his head and sort out the plethora of thoughts that pushed their way back in. He had, he had thought, resigned himself to the idea that Voss favoured Minty over him. He had even gone so far as to do everything in his power to help Voss win her and to assure his friend that she would, eventually, see sense.

But he couldn't do it anymore. The simple truth was that Craven Lorne was in love with Voss and it was no longer in his power to deny his feelings or do anything else that would jeopardize them.

And anyway, Craven reasoned, Voss deserved better than some stuck-up rabbit girl who barely gave either one of them the time of day.

Craven was, he had decided, going to tell Voss all of this, just as soon as he could find him. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach, feverish, even, at the idea. But there was another emotion too, a feeling of calm and complacency, which came with the knowledge that he was about to lay himself bare. And a small part of him, a very small part of him, could almost smile and believe that Voss would return his feelings.

Voss, either fortunately or unfortunately, could not be found. Craven Lorne checked all of his usual haunts, the factories, the starlight club, Sunday afternoon, all to no avail. Every time Craven searched somewhere in vain, he was pure ambivalence: crushing disappointment and soaring relief. Eventually, he found himself in the field, staring at the large shade tree they had so often shared a bottle of wine under – and almost allowing himself to enjoy the breeze.

Craven stayed in the field for a long time, caught between thinking of how he would tell Voss about his feelings and wondering if he should. He looked around a the pale blue sky and green grass and the soft, dusty, tan path that ran over the field and asked himself, more than once, what he was hoping to achieve. After what seemed like an eternity and may have been a moment, Craven Lorne decided to return home. There was nothing, he realized, for him here.

Craven walked to the edge of the field, toward the forest. He told himself that it was a nice day for a stroll, that the fresh air would do him good. He told himself anything he could think of to bolster his spirits.

It was morning, warm and sunshiny. Soft yellow light filtered through the trees and glinted off the wallow gnats that were flying in lazy circles near to the ground. And there was something else, the feeling that nearby, somewhere, was a stream or a spring. Craven couldn't hear it, but he could feel it. If it had been any other day, if Craven had been there for any other reason, he might have actually enjoyed himself, or been impressed by the pleasantness of the day. As it was, the only reason he was able to force himself to keep walking, was that if he stood still, he would start to think too much.

Craven Lorne hadn't been walking in the forest very long when he found Voss. And Voss, as Craven suddenly realized he had been expecting all along, was not alone.

Craven's body had turned away before his brain could fully comprehend what he had seen. In the moment that he turned, he could see everything, imagine every sickening detail. Voss was on top of her, wearing nothing but his mask and she—She was still in her dress, lying on her front, motionless, making the most of each of Voss's thrusts and silent through his grunts and moans. 

Craven was sure she had looked right at him, taunting him with her big, blue 
eyes.

Craven was disgusted, horrified, mortified. He couldn't believe that he had even let himself hope that Voss might return his feelings and he was astounded by the fact that Minty had been playing games with Voss this whole time, toying with his delicate heart then using his tenderness to her advantage. And though Craven didn't realize it himself, he was infuriated with Voss for falling into Minty's trap – and for not seeing what had been right in front of him all along.

Craven Lorne decided to confront them both, to make them share the pain that they had caused him. He fought with himself to muster the courage, took a deep breath and tried to turn.

There was a light, bright white, that lit up the trees in front of Craven and nearly made him blind. It was just a flash and he was barely able to register it before he was knocked down from behind by a strong surge of air.

Craven Lorne pried his face out of the impression it had left in the earth and almost began to brush the evergreen needles from his face and clothes before he remembered everything that had happened to bring him to where he was. He scrambled to his feet, turned and hurried to where Voss lay.

Voss was lying on his back, completely still, in a circle of flattened grass, bathed in moonlight, exposed and bleeding dust. Minty, that horrible fiend of a rabbit, had run away and left him there. Craven wanted to weep when he saw the state that Voss was in. When he examined him more closely, Craven found that Voss had been severely burned in several places on his body, most especially over his once-perfect lips, which were now melted and malformed. 

He was barely conscious and murmuring slightly, but not saying anything coherent.

There was no doubt in Craven Lorne's mind that the explosion was caused by Minty. She had too much Dust, more than was natural, and she clearly had no idea how to control it. She and Voss should never have gotten so near each other; that much Dust in one place could only lead to bad things. And she, the coward, had left Craven to deal with the consequences of her own inadequacies.

Craven helped Voss to his feet, and when Voss's clothes couldn't be found, offered him his own. Slowly, with Craven Lorne standing in for a crutch, they made it somewhere they could talk. But they didn't talk, not properly, not ever again.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 13

 

A long, slender foot landed in a pile of decaying oak leaves, sending some of them flying and crushing others. It rolled seamlessly from heal to toe and pushed off again as its twin touched the ground.

The owner of the feet was in a hurry. The speed with which she ran, with which she dodged between the thin, naked trees, was exceptional. Even with her awkward, jerking gait, it was next to impossible to keep up with her. She made almost no sound; the only indication of her placement was the crunching of dry leaves in the distance.

A couple of foxhounds ran behind her on all fours, sniffing their way through the fog, trying to trace her scent. A possum, with one hand on his bowler hat to keep it from falling off, ran behind them, barely able to see and unable to smell anything other than the dogs, the fog and the pervading scent of leaf mold.

And Craven Lorne, alone, and at the back of the pack, screamed into the gloom that he would never, ever forgive her.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 12

Craven Lorne sat with Voss on a low wooden bridge in a park where it was always Sunday afternoon. They sat with their feet in the cold, shallow water, watching it rush around their heels and observing the odd crustacean that scuttled underneath. Voss was miserable.

Craven was determined to make the most of any time he spent with Voss and had tried everything he could think of to make him feel better, but none of it was any good. Voss hadn't been himself for some time, now. He was distant, discontent and moody, in turns mournful and irate. Nothing could please him, nothing would improve his mood. He refused to be cheered up. It was all her fault, that stupid rabbit girl. And she was all Voss would talk about, the only subject that he thought was worth discussing, the only thing that could hold his interest.

Craven Lorne, despite hating the rabbit girl, despite the fact that he could feel the fur on the back of his neck stand up at the mere mention of her name, tried his best to encourage and support his friend. If Voss wasn't going to be his, at least Craven could help make him happy. That, he supposed, was some small comfort.

“It's infuriating,” Voss said, rubbing his big toe on the moss of a round stone that lay on the stream bed. “Ridiculous, really. I don't know why I even care.” He laughed hollowly. “I don't care, when it comes to it.”

Craven Lorne would never accuse Voss of lying, even in his mind, but he felt his friend was deceived by his emotions. “She must be a fool, not to want you.”

“She doesn't know what she wants,” Voss barked.

“She's not worth your time, Voss, honestly.”

“Of course she's not,” Voss agreed, though he didn't look convinced. He dropped his head and in a low voice repeated, “Of course she's not,” to himself.

“I heard someone say that she's Dust-heavy, too,” Craven said slowly. He suddenly felt guilty, selfish for mentioning any reason why she wouldn't be an ideal match for his friend – even though, he reminded himself, he was only concerned for Voss's welfare.

“So?”

“So you have more dust than anyone I know,” Craven Lorne said, conveying with his voice the awe he felt over the fact. “And they say,” he reasoned, “that too much Dust in a relationship is never a good thing; too volatile.”

Voss sneered under his mask. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I know what's best, and what's best for me is Minty.”

Craven Lorne sighed inwardly. For now, he was out of things to say, out of plans to suggest – but he resigned himself nonetheless to spending his foreseeable future securing his crush's happiness at the expense of his own.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 11

Minty stood in the field. It was the field now, the only one where Craven Lorne ever seemed to meet her. He found as he'd learned to expect to find her, staring mindlessly into space, unaware of just about everything around her.

She looked at him as he approached. “Hello, Craven Lorne,” she said.

Craven was surprised but not alarmed. He was getting used to Minty's airy voice. “Hello, Minty,” he answered. “I thought I'd find you here.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

Craven couldn't decided if she was agreeing with his thought or its conclusion. She was so infuriatingly vague. “Quite,” he said stiffly.

“Do you kill me today, Craven Lorne?”

“As if I would tell you when.”

“Don't.” There was a change in her voice; she was almost pleading with him.

Craven wondered if she meant don't kill me or don't tell me when you're going to. With Minty, it was impossible to be sure.

He stared at her. She stared back.

“You do not wish to,” Minty said.

“Not really, no,” Craven admitted. “Well, not that. It's not that I don't want to kill you; I do. And I intend to. But—” He looked around the field, at the blue sky, at the big, shade tree in the distance and let out a long sigh. “But I shall be sorry to see you go.”

“You should kill me now,” she told him. “Fast, like a Band-aid.”

“What?”

Minty turned her head on its side. “It will hurt less,” she explained.

Craven Lorne sneered at her. “Why would I want to hurt you less?”

“Not me.”

Craven determined that the best thing he could do with that final piece of conversation was ignore it. “I will kill you,” he told her. “But not today. A little bird tells me you have some powerful friends.”

She didn't answer him.

“Rumour has it that Daisy Chain came to your rescue quite recently – and I imagine that Charm-Charm wasn't far away. The same bird tells me they're not far from here. The rumour is that the rabbits are launching a full-scale military campaign against raiders, that they're even getting humans involved.”

Minty didn't answer and Craven took her silence as acquiescence.

“They're probably lurking in the bushes right now, waiting for me to make a move. Of course, I won't give them the satisfaction.”

Minty stared. The only sound in the stale air was the whirring of her eye. After a moment, she said, “No.”

Craven, again unsure what she meant, ignored her. “But rest assured, when they're not around, when your bodyguards have abandoned you, I will be there and I will catch you out.”

Craven was tired of being the one left standing in the field. He turned on his heel and marched into the forest, sure that Minty was watching him go and not daring to look back to confirm it.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 10

In a darkened purple forest, a possum in a bowler hat lit a paper cigarette and waited.

Darren didn't like this, not at all. He'd always known his boss was crazy, but this, pitting him against the monster, leaving him alone in the forest with Frisco—it meant Darren was a redshirt, disposable. There was no other explanation. He was completely exposed, on the edge of a big, treeless circle, clearly visible anyone who might come by. On nights like this, he wished he'd never become a raider.

“How does he even know she'll come this way?” Darren muttered to himself.

Frisco seeped out of the shadows and pushed his face next to Darren's. “Shut up,” he told Darren. “You just do what you're supposed to do.” Darren didn't even have time to shudder before Frisco had gone again.

What he was supposed to do was wait in plain sight and let the monster get close. Very close. Then he was supposed to pick up the bat that was leaning beside the tree behind him and crack her over the head with it – and hope that that was enough to keep her down. He'd heard rumours that she could burn people at a distance with her laser eye and he wholeheartedly believed them to be true. Craven Lorne had said she'd been beautiful, once. That, Darren had trouble believing.

At length, the monster came. Even with Darren's night vision, his first view of her was just a light, a floating green orb that seemed to dodge erratically among the trees. By the time she stepped into the circle and her face was fully visible, Darren had felt himself freeze. His hands were clenched so hard he didn't think he would be able to pick up the bat. Every part of him wanted to play dead.

Darren couldn't see Frisco, or hear him, but he could picture him, skulking around in the dark, getting ready to attack, taking meticulous mental notes about every movement, every sigh, every hesitation that Darren made.

The monster saw him. There was no escaping it now. Darren reached behind him and groped around for the bat. As his hand wrapped around the handle, he heard a woman's voice, tired and sarcastic, asking if she was there yet, then perking up slightly and saying, “Hey, see that light? I think that's Minty.”

Minty tilted her head, slightly, regarded Darren, then continued her jerky walk toward him and the voices behind him.

Darren relaxed. He couldn't attack her now. Clearly she had friends around and he had no idea how many. He couldn't risk it. There was nothing he could do, and no one could blame him for biding his time. For a second, relief poured over him.

Frisco poured out of the darkness, and rushed toward Minty. He grabbed her arm with his long, thin fingers and squeezed so heard that the porcelain seemed about to fracture. Minty turned her head and looked at him, her eye whirring continuously as it tried to focus.

“The things we'll do to you,” Frisco said, smilingly. “Oh, you can't even imagine.”

“Let her go.” That voice, Darren thought he could almost recognize. There was a rabbit – Darren had seen him a couple of times from a distance and heard him shout a word or two. He was obsessed with killing raiders. As if it was his personal mission.

Frisco wrenched on Minty's arm and Darren thought he heard something crack. Darren hoped, for a split second, that the rabbit would kill Frisco, that the monster would escape and he could go back to the boss and say that it hadn't been his fault – or better yet, he could just quietly disappear and everyone would think he'd been killed too. But, he realized, if Frisco was dead, there would be nothing to stop the rabbit from coming after him next.

“I said—” said the rabbit.

There was a twang and something rushed past Darren's head, passed through Frisco's arm and stuck in a tree.

Frisco screamed. Darren could just make out that the something had been an arrow. Frisco had had to melt his arm to avoid being hit and the monster had used the opportunity to run away.

Minty reached Daisy Chain and his human almost instantly and the three of them ran, for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, they reached a cornfield with pale gold stalks taller than Daisy Chain and a royal blue sky.

“Come on,” Daisy Chain said, nodding toward the field.

His human sighed, and started to walk, but hesitated when she noticed that the others hadn't joined her.

Daisy Chain was waiting for Minty. “Come on,” he repeated. “You'll be safer with us.”

Minty stared.

“Come with us,” said the human, even though the invitation clearly caused her pain to give. “Really.”

Minty turned and ran, along the edge of the forest, then veered sharply and disappeared into the tall stalks of corn.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 9

Voss was perfect. Not in a schoolgirl fantasy kind of way; he didn't seem perfect despite manifold imperfections. He was, objectively – mathematically, even – perfect. He was slender, svelte but not skinny; tall, taller than average but not a giant; his features were exactly symmetrical and the mask he wore to protect his sublime, even-toned skin, he had beautifully crafted himself. His voice was melodic, his words lyrical and intelligent. He was self-aware and he didn't suffer from false modesty.

... and in a moment, when his palms had stopped sweating and his mouth was less dry, Craven Lorne was going to tell him all of this. That day, Craven had decided, would be the day.

“It's a beautiful day,” Craven began tentatively. “Don't you agree?” It was a way to test the waters, as it were. One of the side effects of a highly sensitive and intelligent mind like Voss's was that his moods weren't always predictable to the layman – and Craven Lorne wanted to make sure he was in a perfect state of mind to receive his attentions.

Voss never spoke without thinking, and he surveyed the area slowly, examining the hot, sunny field from the safety of their spot beneath the tree. “Yes, beautiful,” he said. He chuckled sweetly. “I'm glad you suggested this, Craven.”

Craven Lorne swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I'm glad you agreed to join me.”

Voss chuckled again. “Why wouldn't I? What could be better than spending the day here?”

 
Nothing, Craven thought. He meant to think it. He had the sudden and horrible realization that he'd said it out loud at the precise moment that Voss asked him to repeat himself.

 
Now. It had to be now. Craven knew that if he didn't take the chance, didn't say right then what had been on his mind for so long, the opportunity would pass him by. “Voss,” he said, finding his voice, “I've something I need to tell you.”

Voss sat up a little straighter. “So tell me,” he said. He looked interested, ready to listen and accept. Focused. He smiled. “Hold that thought.”

Craven Lorne was holding it – and he could almost see it slipping through his fingers as he followed Voss's gaze to the rabbit girl absentmindedly flouncing through the field.

“Beautiful, isn't she?” Voss said, leaning a little further forward. “Spectacular.” He leaned back against the tree and sighed contentedly.

 
Spectacular was pushing it a bit far. She was certainly a feat of engineering, but that was about it – though Craven did have to admit, if only to himself, that beautiful was a fairly accurate description. She was pleasantly shaped, which from that far across the field, had to be the first thing he noticed. She was wearing a flowing white dress which was, considerately, slightly too large to stay up properly on its own. In one alabaster hand, she twirled a small purple flower by its stem.

But, beautiful or not, she was intruding on something pure, something precious that he had been trying to achieve for a long, long time. He wished she would go back to wherever she'd come from and stay there.

She came to a slow stop and turned her head, almost as if she'd could hear them – but there was no way that she could, not from so far away. She smiled shyly, looked at her feet and back at them, then looked back to her feet and continued on her walk.

“Don't you think so?” Voss asked, snapping Craven Lorne back to the conversation.

“She's certainly passable,” Craven said impatiently. “If that's the type of thing you enjoy.”

“Not yet, but it will be,” Voss said, with a sharp laugh.

Craven tried to laugh with him, but nothing came out.

“I think I'll be enjoying it very soon, in fact. You mark my words, Craven Lorne, I will have that rabbit girl.”

Craven had no doubt that Voss was right. He couldn't imagine that, given the chance, the rabbit girl would hesitate for even a second before jumping into Voss's bed; he couldn't dream of anyone who would.

Craven Lorne watched the rabbit girl as she skipped through the field and disappeared behind a large green hedge, oblivious to the world around her and the pain that she caused.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicker Quicksand

So.

I'm nearly 29,000 words into Quicksand, 7/800 of those written today while I was home from my day job with a bad case of having no voice (this being the result of having almost no voice yesterday and still having to talk on the phone for 9 hours).  I finished the second-to-last scene in the first story (of which there are three) - the one you've been reading with Craven Lorne, Minty and the gang - and now have only five planned scenes left to write for the whole of the book.

Then of course, I need to edit.  That's a whole other kettle of fish.

I'm toying with the idea of starting a Kickstarter campaign to publish it once it's finished.  That is, to get it professionally copy-edited, host a small launch party and send out a few review copies, since I'll likely do the cover design and internal layout myself. 

I'm a bit surprised that this one has taken me longer than it took me to finish Aigaion Girl, especially because I don't foresee it totalling much more than 35,000 words, which means it will be a novella, even with three separate story lines.  But there you go.  I suppose your priorities change as you get older, and sleep has definitely crept up on my list a bit in the last year or so.

I think that's all for my updates for the moment.  I should have more to follow soon.

Quicksand - Part 8

“You like Dust.”

Craven Lorne couldn't be sure if it was a question or a statement and asking Minty for clarification rarely yielded any useful result. “Yes, of course I do,” he agreed – or answered, he couldn't be sure. “Who doesn't?”

She regarded him with her signature head-tilt. “I don't.”

Craven Lorne narrowed his eyes at her. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

She didn't answer him.

“So, are you a teetotaller, then?” He laughed what he hoped was cruelly. “You've never tried Dust?”

“Tried. No.”

To Craven's mind, the conversation had already been going on too long. There was something about that field. It was usually so deserted, so stiflingly hot, so devoid of all life except for plant and insect – humans or no, it made him almost too tired to taunt Minty, too lethargic to think about torture. It wasn't like that now. There was a slight breeze, a change in the air, and the pleasantness of the afternoon made him disappointingly unwilling to argue or annoy.

Even putting aside Craven's schemes regarding Minty's downfall, she was not his ideal conversational companion; he was made uncomfortable by their joint attempts at small talk and became even more so when their dialogue turned serious.

There was something so judgemental about her electric green eye and unwavering stare, like she was always sizing him up, like she was some kind of divinity, in charge of his fate and trying to determine how best to punish him.

He deserved punishment. He knew that. He had made some bad choices in his life, gone down some wrong paths – but so what? Everyone had. It wasn't as if he was the only raider in Nod. It was practically the only viable profession anymore. That wasn't his fault. Craven Lorne had not introduced the human race to the printing press, he hadn't given them reality TV. He hadn't provided them with Fox News and the Internet. He hadn't told them to keep breeding until there were over seven billion of them, constantly dreaming, continuously pouring their misconceptions and misinformation into his world, making his life harder. No, they had done it all to themselves. And the wars it had caused, the civil unrest, that wasn't his fault either. So yes, the world had turned ugly. People did what they had to to get by – no one could blame them for that.

“It's not as if I enjoy it,” he told Minty.

“Dust?”

Craven Lorne stared at her. The stupid, broken rabbit doll. She had no idea what she did to him.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 7

The heatwaves made the still grass appear to dance. Everything was too hot and too dry. It seemed that any second the whole world would burst into flames.

Minty never looked as if she was effected by the heat. She stood on the hot earth with bare feet and regarded the scene disinterestedly.

Craven Lorne shifted uncomfortably. They had been standing together in the field for over a minute, now, just staring at each other. He considered killing her right then, but he couldn't bring himself to do it; her torture was nowhere near complete.

Minty cocked her head to the side – an action which Craven Lorne was becoming all too familiar with – and continued to stare. In her hollow, echoing voice, she asked, “Why?”

Craven Lorne did not jump back, although it was his first impulse. He held his ground, appeared amused and asked, “Why what?”

A few seconds passed before Minty answered. “You are always in the field. You always find me in the field. Why?”

 Craven thought about it. She was right; every time they'd met, every time he had made himself known to her, they had been in that spot, in that field at that time of day. It wasn't an accident, not really; he looked for her there. “I don't know,” he told her. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Minty said, tilting her head to the other side. “There are never any humans here.”

“No,” he agreed. “They don't tend to come this way.”

She straightened her head. “Is that why?”

“Maybe,” Craven conceded. “I tend to avoid humans when I can. They tend to get in the way of things.”

“They are useless.”

“On the other hand,” Craven said, trying to sound ominous, “maybe we're just destined to meet here.”

“Yes,” Minty said, hollowly. “I believe it is destiny. We shall meet in the field, where no humans venture. Yes.”

Craven Lorne was surprised to find he was not exasperated, but rather uncomfortable. There was something eerie about Minty, beyond her horror-show appearance. Her complete lack of concern for his intentions, the way that, from her side, their conversation held no pretence, it was disconcerting at best.

He was curious to hear what she would say next, how she would answer his questions or respond to his threats, but the growing unease which her robotic stare occasioned prevented him from staying any longer. He reached up and touched the brim of his hat. “It's been a nice talk. I'll kill you later.”

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 6

A quiet breeze blew through the long grass that surrounded the tree, carrying the scent of summer flowers. Craven Lorne leaned against the tree and sighed contentedly.

“Pass me that bottle, would you?” Voss asked. A smart, black fox mask covered the top half of his face, revealing a narrow chin and thin, Cupid's bow lips.

Craven Lorne passed the wine and smiled. “Here,” he said.

Voss drank from the bottle and passed it back to Craven.

“We should get a place, don't you think?” Craven said after a minute. “Set ourselves up.”

Voss smiled. “Yeah, where?”

“I don't know. There's that old warehouse. It's quite big. We could clean it up, some.”

Voss chuckled. “I'm sure we could.”

Craven Lorne took a sip of wine and passed it back to his friend. He looked up at the leaves of the big tree and at the bright light on the grass that lay beyond their circle of shade. “You know,” he said, “I think today might be perfect.”

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 5

A man in a silver fox mask and a white suit sat on a high throne – Well, it wasn't a throne exactly, it was a huge pile of boxes with a drop sheet draped over them. 

Craven Lorne paced around on the floor below him. “I've got her where I want her.” His voice was confident, certain, even, but the way he moved told more truth. There was obviously something bothering him.

The man on the boxes said nothing.

“Do you know, she doesn't even care that I'm going to kill her?” Craven said, after a brief pause. There was no indignation in his voice; he sounded like he was sharing an amusing but impossible anecdote. He seemed to have forgotten that her total unconcern for his intentions didn't qualify her as being right where he wanted her. “Of course, why should she care? She has every reason to believe herself as worthless as we both know her to be. After all—Voss, you look cold. Would you like me to get you something hot?”

The other man waved a gloved hand dismissively and shook his head.

“You will let me know if you change your mind?”

Voss nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“I can get someone to bring you something back, if you're in the mood.”

“No,” Voss said.

Voss spoke very rarely to Craven Lorne and never to anyone else. For Craven, hearing Voss' voice was a sign of approval and he relished it.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

Quicksand - Part 4

“So... we meet again.”

Minty didn't give Craven Lorne the satisfaction of even a small acknowledgement that he had spoken; she was busy smelling a worm.

“It's getting quite close to that time, you know, the time that I mean to kill you.”

The worm proved more interesting. Minty continued sniffing at it while her dress dragged on the dusty road.

“I won't make it quick,” Craven warned her, but it was almost a question, asking if she cared at all.

Minty moved away from the worm and munched on a scrubby piece of dry, golden grass.

Craven pulled at his collar. It was always so hot in the field and there was something unnerving about Minty, the way she looked at the world with vacant intensity, like she didn't quite know what she was so interested in. She was impossible to deal with.

“Rabbit!” he shouted.

Finally, she looked at him. Slowly, she stood up on two feet.

“Do you want to die?”

She cocked her head to the side. Her eye whirred as it focused on him.

“Well? Do you?”

“No.”

Craven Lorne jumped back. He realized then that he couldn't remember having ever actually heard her speak. Her voice nearly whistled, like a sigh coming through the metal pipe of an electronic organ. There was something tragic about it; it was almost painful to listen to.

Minty walked away, she didn't run. Craven stood in the field, and for a long time after she was out of sight, watched her go.

 If you enjoyed reading this, stop by next week for another instalment. You may also like my published novel, Aigaion Girl ... a story of the end of days, available here.

... and other stuff

So, Aigaion Girl turns two this month, which is kind of a big deal and simultaneously not a big deal at all.  In some ways, it feels like it's been a lot longer than two years and in some ways, like it's still very new, just stepping into the world.  I feel like there's a lot more I could and should be doing with it, but still, I'm glad it's out there.

Also, there's this.  It's one of those things that you read and think, Damn, I wish I'd written that - and if you're a writer (and, more especially, if you know a writer) you should definitely give it a read.

I read it yesterday and I couldn't have discovered it at a better time; I'd just spent an evening being told everything I'm doing wrong in terms of marketing myself and that my decision to self-publish was completely incorrect and that I have to do this, this and this to become famous and get rich - since we all know getting rich is why we became writers to begin with.  The letter linked above made me feel instantly better, grounded and more confident.  I'm not going to be quitting my day job anytime soon, but the letter was refreshing and made me remember that one day, I will.

Unknown ♥

There are so many people out there who will tell you that you can't. What you've got to do is turn around and say "watch me." --Unknown

It's a little corny, I know, but I like it.  Having just read Chuck Wendig's post about self doubt, the idea of losing confidence has been on my mind lately.

Last night, I got into a... not an argument, exactly.  More of a discussion... about self-publishing and why I should have sought out an agent and not self-published Aigaion Girl.  And for a second, I thought, Shit.  What if I went the wrong route? Maybe I shouldn't have done what I did.  Maybe-- and then I realized that despite his good intentions, the person I was talking to is not a writer, has not spent the last eight or nine years researching this and knows a lot less about the way the publishing industry works than I do*.  In short, I realized that I actually know what I'm talking about.

So this morning, I woke up early and started to plan my writing for the next few months.  Not a day-to-day plan, but something fairly rigid which includes reminders about important marketing-type stuff, like posting something on Twitter and my Facebook fan page at least four times throughout each month.  It, of course, also includes bigger writing projects like writing and editing fiction (for example, November is blocked off for NaNoWriMo).

I'm hoping I can stick to it and actually get some decent writing done this fall. I'm going to write some amazing things this fall and I am going to seriously boost my readership.  Watch me.

*He had some very nice things to say about the story, though. 
P.S. If you're wondering why I captioned the image with the same quote, it's because I hot linked the picture.