Spring Is In My Hair

It isn’t in the air yet. 

The frost still has a bite. 

And the wind is never gentle. 

No way to fly a kite. 

No, it isn’t in the air yet

No matter how I wish

But spring is in my hair

I can feel it. 

It’s pulling on the strands, 

Wishing them away

To build and play and run

On every single day

To scatter life and growing

And splatter colors so 

But It has to go on hold 

Because springs only in my hair

And the air is still just cold

Oh what a sadness

What dismal gray cast skies

I want to see the greening

But the sparkles only in my eyes 

My nose can smell the sawdust

My hands can feel the fluff

But my brain looks out the window

And tells me just give up

Because the season is fickle

It likes to tempt and tease

When spring finally casts out winter

It will not be with ease

It might just cause a tempest 

It might force winds to blow

But soon enough the signs will come 

and then I’ll really know

But for now I’ll go on dreaming

With the tendrils in my hair

And wait for blessed spring time 

to finally reach the air 

The Queens Three Snippets

Hi guys!

 

I finished my second draft of The Queens Three a couple days ago.

I'm super happy with how the story is turning out. The extra POVs really seem to enhance the story, and I boosted the word count by ten thousand.

It's not done yet. I've got a few little details to weave in that I figured out as I was writing, so I need to go to the beginning and make sure everything fits together smoothly.

And I'm told I need a kiss scene.

*sigh*

I'll see what I can do.

 

Today I thought it would be fun to share some snippets with you. I know I've shared some scenes from Molly in the past, so I'm hoping these aren't duplicates. The scenes from Avian and Bunny are completely new.

 

(On a side note, Molly is the main character, a human disaster who runs a small town diner. Avian is a the conniving usurper queen of the fae realm, and the story's main villain, and Bunny is the displaced heir to the throne.)

 

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Molly

The little bell on the door announces an incoming customer. I turn to look and nearly drop the stack of dishes. What the heck is he wearing? The man who walks in is a stranger. Blakely Nebraska only boasts a population of two hundred and I know them all. None of them dress like that.

He wears a ratty grayish jacket covered in more buttons and zippers than it merits, and perched on his shaggy brown hair is an honest to goodness top hat that could have belonged to Abe Lincoln.

**

 

“Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”

Not right now.” He pulls the first burger to him, the other hand holding his book open.

I glance at it again. It looks like it’s about to disintegrate all over the table. Doesn’t he know they print new ones? “I’m actually related to him,” I say. “The author. Carroll isn’t his real name though.”

“Dodgson,” he says around a mouthful of food. “Charles Dodgson.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “My mom figured out our family tree a couple years ago and we’re related. Well, sort of. She traced the line back to one of his brothers. So I’m like his great great niece or something.”

The guy’s eyes flit to mine over the pages and he smirks. “Something like dat.”

**

 

I round the corner and nearly collide with a tree. Well, a person dressed as a tree, walking down the sidewalk. I stagger back and stare. The makeup work is crazy. Like some of the face paint videos I’ve seen online. The woman’s skin actually looks like brown tree bark. Bits of twigs and leaves cling to her green hair and dress. “Sorry,” I stammer. “Nice costume.”

The woman just stares with unblinking eyes.

My throat constricts and I look down. “Sorry,” I mumble again, feeling totally awkward, and hurry past.

What is someone doing in full costume first thing in the morning on a Wednesday in September? People are getting weirder and weirder. Even out in the Nebraska sticks.

**

The man before me smiles. “They only hear and see what I want them to. They’re not going to think you’re crazy. There’s no need to worry your head off. Messy business that, worrying one’s head off. Don’t try it at home, that’s for sure.”

“Just stop.” I shake my head. “I’m going to call the police for public intoxication. This is insane.”

“I am insane,” he says gravely. “It comes with the territory I suppose, but I’ll admit, I’m quite fond of it. But I dare say you thinking you can sick your authorities on me is even more insane. What are they going to do? Catch me?” He vanishes before my eyes.

 

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Bunny

“C’mon, Bunny. Aren’t you even a little glad to see me?” Malechi pushes his hands into his pockets, but his casual stance and ridiculous new appearance can’t hide the sorrow in his deep eyes.

I did not think I would ever see him again. A knot swells in my throat but I wrestle my voice past it. “Everything is a disaster."

**

“Did you miss the part where Avian is trying to steal all your magic and kill you?” Malechi jumps to his feet, slamming his obnoxiously tall hat to the dirty floor. “Believe me when I say dying isn’t at all pleasant, and you don’t want to do it.”

**

 

If Malechi waits a moment longer to transfigure me back, I will execute him myself, and this time I’ll get the job done.

 

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Avian

“She can’t have gone far!” I rake a hand through my hair, caressing the sleek black feathers of a raven with the other. “Bunny is weak. Her power is taxed. She has to be close.”

The looking bowl is dim, the smooth water inside showing faint glimpses of trees and pixie glens. Where could she have run? All of Bunny’s friends are dead.

An image of gallows flashes in my mind’s eye, but I push it down, keeping my attention fixed solely on the looking bowl. He deserved it. They all did.

**

 

“There must be someone in this realm who understands the workings of humans.” I straighten from the table and pace the space in front of my throne.

“The magician, Malechi—”

“Yes, he knew,” I shoot a glare at the buffoon. “Considering I had him executed I didn’t think he would be of much help.”

___________

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Malec. The real star of the story.

 

 

There you have it! This story has been full of surprises and first for me, but it is rapidly becoming one of my favorites.

If anyone is wanting to read it, its now available for beta readers.

It is approximately 65k, and I would rate it PG. No language or sexual content, but there is magic and some talk about drug abuse.

You can leave a comment or shoot me an email if you like.
For some extra fun, here is the Pinterest inspiration board and the Spotify playlist for the project.

 

What is your favorite fairytale retelling or spinoff?

 

 

September Language of Worlds Linkup

Hello everyone! Happy official fall! 

It was downright chilly this morning, and I love it. Around here we’ve started chopping silage, so I’ve been spending most of my days at the outdoor kitchen making obscene amounts of casseroles for the guys, and hauling my laptop back and forth with me. 

It’s once again time for The Language of Worlds, hosted by Liv K. Fisher. Today I’m going to focus on Calgary from Blood and Dust. She’s my favorite. 

1.Your character is in crisis! Who is the first person they turn to?

Blake or Gil. Blake is a fellow saloon girl and downright sassy. I love her so much. She’s not afraid to tell anyone exactly what she thinks. Gil is the gang’s official messenger boy—except she’s actually a girl in disguise. Calgary falls back on both girls a lot when she needs help. Later in the book Cole also becomes a key support, but by at first. 

2. Who has their unconditional loyalty?

Gil. Calgary guards her secret with a passion. 

3. What cause do they believe in? Why?

She believes in Cole’s cause, to take down Dermott. It’s because she thinks it will help her find her missing friend, as well as gain her freedom to a life with more than killing. 

4. Are they easy to get along with?

Calgary is one of those people that would take the Facebook test to see how belligerent they are, thinking it was going to rate 100% and it would actually be more like 40. She’s a spitfire to be sure, and she makes life difficult for Cole, but in context of dealing with the Guns and Mr. Dermott, she’s pretty quiet and obedient. 

5. Are they a night owl or morning dove? (Or “weird daytime pigeon”?)

She’s both. Helping in the saloons she has to stay up late almost all the time. But she also gets up relatively early to start the next days meals and tend to her own work. 

6. What do they consider most vital to their health? Are they right?

Staying on Mr. Dermott’s good side, and washing her hands. She’s right on both accounts. Dermott is the “god” where she lives. Make him mad and you’re likely to disappear. And it’s a post apocalyptic setting with diseases running rampant. Cleanliness is next to godliness. 

7. What was their childhood fear?

That she would make a mistake and Dermott would notice her. That she wouldn’t be able to learn all the medical things her mom was trying to teach her and she’d be forced into being just another saloon girl. 

8. What do they have nightmares about?

Her mom. Being taken away. Her friends being taken away. 

9. What sights/sounds/smells remind them of home?

Gunpowder. Dirt. Homemade candles. 

10. What do they love most about themself?

That she overcomes. She’s always trying to be better. To learn more. To stay ahead of the game and be useful enough to keep herself safe. So far she’s been successful. 

Check out Liv’s blog for the questions, and to see what other people are answering! 

I’m off to bake a casserole.

Flash Fiction

Hi guys! 

Recently I’ve joined in a few flash fiction/short story prompts, and had a lot of fun. 

These were just in comments on posts and such, not actually featured on anyone else’s blog, so I can post them here. 

The first happened on the Story Embers forum, and it was supposed to be a genre mashup of western and psychological thriller. 

I’d never done anything thriller, psych or not, so I was kind of lost, but I tried to really play on the sense and things that would get in a person’s head. 

Pinterest 

Spurs:

Spurs jingle on the wooden boardwalk with every step, scraping my nerves. 

Chink. Chink. Chink. 

Lanterns swing from the awnings of businesses lining the dusty street, casting shadows that loom and shrink back like uncertain predators, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. 

I duck into the nearest open door—a saloon, with only slightly less shadows. The shadow of a man passes the doorway and the spurs go chinking on by. 

I cross the room to the back, the sawdust coating the floor biting at my nose. 

I settle down at an empty table and study the few other patrons. A tired looking saloon girl, sitting upright and rigid like her red costume is made of iron.

Two men at a card table, but neither one shows any signs of playing the cards laid out in front of them. 

The barkeep keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the glass he’s buffing. I don’t really want a drink anyway, but it’s strange he doesn’t offer.

In the back corner opposite me a lone figure with his hat pulled over his eyes plays a mournful fiddle, the bow scraping along the protesting strings, almost as frayed as my nerves. 

Jitters drive me back to my feet and I step out onto the rickety sidewalk as a clap of thunder shakes the sky and lightning illuminates the places the lamps won’t reach. The darkness that follows is dense enough to feel and I linger where the lanterns cast a reassuring glow as rain starts to pelt the dusty landscape. It rattles against the windows and overhangs, puffing dust into the air until the whole street is saturated. 

Thunder grumbles grudgingly and water starts to run in little rivers down the packed street. 

Probably be another gully washer...maybe even a flash flood. They’re common this time of year. 

Time to find some cover on high ground. 

Whoever built this ride-through town must have been a tender foot. It sprawls in the back of a long valley, coming down out of the lonely mountains on the horizon. Lightning dances across their gloomy peaks now. It won’t be long before all that water comes rushing right down to the front steps. 

I start back the way I’d come, toward the livery stable. I’d hoped to get a room tonight, but prospects are slim. I’ll bed down in the hayloft, safe from water, and close to my gelding if I needed to swim out come morning. 

The water is already ankle deep on my boots as I step off the boardwalk. It sloshes and ripples, melding with the crack of lightning overhead into a deafening chorus that drowns out all sound. But I thought I heard...

I turned to face the street behind me, and wait for the next lightning strike to illuminate it once again. But the street is empty, and no one else is on the walks. 

I could have sworn I heard those spurs again...

I slosh across the street and shove the barn door open just enough to slip in, before closing it again. Water already seeps in underneath, mingling with the straw and dust. 

Inside the barn is pitch dark, but I’m not anxious to light a lantern. I feel my way down the aisle to the third stall. It’s at the back, but there’s a smaller door that I can fit an unsaddled horse through if need be. 

My gelding nickers softly as I slip into the stall with him. I gently run a hand down his neck, then adjust my gun belt, slipping the thong off the hammer. I watch the front door a long minute then settle down in the dusty straw at the gelding’s feet. His breath snuffles over me, and then he goes back to contentedly munching the hay in his manger. 

I strain my ears for any sound, but all I hear is his chewing, the steady breathing of the other horses, and rain drumming on the roof. Along with my heartbeat. 

They can’t have followed me this far. I rode halfway across the country, up and down back trails no sane person would ever take. I’d left no trail. Spoke to no one. I’m just being paranoid, that’s all. Besides, the money isn’t here any way. No one can connect me to it. Not way out here. I tell myself that over and over again, but it does nothing to calm my heart. 

But a sound from outside stills it. 

Chink. Chink. Chink. 

I slowly shift into a crouched position, sliding my pistol out of the holster. I force my breathing to slow, placing a steadying hand on the geldings shoulder as I stand and lean against his neck, gun ready. 

I don’t know who is out there. But coincidences don’t follow you around in a storm. It’s going to end right here and I’m getting out of town tonight. The rain will cover my trail. I’ll disappear. 

The barn door creaks, but it’s too dark outside to see if anyone comes in yet or not. 

I ease the hammer back. 

Chink. Chink. Chink. 

This one is from Cassandra Hamm’s prompt contest on Instagram. You can find more on her page @cassandrahammwrites. 

The theme is water, and it had to include the line about sharks. 

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Blood Prince:

Blood clouded the pearlescent water, calling to predators far and wide. 

But he was the predator here.

Aktan waved one of four arms at a school of fish with sharp teeth almost as long as their bodies protruded from fluorescent blue mouths. 

They hurled backwards as if caught in a current and he turned his attention to his broken and bleeding lower right arm. Those humans would pay for this. 

Bubbles rose from his lips, sending a haunting melody through the thick waves, and his pale green skin knit back together. 

The sharks approached him nervously, respectfully. The bloodlust had gone from their deep expressions and an immense curiosity welled in their somber eyes. 

Aktan grinned at them, spreading his arms to create a cloud of blood and bubbles around him. 

“Who would like a taste of revenge?”

And now on to the other fun stuff...

To Be Announced:

We are finding out baby’s gender this afternoon, so stay tuned to my social media if you want to know!

Do you write flash fiction? Do you have a vote of boy or girl?

Do tell. 

The Language of Worlds~ August

Hi guys! 

Forgive me for missing last week. I helped work cattle all morning, then had a doctor appointment that afternoon. 

Today I’m joining in Liv K. Fisher’s linkup The Language of Worlds. 

1. How long have you been writing this story? 

The first draft of Blood and Dust was written during NaNoWriMo of 2017. I’m pretty sure that’s the first year I ever won. It was called Young Guns back then buy ended up being changed to The Guns for awhile. 

2. Who’s your favorite character? Why?

Oof. That’s so hard. I love so many of them. Cole, Calgary, Blake. Jason is rapidly climbing the ranks as a favorite. I think Calgary is my favorite though. She’s sassy, and strong, but also broken, vulnerable, and scared. She’s a lot of fun to write. 

3. Which character do you consider the “goodest of the good”?

Definitely Cole. He’s almost always a gentleman and tries to do the right thing. Although that is getting toned down just a tiny bit in this latest version. I’d still consider him the “goodest” though. 

4. Which character is the “baddest of the bad”?

Well the main villain, James Dermott, is definitely the worst of them, technically. I mean, he’s the one responsible for all of the troubles to begin with. But my personal burning hatred is reserved for Ridge—a gun hand who is terrible to Calgary. He’s terrible. 

5. If you were to have tea (or coffee!) with one character, which one would you pick? Why?

First of all, it’s coffee. Totally coffee. Coffee is sacred in this book. Anyway, I think I would pick Jason. Because he’s my small, injured baby. There’s a lot of layers to his character. He’s strong in some ways, and completely helpless in others. Things bother him so bad, and yet he doesn’t let on to any of it. He’s starved for personal relationships, but manages to butcher every one he has. Sounds like a perfect coffee companion. 

6. Describe your storyworld.

My story world takes place in the near future, after World War 3 ended. America went through an invasion and suffered heavy destruction, losing most of their electricity and ability to connect with each other coast to coast. Cole lives in Tennessee where the majority of the eastern countryside has rebuilt and is fully functional with a government and technology. They are actively working to reconstruct the other states. Artificial intelligence is a big part of life, but the world is still very recognizable as earth I think. 

Cody, Wyoming is where most of the book takes place. It’s in the Bomb Zone where reconstruction hasn’t started yet and the people there are even more isolated than most others in the Bomb Zone are. They live a very old style life—cooking over wood stoves, living off wild game and whatever foods they’re able to grow from seed year after year. They use the natural sulfur in the area to make their gunpowder, and anything that can make bullets is guarded and recycled vigilantly. Gangs are constantly at war in Cody. There are three of them holding different territories, with The Guns being the most powerful. People die constantly, everything is a fight for survival, and the whole place is generally wild, lawless, and terrified. 

7. You’ve fallen into your book! Which place would you be happiest at?

Noooo!! I don’t want to go!!! I guess I would pick Tennessee. Where things are safe and stable. Though I’d totally miss out on all the action. I might also hide out in Yellowstone Park. It’s beautiful, and generally undisturbed, and all I’d have to look out for is wild animals. 

8. Which place would you like to avoid at all costs? (Or, explore to know its secrets a little bit better?)

Cody. I’m pretty sure I’d get killed pretty fast. Then again, that’s where all the action is, so that’s totally where the best exploring would happen. 

9. Share an aesthetic!

10. Share a snippet!

“Where do you think they went?” Gil flipped the limp rag over her shoulder and got to work slicing chunks of venison into thin strips. 

“The cooks?” Calgary quartered a lumpy potato and threw it in the big stew pot.

“Yes.” Gil wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care where the Guns go.”

Calgary bit her lip and shrugged. “Wherever they all go, I guess.” 

“You think they just disappeared?” 

Calgary rolled her eyes. “No one just disappears. You know what I mean. There haven’t been any raids—and why would they take cooks anyway? It had to have been the other thing.” It sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth, but what else was she supposed to call it? Random disappearances of women, with most of them resurfacing in a few months with no clues to where they’d been? That was another thing.