The Unnamed Story - Part 3

At the sound of our voice, the whole mass of tentacles jerked and retreated. A basketball-sized eye peered out of the door to 213, and then disappeared. Sloshing and crunching noises, followed by a thud and a squeal, echoed through the hall.

"Shit," I said.

Dinner, the gun whispered.

"You don't think it ate them, do you?" I asked.

"Maybe," Jonas answered. His indifferent tone reminded me, again, that the well-being of the residents wasn't high on his list of priorities.

There was no point in dithering. I moved from the potted plant to the opposite wall, pressing my back against its surface. Weapon pointed at the ceiling, I inched sideways until I was a foot away from the open door, and then stopped. Jonas was close behind.

Inside the apartment, something slurped. I peered through the doorway, sure that the creature would hear the sound of my heart beating or the breath that whispered through my mouth one slow inhale at a time.

The demon was staring back at me.

I grabbed for the banishing rune in my pocket. My sudden motion must have startled the demon, which shrieked and flung a half-dozen tentacles at me. Two wrapped around my waist, pinning my arm to my side, and two more wrapped around my legs. The last pair reached up towards my gun arm, but when demonic flesh touched enchanted metal, the rubbery limbs sizzled and jerked away.

A sudden, hot burst of excitement from my gun, and then I was pulling the trigger. I didn't so much aim as point and click at the seething mass of black, rubbery limbs that were wrapped around my body.

BOOM!

I missed. I couldn't believe that I missed, but a hole the size of a dinner plate in the floor attested to it. The demon screamed and crushed me in his grip, clutching and twisting me like a rag doll. White streaks crawled through my vision.

My partner tore after the still-shrieking demon, chasing it into the apartment. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground, landing next to the severed, steaming ends of the tentacles that I thought I'd missed. Saltwater was leaking out of the wounds like air from a punctured tire, and the iron grip around my body slowly relaxed.

I took a breath, tasting blood, and pushed myself to my feet. My gun was still clutched in my right hand, humming with satisfaction. Thuds and squeals echoed from the interior of the apartment. There was no time to waste; Jonas probably had the creature well in hand, but he couldn't banish it.

The rune was inscribed on a smooth, polished glass sphere about the size of a silver dollar. It fit perfectly in the palm of my hand. I fished it from my pocket, switching my gun from my right to my left hand in the process, spat out some blood, and went to find the fight.

"Little help, here?" Jonas asked.

He'd ripped a twitching tentacle off the demon's body, and was punching the demon every time it tried to move. His blows left noticeable purple marks on the demon's body. I was starting to feel sorry for it; the poor thing had never stood a chance, and Jonas was being particularly ruthless.

"Open it up," I said.

My Writing Process

Looks like I'm running a little late this week. My apologies!

My Writing Process Blog Tour

I was asked by author Clarissa Johal to participate in this blog tour. Check her out - she has a lot of interesting stuff going on over there!

1) What are you currently working on?

I'm working on the sequel to Silver Bound. It's tentatively titled Silver Burned. Our heroine is facing a bloody conflict to reclaim her territory, and not all of the demons she's facing are coming from the outside.

2) How does your work differ from others in the genre?

Let's look at my main character: Samantha has a lot of bestial traits. She doesn't always think like a human, and favors brute force over more subtle (and effective) solutions. She's purpose driven, with very little need or desire for introspection. One of her larger character flaws is that she doesn't stop to think about the consequences of her actions. She isn't so much impulsive as she is direct, and she tends to smash at problems until they stop twitching. In short, Samantha is a bit of a brute. I thought her nature would be a fun change after reading about so many main characters who wiffle waffle, especially about romance.

As far as world building - well, I think a lot of what I've put together has been done before, but not in this combination. We've read stories with different kinds of weres, and all sorts of explanations about why they don't overrun humanity. We've seen mages and magic fluctuations before, along with all of the other fantasy creatures that sneak about in my world. We've even read stories where people change (what I call snapping) at puberty. What makes my Earth unique is how I've used those ideas in combination, and how nasty the results are for the people who have magic in their blood. It's better to be human.

3) Why do you write what you do?

I write what I want to read, and I read two genres: Urban fantasy, and regency romance. I couldn't write regency to save my life, so here I am.

Also, I got tired of how urban fantasy seems to be getting taken over and blended with paranormal romance. Paranormal romance is fine enough, don't get me wrong, but why does almost every female protagonist feel the need to tie themselves in knots over a man, or two, or three? Can't we find something else to worry about? Like the giant, thorny problem that's staring us in the face, perhaps? Isn't that enough?

Sure, we all want to get laid, but there's no need to get bent out of shape about it. Handle your business, girl!

4) How does your writing process work?

I'm an unabashed pantser. I've tried outlining, and it just doesn't work for me. My characters do what they want. Sometimes I can steer them in a different direction, and sometimes I can't. The most outlining I can do is to decide on a general, overarching sequence of events and the desired conclusion to my current manuscript. Everything else is in flux until it's on paper.

By and large, I can't write at home. I have three cats, a husband, and a roommate. Something's always going on, and someone always wants my company. It's nice to be needed, but hectic.

When I want to write, I go somewhere other than home. Sometimes I stay late after work and write while I'm off the clock, and sometimes I'll go to a local business. If I do use a business, like a coffee shop, I scout it out first to make sure it isn't too crowded, because I don't want them to be inconvenienced by me taking up a table. I buy something about once an hour.

First, I read over the last few paragraphs that I completed in the previous session - not too much, but enough to get me in the mood and remind me of what I was doing.

Second, I jot down a few notes detailing what events I want to have happen during the current session. I can usually write notes for 1-2k worth of words before things get sketchy.

If there are things going on around me, I put on headphones. The music I listen to has to be energetic, strong enough to drown out any background noise. In general, I'm listening to dubstep or industrial, and I try to avoid anything that's easy to sing to, or I'll be distracted by the words.

Some people say that music helps them focus. For me, it's a method that I use to remove other distractions, so instead of getting bombarded with things from all sides - that child's squeaky shoes, the sound of the coffee grinder, the big truck rumbling outside, birdsong, that couple's conversation, those students and their dating problems - I just have one sound that yanks on my attention.

I can't face a window, or I'll stare at it. I can't face the room, or I'll watch people moving around. I can't even face a wall that has art on it, or I'll ponder the posters. Everything that I do is to isolate myself, as though I've locked myself into a closet in public.

Writing with ADHD is hell. I'm not on medication, although I've pondered going back to that, especially when things get really bad. Some days are worse than others. My coworkers might think it's funny that sometimes I end up running laps in the office instead of working, but I don't. The only thing that saves me is that I love what I'm doing, so I keep coming back.

The next participants should be posting soon! Check out:
Jess Haines
and

Social Shelves

Amazon & Hachette

Regarding Amazon's latest shenanigans:

Large corporations are designed to be sociopathic. They must not only make money, but make MORE money every year to satisfy investors. If they do not, they will be killed. This is why I do not believe that money equals free speech—a corporation very rarely has the well-being of any human on its agenda. A corporation isn't human. Amazon is reacting to the desires of its shareholders in a very predictable fashion.

Some companies - those with conscientious management that kept control of their company when and if it went public - manage to walk the line between profits and the well-being of the employees, suppliers, and neighborhood that gives it business.

Most can't do that. Maybe the shareholders hold too much power, or maybe the CEO never cared in the first place. Maybe it was evil before it ever went public, and the company owners were only interested in getting the fastest profit possible.

A company might not be a person, but it is an organism. It kills its competitors and uses its allies in order to survive—and it will survive at any cost. The best are a pack of hunting wolves, keeping the economic ecosystem in balance (even if it means less “deer” to hunt). The worst are a fatal virus, burning their hosts into a husk before moving on.

I don’t like what Amazon is doing, but I’m not going to tell people that they should buy everywhere, because I try not to be a hypocrite. My book is for sale through Amazon, and I’d like it to do well.

As consumers, we should do our best to be informed, and shop our conscience. If you don’t like what Amazon is doing, find other sources that fill your needs. But there’s no need to be guilty if you find that the huge discount they offer means you keep coming back. I’d rather you buy your books through Amazon than not buy them at all.

The Unnamed Story - Part 2

Tuesday 5/27 I'll publish my post for the My Writing Process blog tour, whether I've found a second person to tag or not! In the meantime, please enjoy a second helping of The Unnamed Story.

Of course the gate was locked, with no apartment manager in sight. Jonas hit ageing hinges with a spinning kick. Sparks flew, and I backed away. He slammed his boot into the metal a second time. The gate groaned and buckled. On his third strike, it gave way with a shriek of tortured metal, falling to the ground.

"You know," I said, "Right over the entryway, there's a key box for the Fire Department. I could have opened it."

"Waste of time. Let's go," Jonas said.

"Demon first, or summoning circle?" I asked.

"Remember that one time in OC?" Jonas answered.

I did. The rust demon we'd been after had eaten away at the structural integrity of the building so much that when we'd eliminated his summoning circle, the whole place came down around our ears. We'd had to dodge chunks of concrete on the way out, and while we were running for our lives, the demon had taken advantage of its escape to eat everything metal on the block, from manhole covers to horseshoes. It had cost the city millions, and our insurance adjuster had been pretty upset. Fortunately, we hadn't been liable.

"Demon first," I said.

Jonas was faster than me, and his enchanted boots and gloves would give him an edge if he turned a corner and came face to face with our quarry, so he scouted ahead. I followed, drawing my weapon and releasing the safety. The strange, living warmth and eager shiver of metal and plastic in my hand both enticed and repulsed me.

The weapon felt hurt by my discomfort.

"Shh, you know I don't mean it," I whispered, stroking the barrel with my free hand.

A distant sense of hunger answered me; the discontent murmur of something alien whispering in its sleep.

"I'll feed you soon," I answered.

My stomach cramped.

"I'm hunting your dinner right now," I answered, keeping my voice as quiet as I could.

The weapon rewarded me with a pulse of excitement and pleasure, and I shivered. I'd only been issued the new gun a week ago. It - he, actually, since the weapon had a definite masculine feel - had been awarded by my master when I had passed a series of brutal exams that proved my ability to utilize demonic artifacts without corruption.

Artifacts weren't supposed to have feelings, or a gender. My last gun hadn't talked back to me, and I wasn't sure I liked the experience.

Jonas halted, dropping to a crouch and looking down the hall, using a large potted plant as cover. I caught up, and then sank to the floor next to him. The hall ahead was filled with a tangled nest of tentacles, and stank of saltwater. Chunks of plaster had been ripped out of the walls, probably by the demon's suckers as it moved around. The way we'd come was clear. Open doors and ravaged scenery suggested that the demon had come from the other direction.

"Looks like it's taken up shop in 213," Jonas said.

"Where the fuck are all of the residents?" I asked. "Have you seen any of the people that are supposed to be living here? I haven't."

"Don't know," Jonas answered.

The Unnamed Story - Part 1

It occurred to me that a certain segment of the population might think there's something political in this. There isn't. It's just a story, and I've been having fun with it. I have no intention or desire to bring politics into anything, thank you very much, so please keep them to yourself.

The Unnamed Story: Part 1

The atmosphere changed when I crossed the border between Downtown and the Pits. The scent of pollution and the sound of traffic receded into the background; magic was too strong and erratic to risk any sort of modern technology. Horses and mules clopped around on cracked pavement, moving with a kind of hyper-aware tenseness, as though ready to bolt at any moment.

It isn't that machines don't work in magic zones, it's the imps. They adore heat, and their little bodies gum up the works of anything that gets too hot. Take the standard internal combustion engine, for example. Imps absolutely love engines. The moving parts will kill the stupid critters, of course, which means the engine ends up filled with stinking purple goo. Expensive as all hell to clean, and finding tiny body parts for days afterward is pretty distressing. Except for the head and skin color, imps look so human.

My partner and I hustled through the Pits on foot. Our instructions led us to an area that at first glance looked normal, minus the broken glass festooned all over the city street.

“1543 Second Street,” I said, checking my notebook. “This is it.”

Right on cue, a tentacle writhed out of one of many shattered windows of a three-story apartment complex, and I swallowed.

“You've gotta be kidding me,” my partner Jonas said.

The thing was matte black, scars and octopus-like suckers glistening and pale gray against rubbery skin. It quested around, feeling the hot Los Angeles sidewalk until it found a battered fire hydrant. With an excited quiver, the tentacle wrapped itself around the device and yanked it out of the cement. Water gushed upwards in a torrent. The tentacle doused itself in water and then retreated. Moments later, several more tentacles burst through neighboring windows, rushing for the artificial geyser.

“According to the complaint, one of the tenants summoned a Grade-1 water demon into the basement. Could be worse, could've been a fire demon. There are several hundred legal residents living in this building,” I said, swaying back on my heels while I surveyed the monster.

“How many illegal ones?” Jonas asked.

I shrugged and stuck my little notebook where it belonged, back in a weatherproofed interior pocket of my jacket. The tentacles retreated into the ravaged apartment building, leaving nothing but broken glass and fountaining water in their wake.

“Doesn't matter," I said. "Management only released two banishing runes to me, one calibrated to water and the other generic. We'll send this puppy back to the Nether and get out quick.”

Jonas scowled.

“Stupid and shortsighted. If it was up to me, we'd have this place cleared of illegals in a week,” he said.

My partner stomped towards the apartment entrance before I could answer. I shrugged again, following him. At fifteen thousand clinks a pop, banishing runes weren't cheap. Deporting every single illegal demon resident would bankrupt us. We'd had that conversation before. Jonas would pepper every demon and mixie with banishing runes if he thought he could get away with it, whether they had papers or not.

A New Beginning...

Well then...

I've started this blog more or less on a whim, so the content and appearance of Crimson and Sugar will probably change quite a bit before I get settled with what makes me happy.

Why Crimson?
My stories tend to have a certain premise: Bad things happen. I'm not all that interested in stories that are driven by the main character's questionable decision making skills. Oh, sure, sometimes people make bad choices, but for the most part, if the fur is flying, odds are some villain has decided to impose his idea of reality on innocent people, and it's up to my heroes to stop him.

My heroes aren't always nice people.

I've tried writing sweet and fluffy romance. I've tried. I love reading the stuff! Good, clean regency romance is my drug of choice when I'm not writing. But, something in my personality isn't letting it happen. Maybe I'm getting my aggression and disillusionment with humanity down on paper instead of taking it out on my coworkers, or something. That's as good a coping strategy as any, right? Beats drinking myself to sleep. Cut me some slack - I work with the public.

Why Sugar?
I like sweets. Sometimes I bake cookies.

My goal is to make for some entertaining reading on your lunch break a couple of times a week. I have a rather fun, unnamed story that I'll be sharing with you. When it's complete, I'll polish it up and make the entire manuscript available to download for free. Yes, free.

The downside? I won't be able to pay for it to be professionally edited, so you might have to grit your teeth and accept the occasional typo or peculiar phrasing. It's a free read. Deal with it.

If I'm not sharing The Unnamed Story with you, I'll be posting whatever's on my mind. Guest posts -- specifically by librarians and authors -- recipes, why I didn't make my word count goal this week, or maybe how Silver Burned (work in progress, sequel to Silver Bound) is progressing.

DISCLAIMER: Silver Burned is a working title, and subject to change.