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Posts Tagged ‘WIP’

I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t expecting below freezing temperatures this time of year down here in the American Southeast. Last week we had highs around 80 degrees outside with night time temperatures in the 50’s. So yesterday’s high in the low 50’s followed by below freezing temperatures was a shock to my system.

And then there were the tomato plants we set out, thinking warm weather had arrived. I managed to get them dug back out of the garden, put into pots, and back in the greenhouse before the chill hit. With any luck they’ll survive all the disruption.

So what am I doing as far as writing?

LADY CALLOWAY

I’ve finally figured out how to wrap it up, which has been my hold up on this particular project. The lady is being quite obstinate about cooperating with me.

Not that her husband is any better.

However, with a little luck, Lady Calloway should be finished by the end of next week. Unless she decides to pull another stunt I’m not expecting.

In the meantime, my editor is looking over the next book in the Esperance series–Too Many Talents. This story picks up right after Viviane, First Lady, continuing Viviane’s story and bringing in the new heir of Clan Belfort–a little boy of almost 11, who is not necessarily happy about it.

While it seems having paranormal Talents would be fun, getting a handle on them can be quite a pain. Just ask Viviane and Connell.

Want a bit of a peek?

TOO MANY TALENTS

Viviane–First Lady of Clan Brannach

“Viviane, Duncan is worried about you and has me worried, too.”  

“Worried? Whatever for?” she asked.

“I know how you feel about your Talents, but hiding from them isn’t the answer. And neither is running away and pretending they don’t exist. Duncan and I feel the loss of control you are experiencing is coming from something besides the porting aspect of your Talents.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Jareth,” she answered sharply.

 “Yes, you do, Viviane. Since we’ve been home you’ve been resisting your Talents, and fighting them, especially during training. They will win in the end. In the meantime your control will get worse and worse, until it is manifesting more unpredictably, even when you’re not working with it. With the strengths you have, you will hurt someone, while trying to deny your heritage.”

“But Jareth…”

“Your Talents have to be trained,” he stated emphatically. “There is no escape from it. You have to let go of your fears and put your entire will into your training. It’s the only way to gain control before you do irreparable harm.”

“I don’t want these Talents, Jareth! I never have! Why won’t they go away and leave me alone?”

“We may never know the answer as to why they developed, but since they have, you must treat them responsibly. You wouldn’t hand a child a live blade and expect him to use it properly, would you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Your Talents are exponentially more dangerous than the deadliest blade ever forged. Just as it would be irresponsible to hand a child a sword and let him run through the house with it, chasing the staff, and playing guard, it is ever so much more dangerous to have you, with so much untrained Talent, manifesting uncontrolled.”

Connell, Heir of Belfort

“But Mom, why do I have to go live with Grandpa? I want to stay here with you,” Connell complained for the hundredth time.

“You know why, young man,” his mother scolded. “And as soon as your father and I can take care of everything here, we’ll join you.”

“But how long will that be?” he asked, rolling his blue eyes at her. “I don’t know why we have to go anyway. I don’t want to be First Lord.”

“Now that is enough. We don’t have time for this. You’re ten years old and you know better.”

“I’m almost eleven,” he countered.

“Then start acting like it,” his mother snapped, exasperation beginning to show.

“But what about all my friends? I won’t have any friends there,” he continued.

“I’m sure you’ll make new friends.”

“But I like my old ones.”

“Connell, find something to do besides complain, or I’ll find something for you to do.”

“Fine!”

The little boy of almost eleven spun on his heel and ran out the door. Arriving at his favorite spot by the stream, he dropped down onto a large gray boulder and fought back the tears. No, he would not cry. Selecting a flat stone from the bank, he skipped it expertly across the water.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there before he heard someone behind him.

“Connell? Can I sit with you?”

Great! The voice could only be little Nell. She was all right for a girl, but, well, she was a girl. And she was always trying to help him with whatever he was doing. Two years younger than he was, they’d grown up together in the village, and he’d always liked her, even though she could be annoying.

“I guess. Sure,” he answered with a sigh.

He turned to give the little blonde, blue-eyed girl a hand so she wouldn’t slip on the bank. Once seated on the rock bench, she smoothed her flowered frock down over her knees.

“What are you doing down here? I thought you guys were moving.”

“Mom’s mad and told me to find something to do. So I came down to skip stones.”

“I could never do that. Can you show me?”

Even if she was a girl, Nell took his mind away from his problems. They skipped stones until the light began to fade.

“We should probably go back, Nell,” he told the little girl. “Mom was mad before I came down here. If I’m too late getting back, it won’t help anything.”

“Will I see you before you go, Connell?” she asked.

“I guess. We’ll be here a few days yet, and anyway, I’ll come back sometimes.”

“Can I still be your friend when you’re First Lord?”

“Of course. Why couldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I just wondered. Thanks, Connell.”

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They say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, but in this case I believe they are mistaken. Mother Nature was definitely having a temper tantrum last night. We had thunderstorms all night, which resulted in lightning running in on the phone lines.

With the phone system taken out, the DSL blasted, two desktop computers and a laptop out of commission, this morning has been quite busy. Fortunately the rest of the house wasn’t damaged, and using my mobile as a hotspot we are in communication with the rest of the world.

My husband, wizard that he is, has gotten the phones back online with a temporary fix. Let’s here if for wizards! Of course, with all the outages around, the carrier won’t be able to come out and do a proper job until early next week.

After all the fireworks last night, today is beautiful and sunny, which was not expected after looking at the forecast yesterday. I guess Nature got her ill temper worked out last night and decided to give us a break for a day or two.

Fortunately, all my book files and WIPs are backed up on a thumb drive, so in case of something like this, I’m covered. With any luck at all, I’ll have one of those WIPs finished and ready for its first edit next week. Keep your fingers crossed…

How about an excerpt? An early peek at this work in progress?

LADY CALLOWAY

In a country that’s not quite England, and a town which just misses being Victorian London, Kerrick Calloway trudged wearily up the walkway to his home.

“Paradise preserve me,” Kerrick muttered, shaking his head and running his fingers through his sandy brown hair. Hadn’t today been aggravating enough already?  

His wife greeted him with a kiss which barely grazed his cheek, irritating him even more.

“What’s wrong?” Liora, his wife asked, her gray eyes stormy and troubled. “Why are you angry?”

Shrugging her shoulders under her thick auburn hair, she began to turn away, as she waited for his answer. His arm shot toward her, his hand grasping her jaw firmly as he turned her to face him.

“Why? I just want to know why I can’t have a proper kiss from my wife. After working all day, it would be nice to feel my wife cares for me, instead of feeling she simply tolerates me.”

Releasing her with disgust, he started toward his study.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Liora replied. “Of course, I care for you. Every day I meet you at the door with a kiss.”

“You call that a kiss?” he shouted, turning back towards his wife. “That’s the sort of kiss you’d give to a brother or father, not the kiss a husband expects from his wife.”

“What’s the difference? I greet you each and every day to show you I love you. Does the kiss matter so much?”

“Yes, it does matter that much!” he shouted in anger. “A man expects a few niceties when he gets home, and a proper kiss from his wife is one of them.”

“Why are you going on so much about a kiss? You know I love you.”

“Do I?” Kerrick asked, exasperated. “And how am I supposed to know that? Your kisses are sisterly at best, unless I press the issue. And in our bed, half the time I feel I’m committing rape. You agree to sleep with me, but show no passion for me. Can you even feel passion?”

Suddenly wanting to know if she could show anything at all, he pulled her to him roughly, one arm firmly around her waist, the other twined in her hair turning her face to his. He kissed her savagely at first, his mouth hard on hers, demanding, before his kiss became more sensual. At first she tried to struggle free, and then, for a brief moment, he felt the beginnings of awakening arousal, before she stiffened into her usual stance—endurance.

“Don’t, Kerrick,” she pleaded with him as he released her. “Please, never do that again. I can’t bear it.”

Wishing you all a fantastic Friday and wonderful weekend!

And as always…

Don’t Forget…

…to Share the Romance…

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