Title of my next short story. Why do all my stories have ‘dead’ in them? No idea. Maybe it’s my thing.
Overview: Vernon Archer, a man with his best years behind him and a dubious past, is visited by LaFage the Friendly to collect on a debt. He owes him one small favour.. Though Vernon is a man of power and wealth, he knows that he must repay this one last debt that has been hanging over him for decades.
My other three short stories will soon be available on this site (Dance of the Cursed, The Sorcerer’s Wife, and Drawing Dead).
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I’d like to report something on the writing front. Anything at all. Maybe that I’d written like…you know…even two words. Nope, not a thing. I have an excuse, I think. I’m lazy. Okay, maybe not, but I’ve been busy.
So we’re moving quickly at the new house — the renovations still continue. The bathrooms are coming along nicely (stalled for a while there), but we moved on Friday, unpacked, had John and Danielle over on Saturday (they ate insects for dinner….I tried to talk them out of it, but there they were cracking shells and slurping down the innards), then on Sunday was D&T’s baby shower. Hosted by us.
Mind you, the house is looking pretty good. Cleaned up the property, started tiling the basement, the garage is being re-roofed. Lots happening.
Except for writing.
I’m going away in Florida next week so I’m hoping to get some edits done for Curse of the Black Swan. And I want to start sending out The Sorcerer’s Wife as well as posting it on this site.
Ohhh, I did find time on Saturday night to take in a little Ultimate Fighting Championship. My favourite fighter George St Pierre (GSP) took on the hick Matt Hughes. We were on our feet, I tell you, as he claimed victory. Of course, the important thing is that this means there will be a UFC in Montreal in a few months. Road Trip.
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I don’t like things put in my eye. Fingers? Nope, don’t like it. Elbows — not particularly fond. Sharp sticks? Naw. Glass shards. Not a chance.
How about a nice, wet, glump of drywall mud?
It was a perfect shot. It fell right onto my eyeball without being impeded by eyelids, eyelashes, sockets…nothing. It gooped me right in the freaking eye. Of course, my eye immediately quashes shut, grinding the mud up around the eyeball into the recesses of my brain.
Did I mention that this was fast-drying drywall compound? Yeah, so I then couldn’t open my eye to flush it out. I think about a pound gooped me.
Of course, the only source of water in the house is down in the basement. Which wouldn’t be bad except the stairs were covered in scaffolding. You know, a strange thing happens when you can only see with one eye — you lose all depth perception. Huh. How about that.
I didn’t break my neck (I know, some of you are assuming I didn’t because I’m writing this…but for all you know, I could’ve mastered one of those speech-typers) and I made it to the bathroom.
Specials thanks to Kari for chasing me around the room splashing water in my face. Enjoyed that.
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So I’ve been working on Drawing Dead for far too long. Almost two weeks. A strange thing happened when writing it, however. Joesph Varley, the deadbeat bike courier, wouldn’t do what I wanted him to do.
If he’s a deadbeat, would he really be creative enough to bypass a sorcerer’s defenses? If he’s a no-good schmuck, would he really care about one more debt? I can try to make excuses for him, so that he’s trying to pay off his debt because he fears for his life, but honestly, he wouldn’t be clever enough to figure a way past his problem.
Drawing Dead just wasn’t working. So I rewrote the story.
Joesph is not a deadbeat. He’s a schemer. Most of his schemes go terribly wrong. He also thinks (wrongly) that he has the Power of Good Luck. And Varley also has dreams and goals…but wants to take the short cuts to reach his goals.
So when he enters a high stakes card game, he thinks he has Luck sitting on his shoulder. And he does. Bad luck. Now, if you’re a schemer, how would you get out of a gambling debt? More gambling, of course!
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This was not a good week for me. Not bad because of more renovation disasters or alien invaders. Bad because of the worst enemy of all…
Daylight savings. That infernal creation designed during the Spanish Inquisition, designed solely to disrupt mentally and physically prisoners when the Iron Maiden (the torture device, not the band) just wouldn’t suffice.
Those of you without kids are saying ‘wha?’ but those of you with kids are nodding knowingly. Because that extra hour of sleep that the media promises us — it doesn’t exist. Because Paige doesn’t listen to the radio, or read the newspapers (of course, I think she’s a genius, but she’s not quite reading yet…but I digress) so she decides that getting up extra early is still the thing to do.
Then, Cordy decides that sleeping through the night is over rated. So she gets up more now then she did as a newborn. Fantastic.
Plus, this stupid illness just won’t let go. I’m not sick. I’m not well. My throat scratches, but isn’t sore. My head hurts, but doesn’t ache. You get the idea. Feel sorry for me yet? Yeah, me neither.
Either way, my lack of energy has been my undoing this week. I wanted to finish my latest short story but I’m always so tired. The house renovations have picked up but again, I’m too tired to help much (I’ve mostly been supervising).
Also this weekend was Cordelia’s baptism. So she officially has a name. Up until Sunday, she was officially known as ‘Hey You’. But now we can call her Cordmeister, or Cordy, or even (gasp), Cordelia.
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