Monthly Archives: July 2016

Sunday Snippet July 3, 2016

Posting from Book 7 of The Academy of the Accord this month.  Things are a bit tricky since some of this book runs concurrently with the end of Book 5 (and the start of Book 6) but focuses on a different student: Brythel.  Like Yhonshel, Bry is a Tuanae, both wizard and Warder, and Yhonshel is his mentor and partner – they share a bond like that of a bonded wizard and Warder pair.

This hasn’t been edited yet so just pretend it’s good, okay?

Brythel (age 14 or 15 – I need to get a timeline together) went home for winter break. Unfortunately, his father caught him playing his lute (not a “manly” enough activity to suit him) and beat him severely. Brythel is trying to get home to the academy.


Brythel remembered little of the next two days, other than being cold and wet and hungry and too afraid to stop and eat, and not sure that he wanted to eat.   

On the first night he got tangled in a thicket of brambles and lost his shirt to their thorns; stumbling as he got free of them he tumbled down a slope to a pond where his boots got lost in the muck. 

But he didn’t care.  He had his lute and he was on his way home and then…

And then what?  In a moment of clarity he realized that he had no way to pay for tuition.  Maybe he could find a way, and if not…

It didn’t matter, he realized; he wasn’t going to survive.  He was shirtless and barefoot, and sleet and freezing rain pelted him, and his chest and ribs hurt with every breath, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t have something broken inside.

But he was going to make it back to the school, to the only place he had ever felt safe or happy.  The orchard, he thought.  This journey had started in an orchard and it could end in one.  The orchard, where he had played as they taught Jorsen to dance.  And where Jorsen had played music with him, with a flute he had fashioned from a tree branch. Other than Yhonshel’s rooms, he had been happiest there.

Jorsen.  A sad smile crossed his lips and he choked on a sob.  Jorsen was his best friend and he felt like he was letting him down as much as he was Yhonshel.  Maybe he could find a dry spot during the day and write him a note to tell him that he tried.



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Rainbow Snippet for 7-2-2016

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Rainbow Snippets is a group for LGBTQ+ authors, bloggers, and readers to gather once a week and share six sentences from a work of fiction–a WIP or a finished work or even a 6-sentence book recommendation (no spoilers please!).   Check out all the other awesome snippets by clicking on the picture above.

I’ll be posting from Onyx Sun, a science fiction novel that is currently in revision and which I’m hoping to publish next month.  (Those of you who participate in Sunday Snippets may remember parts of this.)

This follows from last week: Taliya has returned home from negotiating a contract on another planet and has discovered that her grandmother’s funeral was held the day she died — the day before Taliya was even told of her passing.  She has just asked the butler where Luzita was.

There may or may not be some creative punctuation involved in the following text.

Before he could answer Maureena entered from her private office.  “That will be all, Regino,” she said, her voice as cold as the clacking of her heels as she crossed the marble floor.

The man bowed and left them, but not without casting a sympathetic look to Taliya.

Taliya watched him go and then turned to her mother, her face a well-practiced mask:  Maureena did not approve of any sort of emotional display.

“I would have liked to have gone to her funeral.”

Maureena shrugged.  “There wasn’t one. I felt that the expense was unnecessary and had her body sent straight to the crematorium.  By the way, you are needed at Aelind’s office at precisely nine o’clock tomorrow morning to be given your inheritance.” 




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Where Do Babies Come From?

Yes, I know Camp NaNoWriMo has started, but it’s a little too early for an update because I don’t even know how it’s going yet, other than the fact that I’m probably going to be at least 2k behind by the time I get a day off (Tuesday).   (Besides, I wrote and scheduled this in advance, while I was inspired.  And before the madness of Camp started.)

So anyhow, I thought some of you might like to take a peek inside the mind of a writer and get an answer to a question that I (and a lot of other writers) hear a lot:

“Where do you get your ideas?”

(Mostly I’m answering this now because an unknown character rode in on a plot bunny a while ago and I can actually trace where he came from.)


Fist some background.

I’m a nurse, and every two years I have to renew my license.

And this just happens to be the year.

And this year, the out-of-touch-with-reality powers-that-be on the Pennsylvania State Nursing Board have decreed that in order to renew said license we all have to do a training course on child abuse.

All well and good, but I’m an LPN, and like probably most LPNs in the state I work with a geriatric population, not pediatric.

But anyhow.

I was thinking about the ridiculousness of the requirement and trying to convince myself that it might be useful, seeing as I’m a mandated reporter.  And that led me to thinking about a neighbor whose kids climb up on the roof of the house while she’d doing drugs.  (Or so I’ve been told – I haven’t witnessed this.)

And that got me to thinking about the borough police car that was parked facing the wrong way and blocking a parking space on my street a few weeks ago. No one knew why it was there or where the officer went, but a neighbor said that the kids had been on the roof again so maybe someone called them about that.


That got me to thinking about the fact that in a small town, pretty much nothing ever happens and probably nothing will happen in this case, and that a lot of that has to do with the fact that town cops probably went to school with most of the people in town. (Or with their kids, older siblings, younger siblings… You get the idea.)

So I started thinking that there should be a law that you can’t be a police officer in the town or area that you grew up in, that you should have to relocate.

In comes the nameless character on a plot bunny.

He’s been assigned to another town as a member of their guard because the kingdom does have a rule like the above.

No, not as a guard – as the new captain of the town’s guard.

Because the current one isn’t doing his job.

It’s his first command.  And he’s fresh from the capital city where he grew up, transferred to a small town where everyone knows everyone.

Can he win the respect of the men he’s supposed to command?

And can he protect the outcast members of the town while protecting his own secret?

And could he possibly give me a name?

No. Never mind. I don’t want his name.  If he has a name I’ll have to start writing his story and I have enough works in progress.

More than enough.

But, oh, he’s interesting.

And his plot bunny is so pretty.



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