Euphemia Falls Under the Thumb of Miss Leigh

Euphemia is a main character of The Wind-Up Terrier. Here's a excerpt from her past. 


Euphemia stood on the edge of the platform and contemplated pulling herself over the iron railing. That was the hard part. After she managed to get her skirts and bustle over it would be more difficult not to fall than to stay perched so precariously. She stared down at the polished slate and dismissed the notion. She would only fall a few yards and then all she'd have to show for her pout of ill temper would be recriminations and the scowl of that horrible governess that had arrived bright and early with the post the morning before. Euphemia blew back a lock that had fallen loose, probably from her rebellious thinking. Miss Leigh probably wouldn't accept that as an excuse. Hair was to be neat. Dresses were to be plain. Behaviour was to be reserved but polite. Truly, her mother had not been so very different in her criticisms. She felt tears moisten her brown eyes which had been dry and itchy from the fifteen times she'd cried in the last day.

This woman had none of the right that her mother had. Her mother could be lenient. Her mother would occasionally kiss her. The tears began to flow full force and Euphemia felt the hard iron in her clenched fists begin to grind against her palms. She crouched beside the railing in what she realized absently was not at all an appropriate pose for a young lady of eleven and scrunched her eyes closed. What did it matter, her mother was dead? She was cold and grey and her eyes were glassy.

She'd wondered how green could look so flat and dim but it had and they'd carted her mother out like a sack of potatoes, though more delicately. The funeral was tomorrow. The governess would be there, though she had no right to be and Euphemia knew the woman would have a hold on her. Would crying even  be allowed, she wondered?

"There you are," said a measured voice and Euphemia flinched when she felt hands wrap around the shoulders of her green wool dress. She went easily when they pulled her up and spun her around and she looked at the plain face of Miss Leigh. She watched passively as the woman looked her over. "What are you doing up here so early? Breakfast is currently stone cold in the nursery and I will not have it be sent back on your account. She wrapped one hand over Euphemia's arm and pulled her towards the stairs that lead down to the roof exit. "We have lessons to attend to. Don't dawdle."

Back From Batty. Hi.

Well, I've dropped the ball a bit. It's okay to say so, I know it myself. I lost creativity, I went batty. I contemplated banality...I got a job.

All of these things got in the way of my duties to myself and to those people that happen to flick past my page on occasion. There is one thing that brought me back. I like money.
Just kidding.
If that was really my motivation would I be writing?
Though, I do like money and the fact that I have money which will allow me to live somewhere better, eat somewhat healthier and wear spectacles that aren't scratched all to heck is probably the reason that I have resumed posting.

Hope is a lovely thing when used sparingly.

On to more interesting things.

I have gotten my manuscript beta read by not one person, but two and I know what to do. True, there are still stumbling blocks as I am writing this post partially supine on a folded futon on the floor, on a pc no less. If it was a laptop it wouldn't be worth noting. I don't like using a pc on the floor but needs must and all that and I will persevere. Euphemism and the girls deserve at least that.

I'll be hard at work for the next week or so and you can expect The Wind-Up Terrier somewhere roundabout the end of May. (I know I said April but April's already past so I'll do my best.)
It will be my birthday present for myself. It's a good thing too, I can barely afford anything else.

The Wind-Up Terrier's Glorious Debut is Nearly Upon Us!

I have been lax on posting again but this achievement necessitated an announcement.
The Wind-Up Terrier is finally done, at least far as it needed to be to send to beta readers.
In the next few months I will be tweaking something here and tightening bolts there and then, when it gleams, The Wind-Up Terrier will be released.
If you would like to wait until then to read, when it's up for sale and formatted, you're welcome to but if you don't and want to meet Euphemia and the clerks now, I'm currently looking for beta readers to help me spit shine this construct.
Below is a short excerpt from the book.

“Oh, for all of god’s little cherubs dancing up in heaven. Are you coming or not?”

Euphemia looked at Dezzy who had a hand on the door handle and was staring at her with exasperation. “Uh, yes. Of course.” She followed Dezzy in and, to her surprise, the rest followed her.

Dezzy walked into the pub, followed by Euphemia together with Ally, Emmie and Mildred. They didn’t make much of an entrance but as moments ticked by, the room quieted. The inspector looked up from his pint and blinked. His face slackened as Dezzy walked towards him. “Not you again. Why d’ya want t bother me now? Haven’t I got a right to some piece and to be let alone in my own damn boozer! Have ye come t spit in my beer? Yeah, right. That’d be a fine finish to a perfect week.” He took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth as he stared defiantly at them.

Dezzy spoke coldly. “As a matter of fact, we are here to give you the means to closing the case that has caused you such discomfort.” She stared back at him, her head to one side and her arms crossed, brown eyes dark as if something was viewing him from a pit in Tartarus. 

Wordy Day, I'm Dying Inside

So I've been slacking off a bit. Honestly, I'm dying in side, not literally but emotionally. I'm still good for the odd spurt of inspiration but for the most part I'm ...bliegh. 
There's so much I haven't done with my life and so many things I have done that I didn't like. 
I'd like to fix these holes in my life so that I will be complete, one with the world, totally zen dude. 
That is why I feel that I need to resign my post as an intergalactic peace officer and spend a few galactic lunar days not being able to point a pacification grade, blaster/stunner with exploding grenades. I just don't think I want the responsibility. I think I want to deliver Earth/Betelgeusian fusion cuisine for a while. 
Maria Hall sent off the message to her immediate supervisor, took off her weapons belt and laid a hand on the hilt of her weapon with a low groan of sadness. She sighed and looked around the room where all the other chairs and shiny white desktops were. She unfolded her legs and hopped down from her hover chair, sighing again before she stepped out of the room and into the vacuum tube that took her to the parking level. She had to do it, she just had to.

Wordy Wednesday; Austintatious Annie, Grandma's wisdom

This is the first thing I wrote about Austintatious Annie, my Austin based super hero. Initially, I wanted to go with shape changing being a natural talent and then I decided it's something she was given. Now I think it may be both, natural talent that blooms into full blown shifting with guidance.

Here's Austintatious Annie as she started out.

Tastes change as you get older. That’s what my grandmother said to me about stewed spinach as she was trying to make me eat it. Yeah right. You aren’t going to like it for a while, possibly ever but you might as well eat it anyway now and not complain, even though grandmother probably had when she was a kid. She’s never been quiet about her opinions.

It is true, though. Things change as you get older. You get bigger, stronger, more awkward or just have your hair darken in your teens. I had all of these things happen to me from the time I turned twelve to when I was about fifteen. I also learned how to look like other people, anybody else. I like acting. I like pretending I’m stronger or taller or more confident or even an entirely different person and I really like theater. 

Because I started being able to do this little by little, I just thought I was a really good actor. I guess I am since I have a built in way to change without makeup and since I can be someone else in my head, even my awkwardness which leads me to bump into sharp-edged things a lot, goes away while I’m pretending to be someone else. I got a lot of parts. I live in Austin. There’s a lot of theater. I played little kids, women, even men if the part fit what I wanted to do well enough and the director would let me.

Because plays don’t have an exact look for their actors, with some exceptions, I never went much farther than changing my appearance a bit and changing how I moved and walked. There might have been some difference in shoulder width but nothing large enough to be too noticeable. This changed when I had to play a character who was a showgirl. It wasn’t my usual but by now I was pretty well known and I was persuaded to do it since I didn’t tend to refuse roles that were handed to me all tied up neatly with a bow.

The character as the director imagined it was supposed to be big busted and I am only endowed in the technical sense as my fun bags get lost completely under a sweater. The solution was prosthetic boobs. I hated the idea but I went with it, going home and spending the whole night psyching myself up to have two miniature camel humps strapped to my chest. 

Oh the joy. 

I woke up the next day exhausted and went down to the theater to have my “boys” sized. When I stripped off my shirt for the costume guy, he stared at me. I wondered what he’d found to stare at and looked down. “I had a chest!” It wasn’t a pair of bazoongas like the director wanted but it wasn’t “fun size” anymore either. My boobs were way too big for my bra. Good thing it was a sports bra or I would have keeled over from asphyxiation. The director and the props man made a decision. I didn’t have to wear the rig. All I had to do was wear a push up bra and call it a day.

That’s when I began to wonder what I could do.

Wordy Day; The House of Damaged Dolls!

A while ago, I decided arbitrarily that I would create a story for someone that I knew at the time. I don't like them much anymore but I still like the story idea. See this former friend had recently purchased a house and when he ventured up to the attic in the garage, he found a variety of (somewhat disturbing) toys, a few of which were disfigured which only added to the level of creepy.

I thought that this was interesting and, perhaps quite unreasonably, decided that he would appreciate a novella about toys emerging from his attic and...Doing things. I never did finish it. The beginning wasn't very good and the tone was a little dry, still, I did work on it a bit and I guess, as I don't know when I'll finish it, I can post an excerpt. Enjoy creepy stuff. I'm pretty sure you have no idea what the conclusion of the story is. Perhaps I'll finish it soon and we can all know exactly what happens to the couple living in; The House of Damaged Dolls! (Title might be tweaked a bit, heh...)

They had come with the house. The Realtor had even told him they were up there, but who doesn’t buy a house just because of creepy doll? They’re harmless and you get a story out of it. It isn’t as if any doll, by itself has ever been a threat to anyone in real life. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about if a person buys a house that just happens to have dolls trapped in the attic. Well, unless you happen to leave the door open on your way down. Phil hadn't, thankfully. He’d shut the door to the attic quite firmly but, when he closed a door in another part of the house, the attic door frame jumped and the door clicked open, silently wavering above the steps.

The day passed with great successes. Items were packed and suitcases were double-checked, lunch was eaten and errands were run. There was nothing special about the day, really, except for the fact that it was a day off and would be enjoyed for that if nothing else. As the hours crept by, the attic door occasionally swung gently back and forth, only once oozing a soft creak. The sun set at sixish but Phil was not an early sleeper. He stayed up far past dusk, composing, watching things and generally enjoying his dwindling freedom. At the end of a documentary, long past midnight and with the light from the television blinking across his closed eyelids, Phil blinked himself awake, rubbed his face and crawled to the bathroom before he fell into bed.

The door was almost closed. its hinges had quieted. There was no movement and there was no light. All was dark. But at the corner of the door a spot of shine flickered in the light of a passing car, somehow shining all the way up there and through a garage window. The car passed, dragging the light with it until the garage was again dark. 

Wordy Day; Ariana's Childhood, Part 1

Ariana looked up at her mother and knew that she wouldn't be comfort. She could feel that her body had begun to shake and her mother must have felt it because her hand tightened on Ariana's much smaller one, making Ariana flinch but still her mother did not look down or say anything. Ariana knew she was on her own and clenched her whole body, steeling her five year old frame for the pains she was about to go through. She began to shake harder and as the visions slammed through her brain, Dark! Vortex! Sand! she felt her grip tighten upon her mothers hand and then she fell to the ground severing even that contact. Pain! Red! Black! War!

When the visions and impressions fled, Ariana lay panting on the floor of the side hallway, all alone. Her mother was gone and she was bruised, her small shoulders aching and her face wet and clammy from tears that she hadn't even felt. She took a deep ragged breath and began to cry for real. It was the side corridor so her wails wouldn't disturb the rest of the house, she thought.

She shut her eyes and abandoned herself to despair, letting her misery out with her forceful cries that echoed through the hall. She heard a door click open and her eyes flicked open in shock. She scooted around on the floor and stared at the door that had opened behind her. It was just ajar by a few inches but as she watched like an animal about to be slaughtered, the door opened and a little girl, a toddler, stared out at her, her green eyes large and somewhat neutral. The little girl stepped forward and nodded to Ariana. "You're loud," she said with a three-year-old's lisp. "Stop it."

Just like that, Ariana closed her mouth, wiped her tears, peeled her sore body off of the hard floor and went into Melody's room. They'd probably play a game and it really was that simple. As soon as Melody showed up and didn't seem to care, Ariana calmed down and could begin recuperating for the next fit. They had gotten worse this year, but in the last months, Ariana was sure they'd lessened. She wondered if it was better when her mother wasn't around.

This is a bit about two characters in a series of books that I am working on, which includes the infamous Snow Sands I removed for revision late last year. Ariana and Melody are broken members of their family. They mostly stick together up until and during the events of Snow Sands. Ariana experiences visions, mostly against her will. 
Snow Sands is currently being expanded but it should be republished, perhaps under a different name, by May of 2014