Vanessa MacLellan's Blog

 

Seeded Prelim short story available now! – Prelim Hero!

Love Superheroes?  Psychic hackers?  Catgirls? 

Get your FREE copy of Prelim Hero by joining my newsletter.

Nekoka, catgirl extraordinaire, is a special breed, and it takes her time to step into her hero boots.  In this prequel, discover Nekoka’s early years with her best friends in New Orleans, the Usual Suspects.  Before Portland.  Before Minedoka.  Before the shadows.  See their dedication and friendship before the trials of Reluctant Hero.

Find out more and leave a review at Goodreads!

Someone is threatening the Seeded.

Saving the city isn’t exactly Nekoka’s priority. But when a shadowy bomber targets her world, she’s forced to balance deadly stakes, unwelcome demands, and her own indulgent desires. As time runs out, can her Hunter/Seeker program uncover the truth before chaos consumes everything?

Prelim Hero is a short prequel to the Seeded Saga, superhero scifi.

 

Vanessa MacLellan – Today I’d like to welcome E. C. Ambrose, who agreed to be grilled about her books, ‘knowledge-inspired’ fiction, and her powerhouse writing skills.

E. C. Ambrose writes knowledge-inspired adventure fiction, including DRAKEMASTER (Guardbridge, April 2022) about a clockwork doomsday device based on Su Song’s astronomical clock of 1090 CE and the Dark Apostle series about medieval surgery. As E. Chris Ambrose, she writes the Bone Guard archaeological thrillers and the new Rogue Adventure clean thrillers. Her latest adventures are Skystrike: Wings of Justice, an interactive superhero novel from Choice of Games, and young adult science fiction novel, A WRECK OF DRAGONS.

She is a graduate of, and sometime instructor for, the Odyssey Speculative Fiction Workshop, and lives in the blustery Granite State where she thinks of plot twists from the bench of her floor loom.

VM – So, knowledge-inspired adventure fiction.  Sounds fun. What is that and why do you write it?

E. C. Ambrose – I describe my brand as “knowledge-inspired adventure fiction,” which basically means I do waaaay too much research, then I write an adventure story about what I find—because history is an adventure! My historical fantasies twist that knowledge by manifesting the magic that seems inherent in the worldview I’ve learned about. The archaeological thrillers make the revelation, or destruction of history the centerpiece of a dangerous treasure hunt.

VM – Sounds right up my alley, honestly.  I love adventure fantasy.  So, tell us about your latest book.

ECA – The next book I have coming out is likely to be my co-written adventure novel, CrossBones, the first in the new Rikki Talens thriller series I’m writing with Douglas Pratt. In the Florida Keys, scholar and treasure hunter Rikki Talens fights to restore a pirate queen to her place in history—confronting a corrupt developer desperate for gold.

VM – What is your author ‘journey’? What was your ‘ah ha’ moment when you realized you wanted to be a writer?

ECA – I wrote my first stories in elementary school, inspired by the books I loved so much that I stayed inside to read during recess, so I feel like I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer, I just figured it was a matter of time. I often attribute this to my love of Ray Bradbury. A friend of mine is an astrophysicist who says Bradbury inspired him to want to go to Mars—For me, Bradbury inspired me to encourage those kind of dreams.

VM – I know how you feel.  I too was a heavy book reader at an early age.  I love that you want to inspire dreams.  What a great motivation. 

How do you find time to write?

ECA – It’s more a matter of *making* time rather than finding it. People often ask about recent television shows—I haven’t watched any of them. I am ruthless about the use of my time, when it’s time that could be spent writing! I do try to prioritize my family, especially my kids who aren’t children any more, because they might not want to hang out with Mom forever! But otherwise, writing is my career and my passion. When I go to my desk, the muse shows up, and we dive in.

VM – I’m a little jealous.  Sounds like you’ve got the discipline many authors (like myself) need.  So, when you do write, what is your process?  Outliner or improviser? Fast or slow writer?

ECA – I’m an outliner, pretty much all the way, though my recent outlines have been more loose. During my research process, I start coming up with plot and character ideas. All of that goes onto notecards, and into an envelope. Those notes become the basis for my brainstorming to create a rough outline. I used to think I was fast, but I know a number of indie authors aiming for 10,000 words a day. I usually aim for a chapter a day, and if it’s going well, I might get 2 or 3.

VM – Wow.  I’m astounded.  It’s authors like you who constantly inspire me!  Obviously, we have an idea on where do you find your inspiration.  Can you give us more specifics?

ECA – I read nonfiction extensively, some general-interest publications like Smithsonian or Archaeology magazine, but often obscure specialty resources devoted to topics like historical automata. That’s where I find the sparks that begin my writing.

VM – Always a hot bed for ideas!  Any other projects in the pipeline?

ECA – I’m finishing up Conquistador’s Blood, book 7 in my Bone Guard thriller series. I’ve also been researching sleight of hand magic for another thriller project I have in mind. And my recent short story, “A Snake in the Grass,” is a Lithuanian historical fantasy set in the early days of World War II. I hope to work more with that character and milieu, hopefully to write a book.

VM – Good luck with all of that!  So many projects.  What is your goal as a writer and what are you doing to achieve it?

ECA – I’d like my work to inspire people to follow their own dreams, but also to be more willing to step up when they’re needed. In my house we have a saying, “I used to sit and wonder why somebody didn’t do something. Then I realized I am somebody.” So is everyone out there reading my words. What if my words or my characters could be role models for that willingness? One way that I’m pursuing that goal is by learning more about what makes people take action in real life, and looking at how that might inspire my fiction.

VM – That’s a lot of psychology, and I hope you work that spark into all your works.  We all need inspiration.  I get a lot of mine from the outdoors, where I hike and camp a lot.  What do you do when you’re not writing?

ECA – I work part-time as a climbing instructor. I’m also a wearable art clothing designer–dyeing, felting and weaving my way to some unique garments which sometimes appear in fashion shows (or on stage at the Worldcon Masquerade). But the thing getting much of my time lately is the family hobby of foam dart blaster tag. Think: next-generation Nerf games. I’ve started a regional non-profit to help more games happen. This is a fun, active hobby with a great community! When my son first got us started, I didn’t expect to love it as much as I do!

VM – Wow.  It’s like when people were playing ground-based Quidditch all the time.  Sports you never thought you’d love. 

Thank so much for agreeing to this interview, E. C.  It’s been a pleasure getting to know you more.  Do you have any last minute thoughts?

ECA – How about a quote from Goethe. “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.”

Find E. C. Ambrose on Facebook or visit her website to learn about all of her work.

(Vanessa MacLellan) Hi JK, after being interviewed by you ( Vanessa MacLellan Interview ) at the Editorial Maverick, it struck me that I really wanted to know more about you and the editing world. So, thanks for meeting with me!

First question is a big one. Can you tell us about your history, where you are from, where you went to school, anything that helped make you who are today?

(JK Kelley) Glad to be here, Vanessa. Well, let’s see. Small-town boy, early and voracious reader, home is Kansas but lived in the Northwest since 1974. BA History, UW, ’86.

I think what most made me be who I am today is the reading part. When I got to kindergarten I was shocked that other children could not read. I thought it happened organically, like learning to walk.

(VM) Early reader, huh? What kinds of books were your favorites at age 6?

(JK) That’s easy. My all-time favorites were our 1956 World Book Encyclopedias my great-great aunt gave me, and adventure classics like Robin Hood and Treasure Island. Still love them.

(VM) I had huge encyclopedias too. Loved going through the pictures.

Did your degree prepare you for the kind of work you do today?

(JK) Yes, in the sense that I had to write a lot of papers, and learn to take some blunt feedback from professors. It ultimately led me to freelance writing about historical topics, which is where I observed the way my acquisitions editors handled everything. I soon realized that I could do stuff like that.

(VM) So when did you go from writer to editor?

(JK) It kind of evolved. I was still doing some ‘lancing when a friend, Shawn Inmon (now has written something like forty books), hired me to proofread one of his books. Long story short, I overachieved, and he decided he’d like to have me do some editing. I had a lot to learn, but I had the basics: a good vocabulary and an acquired sense of correct English.

(VM) And which do you think takes more of your time.

(JK) Nowadays I don’t do any freelance writing, not because I don’t want to but because I’m unwilling to do it for what most people will pay.

(VM) As an author, I’m required to be some semblance of an editor as well. But a full time editing job sounds exhausting to me. Can you give us a ‘day in the life’ of an editor? What is your favorite part versus the part you wish you could pass on to others?

(JK) Let’s see. When I’m busy, I’ll spend several stints working on a manuscript depending on the urgency. It really depends on which editing mode I’m using, and what the client’s objective is. Any time I hear someone ask that someone ‘put an edit on’ a ms. I know that person has no real idea how this works. My favorite part is when I help a good writer become better. My least favorite part is having my advice ignored. I get that clients have the right to ignore it, but usually I’m just shaking my head because they plan to learn the hard way.

(VM) I love a good editor who gives me that ah-ha about some weakness in my writing that I knew by gut was there but couldn’t put my finger on. So, I thank you!

What types of writing do you edit, and what are your favorite kinds of works to edit?

(JK) Let’s see. I edit most types of writing except for anything I find odious. One of my rules is that I’m not required to accept work that will make me hate my work. My favorite kinds are non-fiction, especially travel and biography (which is usually at least a little bit conjectural, to be frank, when it is autobiographical). What I mostly don’t go near is urban paranormal—not because I hate it, but because people tend to do it so very badly. It’s usually beyond salvage without telling the client to start over, which is not what they pay an editor to hear.

(VM) Haha. I love that genre, or at least I’ve read a lot of it as a fantasy writer. Sorry you’ve hit so many duds.

Can you tell us some of the more interesting projects you’ve worked on?

(JK) Sure. Shawn Inmon’s true-life romance, Feels Like the First Time, was great but I liked my deeper involvement with his wife’s, Dawn Inman’s, Both Sides Now. I had to ask her some difficult questions and learn to do that tactfully. One project I loved was a Vietnam War book by Verne E. Brewer, titled Frenchy’s Whore. What I liked best about it was the way it came about.

(VM) Ooh, a story. Please, tell us more about how it came about. And the husband/wife two sides of the story sounds fascinating. They each wrote a separate book?

(JK) They did. Each was their take on the romance that fell apart in their teens, from which neither ever healed, and their reunion a quarter century later. I think Dawn wanted equal time to tell her side, which seems fair to me.

(VM) I think that is a completely fair deal.

(JK) As for Verne, I used to play a Facebook game called Castle Age, and some folks from a friendly guild once joined ours for the pursuit of a goal. I learned that Verne was an old Sky Soldier (a jumper from the 173rd Airborne Brigade), and had written an autobio about his experiences. Now, one thing that is not that well known about me is that I was once a respectable fish in the Amazon reviewing pond, and I decided to do an old vet a favor, so I bought his book and wrote a review. It was difficult, because he had an excellent story with some true natural gifts, but it was painfully obvious that he did not enjoy the benefit of competent editorial input. So I was as kind as I could be: I said it was a five-star story with the writing taking it down a star, and could have been far better.

Fast forward about nine years, and Verne writes to me to tell me that he’s been thinking about my review ever since, and that he suffered with the situation because he did not receive the services promised him. So he had reacquired the rights to his book, and wanted to have me edit it. The moral of the story is be careful what you say, lest you be told to put up or shut up. But Verne was great to work with, and the second release was the book he had meant it to be. Very proud of my part in it.

(VM) That’s wonderful! I’m happy you two connected and were able to make his book shine.

So, you do all of the levels of editing: developmental, copy editing, line editing, proofing?

(JK) Yes. I also do evaluatory reads, substantive editing, and often it straddles the boundaries. The rule is to tell the client what I think the book needs in order to achieve their objectives, and if that’s what they agree on, carry through.

I also do tech editing here and there that doesn’t show up on my credits list.

(VM) What exactly is tech editing? Technical documents?

(JK) Yes. It is the editing of technical materials, typically produced by engineers (I know some who can really write!), and in my case foresters. It goes by different rules because one has to put Chicago in the back seat and focus on accepted industry usages. For example, “small end diameter” would normally have a hyphen. But in the world of forest products, it doesn’t. Screw the rulebook; what’s essential is to help my people communicate in ways the audience understands.

(VM) Oh yeah. I’m an engineer and deal with EPA rules and their industry specific jargon, so I get it! And I edit my coworkers writing all the time. Not exciting, but necessary.

What would you like prospective clients to know before they hire you?

(JK) I would like them to know that I don’t work like most editors. In fact, there are not even that many I stay in touch with. My visits to editing groups have made that seem wise. The first thing I will ask about a project is whether it’s a vanity or commercial project, and that might sound cruel but is the most ethical question I can ask. Because to put it just as candidly, a book without a marketing plan is a vanity book—and will almost surely not make money, which means it will probably not pay the client back the cost of editing services. And please don’t get me wrong; I love vanity projects and the freedom the writer may assert. But what I may not do, what is high treason, is to blow smoke or otherwise take money based on rainbow and unicorn predictions of success. If it won’t pay for hiring me, and I know that, I must say so early on even if that means someone walks away. Better that than betray the ultimate principle, which is that I work for the writer’s success in whatever way that writer defines it.

(VM) That’s amazing. Most books probably do not pay for the editing and having you tell the author that up front is a kind of gift. I think a lot of writers go into this thinking “if I write it, it will be a best seller” when that’s just nowhere near reality.

What are some common mistakes you find writers continuously make? If you had a tip or lesson every writer would follow, what would that be?

(JK) Just write. Don’t self-edit as you go. Get it down, spit it out, hock it up, keep going. Don’t be afraid that it will turn out bad, and don’t hand it around to people to read.

(VM) I completely agree about the getting your butt in the chair and writing. I do NaNoWriMo every year and that’s the goal. Just write your rough draft. You can’t edit what was never written.

(JK) I am not a fan of Stephen King’s fiction—as in I can’t get through half a page of it—but his On Writing is one of the best things I ever read, and every fiction author could benefit from absorbing it. After all, regardless of my feelings about King’s fiction, his level of commercial success simply demands that we listen with care and attention when he talks about the craft.

(VM) I used to really love King. His older stuff was very powerful. And that is another book of his I’ve read. Though, it’s been a few years ago. Maybe a re-read is due. He is a gold standard for horror fiction and his success is inspiring.

(JK) Couldn’t hurt to give it a re-read. It’s like if you were listening to Willie Mays (RIP) talk about how to play center field and hit home runs. You wouldn’t pay attention if he talked about auto mechanics, but anything he said about playing baseball would deserve careful attention.

(VM) So, as I said earlier, I do a bit of editing of my own work and I know it’s probably not for me. What does it take to be a professional editor?

(JK) For most people, a day job. It starts with reading voraciously on a huge variety of subjects, good writing and bad, from early childhood. If one didn’t do that, not much hope. But if one did that, one has to want to help people succeed; one must force oneself to market; one must do some low-priced work and bottom-feed in order to learn some lessons. But if there is one thing an editor must be able to do, it’s make a goddamn decision about a situation. I cannot tell you how many posts I’ve read on editors’ forums: “Hellllllllppppppp! Edi-buddies, save me! I have been agonizing for nine hours where to put this comma and Chicago isn’t clear! Please!” I never respond, because my response would get me thrown out. But if I were going to reply, I’d say: “Then make an intelligent decision. You’re an editor, or you say you are. You should know things other people don’t, and be able to use good judgment and explain the decision. Decide and stop weeping openly, or find a new line of work.” Obviously, that would not win me Mr. Congeniality—but I’m right, and I know it.

(VM) Ha, well there is tough love and there’s brutal honesty. Agreed. We writers really expect the guidance on that and a strong, decisive editor can help really pop a book.

(JK) I agree. And just because I’d be blunt with other editors—who ought to be able to handle that—doesn’t mean one addresses it the same way with a client. The truth, certainly, at all hazards; but one way to show your editing chops is to tell the truth with some compassion. You want them to succeed; you don’t want to break their dolly.

(VM) True.  Some people’s hearts and souls are in their manuscript and can take criticism very personally.  But we all must know to grow a thicker skin, especially when someone is trying to help us.

So, when someone decides to hire you for an editing job, what does that look like? How do you work with the author.

(JK) Well, a lot of my business is referral, but some people contact me through the blog. The way it works is first they tell me about the project, and I ask what their goals are. We have the discussion about vanity vs. commercial, and they are either revolted or excited. They learn that I do not charge for email conversations or phone calls, which might make me unique in my world. Ultimately we decide whether I’m the one to help the client achieve their objectives. This usually involves a good look at the ms, so that I have a sense of what it will need. It is fundamentally collaborative, and is always a teaching process. For example, people come in with these militant views on the serial comma, and when they ask me which fort I raise my flag over, the answer is “neither.” Depends on the usage. I guess I would summarize my approach as befitting the blog title—the Editorial Maverick—because I don’t do it like most people do it. And that’s a pretty good summary of my life outlook.

(VM) Oh yes. Oxford comma. Commas are handy. They can save Grandmas. (Let’s eat Grandma/Let’s eat, Grandma.) But I think the big thing is consistency in a manuscript. Don’t use it then not use it, in my opinion. It’s jarring for me to see usage tossed around willy nilly.

(JK) Well, I see it differently because the serial comma inflects a meaning. When the final two items in a list have some connection, or one wants to convey such a connection, omitting the comma is appropriate. Most of the time, however, that is not the intent and the comma should be used. It’s a tool in the author’s writing hand.

(VM) Thanks for the lesson. Do you think there is any aspect of your Maverickness that makes your job harder, or you’ve been doing this so long that it fits you just right.

(JK) Oh, there’s no doubt that my maverickness can be a shocker to some people. It serves to weed out people for whom I am not the best fit, and that’s fine. I want collegial relationships where we build trust and respect, but some people will not be able to accept my way of doing things. That’s all right, and I still wish them well. One can’t be all things to all people.

(VM) Very true. It’s good to get expectations out there early on.

Your blog says you do a lot of traveling. I love traveling, too. Tell me all about it. Does it inspire your work at all, or is it all for you?

(JK) I don’t travel nearly as much as I would like to. I did write a travel book, a really bad one that will never see publication, and I don’t regret it because it helped me become a better guide for writers. I know what it’s like to write query letters, for example, even create a non-fiction book proposal. But if I could afford it, I’d travel a hell of a lot. We want to go to Germany, where my wife was born but she doesn’t remember, and we’re always down for a return to Ireland. I’d like to see Iceland and cruise in the Baltic, and I’d definitely go back to Greece. I kind of have studied a language or two, which makes all the difference.

(VM) Oh, what languages have you studied? Did you study them to travel there or just to keep your brain active?

(JK) Truth was that I learned in college that languages were one of my few natural talents. I took Spanish and Russian in high school, then more Spanish in college plus French, Latin, Hebrew, Swedish, and Arabic calligraphy. Later I took Irish and the Arabic language.

I did and do them because I love them. Wherever I go, I learn at least some of the language beforehand. You could knock them over with Marjorie Taylor Greene’s brain in Turkey, for example, the minute they hear one word of understandable Turkish from an American.

(VM) Oh my. My jaw has dropped. Truly impressive. That’s a sign of a sharp mine, imho. I like to study languages to keep my brain active, but I can’t say I’m very good.

And finally, for fun, what is your spirit animal and why?

(JK) The one I’ll talk about? The American badger. I used to play ice hockey and baseball, and that was one of my nicknames—‘badger.’ Especially as a catcher. I like to think that sliding into me was like sliding into a bridge abutment. Guys would crumple up against my shin guard like a beer can.

(VM) Sounds solid! Love it. Head meet unmovable object.

(JK) It was also fun to watch catchers’ eyes as they saw all that pissed-off buffalo rounding third and heading for the dish. Always a clean slide—professional courtesy—but would still send them ass over teakettle, whether safe or out.

(VM) Well, that’s a perfect spirit animal for you. Hold him well in your heart.

Well, JK, this has been not only fun but educational. It’s always nice to see the job from the inside. Thank you so much for your time and sharing your editing world with us!

(JK) Honored you asked, Vanessa, and thank you for having me.

You can find more about JK Kelley and his editorial services at the Editorial Maverick.

Reluctant Hero – Available now.

It’s the Day!  I’m super excited to launch my superhero book.  

This book was originally written in 2009 for NaNoWriMo.  It’s full of roleplaying game characters including Nekoka and Jenni, as well as Berlin, Sepia, and others.  Their depth of character comes from years of playing them and I decided, well, I’m going to write a book about them.  I know a lot of people write about their RPG characters and well, I wrote the superhero version.  

I hope you enjoy this story as it’s full of some of my best friends.  Maybe they amuse you, anger you, inspire you, and make you cheer them on even as they make you weep.

Available at Amazon and other retailers.

Someone is taking the Seeded.
Can a psychic hacker crack the digital world and unearth the conspiracy before it’s too late?

Chapter 1 of Reluctant Hero

Martha, aged more by crap circumstance than her actual years, raised her ratty sign higher as the traffic slowed for the red light. Her sign used to say Will Work for Food, but that saying stank, and she’d dropped that old, battered phrase inked out on that old, battered cardboard. Now her sign, written in black block letters that grew smaller and smaller as her space ran out, read Anything Will Help. God Bless. You always added the God Bless; it made people feel guilty if they didn’t give you jack.

Even with some undiscovered power trapped inside her, she was one of the freesteaders—without means, a car, a home, a future. Scanning the drivers with her failing eyes, her gaze grasped for anyone to look at her. The light switched green; the cars sped by. Her grubby shoes squeaked as she shuffled to her backpack, stashed behind a nearby bush, to pull out some water. The plastic bottle crackled as she brought it to her lips. The weather had been dry, sparing her from rotting socks, but the shoes had a definite odor that even turned the rats away.

All these milk-fed cows, driving by in their sleek electric cars, they probably never had to wear rotted shoes. She wanted to rattle them, show them what rotted shoes was like—that would be a nice superpower, pushing her world on others. If only it would manifest. Her eyes were unnaturally pale, tagging her as having the Seed, and therefore she had to have a power. Too bad she had no clue what it was. It certainly wasn’t the superpower of having daisy fresh feet.

These bling-bling peacocks didn’t even glance her direction, to see her eyes. Maybe she was invisible and didn’t know it. That could be her secret Seeded special ability. Her magic. A load o’ cock and bull, really. All the other freesteaders saw and talked at her just fine; only the one-percenters wouldn’t piss on her if she was engulfed in flames.

Martha muttered to herself, scratching where her invisispec’s arm pressed into her left temple. The arms of the VR-glasses were much tighter than the old sunglasses she used to wear and always dug into her face. Another car zipped by. The specs reported the make and model and how much it cost new.

That could be her power. Invisible to those with money.

All the potential of the universe and no idea how to flip on the switch.

She’d tried all the tricks folks yammered about to make one’s power manifest. Usually, it was all about putting yourself under stress, like near-death experiences. Martha lived on the streets of Portland. Near-death experiences were a daily occurrence, and she still couldn’t fly or make her skin turn to steel or burp lilac scent. Nothing.

Rush hour traffic oozed by at the clogged intersection she’d staked out in front of the empty gas station at the off-ramp. An old, rusty heap, still fueled by gas, backfired, letting loose a black fart of acrid smoke. Martha ducked behind the light post while she coughed up the heavy, burnt lungful, scanning the sky for drones. Two of the air spies zipped by. Maybe police drones, or those for traffic. None swooped down to harass the puker. Or her.

A sedan slowed to a silent stop beside her, pulling her thoughts back to the reason she stood at the stoplight that early evening: money to buy shoes and food. The window lowered and a middle-aged dude handed her a five. A five. Just a five?

“Thank you so much,” she said in that self-deprecating tone all the freesteaders offered these bastards.

The bastard nodded, not even smiling, and rolled the window up as he sped up to pass through the intersection.

By the end of rush hour, Martha’s pocket sung to the amount of forty-seven dollars. A spit in the pot for her shoe fund. She used to make more. Get a twenty here and there. Someone had tossed her a pack of cigs, though, so she puffed one out as she wandered to the bus stop and back to the Portland waterfront.

A ring of space surrounded Martha as she climbed on the bus and paid the fare with coins, one coin at a time. Nobody said anything to her face, but the hems and haws and teenage-dramatic sighs were certainly aimed her way. Screw ’em! The man behind her swiped his phone over the reader, paying his fare. The bus was half full after the 6 p.m. surge, most with their invisispecs down, tuning out the world. Her eyes flicked to the camera mounted above the windshield before she planted herself onto a seat with a woman—student type, earbuds in, specs down, mitted hand twitching as she accessed her specs, hints of music slipping out. The woman’s nose scrunched, and she leaned away from Martha. Internally, Martha crowed. The snobby bitch deserved a snoot pounded by rotting shoes.

Several girls were nattering on behind Martha, talking about the latest Seeded media whoring. Not that all Seeded were attention slaves—Martha certainly wasn’t—but their TV shows and their magazines and their prizefighting and their online feeds were all about them them them.

“And the government is pushing for the Certification of the hero groups. Won’t that be awesome if Portland gets a Certified hero group?” one teen blathered.

“Who do you think it’ll be?” another asked, then started belting out a song about touching herself, causing the other girls to giggle.

If they didn’t watch it, some of the men would want to touch them, flaunting themselves like that. Martha looked around, glared at the bastards not specced in who watched the girls. Filthy lechers. One met her eyes, his own going wide, and and then found the floor damned captivating. She captured his image on her spec. If she’d had a good power, she’d take a knife to ’im. Right in his nads. Thinking bad bad thoughts about little girls. Sick fucks.

The girl’s solo ended and another of the girls, voice authoritative in the ways Martha remembered from her own girlhood, said, “I think it will be the Bullet. Check the Saturday line-up on the SW1 feed. He was promoting Certification. Says it will give their group validation and direction on where they are most needed.”

One snorted, while another mooned on about how fine Bullet was. Martha sneered to herself. As if. Like the second most powerful Seeded in America would want to be a Certified guardian.

“The Bullet’s in New Orleans, what would he want with Portland?”

“Well, Portland’s a hub, like New Orleans. Why not Portland?”

“Nah, it will probably be someone local. Maybe that cop. Geier.”

“He’s lame, doesn’t even have a cool name.”

“He talks about it all the time. Did you check his feed? Protecting Portland with his group. What’re they called again?”

Martha knew. O.G.R.E., or something like that. Like a big monster. John Geier talked a lot, walked the streets of Portland on and off duty. Talked to people like Martha. He wasn’t a bad sort, for the fuzz. Not like some of them other pigs who harassed the freesteaders, kicking in their tents, throwing dirt on their sleeping bags. Evicting them from public property. It’s public, for God’s sake! They had a right to set up tents there.

According to John Geier’s lip service, he didn’t like the drones, either.

What Portland needed protecting from was itself.

Martha climbed off the bus, leaving the nattering girls behind with one final glare at the letch and walked towards the waterfront where her friends camped under the Steel Bridge. She’d tucked her money deep into her shoe, under the stinky insole that was disintegrating into little pieces of foam and rubber. She’d go to the Mission later and get a meal. Hoped salt wasn’t the main flavoring tonight.

At the bridge, traffic lined up tail to nose along Naito. Camps had been tossed and garbage strewn everywhere: all signs the cops and the city road warriors had come through and rounded up the freesteaders. Her quick scan didn’t see any pigs on patrol, but it was probably better to leave. She didn’t fancy an ass search. Time to hit the backup location: the Firehouse.

Overhead, a drone buzzed by. Martha shadowed her face with her hair. People disappeared from the streets out here. She didn’t wanna get pegged by any of those spies.

One had to be careful going into the Firehouse because the Ghost haunted the upper level. A bit of a crazy—crazier than most of the other freesteaders. A kid, under twenty certainly. He talked to himself and had a tingle for dead things. Found out every time any of them kicked it and ran off to fiddle with the corpse. He set her skin crawling.

That, and his eyes were totally white. No pupil. No iris. Nothing but white.

Same with the rest of him. Albino or something.

Still the place was dry and usually safe. Martha just had to make sure she came at it from the north side and avoid the watch dogs: cops, drones, and pushers. On alert with her head kept down, she rushed along the street, keeping to the darker side versus the side lit by streetlamps. The smell of piss and burning garbage mingled in the cooling air. She stepped over trash, dog shit, and legs, and around groups of people talking, sharing a smoke and other, more rancid things.

“Martha, hey baby. Wanna join us?” Greg, another freesteader, tapped the breast pocket of his thick flannel jacket. Martha shook her head. She wanted no part of that kind of fun. Last three years, that poison spread across Portland’s freesteader population like a plague. Meth was as shitty as a half-full Chinese food takeout box sitting out for a week. Matoro, out of Japan they said, was that box in the sun, under a heat lamp, with a wad of spit from the local infectious disease center. It tore a person apart. Beat down freewill. Took it away. Left you a zombie. Since it didn’t make the user violent, nobody cared. She was sure some jackass government agent brought it to the streets. On purpose. Drugs were all legal here. She remembered when they weren’t. Before, you got rounded up for using, now they just let you wallow in your own piss. They handed out mind-drugs at the Betterment Stations, why not brain friers on the streets? All needful things. For some, Matoro took away the cravings for other drugs, took away their mental teeters, but it took away their choices, too. Their desires. It took the person away.

Martha offered Greg the bird. “Not interested in lala land, Greg. Toss it in the river.” She left the losers and rounded a corner, still looking over her shoulder at Greg and his friends, when she bumped into someone.

The someone, a man, sneered at her like he’d just stepped in shit. Bastard. Then his normie eyes locked onto hers, and his lips twitched into a not-so-friendly smile. Instinct honed from street living pecked at Martha’s brain, causing a shiver to squirm up her spine. That smile was dangerous. Predatory. From a normie, when she had the Seed. “Sorry,” she muttered, ducking around him, making herself small to rush away.

Run. Run, her instincts roared.

The man grabbed her, spun her to face him. Slowly, slip by slip, his smile grew. “Pale eyes, I see.”

She bared her teeth. “Yeah, and you better let go, or I’ll show you how to ride a hockey stick, long side up.”

The man laughed, a purely mean sound. “I think not.”

A tiny voice told Martha that she’d had a good run, but now, with the hard gaze of the man before her, she knew she’d hit the end. She pulled. Yanked her arm, but her strength could never match a man’s. He wound up his fist. Ducking her head, she tried to protect herself. A strike pounded her back, then her head. Smacked into her face.

The end swooped down on her as her body hit the ground.

 

Book Launch – Reluctant Hero – Book One of the Seeded Saga

The Seed grants extraordinary powers to a select few—the Seeded.

For Nekoka—a genius catgirl blessed with multiple Seeded powers, cool tech, and loyal friends—every day is Mardi Gras. But her carefree days in the Big Easy come to an end when her best friends decide to bind their New Orleans Seeded group with rules and duties by going official. Nekoka, a free-range hedonist, rebels against any leash, and she storms off to Portland. She’s nobody’s hero.

But she’s soon caught performing heroics when she saves lives in a freeway pileup involving abducted Seeded. As she hacks secure networks about the mysterious incident, she uncovers a sinister plot to gather low-powered Seeded, and she’s faced with a choice: confront the sadistic horrors head-on and risk capture, or hightail it to safer pastures. But the situation is critical. If Nekoka leaves, friends and frenemies could die.

Journey through the shadows where friendship, sacrifice, and determination forge heroes in the face of impending darkness.

Buy now for 99c at Amazon.

Someone is taking the Seeded.

Can a psychic hacker crack the digital world and unearth the conspiracy before it’s too late?

Buy Now

“Alter Shape could make her look human with effort, but it wasn’t her default. Instead, she sported cat ears, tail, eyes, and a body covered in soft fur. She had impeccable control over her appearance; therefore, she never needed to bother with clothing. She loved her image and all its wondrous possibilities; why would she want to look human?”

 

I’m so excited to share with you my upcoming book.  The first in a new superhero series, Reluctant Hero.  In a near future world, the Seed has been discovered, and those who have the Seed are called Seeded.  A small portion of these Seeded have special superpowers. Meet Nekoka and Jenni, who superpowered ladies with very different mindsets on what to do with their powers.  Best friends.  Members of the same group.  Always supportive.  Jenni, however, is a hero to her heart.  Nekoka?  Why would she bother?  Life is her oyster and she’s going to join enjoy ever minute of it.

Awaken
Vanessa MacLellan
Publication date: July 30th 2022
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Horror

Balin stands between two great Powers.  One will shatter his mind; the other will destroy his soul.  Only one of them can save his people.

Fort Resonbirg, a Norse stronghold in the New World, is besieged by the evil sorcerer Ursulard the Dreamspinner.  Though their fields are scorched and homes destroyed, the residents and refugees do not worry, because Fort Resonbirg is Awakened with the power to provide, protect, and grow.  But not all is as it seems when a wall of impenetrable mist surrounds the fort, and within the mist hunts the dragon, Nidhogg.  Nidhogg hungers for more than flesh and bone. It instills nightmares on its prey, feeding on fear and pain, inevitably taking lives.

Balin Tremore, a commoner bound for the militia but hoping to stay by his noble love’s side, never expected to amount to grand things.  When the great power of Cradleweaving is awakened within him, Balin unknowingly becomes the one person with the power to pierce the wall of mist and banish the deadly beast within before it destroys them all—if he can master the new power in time.  But to master the power, he must sacrifice much.  The question is, will it be his position, his Lady, or his very soul?

The Mist meets Nightmare on Elm Street in this classic tale of personal sacrifice.

Goodreads / Amazon / Other Retailers

—

The Journey:

Awaken has been on a long road. It was first a short story about Balin and the Plague Man trapped in a castle. Then Resonbirg was born. And finally, Ursulard. Well, he was fleshed out. It was all about finding out your nightmares were real. I’d written it maybe a decade ago. Then I picked it back up and turned it into the novel it is today and shopped it around.

It was at different presses for over four years. Yep. Four years. Then I realized why people self-published. It was taking so long. I did want to be traditionally published, I wanted that agent, I wanted the huge book launch like I had with Three Great Lies, but it was just taking so long.

This story is very different in mood from Three Great Lies, but I think the style and mythology aspects are very similar. The ending is more bitter sweet. But the characters, the world, the emotion… that’s all here. This story is drowning in emotion! And I hope you enjoy it. Enjoy Balin’s heartache and his wish for the Norns to have turned their attention away from him. Enjoy and understand his sacrifice, though it might have taken him a while to get there.

Love him like I do. For, the sun has to shine sometime and for Balin, he’s made a choice and I do believe the sun is shining.

—

EXCERPT:

He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, leaning against the frame to take the strain from his leg.

“Who is there?”

“It is I, Balin Tremore.” He glanced up and down the hallway. Vacant. “I request an audience.”

The door swung open. “Please enter with an open heart, Balin.” Elaine beamed at him, her joy evident in the musical laughter in her words.

Balin stepped inside, and Elaine slammed the door closed.

“Is Kirsten here?” he asked, scanning the suite for Elaine’s handmaiden.

Elaine shook her head. “She’s getting fabric.” With no warning, she threw her arms around Balin’s shoulders and hugged him close. “I’m so, so, so glad you are well,” she said, her words held stiffly, as if voicing a vow. “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever.” She squeezed him. His body took a moment to react, and then he melted into her hold.

He embraced her, brushing his cheek against her plum silk shirt, holding her close, praying to Baldr that she’d never be taken from his arms. He inhaled her lilac scent and closed his eyes.

She pulled back, and the intensity in her gaze captured his breath. They were of a same height, except for when she wore ball shoes and could stare down at him with haughty superiority. She’d tease him then, drape her arm over his shoulders when nobody was looking their way. He didn’t mind, he just enjoyed being close to her. Now, however, no tease twinkled in her stormy eyes. Only worry and determination resided there, and he hated to see all those emotions in turmoil over her sweet features.

“Balin, would you just give in? You don’t have to return to the field.”

Balin took in a breath and let his gaze slip from hers to stare at the side of her nose. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes. You can.” She pulled away sharply, turning her back on him as she charged into her sitting room, her strong trouser-clad legs cutting the distance to a few strides. She gleaned pieces of paper from her writing desk and tromped back towards him, shaking the papers in his face. “I’ve completed the requisition. All I need is the Hauld’s approval, and after you and William—” she waved her hands through the air in a grand gesture, the papers crackling under the abuse, “—there’s no way he wouldn’t agree to you being my steward.”

They’d had this argument before, and Balin found it harder and harder to refuse her.

But he wanted to be so much more to her than just her steward.

“I don’t even need your approval, you know.” Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth turned into a frown.

He dropped his shoulders back, attention wandering over the copper molding encircling her ceiling. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Don’t you tempt me, Balin Tremore. If it means keeping you out of the war, I will do what I have to do.”

The command in her voice drew his attention back to her face. He scooped up her hands, papers and all, and pressed his forehead to hers. They stood that way for a moment, Elaine’s breathing fast, Balin’s heart thumping in his ears. Those weeks in the cage, cold, starving, he’d wanted her. Wanted her soft touch. Her amused smile. He’d kept her stored in his mind in the hidden places Zebbens couldn’t beat out of him.

“We have to fight him, Elaine. Every one of us, we all have to do what we can.”

“Then, Balin,” she argued, her voice a terse whisper, “that means I need to be out there, too.”

Through his bangs, he saw her looking at him. He rolled his forehead against hers until their noses touched. “You can’t go out there, Elaine,” he whispered, the words hovering between their nearly touching lips.

“I’m a better fencer than you.”

“Fencer, not swordsman, they aren’t the same.”

Behind him, the door opened.

“Oh, Miss, I’m so sorry to intrude,” Kirsten said.

The air crackled with anticipation, but Kirsten, so-sorry-to-intrude, didn’t leave.

Balin bowed his head and slowly pulled away. Then he turned to the handmaiden.  “Hello, Kirsten.”

Author Bio:

Vanessa MacLellan was born and raised in the farmlands of eastern Washington, works as an environmental engineer, and is an avid birder, naturalist and hiker living in Portland, Oregon.

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It’s here! The very on point cover of Awaken. Md Khalid Bin Walid from Crowdspring captured the entrapped feeling I was after. In Awaken the people are trapped. Trapped within Fort Resonbirg because of the Dreamspinner Ursulard sieging them. Then they are trapped in the Fort after the mists arise. And Balin, my poor abused protagonist, gets trapped in his dreams. His words get trapped within his mouth. And he feels trapped between two unwelcome decisions. I hope you enjoy this Norse dark fantasy! I enjoyed writing it just for you.

Awaken
Vanessa MacLellan
Publication date: July 30th 2022
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Horror

Balin stands between two great Powers.  One will shatter his mind; the other will destroy his soul.  Only one of them can save his people.

Fort Resonbirg, a Norse stronghold in the New World, is besieged by the evil sorcerer Ursulard the Dreamspinner.  Though their fields are scorched and homes destroyed, the residents and refugees do not worry, because Fort Resonbirg is Awakened with the power to provide, protect, and grow.  But not all is as it seems when a wall of impenetrable mist surrounds the fort, and within the mist hunts the dragon, Nidhogg.  Nidhogg hungers for more than flesh and bone. It instills nightmares on its prey, feeding on fear and pain, inevitably taking lives.

Balin Tremore, a commoner bound for the militia but hoping to stay by his noble love’s side, never expected to amount to grand things.  When the great power of Cradleweaving is awakened within him, Balin unknowingly becomes the one person with the power to pierce the wall of mist and banish the deadly beast within before it destroys them all—if he can master the new power in time.  But to master the power, he must sacrifice much.  The question is, will it be his position, his Lady, or his very soul?

The Mist meets Nightmare on Elm Street in this classic tale of personal sacrifice.

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Author Bio:

Vanessa MacLellan was born and raised in the farmlands of eastern Washington, works as an environmental engineer, and is an avid birder, naturalist and hiker living in Portland, Oregon.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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It’s been a while since I had a novel out. This is a book I’d written years ago and in 2016 I began shopping it out. Yes, 6 years ago. The last four years, this novel has sat on the desk of two presses consecutively with the ‘we’re considering it, please don’t send it to anyone else’ note. And so, I followed the rules. After the second rejection, I was terrible downtrodden. Was the book not good? Well, I was told the book was good but “we had another book we planned to publish that was similar” and “it didn’t fit our publishing goals for that year.” So, I got a professional editor on it, got a lovely cover, and now I’m self-publishing it.

Honestly, I would have loved to have another book traditionally published, but I don’t want to wait another two or more years. I am writing other novels, in fast I’ve written one other novel that has also been rejected that I plan on self-publishing once I finish the series I’m planning for it. That is a superhero novel, of which I am told ‘there is no market’. And well, I liked the novel. I LOVE the characters, and there might be a reader out there who adores it too.

But back to what’s going on now. I’m self-publishing Awaken. The release date is July 30. I am here to tease you with it and to give you some background on the history of this novel.

Awaken

Balin stands between two great Powers. One will shatter his mind; the other will destroy his soul. Only one of them can save his people.

Fort Resonbirg, a Norse stronghold in the New World, is besieged by the evil sorcerer Ursulard the Dreamspinner. Though their fields are scorched and homes destroyed, the residents and refugees do not worry, because Fort Resonbirg is Awakened with the power to provide, protect, and grow. But not all is as it seems when a wall of impenetrable mist surrounds the fort, and within the mist hunts the dragon, Nidhogg. Nidhogg hungers for more than flesh and bone. It instills nightmares on its prey, feeding on fear and pain, inevitably taking lives.

Balin Tremore, a commoner bound for the militia but hoping to stay by his noble love’s side, never expected to amount to grand things. When the great power of Cradleweaving is awakened within him, Balin unknowingly becomes the one person with the power to pierce the wall of mist and banish the deadly beast within before it destroys them all—if he can master the new power in time. But to master the power, he must sacrifice much. The question is, will it be his position, his Lady, or his very soul?

The Mist meets Nightmare on Elm Street in this classic tale of personal sacrifice.

Hike: Lyle Cherry Orchard Hike
Nearest Town: Lyle, WA
Mileage: 5.0 miles (there and back)
Difficulty: Moderate. Definitely no Dog Mountain, but it has a good amount of elevation gain.
Highlights: Go in spring to see the three flowering cherry trees and desert flowers. Awe-inspiring views. (originally hiked in May)

Driving Directions
From Portland, take I-84 east to Hood River. Cross the Hood River Toll Bridge and turn right on Highway 14. Drive east through the towns of Bingen and Lyle. Just east of Lyle, you’ll drive through two tunnels. The trailhead is the first major turnout east of the tunnels.

Take the trail from the parking lot up a winding canyon until you see a sign. DO NOT GO STRAIGHT, like I had the joy of doing, but follow the trail up the canyon, on the right side of the sign. Going straight leads to an old highway that’s interesting, but isn’t part of the Lyle Cherry Orchard hike.

Heed the sign: BEWARE! Ticks and poison oak do frolic in these grassy fields.

According to the Friends of the Gorge website, Nancy Russell, the founder of the Friends, donated most of the land this trail meanders through. As a recently opened trail (the acquisition was completed in 2009), it was my first time hiking it.

This little-known gem of a hike on the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge offers spectacular views of the Columbia River, amazing spring wildflowers and a forest of gnarled, old trees.

The day was overcast with a chance of rain promised by the oracle that is weather.com. Once you emerge from the mix of oak and scrub, you have an endless view of east-side prairie. The trail climbs up the ridge through rich fields full of spring green and flowers in various stages of bloom. Lyle Cherry Orchard Plant ListOnce I peaked the first ridge—no ma’am, you have not reached the top—I stopped and soaked up the view of the western reach of the Columbia River. I was on top of the world.Then I turned back to face the continued uphill climb. Luckily, I had many chances to rest and stare off at the beauty of this hike. These Oregon white oak forests, with their gnarled trunks, puffy galls, and remnants of what looked like a burn, have a definite haunted look about them up here on the northern side of the gorge. About a third of the hike takes you through these forests. Watch for poison oak!After a bit of a descent, and a walk along an old, abandoned road, you reach a wide spot. I took my lunch here, wondering where the cherry trees were. I did a little birding before I packed up and continued forward. Then I saw those elderly trees, still thriving out here without any caretakers. The rain began to sprinkle as I marched toward the three trees standing tall on this cliff top overlooking The Dalles in the distance. Nature will always find a way.

The world has moved on since hopeful hands planted these trees. I marvel at their ability to strive forward. They’re old, maybe even tired, but despite that fact they bloom each spring, reminding those of us who hike this hill of our own roots, buried deep within the soil, and that sometimes you have to survive the hardships of winter, or of a tough hike, to find your pot of gold. Rain, or not.

Better Than Starbucks published a poem I’d written about lies, those we tell ourselves and we tell others. It was a fun poem to write, littered with references to other works, to ideas and symbology. Meaning. Isn’t that what poems are supposed to do?

You can read the poem for free here – The Tulips Smell Like Week Old Meat.

The title is about how something can look beautiful – Tulips – but the smell is rotten. It’s not what it seems.

I hope you read the poem and see the glimpses I’ve painted in there to see the truth.
The truth lies at the bottom. Take your soma no more and open your eyes.