Joshua Bader's Blog: How I Learned to Love the Bomb - Posts Tagged "urbanfantasy"
Frostbite Excerpt
I've been dropping a few quotes on Twitter from the book and realized most of them are coming from the same scene. Since we're sitting at 2 weeks to the day until it comes out, I thought I would share that scene with everybody. Enjoy the excerpt and thanks for the support. I can't wait till everyone can read it on June 21.
“Mister Fisher. Sit, please.” His voice fit both the outfit and the aura. I thought I heard a slight Boston accent on the r’s, more “ah” than “er”. I did as he asked, taking up residence in the booth across from him.
With gloved hand, he produced an ivory white business card and slid it across to me. In silver letters, “Lucien Valente” had been embossed in the center of the card. No phone numbers, titles, or e-mail addresses cluttered it; only his name appeared. While I inspected it, he removed the glove before grabbing a piece of toast off his plate and holding it out to me. “Take, eat.”
“Do this in remembrance of me?” I added.
“Something like that. I know many of your kind regard guest right as important. It’s not… kosher to harm someone you’ve shared a meal with.”
I nodded. “Many Arab tribes believe it makes men family until the next sunrise. Refusing to eat is almost an act of war.” I accepted the bread and took a nibble. “I hope you don’t mind if I order my own plate for the rest.”
He smiled, but said nothing until after our waitress came and left. I ordered a coffee, a tall stack of pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns. I was on his tab, I assumed, and I was never one to skimp on a free meal. It’s like the twelfth law of wizarding, I think.
“Colin Fisher.” He rolled my name around on his tongue. “Do you know who I am?”
“Lucien Valente?” I ventured.
He nodded.
“Never heard of you before… though I must say I’m impressed so far.”
“Are you familiar with Valente International?”
I racked my brain for a moment. “Big multi-national conglomerate. Owns that coffee chain and the dollar discount stores.”
“Among other things. I like to keep my interests diversified. I also don’t care for advertising my success. Bill Gates, I’m not.”
I let out a low whistle. I had friends in environmental movements who liked to go on long rants about the evils of multinationals. The more I thought about it, the more I recalled Valente International being spoken of in a tone of voice generally reserved for topics such as Nazis or terrorists. “That Lucien Valente, huh?”
“Yes, Mister Fisher.” He paused for a sip of his coffee. I noticed he drank it black, a trait I associated with strong character and honesty, probably because it matched my own preference. “Miss Deluce seems to think I should hire you on as my personal wizard. Was that her idea or yours?”
“Hers. I didn’t know who her boss was. And Duchess didn’t strike me as someone whose opinion could be pushed around or manipulated. If she says she thought of it, she must have.”
“No,” he conceded. “She is an exceptionally stubborn secretary.” I must have cocked an eyebrow in surprise, because he responded to my body language. “Yes, secretary, executive assistant, whatever the in-fashion term is. She provides external order to my life and activities, and acts in my stead when I am otherwise engaged. I believe the archaic term suits her better: she is my seneschal.”
We sat in silence after that. My breakfast arrived and I began to eat. I could tell Lucien was waiting for something, but I didn’t have a clue what. So I attended to what I did understand: blueberry syrup atop hot golden pancakes.
I was four or five bites in when Lucien started to laugh. “I give up, Mister Fisher. I’ve had twelve other personal wizards before you. Most were con artists or one-trick ponies. Near worthless. But I think I like you.”
I had enough etiquette to swallow before replying. “Why’s that?”
“You’re not trying to impress me. No dire prophecies of doom or demonstrations of power. You don’t need to. That’s the sign of real power, isn’t it? When you don’t feel the need to show it off, it means you really have it.”
“I know a little,” I confessed. “Enough to know that I’m not the biggest fish in the sea. But my luck and love spells pack a mean punch.” My last luck spell, in fact, had accidentally killed its recipient. He won a quarter million dollars on the roulette wheel before karma straightened itself out in the form of a speeding bus. After that, I was very careful to limit my scope when I tinkered with probability. None of that seemed particularly interview relevant, however. Scratch that. It probably was interview-relevant, but I suddenly wanted to get this job and thought that anecdote might sour the deal.
*Ooo, ooo, tell him about the couple on their honeymoon you put in the nuthouse. I love that story.*
“Mister Fisher. Sit, please.” His voice fit both the outfit and the aura. I thought I heard a slight Boston accent on the r’s, more “ah” than “er”. I did as he asked, taking up residence in the booth across from him.
With gloved hand, he produced an ivory white business card and slid it across to me. In silver letters, “Lucien Valente” had been embossed in the center of the card. No phone numbers, titles, or e-mail addresses cluttered it; only his name appeared. While I inspected it, he removed the glove before grabbing a piece of toast off his plate and holding it out to me. “Take, eat.”
“Do this in remembrance of me?” I added.
“Something like that. I know many of your kind regard guest right as important. It’s not… kosher to harm someone you’ve shared a meal with.”
I nodded. “Many Arab tribes believe it makes men family until the next sunrise. Refusing to eat is almost an act of war.” I accepted the bread and took a nibble. “I hope you don’t mind if I order my own plate for the rest.”
He smiled, but said nothing until after our waitress came and left. I ordered a coffee, a tall stack of pancakes, fried eggs, and hash browns. I was on his tab, I assumed, and I was never one to skimp on a free meal. It’s like the twelfth law of wizarding, I think.
“Colin Fisher.” He rolled my name around on his tongue. “Do you know who I am?”
“Lucien Valente?” I ventured.
He nodded.
“Never heard of you before… though I must say I’m impressed so far.”
“Are you familiar with Valente International?”
I racked my brain for a moment. “Big multi-national conglomerate. Owns that coffee chain and the dollar discount stores.”
“Among other things. I like to keep my interests diversified. I also don’t care for advertising my success. Bill Gates, I’m not.”
I let out a low whistle. I had friends in environmental movements who liked to go on long rants about the evils of multinationals. The more I thought about it, the more I recalled Valente International being spoken of in a tone of voice generally reserved for topics such as Nazis or terrorists. “That Lucien Valente, huh?”
“Yes, Mister Fisher.” He paused for a sip of his coffee. I noticed he drank it black, a trait I associated with strong character and honesty, probably because it matched my own preference. “Miss Deluce seems to think I should hire you on as my personal wizard. Was that her idea or yours?”
“Hers. I didn’t know who her boss was. And Duchess didn’t strike me as someone whose opinion could be pushed around or manipulated. If she says she thought of it, she must have.”
“No,” he conceded. “She is an exceptionally stubborn secretary.” I must have cocked an eyebrow in surprise, because he responded to my body language. “Yes, secretary, executive assistant, whatever the in-fashion term is. She provides external order to my life and activities, and acts in my stead when I am otherwise engaged. I believe the archaic term suits her better: she is my seneschal.”
We sat in silence after that. My breakfast arrived and I began to eat. I could tell Lucien was waiting for something, but I didn’t have a clue what. So I attended to what I did understand: blueberry syrup atop hot golden pancakes.
I was four or five bites in when Lucien started to laugh. “I give up, Mister Fisher. I’ve had twelve other personal wizards before you. Most were con artists or one-trick ponies. Near worthless. But I think I like you.”
I had enough etiquette to swallow before replying. “Why’s that?”
“You’re not trying to impress me. No dire prophecies of doom or demonstrations of power. You don’t need to. That’s the sign of real power, isn’t it? When you don’t feel the need to show it off, it means you really have it.”
“I know a little,” I confessed. “Enough to know that I’m not the biggest fish in the sea. But my luck and love spells pack a mean punch.” My last luck spell, in fact, had accidentally killed its recipient. He won a quarter million dollars on the roulette wheel before karma straightened itself out in the form of a speeding bus. After that, I was very careful to limit my scope when I tinkered with probability. None of that seemed particularly interview relevant, however. Scratch that. It probably was interview-relevant, but I suddenly wanted to get this job and thought that anecdote might sour the deal.
*Ooo, ooo, tell him about the couple on their honeymoon you put in the nuthouse. I love that story.*
Twitterpated
When I first read Nightseer by Laurell K. Hamilton, it was a different era. I wanted to find the author, to tell her it was a life-changing book. It was daring, a high fantasy book that refused to play by the "normal" rules of high fantasy. It was dark and edgy with a strong female lead and an ending that satisfied, but didn't rest it's laurels on happily ever after.
Back then, if I had wanted to convey those feelings to her, I would have gone down to the local library and seen if the reference desk had a tome of celebrity contact information. If she was in there, my letter would have taken a week getting to either her publisher or her agent. There it would sit for an indefinite period of time, maybe 2,weeks, maybe 6 months, before finally finishing it's journey to the esteemed Ms. Hamilton, who may or may not read it. I knew this routine, because my entire 7th grade English class wrote a letter to a celebrity of our choosing. I don't remember who I wrote to... Michael W. Smith, perhaps? (Most of my favorite authors in 7th grade were dead.) So I knew the process, as slow and ineffective as it was.
Fast forward to 2016. One of my fellow City Owl authors has convinced me I need to be on Twitter for marketing purposes. I was less than thrilled, wondering what on Earth could be so important in 140 characters or less. But I wanted to be an author, a real author, so I did it. In the back of my head, I was thinking that marketing was what I had a publisher and an agent for.
I was on twitter less than 24 hours when I got my first tweet from Laurell Hamilton, commiserating the necessary evil of social media marketing and how while it helps sell the book, it never writes a single word of the book. I promptly fanboyed... and got a smile back from her. From there in, it was a brave new world. I shared my publisher's weekly review with her and thanked her for the inspiration and encouragement. Way faster turn around than the seventh grade model.
So now I am twitter-pated, so to speak. I'm not convinced most people really pay attention to each other on twitter, but I'm going to give it a chance. The junk tweets may outnumber the @LKHamilton s but the latter make it totally worth it.
You can follow me @author_jbader.
Back then, if I had wanted to convey those feelings to her, I would have gone down to the local library and seen if the reference desk had a tome of celebrity contact information. If she was in there, my letter would have taken a week getting to either her publisher or her agent. There it would sit for an indefinite period of time, maybe 2,weeks, maybe 6 months, before finally finishing it's journey to the esteemed Ms. Hamilton, who may or may not read it. I knew this routine, because my entire 7th grade English class wrote a letter to a celebrity of our choosing. I don't remember who I wrote to... Michael W. Smith, perhaps? (Most of my favorite authors in 7th grade were dead.) So I knew the process, as slow and ineffective as it was.
Fast forward to 2016. One of my fellow City Owl authors has convinced me I need to be on Twitter for marketing purposes. I was less than thrilled, wondering what on Earth could be so important in 140 characters or less. But I wanted to be an author, a real author, so I did it. In the back of my head, I was thinking that marketing was what I had a publisher and an agent for.
I was on twitter less than 24 hours when I got my first tweet from Laurell Hamilton, commiserating the necessary evil of social media marketing and how while it helps sell the book, it never writes a single word of the book. I promptly fanboyed... and got a smile back from her. From there in, it was a brave new world. I shared my publisher's weekly review with her and thanked her for the inspiration and encouragement. Way faster turn around than the seventh grade model.
So now I am twitter-pated, so to speak. I'm not convinced most people really pay attention to each other on twitter, but I'm going to give it a chance. The junk tweets may outnumber the @LKHamilton s but the latter make it totally worth it.
You can follow me @author_jbader.
Blood and Sweat
8 days until Frostbite releases in paperback, but my head is pretty deep into the sequel Two Wizard Roulette. Urban fantasy with a novice wizard versus a cannibal ice demon is good stuff. Said novice wizard versus another wizard whose a little higher on the phenomenal cosmic power scale, now that's the great stuff. Add in a dash of romance, tragic back story, and backdrop that feels like a living, breathing universe, then simmer till its 300ish pages. As Emeril would say, "Bam! Perfect book."
The advice I heard most often when I started writing was to write what I knew. In fantasy of any kind, that's hard advice to follow. I don't really know any unicorns, pegasi, or demons on a first name basis.
Scratch that, rewrite, I don't really know any unicorns or pegasi on a first name basis. My demons and I don't talk much, but I sure know their names.
I suppose I could write Narnia. I know C.S. Lewis well enough, but those books, that urban fantasy series, has been done. I could write Dresden Files, because I know those, but Jim Butcher is still busy doing just that. Writing what I know doesn't seem a great approach to writing urban fantasy.
If I had to give advice to an aspiring writer of any genre, I would tell them to write what they feel. If there are times when writing on the page feels like you're dipping the quill into your veins and painting the manuscript with your blood, you are doing it right. I might not know what it is to face down a lightning bolt wielding maniac wizard, but I can feel the mixture of fear and adrenalin racing to my heart. My universe is littered with depth and back stories, because my own memories and emotions are strewn all over the place. The blood gives it life.
The second piece of advice I would give to an aspiring writer is to write until you sweat. For a steamy romance author that may mean one thing, but I mean to keep at it, to keep writing until its hard. Writing can be heavy lifting at times: keep writing anyway. If you don't finish it, it can't be read, it can't be published, it stays with you. Sweat it out and get it finished.
So that's what I've got: blood and sweat. I hope it helps you write. Even more, I hope it piques your interest in seeing what I've felt out on to the page.
I'll leave you with a brief peak at Two Wizard Roulette:
“Dear child, do you suppose that everything that is inside of you is built up in but a single lifetime? Your very bodies are stardust, forged in the supernovas of the brightest stars. How much more your souls are forged by lifetimes of loves and hates.” Malachi seemed distant then, sorrowful. “I am only beginning to understand the fullness of that truth and what I gave up.”
The advice I heard most often when I started writing was to write what I knew. In fantasy of any kind, that's hard advice to follow. I don't really know any unicorns, pegasi, or demons on a first name basis.
Scratch that, rewrite, I don't really know any unicorns or pegasi on a first name basis. My demons and I don't talk much, but I sure know their names.
I suppose I could write Narnia. I know C.S. Lewis well enough, but those books, that urban fantasy series, has been done. I could write Dresden Files, because I know those, but Jim Butcher is still busy doing just that. Writing what I know doesn't seem a great approach to writing urban fantasy.
If I had to give advice to an aspiring writer of any genre, I would tell them to write what they feel. If there are times when writing on the page feels like you're dipping the quill into your veins and painting the manuscript with your blood, you are doing it right. I might not know what it is to face down a lightning bolt wielding maniac wizard, but I can feel the mixture of fear and adrenalin racing to my heart. My universe is littered with depth and back stories, because my own memories and emotions are strewn all over the place. The blood gives it life.
The second piece of advice I would give to an aspiring writer is to write until you sweat. For a steamy romance author that may mean one thing, but I mean to keep at it, to keep writing until its hard. Writing can be heavy lifting at times: keep writing anyway. If you don't finish it, it can't be read, it can't be published, it stays with you. Sweat it out and get it finished.
So that's what I've got: blood and sweat. I hope it helps you write. Even more, I hope it piques your interest in seeing what I've felt out on to the page.
I'll leave you with a brief peak at Two Wizard Roulette:
“Dear child, do you suppose that everything that is inside of you is built up in but a single lifetime? Your very bodies are stardust, forged in the supernovas of the brightest stars. How much more your souls are forged by lifetimes of loves and hates.” Malachi seemed distant then, sorrowful. “I am only beginning to understand the fullness of that truth and what I gave up.”
A Very Haiku Preview
The story of Frostbite
Told in measured form of lines
Five, seven, and five.
Lost his fiancée
Lives out of car, now broken.
Hungry demon lurks.
Jailed by police
For a crime committed not
By his human hands.
Lucien Valente
Pays his bail, expects return
On his investment.
Personal wizard
Trapped between Valente
And heartripping beast.
Finding fiancée
Will have to wait until he can
Escape the Frostbite.
Frostbite releases in 6 days. I hope everyone is as excited as I am. More previews to come and link to release party will be posted here soon... or its already up on my twitter @author_jbader
Told in measured form of lines
Five, seven, and five.
Lost his fiancée
Lives out of car, now broken.
Hungry demon lurks.
Jailed by police
For a crime committed not
By his human hands.
Lucien Valente
Pays his bail, expects return
On his investment.
Personal wizard
Trapped between Valente
And heartripping beast.
Finding fiancée
Will have to wait until he can
Escape the Frostbite.
Frostbite releases in 6 days. I hope everyone is as excited as I am. More previews to come and link to release party will be posted here soon... or its already up on my twitter @author_jbader
Preorders are live on Amazon!
So you've read the Frostbite excerpt, you've listened to me talk about it for years, and you want to read it?
It doesn't come out till Tuesday, June 21, but you can pre-order your copy from Amazon right now:
https://www.amazon.com/Frostbite-Mode...
Use the power of the link and become awesome! (Seriously, my undying gratitude to everyone who does. You make this great!)
It doesn't come out till Tuesday, June 21, but you can pre-order your copy from Amazon right now:
https://www.amazon.com/Frostbite-Mode...
Use the power of the link and become awesome! (Seriously, my undying gratitude to everyone who does. You make this great!)
City Owl Preview Time!
I love writing with City Owl Press. Not only do they have fantastic editors and talented artists, not only do they handle so much of the promotion and hype for the book... they also have a great family of authors. I say, family, because we really do interact with each other and help each other figure out all the little things on our works in progress. It's a great place to be.
Today I have the honor of doing a book preview for one of City Owl's other authors, Miriam Greystone. Like me, she's way into urban fantasy and her latest book, Truthsight, is well in the genre.
Doctor Amy spends her nights running a secret clinic for supernatural creatures. When she is forced to use her magic to save the lives of a centaur infant and its mother, she vows never to regret her decision, no matter what the consequences. Not even when the Mages capture her, beat her, and condemn her to die. Before the sentence can be carried out, she is abducted by a mysterious being named Rowan, who demands that she use her healing abilities to save his father. When Amy fails to save the ailing man, her actions unintentionally force Rowan into an exile that will soon turn into a death sentence. Now, Rowan and Amy must join forces with the creatures who were once her patients and fight to uncover the one secret that may be powerful enough to save them all.
Pretty cool, huh?
Like pretty pictures? I've got the cover up on my facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joshua.bader.50
Today I have the honor of doing a book preview for one of City Owl's other authors, Miriam Greystone. Like me, she's way into urban fantasy and her latest book, Truthsight, is well in the genre.
Doctor Amy spends her nights running a secret clinic for supernatural creatures. When she is forced to use her magic to save the lives of a centaur infant and its mother, she vows never to regret her decision, no matter what the consequences. Not even when the Mages capture her, beat her, and condemn her to die. Before the sentence can be carried out, she is abducted by a mysterious being named Rowan, who demands that she use her healing abilities to save his father. When Amy fails to save the ailing man, her actions unintentionally force Rowan into an exile that will soon turn into a death sentence. Now, Rowan and Amy must join forces with the creatures who were once her patients and fight to uncover the one secret that may be powerful enough to save them all.
Pretty cool, huh?
Like pretty pictures? I've got the cover up on my facebook: https://www.facebook.com/joshua.bader.50
Sympathy For The Devil
I started talking about the people who live in my memory last week. They inevitably bleed over into the characters in my novels. I know how people talk, how they act, from watching and interacting with these living characters.
Dr. Ken Bond is definitely one of them worth noting. If Dr. Neuenschwander taught me what genius looked like, Dr. Bond is my model of sanity/insanity, addiction, and recovery. He was my counselor, mentor, and friend. In a lot of ways, I have to be careful what I write, lest I break the sacred bonds of doctor-patient privilege.
I don't generally stick with counselors long. I've had a few where after a few sessions, I started to wonder who was providing therapy for who. I suppose that goes with the territory of having a degree in psychology and being a natural empath. I never had that issue with Dr. Bond. He was a consummate professional and immune to my endearing, but manipulative, charms.
He had alcohol issues from a past life, before he found his calling. His romantic life was rocky. I think he struggled in relationships for a lot of the reasons I struggle, too. We both had a deep academic interest in sex. Much of our non-counseling time was spent talking about the biological differences between the sexes, sex offenders, patterns of sexual development, and Robert Heinlein. (For those not familiar with the science fiction of Heinlein, he is largely inseparable from the sciences of love and sex.) His dissertation was on the effects of counseling sex offenders on the counselors and I am probably the only non-therapist, non-sex offender, to read it cover to cover. All that sex study starts to stew the brain and it's hard to enjoy a real relationship: you start analyzing and over-analyzing your every move, wondering whether it's hormones, addiction, trauma, or actual romance propelling your actions.
We did yoga together as well. I think that was how he kept his sanity: exercise and meditation to turn the noise off, to stop thinking. There are only so many thoughts that are possible from upward facing dog transitioning into plank position. Those that are tend to be inwardly focused on your own body or lost in the nebulous thoughts of the nature of the universe.
I haven't talked to him in a while. He changed jobs and got divorced again. He is perhaps one of the kindest souls I have ever met and I think that compassion for others drains the self over time. He could be sharp tongued when he was tired and had an unerring sense for where the other person's soft underbelly was. I'm sure that can't be easy in a marriage to a professional caregiver.
I wish he was still in my life, but our paths have gone our own ways and social media just isn't his thing. He still lives on in my novels. There are times when the light is just right that Colin Fisher starts to look more and more like Bond, Ken Bond.
Dr. Ken Bond is definitely one of them worth noting. If Dr. Neuenschwander taught me what genius looked like, Dr. Bond is my model of sanity/insanity, addiction, and recovery. He was my counselor, mentor, and friend. In a lot of ways, I have to be careful what I write, lest I break the sacred bonds of doctor-patient privilege.
I don't generally stick with counselors long. I've had a few where after a few sessions, I started to wonder who was providing therapy for who. I suppose that goes with the territory of having a degree in psychology and being a natural empath. I never had that issue with Dr. Bond. He was a consummate professional and immune to my endearing, but manipulative, charms.
He had alcohol issues from a past life, before he found his calling. His romantic life was rocky. I think he struggled in relationships for a lot of the reasons I struggle, too. We both had a deep academic interest in sex. Much of our non-counseling time was spent talking about the biological differences between the sexes, sex offenders, patterns of sexual development, and Robert Heinlein. (For those not familiar with the science fiction of Heinlein, he is largely inseparable from the sciences of love and sex.) His dissertation was on the effects of counseling sex offenders on the counselors and I am probably the only non-therapist, non-sex offender, to read it cover to cover. All that sex study starts to stew the brain and it's hard to enjoy a real relationship: you start analyzing and over-analyzing your every move, wondering whether it's hormones, addiction, trauma, or actual romance propelling your actions.
We did yoga together as well. I think that was how he kept his sanity: exercise and meditation to turn the noise off, to stop thinking. There are only so many thoughts that are possible from upward facing dog transitioning into plank position. Those that are tend to be inwardly focused on your own body or lost in the nebulous thoughts of the nature of the universe.
I haven't talked to him in a while. He changed jobs and got divorced again. He is perhaps one of the kindest souls I have ever met and I think that compassion for others drains the self over time. He could be sharp tongued when he was tired and had an unerring sense for where the other person's soft underbelly was. I'm sure that can't be easy in a marriage to a professional caregiver.
I wish he was still in my life, but our paths have gone our own ways and social media just isn't his thing. He still lives on in my novels. There are times when the light is just right that Colin Fisher starts to look more and more like Bond, Ken Bond.
Autographed Giveaway
I've been teasing doing a giveaway through this blog for a while now on social media So here it is! On August 7, I'm giving away a signed paperback author's copy of Frostbite to one lucky participant.
No purchase is necessary, but I do need you to sign up. So how do you sign up? (I'm so glad you asked.)
I'm in the middle of a blog series on characters and people who have meant enough to me to provide DNA for characters. Right now, there are two such posts up: Characters and Sympathy for the Devil. For each comment you leave on one of the series' (one per post), you get an entry into the drawing on August 7. The comment can be about the post or a blatant plea for free stuff, but you have to comment to win. I'll make sure to let everybody know when a new series post is up on social media. Good reading and good luck.
No purchase is necessary, but I do need you to sign up. So how do you sign up? (I'm so glad you asked.)
I'm in the middle of a blog series on characters and people who have meant enough to me to provide DNA for characters. Right now, there are two such posts up: Characters and Sympathy for the Devil. For each comment you leave on one of the series' (one per post), you get an entry into the drawing on August 7. The comment can be about the post or a blatant plea for free stuff, but you have to comment to win. I'll make sure to let everybody know when a new series post is up on social media. Good reading and good luck.
Love and Other Fairy Tales
This is part 3 of my series on characters and the actual people in my life that inspired them. I've avoided adding family to the list. They have shrinks for that, not poor unsuspecting faithful readers. But I've got one who didn't start out as blood, but definitely belongs on the list.
I was at home on Christmas leave from my station at the Naval Nuclear Power Command. There was a girl I was seeing in South Carolina who for a variety of reasons didn't want anyone to know she was seeing me. New Years Eve I called out to talk to her. She promptly handed over the phone to her best friend, Jennifer, to distract the room from the fact that I called her. (This was in the day when cell phones were the size of small elephants and people had enough courtesy to let other people in the room know who they were talking to.) Jennifer and I had never even met before... but the conversation was interesting enough, I was determined to meet her once leave was over. I even wrote her into a story I was working on that very night.
If I had to pick one characteristic to summarize her, it would be charming. From watching her all these years, she is someone people genuinely want to like. I've seen people manipulate to that end... hers is simply a result of innocent beauty of the soul. She is as endearing in a flannel shirt and jeans as she is in formal dress. (The 90s were weird. Everybody wore flannel. She looked good in it.)
She has always worked well with children and jobs that surround her with children. I think it's because they know, just by looking at her that she is a good person. Her charm wins them over from the first smile.
She is not a simple creature. She has a darkness of her own. Her temper can be a thing to behold, particularly when playing video games where we remark that her usual strategy is "Jennifer smash". Her sense of humor can be... twisted.
She has been a supporting cast of any number of my books and stories, most recently with providing inspiration for Agent Andrea Devereaux in Frostbite and Two Wizard Roulette. In real life, I did my best to surround her with children of our own.
As a reminder, you can comment on this blog post for a chance to win an autographed copy of Frostbite. (And two others out of the archives: Characters and Sympathy for the Devil.)
I was at home on Christmas leave from my station at the Naval Nuclear Power Command. There was a girl I was seeing in South Carolina who for a variety of reasons didn't want anyone to know she was seeing me. New Years Eve I called out to talk to her. She promptly handed over the phone to her best friend, Jennifer, to distract the room from the fact that I called her. (This was in the day when cell phones were the size of small elephants and people had enough courtesy to let other people in the room know who they were talking to.) Jennifer and I had never even met before... but the conversation was interesting enough, I was determined to meet her once leave was over. I even wrote her into a story I was working on that very night.
If I had to pick one characteristic to summarize her, it would be charming. From watching her all these years, she is someone people genuinely want to like. I've seen people manipulate to that end... hers is simply a result of innocent beauty of the soul. She is as endearing in a flannel shirt and jeans as she is in formal dress. (The 90s were weird. Everybody wore flannel. She looked good in it.)
She has always worked well with children and jobs that surround her with children. I think it's because they know, just by looking at her that she is a good person. Her charm wins them over from the first smile.
She is not a simple creature. She has a darkness of her own. Her temper can be a thing to behold, particularly when playing video games where we remark that her usual strategy is "Jennifer smash". Her sense of humor can be... twisted.
She has been a supporting cast of any number of my books and stories, most recently with providing inspiration for Agent Andrea Devereaux in Frostbite and Two Wizard Roulette. In real life, I did my best to surround her with children of our own.
As a reminder, you can comment on this blog post for a chance to win an autographed copy of Frostbite. (And two others out of the archives: Characters and Sympathy for the Devil.)
Two Wizards Foreshadowed
I hinted yesterday that I was going to talk about Two Wizard Roulette (Book2 in the Modern Knights series) today. The following should be familiar to readers of Frostbite, but let's revisit it together.
The gas station convenience store could have been a twin to the one outside Lake Thunderbird, Oklahoma: snacks, hygiene, dry goods, automotive accessories, and refrigerated items. At that other store, something very bad had recently happened. At this one, something very bad was in the process of happening.
Jacob Darien held the revolver casually, comfortably, but it was pointed at the clerk all the same. His tone of voice suggested this was old hat for him. “Two strips of beef jerky, five lottery tickets, and all your money. You want anything, Dizzy?”
The scantily clad redhead draped over his left shoulder picked up at the mention of her pet name. “Umm… bubblegum. Can I get some bubblegum, Jakey-poo?”
He looked at her and the clerk thought hard about the shotgun under the counter. “Really? My name in front of our guest?”
“You used mine first, my consort,” Dizzy replied, only half chastised.
”I doubt they have a birth certificate on you.” Jacob’s tone softened, his accent changed. “Go forth and get thy gum, my child.”
She kissed him on the cheek and went prancing off down the candy aisle. “Thank you, Reverend. Jakey was getting a little boring.”
The clerk slowly lowered his hands to the register. “Alright, alright, I don’t want any trouble. You can have the money.”
The robber’s face had relaxed, gotten older, the voice more fatherly now. “Bless you, my son. It is the will of the goddess that you doeth thus. Do as thou are told and all will go well with you.” He turned his head to the girl again. “My daughter, I shall require a Doctor Pepper to quencheth my thirsteth.”
He turned back just when the clerk had gathered the confidence to go for the gun. “I’m a doctor, too. My degree is in sophistry, young man. An excellent field of study for any man of the cloth, don’t you think?”
The clerk shoved the money into a plastic sack, unable to think of how he should reply to that. “There you go.”
The robber known as Jakey-poo and Reverend glanced down at the bag. “I believeth my host specifically requested beef jerky and lottery tickets as well. I do not bear false witness in this, do I?”
“Right, right,” the clerk turned to the jerky jar. “I just… I’ve never been robbed before.”
He put two sticks of dried meat on the counter, then reached underneath as if going for the scratch tickets. His right hand wrapped around the stock of the gun when the man spoke again. “Where is the rest of it?”
The man’s voice had changed again. This time it held neither the casualness of the first nor the joviality of the second. Now he sounded like a cold-hearted British movie villain. The clerk’s nerves froze at his tone.
Dizzy yelled from the coolers. “Hey, Mister Osborne, you’re not supposed to be out during a creative acquisition. Jakey-poo said so.”
“He’ll thank me later.” The man’s eyes never left the clerk. “This young man was just thinking about trying out his boss’s gun.”
The clerk whipped it out and leveled it at Jacob-Reverend-Osborne. “Maybe I am. Get the fuck out.”
“Pull the trigger and you’re a dead man,” the robber growled.
“Ooo,” Dizzy clapped, dropping three bottles of Dr. Pepper on the floor. “A real wild west showdown.” One of the bottles began spraying brown foam in every direction.
The voice returned to its initial bored coolness as he tilted his head down to his shoulder. “I’ve got this, Osborne.” When he turned back to the clerk, there was no threat in his voice. “Put it down, Stephen. It’s not your money, it’s the store’s. They’ll never miss it. Insurance will repay them for every dime we take and then some. The only ones getting screwed over here are the insurance companies.”
“I’m telling you man, get the fuck out, and take your freaky girlfriend with you. I don’t want to call the cops, but I’m not…”
He lost his voice when Jacob gestured with his free hand. The clerk had been so fixated on the gun hand, he barely noticed the motion. The shotgun leapt from his hands and sailed across the front toward the magazine rack. The robber never touched it, but it had been torn from his fingers all the same.
The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the girl, giggling with ecstasy. “Eek, we’re showing off our magic. Yay, Jakey-poo… I mean, stranger I’ve never met before.” As she jumped up and down, the clerk made note not only of her firm breasts, but also of the pair of fiery wings sprouting out of her back and the tiny curved horns appearing on her forehead.
Jacob hopped the counter, took five tickets off the Lucky 7’s roll, then walked back around, stopping to pick up the shotgun. He cracked it open like a pro. “No ammo.” He tossed the gun toward Dizzy.
She caught it and moved up to kiss him. “Could come in handy anyway. Maybe goddess is telling us we need more firepower.”
“More?” Jacob cocked an eyebrow at her. “Baby, you’re already travelling with the three most powerful wizards on the planet and that’s just what I’m packing in this body. What do you think we’re here to do: start Armageddon?”
A dark voice answered Jacob from the depths of his subconscious.
*Pretty much. Shouldn’t be too much longer before we can get the party started.*
The first interlude of Frostbite gives us a look at a very disturbed young wizard (or trio of wizards) who regard personal property laws as optional. Worse, their magic seems to lend itself to combat purposes a lot more than Colin's mixture of love, luck, and divination spells. Good thing for our hero Colin that he didn't have to face the insane triumvirate Jacob-Reverend-Osborne.
Except Colin is in trouble, because Two Wizard Roulette is totally about putting Colin and Jacob in a Vegas casino and making them duke it out with a slew of Faceless assassins waiting for the winner. I'm really excited about it. Who will win? Who will lose? Or will the house take everything? Only one way to find out.
Frostbite is doing AMAZING on Amazon and I couldn't be more grateful to everybody keeping it in the top 100 in witches & wizards... and for its regular flirtation with top 100 mystery! If you haven't read it already, check it out. As I write, it's still on sale for 99 cents. Get caught up so you're ready for Two Wizards (or is it four?) bringing down the house in Sin City.
The gas station convenience store could have been a twin to the one outside Lake Thunderbird, Oklahoma: snacks, hygiene, dry goods, automotive accessories, and refrigerated items. At that other store, something very bad had recently happened. At this one, something very bad was in the process of happening.
Jacob Darien held the revolver casually, comfortably, but it was pointed at the clerk all the same. His tone of voice suggested this was old hat for him. “Two strips of beef jerky, five lottery tickets, and all your money. You want anything, Dizzy?”
The scantily clad redhead draped over his left shoulder picked up at the mention of her pet name. “Umm… bubblegum. Can I get some bubblegum, Jakey-poo?”
He looked at her and the clerk thought hard about the shotgun under the counter. “Really? My name in front of our guest?”
“You used mine first, my consort,” Dizzy replied, only half chastised.
”I doubt they have a birth certificate on you.” Jacob’s tone softened, his accent changed. “Go forth and get thy gum, my child.”
She kissed him on the cheek and went prancing off down the candy aisle. “Thank you, Reverend. Jakey was getting a little boring.”
The clerk slowly lowered his hands to the register. “Alright, alright, I don’t want any trouble. You can have the money.”
The robber’s face had relaxed, gotten older, the voice more fatherly now. “Bless you, my son. It is the will of the goddess that you doeth thus. Do as thou are told and all will go well with you.” He turned his head to the girl again. “My daughter, I shall require a Doctor Pepper to quencheth my thirsteth.”
He turned back just when the clerk had gathered the confidence to go for the gun. “I’m a doctor, too. My degree is in sophistry, young man. An excellent field of study for any man of the cloth, don’t you think?”
The clerk shoved the money into a plastic sack, unable to think of how he should reply to that. “There you go.”
The robber known as Jakey-poo and Reverend glanced down at the bag. “I believeth my host specifically requested beef jerky and lottery tickets as well. I do not bear false witness in this, do I?”
“Right, right,” the clerk turned to the jerky jar. “I just… I’ve never been robbed before.”
He put two sticks of dried meat on the counter, then reached underneath as if going for the scratch tickets. His right hand wrapped around the stock of the gun when the man spoke again. “Where is the rest of it?”
The man’s voice had changed again. This time it held neither the casualness of the first nor the joviality of the second. Now he sounded like a cold-hearted British movie villain. The clerk’s nerves froze at his tone.
Dizzy yelled from the coolers. “Hey, Mister Osborne, you’re not supposed to be out during a creative acquisition. Jakey-poo said so.”
“He’ll thank me later.” The man’s eyes never left the clerk. “This young man was just thinking about trying out his boss’s gun.”
The clerk whipped it out and leveled it at Jacob-Reverend-Osborne. “Maybe I am. Get the fuck out.”
“Pull the trigger and you’re a dead man,” the robber growled.
“Ooo,” Dizzy clapped, dropping three bottles of Dr. Pepper on the floor. “A real wild west showdown.” One of the bottles began spraying brown foam in every direction.
The voice returned to its initial bored coolness as he tilted his head down to his shoulder. “I’ve got this, Osborne.” When he turned back to the clerk, there was no threat in his voice. “Put it down, Stephen. It’s not your money, it’s the store’s. They’ll never miss it. Insurance will repay them for every dime we take and then some. The only ones getting screwed over here are the insurance companies.”
“I’m telling you man, get the fuck out, and take your freaky girlfriend with you. I don’t want to call the cops, but I’m not…”
He lost his voice when Jacob gestured with his free hand. The clerk had been so fixated on the gun hand, he barely noticed the motion. The shotgun leapt from his hands and sailed across the front toward the magazine rack. The robber never touched it, but it had been torn from his fingers all the same.
The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the girl, giggling with ecstasy. “Eek, we’re showing off our magic. Yay, Jakey-poo… I mean, stranger I’ve never met before.” As she jumped up and down, the clerk made note not only of her firm breasts, but also of the pair of fiery wings sprouting out of her back and the tiny curved horns appearing on her forehead.
Jacob hopped the counter, took five tickets off the Lucky 7’s roll, then walked back around, stopping to pick up the shotgun. He cracked it open like a pro. “No ammo.” He tossed the gun toward Dizzy.
She caught it and moved up to kiss him. “Could come in handy anyway. Maybe goddess is telling us we need more firepower.”
“More?” Jacob cocked an eyebrow at her. “Baby, you’re already travelling with the three most powerful wizards on the planet and that’s just what I’m packing in this body. What do you think we’re here to do: start Armageddon?”
A dark voice answered Jacob from the depths of his subconscious.
*Pretty much. Shouldn’t be too much longer before we can get the party started.*
The first interlude of Frostbite gives us a look at a very disturbed young wizard (or trio of wizards) who regard personal property laws as optional. Worse, their magic seems to lend itself to combat purposes a lot more than Colin's mixture of love, luck, and divination spells. Good thing for our hero Colin that he didn't have to face the insane triumvirate Jacob-Reverend-Osborne.
Except Colin is in trouble, because Two Wizard Roulette is totally about putting Colin and Jacob in a Vegas casino and making them duke it out with a slew of Faceless assassins waiting for the winner. I'm really excited about it. Who will win? Who will lose? Or will the house take everything? Only one way to find out.
Frostbite is doing AMAZING on Amazon and I couldn't be more grateful to everybody keeping it in the top 100 in witches & wizards... and for its regular flirtation with top 100 mystery! If you haven't read it already, check it out. As I write, it's still on sale for 99 cents. Get caught up so you're ready for Two Wizards (or is it four?) bringing down the house in Sin City.
How I Learned to Love the Bomb
A blog talking about how life forced me to be a writer and I couldn't be happier about it. Topics should include writing with children, mental health issues, discrimination, and science fiction.
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