Joshua Bader's Blog: How I Learned to Love the Bomb

Every writer, I think, has a drawer or bin or shelf where projects go to die. The chief culprit in my case is bad poetry. No one should want to be a poet. Complicating the situation, the most poetic souls are likely tortured enough to think no one would want to read their work anyway. I need something to update with... And copying old poems may be worth the effort.


Confused


The penguins fly away
On wings borrowed from the Dodo
To escape the ferocious polar bears
Who finally found a way
To tell North from South.
They must have learned from butterfly
Who used to be such a bookworm.

The sun emerged, refuting purple waves,
While the moon merrily retreated,
Till its mood turned to crimson blood.

I sailed to work today
Trying not to let gravity pull me away.
Who knows what would happen
If I ever remembered how to fall.

I wonder what people do
When they wake up
And the world isn't upside down.



God In Wrinkles

I sat in the crowded lecture hall
Of the philosophy conference,
Surrounded by sophists
And arrogance in suits.
Of all the groups in the world,
You would think Socrates' family reunion
Would recognize that it didn't know squat.
All day I listen to debates:
Mind and body
Spirit and nature
Logic in an illogical universe.
The only real truth uncovered is that even the wise disagree...
They were sparring over what Hobbes really said
When I heard the hall doors creek open behind me.
I turned and peeked to see the newcomer,
Coming to join us in this intellectual torture chamber.
An old man, frail, leaning on his cane,
Made his way from door
To the empty seat beside me.
He sat down, adjusted himself,
Then looked at me and smiled.
We listened and listened
Not saying a word
Taking in everything.
Hours later, I was surprised he was still awake.
We exchanged glances when they said something stupid
So smart that it was ignorant
So informed it was dumb.
After a while, the first windbag on stage
Became stuck in a death hold of knotted logic,
And out of reason, pandered to the crowd,
Asking us what we thought.
I said I didn't know
Not wanting to spar
With someone whose ego so easily bruised
(And not sure in my heart if the question can be answered).
No help to be had from me,
He turned to the old man beside me.
Philosopher, he said, what do you say?
The old man hesitated a moment,
Then smiled and replied:
Hobbes is saying that we are selfish
Not hopelessly evil.
But the motive unexamined
Might be the one that kills us.
The soft crackling voice stopped
And the two duelists on stage went silent.
Then the assault began, grilling him,
From Ontology to Aristotle.
He answered them all
With the deft grace of a master.
Everything, anything,
All knowledge was his.
They proclaimed him king,
Tried to write down every word he said.
Finally, he looked at me and said,
Son, you he been awfully quiet.
I looked back, trying to gather my courage.
You've read all the books
And earnestly sought
To find all these answers by honest thought.
I have too... And I appreciate the honesty
And your willingness to save fools from themselves.
But what I want to know has never been published.
Still ill give you a chance because I'm impressed,
Give me a philosophy on women.
He smiled and grinned,
Now more wrinkles and teeth than face
A small chuckle escaping his breath.
That's the best question I've heard all day
Because it's one whose answer might matter.
So Ill give it my best go...
A woman wants two things.
Give them to her and she's yours.
First, slay her Dragon.
Second, build her a castle.
The Dragon may be her father,
Her brother,
Her past.
Save her from it, not once,
But again and again,
Until at last the beast retreats.
Then build her a castle,
Full of the security she craves
Filled with treasures only love and attention can give.
Do those two, day in, day out,
Never resting comfortable on your laurels
And any woman is yours.
I paused, reflecting, almost starting to cry.
What if the Dragon is too big for me
Or she wants to slay it herself?
The old man still smiled.
They always do, son.
The trick is to let them do it.
Its not important who wielded the sword
Only who provided the strength and encouragement.
Their soul knows the debt
And will gladly repay it.
As to the size of the Dragon,
I've seen quite a few,
And they're always bigger than me,
Bigger than buildings,
Bigger than cities and planets.
They're huge and ferocious, all but invincible.
The secret that takes them
Is that love, real love,
Is even bigger still.
I nodded quietly
Then shook his hand good night,
And walked out the door.
My only question left as I wandered
Was how long the learned men would remember
The day that God wore wrinkles.

I have a lot of books that I want to read someday. That someday part gets pretty nebulous. A lot of the books on that list have been there for years. The challenge an author faces is not just getting their book on to the list; it's getting their book back off the list again.
So today I'm going to make my case as to why now is the right time to read Frostbite. First, start reading Frostbite now and you'll be ready when Two Wizard Roulette comes out later this year. Second, Frostbite is a winter book. The sense of dread and terror comes through best if you worry that maybe, just maybe, there really might be a wendigo waiting in the flurries outside your door. Third, there is a sense of relevance in Colin's dilemmas in being stuck between a megalomaniac billionaire and utter anarchy that is mirrored in the modern political landscape.
I'm not going to belabor the point. Read it today. If you still need a copy...

I've been looking forward to making this blog entry all week. I can't express that sentiment strongly enough. There's a certain point in a project where it's coming to life and the writing is easy and the story is all I can think about. I'm at that stage with Small Favors and I'm excited to share a little bit of that energy with you, constant reader. I think it's all the more crazy because it's a genre I haven't written in before, beyond one or two short stories.
Now, what portion or chapter to share? I promised to keep it PG-13, which rules out... But no reason to go strictly G... And you need a little background for that, so...
Without further ado, Small Favors.

Chapter One
Those eyes drilled into her, so mercilessly blue they reminded Morgan of cold steel and frozen glaciers. "So, we going to do this or not?"
The day had started off normal enough. Simon woke her up with a slightly more enthusiastic than routine demanded kiss to her cheek. He was already dressed for the office, nice shirt, tie number two, and khakis. The colors blended decently, but not perfectly. Morgan had given up waking up early enough to help Simon with his wardrobe color palette years ago. He was middle management now. Secure against demotion, but promotion was unlikely no matter how stylish his dress. She slept, he kissed goodbye, and their worlds briefly touched before drifting apart for the next twelve hours.
Morgan got "morning dressed", pulling herself together enough to wake the kids and half-ass her way through breakfast. Stephen was eight and the first to the table as usual. Like normal, Morgan debated if she cared enough to send him back to his room to put on clean pants. She decided that was too much of a fight and pretended not to notice instead. Tara, the oldest six year ever, sleepily stumbled to the table a few minutes later. Toaster waffles and organic orange juice satisfied all three of them without unravelling Morgan's diet hopes. She had forgotten what weight she was targeting, but she’d be damned if she got old and frumpy without a fight.
While the kids were supposed to be busy brushing their teeth and getting dressed for school, rather than screwing around with their phone and tablet, Morgan got “school-gym dressed”. Yoga pants, sports bra, tank top, and a headband might have sounded simple enough to her husband. To Morgan, they were carefully calculated tools in status symbol warfare. All gear had to be clean, free of holes and signs of wear, with the right color ensemble to convey her attitude and social standing to the other school moms and gym attendees. If the fit was right to be seductive without being slutty, all the better. Morgan had never cheated on Simon, but she still enjoyed knowing that she could attract attention from those around her. Their desire fueled her self-esteem and served as a security blanket against the possibility of Simon going off the deep end during a mid-life crisis.
Unlikely. Simon had never wandered into deep waters in his entire life. You have some experience at depths where feet and soul can’t touch.
Once armored up for the suburban battlefields, Morgan herded Stephen and Tara into the SUV and braved school traffic. There was nothing like a blinking school zone sign to cause people to forget how to drive. Some of the other motorists even lost basic human decency. Morgan’s SUV was a metallic silver, resembling a futuristic tank in shape and color. That metaphor made her feel better about the dangers of driving her kids to their elementary. As she dropped them off, Morgan sighed. Life was truly dull if she had to imagine the twice a day school trip as a real adventure.
Dull, but safe. Sometimes dull was good.
From the elementary school, it was on to one of the two Planet Fitness gyms on her side of town. If she was really serious about her diet or was hot to write on her latest book, she went to the one closest to home. Other days, like today, she wasn’t watching her pounds too closely and was even less eager to get home to her unruly computer screen. She went to the other location, which happened to share a parking lot with Starbucks. Through most of the drive there and all of her workout, Morgan couldn’t think of anything other than the rich texture of cream on top of a sensuous and sugary blend of coffee. She may have skimped on the cardio a little, but who cared. Simon barely paid attention to his waist line, save for when a pair of pants was too tight. Why should she have to be perfection while he got to have a dad bod?
Post-exercise she stopped in at the Starbucks. She ordered her usual drink, pretended outloud that she might be interested in a pastry, mostly to practice her flirting. The male barista taking her order either didn’t notice or was batting for the other team. Morgan consciously avoided the alternative that at the ripe old age of thirty-one she was too old for his tastes. She was damn good looking, regardless of age, and refused to let anyone else tell her otherwise. She took in her drink at the back corner, watching the other employees and customers as they went about their work.
That was how she had caught lightning in a bottle with The Last Embers. People watching was a valuable skill for a writer. Letting the imagination play with the appearances, body language, and attitudes of the people around them allowed for a richly populated vibrant novel. If she just found the right setting, the right group of people, maybe her third novel would live up to the high bar set by her first.
Right, people watching, that was her muse. It had nothing to do with who you were people watching with. You don't need him to write.
Thinking about James slowed her down a little and the drink was cold by the time she got to the dregs. She threw his memories and the cup out at the same time. She returned to her street legal war machine and drove back to her now quiet house in a cozy neighborhood. She tried not to think about the mocking computer screen that would be waiting for her, it’s empty blackness a challenge that she was finding harder and harder to conquer. She blasted her Pandora station, hoping some lyric would catch in her soul and help her find her way. She squeezed her SUV into the garage and ran upstairs to take a shower.
The water erased both sweat and tension, helping Morgan return to her stress free self. She opted for “all-out-work dress” afterwards. She had read somewhere that how a person dressed affected how they thought. If she was going to think like a socialite at an exotic cocktail party, like the main character in The Rose Among Diamonds, it couldn’t hurt to look the part. She broke out one of her little black dresses, admired herself in the mirror, and started downstairs to her home office. She thought better of it on the top step and turned around to add her favorite pair of heels. She took off her wedding ring and put on a pearl string choker. That was what her character would have worn, given her closet and budget.
She marched downstairs, ready to conquer the world, or, at least, chapter three. The triumphant show of force proved ineffective. Ten minutes later, she was still staring at the monitor, trying to add a new sentence to the existing total of the book.
Fifteen minutes later, she reread the opening of chapter three, editing as she went, polishing where she could. It was romance, right? Half of the good stuff would be invented in the imagination of her readers. She just needed to get close enough to let the torrid minds fill in the blanks.
Forty-five minutes later, she was back to staring at where she had left off, wondering what in Hell she was going to write next.
Slightly after the hour mark, she went back to the very beginning of chapter one and started slowly working her way forward.
Doing this wouldn’t get anything new written, but at least she could pretend she had been productive when Simon got home that night. It had been such a simple decision. She didn’t need a “real” career. She was a talented writer and better with the kids than Simon was. Of course, she should be the one to stay home with the children, stand barefoot in the kitchen, and dust doilies when… Morgan forced herself to stop and return to the screen in front of her. She had been a writer from middle school on, but had really blossomed while she was pregnant with Stephen. It had been a hard pregnancy for a number of reasons. She had miscarried a couple of years before it and the doctors thought it best if she stay in bed for the last half of her pregnancy. Simon bought her a new laptop and Morgan dug out an old notebook with a half started manuscript. The Last Embers was finished forty-eight hours before she went into labor.
Neither of them had expected much out of it at the time. It had been something to pass the time, really. But somewhere in the mist of exhaustion that was life with a newborn, she had used nap time to query an agent. One of the queries took, which led to a publisher, which led to reasonable success, especially for a first time author. The novel had been critically well reviewed and romance was a hot genre. After that, it was obvious that Morgan should stay at home and write and Simon should work at his career for another decade or so. Back then it had been assumed, they would retire after they got kids off to college.
But the success that had been foretold by The Last Embers had fallen flat with her follow up, Dancing Across Ice. It wasn’t that it was a bad novel… but people who had been in love with her first book just didn’t have that same visceral reaction to the second. Everyone around her, Simon, her publishing house, her agent, her, were very careful not to blame Dancing Across Ice for the movie deal falling apart for The Last Embers. The absence of open accusation made it all the more obvious that was exactly what had happened. The movie made sense when she was a rising star, not when she was a one-shot wonder. It’s not that the money for two novels was bad… but it wasn’t retire early, move to the Bahamas, good, either.
All of that could change if The Rose Among Diamonds worked. But it wasn’t. She had been toying around with it for over three years now and still couldn’t close out the third chapter. Yes, she had small children, yes, they demanded massive amounts of time and attention. But others had written more under harsher situations. She had played around with other genres, other starts, but beyond a few promising first chapters, The Rose Among Diamonds was the most complete idea she had to work with.
She stared at the screen, pounded out a sentence, deleted it, and tried again. It wasn’t great, but it was something. At a sentence a day, she had to eventually finish, right?
Sure. Because if you have two minutes of sex a day, you’ll eventually have an orgasm, right?
She texted Simon at work, partly to remind him she was there, partly to make it sound like she was busy and productive. Morgan didn’t think her husband was having an affair, but it never hurt to prod her man with the knowledge she existed. She went back upstairs and traded the heels in for something more sensible, in this case, her jogging shoes and socks. She took a selfie with the choker still on and sent it to him. With enough poking, maybe she’d get two or more minutes of sex when night came and the children were safe in bed.
Do you even remember why you pick on him about time? Have you completely forgotten?
Simon wasn’t bad in bed. He wasn’t. It was just a natural progression after two children. Her body wasn’t the same, no matter how much work she put into it at the gym and at eating times. They were getting older, their hormones decreasing. Nobody could be a voracious teenager forever. When they did have sex, she usually did finish. Not always, but often enough not to complain. It wasn’t fireworks, but it was better than a sparkler.
She put such thoughts and the choker away, grabbed her purse, and headed out to the supermarket. She didn’t have a clear plan for dinner, but she would figure out something as she shopped. She was so lost in her own fugue, she almost didn’t see the black sedan parked in front of her house. She slammed her brakes before she could back into it. She almost let her foot drift off the pedal in surprise when she saw the man leaning up against it.
He was wearing blue jeans and combat boots, leading up to leather belt and crisp white tee. A fatigue green jacket hung loose from his shoulders, but it was left open, leaving little of his chest or abs to the imagination. The white shirt clung to his contour, revealing a solid physique. Black hair hung to his shoulders, his face clean shaven. Even from the front seat of her SUV, she could feel those eyes looking at her. James should have been thirty-two, but not a damn thing had changed about him in the last decade. The boots and blue jeans were new, virtually perfect condition, but other than that he looked exactly like he had when they had parted so long ago.
Morgan started to get out, stopped to remember to put the vehicle into park first, and then got out for real. She should have pulled back into the garage, shut the door, and called the cops.
Why? You really think he would hurt you?
She dismissed that idea with a shake. James was a dangerous man, but not to her. Not physically, at least. She shook her head, stared at him, wondered what the hell she was supposed to do next. She slowly creeped down to where he was, trying not to slink her hips back and forth in her little black dress, desperately wishing she had changed into something else before leaving the house. She tried to find words to say, but found them as vanishing as when she tried to write novels about him… novels with him… novels. Standing this close, she found it impossible to deny who the real muse for The Last Embers was. All her long standing defenses crumbled to dust.
Those eyes drilled into her, so mercilessly blue they reminded Morgan of cold steel and frozen glaciers. "So, we going to do this or not?"

Disclaimer: It's 6:30 in the morning and I've been up since 4 am with babies.

It's always a little disturbing as someone with bipolar I when I can't sleep. I blame Josiah for being up at 4, but I was already on the verge of giving up sleep when he started screaming. 5 hours of sleep is a far cry from the worst it has ever been... But it's a slippery slope downward. I'm going to crash pretty hard when the hypo mania passes.
In the meantime, I have been extraordinarily productive with nearly 15k words on my latest project in the last 3 days. 5k a day may not be much to some authors, but add in kids, work, and editing 2 other finished manuscripts and I'm pretty darn proud of myself.
Small Favors started as a romance. I think it still falls under that general umbrella, but its definitely picking up some dark, disturbing twists. Romantic suspense is likely where it will end up. Or this is going to be my Hunter S. Thompson novel that no one is quite sure what genre to put it in. (A terrible place to be from a marketing perspective, but I think every author wants to successfully pull one off.) The story focuses on a settled suburban mom and a dangerous man from her past that she just can't escape her feelings for. The sex (Mom, you probably want to skip this one) isn't overwhelming, but it treads in deep, sometimes uncomfortable, waters. The plot has been pulling the story forward with intensity and I'm absolutely in love with the book.
The frenetic pace will pass, but the manuscript remains. I suspect I'll share an excerpt next week (I'll try and keep the sampler PG-13).
Oh, and Desperation, Part One will be free February 1 and 2, with Part Two releasing on the first.

I've got some signed alternate art Frostbite covers and ebooks to give away for both Frostbite and Desperation, plus early access to Desperation Part Two.

Contest Entry!

Congratulations to everyone out there working on a New Year's Resolution or a Reading Challenge... Or really putting any effort into being a better person this year. My resolution is to publish at least two books this year, because if I've learned anything from Stephen King, Rex Stout, or Dean Koontz, sometimes you just need to be prolific to be successful. Not everything I write will connect with every reader. The more books, the more connections to readers.
Really, its going to be 2 and twelve-thirteenths of a book. One will be Two Wizard Roulette, out in May/June of this year, the follow up to last year's Frostbite. Two will be... I don't know yet. The Bard or the unnamed poetry book are both strong contenders. It's the twelve-thirteenths that has me excited and talking to you today.
I've started a serial project on Amazon called Desperation. At the moment, I'm committed to thirteen installments, one a month between now and next January. Its a true serial in that its not finished: I want feedback and audience participation to help shape the story. I may keep it going for a second season if there's enough interest, but we'll see what happens with the first 13 episodes.
It's high fantasy, not urban fantasy, a Tolkien-esque world with swords, magic, and an evil empire. The first installment is meant to introduce most of the main characters and start shaping the general arc of their adventure:
Dimitri, a con artist with a flair for the dramatic and a natural talent for illusion magic.
Serenity, a street rat struggling for respect and identity who finds herself swept up in Dimitri's antics
Jian Lee, a smuggler trapped by an accident of birth
Jonas, a mageknight who just wants to avoid the royal court packed with his relatives.
If you're a Kindle Owner or have Kindle Unlimited, the series is free to read. If you don't, you can purchase it now on Amazon . Follow me on social media to share your thoughts on where the adventure should go next (and for heads up on free and discount days).
As always, thank you for reading.

With 2016 on its way out (and not soon enough), I wanted to reflect on two murders not talked about on social media. Both of them were heinous crimes, because they cut short what could have been utter greatness. Both also contain spoiler alerts, so if you don't want Rogue One or Suicide Squad spoiled you probably should have seen them already.
I've seen both movies twice at this point. On first viewing, I would have scored both fairly high. I think I gave both a B+ while leaving the theatre. Some of the characters are interesting and charismatic. The ideas are sexy: criminals working together for the greater good to the save the world (slash galaxy). It's great stuff with amazing potential.
It's on the second viewing for each that both went south. I don't know that I can tolerate a third. (Let's face it, I will suffer through a third and watch the deleted scenes when Rogue One hits DVD.) So what happened between first and second go? How did the movie I like disintegrate?
Rogue One falls apart faster and harder. It's biggest problem is an uncertainty of who the main character is supposed to be: Cassian, Jyn, or somebody else. My guess is there was a group of writers that really, really wanted Cassian to be the lead, while other writers and Disney said, no, we need a strong female character as the lead after the toy fiasco with Force Awakens. So Cassian gets a couple disjointed scenes that look like they were supposed to play into a bigger narrative, but really are just left floating there unconnected to the rest of the story. There were a lot of stronger possible openings than the murder Cassian commits in the name of the rebellion. Speaking of unconnected storylines that never developed due to uncertainty over who the lead was and what the story was really all about, we never learned about the meaning of the crystal around Jyn's neck and the blind monk's connection to it. (Yes, I know, we geeks can fill in the gaps, but the movie is meant to be an entry point for a new generation.)
The toy fiasco leads to another problem that became blatantly apparent on second viewing. Jyn Erso is not a strong female leader. There, I said it. If you can, watch the movie from the point at which 20 or so rough and tumble rebels volunteer to follow her on Rogue One. (Speaking of which, why are the 20 all men?) Now count the number of times in which a command order is issued. How many orders did Jyn give to her troops? Zero. Nada. Zilch. Every single order is issued by Cassian. Granted there's a meaningful silence where Cassian looks to Jyn for guidance... but the words always come from Cassian. But that's okay, because she strong and is able to confront and conquer her demons in the form of Krennic. Except Cassian steals that, too, by shooting him in the back. The opportunity for a great female lead was there... and was completely squandered by Disney's writers.
Don't get me wrong: you need to see this movie once. But stop there. And don't let Disney lie to you that Rogue One is a feminist movie. It's not: It's the patriarchy's idea of what a feminist movie should be.
Which brings me to Suicide Squad. I understand that sexuality is a weapon for Harley Quinn, as much as the Penguin's umbrella is for him. On the other hand, when I was a kid, Harley could radiate sexual power while covered head to toe in a jester's outfit. But that's not my real issue with Suicide Squad, just an irritant. (The fact that I work in Hot Topic part time and sell the movie booty shorts to preteen girls increases the irritation.)
The real problem is that we got this amazing cast of villains from Amanda Waller on down... and the writer's seemed to go blank on what to put them up against. The special effects for the bad guys are great and Enchantress has a great look to her. But storyline, backstory, and purpose behind the villains are either absent or so generic as to be a joke. On second viewing, it's like watching the Harlem Globetrotters play anybody: the other team is so bereft of talent and stars, the outcome is never in doubt. The DC universe is so old, so deep, it's a shame that was the best they could come up with for a legitimate threat. What about a Poison Ivy, Solomon Grundy, Sinestro team up? But no, Avengers had a dark god, so the Avengers ripoff needed a dark god. (Let us lament that we will never get a Loki / Harley Quinn scene, because it would be great to hear her psychoanalyze his daddy issues.)
Anyway, those are my unpopular opinions for the end of 2016. You're welcome to your own stance. But let's hope the year is content to carry away these two movies rather than another beloved icon.

One of the difficult parts of blogging while actively writing and editing is knowing what to share and from which project. I don't want to give away too much, but I do want to make sure every endeavor gets its day in the Sun. So, since it's almost Christmas (and too early for Rogue One spoilers and too late for politics), how about a little slice of everything?


Tongue, lips, mind, heart kiss
Then break, as day barges in
To steal dream away.


(I do love my Haikus. The poetry book is still on my mind, though it's been a little quiet recently.)



“Am I under arrest?” Lily asked. She had been sitting there quietly for a half hour now. Normally, she assumed that the less she said to the police, the better, but this was feeling less and less “normal” with each passing moment. The female FBI agent had gotten back in the car, put the keys in the ignition, and cranked it up. Then she sat there. And sat there. And sat there.
“Do you want to be?” The agent finally asked in reply. Her voice sounded heavy, like a black mushroom cloud waiting to dump its rain.
“Umm… that depends. What are my options? Can I… just walk away?”
The driver shook her head. “I can turn you over to the local cops. Tell them you attacked a federal agent with a loaded shotgun. You’ll spend at least the next five years in prison. And that’s if you flirt with your lawyer and the judge.”
Lily sighed. “Or? I’m pretty sure I don’t like that option.”
“You go with me back to Oklahoma City. I’m not sure what I’ll need you for just yet. Bait, maybe. Bargaining chip, otherwise. Help me bring in Jacob… safe and sound.”
“Do you really think you can?” Lily felt like crying now. “He’s pretty far gone.”
The agent sniffled a little and Lily was certain she was crying. “Yeah. But somebody’s got to bring him in. Or there’s going to be a lot more wrong in the world than one little demolished casino.”


(I've been focusing a lot on bringing honest depth and screen time to my heroines. I want to make sure that I'm using them to their full potential. This snippet is from Two Wizard Roulette (out May/June 2017, but this scene was a good practice run for The Faceless.)


He sighed. “Not the best way to travel. I’m sure you were in the war against Nirvana. Were you old enough for the Avalonian-Wotsea conflict?”
I tried not to think about it, to not remember the blood and scent of sulfur. “I was there. I was young, but I was there.”
“Bloody mess. Three way war is hell.”
I was suddenly curious, but dreaded his answer all the same. “Were you?”
He said nothing, but studied the board with deep interest. After a minute, he nodded.
I wanted to know what side he had fought for… before I realized it no longer mattered. Even if we had been enemies then, time had passed us by. Exodus traded again with both countries and was rumored to be on the verge of a royal marriage with Avalon. “War is hell,” I agreed and pushed a pawn forward.
We exchanged pieces on his next move. “There is another war coming. Or could be.”
“What do you mean, Jadim?”
He looked me in the eye and I found the green-gold of his irises magnetic. “There’s a group of mercenaries hired by a powerful faction within the Wotsean government, known as the DCI. These mercs are going to steal the Gem of the Dragon Sages and return it to the DCI, the first step in a long and convoluted plan to allow Wotsea to take over much of the known world. If the Gem reaches their hands, war will be inevitable.”
“Is that why you wanted to talk to me? To warn me about an impending theft.” I felt a little bit disappointed. “You could have told me and the rest of the guardians about that by the light of day.”
Jadim smiled. “No, Kiara, it gets a tad bit more complicated. See, I’m the leader of said mercenary band.”


(Got to have something for everyone in a sampler. This comes from The Bard, a high fantasy with a Vonnegut sense of humor. There are those on my friends list that may get a great laugh out of one of the jokes hidden in the passage. Feel free to comment if you get it.)


Well, that's all for now constant reader. I'll be back after the holidays with more surprises for you, provided I don't get locked up for crimes committed at the height of retail fever.

The fun of being a writer is getting it written. The old saying is absolutely true. Get it written, then, and only then, get it right. And that getting it right part is the work of being a writer. One of the dangers of self-publishing is that some authors are so excited to share their book, they don't really get it right before setting it loose on the world.
I've said many times how much I love my editor at City Owl Yelena Casale. She is a huge part of the equation for me in getting it right. For example, she never would have let me publish the excerpt that I posted in my last blog post in the state that it was. But that was playing around... I got it written, but it was a long way from right.
The new book, The Bard, still has a lot of work to get it right. But I'd like to show the difference between a rough draft and three solid editing passes later. (It will probably go through another five plus edits before I'm ready to publish.)

The name my mother gave me is Kiara. As a teenager, I earned the right to the title of Priestess of Testament. Most of those who know about me these days use fancier phrases, like Kiara, Guardian of the Sage’s Gate. If someone wants to make me blush or just doesn’t know any better, they refer to me as Kiara, Savior of the World. I’m not sure I deserve any of those honorifics and none of them is what I want to be called. I suppose the point of me saying all this is to let people decide for themselves what honor, if any, I really earned in life. My story, our story, has become so famous that a lot of myths have sprung up concerning myself and my compatriots. The hospital in Gatetown is constantly full to capacity with the afflicted. They seem to hope that proximity to me will be enough to cure the incurable. I wish everything they believed was true, but it isn’t. I’m a priestess, not a miracle worker, most definitely not a saint or savior.
I’ll tell the truth in this, but I know not everyone will believe me. People often prefer the pretty little lies that make them feel happy, secure, and wise. I don’t want to take that away from anyone: we all need what solace we can find. But I do want to make sure that if anyone ever needs to know what really happened when the Sage’s Gate opened, there was at least one accurate record in existence. It doesn’t help that the most outspoken member of our group had a very loose association with the truth under the best of circumstances. There were times it felt like every word Jadim ever spoke to me was a lie. Except for his last words to me… I choose to believe he finally told the truth in the end.
I’m getting ahead of myself by mentioning Jadim. He wasn’t there at the start. Speaking of the beginning, a little backstory may be in order. Not all the priestesses on Haven teach the same thing, so I should explain our world as it was taught to me. Many generations ago, the seven exalted dragons brought our ancestors from a place called Earth to their world, Haven. Why this happened is unclear, but it is generally believed that Earth was no longer livable due to a ravenous monster, Technologia, The Mother of All Terrors. The dragons could not defeat Technologia, but pitied the human race and wanted to spare them from their fate. Each dragon selected a handful of people with characteristics that particular dragon valued to bring home with them to Haven, for Technologia had not yet mastered planar travel.
Humanity thrived on Haven, for the other races that were here before us did not have our keen intellect and struggled with the deeper arcane arts. Each dragon taught those they choose magic as they saw fit and it did not take long before humanity began to twist what was learned to invent new magics. One of these applications was the rise of the priestesses, drawing strength from ancient human Earth myths to fuel potent magical effects. My particular line of priestess can trace its lineage back to one of the oldest goddesses of Earth, Testament. This particular deity was so ancient that its followers constantly felt the need to put Old in her name. Some claim there was a new god of Testament, but I am not aware of any priestesses who follow such a path.
Testament taught a number of things to its followers: Justice, Art, and Sages. Justice meant that we should do what was right, punish those who did wrong, and provide a clear law that everyone could tell the difference between good and evil. Art meant that we had a sacred duty to promote creative endeavors that built up others, especially writing, painting, and music. Sages meant that the wisdom of the dragons was to be treasured and should be enshrined in both law and creative acts. One of the most sacred duties to the priestesses of Testament was the protection of the Shrine of the Dragon Sages. Within that hallowed structure rested a mystic gem of fantastic power known as the Gem of the Dragon Sages. The priestesses of Testament were never particularly good at naming things.
By the time I was appointed to my turn to guard the Shrine of the Dragon Sages, I was already a renowned healer and accomplished priestess. Like the priestess I relieved, I did not know what the Gem of the Dragon Sages did. I knew it was important to make sure that it never fell into wrong hands, but I could not tell you why. And while it was an important job, it was also largely a ceremonial one, one last tour of duty before retirement to the Halls of Exodus. No one had ever tried to steal the Gem of the Dragon Sages and it was hard to imagine any wrong hands who might want to get hold of it.
I do not want anyone to think that I viewed the world through rose colored glasses. I was well aware that there were many humans and lesser races that voluntarily did bad things. A person can be nasty, brutish, and mean, even when they are trying to do what they perceive as the right thing. The seven dragon clans of mankind had grown exponentially since their arrival on Haven and war was not unknown to me. Worse, because of our proficiency in healing, priestesses often saw the worst of the carnage, the aftermath of violence. I knew there was evil… but I did not think that evil had any use for wisdom. A thing named the Gem of the Dragon Sages, had to be related to the quest for knowledge, right?
The other heroes employed by the kingdom of Exodus for guarding the temple were not as accomplished as me, perhaps, but they were not green amateurs, either. Xeros, the Banespear, leader of their band had distinguished himself in war against the Kingdom of Nirvana versus their elite Foo Fighter brigade. He had been the head guardian of the temple for five years before I ever arrived. He was brash, outspoken, and rude… but he was also unbeaten in the local arena for a record one hundred and seventy nine matches. His skill with the great spear was the stuff of legend and I saw it up close enough times to admit that his ability mirrored the myth. It is harder for me to admit that I was actually attracted to him for a time. I suppose I always had a thing for difficult men.


Lastly, hi to my Amazon followers, who should be seeing this blog for the first time. As always, your feedback is welcome! I want to keep getting better.

I had an entire book occur to me while driving to work today (which is not my normal process at all). Usually, I'm lucky if I know a little bit of the middle and the characters, and everything else develops as I write. Not this one. I saw the beginning, watched it develop to the middle, and all the way till the end. I've got a lot on my plate right now writing wise, but I wanted to get the beginning down on paper.
I'd love some feedback on the opening to see if there's interest in having the whole story laid out. For you Frostbite fans, its going to tell the story of Jadim Cartarssi, whose quotes grace the section heads in Modern Knights. Let me know what you think, good or bad.

I am known as Kiara, Priestess of Testament, Guardian of the Sage’s Gate, Savior of the World. I don’t deserve most of those titles, though I suppose the point of this tale is to let the reader decide for themselves what part I really played in a series of remarkable events. The story has become so famous that there are any number of legends and myths that have sprung up concerning myself and my compatriots. Not long before I sat down to write this, a woman brought her dying daughter to Gatetown, hoping that just by having her near me she would be healed. I wish everything they said was true, but it isn’t.
I’ll tell the truth in this, but I know not everyone will believe it. Some times everyone prefers their pretty little lies that make them feel safe, secure, and happy. I don’t want to take those hopes away from anyone, but I do want to make sure that if anyone ever needed to know what really happened when the Sage’s Gate opened, there was an accurate record. It doesn’t help that the most outspoken member of our group had a very loose association with the truth under the best of circumstances. There were times it felt like every word Jadim ever spoke to me was a lie, except for his last words to me. I choose to believe he told the truth in the end.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though, to mention Jadim. He wasn’t there in the beginning. Speaking of beginning, a little backstory is in order. This is the one part of my story that I cannot personally verify. Many generations ago, the seven exalted dragons brought our ancestors from a place called Earth to their world, known as Haven. Why this happened is unclear, but it is generally believed that Earth was no longer livable due to a ravenous monster, Technologia, The Mother of All Terrors. The dragons could not defeat Technologia, but pitied the human race and each dragon selected a handful of people with characteristics that dragon valued to bring home with them, for Technologia had not yet mastered planar travel.
Humanity thrived on Haven, for the other races that were here before us did not have such a keen intellect and struggled with the deeper arcane arts. Each dragon taught those they choose magic as they saw fit and it did not take long before humanity began to twist what was learned to invent new magics. One of these applications was the rise of the priestesses, drawing strength from ancient human myths to fuel potent magics. My particular line of priestess can trace its lineage back to one of the oldest gods of Earth, Testament. There was once another group of priestesses that claimed there was a new god of Testament, but to the best of my knowledge they are extinct now.
Testament believed in a number of things: Justice, Art, and Sages. Justice meant that we should do what was right, punish those who did wrong, and provide a clear law that everyone could tell the difference between the two. Art meant that it was a sacred duty to promote creative endeavors that built up others, especially writing, painting, and music. Sages meant that the wisdom of the dragons was to be treasured and should be enshrined in both law and creative acts. One of the most sacred duties to the priestesses of Testament was the protection of the Shrine of the Dragon Sages. Within that hallowed structure rested a mystic gem of fantastic power named the Gem of the Dragon Sages. While I love the priestesses of Testament, we were never particularly good at naming things.
By the time I was appointed to my turn to guard the Shrine of the Dragon Sages, I was already a renowned healer and accomplished priestess. Like the priestess I relieved, I did not know what the Gem of the Dragon Sages did. I knew it was important to make sure that it never fell into wrong hands, but I could not tell you why. And while it was an important job, it was also largely a ceremonial one, one last tour of duty before retirement to the Halls of Exodus. No one had ever tried to steal the Gem of the Dragon Sages and it was hard to imagine any wrong hands who might try to get it.
I do not want anyone to think that I viewed the world through rose colored glasses. I was well aware that there were many humans and lesser races that voluntarily did bad things. A person can be nasty, brutish, and mean, even when they are trying to do what they perceive as the right thing. The seven dragon clans of mankind had grown exponentially since their arrival on Haven and war was not unknown to me. Worse, because of our proficiency in healing, myself and other priestesses often saw the worst of the carnage, the aftermath of violence. I knew there was evil… but I did not think that evil had any use for wisdom. A thing named the Gem of the Dragon Sages, had to be related to the quest for knowledge, right?
The other heroes employed by the kingdom of Exodus for the guarding of the temple were not as accomplished as me, perhaps, but they were not green amateurs, either. Xeros, the Banespear, and leader of their band had distinguished himself in war against the Kingdom of Nirvana against their elite Foo Fighter brigade. He had been the head guardian of the temple for five years before I ever arrived. He was brash, outspoken, and rude… but he was also unbeaten in the local arena for a record one hundred and seventy nine matches. His skill with the great spear was the stuff of legend and I saw it up close enough times to admit that his ability merited the myth. It is harder for me to admit that I was actually attracted to him for a time.