tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70811304061775134072024-03-12T19:53:59.010-07:00Olivia Evans BooksAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-18590386286612242702013-09-18T04:52:00.002-07:002013-09-18T07:08:15.754-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjncM4hzg2P0QOOr8Lw3vlbpoej-X0ywkcZW7FQtHd9p-yS_7zra9IuHN-VFEBHK6HslKn69Mz-BSI3q6qBEgak1sILElLMnGQk2v5NUdEfBhyRnnSZ1zgRQvRb04TyqcuMraA4P47xfz/s1600/incur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjncM4hzg2P0QOOr8Lw3vlbpoej-X0ywkcZW7FQtHd9p-yS_7zra9IuHN-VFEBHK6HslKn69Mz-BSI3q6qBEgak1sILElLMnGQk2v5NUdEfBhyRnnSZ1zgRQvRb04TyqcuMraA4P47xfz/s1600/incur.jpg" height="200" width="131"></a></div>
Incurable Insanity by Simi K. Rao<br>
My rating: 4 of 5 stars<br>
<br>
I have alalways been interested in the Indian culture and was excited to get the opportunity to review this book. What made it even better was that I wasn't disappointed. Simi Rao weaves a beautiful tale of two people in love who are fighting it because of past heartache and betrayal. I was captivated from the beginning all the way to the end. I was entertained and even educated. The only critique I can give was that there were times that I thought that Ruhi (the main female character) would jump from one emotion to another without prprobable cause. I would be reading and think "so what did he do now? Cut the man some slack". But overall this was a great read that I would recommend to others. <div><br></div><div>Don't believe me, try an excerpt:<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>1: Disillusion</u></b></div>
Ruhi Sharma was a blushing bride, practically a newlywed, locked up in this glittering cage for<br>
almost a month, twenty-nine days to be exact; an object of envy of all her friends and family.<br>
<br>
Twenty-nine days ago, she had signed her name beside his on the marriage certificate. She had<br>
gone through all the miscellaneous ceremonies associated with the typical grand<br>
Indian wedding—the engagement, the Mehendi, the Sangeet, the Haldi, and the grand finale<br>
(her father had spared no expense) until finally her betrothed had staked his claim by placing<br>
the Sindoor on her forehead and tying the Mangalsutra around her neck, and she had quietly<br>
and blissfully followed him around the sacred fire carefully listening to and reciting the Saath<br>
Pheras in her mind.<br>
<br>
She was the very beautiful and accomplished daughter of Amrit and Devyani Sharma, the apple<br>
of their eye, and they had left no stone unturned in raising her the best way they possibly could.<br>
<br>
Friends and family were surprised for not only had Ruhi been provided with a very good<br>
education, she held an MBA from a leading institution, but her parents had also made sure that<br>
she was adept in all other various skills, which a well-bred traditional Indian girl is desired to be<br>
proficient in. Therefore, nobody marveled when marriage proposals came pouring in from all<br>
directions.<br>
<br>
But the Sharmas were choosy; they wanted only the best for their golden child, and they did get<br>
it, or so they surmised.<br>
<br>
The idea of giving their daughter’s hand in marriage to the well-accomplished son of the most<br>
well-known family in Chandigarh was beyond their wildest imagination. It was wilder because<br>
they hadn’t gone in search of it, rather it had come and landed on their lap.<br>
Shaan, the youngest and most eligible of the Ahuja clan, was twenty-seven, a fresh aerospace<br>
masters grad from a premier engineering institute located in the Los Angeles county of United<br>
States, California, who had already bagged a plum job in a leading aeronautics and space<br>
exploration company in sunny LA.<br>
<br>
“My son makes interplanetary spacecraft. He’s the man of the future” had become the proud and<br>
frequent rant of Mr. Shiv Ahuja, who for some odd reason seemed to be trying to paint his son in<br>
the most rosy of tones even though he really didn’t need to, for as soon as Ruhi saw her future<br>
husband’s likeness, she lost her heart, and there was no question of a retrieval.<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
---o---</div>
<br>
“Chai?”<br>
<br>
“Huh? Yes please with just a pinch of sugar. Thanks!” He took the cup from her hands, careful<br>
not to touch her fingers.<br>
<br>
Ruhi closed her eyes; she could now repeat every movement, every word by rote. He was a<br>
creature of habit…and she was bored. What was supposed to be the most exciting time in<br>
every young woman’s life had turned out to be the worst…Well, not really. He wasn’t mean,<br>
rather he was the perfect gentleman, too perfect!<br>
<br>
Oh how she wished he would rather be screaming mean and nasty. At least that would bring<br>
some excitement into her not so-happening life! She laughed, pausing as she brushed her<br>
long black hair, rather hysterically.<br>
<br>
The bombshell had dropped on their wedding night. He had walked into the room late as she sat<br>
there, a shy bride in all her wedding finery waiting, nervous yet excited at the same time, to meet<br>
the man she had hardly spoken to or looked at. What would he say, talk about, or do?<br>
<br>
She had heard a lot of stories about what to expect, some factual and some fabricated (her<br>
friends had prepared her well), but she wanted her own to be special, unique, and it was…<br>
Sitting down on the bed in front of her, he had taken her hand in his and said very gently, as if to<br>
tone down the trauma, “I bet you are one of the most beautiful brides in the world, but I’m sorry<br>
I cannot make love to you. There is someone else.”<br>
<br>
Not sure if she’d heard right, Ruhi had watched puzzled as he lay down on the mattress and<br>
turned his back to her. Is that it? A plain and blunt dismissal of her dreams, her life? Was that<br>
all?<br>
<br>
<b><u>Buy Links:</u></b><br>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DRJZ31C" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DRJZ31C</a></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Barnes and Noble : <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-incurable-insanity-simi-k-rao/1116524096?ean=9781627465922" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc; line-height: normal;" target="_blank">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-incurable-insanity-simi-k-rao/1116524096?ean=9781627465922</a></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Publisher: <a href="http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781627465922" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">http://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/book.php?w=9781627465922</a></span></div>
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<b><u>Advice from Simi</u></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><u><br></u></b></div>
<b>Question:</b> Starting Out As A Writer – 5 Things You Should Know<br>
<br>
5 Things? Hmm..let’s see.<br>
<br>
1. Read: Yes, to write well one should also be a good reader. I fell in love with books at a very young<br>
age, thanks to my father. My first book was ‘Black Beauty’ by Anna Sewell. The story of the beautiful<br>
black horse touched an emotional cord and continues to reside in my heart as do many others. Reading<br>
a lot and widely, helps open up the horizons and expand the possibilities.<br>
<br>
2. Write because you love to: Don’t write if you’d rather spend time doing something else. Write<br>
because you want to, because you love to and write from the heart. Be sincere--it shows.<br>
<br>
3. Develop your own writing voice: Though there may be several authors you are inspired by, there is<br>
no replacement to your own voice. Develop your own style and stick to it. Often I will buy a book not<br>
because I like the plot summary but because I love the way a particular author writes.<br>
<br>
4. Don’t edit, let it flow.<br>
<br>
5. Try not to write about what you don’t know without adequate research: If you do, then be prepared<br>
for the expert comments.<br>
<br>
And to throw in a bonus<br>
6. Write frequently: Can’t stress this enough. Make it a habit. Write something, anything, but write<br>
everyday.<br>
<br>
<hr>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Simi K. Rao</b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">Simi K. Rao was born in India and has been living in the United States for several</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">years. This book is her first foray into writing. The inspiration for the story came</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">from what she has seen transpire among and within the immigrant community.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">Some of the experiences included are her own; some have been garnered from</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">friends and casual conversations with acquaintances. She also writes poetry, is</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">an avid photographer, loves to travel, and is a practicing physician. She currently</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">lives in Denver with her family.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;"><br></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">You can connect with the author and read more of her work on her website at</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: times new roman, new york, times, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: normal;">www.simikrao.com</span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"></span><br>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Website: <a href="http://simikrao.wordpress.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">http://simikrao.wordpress.com/</a></span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/simikrao" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">https://www.facebook.com/simikrao</a></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
</span>
<div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">Twitter: @simikrao</span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-size: small;">
<div>
Blog: <a href="http://simikrao.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">simikrao.com</a></div>
<div>
Goodreads: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18187461-an-incurable-insanity" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18187461-an-incurable-insanity</a></div>
</span></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-67219855008384082842013-09-10T23:19:00.000-07:002013-09-10T23:21:04.674-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC9QDxI9NfaGDWvWofCJQmTpo5HAoQyua7yOnwJi050aOom1PRFtu9VRSPvKltWQH1LgBsav3oWvtWt36oPW7quoSQbjH-0rhfbL37vS4YSjuQJVu5YNptyoqgHv1hhRKUChxSWRqzACW/s1600/Home+world+high+res-RBG-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC9QDxI9NfaGDWvWofCJQmTpo5HAoQyua7yOnwJi050aOom1PRFtu9VRSPvKltWQH1LgBsav3oWvtWt36oPW7quoSQbjH-0rhfbL37vS4YSjuQJVu5YNptyoqgHv1hhRKUChxSWRqzACW/s1600/Home+world+high+res-RBG-01.jpg" height="200" width="141" /></a></div>
<u><b><span style="font-size: large;">Home World by Bonnie Milani</span></b></u><br />
4.5 of 5 stars<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"> </span></span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: normal; text-align: start;">Amid the ruins of a post-apocalyptic Waikiki, Jezekiah Van Buren thinks he’s found a way to restore Earth – Home World to the other worlds of the human Commonwealth – to her lost glory.</span><span style="color: #222222; line-height: normal; text-align: start;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 15px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: normal; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ingenious even by the standards of the genetically enhanced Great Family Van Buren, Jezekiah has achieved the impossible: he has arranged a treaty that will convert Earth's ancient enemies, the Lupans, to her most powerful allies. Not only will the treaty terms make Earth rich again, it will let him escape the Ring that condemns him to be Earth's next ruler. Best of all, the treaty leaves him free to marry Keiko Yakamoto, the Samuari-trained woman he loves. Everything’s set. All Jezekiah has to do is convince his xenophobic sister to accept the Lupan's alpha warlord in marriage. Before, that is, the assassin she's put on his tail succeeds in killing him. Or the interstellar crime ring called Ho Tong succeed in raising another rebellion. Or before his ruling relatives on competing worlds manage to execute him for treason. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But Jezekiah was bred for politics and trained to rule. He’s got it all under control. Until his Lupan warlord-partner reaches Earth. And suddenly these two most powerful men find themselves in love with the same woman. A woman who just may be the most deadly assassin of them all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><u>Review:</u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Home Worlds! If you haven’t read it you definitely
should. I have recently been getting
into the Sci-Fi genre and this was definitely a great book to pull me further
in. Milani uses her words to create a
world so vivid I can visualize everything and for me this is important because
if I can’t see it I can’t get into the book. The book is full of great
characters both supporting and main that create great depth to the story. They were so realistic I could almost imagine
them as real people. This book has a
little of everything. Political intrigue
that will keep you on your toes wondering what will unfold next and of course
the steamy romance.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you are interested in reading Sci-Fi this is definitely
a book you should add to your collection.
I’m going to give this book <b>4.5 out of 5 stars.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<hr />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you don't believe me enjoy this excerpt:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<b><span style="color: #00cc00; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #00cc00; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ARRIVAL</span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Protector’s shuttle dropped into atmosphere above the North American
mainland. It raced its sonic boom west
across the steel blue waters of the Pacific until the green ridges of the Hawaiian
Islands rose from the horizon like broken dragon teeth. Within the quiet luxury of the Protector’s
private cabin, Jezekiah Van Buren leaned forward for a better view. Even this far out, he recognized the misty
outlines of Maui and Kauai to the north of the island chain. To the south, he made out the Big Island, Hawaii
itself. And Oahu, dead ahead, its
outline etched in his heart. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Home. After three years of living the myth out on
the galactic rim, he’d almost convinced himself that Home World was all a
fantasy. Now, the beauty of the reality
surprised him. Though not half as much,
as the thrill he felt just in being here.
The shuttle banked north, following the island chain to the space port
up on Niihau. Jezekiah twisted in his
seat to keep Oahu in sight as long as possible. Foolish to welcome the sight of
home. There was nothing for him on
Earth: no hope, no freedom – just Mother’s duty and Letticia’s hatred. He did not want to be here. Yet his body felt the islands’ call and his
soul sang with joy. Sensors woven into
the fabric of the seat picked up the telltale changes in his body’s chem
signals that betrayed his eagerness and fed them to ShipMind. The shuttle upped screen magnification
instantly. Squinting, he glimpsed the
sunlit sparkle on Pearl Harbor before it vanished behind the gray-green
coast. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You <i>sure</i> your
sister ain’t going to knife me, Milord?”
The worried voice of the pretty boy wearing Jezekiah’s clothes broke his
reverie. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <i>Milord.</i> The very title sounded like a death knell. He’d managed to forget, these past couple of
years, that he was condemned to be the future Lord High Protector of
Earth. Jezekiah rose, put on a smile to
disguise the loathing in the thought, and scrounged memory for the boy’s
name. He came up blank. “Quite.
Unless you open your mouth and let her hear that accent.” Simple cosmetics let the crewman – ah, <i>Roy</i>, that was the name - fake the fiery
red hair and impossibly blue eyes of the Great Family Van Buren, but the sweat
sheening his skin was real fear.
Admirable bravery, nonetheless, for a Sprite. SpriteType was gene coded
for beauty, not courage. He pulled Roy’s
collar straighter, smoothed the silken drape of his double’s blouse to show the
flame-orchid crest emblazoned on it to better effect. No point telling the boy
now that little sister Letticia was not really the reason they were trading
places. “Just do the smile and nod. That’s all anybody’s expecting.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Which
was as well, since their disguises consisted of nothing more than hair dye and
contact lenses. He could have had the
ship’s surgeon do a thorough job, of course,
But that would have made the switch official. Made it part of the ship’s records, got it
posted to NetMind. Odds were too great
Letticia would be monitoring ship’s records, looking for any hint he was
planning something exotic. He had no
desire to gift dear little Letticia a heads up on this switch. He was too eager to reach the Manor alive.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah
circled his stand-in, checking for any glaring flaws. The resemblance wouldn’t pass more than a
casual glance: the boy was a bit younger than his own twenty-three years, a bit
narrower in the shoulders. Still, the
lad bore himself well, and had a SpriteType’s instinctive flair. He swept his jittering doppelganger a formal
salaam. “You are perfection personified,
Milord.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yuh-huh. Scuttlebutt’s putting odds on blood, it
is. ‘T’ain’t bettin’ in my favor,
neither, they ain’t.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The
bet’s on my blood, not yours.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yuh-huh. Less’n your sister gets eager.” Roy’s eyes searched his, seeking
reassurance. “So why’s she want to kill
you anyway?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It
was a better question than the boy should be asking. The engineered characteristics that went into
the SpriteType gene pack were designed to produce happy-go-lucky personalities
in exquisitely beautiful bodies, not deep thinkers. But Type coding only guaranteed looks and talents,
not luck. A Sprite who’d been forced to
live by his wits the way this one had learned to think about things like
surviving the night. He knew how that
felt. Rather too well, in fact. But those were not memories he could afford
at the moment. Or ever, if he had a
choice.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Wish
I knew,” was all he said. It was the
simple, wholehearted truth. Letticia
didn’t want the Ring. Never had. Nor was she supposed to know anything about
her part in the treaty he had worked out.
Of course, with Letticia ‘wasn’t supposed to’ didn’t mean much. He pretended his sudden shudder was due to the
cool air. Still, Kip Marsden would have
alerted him had Letticia pried into his node too far; even Lush – no, better
learn to think of his baby sister as Letticia - had never outwitted Kip. Yet.
So Letticia shouldn’t have any reason to want to kill him. Yet she had most certainly spent a goodly
part of the past few months trying. That
was one of the main reasons he was coming home in such a hurry – he wanted this
treaty ratified before that damned assassin of hers got lucky. The other reason was on Den Lupus, preparing
his alternatives. If this treaty failed,
Strongarm would take the Van Buren Commonwealth down with it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
couldn’t afford to worry that possibility right now. Jezekiah straightened the Sprite’s shoulders,
tugged the trousers to a sharper crease.
“Doesn’t matter for you, in any case.
<i>You</i> will be under the
protection of the Protector’s own Sec chief.
No one is going to risk attacking you.”
He hoped. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
stood back, considered the effect. Not
bad at all, for a joy toy who’d been gracing a petty officer’s bed this
morning. It would do for distance work,
and Kip Marsden would make sure the KnowNet cams kept their distance. Past that - Mother was clued. And on Earth that was all that mattered. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Which bent the odds
of making it to the Manor alive in his favor.
Assuming, of course, that Letticia hadn’t got clever while he’d been
gone. Assuming that she hadn’t clued her
assassin to anticipate precisely such a diversion. He forced the odds on that out of mind. Still, if the last few attempts were any
indication, her hired killer would get quite close enough to recognize the
substitution. Ideally, just not in time
to find Jezekiah in the crew line. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah
dropped back onto the shuttle’s seat.
The tendril of ShipMind woven into the soft leather read his measure,
molded the cushions to him. He’d lost
the habit of luxury these past two years;
now, he allowed himself a moment simply to luxuriate in its enveloping
comfort. He’d lost his edge in the
Family games, too, though. That was the
real worry. The little voice at the back
of his mind recognized the bitter tinge in the thought. He hadn’t <i>lost</i>
his edge, it murmured. He’d blunted it,
deliberately and with enthusiasm. The
thought of what Mother would say if he were fool enough to share that
particular truth made him grin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “’T’ain’t funny from my end, it ain’t.” Roy jammed hands on hips and scowled. “I still got time to back out of this, I do.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not
really</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">, Jezekiah thought, but there was no point in telling the
boy so. Maybe he should drug the poor
sot after all. Would not do at all if
the fellow ran screaming for shelter when he met Letticia’s hatred at face
range. He decided against it. Mother was clued; terror and Kip Marsden
would handle the rest. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Sorry.” He put his working smile on, watched the lad
relax at its false re-assurance. “I was
just thinking what a lucky sot you are.
You will be my personal guest, remember.
You get to sleep VIP, eat VIP, even screw VIP if you want. It struck me funny that you should
worry.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There, that put the
dreamy look back in the lad’s eyes. He
really was a lucky sot; his dreams were simple.
Jezekiah felt a sudden pulse in the energy field encircling his Ring
finger and tamped the jealousy down.
He’d need to find gloves. Thick
ones: the energy field that was the
Heir’s Ring lit its yellow diamond shell from within. The result wrapped a cold, golden star around
his finger. In a crewman’s line, it would
stand out like a system buoy. Or an
assassin’s beacon, in this case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, then. One more item on the to-do list. For these last few minutes, though, he was
still free. If he played his hand right,
he’d be back off Earth in a week.
Without the Ring this time.
Without the threat of the Protectorship hanging over his head. Free, once and for all and forever.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He upped the screens’
magnification again, shifted focus to Oahu.
The tiny colored flecks he’d seen before bloomed into sails where
windsurfers rode the breakers. Beyond
them, Diamond Head’s blunt cone loomed over the curve of white sand that was
Waikiki. The familiar blackened
skeletons of ancient towers broke the jungle along the shoreline, a long, dark
thread binding the Manor to his Family’s history. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<i>Scrat me</i>,” said an awestruck whisper at
his shoulder. “Those Home World stories
really are true, they are.” Roy had
peered out with him, sham dignity forgotten.
“Always thought the legends were sawyered, I did.” The boy’s lips and eyes formed matching o’s
of wonder. Decidedly not an acceptable
Van Buren expression.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Some
of them are. But not Hawaii. There’s no need to lie about Hawaii.” Which tidbit was itself a lie. Still… no point ruining the lad’s
fantasy. He’d make a fine bit of free PR
once he was back out on the rim. And
Makers knew – he corrected the Lupan expression – <i>God</i> knew ‘free’ was all Earth could afford these days.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
shuttle banked lightly, angling toward the great public port on tiny Niihau. <i>Docking
at three minutes, Milord</i>, ShipMind
announced. After two years holding his
own on the rim, the title jarred. <i>The reception party is assembled</i>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The muscles between
his own shoulder blades tightened with the words. Jezekiah rose, shook his crewman’s coverall
loose. He touched knuckles to forehead,
crewman style, pinched color into the lad’s cheek. “Smile.
You’re on.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He felt the old, cold
calculations settle in behind his eyes.
His pulse steadied, the old half-smile formed of itself. So, then.
He was home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Earlier
Van Buren Protectors had carved Earth’s deep space port out of Niihau’s broken
volcano. Port facilities were carved
into the inside curve of the mountain itself, creating a stone pueblo that
overlooked the magnificent bay.
Shambling along in the sweating crew line, Jezekiah risked a casual
check back at the shuttle. Mother’s
personal ship nestled on the Protector’s private landing pad, sleek and slim as
a baroque pearl against the sapphire sea.
Beyond it, a TransitLine cruise ship was freshly docked at the tip of
the curve. The line of disembarking
tourists snagged where it snaked behind the glittering dignitaries swarming
Mother’s dock. Fathers from the full
dozen worlds of the Van Buren Commonwealth worlds lifted children onto their
shoulders to catch a live-eye glimpse of a Van Buren prince. The children, less concerned with princes
than pleasure, squealed in delight and played catch-as-catch-can with the
KnowNet cams whisking past.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Nice touch, that cruise ship. Gave him a flood of tourists to blend
into. Had to be Mother’s work: it would
take Van Buren level clearance to permit a <i>hoi
polloi</i> liner to dock while one of the Family was on the field. Odd though, for Mother – she hadn’t allowed
the rank and file within weapon range since the Tong rebellion. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Aw,
damn me, they <i>lied</i>, they did!” The woman ahead of Jezekiah wobbled to a
stop. She had the massive build and
albino complexion of the deep space mining clans. Explanation enough for her troubles. In a pinch, a ship-bred miner could survive a
good fifteen minutes in full vacuum. In <i>weather</i> they were defenseless. Already her skin was reddening in the Hawaiian
sun.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
yet… there was wonder in her eyes.
Glancing down the queue Jezekiah saw that wonder reflected in a hundred
faces. He’d seen it in a thousand
tourist vids, some of them his own propaganda.
The difference was that this time he felt it himself. This time he, too, felt every cell in his
body thrill to the feel of Earth. He
felt the pull, the sense that <i>this place</i>
was right, that this was where he <i>belonged.</i> Genetic manipulation had adapted humanity to
survive the physical demands of other worlds.
But even the most radically engineered Types, even polymorphic LupanType,
were still fundamentally human. Earth
was <i>home world</i>, and every cell in
every body on that dock knew it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
wonder still shone in the miner’s eyes when her knees gave out. She dropped straight, nearly taking Jezekiah
with her.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Where
you popper?” Jezekiah asked, using crew pidgin.
Clansmen normally packed small, pop-up umbrellas to protect their skins
from planetside suns. The umbrellas also
prevented ship bred miners from attacks of psychotic agoraphobia at the sight
of open sky, but no one with a sense of self-preservation reminded them of
that. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
thought t’need it. It’s Paradise they
said.” She breathed deep, nearly choked
on air wet and heavy with the scents of ocean salt and metal tang. “It’s <i>lie</i>,
they did.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
lie. Just summer.” Jezekiah looked up as an airborne Sec cam
buzzed the line. It slowed as it reached
him, and he felt his skin tingle as it ran bioscan check on him.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
screens, either – <i>scrat</i> that
thing!” The miner woman swung her
duffle bag wide off her shoulder, making the Sec cam bounce in its wake. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Good shot.” The cam zoomed off, apparently
satisfied. Still, he’d been spotted, no
question. So, then. He could expect to find Kip Marsden waiting
for him the other side of customs. Which
couldn’t be soon enough. <i>Damn</i>, it was hot out here. “Need hand?” he asked as the miner doubled
over her duffle, wheezing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s
no groundhog dainty can be carryin’ me.”
Her words were stronger than her voice.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Lender,
only,” Jezekiah said. He offered her his
free arm, bracing himself so the weight she put on it wouldn’t stagger
him. Truth was, it felt good to simply
be himself, do simple, honest work. Good
to be able to speak from his heart, for himself. Likely the last time he’d dare such honesty,
he thought, and his little voice chided him for the resentment. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Besides,
he’d forgotten himself just how sticky hot Hawaii’s weather really was. The crew’s customs line snaked along the
unshielded section of the dock, leaving the off-world hands to either exult or
fry in the Hawaiian sun while they inched toward the bureaucrats manning the
crew customs booths.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A hundred feet or so
ahead a trio of towering pylons flanked Niihau Port’s customs terminal. Open scanner booths filled the space between
the pylons’ stone bases. Tourist scans,
those. Their section of the dock was
weather shielded. <i>Paying</i> visitors were sheltered from the unpleasant inconvenience of
real weather. Mother wasn’t about to disappoint
the chow line. For once, Jezekiah caught
himself resenting the fact. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Damme, worse’n scrattin’ Streiker, it is.” The miner wheezed, leaned on him hard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“T’ain’t,
either.” Jezekiah drew breath to chuckle
at the defensiveness in his tone, wound up choking on a gush of hot, wet air
instead. “Chance, at least, on Home
World.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<i>Fuh</i>.
Maybe.” On Streiker, parents
careless enough to birth a natural were sterilized. The baby itself was simply thrown out onto
the blue Streikern ice. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
eyed him speculatively, sudden curious.
“You Home World local, I bet.
Maker, maybe, I bet.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Half
true.” Alone of all the worlds of the
Commonwealth, only Earth still produced true, genetically unmodified human
beings. Only on Earth, on Home World,
could one still find completely <i>natural</i>
humans, those astonishingly unpredictable people untouched by genetic
engineering whose looks and talents and traits were determined by luck rather
than a pre-packaged Type code. Only Home
World still housed Makers. Made for improbable
FunNet romances on the rim and unenviable living conditions on Earth. Among the Lupans, Makers ranked one step
below God Himself. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Got
hard body check coming, you do, yeah?”
The miner’s voice called Jezekiah’s attention back to the line.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yeah.” Dark memories tried to well up. He shoved them down. Not in time. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
miner straightened, though the motion cost her, and laid a kindly hand on his
shoulder. “Give for take – tell ‘em you miner clan, you want. Jump you in my own self, you want.” She managed a leer in compliment and
gold-capped teeth flashed in the sun. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Thanks,
but can’t.” It was no mean offer. She might be nothing more than hired crew on
Earth, but she had the rank to grant him status within her own clan. He pried her fingers from his shoulder enough
to kiss their tips. “Got family waiting
other side.” That half of said family
was trying to kill him wasn’t her worry.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Your call.” She
wheezed in earnest. Bad sign; humidity
out here would rot her lungs if she stayed unsheltered too long. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Craning
to see past the curve of the line, Jezekiah ran his gaze past the dark uniforms
of the crew and customs folk, looking for Kip Marsden’s broad figure. He caught the recurrent <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">flash of reflected sunlight
from the transit shuttle station at the terminal exit. But no sign of Kip Marsden. A flicker of fresh worry tickled his
gut. That Sec cam had already registered
his biopat. Plugged into NetMind as he
was, Kip would have pinpointed his location on the instant. Ought to be a whole Sec team strolling the
dock by now. So where was he?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Damn
and damn again. He had a whole new
problem, if Kip didn’t show. Crew
customs might not be as comfortable as the tourists’, but its scanners were
just as efficient. He almost wished for
a moment he truly was an Earth-born natural. Then he could stride through
bioscan with impunity – without a Type’s genetic ID code, the man-made
interstellar brain that was NetMind could not ‘see’ him. As it was, even the most cursory scan would
spot his biopat in a heartbeat. At which
point bureaucratic hell would break lose.
Which was precisely the kind of ruckus his would-be killer would be
looking for. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Something pale near
the booth’s pylon caught his eye. A man
in a light suit, broad-brimmed hat pushed back on his white-blond hair,
shouldered through the in-coming queue.
He was tall enough to seem slender, but his lazy sneer made a burly
deckhand change his mind about shoving back.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Aryans.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Jezekiah let the miner’s weight bow him a bit
lower. Trouble by definition. <i>Ugly</i>
trouble if Mother had the Aryans looking for him instead of Kip Marsden. AryanType was hard-coded suspicious, and
Mother’s interrogators were trained to indulge the trait. The Aryan ran his cold, blue gaze across the
nearest crew folk without interest, then settled his back against a pylon,
pulling his broad-brimmed hat low against the sun. Watching.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Interesting, his
little voice murmured. The Aryan carried
no scanner. Despite the heat Jezekiah
shivered. The fellow looked vaguely
familiar, though he couldn’t put a name to the face. Could only mean he was attached to the Manor
staff. It also meant the fellow would
know him. He’d certainly be easy enough
to spot. Even an eyeball scrutiny would
recognize him under the hair dye and contacts, if someone knew who to look
for. The Aryan was obviously
looking. Looking eyeball only, keeping
it out of Net. Easy enough to vanish
him, too, out of Net. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, then. Little sister Letticia had learned to hedge
her bets. Be easy enough to spin a tale
for the Aryans, send them looking for an imposter. Might not even have needed a cover
story. A simple order would suffice;
Aryans would carry out any Van Buren order that didn’t directly threaten
Mother. Letticia could have him picked
off out here and cry <i>ooops</i>
later. Quite a nice idea, actually, his
little voice noted. Warranted
remembering. Assuming, of course, he
survived it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For a moment, he
considered simply pulling off his gloves.
Let the Heir’s Ring proclaim his identity. That was the easy way out, the path of perks
and privileges. The path he’d vowed to
escape. He left the gloves on.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beside him, the miner
doubled over, gasping, her face a dangerous shade of red. Jezekiah wrapped her arm over his shoulder,
half-dragged her to the shade of the port wall. Helped that the move put the
crew queue between himself and the Aryan.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah lowered her
to a squat, eased her head down to her knees.
No question that she needed a medic.
Stretching, he spotted the medics’ Helping Hand sign just beyond the crew
customs booth and nearly whooped with delight.
The medics’ booth ran straight through the mountain wall to open out on
the terminal passage. Once inside he
could simply catch a tour car to the Manor.
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He squeezed the
miner’s shoulder gently. “Stay put. I’m going to send help.” Head down, he eased toward the customs booth,
trailing a hand along the rock face like a spacer who’d yet to find his
groundhog legs. Keeping the queue
between himself and the Aryan, Jezekiah stumbled toward the ‘authorized staff’
door at the back of the customs booth.<b> <span style="color: #333399;"> <o:p></o:p></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><span style="color: #333399;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Good try, monk. Get back in line.” A customs agent blocked his way with a
scrawny arm. The man’s features had the
humorless set of a NumbersType whose parents were either too poor or too cheap
to pay for anything more than the most basic gene pack. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Need water,”
Jezekiah croaked. Hot as it was he
didn’t even have to fake it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yeah, sure. You and every other monkey trying to dodge
scan.” The agent moved to shove him
back.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah locked the
agent’s hand on his shoulder. He leaned
forward and put heart and soul into preliminary retching noises. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Gobbing monkey! Get over there!” The agent dodged aside, shoved him hard and
fast toward the Helping Hand counter.
“Just make sure you check yourself through here afterward!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hand clamped over his
mouth, Jezekiah waved a bleary assent. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was already
crowded inside the station, and raucous.
Crew folk provided the crowd, jump suited men and women huddled
arms-on-knees in the chairs lining the walls.
The ruckus came from a group of bejeweled Pandari merchants whose
retainers were demanding personal heaters at the top of their collective and
impressive lungs. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The humans who had
settled Pandar world had been gene-coded to survive the mummifying aridity and
UV radiation of Pandar’s blue-white sun. Even within the protection of the terminal’s
weather screens, this lot needed breathing filters to survive Hawaii’s humid
air. They huddled together in a
brilliant clump, embroidered collars pulled up around their ears, nictating
membranes flickering in distress across their eyes. The metallic threads on their robes raised
rainbow reflections on their blue-black skin that matched the enameled patterns
of their breathing filters. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A harried medic
shoved a teardrop container of water into Jezekiah’s hand in passing, and
Jezekiah let himself sag against the wall, cradling its moist coolness against
his face. The coolness revived the cold
little voice at the back of his mind, reminded him he needed to get out of
here. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After</span></i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> he
kept his promise. He was past the
Aryan’s line of sight here. Already
ID’d, too: every doorway in every public
building had bioscanners built into it.
The medical staff might be too busy to monitor scan, but SecNet would
have fed his reading straight into Kip Marsden’s link. Even if not – he could slip his hand into any
sync link in the terminal, and the resources of the planet were his. He didn’t need to run any more. At least, not yet.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah worked his
way over to an open bin of water teardrops behind the staff counter near the
terminal side door. He filched an
armload of teardrops from the bin, eyeballed the terminal passage for his
escape route while he shoved them into a Helping Hand carryall. Fifty feet beyond the station, the terminal
arched open onto a fern studded stone plaza.
Through the exit arch, he could see the sunlit flash of departing
transit cars. He hoisted the carryall
higher on his shoulder. All he needed
now was to collar a medic and he’d be on one of those cars. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Odd, though. Still no sign of Kip. He ran a quick scan down the terminal passage
as he turned back toward the dockside of the station. No Kip - but he glimpsed a different figure
lounging against a comm kiosk, watching the other tourists trudge past with
professional indifference. He’d
half-seen that figure on half a dozen worlds between here and Den Lupus, felt
that presence in his gut. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, then. So much for keeping his word. No hope of keeping his promise now, nor time
to mourn the loss. He closed his eyes
against the upswell of shame. <i>No choice</i>, his little voice urged. He needed to be out of here before the
assassin spotted him. Dead, he was no
good to anyone.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jezekiah bumped into
one of the Pandari retainers. He used a
bowed apology to put the woman’s voluminous robes between himself and the
assassin’s line of sight. Realized with
a shock of relief that the jeweled pattern of her robes marked her as a
medic. Stifling a grin, he shocked her
to silence with a hand clamped around her shoulders. He had her steered half-way to the dockside
door before her nictating membranes stopped flickering enough for her to
actually take note of him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No questions.”
Jezekiah used his formal voice, tone calculated to demand obedience. “A Van Buren operative needs your aid. You’ll find her squatting against the wall by
the crew line. Treat her well.” Jezekiah shoved the carryall of water into
the medic’s hands. He clasped the
retainer’s shoulder, added a meaningful smile.
“The Protector will reward you.
Now go.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eyes still
flickering, the medic swung the carryall over her bejeweled shoulder and strode
outside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, then. He’d kept the dirt out of his soul a few
minutes longer. Elbowing his way back to
the water bin, Jezekiah filled another carryall. He swung it over his shoulder and strode out
of the Helping Hand booth’s terminal door and into the trudging mass of
tourists. With luck, the assassin would
take him for one of the station hands assigned to keep newcomers lubricated
until their transportation arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Only his luck didn’t
hold. He made the mistake of looking
back just before he reached the exit.
Down the corridor, the assassin looked up, looked his way. And smiled a feline, predatory smile. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Damn! Jezekiah’s mouth went dry. Only chance now was to reach the next transit
car before the assassin got within range.
There were a couple of still-empty cars at the stop. Around him, the crowd of tourists slowed as
they hit the hot, humid wall of Hawaiian air.
He shifted the carryall higher on his shoulder and picked up his
pace. If he beat the tourists, he could
commandeer the car before the assassin caught up. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Something hard hit
him hard in the chest. Jezekiah slammed
the carryall around into it, his pulse jumping.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<i>Hei</i>, you!” A short young
woman in a red sarong glared up at him from beneath a skewed plumeria
wreath. She took in his crewman’s
coverall and changed the glare to a smile of patently false welcome. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Joy toys, he
thought. “Sorry,” he muttered, and moved
to skip past. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You wan’ gul? Show you good time, eh?” She was barely shoulder height on him, but
she shifted with him to block his path.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<i>Later.</i>” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her smile widened,
though not enough to touch her eyes.
Clearly this was a girl who did not enjoy her work. Odd, then, that her stable master hadn’t used
Seed on her – but no, not odd, not on Earth.
Grandfather Ho didn’t distribute Venus Seed on Earth. Mother’d seen to that. He brushed past her and kept walking. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Eh, wha’ kine spacer
no wan’ gul?” She back tracked with
him. “You stay come. Give good time, eh?” She was a tasty little piece, some primal
section of his mind noted. Buxom but
willow-hipped and lithe. With clear
brown skin that bespoke fresh air and sunshine rather than a Seed sot’s
haggard, driven lust. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No money.” He said it sharper this time, and
louder. He put his free hand out, palm
up in peace sign, and brushed past her again.
Behind him, he could hear a flock of tourists gaining ground, aiming for the nearest
transit car. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No hu-hu. You pay later.” She skipped ahead to block him again, giving
him a view down her cleavage that tickled his groin.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Damned determined
little piece. Or desperate. He refused to let himself consider the kind
of penalty she must face for failure.
“Later.” He didn’t need to fake
the desperation in his own voice. He
lengthened his stride to jogging pace.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The joy toy jogged
backward with him. She wasn’t even
sweating, he noticed with envy. “<i>Heia</i>, you don’ like gul?” Her gaze took on a narrow-eyed assessment –
tinged, he noted, with <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">relief. “You wan’ boy, eh? You come.
Got lots pretty boy.” <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No!”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She skipped into his
path, nearly tripping him. Sidelong, he
saw her throw a glance past his shoulder.
He followed her line of sight to a trio of groundskeepers with the
boulder builds of Samoans. Even in this
sun, only one of them – an ambulatory mountain with a gleaming, black mole at
corner of his jaw - wore a broad rimmed straw hat. They were watching the exchange with
interest. And ambling closer. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Damn and damn
again! The exchange had cost him
precious moments. The tourists flocked
past to engulf the transit car. Jezekiah
swore softly. The only other empty car
sat at the end of the plaza, far enough off to discourage most travelers. He shifted the carryall to the other
shoulder, forcing the girl to skip out of its way.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Behind him the
Samoans had spread out across the path.
Their broad figures blocked his view of the terminal. Which was as well, since they also blocked
the assassin’s sight of him. He’d have
been relieved, had mole face not been grinning so broadly. The sight stirred memories that he refused to
awake.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It took him two steps
before the realization struck home. He
glanced back again, mouth suddenly dry. <i>Not</i> a mole on that Samoan. It was a tracker stud, one of a pair that
would be embedded in temple and jaw. The
mark of a Registered killer. That explained the hat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, then. He was being herded. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He lengthened his
stride abruptly. Swearing, the joy toy
grabbed his arm. No invite this
time. Her grip was hard as a man’s. Whirling, Jezekiah swung the carryall hard at
the girl’s head. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She dodged, stepped
in under it to jab her fingers into Jezekiah’s wrist. His arm went numb. She yanked the sack out of his hand, smacked
the carryall into his midriff hard enough to double him around it. He heard the water slosh near his ears. Then her knee caught him between the eyes and
the world went black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHkCPjllCCRHk1PvJQ6eN4zavCNy7TdW46gjeHmTnNYcP24MhWgywaLLpjZ7ef1tuCAz9p6QDaDKptC2-Tit3tgNMCNJZd45jIzSETjzHKhZ5TCBq36yINOySh2OiiBIwSgQbKIwzIfhJ/s1600/4-13+Profile+Pic+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHkCPjllCCRHk1PvJQ6eN4zavCNy7TdW46gjeHmTnNYcP24MhWgywaLLpjZ7ef1tuCAz9p6QDaDKptC2-Tit3tgNMCNJZd45jIzSETjzHKhZ5TCBq36yINOySh2OiiBIwSgQbKIwzIfhJ/s1600/4-13+Profile+Pic+3.jpg" height="200" width="139" /></a></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px; line-height: normal; text-align: start;">
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Bonnie Milani</b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px; text-align: start;">
<div style="color: #222222; font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bonnie has taken what might be called the sandwich approach to writing. She started writing early, winning state-wide writing contests in grammar school, publishing an environmental fairy tale under the aegis of the NJ Board of Education in college. After earning her M.A. in Communication at Stanford, Bonnie freelanced feature articles for East Coast newspapers and regional magazines, from <i>Mankind</i> and <i>Peninsula</i> to <i>Science </i>Digest as well as how to articles for the late & much lamented fanzine <i>Speculations</i>. She stopped writing completely after marriage while building a pair of businesses with her husband. It was only with the successive deaths of each member of her family that she reclaimed her love of story-telling. Home World is the result.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today, Bonnie lives with her husband of thirty-six years in Los Angeles. She is still a full-time benefits broker, specializing in employee benefits for entrepreneurs and micro-businesses. </span></span></div>
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<div style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">Website:<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><a href="http://www.homeworldthenovel.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #8a8c50;">www.homeworldthenovel.com</a> </span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">bonnie.milani@yahoo.com </span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-59963970079801138212013-09-02T04:13:00.001-07:002013-09-02T04:13:40.713-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQuln0frYr6NgFTONoLXy5yw6NpRXjCuzkYvAKPJgNB15Lj4T7upwy76NjOzMCJ10IGov9-kiG69IO_6DChODnQPqkjKAuwcZBYFLW7IqponTUApjuiyJ8aAUwF5RenCMbMCfH9ycUmgyG/s1600/friendship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQuln0frYr6NgFTONoLXy5yw6NpRXjCuzkYvAKPJgNB15Lj4T7upwy76NjOzMCJ10IGov9-kiG69IO_6DChODnQPqkjKAuwcZBYFLW7IqponTUApjuiyJ8aAUwF5RenCMbMCfH9ycUmgyG/s1600/friendship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQuln0frYr6NgFTONoLXy5yw6NpRXjCuzkYvAKPJgNB15Lj4T7upwy76NjOzMCJ10IGov9-kiG69IO_6DChODnQPqkjKAuwcZBYFLW7IqponTUApjuiyJ8aAUwF5RenCMbMCfH9ycUmgyG/s1600/friendship.jpg" height="200" width="121" /></a></div>
<div>
<u><b><span style="color: purple;">The Color of Friendship (Book 1 in the Colors Trilogy)</span></b></u></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Colors-Friendship-Trilogy/dp/1940361001/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1378117943&sr=8-5&keywords=the+color+of+friendship" target="_blank">The Color of Friendship</a> by <a href="http://krraye.com/" target="_blank">K.R. Raye</a></div>
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<div>
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/709523266" target="_blank">4 of 5 stars</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This book was a very good read. It honestly wasn't what I was expecting. This wasn't your traditional love story in that it exposed the truths about abusive relationships and how seemingly normal everything may appear at first. I believe that side of the plot made the story and characters seem more real to me. Like I could actually know these people or be friends with them in real life. It also tested the platonic love between friends and its ability to withstand the trials of life. Mrs. Raye did a great job of hitting the spectrum of emotions. I laughed, shook my head, and shouted "come on now girl, have more sense than that!" as I read. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The only con that I can think of is that the book was written from the perspective of the three best friends. As such there were times that it was hard to follow who was talking or being talked about. I had to read back a few lines to connect the flow of the conversation. Other than that Mrs. Raye did an excellent job of pulling readers in and keeping their attention from beginning to end. This is definitely a book that I recommend you read. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkiLsb1xdz0DwqqKLYxp832BZBIAERZ5srGHr_vWwx32raVULtcA8jsSCP63CiIh_14YmFcrUgg0gu4zEKztTHK_XMHQTxsEgSUqo6Xsm02lNFqmbUr3XQfVfCAd3IRcBqPSfBuEBvSj3/s1600/KR_Raye_Headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkiLsb1xdz0DwqqKLYxp832BZBIAERZ5srGHr_vWwx32raVULtcA8jsSCP63CiIh_14YmFcrUgg0gu4zEKztTHK_XMHQTxsEgSUqo6Xsm02lNFqmbUr3XQfVfCAd3IRcBqPSfBuEBvSj3/s1600/KR_Raye_Headshot.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">K.R.Raye</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">K. R. Raye lives in Maryland with her husband and two sons. Throughout her diverse career working as a mechanical engineer, adjunct professor, and in sales, she continues to weave her love of marketing, computer information systems, and operations together with her passion for writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Website: <a href="http://krraye.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #551a8b;">http://krraye.com/</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/kr.raye" rel="nofollow" style="color: #551a8b;">https://www.facebook.com/kr.raye</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/KRRaye" rel="nofollow" style="color: #551a8b;">https://twitter.com/KRRaye</a></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://jpadpublishing.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #551a8b;">http://jpadpublishing.com/</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-44466070540914661362013-08-29T04:53:00.002-07:002013-08-29T04:53:54.905-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G9Wx8WvnahEEEYtY5evj6_W5S2ZiQy80SehyphenhyphenYa1h6RlhLp-PtN9DPR5f-8l7HzB0erzOzNOwZdRDap1Zv1jfYqa4vlxSF7uOaLKc8SfneBHR4dUhGgh4TCKH41x0au_J7GhGuazGVriL/s1600/Sydney+Logan+Bio+Pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G9Wx8WvnahEEEYtY5evj6_W5S2ZiQy80SehyphenhyphenYa1h6RlhLp-PtN9DPR5f-8l7HzB0erzOzNOwZdRDap1Zv1jfYqa4vlxSF7uOaLKc8SfneBHR4dUhGgh4TCKH41x0au_J7GhGuazGVriL/s1600/Sydney+Logan+Bio+Pic.png" height="200" width="183" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><b><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Sydney Logan</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; text-indent: 0in;">Website: </span><b style="text-indent: 0in;"><a href="http://www.sydneylogan.com/">http://www.sydneylogan.com</a></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><u>My First Year in
Publishing</u><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><u><br /></u></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">September 6 will mark
the one year anniversary of the release of my debut novel, <i>Lessons Learned</i>. Since that time, I have released my second novel,
as well as three short stories. I have learned so much during the past year in regards
to writing, promotion, and making connections in the publishing world. Many “lessons
learned,” for sure! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If I could offer one
piece of advice to aspiring writers, it would be to prepare yourself for the
“business” side of writing. Whether you self-publish or are signed by an indie
or traditional publisher, most (if not all) of the marketing of your books will
be up to you. You will also be responsible for maintaining a presence on social
media. All of this marketing, promoting, and connecting is part of the gig, and
it’s obviously an important part. It can also be enjoyable, especially when you
have the chance to interact with readers. Unfortunately, all this promotion
cuts into valuable writing time, and it only gets harder with each new release.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s all about balance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My advice? Choose a few
social media sites and get comfortable with them. I tend to focus my attention on
my website, Twitter, and Facebook, but choose what’s best for you. I use my
social media sites to promote my books, highlight other authors, and to keep my
readers updated on upcoming releases and events.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s very easy to get
consumed by social media and marketing because both are essential in spreading
the word about your books. These sites keep you connected to your readers and
(hopefully) help you connect with new ones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just be sure to manage
your time wisely, because writing time is precious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<b>Sydney Logan holds a Master's degree
in Elementary Education and lives in East Tennessee. With the 2012 release of
her novel, <i>Lessons Learned</i>, she made
the transition from bookworm to author. Her second book, <i>Mountain Charm</i>, was released in 2013. She is also the author of
three short stories. When she isn't writing, Sydney enjoys playing piano and
relaxing on her porch with her wonderful husband and their very spoiled cat.<o:p></o:p></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Visit her online:<o:p></o:p></b><br />
<b>Website: <a href="http://www.sydneylogan.com/">http://www.sydneylogan.com</a><o:p></o:p></b><br />
<b>Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/SydneyALogan">https://twitter.com/SydneyALogan</a><o:p></o:p></b><br />
<br />
<b>Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/SydneyLoganAuthor">http://www.facebook.com/SydneyLoganAuthor</a><o:p></o:p></b>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-68494566458831524062013-08-22T04:48:00.000-07:002013-08-23T18:53:26.243-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwtI2HJvj5iN-5AutQXGxh3vnvQ-rSipYQWk0CyCeEAjlYwafehlSod64eCUp1LznQj7zierflkJl-qfmHAV5CfHj-bM1IENnTXAlq0Wmvx2kectag0Wt6TeQmxdOGllhx554kDyDMj7r/s1600/jose-cervantes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzwtI2HJvj5iN-5AutQXGxh3vnvQ-rSipYQWk0CyCeEAjlYwafehlSod64eCUp1LznQj7zierflkJl-qfmHAV5CfHj-bM1IENnTXAlq0Wmvx2kectag0Wt6TeQmxdOGllhx554kDyDMj7r/s1600/jose-cervantes.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Short Story Guy</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Website: </span></b><a href="http://www.shortstoryguy.com/">http://www.shortstoryguy.com/</a><br />
<b>Google+ Profile:</b> <a href="http://bit.ly/1c2cvAg" target="_blank">http://bit.ly/1c2cvAg</a><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><u><br /></u></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><u>Using A Quote as a Jump-Starter
to Writing Stories</u><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A
technique that has worked for me when writing a story is using a thought or
saying to spur the beginning of a story, or to shape the views or voice of a
character.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’ll
give you an example. One day, I forget when exactly, I must’ve been thinking
about the gay debate in America, or simply of relationships in general. Of
that, I am not sure. But I do know that I recorded the following on my phone
for later use as material:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“I
sympathize with the homosexual because it must be difficult to harbor love
interests for a whole gender that doesn’t by default like you back. In other
words, what limits us as guys from approaching a girl we like is our lack of
courage, but a gay holding that same courage has to also be open to offending
his interest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I even remember when these words came to my mind.
No it wasn’t magical. I was simply walking down a hallway to the restroom and
poof, those very words came to my mind--exactly how I’ve typed them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">While they must’ve originally been my thoughts
and views toward the gay experience in our society, that is not why I decided
to record this thought for later use. I recorded it because I knew that this
quote could become the views of a character that I can use in later material. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I didn’t know what story would accompany this
quote, or what character would say it, or in what type of scene. I just knew
that there was something in this thought that could spark a discussion between
two characters, or give birth to some sort of action. I wasn’t sure at all, but
I recorded the thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">A couple of months literally went by before I
even went back to this note. I was writing a short story about the gay debate
in America titled, “Beers, Gays and Straights.” It was a short story for my
online publication, Short Story Guy, which features short stories based on
current events. These news-inspired short stories use a current event to create
a short fiction story that comments or adds to the relevant topic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">In this case, one of the relevant news stories at
the time was the gay debate in America, and I knew I had to produce a short
story for this topic. Guess what? The only material I had to begin was that
very line I had recorded long ago, which I knew would be useful, somehow. I
knew that the view expressed in that saying or quote could come into play
somewhere in the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">It turns out that I wrote a story about three
young men who got together one day to watch the NCAA March Madness basketball
championship (which was also going on around this time in April). While the
game set the scene, the real focus was to somehow have this story comment on
what was going on in America at the time regarding gay laws. The three men end
up going to a grocery store to shop for food and drinks for the game, and at
the store one of them has an encounter with a seemingly gay man, which makes
this character feel uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">All along as I wrote this story, I had that quote
in mind and I still hadn’t used it. Finally, after the encounter at the grocery
store took place, I knew this quote would come to life soon, and it did. It fit
another character perfectly, and he said this quote to his friend to try to
make him sympathize and relate with being gay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">You can read the full short story here: </span><a href="http://www.shortstoryguy.com/gay-marriage-march-madness-fiction-podcast/">http://www.shortstoryguy.com/gay-marriage-march-madness-fiction-podcast/</a>
It is also accompanied with a podcast episode so that you can hear me give
voice-acting a shot with these characters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To conclude, I recommend saving any thought or saying that
comes to you however you can. If you carry a smart phone, there are plenty of
apps you can quickly use to record things. You can either type them out in
regular note-taking apps, or use something like Evernote, which synchronizes
your thoughts and notes across devices.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t have a smart phone, then carry a note-taker.
Whatever the case is, value the thoughts that come to you every day. Life
provides us with material every day, and it is our job to put it to use. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you catch yourself thinking something or saying something
to yourself, that might be a quote for a character who you can later develop
into a full personality.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Give it a shot! Today, if you have any one of these
thoughts, save it, and try to start a story with that saying by having two
characters talk to each other on a back and forth. Good luck!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bio:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">Jose has an interest in storytelling
(journalism, fiction, nonfiction) and content creation, which has led him to
gain experience in digital communications (writing, editing, web publishing,
and online media). Previously, he worked in education for 10 years at the high
school and university level. He is currently an editor and contributor to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://www.shortstoryguy.com/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #4779ac; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Short
Story Guy</span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">, an online
current event and modern-day fiction and nonfiction publication. He hosts the </span><a href="http://www.shortstoryguy.com/short-story-current-event-fiction-podcast/"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #4779ac; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Short Story Guy Podcast</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;"> </span></span><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">and manages the site’s social media
accounts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">He graduated from the University of
California, Santa Cruz with a B.A. in Literature and Film, and now lives in Los
Angeles, CA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">For guest-post inquiries, email him at
contact[at]shortstoryguy[dot]com<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; line-height: 12.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">You can also get in further contact with
Jose via his website, </span><a href="http://www.shortstoryguy.com/" target="_blank"><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; color: #4779ac; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">Short Story Guy</span></a><span style="color: #666666; font-size: 11.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-16321674437452351892013-08-15T04:59:00.001-07:002013-08-15T04:59:19.472-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: purple; font-family: "CatholicSchoolGirls Intl BB"; font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New";">Trippin Tippin Thursday!</span></u></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "CatholicSchoolGirls Intl BB";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVW8H117pbjhourzgRS8ErFZyBi3zHfKLEvhrvAkhhvOGSy9lAspxLMCFDgL0PeCOpsTxMAa6gmEu1nHe60MEanGRjssHwo94ckmxBEvh5FlGzkIcI8n8inbL3uaOeiBhlCWg4gxMZWXY/s1600/pic_desperation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVW8H117pbjhourzgRS8ErFZyBi3zHfKLEvhrvAkhhvOGSy9lAspxLMCFDgL0PeCOpsTxMAa6gmEu1nHe60MEanGRjssHwo94ckmxBEvh5FlGzkIcI8n8inbL3uaOeiBhlCWg4gxMZWXY/s1600/pic_desperation.jpg" height="200" width="133" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>D.W. Carver</b></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Her website</b>: <a href="http://www.dwcarver.com/" target="_blank">http://www.dwcarver.com</a></span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB">I have been writing since I learned how to
do it at the age of seven. I had always told myself stories and writing them
down just seemed like the natural thing to do. I wish I still had some but I
tended to get annoyed if I thought they weren’t good enough and threw them out.
In my early teens I took on a newspaper delivery route – it was long and
boring. I started to write a novel in my head, a chapter a day. It was pretty
bad but kept me entertained. I suppose this mental writing became part of my life
and for some reason I didn’t need to put these words on paper so I ‘wrote’ a
let of novels and short stories that never made it past my head which was
probably just as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">However, what this system did was develop a
way of composition for me that required ‘balance’ – it had to scan like lines
of poetry (not rhyme of course). At school it used to annoy me that other
English students couldn’t see that their poetry didn’t work. The cleverness of
the words and ideas meant nothing to me if the whole thing didn’t have the
proper shape. Of course I had no idea
what this shape should be, I just knew when it didn’t happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For some years as a young adult I did very
little writing then I became a community mental health counsellor, working in
East London, England for a charity. There were a great many self-help books out
there for the area of work we specialized in (anxiety disorders and OCD) but I
found that many of our clients did not read from choice and preferred the
anecdotal form of counselling – stories about other people’s experiences with
the problem. I found I was repeating myself so much that I decided to write the
‘talks’ down. Field testing these books and booklets with clients - getting
feedback on what actually worked for them - was an excellent apprenticeship for
novel writing. This plus my need for balance in the written word has given me
the style I use today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">For anyone new to writing, there is no
substitute for simply doing it. Writing is a craft that is honed by experience and
long practise. Technical books help but they won’t make you a good writer. I
know some people can sit down and plan a book chapter by chapter like producing
a blueprint. I can’t do that. My stories seem to develop as I write; often
changing radically if the balance of a character feels wrong. I sometimes think
it’s a bit like the days when I use to make plasticine models for my sons. I’d
roll it into a tube shape, give it a couple of twists then inspect it to see
what the object ‘wanted to be’ from the new shape I had made. If that doesn’t
make sense then my writing system is not one that will suit you.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
----<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Currently I am writing a sequel to
‘Desperation’. I spent a good deal of time being a talking head for UK radio
and TV on anxiety disorders and am having fun describing Kate’s experiences in
this world. Anyone who wants to read ‘Desperation’ can find details of this and
other books on my website (http://www.dwcarver.com)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-26161026911844474862013-08-14T17:04:00.000-07:002013-08-14T17:04:28.764-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnnXxnPfuiwfdguV0no1qovT9KodmcQYLfaZPAfJgKWe7njL79mrWwD848QYY3v3Wy-HsE97StzdRN_P7U1IFUgN7KjIcilPYBQLrqm7KDNC8vv1yOq8e0dvBeuASeTAlT2QwopDixCVQ/s1600/Unscrupulous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnnXxnPfuiwfdguV0no1qovT9KodmcQYLfaZPAfJgKWe7njL79mrWwD848QYY3v3Wy-HsE97StzdRN_P7U1IFUgN7KjIcilPYBQLrqm7KDNC8vv1yOq8e0dvBeuASeTAlT2QwopDixCVQ/s1600/Unscrupulous.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnnXxnPfuiwfdguV0no1qovT9KodmcQYLfaZPAfJgKWe7njL79mrWwD848QYY3v3Wy-HsE97StzdRN_P7U1IFUgN7KjIcilPYBQLrqm7KDNC8vv1yOq8e0dvBeuASeTAlT2QwopDixCVQ/s1600/Unscrupulous.jpg" height="200" width="120" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple;">Unscrupulous (The Manhattanites, #2)</span></u></b><br />
<b><u style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></u></b>
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18214458-unscrupulous" target="_blank">Unscrupulous</a> by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6940334.Avery_Aster" target="_blank">Avery Aster</a><br />
<br />
My rating: <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/694600567" target="_blank">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
This book was absolutely amazing! I was hooked from page one all the way to the
end. Big Daddy (Warner) was what every
woman wanted in her man and Red (Tabby) was what every woman wanted to be. There were literally moments where I wanted
jump in the pages of the book and ask Red to teach me how to be so sexy and
independent. The chemistry between these
two is absolutely electrifying. At some points I had to put the book down and fan
myself. I don’t like to give away the plot of books so you are going to have to
read it for yourself, but you will not be disappointed!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pros: The book was very well written and I can tell that Ms.
Aster used a professional editor. There
was a lot of great detail and I could tell that a lot of time was spent
developing each character and giving them their own unique personalities and
quirks. There are a few new words that I
will be adding to my vocabulary such as “vajazzled”. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cons: I think this is more of a personal preference but I
thought the story was a little slow at first. I love when an author takes the
time to set the stage for what is to come, but this was a bit much for my
taste. It took a little too long to get
to the first love scene of substance. I was about 50% through the book before
Red and Big Daddy had finally got together and let the real sparks fly. But other than that I loved this book. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was definitely a good read and if you haven’t picked it
up yet I highly recommend that you do. <o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-15216515360965182852013-08-13T04:58:00.002-07:002013-08-13T08:31:57.499-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><b><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">Topic Tuesday</span></b></u><br />
<u><b><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></u>
Today I thought I would start with something a little fun and in honor of my chosen writing genre (romance). Read the prompt below and write your own Happily Never After for the Cinderella story. I would love for you to share what you come up with and post it in the comment section.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Prompt:</b></u><br />
Fairy tales have happy endings. All of us know what happened in that mushy
fairy tale, Cinderella. Yeah it’s
romantic, the prince actually finding Cinderella. They lived happily ever after. But happy endings can sometimes be, well…boring. No zing. So predictable. So…happy.
What if the shoe fit one of the sisters?
What happens then? Play with your
imagination here. Be funny if you like.
Or serious if you feel like it. Or be an
Alfred Hitchcock. Whatever you are into,
write your ending to the Cinderella story—but this time, make it so that the
shoe fit one of the icky sisters. What
does Prince Charming do? How does
Cinderella cope with it? And what about
the Fairy Godmother? Start your story
here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(Prompt provided by http://creativewritingprompts.com/)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><u>My ending:</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prince Charming smiled up at Cinderella as he slowly slipped
the glass slipper over her slim elegant foot.
Cinderella held her breath for what felt like ages as the shoe crept
over her toes, then her heel to finally slip into place. But wait! The shoe was too big. How could this be? Cinderella and Prince Charming locked eyes, shock
etched all over her face. Cinderella’s evil half-sisters snickered in the background.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“It looks like you won’t be leaving
us so soon after all Cinder-smella,” Gertrude sneered. “Look at you getting your hopes up. How pathetic.
Now get out of my way. It’s my turn to try the shoe on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No I will not move! This is my shoe I left it at the ball last
night.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“If it was your shoe then why doesn’t
it fit?” Gertrude asked accusation and skepticism dripping from every syllable she
spoke. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That is an excellent question. I
will have to ask my Fairy Godmother?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“First you have delusions about
going to a royal ball, now you have an imaginary Fairy Godmother? Do you realize how cra-cra you sound right
now? Guards drag this crazy half-wit out
of the room until my sister and I have tried on the shoe.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Wait no..wait…” Cinderella
screamed as she was dragged from the room.
Both sisters watched with open enjoyment until their step-sisters could
no longer be heard. In true chameleon form
Gertrude twirled around to face Prince Charming showing as much sweetness and
charm that anyone with such a cold heart could must.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Prince Charming’s eyes roamed the
room looking for an exit. It would be a
cold day in hell before he married one of these two hags. Between the clown like make-up, rancid odor
of perfume and body odor, rotting teeth and hair that hadn't seen a comb in
days his little member literally tried to crawl back into him at the prospect
of touching one of them. He was taking a
leap even going for the smelly servant girl, whatshername, Cindy, Ella, Cinder,
or whatever. At least that one wasn't
bad on the eyes and could at least be bathed and made presentable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Well Prince Charming. It looks like it’s my turn. I can’t wait to be your wife.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Madame I would rather turn to bestiality
and marry a pig before I would even consider either of you. You may have the shoe and if anyone in this
household makes an attempt to contact me I will have you all beheaded!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The Prince threw the glass slipper
up in the air in the general direction of the girls standing with their mouths
hanging open and made his way to the door.
Gertrude caught the shoe seconds before it hit the ground. With little hesitation she slipped the shoe
onto her foot and marveled at the fact that it fit. “Prince Charming it fits! It fits! I’m your
new bride” she shouted at the Prince’s retreating form. Without looking back Prince Charming made his
way to his carriage. Stepping in he
paused for a brief moment to talk with his valley. “Sam my good man. When we get back to the castle please send a
chamber maid to my suite.” Without
waiting for a response he climbed into the carriage and rode off into the
sunset.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Bella Donna"; font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
End<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-53122431907923506862013-08-12T18:21:00.000-07:002013-08-12T18:21:22.227-07:00<div dir="ltr">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: purple;"><u>Monday Mini!!! </u></span></span><br />
<br />
The next installment of my miniseries "Phone sex operators need love too" is now ready for your reading consumption. Click over to the miniseries page to check it out. Hope you enjoy!</div>
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Onto other news, I am officially convinced that my computer is plotting against my writing career. It keeps giving me difficulty when posting to my blog, hence the 9:15pm blog post. Granted it could be because it is my work computer, but I'm just going to go with it hating me. Also, please excuse the formatting issues on the miniseries. Again a result of my computer hating me. </div>
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Onto book related news, we completed the photo shoot for my book cover. I am so excited! I can't wait to show it to you guys. Hopefully by the end of next week I will have the finished cover design to share with you.<br />
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Don't forget that I am looking for guest authors to write posts on Thursdays. If you are interested please contact me at author.o.evans@gmail.com. <br />
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Well that's all she wrote! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-54106764464615497792013-08-08T18:11:00.000-07:002013-08-08T18:11:47.672-07:00<div dir="ltr">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZzuJIiCqaESB7nfX8PndvPuGCqxOCesVIDBBFnkft8TfdJoTPrVZXMVUto8TyyqjJXzHUKSkNz6S5TbkhKxFRqaZ4TS2lCo1zJUoYnExGWNXJLyGbENEUX_TMp_HZl4W2KtSq2nsaTJp/s1600/the-relaunch-effect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZzuJIiCqaESB7nfX8PndvPuGCqxOCesVIDBBFnkft8TfdJoTPrVZXMVUto8TyyqjJXzHUKSkNz6S5TbkhKxFRqaZ4TS2lCo1zJUoYnExGWNXJLyGbENEUX_TMp_HZl4W2KtSq2nsaTJp/s1600/the-relaunch-effect.jpg" height="135" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
Hello Everyone!</div>
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An inevitable part of starting anything new is stumbling. You research, try things, fail, and eventually you get your bearings and get better. My career as a writer and my work on this blog are no different. That is why I am now revamping my blog. The new format/schedule will be as follows:</div>
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<ul>
<li>Monday Mini- weekly release of the best chapter of my miniseries Phone sex operators need love too. It's the funny, quirky story of the self-proclaimed loneliest phone sex operator in the world and her escapades in online dating.</li>
<li>Topic Tuesday- I will post a new writing topic each week and encourage you to post your response to to the topic.</li>
<li>Wednesday in Review- each week I will add a new review of a book that I have read. I would love to read your work!</li>
<li>Trippin Tippin Thursday- a new author will be featured in a guest post. They will give their advice or tips on things they have learned throughout their professional writing career. If you are interested in being a guest please contact me at author.o.evans@gmail.com</li>
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There is no time like the present to start something new so in honor of my new schedule below is a post by my first guest author Angeline Trevena from Devon in the UK. </div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: 'CatholicSchoolGirls Intl BB'; font-size: 22pt;"><u><span style="color: purple;">Trippin Tippin Thursday!</span></u></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIoMlXkoQuh_-4yZR9K6VI4SF-wVOSxZnwgoSTCXDB0JpyxwHYJQfehSl4M83kNNzVjD2hXPNiXTDRBj2uE4iNk1PZBBAN84ByIW7B33Zc9iB9bzLt1CwkFQfOXTrzYgP2FI1y_gTVkVk/s1600/Angeline+Trevena+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaIoMlXkoQuh_-4yZR9K6VI4SF-wVOSxZnwgoSTCXDB0JpyxwHYJQfehSl4M83kNNzVjD2hXPNiXTDRBj2uE4iNk1PZBBAN84ByIW7B33Zc9iB9bzLt1CwkFQfOXTrzYgP2FI1y_gTVkVk/s1600/Angeline+Trevena+(1).JPG" height="200" width="152" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Angeline Trevena</b></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><b>Her website:</b> <a href="http://www.angelinetrevena.co.uk/">www.angelinetrevena.co.uk</a></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-GB">I began telling stories as soon as I
learned to speak. I still have a copy of the very first story I wrote as a
young child. It's just something I've always done, and the desire to write
comes to me as naturally as breathing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">But a desire to write is one thing, turning
that into hours of dedication, strict self-discipline, and an ability to ignore
the inner editor, that is something quite different. Writing is hard work, and
getting published is even harder work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I started my journey towards a writing career
with novels. It had never really crossed my mind that writers might ever write
anything else. But I have a bit of a problem with novels. They're long. Very
long. And my attention span, enthusiasm, and motivation doesn't quite match up.
I've never managed to get very far past a first draft. My house is filled with
abandoned novels gathering dust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">If I ever wanted a writing career, I needed
a serious personality transplant, or a new writing focus. And then I found it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">In January 2011, my first short story, 'The
Vincent Orphanage', was published in The Mirador Fantasmagoria anthology. That
was the moment I realised; I could have a writing career without having to slog
my way through a 90,000 word novel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Don't get me wrong; short stories aren't
easier to write than novels. In many ways, they're even harder. But it's a
little like comparing apples and oranges – they require such a different
approach, such a different set of skills. Try fitting an entire story into
1,500 words: besides the plot itself, there's themes, fore-shadowing, character
arcs, sub-plots. That's a lot to fit in while still making it engaging,
immersive, and exciting. It's a tough gig.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">And I'll admit; I'm hooked. The moment I
submit one story, I'm looking for my next call for submissions. I bounce from
story to story, world to world, character to character. I barely know where I
am half the time, and it keeps my adrenaline pumping. One month I'll be in the
middle of a zombie apocalypse, the next I'm battling evil fairies, then I'm
bedding down for the night in a haunted castle. I love that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Besides, writing a brand new story is the
best way to cope with the wait for a submission response. Writing something new
saves me from checking my emails every 30 seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">I've been told I'm not a 'real writer',
I've been told I'm 'choosing the easy option', but I know none of it's true. I
can now boast to be, not just a published writer, but a paid one too. There'll
always be people who think short story writers are somehow 'lesser' than
novelists, but you'd be surprised how many big name writers started out writing
shorts, who still write shorts, and who encourage aspiring writers to do the
same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Some runners will always be sprinters, some
will always run long-distance. Neither is easier than the other, neither is
less prestigious or less honourable. There are some invaluable skills writing
shorts can give you, skills that you can bring to your novel, that will improve
your novel and your writing style as a whole.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Find yourself a call for submissions that
catches your imagination, and give it a go. You've nothing to lose, and you
might just discover a new writing passion. Maybe you're a sprinter after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">---<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB">Angeline Trevena is a horror and fantasy
writer, poet and journalist from Devon in the UK. She lives above a milkshake
shop and has a habit for climbing into wardrobes to look for Narnia. She has
short stories published by Mirador Publishing, Crooked Cat Publishing, Angelic
Knight Press, and Horrified Press. Visit her website to find out more: <a href="http://www.angelinetrevena.co.uk/">www.angelinetrevena.co.uk</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-52380122978126351982013-08-07T20:05:00.000-07:002013-08-07T20:05:25.542-07:00<div>
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<span style="font-family: 'CatholicSchoolGirls Intl BB'; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>Mid-week Musings:</u></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Authors are magicians.
They take a blank pages and make entire worlds come alive in the
readers mind with the stroke of a pen. I
am ever grateful to be incorporated in this wonderful group of people. I met with my writing group today and there
were a few new faces in the group. A recurring
theme among the introductions was the fact that many of the people had written stories
that had never been seen by others. One
gentleman said that he had multiple folders filled with writings that he had completed
over the years that he did nothing with and usually end up forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know there are varying reasons why people do not share their
writings. Sometimes people are shy or embarrassed
by what they write. Some people don’t
think that what they write is worth sharing or simply write for the experience. Today I would like to challenge everyone to
share something you have written. If not
publicly at least with a close friend or family member. I firmly believe that the written word has a
power that we can never truly measure.
What you write may have an impact on another person’s life that you
never even thought was possible. Never
underestimate the power of your words.</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Information is key in our world. I love sharing things I find to help out my
fellow authors. Here are a few great
links that I found today: </span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<a href="http://www.allisontait.com/2013/07/social-media-for-writers-4-google/"><span style="color: purple;">http://www.allisontait.com/2013/07/social-media-for-writers-4-google/</span></a><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: purple;"><a href="http://www.asja.org/theword/2013/08/07/dont-make-these-mistakes-that-first-time-self-published-authors-make/?utm_content=buffer24b9b&utm_source=buffer&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=Buffer#.UgI-igLUTW0.twitter">http://www.asja.org/theword/2013/08/07/dont-make-these-mistakes-that-first-time-self-published-authors-make/?utm_content=buffer24b9b&utm_source=buffer&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=Buffer#.UgI-igLUTW0.twitter</a></span><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://blog.bibliocrunch.com/authors-helping-authors-using-facebook/"><span style="color: purple;">http://blog.bibliocrunch.com/authors-helping-authors-using-facebook/</span></a><br />
<span style="color: purple;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://reviews.cnet.com/8301-18438_7-10119891-82/self-publishing-a-book-25-things-you-need-to-know/" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1375930375667_2956" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; outline: 0px;" target="_blank"><span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1375930412_0"><span style="color: purple;">http://reviews.cnet.com/8301-18438_7-10119891-82/self-publishing-a-book-25-things-you-need-to-know/</span></span></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-16822755727412845172013-08-05T13:24:00.002-07:002013-08-05T13:30:05.809-07:00Reading a book to write a bookHappy Funday Monday!!!<br />
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Today has really been a great day for me and I hope that it has been for you all as well. In addition to writing, I also have a day job and today I didn't have to go into the office because the AC was broken.</div>
<b><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: purple; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Hooray!!!!</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgHQmtekge2wVKMsZmZ0JaftA-L8T7zxY57qbDAqviVP6FJLAoLbDBhTklHkZHXNkjZ3ukg2BbjtPNO5Yr0QkdRVwvNvQOHNXcTsj6nRHylIuq4R45iLnzVLMKfhvt5HntYxEVsjbCuWX/s1600/hooray.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqgHQmtekge2wVKMsZmZ0JaftA-L8T7zxY57qbDAqviVP6FJLAoLbDBhTklHkZHXNkjZ3ukg2BbjtPNO5Yr0QkdRVwvNvQOHNXcTsj6nRHylIuq4R45iLnzVLMKfhvt5HntYxEVsjbCuWX/s1600/hooray.gif" height="200" width="171" /></a><br />
I have gotten so much writing done it is ridiculous and I got to spend another day in my trusty sweatpants (they treat me so well). Just as a reminder, today I posted the first chapter of my miniseries "Phone sex operators need love too" so go check it out (<a href="http://bit.ly/15B3JZJ">click here</a>). It is the story of Julia the self-professed "loneliest phone sex operator in the world" and her journey into online dating. I will be posting a new chapter every Monday so keep coming back to find out what randomness Julia gets herself into.<br />
<br />
Onto a less self-promoting topic. As many of you know writing is a talent, but also a skill that must be developed by studying your craft. I am working on publishing my first book (so excited!!) at the moment and I must say it is a long and sometimes confusing process. There have been many times where I was like, "Ok I need an editor. Where the hell do I get an editor?" or "I am ten chapters into my book and I officially have no idea where to take it from here".<br />
<br />
It was at these points that I began to realize that although my natural talent was good I would need to add a little skill to that talent to become truly GREAT. So I began reading even more novels in the genre I am interested. I saw how the authors handled certain things that I might be struggling with such as creating solid dialogue. And I also turned to books on how to write a book. If you are looking for something to try yourself, below are a few titles that you might find helpful. If you're more of an off the cuff writer than more power to you, but for those of us who aren't there's no problem with that either.<br />
<br />
Well that's all she wrote!<br />
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<u>As a bit of a P.S.:</u></div>
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I don't know if there are any romance novelists out there that are looking for a fun way to promote there books, but The Masquerade Crew (a group of reviewers) are hosting their Romance Novel Scavenger Hunt in the month of September. You can check out their website by clicking the link below.</div>
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<a href="http://masqueradecrew.blogspot.com/2013/08/romance-writers-be-featured-on-our-site.html">http://masqueradecrew.blogspot.com/2013/08/romance-writers-be-featured-on-our-site.html</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-10244655465830967242013-08-04T14:03:00.001-07:002013-08-04T14:03:35.009-07:00My new mini series<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As many of you may know writing a book is not an overnight
process. It will probably be months between books, which leads to the question
of how to stay connected with my readers in the meantime. My solution to
this question is to create a miniseries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Every Monday I will be posting a new
installment of my miniseries "Phone sex operators need love too". It
is a funny, quirky story about Julia the self-professed "loneliest phone
sex operator in the world" and her journey into the world of online
dating. The first post will be tomorrow Monday August 5th. Make sure to check
it out!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Well that's all she wrote.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03129664525318569654noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7081130406177513407.post-63888080798737865612013-08-03T14:41:00.000-07:002013-08-03T15:09:44.461-07:00Welcome to my brain<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Hello all!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">So my name is Olivia and I would like to invite you all into my brain. By that I mean that I LOVE to write and I am now at a point in my life where I can finally dedicate myself to it as much as I would like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, I will be sharing my writings with all of you. I am working on getting my first actual book out the door and onto Amazon (e-book) by the end of the month. My main genre is romance, but I love dabbling in everything in between. I will also be posting short stories, clips from future books, character development, etc. as I trek along my writing journey. I hope that you all will be more than willing to give your honest feedback and critiques on everything I post. I would love to have constant dialogue and conversations between us because in the end a writer is nothing without their readers! Well, that’s all she wrote. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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