Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Do I want a kindle?

My birthday is next week and I've been informed by one family member I'll be receiving a gift cert from That's nice, I can always find something to buy on that website which is why they are the only website from the days still in business.

I'm thinking perhaps it's time to join the cool kids and buy a kindle, except I'm not sure which kindle to get. I see they have a full color one now, but it's out of my price range. Something with wifi would be nice. Any advice?

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

NaNo Fail, and what I'm reading right now

Yes, I completely blew it for Nanowrimo this year. November became very stressful for me and found myself with no time to work on the novel. I had notes, a basic plot outline and I will at some point finish it ... but getting it done this month wasn't going to happen, even with the usual speed I can chug a Nano novel out. I even had to start over when my computer derped and lost 5000 words! Stopping at 12,000 words after a week, there is just no excuse for it, other than too much stuff happening this month with work, other commitments and spending two days processing a deer shot on the opening day of firearm season at home. Venison in the freezer and home canned in the pantry is nice, but my novel suffered with everything going on. Big sigh of sadness.

In the meantime, I decided it's time to finish Pierian Spring and get it ready to submit to agents. Will a work of historical fiction based on the experiences of two teen aged boys during the Boston Tea Party have any selling potential? Even if it ends up on the 99 cents list for Amazon Kindle, I am determined to publish this book. As much as I've enjoyed creating the world of the Benandanti, I love spending time with Silas and Andrew again. I've missed these boys.

What am I reading right now? I'm actually reading fiction for a change and enjoying it. The Help is a fantastic book. I instantly fell in love with the characters, and felt empathy for their suffering and the situations they find themselves in. Very powerful writing. A book you hate to put down after picking it up.

Holidays are coming soon, I still have Thanksgiving decorations up. Argh.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Submission for Can You Hook A Teen Contest

Title: I, Benandante
Genre: YA Dark Fantasy

The sound roused her slowly, like a drip in a faucet. Marisa heard the rhythm grow stronger, like someone tapping – no, like a drum. It sounded like someone was beating a drum.

“Come on!” A man’s voice shouted at her. “Get up! It’s time to go!”

She had heard that voice before; it was happening again.

Marisa didn’t want to open her eyes. She was terrified of what she would see. She could feel them swirling around her.

“Wake up! Will you come with me?”

The voice shouting at her had an authoritative tone that demanded obedience. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him standing over her bed. He carried a plant with a long stalk in his hand like it was a weapon.

Then Marisa realized she could see through him.

She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t open her mouth or move any other part of her body. She felt frozen, like a stone. With the scream still caught in her throat, she glanced up at the man’s face again. One second it was a human face, then it changed shape into a cat, then a mouse, then a chicken. The only thing that didn’t change was his eyes as they bored into hers with an angry, terrifying gaze.

“The battle is approaching!” The chicken head changing into a bat head shouted to her.

Marisa knew the others were there. Rats, cats, rabbits, birds, deer with human eyes, more spirit people with cat and goat eyes; all of them moving together to the same destination.

Saturday, August 20, 2011

A sobering question answered.

Write On Con's Event ended this week, and I tried to attend some of the live chats. Some of the presenters represented publishers for children's books and picture books, which I don't write, but there were also presentations from those representing YA publishers. One of the questions asked during a "chat" (Meaning a heavily monitored chat room where very few if any comments from the guests ever make it into the chat, one of the most FRUSTRATING things about Write On Con and one of the reasons I eventually give up and find something better to do. Not even greetings are allowed through, except from a few chat guests) asked if YA books written from a male point of view were becoming more popular, and would any of the literary agents in attendance be willing to represent a writer with such a book. All three adamantly said no, because those books don't sell. Period.

I couldn't believe the answer from these agents, especially with my knowledge from being a teacher and have first-hand knowledge by observing what boys read. I've seen boys reading many books from popular YA lists, which I know are geared to a female reading audience because there just isn't much out there for them. Boys do read, and my thinking would be that these boys would enjoy books in the YA genre that had a male point of view. I asked this question, mentioning that I am a teacher and the monitor let that one squeak through (probably because I mentioned I was a teacher). One of the agents responded to my question with, "Look the market just isn't there for YA books with a male point of view."

That answer completely deflated me, because my WIP Pierian Spring has two teenage boys for main characters. Even while I work on my new WIP I, Benandante I continue to research and work on Pierian Spring. Now I wonder if there is even a point to continue on with it. If the market for YA books really is ignoring half of the population of readers because they believe there is no market for it, putting the time and effort into writing this book might be a huge waste of time.

I know I will keep on working on it, because my main reason for writing is to write the stories I want to read. Perhaps self-publishing will be the best way to go in the future, when Pierian Spring is a polished work.

Friday, July 8, 2011

First week of Camp Nano.

No, I never know the meaning of "enough is enough!"

Around May I had an idea pop into my head for a new novel. It's completely different than Pierian Spring as it's set in the present (mostly) and deals with a completely different subject. The title for it is I, Benandante and would fall under dark fantasy if it must be pigeonholed into a genre.

The most profound thing that happened as I developed the concept for I, Benandante was how quickly I fell in love with the two MC's before I wrote a single word. I had entire scenes between them running through my mind for weeks before July 1, when I was finally able to start putting words down. After one week I've reached over 13,000 words as of last night. Feels like a good pace. I listen to lots of Rob Zombie as I type, which may be contributing to how fast I'm getting it down.

This novel is also my reward for finishing 6 credits in college toward professional development in my career, and also for finishing the ABCTE program in special education. I can teach special ed in 11 states now! Fingers crossed I find a job soon.

In the meantime, keep on writing on.

Sunday, June 5, 2011


Yesterday I pissed and moaned about Sarah Palin whom while visiting Paul Revere's home town completely got wrong who he was when asked. Today I didn't even get mad when she told Chris Wallace on Fixed Noise that she didn't "mess up about Paul Revere", (Yes she did, big time) and that the faithful supporters gotcha media got her again.

But what does make me mad is when the Queen of Stupid's brain dead followers try to revise actual history so it matches the stupid shit this stupid twit says.

That's right, Palin supporters tried to edit Wikipedia's Paul Revere page to match what Sarah Palin said. Because if Sarah Palin said it, it must be true, right?

But if it isn't ... well then, we'll just have to make it true.

Fortunately, Wikipedia realized what was going on, locked the page and told the people involved in the discussion section to knock it off. There's always Conservapedia!

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Things that make me tear my hair out and scream

"He who warned, uh, the…the British that they weren’t gonna be takin’ away our arms, uh, by ringin’ those bells and um by makin’ sure that as he’s ridin’ his horse through town to send those warnin’ shots and bells that uh we were gonna be secure and we were gonna be free…and we were gonna be armed." -- Sarah the half governor Palin

When I began writing Pierian Spring it was a labor of love for me. Historical fiction once upon a time was very popular; I still love to read it. It's faded in popularity though for fantasy in recent years. What this means is even though I have 56,000 words dedicated to a work of fiction set against the Boston Tea Party that I've enjoyed writing, I accept that there may be no market for it.

But when people who think they deserve the chance to run for the highest political office in our country can't even get one of the best known historical events of the American Revolution right, and she happens to be standing in the man's home town where it happened when she makes said blunder makes me hope that maybe, just maybe there is a chance historical fiction might become popular again.

Dare to dream that we can have a president as smart as a 5th grader.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I finally figured it out!

I finally figured out how to start Pierian Spring!

I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner! Best of all, I finally got the kick in the pants I needed for serious revising time.

Who knows, maybe some time this summer I will be ready to attempt some query letters?

Thursday, May 5, 2011

How much history should you write into historical fiction?

Part of my revision process was to intensively do more research into the historical events that led up to the BTP starting on October 18, and ending on December 17, 1773. I was aware of quite a bit before I started writing my story - the meetings that took place, some of the rowdier riots (One involved a tea merchant shooting into a mob that showed up at his house) But I was quite surprised to learn that a week didn't go by for those two and a half months without something significant happening.

On top of all this, I have my two MC's, their families, their problems they need to overcome, one of them is hiding a secret life from the other and so on, not to mention a budding love interest. Oy.

I'm going to be writing a few new chapters.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Oh yeah, it's spring

And in Michigan that means a number of things:

It's time to get your garden ready.

It's time to enjoy warmer weather.

It's time to hunt for morels.

Meanwhile, there's this thing called a novel I'm trying to turn into something resembling a professional, polished piece of work that an agent could be interested in selling for me.

Priorities ... priorities ...

No morels today. Mom found four.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

When the details matter ... eventually

Today I substitute taught for an 8th grade language arts teacher. Part of the day's lesson included the students rewriting a story for variety of sentence style, or to make it more readable. The sentences were short and choppy, and the point of the lesson was to revise the story to make it more interesting to read; something 8th grade students are more than capable of doing.

Except, in each class the kids were hung up about one minor detail, and it's really minor. In the instructions for revising the text they were informed of 5 misspelled words they had to fix. The students spent most of the time allotted for the lesson looking over the sentences for the misspelled words, and never got around to do the rewriting that was the main part of the assignment. They asked me which sentences the misspelled words were in, were there really only 5, what if I'm not sure how to spell the word right either? Can't you just tell us where they are?

After telling them repeatedly don't worry about the misspelled words, just do the rewrite and you will find them and if you're not sure how to spell it correctly use one of the numerous dictionaries in the classroom some of them finished the assignment before the bell rang. I'm still shaking my head at what happened. Why would these kids get hung up with a few misspelled words when the entire story desperately needed a revision? Shouldn't that have been their focus?

It made me reflect on my writing and why it's important to rewrite, which is making the story better so more people will want to read it. I misspell words all the time, but I know the dictionary will help me with that when the time comes. The important thing is to write a story that flows and has a strong voice that makes people sit up and notice. Be wary of getting mired down in little details like spelling and punctuation, and focus on making your story the best it can be first. They invented spell check for the spelling errors.

POPE NIGHT - a chapter from my novel.

The following is an edited chapter from my novel Pierian Spring. I would appreciate constructive critique!


Pope Night
Andrew stood on the edge of the common watching the crowd grow. He felt apprehension when a group of loud, laughing young men stumbled by passing a jug between them. From the looks of some of the men and boys he could see in the large crowd, they started drinking hours ago. Some boys with long horns in their hands ran around and through the crowd blowing them as loud as they could, getting ready for the night’s festivities. They created a horrendous sound no one could escape. He recalled hearing them last year from a distance but now that he was so close … Andrew considered turning around and heading home right there. This looked like it could get dangerous as the night progressed. He took a step back when he felt a hand on his arm.
“Ah!” he shouted when he felt the touch, looking up he heard Silas’s laugh in his ear. From the bright, rosy glow on his cheeks Andrew could see he had sampled more than his share of whatever was in those jugs being passed around.
“You made it! I thought you might not come after all.” Silas laughed again, pulling him by the arm. “Come meet Eb and the others! We’re about to get underway for the night!”
Andrew followed behind, his face red as he tried to keep up with the taller boy and catch his breath. He felt relieved to finally see Silas there, and his smile made some of his trepidation fade. “There you are, I waited where you told me.”
“Yeah, but you’re missing the party! Come on!” Silas waved him forward and walked toward the crowd. Andrew followed, side stepping a group of screaming drunken boys as they fought over an almost empty jug. One bumped into Andrew and made him fly into Silas’s back.
Silas lurched forward. “Hey, watch where you’re going Andrew! You act like you’re drunk already!”
Andrew rubbed his sore nose and straightened his glasses. “Sorry Silas,” he murmured, and then looked at the older man his friend spoke to.
“You’re purser tonight, Silas.” the man said. Andrew noticed he had an odd way of moving his head back and forth. The man handed Silas a small leather bag to collect their earnings for the night’s festivities.
Silas tied the leather pouch to his belt. “You got it, Niddy Noddy!” He looked behind him and pulled his friend forward by the arm. “This is Andrew, he’s going to step in for Oliver.” Silas grinned mischievously at Andrew. “Aren’t ya Andrew?” Niddy Noddy snickered, then wandered off when a group of boys called him over.
Andrew didn’t like this at all. He was here to see what happened, not get involved! What if someone who knew him saw him here? “And what does Oliver do?” He was beginning to worry about what he had gotten himself into. Pope Night always looked like so much fun, and he had begged Silas to bring him along. Now he was going to have to be a part of it?
Silas’s grin grew wider. “You’re going to dance on the wagon. Don’t worry no one will recognize you. We have a mask and costume for you to wear. Oi Eb!” he raised his hand and waved to a thin man Andrew immediately didn’t like the looks of at all.
Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “Which part.” He felt a twinge of fear when he looked at Silas’s face, which appeared to become rather menacing for a second.
Silas had waited all day to tell him this. “… Nancy Dawson.”

Andrew’s jaw dropped. “What?! Why do I have to wear the girl costume?”
“Because,” Silas chuckled holding up his fingers and counting each one off. “First, it’ll be fun; second, you need to get out of the house and get away from those smut books you like to read,” Silas laughed out loud at Andrew’s face. “ ... And third, Oliver and you are about the same size, but he’s sick tonight and can’t make it. You’re taking his place!” He laughed at his friend, whose face was getting red again, but this time from anger.
“It’s fun? Have you ever done it? And I don’t read smut! They’re books that use humor to illustrate current social and political situations.” He fumed.
“Yeah,” Silas answered. “Last year I worked the Pope puppet, and keeping that damn mitre balanced on it’s head is a bitch!” Silas laughed, “Besides, I can’t be Nancy Dawson, I don’t have your bouncy pretty locks Andrew!” The last remark earned him loud laughter from several boys standing nearby, including the man Silas called Eb.
“Look, if you wear the costume, it will be harder for anyone to recognize you, right?” Silas grabbed Andrew’s arm and dragged him toward the wagon where the other boys were already putting on their costumes. The devil puppeteers struggled with an evil looking devil’s head, with long curving horns and a toothy leer. Another group of boys tried to figure how to not trip over the long robe of the pope costume and keep the ridiculously tall mitre balanced on the effigy’s head. Other boys held up long sticks that had other effigies hanging from them. More than one bore a very good likeness of Governor Hutchinson.
Silas grabbed the dress and mask of the famous actress and tossed them at Andrew. “Hurry up and get dressed, we’re leaving soon.”
Andrew stood looking at Silas stupidly as the mask and dress hit him on the chest. He was serious. He expected him to put the ridiculous thing on. He scowled as he picked up the items from the ground and struggled into the costume, getting a bit of grim satisfaction when the seam in one of the sleeves ripped open. His face grew even redder with embarrassment as he positioned the unmistakably female mask over his face and figured out a way to fasten it to his head so it didn’t slip down. Silas and another man grabbed him under his armpits and gave him a hand up; he found himself standing on the rather rickety wagon bed. He looked down at the wheels of the contraption with apprehension, hoping they were fastened to the axle properly. The other boys operating the puppets jumped on board and positioned themselves.
“Right!” Ebenezer, the captain of the South End gang shouted to the crowd of drunken men and boys. “Everybody shut up and listen! We need boys to help move the wagon round the town; Silas is our purser this year. No one else collects donations but him, got it?” The other boys all nodded their heads. “Good, now Henry will stay with the wagon in case anything goes wrong with it, that includes any North Enders trying to pinch it from us. You know what to do if you see any of them!” The crowd men and boys laughed and nodded, some even punched their fists into their open hands. Andrew watched it through the eye slits in his mask, a sinking sense of fear gripping him. “Who are our lookouts in case we see the North Ender’s wagon?” Several rough looking men from the shipyards, some holding rope beating bats raised their hands. Andrew’s sinking feeling became full-on dread.
“Alright then, let’s get the party started!” A cheer rose up from the large mob as a group of boys, including Silas ran up to the wagon and began to pull or push at it to get it in motion. It took no time at all before the wobbly wheels on the cart lurched forward and the parade left the Common for the town. Someone handed the devil puppeteers a pitchfork and Andrew did everything he could to keep his balance as the cart rolled over the uneven cobblestones toward the first house on the street. He looked at Beacon Hill in the distance, and John Hancock’s lavish mansion on the top of the hill looking over the Common. He wondered where that man was tonight, considering everything that had happened that day in the town.
The cart came to a lurching stop, and Silas ran up to the front door, banging on it as loud as he could. “Donations for the Pope-Night cart!” He shouted at the door, which opened, and a man in his waistcoat holding a letter in his hand came to the door. Silas turned to the assembled mob and shouted, “Time for the show boys!” At which point the boys in charge of moving the devil and pope puppets made the two effigies dance, and the rest of the boys began to sing:

The fifth of November,
As you well remember,
Was gunpowder treason and plot;
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason,
Should ever be forgot. . . .

The devil controlled by the puppeteers began to beat the pope puppet on the cart, the former prodding at the latter with the pitchfork, while the hapless pope waved his puppet arms in pain while trying to not lose the mitre. The song continued on …

Here is the pope that we have got,
The whole promoter of the plot!
We’ll stick a pitchfork in his back,
And throw him in the fire!”

Their show ended and Andrew felt someone smack at his legs. “Start dancing idiot!” He yelped and started to jump around, trying to remember the stupid dance his sister learned to dance named after the famous British actress:

When first with Nancy Dawson
The Hornpipe came in fashion
We ev'rv one to dance begun
And Jigg'd throughout the nation
And a jigging we will go!

Andrew felt so ashamed as he danced the little jig; he would have to come up with a really good way to get back at Silas for humiliating him like this he thought. He began imagining ways to torture him as he danced until everyone stopped singing. He turned in time to see Silas hold his hand out to the man, and a few coins dropped into his open palm. The tall, smiling boy dropped them in the open leather pouch to great cheers from the mob of men and boys, happy to see the first donation for their upcoming feast secured. Andrew once again held on for dear life as the cart lurched into motion and headed for the next house.
This routine continued on and on, much to Andrew’s growing poor mood and horror, as at each stop he had to dance the ridiculous little jig wearing the ridiculous little dress and mask, and Silas collected more money. He could see the little leather pouch getting heavy on his friend’s belt, and wondered what they would buy with it.
Silas ran up to a door and banged on it, barking out his announcement that the Pope Cart was there, but no one came to the door.
“Oh, ignore us will you?” Henry the lieutenant snickered, then motioned at two boys who were carrying a ghoulish demon head on a pike. They ran up to a window that had lights and open blinds, and raised the head to make the demon appear to be looking at the occupants of the room through the window. A few minutes later there was a hysterical scream and shouts as a liveried servant man opened the door and fumed at the assembled boys. “Beat it, you mongrels!” He spat at the boys, who only laughed at him.
The man of the house appeared, clearly irate. Behind him a few boys could see more servants struggling to carry his large wife up the staircase, her face pale and eyes closed. One servant fluttered a fan over her face. Silas bounded up the stairs to the open doorway and held out his hand. “Donations for the Pope Cart sir, if you please!”
“Get out of here now!” The man bellowed in Silas’ face, his own becoming crimson with rage. “The lady of the house has succumbed to your devilish pranks! Leave us in peace before I call the sentry!”
“The sentry? They don’t dare come near us! Do they lads?” One older boy shouted out, his rope beating bat in hand.
The other boys all laughed and shook their heads, some shouting “Pay up!” to the man on the porch. Silas flashed his big handsome smile and held out his hand to the well to do gentleman. “Donations please!”
The man finally relented and cursed them all as he tossed a few coins into Silas’ hand. “Now get the hell out of here! Rabble and scum, the lot of you!” He slammed the door in their faces, but most of them had already begun hauling the cart up the street to the next house.
Just then Andrew, who had stood on the cart in horror as he watched the boys harass the man who happened to be a good friend of his father’s, felt one of the wobbly front wheels of the cart hit a deep rut between the cobblestones, and the axle pin holding it in place snapped, sending him and the other puppeteers sprawling into the street. The boys pushing the cart all gasped as the wagon toppled over, unable to move.
Silas ran up, panic clearly on his face when he saw the wagon wheel laying in the street and the cart resting on it’s axle.
Andrew sat up, groaning when he saw the tears in his hose and deep scrapes on his knees, blood oozing out of one already and growled. “Damn it Silas, I’m through!” He shouted, pulling off the hated mask and throwing it on the cobblestones.
“Like hell you are!” Silas shouted back, kicking the mask back to Andrew’s feet. “We have to get this wagon moving again before the North Enders find us and steal it!” A group of boys rushed forward and tried to put the wheel back on the axle, but with no replacement for the axle pin it was hopeless. Silas ran his hand fearfully through his dark hair and finally turned and bellowed into the night as loud as he could,
A few seconds later the chubby boy huffed his way up the street and took quick stock of the situation. “Ah fuck!” He groaned, “We have to get this thing moving now!” He trotted up, looked the wagon over for a moment, and then picked up the corner of the cart, resting it on his shoulder to make the bed level for the dancers. “Let’s go boys!” and once again the cart moved up the street, with Henry acting as a wheel to keep it level. Andrew and the puppeteers jumped back on, which made Henry and the men holding up the axle grunt from the extra weight. A few more boys ran up to help with the burden and the cart moved on to the rest of the houses they planned to visit that night.
Finally, with the boys acting as the wheel all red faced and covered in sweat in the cold November night, they made their way to the meetinghouse in the center of town for the main event. In the distance they could see the North End gang’s cart coming into view.
Andrew immediately felt a current of animosity and anticipation charge through the group as they approached their enemy in the square in front of the meetinghouse; the older wharf workers and other men were already waving their bats and cudgels in the direction of the North End gang members, who were waving similar weapons back at the South End gang. Andrew felt a wave of nausea when he saw the rival gang had just as many members. Where had all of these people come from? They couldn’t all be from Boston, could they?
The Captain of the North Enders, a man named Samuel who was even older than Ebenezer walked up and laughed, pointing at Henry and the other boys and men still struggling to hold up the axle of the cart. He had it resting on a pudgy thigh and glared at the man as he yelled at them with a mocking laugh. “Oy! Look at what the South Enders are usin’ for a wheel this year! At least he’s as round as one!” The rest of the North Enders laughed.
The Captain of the South End gang came forward and shouted back, “Henry may be round in body, but at least he’s not a fat headed buffoon like you!” The South Enders all cheered Ebenezer, grinning maliciously at the mob across from them.
Andrew looked at Silas’ face, grinning with anticipation, his hands balled into fists, and had a look in his eyes that made Andrew want to run home and hide in his room right that minute. This was about to turn into a very ugly brawl. He had only heard of them in the past, now he was about to be a part of it. Wearing a dress. He wished at that moment that he was home in his comfortable house, perhaps sitting up in his warm, comfortable bed reading Voltaire. Suddenly, a silent cue must have been given because with a loud, Earth shaking battle cry the two mobs rushed forward at each other, fists and bats flying. Andrew squealed as he was almost run over by the mob, but before he could shout in protest a boy from the rival gang ran up and tried to punch him in the face. He dodged the fist aimed at him and buried his own fist in the kid’s cheek, sending him flying back and landing on his ass in the street. Andrew turned and saw three more boys coming at him; he looked frantically for Silas but the other boy had been in the front line of the mob rushing into the fight, and was already gleefully in the thick of the brawl and nowhere in sight.
The first of the three boys reached Andrew, who reacted by sticking his foot out and tripping him. The second and third boy caught up, grabbed each of Andrew’s arms and held him down, while the first boy got back on his feet and walked toward him. “That was a bitch move you little turd.” He spat out. The boy got ready to punch him in the stomach.
Andrew had enough. He felt rage well up from deep inside him and yelled back, “A bitch move for a bitch like you!” He head-butted the kid and sent him sprawling back on the cobblestones again. He jerked his arms together and the other two boys ran into each other, knocking their heads together. They both fell back crying out in pain. With their grip on his arms gone he ran forward, tearing the hated dress to shreds and throwing it away. He was through of this whole affair, and it was time to find the jerk responsible and make him pay.
He punched and kicked his way through the crowd of brawling men and boys; dodging fists and clubs hurled his way. He found Silas, lip bleeding, that stupid grin on his face straddling a North Ender on the ground and pummeling him mercilessly.
Andrew ran up and punched the goon Silas sat on, knocking him unconscious. He grabbed his friend’s collar and hauled him to his feet. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this, you asshole!” He fumed.
Silas looked at him and wiped the blood off of his lip, “Hey you said you wanted to come with me and see what this is all about and what we do, but you can thank me later I’m a little busy right now!”
Andrew’s eyes grew wide and he snarled back, “Why you …” He reared back and punched Silas in the face as hard as he could. He fell back and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind out of him for a second.
Silas shook his head and blinked his eyes. He focused on Andrew and shouted back. “Damn it Andrew, I just said you could thank me later!” He jumped back to his feet in time to punch a large man coming at Andrew with a large cudgel.
Suddenly loud cheers went up as more South Enders were still standing than North Enders. A group of boys ran forward and seized the North Ender’s wagon, and the cheering, limping, black-eyed and bloody nosed mob made their way back to Boston Common.
The money Silas had collected in the leather bag as the gang’s purser had been used to buy an enormous feast for the boys. There were casks of ale and hard cider, and a mountain of food, including some fresh looking sausages waiting for a large, roaring fire to be cooked over. The captain ordered the North End gang’s cart hauled to the center of the field and with scrap wood collected earlier in the evening, set it on fire - but not before saving an axle pin to fix their own wagon first. The boys danced around the fire and cheered, drinking beer and hard cider; stuffing their faces on the food they had bought with the evening’s earnings. The money left over was divided up and passed out so everyone could have a few hard-earned coins in their pockets when they left, the captain and lieutenants getting a bigger share, and Silas received some silver as well for being the purser.
Silas walked up to Andrew carrying two small jugs of hard cider. He handed one to his friend and uncorked his own, taking a long swig. “So, despite having to wear a dress and dance a girl’s dance, did you have fun tonight?”
Andrew took a drink from his own jug. “If you ever drag me to anything where I have to wear a dress again, I’ll make sure you have to wear one permanently.”
Silas spewed a mouthful of cider and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t mean that do you? Come on Andrew, you had fun tonight, admit it.”
“Shut up idiot.” The boy said, staring at the remnants of the North Ender’s cart going up in flames; a faint smile on his lips.
The party went on well into the early morning. Many boys were strewn across the grassy Common passed out and sleeping off their night of fun. Andrew lurched and swayed where he sat with a big, stupid grin on his face. “I’m havin’ fun!”
Silas yawned and picked his head up from where he rested it on his knees. “Yeah? I think I’ve had enough for tonight. I’m ready to go home.”
“Home … yes … splendid idea!” Andrew shouted, toasting no one as he lifted the small cider jug into the air. He tipped his head way back to take a drink, only to discover to his utter sadness it was empty. Disgusted, he tossed it aside and smirked when he heard it smash against a tree. “Well shit Silas, what do I do now?”
Silas staggered to his feet. “Time to sleep Andrew.” He held out his hand to him. “Up we go now!”
Andrew grabbed Silas by the wrist and found himself on his feet. He listed to side and nearly fell back down but Silas grabbed him and propelled him in the direction he came toward Beacon Hill. “You do remember where you live, right?”
Andrew snorted. “O’ course I do! This way!” He pointed in a direction and began leaning that way, nearly falling on his face.
Silas wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him back to his feet. “Walk, Andrew!” His friend lurched forward and he followed, hoping they were headed the right way.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

How did this week get so busy?

Wrote two new chapters this week, and even managed to do some editing. Feels good!

One character I'm waffling on is the older sister of one of my MC's. She's a minor antagonist, and I have yet to settle on how much conflict I want her to inflict on my other MC. It's an issue of one-sided infatuation, with the two characters coming from different socio-economic class strata in 18th century English society.

The problem I find with antagonists is just how negative can you make them before they become unbelievable? Never mind you may know real people who are worse.

Back to class this week, happy there's only a month left. I plan on getting some writing done every day.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

T Minus 4 days and counting until Spring Break! Word wars here I come!

Spring break starts in a week. I am counting down the minutes until I have a week free of college classes and work! I plan on using that week to write write write and begin a serious rewrite of my novel.

I have the first draft of a research paper due by Sunday. The topic is an exploration of the similarities between the modern tea party movement and the Boston Tea Party. Since my novel started out as a brainstorm of that very subject, I chose my paper topic to help me do more in-depth research before I started rewriting the book. It has really paid off! I thought I knew a lot about the Boston Tea Party last fall when I started writing this book, now my brain is filled to capacity with all of the new information I've learned to write my research paper, wonderful details that will certainly make it into the novel!

The most recent bit of history I learned made me leap for joy. One of the characters in my book is a German bookbinder. I just found a source describing how German immigrants were brought to the colonies to start up the printing/publishing and glassmaking trades! Yes! *fistpump*

I'm treating myself tonight; taking a break from the research paper because there's only two more pages of it left to write and diving into a chapter that's been gnawing at my brain for weeks. I'm so excited to have the time to really work on my novel again!

Time to word war with myself :)

Monday, March 21, 2011

Welcome to my writing blog, where I write a blog about writing

Since I'm currently working part time as a substitute teacher until I can find full time work (HAHAHA) again, I have extra time on my hands and decided to give NaNoWriMo 2010 a try.  I enjoyed it very much and met some great people.  I managed to finish 6 days before the deadline with over 50,000 words, which for me was an accomplishment in one month.

I write historical fiction, some fan fiction when I can't help myself and blog about whatever as the mood strikes me.