Almost Done

I finished incorporating my editor's comments. Now I just need to address the dual timeline issue. I can't recall if I mentioned before that one of the plot lines in the sequel takes place in the past.  Often times, authors using dual timelines will employ some simple techniques to help the reader understand that what they are reading is taking place in a different time than the rest of the story. For example, they might place time stamps on each scene/chapter, or segregate the alternate timeline scenes by chapter.

Unfortunately, these techniques will not work for me. Since I haven't place any time stamps on any of the story to date (other than to say 20th Year of Fallon)...this would be difficult for me to do (and possibly annoying to the reader given that I'd have to do it for each scene...thereby interrupting the flow of the text).  Segregating the different timelines into separate chapters would be inconsistent with the way I've written the books thus far, with multiple plot lines interwoven in each chapter.

That said, I don't want the reader to become confused...so I feel I must do something. I came across an interesting blog post the other day that mentioned using different fonts for different timelines. I think I am going to try that. I know it would translate well in print...my primary concern remains the electronic book.  I know from my first book that many of the special fonts I used did not translate on the Kindle. It is something I need to look into.  Hopefully, I can resolve it within the next week.

Sneak Peak #5

The final edits are in!  I am going to get started on them now. Things are looking good for The Dungeons of Cetahl to be published by the end of the month. With that in mind, this will be the final sneak peak of the not-yet-edited sequel. Enjoy!

Once again Gentry and Casper found themselves crossing the barren expanse of land north of Bartow, forever in the shadow of the Atlian Mountains. There was no escape from the wind. It attacked them from all sides with a bitter chill that still carried traces of winter even though spring had come long ago.

As the sun began its slow retreat, Gentry found an outcropping of rocks and proceeded to set up camp. He was delighted to see that his fire took hold despite the pervasive wind.

We might actually stay warm tonight.

He had been staring at the flames – lost in thoughts of Daria and Luca – when the sound of hoofbeats echoed in the distance. Many hoofbeats. The unexpected sound filled him with dread.

In all the years Gentry had spent traveling the desolate road north from Bartow, he had never encountered another soul this late in the day. There were still traces of sunlight remaining, so Gentry scrambled up the nearby boulders in hopes of seeing what was coming his way. The boulders were no more than twenty feet high at the most, but they were high enough to give Gentry a better vantage point of the lands south.

His eyes narrowed as he searched the horizon. It did not take long to spot the cloud of dust in the distance. The riders were too far away for Gentry to make out how many were traveling in the party, but he guessed there were at least a half-dozen horsemen based on the size of the dust cloud and the sound of the hoofbeats. He could not fathom why so many riders would be on this particular road this late in the day. He only knew it likely meant trouble.

Fortunately, they were farther away than he would have guessed by the sound of the hoofbeats. Perhaps they have not seen my campfire yet. It was a hopeful thought – but he knew better. He had been burning the fire for over an hour. They most certainly saw something. He knew there was no time to lose. He must tear down the camp and hide – or run – fast!

He slid part of the way down the boulders before deciding to jump in order to save some time. He immediately regretted that decision. In his haste, Gentry failed to notice the pile of loose rocks that littered the ground at the base of the boulders. His ankle rolled awkwardly in the landing and he cried out in pain.

Cursing himself, Gentry hobbled along towards the fire. He grabbed one of the blankets that he had used to keep Casper warm at night and began swatting furiously at the flames. The horse let out a nervous neigh as Gentry desperately tried to put out the fire.

“Quiet, Casper!” Gentry barked.

For once, Casper listened.

With the fire finally out, Gentry focused his efforts on the rest of the campsite. The tent came down quicker than expected, and he began dragging the tarp and his remaining baggage behind the outcropping of rocks. He led Casper behind the boulders and sank down low – gingerly extending the leg with the throbbing ankle out before him as he slid to the ground.

Ironically, Gentry now found himself grateful for the wind. Its erratic gusts would make pinpointing the source of the fire that much harder. He just hoped the faint remnants of his campsite were far enough away from the road to escape the attention of the riders.

 Please do not let them see it, he begged to the heavens. It is too late to run.

Gentry closed his eyes. At first, it was hard to discern the sound of the approaching hoofbeats over his own beating heart – but the stampede of rhythmic clopping eventually grew louder and louder, overtaking all other sounds. He held his breath and waited. It would not be long now.

Sneak Peak #4

So my new editor is working diligently on the sequel..and she LIKES it!  She's the first person to read it (aside from myself) so that feedback meant a lot to me.  That's not to say that she didn't have any suggestions for improvement, but I am definitely breathing easier these days.

There is a chance I may be re-hired by my former employer. On one hand, I am excited at the prospect of having a second paycheck (our bank accounts have taken quite a beating this year). On the other hand, I worry how it may impact my writing. There are only so many hours in a day...and I am only willing to sacrifice so much sleep (said the girl who refused to nap as a toddler).  Sigh. Nothing is set yet, however, So we'll see.

Here is sneak peak #4 of my not-yet-edited sequel:

You are a fool, Gentry, he thought to himself. You should be home with your wife and child – not on this wild goose chase. Gentry took another swallow of dark brown ale and set down his pint glass.

Fallon had been so enamored with Bartow and the life he might have had if not for the Steward’s sign, that Gentry was almost certain he would find his missing friend enrolled in the university. He lifted his head and scanned the pub. If Fallon is a student, he does not frequent the Toasty Scholar.

Gentry let out a sigh. He had spent the better part of two weeks searching for his friend. There was no sign of Fallon at the university, and the innkeeper at the Cornerstone Inn and Tavern had not seen him in quite some time. Gentry sighed again. He knew it was possible that he might never find Fallon – even if he wandered the alleyways of Bartow for the next ten years. One man can easily hide amongst twenty-five thousand.

The bartender set another pint in front of Gentry without having to be asked. Gentry raised the new glass and smiled in thanks. The smile quickly faded once the bartender walked away and Gentry’s thoughts turned back to Fallon.

Bartow was an expensive town, and Gentry knew it would not be prudent to stay much longer. But he could not give up his search so quickly. His only hope was that Fallon was somewhere else.

If not Bartow, then where?

Gentry thought back though all of their conversations over the years, trying hard to recall if there had been any hint as to where Fallon might have gone, or why he might have left.

“Fallon always did have a soft spot for Jessum,” he mumbled aloud. Gentry had not been back to the mining town since he purchased his wedding rings of gold from Saul. That was nearly two years ago.

Perhaps the jeweler has seen Fallon recently. It was the only hope he had.

It would take several days to reach Jessum. The road north was cold and desolate and would bring him close to Colton and the ghosts of his past. He would also have to pass through Koman and risk being caught by the Komanites. But the road west led back to Reed – back to Daria and Luca – and he could not risk their temptation.

I cannot give up on Fallon just yet. He is my best friend. He saved my life. I owe him that much.

Gentry swallowed down the last of the ale and headed out into the evening air. He knew this would be the last night of sleeping in a comfortable bed for some time, and he was eager to return to the Cornerstone Inn and Tavern.

Sneak Peak #3

The following is probably one of the shorter scenes in my novel. It was originally placed at the end of the previous scene (see Sneak Peak #2)...but then I learned the rule about avoiding "head hopping" (i.e., switching from one character's thoughts to another's) within the same scene. I violated that rule quite frequently in The Rise of Fallon, but I haven't received any negative feedback regarding that (at least not yet)...so I like to tell myself it must not have been that bad.

Since my novels intertwine so many different subplots/characters, I must admit I found it difficult at times to adhere to the rule against head hopping in my sequel...but I think I managed (for the most part).

Here goes the latest in my not-yet-edited sequel:

Selma awoke the next morning to find her pillow soaked with a mixture of tears and honey wine, her head pounding. She stared blankly at the empty wine bottle, trying to recall the events of the previous night, but she could only recall the words of Lord Cephas.

New tears erupted from her bloodshot eyes as her thoughts drifted to Wendell. Her brother – her forever protector, her last living relative – was dead. And now she was alone in this world. And what a cruel world it was.

Sneak Peak #2

Happy to report that I have secured the services of another editor. She has been incredibly responsive and has already started her review of The Dungeons of Cetahl.  If all goes well, the book should be published by the end of this month!

In the meantime, here is another sneak peak of the not-yet-edited book. I must confess I struggled greatly with this particular scene. It has morphed so many times I have lost count...and yet, it is still not quite right. But, then again, I don't think I'll ever be completely satisfied :/

CHAPTER ONE

Ill Tidings

Though the throne room was quite large, it was a cold and barren chamber with few decorations save some red and black tapestries that hung from the walls. Loud voices tended to echo through the emptiness, compelling its occupants to use quieter tongues. This was just as well, as soft words do not lend themselves so readily to eavesdropping.

The Emperor sat upon his chair of stone, staring intently at the young man speaking before him – his son, Lord Cephas.

“It was a starcrest stone – in a wind chime, no less – tucked away in the corner of an obscure alleyway in Bartow. I had been admiring it when I felt his presence behind me.” A broad smile appeared on the young man’s face. “The old wizard was dust before he could utter a word.”

The arrogant boasts of his son were met with a scowl. “We did not send you on your quest so that you might start a war,” Lord Etan replied, his voice strained. Not yet, anyway. “You did not just kill any old wizard. You killed Lord Milton.”

It was clear from his son’s expression that Lord Cephas had not expected the rebuke. “I would have thought such news would have pleased you, Father,” he replied in a cool, measured tone. “The hero of the First War felled by your only son.”

Lord Etan said nothing.

“Would you rather I had been the one to die?” Lord Cephas pressed. “Do you not think Lord Milton would have done the same once he realized who stood before him?”

He has no idea how much I have suffered, Lord Etan thought bitterly. Eight years had passed since he initially sent Lord Cephas off on his quest. And while eight years is not necessarily a long time to a wizard – it is to a father who had expected his son to return within a year of his departure.

The Emperor had sent countless search parties into the West in an effort to find his son, but they always returned empty-handed. It was just in the past week that a messenger arrived with news that Lord Cephas had finally returned to the East. And now – at long last – his son stood before him. But his son came bearing ill tidings, and the Emperor remained troubled.

An awkward silence ensued until the young man took a deep breath and began speaking once more. “Lord Milton had a proper burial, and I took care to make certain no trace of him remained,” Lord Cephas explained. “Besides, the wizard was quite old. Sometimes old wizards just die.”

Sometimes old wizards just die. It was the way his son said it that unnerved the Emperor. He was of similar age to Lord Milton, perhaps even older.

“Regardless, I do not believe they shall suspect an Easterner was behind his disappearance.”

“Only a fool would be so naïve!” the Emperor growled, pounding his fist into the arm of the stone chair. “Wizards do not just disappear without a trace, my son.” Except perhaps you. The Emperor quickly dismissed the unexpected thought. “The Western Wizards most certainly shall suspect an Easterner is responsible. It is only a matter of time before we shall suffer the consequences of your stupidity.”

“If the West wages war upon us it shall be of your doing, not mine,” snapped Lord Cephas. “You have lost control of your domain, Emperor. Your people are fleeing over the mountains in droves. I have seen as much with my own eyes.”

The room fell silent, but the icy stares between father and son spoke volumes.

Eventually the Emperor let out a sigh and rubbed his aching head. “Did any good come of your journey? What of the other wizard? What of your servant?”

Selma had been standing quietly in the far corner of the throne room – staring at the floor – but she raised her head at the mention of her brother.

Lord Cephas frowned. “I am afraid Lady Blythe proved stronger than we had been led to believe. There was…an incident.”

“An incident?”

“Aye. I cannot say for certain if the wizard still lives, but alas, my servant is dead.”

Selma’s gasp was audible, as were the mumbled apologies that quickly followed. Unless specifically called upon, a servant must never utter a sound within the Emperor’s throne room. Never.

“Selma, leave us,” The Emperor commanded.

“As you wish, Emperor.”

Sneak Peak #1

February 1 came and went without any word from my editor. Sigh.  Tomorrow I shall begin the search for a new editor (I've already identified a few options).  Unfortunately, this means it will likely be closer until the end of February before The Dungeons of Cetahl is finally published. This is particularly frustrating because I was done with the story in early December...and had I chosen a different editor I might actually have published before the end of the year as I had originally hoped.

Anyway, I think most (if not all) of the visitors to this website are spambots...but on the off chance that a legitimate fan of THE STEWARDS OF REED series does check this blog from time to time, I've decided to post some sneak-peaks of The Dungeons of Cetahl until the book is finally published. It goes without saying that these pages have not yet been edited...

Prologue

The man sat quietly in the corner of his cell. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago – so much so that he felt the need to shield them from the brightness of the guard’s torch whenever his daily ration of food was delivered. But it was his hands that he still relied upon most of all. His hands could see and hear what his other senses could not. His hands knew the stories of the walls, and the walls knew the stories of those sequestered in the cell before him.

The stone walls were cold and damp, and many parts were coated with a thin layer of moss that somehow managed to persist without the benefit of sunlight. He traced his fingers along the etchings in the stone. Several prisoners of old had attempted to track their days spent in solitude within the Dungeons of Cetahl – the thief for certain, the merchant, the blacksmith. But not the wizard. No, she did not mark her time in stone.

But it was not the wizard who concerned him, nor any of the others for that matter. I am here for a reason, he reminded himself. Eventually, sleep overcame him and he drifted off into the land of dreams – the only land beyond his cell that he had seen in over two decades.