Excerpt, Marin’s POV, at the start of Remember. Deta series

Marin practiced his sword-fighting in the garden. Years of training had taught him that being inside with a big pointy stick was not the greatest of ideas. He was edgy and he didn’t know why. Something pulled at him.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the wind. He kicked the stick on his foot up into the air. With eyes closed, he whirled and slashed. when he opened his eyes, kindling spread around the courtyard. A smile broke briefly across a face unused to smiling. He ran his hands over his chin.

Marin tired of the games. Ute called him useless and politic, yet he was what his people needed him to be, and he didn’t know how to make Ute understand that. He saw the issues they were having, just like everyone else. But fear would not motivate the Fost. Leadership would. Ute needed to shut up and let Marin lead. Finn wasn’t helping either. Just the opposite in fact, Finn was a quiet instigator, standing solemnly nearby, screwing anything that moved.

Marin blew out his breath. He pulled up his shirt and wiped off his face as he headed back inside.

Lightning flashed in the countryside. One bolt, then another lit the sky, silhouetted against the coming twilight. He titled his head. That was unusual. The weather was nippy, but he didn’t feel a storm coming. His senses were usually accurate enough to predict a good downpour. He loved them, the fierce winds, the bracing rain, and violent thunder. He would stand out in the gale, arms open, daring it to take him. Lands, he loved that feeling when the storm pulled at him, calling him home.

Once when they were little, Zanth, his brother, came upon him out in the garden in the heart of the downpour. Poor guy stood at the door, crying, worried his brother would be hurt. Marin made sure after that, that no one saw the heart of him. Marin knew his responsibilities. He was Clan Chief, he couldn’t show any insecurity, any weakness. All the Gaol men were born leaders.

Marin meandered inside, stole a snack from the kitchen, and traipsed upstairs. Marin and Zanth lived in one of the few two story buildings in Groos. It was a huge monstrosity of a home. A covered porch graced the front. Two big doors opened into the foyer. Dozens of portraits of Gaol ancestors lined the walls. Meeting rooms occupied the downstairs, along with a kitchen, study and library. Upstairs were the bedrooms and training rooms.

Marin aimed for his room. He cleaned up at the basin and changed into cotton. Still jittery and unsure why, he drifted down to the library. He pondered a book on philosophy when the call came.

A gate guard ran in, panting. “Marin, sir, an Imani at the gate!”

Marin straightened; the book fell from his nerveless fingers. “What?”

“Finn was at the mines, him and Thom. He came back with an Imani. She has red hair and blue eyes, but she is wearing the Imani uniform. He said she wasn’t a threat, but we wanted you to know.” The guard fidgeted in front of him.

A she, Marin’s mind twisted with the knowledge. Why would they send a lone female? To the mines as well, did they know something?  He clenched his teeth. No. If they knew something they wouldn’t send a woman and they wouldn’t send just one.

“Where is she?” Marin asked.

“I believe he is taking her to Ute’s.” Of course he was. Marin snorted.

“Guards. I want two guards on the door at all times. None from Clan Fuerst, she is in their lands already. I need to go have a look at this girl.” The last he muttered mainly to himself as the guard had run to do his bidding.

He strapped on his knife and stomped towards Section two. He broke into a fast lope and watched the land speed by, fast, too fast. He stopped on a dime, body swaying.

What the Lands was that?

He stood at the end of the path. It was at least a three minute walk and he did it in a handful of seconds. His hands fisted. His speed was improving. Excellent.

He moved at a slower pace to Ute’s. He got there just in time.

She stood highlighted against the dusk. His eyes were drawn to her features. He couldn’t see her eyes from this distance but her face was heart-shaped, lips a perfect bow. She was a tiny thing. Her hair was a glorious mass of red, all the colors of the sunset blended in the long, curly tresses.

His breath quickened. He felt blood pool in his groin. Lightning coursed under his skin, and his hair stood on end. He reached out and grabbed the side of the nearest house.

He couldn’t stop staring at her.

She hesitated outside of town. Finn poked her shoulder and Marin felt a flash of ire spike through his gut. How dare he touch her! She turned her head and growled something at Finn.

Admiration filled him. Marin let his eyes drift lower. A jolt filled him as he took in her clothes. They were right. The dark gray uniform, with its seamless, shapeless, androgynous cut, was unmistakable. Only her hands, feet and face were visible. His gazed lingered on her feet. They were dirty; a faint layer of grime coated them. He found his lips curving at the sight and fought the urge to go and offer to take care of her. These thoughts and feeling were so unlike him. What was going on here, what was her connection to the Imani?

Finn opened the door and ushered her inside, walking close on her heels. Marin found his jaw clenched as he watched.

He remained there, staring. Guards filtered up. Jace from Clan Torin ran up. Bob from Clan Barrel joined him. She was safe for now.

How to keep her that way? And why did he care so much?

Getting started.

So, I am sitting here thinking about what I can say that might be interesting.  Nothing comes to mind. I feel like Patrick Star from Spongebob as he tries to come up with an original thought, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth.

Then I realize I don’t have to be interesting! Right now, I am just starting out and I am pretty sure no one else is reading this.  I can be secure in my anonymity and just ramble. Nice…

It has been about a week since I started my blog and every day, I learn a little more about writing.

When I started in November, I thought, this won’t be too hard, I read a ton so I know what I like to read. It is the curse that every new writer seems to fall into. After you read a particularly good book, you sit back and start fantasizing. Imagining how it could be different, inserting yourself or some of your favorite characters into different scenarios just like the one depicted.  Maybe, you start thinking, hey I could do this.  Euphoria fills you and you start to desperately type words on the page.  Maybe, it is 3 am for you, like it was for me.  You type until you are bleary eyed, and then reluctantly drag your ass to bed.

The next day, dread fills you and you read what you wrote.  If you hold the paper really far from your face, it doesn’t seem that bad.  As it inches closer, you realize it is just that bad.  Awful.  Dreadful. Trite.  I cringe to even say that. My first draft was horrible, but I like to think it has one thing that agents harp about.  It has voice. Everything I have ever read states to keep on trying.

I hearten myself as I recall Hemingway’s words -The first draft of everything is shit.

I kept pen to paper and wrote more. Then I wrote even more!  This time from another characters view point. Then another.  The more I did this, the more I felt connected to this world I was dreaming about.  Eventually, I finished a whole book. 66,000 words by the end of Nano.  I felt vindicated.  I got that winner’s certificate and glowed…

So what next, after writing that first/second draft, what do you do? Do you immediately start selling the work?  Spamming the internet with advertisements and pleas for support. Some do that, but Yikes.  Not for me. I feel exposed just writing a blog. Can you imagine?  If you are like me you…buy a book!

I read up about what was required of a writer.  Now a days, it seems that the writer is expected to sell themselves as well as sell their image and their words.  So, I joined a class. An online class. That shows me how to make those first 5 pages sparkle and also one about how to use Social media.

Thus how my twitter/facebook/blog came to be.  Not that I didn’t dip my toes into the realm of social media prior to this.  I am only **, I had accounts but I never really used them except to look at pictures. To surreptiously spy of old school friends.  You know. the normal stuff.  Now though.  It was serious. I have to sell myself. How the heck does one do that?  I am still in the process of finding that out.

While on my journey, I was lucky enough to have gotten the support of a wonderful support group, Critique group to help me better my writing. It is always good to have lots of eyes look at your work because you know exactly what you are trying to say but that might not be what the reader is seeing. I also joined some writing groups in my area and connected with some new friends.  Life is good right now and hopefully soon I can announce good news regarding an agent!  After this, I will post the first paragraph of a WIP for hopefully an online journal.

Peace!

My first blog post!

I am really excited to be able to share my journey with you!

November 1, 2013, after countless years of schooling and eventual success as a physician, I decided to branch out.  When I was younger, all I wanted to be was a writer.  I would daydream for hours. Imagine countless worlds and scenarios in which I was the heroine. Desperately scratching down words, I tried to capture those images in my head and relay them to others.

Looking back now 20 years later, I’m sad that I didn’t save any of those writings (mostly for amusement purposes!), and I again embark on scribbling down all my imaginings.

I had this very vivid image of a world in my head. Deta.  I drew maps, really, really awful maps.  Later, I created different, though I admit anatomically similar races, to love and battle, gifting them all with characteristics and quirks that I found interesting.

It was this way that my first series was created. The Deta Series, that I started during the amazing month of NaNoWriMo.  The first book in this series, Remember is currently being edited and I will soon be querying agents for this work. Wish me luck!

My imagination was not to be stopped. I have laid plans based on this book, for two other series branching off and exploring what happened at home and elsewhere in the universe. I can’t wait to put into words, all that I have imagined.