I have news. Good or bad, we're not sure yet, but here it is. My publisher at Staccato Publishing, Heather Savage and I have reached a decision. I won't be publishing my next novel with Staccato. I'm going to look for an agent, and a bigger publisher. That's not to say I wouldn't work with Staccato again...This isn't goodbye. It's more like, "See you later, okay?"
With the loss of my husband's job, I need to make a change. The Independent circuit, while allowing all kinds of awesome freedom, doesn't make me enough money. I have to go big. I have Heather's blessing, and I have that wonderful woman's help and encouragement to do so. Thanks, Heather <3
I hemmed and hawwed, but when I finally developed the guts to tell her, she was nothing but kind and helpful. She told me of 'Hybrid authors', and offered advice. Apparently, I can be any kind of published author I want...Independent, big name, or self-published. Good to know, eh?
When my previous publisher had to dump me, she put me in touch with Heather. (Thanks, Nicola) A great partnership followed. Heather Savage is an excellent writer herself, and publishes not for the market necessarily, but books she just think are a great read. If you need to see for yourself, check out David Fingerman, Jacinta Maree, Jay Mims, or any of her other authors at http://www.staccatopublishing.com/Staccato_Publishing/So_that_you_can_write_and_leave_the_rest_to_us....html I believe in all of them, and in Heather. I just need to try something new.
I will continue to write, as always, but I need to go get a job. Not sure what I'll be doing yet. My trade as a meatcutter is obsolete in the city, with pre-cut meats coming in from Brooks, Alberta and British Columbia, and I'm not sure I want it back anyway. I hate the cold, and now that I have pets, I'm not really sure I want to slice up animals for a living.
I'm worried and scared, but determined. When I get my life back on track, I'll continue to write fiction. Right now, I'm reworking parts of Chasing Monsters and still writing an Egyptian novella. From there I write a synopsis for Chasing Monsters, and write to an agent. I'll continue to write this blog, and one I just started with my bestie, Melaida Corpuz. It's specifically to help plug her Travel agency with ytb Travel and my Yelp page: http://www.yelp.ca/user_details?userid=iEhpkdXhqA6ozUBwKYPPPA It's in the beginning phase, but it's called 'How to Hang Out' and here's the first entry: www.howtohangout.blogspot.com
It's a work in progress...
In the meantime, I'll still be here. Wish me luck?
Thursday, January 29, 2015
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Dear Universe
If you don't mind, I would like another cat. I am in love with my Freya, Mighty Huntress and perfect little girl. I am forever grateful for my best friend, Spartacus Jones, whose cuddles and loyalty keep me sane. But the Energy has made cats sweet, furry, purry, and addictive. I can't have just two.
I'm asking you, whatever powers that be, because had I never even voiced out loud what I wished to anyone when you took my mental list, and delivered Spartacus Jones.
Back then, I wanted another kitty, but he would have to be special. Someone I could not resist. Maybe a stray, starving and possibly injured...the weather would have to be bad. Because at that time I believed there was no reason to bring a stray cat indoors if it wasn't raining or snowing. He would have to be younger than my cats...I decided he would fit in better that way. Having said that, he would have to get along with Sully and Freya.
It was as though the universe said "That's your list? Here you go."
Spartacus Jones followed my husband and friend home. He fit all the criteria. It was raining AND snowing on April 29th, 2013. He came to us with scars and ribs showing. He begged for affection, which I gave until I decided he belonged here. I tried to find his owners, but he'd obviously been out for awhile, and despite the fact that he was a good kitty, fixed and litter trained, no one seemed to be looking for him. I couldn't let him be abandoned twice.
| Does this cat tree make me look fat? |
You did such a good job, Entity Upstairs, that I'm making a formal request for one more. Here's my list:
1) I'd like another stray or even a willing feral. Not just because they are such grateful kitties, but because they don't have anything. They have no shelter, and don't know when their next meal may come from. They are unwanted. They suffer so much, and I know I can love them right back to health. They deserve it.
2) I'd like for this cat to fit in with Spartacus Jones AND Freya. In fact, could you let the two of them choose? When we lost Sully, we lost the natural balance between them. It's hard enough to get Freya and Spartacus to get along now. I can't bring another cat into this family if it will ostracize any of them.
| Perfect Little Girl |
3) I don't care how old the cat is, what gender it is, or what breed I get. I will accept the responsibility of an injured cat, extra toes, missing legs, it doesn't matter. If you send me the one that can get along with my furchildren, I will give it a home. I will take in any stray sent to me anyway, and get them off the street to someplace warm, even if it's the Humane Society. I promise.
Did I mention I have a birthday coming up?
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Hashtag: Why Isn't Thoeba in Movies?
![]() |
| Cover art from Terra Weston Koster |
As always there were previews. Guess what? Not only is there another Star Wars movie coming, but there is also another Terminator AND another Mad Max coming out! Really Hollywood? You've got nothing else?
When I went to Texas for the convention, a writer stood in front of the assembled group and declared, "There are no original ideas." I almost walked out, especially when I heard her latest book idea. If that weren't bad enough, she's got an agent and a contract for a big name publisher.
Sour grapes, you ask? You bet! I work hard to try and come up with original ideas. Nothing bores me more than to read a new book and know exactly how it ends, to know I've seen it somewhere else before.
I can't help but ask: WHY ISN'T THOEBA A MOVIE?
No really...Have you read it? I have sex, death, romance, humor and violence. I also have a decently original plot. Thanks to the evil that is slowly encompassing the world, the Energy (God) has lost Its power. It is up to one angel to tip the scales back to the side of good. Too bad she has to ally herself with humans, because she isn't very fond of them. I take the concept of life after death and turn it upside down.
I write angels, demons, reincarnation and pepper it with mythology, and I'm proud of what I've created. I can say the same for 'Aphrodite's War' and 'Chasing Monsters'. What do you get when a paranormal investigator meets a demon with a soul? You'll find out when 'Chasing Monsters' gets published.
What do I have to do to get some attention in this market? Do I constantly have to ask...
#WhyisntThoebainmovies?
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Becoming Fahrenheit 451
Happy New Year! I hope you had a great holiday and that your Christmas was filled with happiness and personal blessings.
MY personal blessing included two 60th Anniversary editions of Fahrenheit 451 from my husband and sister. I'm soooo pleased! You see, it's my favorite book in the whole world, but I never seem to have a copy. I buy every one I see, and brag it up to friends, telling them it's the most interesting, insightful book. Then they ask to borrow it, and I never see it again. Here's where you can get your own: :http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fahrenheit-451-ray-bradbury/1100383286?ean=9781451673319
And since I HAVE two now, I'm itching to take a highlighter after one, because there's so many glittering wisdoms, uncanny insightful predictions, and descriptions of jealousy inducing, shocking grace that I want to memorize it all. Maybe I will...Maybe I will become The Book of Fahrenheit 451. Maybe I should learn how to spell 'Fahrenheit' without a spellchecker first.
I read this book from Ray Bradbury in the 12th grade English class. It had a profound effect on me, and my views on censorship. Censorship of anything is a crime against freedom. I remember well the day my English teacher showed us a movie of it, which was made in the sixties. I remember how he smirked when he asked what I thought of it.
The first thing I asked was "Did they READ the fucking book when they did this?!" Then he ducked his head and tried to hide his chuckles as I continued to rant about how his was exactly the kind of crap Ray Bradbury was warning about. How society and Hollywood whitewash truth and omit concepts to placate the masses and tell people what they think they should see and hear. I had a A+ in that class. Mr. Fred and I got along well despite his love of Shakespeare and my love of metal music.
Fahrenheit 451 is a novel about a fireman named Guy Montag, whose job it is to burn books. He burns them because conflicting ideas and introspective prose make people 'unhappy'. His boss tells him it's a bad idea to let people think for themselves.
But his bosses words no longer have meaning, because he's already met Clarisse. She's weird and makes him question things. She talks funny and puts new thoughts in his head, until he breaks down and reads some books. Which is dangerous to his well being. I don't want to tell you more. I want you to read it for yourself.
I have strong opinions about religion, politics and the state of the world, but I chose to censor myself. I tried not to get into arguments on-line. Sometimes it's because I don't have enough information, or because I don't have time to get into arguments with strangers who won't be dissuaded anyway. Besides everyone is entitled to an opinion. But honestly, sometimes I didn't say anything because I worried how it will affect my book sales. I recognize myself in the cowardly Professor Faber who Montag befriends. And I'm done hiding what I really think. My New Years Resolution is to speak my mind, express myself, and damned what anyone else thinks.
No doubt you've heard of Ray Bradbury's predictions? His 'Family' who Montag's spaced out wife is so obsessed with could mirror wide screen TV's, with American Idol screaming at you to vote for your favorite. The violence of The Walking Dead numbs us and entertains us. (Yes, I am one of the guilty) The media inundates us with the Kardashians, Beyonce and Justin Bieber while Ukraine riots and children go missing in Nigeria. Montag's wife wore 'Seaschells' in her ears rather than talking to anyone. (I am the guiltiest person I know for this. I used to LIVE in my headphones, and I still do when I want to shut out the world.) Did I mention DARPA has been working on mechanical hounds for years?http://www.defenseindustrydaily.com/darpas-robot-dog-project-03457/
***************************************************
Worse than our own government trying to shut us up is extremists using religion and death to voice their disagreement. I had this blog written last week, but two days ago terrorists stormed the offices of Charlie Hedbo in France and killed 12 people because they were offended by this:
Sometimes I don't know why I read this book over again. Then I check my Facebook, and do you know what's trending right now? How Jimmy Fallon missed Nicole Kidman's come-on ten years ago and they had an awkward moment on his show. THAT'S what's important to the world right now.
Good thing I have two copies of Fahrenheit 451. I might have to start memorizing. If you read Fahrenheit 451, you'll understand why.
MY personal blessing included two 60th Anniversary editions of Fahrenheit 451 from my husband and sister. I'm soooo pleased! You see, it's my favorite book in the whole world, but I never seem to have a copy. I buy every one I see, and brag it up to friends, telling them it's the most interesting, insightful book. Then they ask to borrow it, and I never see it again. Here's where you can get your own: :http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fahrenheit-451-ray-bradbury/1100383286?ean=9781451673319
And since I HAVE two now, I'm itching to take a highlighter after one, because there's so many glittering wisdoms, uncanny insightful predictions, and descriptions of jealousy inducing, shocking grace that I want to memorize it all. Maybe I will...Maybe I will become The Book of Fahrenheit 451. Maybe I should learn how to spell 'Fahrenheit' without a spellchecker first.
I read this book from Ray Bradbury in the 12th grade English class. It had a profound effect on me, and my views on censorship. Censorship of anything is a crime against freedom. I remember well the day my English teacher showed us a movie of it, which was made in the sixties. I remember how he smirked when he asked what I thought of it.
The first thing I asked was "Did they READ the fucking book when they did this?!" Then he ducked his head and tried to hide his chuckles as I continued to rant about how his was exactly the kind of crap Ray Bradbury was warning about. How society and Hollywood whitewash truth and omit concepts to placate the masses and tell people what they think they should see and hear. I had a A+ in that class. Mr. Fred and I got along well despite his love of Shakespeare and my love of metal music.
Fahrenheit 451 is a novel about a fireman named Guy Montag, whose job it is to burn books. He burns them because conflicting ideas and introspective prose make people 'unhappy'. His boss tells him it's a bad idea to let people think for themselves.
But his bosses words no longer have meaning, because he's already met Clarisse. She's weird and makes him question things. She talks funny and puts new thoughts in his head, until he breaks down and reads some books. Which is dangerous to his well being. I don't want to tell you more. I want you to read it for yourself.
I have strong opinions about religion, politics and the state of the world, but I chose to censor myself. I tried not to get into arguments on-line. Sometimes it's because I don't have enough information, or because I don't have time to get into arguments with strangers who won't be dissuaded anyway. Besides everyone is entitled to an opinion. But honestly, sometimes I didn't say anything because I worried how it will affect my book sales. I recognize myself in the cowardly Professor Faber who Montag befriends. And I'm done hiding what I really think. My New Years Resolution is to speak my mind, express myself, and damned what anyone else thinks.
No doubt you've heard of Ray Bradbury's predictions? His 'Family' who Montag's spaced out wife is so obsessed with could mirror wide screen TV's, with American Idol screaming at you to vote for your favorite. The violence of The Walking Dead numbs us and entertains us. (Yes, I am one of the guilty) The media inundates us with the Kardashians, Beyonce and Justin Bieber while Ukraine riots and children go missing in Nigeria. Montag's wife wore 'Seaschells' in her ears rather than talking to anyone. (I am the guiltiest person I know for this. I used to LIVE in my headphones, and I still do when I want to shut out the world.) Did I mention DARPA has been working on mechanical hounds for years?http://www.defenseindustrydaily.com/darpas-robot-dog-project-03457/
***************************************************
Worse than our own government trying to shut us up is extremists using religion and death to voice their disagreement. I had this blog written last week, but two days ago terrorists stormed the offices of Charlie Hedbo in France and killed 12 people because they were offended by this:
| "100 whip lashes if you don't die of laughter." |
Good thing I have two copies of Fahrenheit 451. I might have to start memorizing. If you read Fahrenheit 451, you'll understand why.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
My Christmas Gift to You.
Since Christmas day and New Year's Day both fall on Thursday this time, this will be my last blog entry of the year.
Last year around this time I became part of a project called 'Suppose', thanks to Kathy Steinemann. It's a collection of stories from female Canadian writers, and as the title suggests, it's loaded with short stories that ask--"Suppose..?" It's a great collection with some great voices. It would also make a great gift for Christmas. You can buy it here.http://www.amazon.ca/Suppose-Drabbles-Flash-Fiction-Stories-ebook/dp/B00K0PGNAG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1418592894&sr=8-1&keywords=Suppose
Mine is called 'The Guardian's Angel', and with Kathy's kind permission, I am publishing it here as my gift to you. Merry Christmas, and we'll see you in 2015.
Last year around this time I became part of a project called 'Suppose', thanks to Kathy Steinemann. It's a collection of stories from female Canadian writers, and as the title suggests, it's loaded with short stories that ask--"Suppose..?" It's a great collection with some great voices. It would also make a great gift for Christmas. You can buy it here.http://www.amazon.ca/Suppose-Drabbles-Flash-Fiction-Stories-ebook/dp/B00K0PGNAG/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1418592894&sr=8-1&keywords=Suppose
Mine is called 'The Guardian's Angel', and with Kathy's kind permission, I am publishing it here as my gift to you. Merry Christmas, and we'll see you in 2015.
The Guardian’s Angel
“Oh my
God!” The woman rushed Tazminn and the small boy beside him. “There you are!
You had me worried sick.”
“Sorry,
Mommy.” The little guy pooched his quivering bottom lip and dropped his gaze to
the floor.
“It’s
okay, Johnny. It’s okay. Mommy’s here.”
Johnny’s mother engulfed her son in her arms, her gaze rising to meet
Tazminn’s. “Thank you.”
“You are
welcome.” he said, giving her a sincere smile before wandering away.
Her emotions were that odd mix of relief, anger
and guilt he often experienced from the mothers of misplaced offspring. The
gratitude in her eyes reminded Tazminn that had the most interesting and
satisfying post on this entire planet.
True, the
foliage smelled like plastic, and the golden rays of the sun could only been
seen through skylights, but where else could he experience so much of this
world in a warm pocket of shelter? Everything he could ever need lay within a
stroll’s length.
He liked
the ever-changing clothing stores, especially the ones with pretty lingerie. He
could spend hours watching all the lovely women peruse the little bits of lace
and satin. He could savor the exotic scents of David’s Tea in Phase Three and the
floral and fruit perfumes from The Rocky Mountain Soap Company in Phase One,
and everything in between. He took pleasure in the screaming laughter of
children as they rode the waterslides in Phase Two or sometimes the sparkling
bumper cars in Galaxyland. He enjoyed the multitude of delicious offerings from
around the world, all sheltered in kiosks and restaurants and food courts.
Tazminn rubbed the softening belly he had grown
during his years as the West Edmonton Mall guardian. Maybe he enjoyed the fare
a little too much. If he still had wings, could they lift the extra two inches
of his frame? No matter.
He did
not need wings to mingle amongst the mortals. Earthlings from every walk of
life—every race, every age, every color and creed--roamed this tiled ground.
And Tazminn loved them all.
And
Christmas. Tazminn loved Christmas.
True, he still needed to patrol for shoplifters and lost children, more so than
the rest of the year, but the mood always seemed different. . .a little
brighter, a little friendlier. It meant less space but he did not mind. He
savored the earthy musk of human and the crackle of their frenzied energy.
“Hi,
Tazminn!”
Tazminn
startled, realizing he had stopped in front of his favorite fast food vendor.
“Hello, Elaine. How are you?”
“Same
old, same old,” she said. “What can I get you?”
Tazminn’s
stomach responded to the question loudly, and he obeyed the command for food. “Chili
dog and a large Strawberry Julius, please.”
“Right away.” Elaine set up the blender with
his drink and dressed his hot dog with a generous spoonful of meaty tomato
deliciousness. She said nothing, but
Tazminn could hear her thoughts, and he knew she would ask. She filled his
order and punched it up at the register.
“So Tazminn.
. . ”
“You may
still call me Taz.”
“Taz.”
Elaine gave him a distracted smile. “What are the chances of you coming back to
work for me?”
“I will
come back,” He handed her the very currency he had earned at this Orange Julius
location. “When I need the money again.”
Elaine
chuckled. Apparently he had said something amusing. He accepted his meal and
sought a suitable location to consume his food while he listened to the cacophony
of life. So many busy thoughts to sift
through.
And yet,
in all the chaos he found her heartbeat, like a beacon, not far from him. A
mirrored pillar let him check his hair, and he pushed a stray black curl behind
his ear. The reflection of his eyes demonstrated more confidence than he felt.
He let
his senses seek her loneliness, and he followed them across Gourmet World to
Freshii. The location did not surprise him. She wanted to eat healthier. Her
weight concerned her, despite her tiny waist and slender frame. Sure as the Energy was Love Incarnate, she sat
by herself, picking at a salad and twirling ribbons of black hair around her
fingers with the longing misery of someone wishing for Crepeworks. Her thoughts
were sad and distracted.
“Hello,
Tina,” Tazminn said. The way her face lit up when she saw him brought a tickle
to his stomach. “May I sit with you?”
“Hi,
Taz!” The smile spreading across her face made it impossible not to grin back.
So pretty when she smiled. . . He had been drawn to her ever since she began
her employment at a well known jewelry kiosk months ago. He could not pass by
without soaking up her sweetness like . . . sunshine. “How are you? Ready for
Christmas?”
“Christmas. Ah, yes.” He never knew what to say whenever humans asked
him questions like that. Are you ready for Christmas? Are you finished shopping?
He discovered the best answer came in two words. “Almost. You?”
“Almost.”
Tina sipped at her water and Tazminn experienced
rare discomfort. He was not the only one avoiding questions with vague answers.
Her thoughts were of home, a place hundreds of miles from here that she could
not get time off for, nor afford a ticket to fly. Tazminn wanted to apologize, but he knew Tina
would not understand why. And she did not
wish to discuss it.
“You must
be on Christmas Break.” Tina said. He nodded in agreement. Everyone believed
him to be a foreign exchange student. “Must be nice.” Her giggle sounded as
false as her cheer. “Are you going home for the holidays?”
Tazminn
shook his head and swallowed a bite. “No. Home is too far.” He took another
spicy mouthful to discourage more questions. He would not leave the Mall. Not
even to return to the heavens whence he came. West Edmonton Mall had become
home so long ago, he could not remember when he began to think of it in that
way.
“I know
how you feel.” Her mood worsened, and
Tazminn switched the subject. It would not do to be so unhappy so close to the
holiday. He wanted to cheer, not depress her.
“I like
your necklace,” he said. “Did you purchase that at work?”
She
peered downward, and pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh. This?” She grasped the
green stone between her fingers. “Yes. It’s peridot. My birthstone.”
“August?”
He could never be sure with human months. Time did not have the same meaning
where he came from. “It is lovely. Like you.”
Her blush he did not expect. “I like it
too,” she said. Her gaze became intense, flirtatious. “It matches your eyes.”
His turn to be embarrassed. Why did he experience giddiness in her presence?
So he
said nothing. Instead he glanced away, slurping at his Julius until the buzz of
other conversations replaced the strangeness between them.
Tina stood abruptly. “I have to go,” she
said. “Nice seeing you again, Taz.”
Tazminn
struggled to respond around a mouthful of frothy strawberries. “Umph! Moo-ooh!”
By the time he had swallowed, he saw nothing but her ebony hair trailing behind
her like a comet as she melded with the crowd.
“You too.
. .” he said to no one.
Days passed, and Tazminn observed as always. He patrolled posed as a mortal more often
than not. He used invisibility sparingly.
Close quarters often led to jostling, and he would rather receive scorned looks
than cause fright or aggravation. Humans did not like it when he appeared from
nothingness.
He saw
Tina often, and although he made no effort to hide from her, she never noticed
him. She stayed busy with customers and her determination to keep her
homesickness at bay. Her thoughts were of a city by the ocean, and temperatures
not as cold as here. She longed to stroll the coast without heavy clothing.
Her
dreams made Tazminn shudder. He rarely ventured from the mall, never made it
farther than the sheltered parkade. He never even ventured to the top parking
lot with its endless expanse of sky that reminded him of his insignificance in
the vast Realms of Life. Even if he could still fly, he would not, could not, take her home.
He spent
his time as always, rescuing children and returning forgotten purses,
intimidating shoplifters and giving directions. He did not join her for lunch
again. He could not explain his growing shyness. Sometimes he would view her
from afar, unseen as he watched her cash out, and he would trail behind her
when she made the deposit. He needed her to be safe. At least until she passed
through the exit.
Christmas Eve.
The
oppressive heat of panicking humans made Tazminn sweat. Their musk stank of
frustration and impatience. Their frantic rushed thoughts made him dizzy. He
perched, invisible to human eyes, from atop the oil-patch workers statue in
Phase One, like a shepherd tending his sheep. He found it more peaceful sitting
on bronze shoulders rather than squeezing through the throng of people.
He spied
three young men who sauntered past the shops with the unhurried gait of those
who are trying, with great effort, to seem casual. If their thoughts of robbery
had not alerted Tazminn, their darting eyes would. He climbed from his vantage
point, and stalked them.
He stayed
behind, but so close he could smell the cloying scent of their body spray, all
three of them coated in the stuff as though they bathed in nothing else. It
itched Tazminn’s nose, and caused his eyes to weep. He shadowed them from one
end of the mall to the other, slipping into stores where staff judged them with
as much suspicion as himself. After all,
wearing matching black hoodies with the hoods pulled up inspired paranoia.
The young
men meandered their way to Phase Three, where Tina worked.
The Metalsmiths
kiosk had some security precautions, with all their merchandise behind glass
showcases. Nothing to steal.
“Hey.”
The leader of the trio smiled at Tina. His pale, crooked nose stuck out from
his hood. Tazminn caught sight of his
blondish unshaven chin. “How’s it goin’?”
She saw
the false charm in his demeanor, and his friendly mannerisms were met with a
tense grimace. “Can I help you?”
“Maybe,”
the man said. “I’m ah, looking for a gift. . .” He gawked at the name tag on
her breast with a wide smirk on his face. “Tina.”
“I see,”
she said, not returning the smile. “For your girlfriend?”
“No, ah.
. .” He cast a quick glance at his
friends. His blue eyes narrowed. “For my mom.” His lackeys snickered.
Tina’s
lips tightened. She did not want to serve them, any fool could see the
trepidation on her face. Now would be a good time for Tazminn to make his
presence known. He willed himself visible, and approached the counter.
“Everything all right here?” His appearance surprised all. Tina jumped
and the men swiveled their heads in his direction so fast that, Tazminn heard
at least one neck crackle. His senses were awash in their instant animosity,
like cold prickles on his skin. “Is everything okay here?”
They
studied him, eying the bulk beneath the Canadian tuxedo. As though they were of
one mind, the group retreated, blending into the human current.
Tina’s
audible relief filled Tazminn’s ears. “You’ve got fantastic timing. Thanks,
Taz.”
“It was
my pleasure.” Indeed, his assurance was as profound as hers. “Are you okay? Why
are you working alone?” Worry coiled around his heart. “Should I stick around?”
Tina ducked
her head and tucked her palms into her sleeves. “Vicki is on a break. She’ll be
back soon.”
“Oh.
Okay.” He blushed. The heat of it encompassed his entire face. “As long as you
are alright.”
“I am.” Her voice sounded soothed. “Thanks
so much for your help. I appreciate it.” Another customer approached the Italia
charms, and she turned to address her. “I have to go,” she said over her
shoulder. “Thanks again.”
“Bye.” Tazminn
nodded to himself. He also had work to do. Someone on the skating rink in Phase
Two was about to pass out from heat exhaustion, thanks to a vigorous game of
ice tag in a bulky winter coat. The grandfather would require attention, and
possibly a defibrillator. Tazminn let Tina slip from his thoughts. For the time
being.
He spent
the rest of the afternoon pining for wings again. So many mortals. Despite his talents, he could not be everywhere at
once.
Tazminn
loved his humans, he wanted to shield them from themselves and partake of their
genuine excitement, but his thoughts always strayed to Tina.
It
certainly could not hurt to check on her from time to time. . . as long as she
did not see his interest.
The hours
passed in the usual blur that had become Tazminn’s existence. When one has been
alive for millennia, one hardly notices the mere hours mortals endure. Before
long the multitude thinned and disappeared but for a few lingering souls.
Tazminn
found himself gravitating toward Phase Three, past Gourmet World.
Tina. Where was Tina? How was Tina?
He waited. Closing time
had come. This day, as all others, he could not permit her to see him trailing
her.
So he
followed, as usual. She made the deposit each night across from the Casino. He
always waited until the day’s profits passed from her tiny hands to the armored
lockbox of the CIBC bank.
Tonight felt different. Tazminn disliked
the energy. The anger and resentment.
His stomach churned.
Tazminn scanned the corridor, waiting for some enlightenment. Someone,
something caused this unease he experienced now. Where did it come from?
They
crept from the corner of the Casino. Had Tina seen them? The three thugs from
the afternoon? Her thoughts were preoccupied with a reluctance to return to her
empty apartment. She made the deposit and closed the box with a bang.
“Aw, did
we miss the cash?”
Tina whirled
around and Tazminn saw the dread on her face. They blocked her passage out, and
were coming closer.
The
leader sneered at her as he shuffled forward, narrowing his icy eyes. “Now what are you going to give us for
Christmas?”
“Maybe
she has something in her purse,” his buddy said. “Have you got some goodies in
there, Tina?”
Tina
threw her bag at their feet. “Take it.” She began to back away, closer to the
escalator. Tazminn prayed to The Energy for her escape.
The lead
thug let the purse drop before his feet. “Is that all?” he asked. “It is Christmas, y’know. Maybe there’s a
little something else you can give us? Hey, Tina?” His goons guffawed.
Tina spun on her heel. She sprinted for the
escalator. The men gave chase.
Tazminn
sprang and tackled, then straddled the man who stooped to grab her purse. Two
quick punches to the head made the man go limp, and roll his eyes shut. Tazminn
found his footing, and snagged Tina’s purse by the strap. He had lost sight of
his quarry, but knew where to find them. Tina’s screams for help reverberated
downstairs.
He
sprinted to the top step of the escalator, and slid down the hand rail. Tina
headed toward an empty exit, past the Dollarama, with both assailants still
pursuing her. Her wails of terror echoed. She ran for the glass doors, the closest
way out. Her flat shoes clicked like a distress signal, but laughter drowned it
out. One of them howled, like a wolf.
“Come
here, girl!”
“Why are you running? We just want to fill
your stocking!”
Tazminn
raised Tina’s handbag above his head. He whipped it around and around until it
reached the desired velocity. He calculated his aim, and let it loose. The second
man dropped to the ground like a meteor. Yet his partner gained on Tina. Tazminn
hurried to grab the improvised weapon once more. He had to stop him before they
left the. . .
Too late.
Tina fled
into the darkness and driving snow, with her assailant right behind. Tazminn’s
heart plummeted. He should not have stopped to retrieve the bag.
She would
not get free after all. The bastard would catch up to her in the frozen
concrete expanse of the sheltered parking lot. And he would. . .
She would
scream, but no one would come to save her. No one would hear her cries.
Except
for Tazminn. And he feared the outside.
Tazminn
raced to the mall doors, plastering his face to the glass. Tina darted for a
small vehicle in a dim corner of the empty lot, but her stalker had almost
caught up. Tazminn could almost taste her terror like blood in his mouth. What
could he do?
His
fingernails squealed against the glass. It would not be long now. He had to do
something. Or Tina would suffer the consequences of his inaction.
He opened
the door. The winter wind screeched in his ears and moaned through the concrete
pillars, lamenting Tina’s plight and Tazminn’s cowardice.
His
breath came in aching gasps and he tried not to see the black and endless sky
beyond the reaches of the mall, all the unfamiliar spaces on unknown horizons.
Tina gave
another piteous scream. Tazminn glanced up to see her in the clutches of the
last thug. He heard her clothing rip, heard the wicked cackle of her attacker. Tina
was out of time.
Now. Now or never again. Tazminn twisted
his terror into action, and let himself become visible as he charged. He would
not sacrifice this human, any human,
to his fear.
“Let her
go!”
“What the
f. . .” Tazminn heard the muttered astonishment just before he delivered a kick
to the would-be rapist’s torso that launched him straight upward. He grabbed a
handful of clothing, and yanked the man away from her.
A song of
groans played in the wind bringing Tazminn satisfaction. He glanced over to
check on Tina.
She huddled
into herself, holding her torn blouse closed as tears trickled from her almond
eyes.
“Are you
alright, Tina?” He wanted to cradle her in his arms and make this night go
away. But he heard his foe rise and his heart rate increased. Sometimes his own
violence shamed him, however necessary it seemed.
But not
today. He would fight this creep again. Just for her.
Tazminn
shifted to fix the greasy man with a glare. “Are you certain you wish to pick
on someone your own size?”
The
murderous expression had disappeared, to be replaced by a cocky smirk. The
creep glanced back and found himself solo. Tazminn lurched toward him with a
hiss, faking an attack. The rapist jumped and slipped, landing on his ribs with
a loud grunt. Tazminn observed the
crawling retreat with unrepentant enjoyment, until Tina’s shuddering whimpers
brought him back.
He spun
to face her, relieved that he could finally comfort her, that she lived so that
he could do so. Tazminn dropped to his
knees and covered her body with his. The frigid tweed of her coat scratched his
face. He squeezed her carefully, trying to warm her with his body heat although
he knew her shivers were not a result of the weather.
“Shhhh. .
.” He stroked her silken hair. “It is over. They will never bother you again, I
promise.” He made no false platitudes. If he ever found those monsters, he
would finish the task he started.
“If you hadn’t
been here. . .” She could not finish the sentence. Her breath came in hiccups
as she hastened to do up her coat.
“I know,”
he said, enfolding her in his embrace. “It will be all right.”
They
huddled until the dank moisture of the parkade soaked through Tazminn’s sleeves
to chill his bones, and still he did not want to release her. He never wanted
to let her go.
“Am I
still shaking?” Tina asked, “Or is that you? You must be freezing.” She
squirmed to study his clothing. He looked down at himself. Small wonder he felt
cold. He had stormed out here in nothing but denim.
He stole
an extra squeeze as he helped her to her feet. “You should go home now. It is Christmas after all.”
“Yes, it
is.” She gazed up into his eyes, her ideas flickering fast as Christmas lights.
“Do you have someplace to go tonight?”
“Tonight?”
Tazminn had not given it any thought.
“I was
thinking maybe since you and I don’t have family here. . . ” Tina dropped her
gaze to her feet . “You saved my life, and it’s Christmas, and I have no one to
spend it with, and if you didn’t have any plans, maybe we could. . . ” She
paused in her ramble and took a deep breath, lacing her fingers together.
“Maybe you and I could celebrate Christmas together. I could make you dinner.
To say thank you. It’s the least I could do.”
Tazminn’s
mind went blank. No one in all his years on this planet had asked him that. No
one had ever even invited him to their home. What would it be like to have a
homemade supper?
“You have
plans,” Tina said, mistaking his silence for rejection. “I understand.”
“I do
not,” Tazminn said. “have plans. No one has ever invited me to Christmas.”
“Is that
a yes?”
He
glanced back at the metal and glass doors. Sanctuary waited a brief sprint
away. Security and routine beckoned him
back to where he could sleep undisturbed in any number of secret nooks and
hiding places. Alone. Suddenly the mall did not feel like home anymore.
“You’re
shaking,” Tina said. “You must be frozen.” Tazminn peered into her inviting
brown eyes. If she onluy understood his dilemma. Mere cold could not cause him
to tremble. Only fear of the unknown could do that.
Suppose
he went with her? Suppose he challenged his phobia and stepped away from those
hiding places for the first time since he arrived at this world?
“Here.”
Tina put her arms around him. The gentle gesture was awkward but well meaning
as she rubbed his back. “Maybe this will help?” He treasured the trust in her
heart, in the embrace, the deep affection she had for him.
A lonely
night in an empty mall, or Christmas with a friend?
Tazminn
made his choice. Time for a change.
He was a
guardian in service of the Energy, with free will. Perhaps he had forgotten
that. If he could brave these outdoors—if he could challenge three men to save
the woman he loved--and win, he could do anything.
“I would
be delighted to join you, Tina.” He hugged her back. “Thank you.”
“Great!”
Tazminn felt her tension evaporate, even as she let him go. “Hop in. I have a
nice turkey breast roast at home. Glad I don’t have to eat it by myself!”
Tazminn
tucked himself into Tina’s car, and willed his eyes to stay open, to take in a
different world.
Now was
not a time to run from new things. Now was a time to try all things new.
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Glass is Half Full on a Slant.
When I was a little blonde kid, someone told me the sun was round, like a ball. I didn't believe them. They told me I couldn't see it because the sun was too bright. I tried to look anyway. More than once. Did I mention my blondeness?
Years later, I discovered I did permanent damage to my right retina. I burned it, but I lucky me, I had 18/20 vision. The optometrist told me my eyes were pretty good, but eventually the left eye would eventually feel the strain of having to compensate for it. Probably in my forties. Then she looked at me with a straight face and told me to "Keep an eye on it."
As a writer who spends most of her time staring at a computer, and has family genetics riddled with various eye ailments that include cataracts, glaucoma and complications from diabetes, I decided it was time to go get my eyes checked. I've also decided I must be adopted because my eyes are great. I only have sun damage. (Knocks on my wooden desk.) So now I have glasses to correct that weak right retina.
I also have a REALLY slanted view. As in, everything is leaning down to the right. It's been fun. I'm always stumbling down hill, it seems, and I have to fight the urge to straighten the angle of my desk. The really funny part is how I swear my hearing has improved. My headphones are the same, on the same volume, but now I'm hearing percussion and lyrics I've never heard before. Go figure.
My fellow author, Jay Mims thinks I may be becoming...DAREDEVIL!
Speaking of Mimsey...He has a brand new release called "Racing the Storm." Congratulations buddy!
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10154897423165072&set=a.10150421797875072.627641.502125071&type=1&theater
I got a chance to read the beta version, and I loved it! You should check it out!
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Freya is Four
It was Freya's birthday on Monday. She is four years old and still perfect. She is deeply adored by her human Mommy and Daddy and worshiped by Spartacus Jones, who makes her crazy, with his constant desire to play when she wants to nap.
I was working on Aphrodite's War when we adopted her from the Humane Society. If you've read the book, then you know there is a black Persian kitten named Amir in the story. I'd never owned a pet in my entire life, but I've met a few, right? . My heroine needed a cat.
Amir was supposed to die in a microwave at the hands of Poetry's vicious ex-boyfriend. Long story short, I couldn't do it. It was too heinous an act. I knew the ex was a psycho, but I am not. I couldn't write such an awful event. It was a smart decision that added depth to the book.
My feelings for Amir grew until I longed for a cat of my own. I asked my husband, and he agreed. It had been many years since he had a pet, and he figured having a pet would be good experience for me, since I'd never had one. He's such a sweetie.
We met Freya in the first alcove we entered. The other cats ignored us, but she meowed at Dan's feet until he picked her up. She stuck her face in Dan's beard and armpits, purring the entire time. When Dan introduced me to her, she crawled out of his arms, into mine and repeated the sweet gestures, minus the beard snuggling.
We decided to check other alcoves, just in case. Surely the first cat we met couldn't automatically be 'the one' could it? She was.
I remember Dan saying, "Honey, turn around." Freya sat watching us from a window with the saddest, most forlorn look on her face. He said, "I'm not leaving her here." And I agreed. Good thing too. As we waited for the adoption to be completed, we witnessed first hand why she wanted so badly to leave. The other cats had pushed her into a corner, hissing when she tried to sleep on any cat bed and growling her away from the food. She was smaller and younger than the rest of them. She spent a lot of time under Dan's chair, and he protected her until it was time to go, shooing away any feline who looked at her with narrow-eyed intent.
I named her Freya after the Norse fertility goddess. When my husband agreed to let me have a cat, I'd gone on line, checking for cat-orientated names from as many mythologies as possible. When I saw those beautiful blue eyes paired with pure white fur, I knew what we'd call her. She looked like a baby frost giantess. I would give her a NORSE name, because she seemed to feel powerless, and I wanted her to feel like a goddess. (The Humane Society named her 'Kendall'. We weren't keeping that.)
It was instant love. She explored our house and afterwards parked herself between us on the couch, to purr and groom, and absorb unending cuddling. Nothing got done for three days as a result of our bonding. Good thing hubby was on vacation. She even slept stretched out between us at night, her head on our pillows. Now she's our brave little huntress.
I think it was her arrival that changed the novel Aphrodite's War. I was able to give Amir more personality, and Freya the deity took on a much larger role instead of a cameo appearance. I even went so far as to change Freya, the goddess, to look like my new cat. And speaking of cameo appearances, I put Freya-kitty in the book along with our next cat, a much missed Siamese cross breed, Sully in the book as well. They show up in the goddess' lair when Aphrodite visits.
Freya-kitty didn't just change my novel. She changed my whole life. I have a subscription to Modern Cat magazine, a room dedicated to feline comfort and demonstrate my devotion like a fanatic. I couldn't be more content with that. Happy fourth birthday to my perfect Freya. Mommy never knew she could love so hard.
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