Michelle L. Levigne's Blog, page 109

BLADE OF INNOCENCE, Highlander the TV series fan fiction

Excerpt from Chapter 16 of the fan novel now available on Wattpad:
            A scraping sound over his head made Duncan turn, raising his sword, imagining another blade sweeping down at his neck.
            "Mine," Immerman growled.  Fire flared in the darkness of the stairwell leading up to the third floor.
            Duncan staggered at a blow high in his chest, near his shoulder.  As he fell, then he felt the fiery bite of the bullet. He clutched his sword, but his arm was useless.
            "Does it burn, MacLeod?" Immerman purred from the shadows.  A single footstep dragged on the steps.  "Does it eat into you, like betrayal? Like love sullied and innocence destroyed?"
            "I never betrayed you, Karl."

            "Liar!"
            Another bullet screamed through the darkness. Duncan tried to roll, but it caught him in the ribs.  He choked as blood spurted through his lungs.  Blackness deeper than the shadowed hall swirled around him.
            Duncan fought it.  He spat blood and pulled himself up against the wall and tried to get to his knees.
            "Face me honorably, Karl.  Sword to sword.  Or are you afraid you aren't up to it?"
            There was a fine line between irritating Immerman so he lost some of his elegant control, and goading the man into savage fury.  The longer Duncan could keep Immerman talking and not attacking him, the more time he had to regenerate.
            "Oh, I won't take your head here, MacLeod. Not yet. That wouldn't be satisfying at all."
            Duncan choked and spat up more blood.  He couldn't seem to get enough breath.  Fire raced through his body in waves, pulsing with every beat of his heart.

New Book Excerpt: KILLING HIS ALTER-EGO

Published by Desert Breeze Publishing:

"She's not," Alyssa Carter said, stepping out of the hotel room behind them. "You read the new proposed scripts?"
Kyle nodded. There was precious little else to do in this town besides making the rounds of five different night clubs. He could go country western or disco revival, or just find a smoky, dark corner to sit and drink. Reading the stack of scripts would impress the producers and provide an excuse not to go bar-hopping every night with Jamie. His mother had warned him about the Hawkes side of the family, after all.
"That cute kid, as Jamie puts it, created one of the characters we hope will be semi-regular."
"Jess?" He turned and looked at the girl again.
"What do you think of Jess?" an unfamiliar, deep male voice asked.
Kyle turned back to the door to the hotel room as a white-whiskered man stepped down with some care, leaning on an eagle-headed ebony cane.
"I think she gets all the good lines." He shrugged and grinned. "I know my sister and all her friends would love her."
"Uh huh." Alyssa nodded. "That's what we thought when we first saw the stories she proposed. Appeal to a wider audience."
"Stories?" Now that he had looked at the man a little longer, Kyle thought he had seen him during the shooting of the pilot movie. He had to be someone important in the production company. He held out his hand to shake. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't remember if we met."
"We didn't." The man chuckled and gripped Kyle's hand for a few seconds. "I'm G. Don Menger." He laughed when Kyle stammered, trying to think of something intelligent to say. "I'm pleased to meet you, too. What do you think of Raine's first-ever script?"
"Talented kid," Jamie said. He snorted when Kyle gave him a questioning look. "Yeah, I read it."

New Book Excerpt: KILLING HIS ALTER-EGO

Published by Desert Breeze Publishing:

"Now that's a stage mama if I ever saw one," Jamie said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.
Kyle looked up from testing the feel of the shackles on his wrists and ankles. Post-production would insert all the blinking lights and shimmer of electrical current that was supposed to restrain Bridger and knock him unconscious whenever he resisted orders from colony security. Right now, the shackles were just hunks of dull gray plastic that looked like they had been rejected from building the Death Star. He followed his cousin's gesture into the three-sided courtyard of the hotel.
Bryce Hancock, story head, was just settling down at one of the glass-topped tables set up on the concrete slab around the pool. With him were a man who looked slightly familiar -- Kyle was sure he had been introduced as someone's agent last week -- a woman in faded jeans and khaki jacket, and a girl who looked around his sister's age. The woman and girl looked enough alike, with snub noses, square cheekbones, pointed chins, and long, honey-colored hair caught to the left side of their heads in a single, glossy ponytail, they had to be mother and daughter.
"Bryce doesn't do casting," Kyle said, and slipped the shackles off his wrists.
"Yeah, well, this outfit isn't as well-heeled as they'd like you to think. The big-wigs are covering each other's jobs, instead of bringing in more staff. Save money," his cousin retorted. "What other reason would they be here? They're casting for the first script." He frowned and leaned forward, as if to see the two strangers better. "Can't remember a cute kid being in the first script."
"She's not," Alyssa Carter said, stepping out of the hotel room behind them. "You read the new proposed scripts?"

New Book Coming! KILLING HIS ALTER-EGO

February 1, my new contemporary romance releases from Desert Breeze Publishing:

KILLING HIS ALTER-EGO

A rising star, Kyle's fame went to his head. Raine beat the odds to sell a TV script in high school. His immaturity ruined her moment of triumph, and when he couldn't make things right, he gave up too soon.His career fading, Kyle gladly left Hollywood behind. Years later, common interests brought them together again. Using his own name, rather than his stage name, and wearing a beard, Kyle convinced Raine he wasn't the jerk who made her cry on her sixteenth birthday. He would have to confess if they would ever have more than friendship.Then fandom pressured the network to revive the futuristic TV show where they met -- requiring a reunion of Raine and Kyle, as well as the characters they once played. The last thing he wanted was to return to the insanity of Hollywood, but Kyle saw a chance to make restitution, especially when Raine desperately needed the writing credits to save her floundering career and the money to save her family's wildlife rescue clinic.Finally confessing, Kyle began the long journey to convince Raine to see him, not the hero he played, and not the jerk he had once been. The threats from fandom wackos just made the job a little harder.Inside information: This story is based heavily on fandom experiences and time spent in theater and film school.

Off the Bookshelf: CALLED TO CREATE, by Jordan Raynor

When I first heard about this book, pre-release, what drew me was mention of familiar names, who approached their talents from an entrepreneurial angle, using their gifts to give God glory. C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkein, and Caspar Ten Boom. (Y'know, Corrie's father?)

It's an interesting concept, applying business principles to being creative. But it makes sense. It's our "job," as Christians, to use our gifts, our talents, our passions, to their fullest. To God's glory.

Raynor gives all sorts of examples from real life of people who took risks, who did what didn't make sense from a money-focused approach. They walked away from business success, they stayed true to their values and beliefs, and they lived out what they believed. Being Christians for them meant more than slapping Bible verses on their bags or big motivational posters in the break room.

Far different from the controversial teachings of the so-called prosperity gospel, and the completely false implications that God wants us to be rich (riches are useless unless they are put to WORK), this book redefines success. It teaches that success isn't just "okay" with God, it's something we most definitely should reach for. Our success glorifies and honors Him. To succeed means we serve Him with everything we have, and pleasing Him is the ultimate meaning of success.

BLADE OF INNOCENCE, Highlander the TV series fan fiction

Excerpt from Chapter 15 of the fan novel now available on Wattpad:
            Duncan flinched as he felt an Immortal's presence come into his range.  It would be irony, he knew, if Immerman came after him instead of trying to confront Darcy first. He found himself hoping the other Immortal had finally lost his chill sense of control and come to finish their battle now.
            "In here," Darcy said.  She stepped through the door with Detective McGee in tow.  She put herself between him and Duncan for a moment, widened her eyes a little, and pressed her hand against her throat briefly.
            What was she trying to tell him?
            "Have to talk with you, MacLeod," McGee grated.  He hunched his shoulders, jamming his fists into his pockets.  The corners were already tearing -- a bad sign of the detective's emotional state.

            Duncan shrugged and put down the hammer.  The other workers watched him leave, then looked around at each other.  The room under renovation was quiet, not even hammers banging or saws rasping, as Duncan followed Darcy and McGee down the hallways to the center's office.
            "We got an anonymous call last night," McGee said, the moment the door's latch clicked shut.  "Somebody really has it in for you, MacLeod.  This guy claimed you cut off Doc Porter's head and dumped the body out at the old glass works along the river."
            "From the tone of your voice, you don't believe him?" Duncan asked after a moment.  He tried to keep his own voice neutral.
            Darcy flinched as he spoke.  He stepped over and slid an arm around her shoulders.  She wasn't half as tense as he expected, but her lower lip trembled a little.
            "They found Dad's body this morning," Darcy said.  She looked down at her hands.
            "Somebody's out to get you, MacLeod.  I don't like it that they're killing people just to get at you," McGee said.

New Book Excerpt: DORM RATS, A Neighborlee, Ohio book

Emma gaped for about two seconds, while Jake tipped his head back and laughed. They both grinned at us and held out their hands and introduced themselves.

"Right, we aren't supposed to meet up with your folks for two weeks," Jake hurried to say, just as I made the connection with their names. It must have showed in my face. "Our plans got changed on us and we thought we'd pop in and say hi before we shuffle off across the channel."

"What's there?" Harry said.

"Besides France?" I said.

He scowled at me for about two seconds, then all four of us were laughing. Then our folks got close enough to see us and for Pop to recognize the Crowders. They picked up the pace to catch up with us. The handful of people from the bookstore who were hosting the luncheon welcomed the Crowders, even though it was obvious they didn't recognize their names, even after Mum gave the titles of their published investigative books. Maybe because they only had two books out, on subjects so esoteric I can't even remember years later what they were. Which is kind of sad, when I think about it, because Pete at least has a right to know what his parents did. Well, thanks to the Internet, he can look it up if he ever needs to find out.


But I'm getting ahead of myself again.

New Book Excerpt: DORM RATS, A Neighborlee, Ohio book

Back to the story: The fourth member of the party was Mrs. Grendel. I am not lying. Honestly, who would keep the last name of Grendel in the land where Beowulf made his stand? She said the building needed to have more security measures installed, to keep children from sneaking in and playing where they were likely to get hurt. The fifth member of the group was more interested in what Pop was working on at the plastic-sheeted table, wearing white gloves and goggles and a surgical mask. He never did give his name, but hurried over to the table and muttered about the ceiling being ready to fall down on them. They might as well give in to the inevitable and tear the place down and build a parking lot, and who gave a royal fig about historical preservation anyway?

So that proved what Pop said, that everyone interprets and explains unexplainable things based on their own beliefs and experiences.

Where was I with this story? Oh, right. The day before the incident of almost falling through the ceiling. Meeting Emma and Jake Crowder, future parents of Pete.

Emma stood up when we approached. "You have got to be Lanie and Harry."

"Why do we have to be?" Harry said.

Yeah, that was my brother, the literalist. Between learning a second language in less than a year, and being so proud of his parents who were writers, and his big sister who was on the school newspaper staff, Harry liked playing with words. He also got a kick out of the reactions of everybody when he played word games, especially when he went very strict with the literal meaning of the words. Kind of funny that he didn't go into writing, but chose a profession where he works with his hands, and I might add, is very good at it.

New Book Excerpt: DORM RATS, A Neighborlee, Ohio book

Mum said everyone just stood there, looking up at the ceiling, waiting for something to come through. She waited a few seconds, then asked them what was wrong. Mrs. Guttersnatch declared that was proof the building was haunted by the spirits of children who had died there when it was a pauper's prison. Mr. Wimbly said it was the spirit of a schoolteacher who had been driven insane by the imbeciles he had to pound learning into, and who had committed suicide by hanging himself. Let it be noted that she was an advocate of prison reform as well as a believer in life communicating from the Great Beyond, while he was a former schoolteacher who had suffered a nervous breakdown and had been retired for his own good. Miss Wilson-Smythe countered them with her firm belief that the rats had come back and she was going to recommend the village demand its money back from the rat catcher who had assured them the rat problem had been eliminated.

Mum nearly laughed aloud at that, because she knew if I had heard I would have screamed. I'm all right with rats if I have warning they're there, so I can look for and avoid them. Let me know when I'm already in a dark, dusty, spooky place that there are rats around, and that's a recipe for trouble. Even my ability to hover doesn't protect me from the oogies and shivers, because my imagination shows me rats taking running leaps and dropping on me from holes in the ceiling. Think of that scene in The Last Crusade where the rats are fleeing the fire in the catacombs, get into the holes in the stone coffin, and climb all over Elsa. Not that she didn't deserve it, the twitchy witch, but…ugh!

Honestly, if I had heard what Miss Wilson-Smythe said, I would have screamed, and probably lost my mental grip on Harry, sending him through the fragile pseudo-ceiling, and probably right on top of the visitors. I wonder how they would have explained his sudden appearance from a part of the building they didn't even know existed.

New Book Excerpt: DORM RATS, A Neighborlee, Ohio book

He didn't really land solid and square on the next beam, and started to fall backwards. Not a problem if this was an ordinary attic, built by sensible people, with plywood sheets stretching from one rafter to another, to provide a solid platform for storage or at least walking around. Keep in mind, Harry and I had to jump from one rafter to another because there was nothing solid between the rafters. A little bit of insulation sheeting that had needed replacing for years, maybe decades, was all that stood—or rather, lay—between Harry's backside and the thin sheet of plaster and paint that made up the ceiling of the room below us. Quite honestly, the thick layers of curdles of dust were probably sturdier than the thin junk he was about to land on.

Fortunately for Harry, his big sister had telekinetic power. Unfortunately for said big sister—moi—it isn't that easy to catch a husky nine-year-old going through a growth spurt, either with hands or with mental powers. Something gets strained either way, muscles or brain. Harry yelped. I snagged him so he metaphorically skidded to a halt in mid-air, with his bottom about three inches from the insulation. I let out a muffled yelp-argh. Sorry, but that's the only way to describe the involuntary sound that came from the sensation of a spike going through my left temple and out my right eye. Fortunately, only a temporary sensation. We froze in that position for a couple seconds until I could regain my breath while my stomach settled back into place after trying to come out my nose.

Down below, the five people with Mum and Pop all froze and looked upward at the ceiling. Mum knew exactly what had happened, because she had caught us jumping from rafter to rafter about twenty minutes before, when she came upstairs for the last crate of historical records. Don't even get me started on her fury over the deplorable state of those records, and the inability of people to understand that if they wanted documents to last for a hundred years and be usable, they needed to protect those records. As in sealing them where dust and temperature changes and insects that liked to eat paper couldn't get at them. Mum said she froze, and Pop took his cue from her, even though he didn't know what was going on. He didn't even know the delegation was there at first. He was so immersed in deciphering a document that later turned out to be over three hundred years old, he didn't hear them talking when they came in the door.