Heather S. Ingemar's Blog, page 37

Shatterproof III: A Kiss

He moved too quick for me to see, pinning me against the wall.  His breath was warm on my face, smelling of iron and salt – blood.  He wiped off his lips on his sleeve.  I froze, squeezing my body into the painted cinder-block construction.  My gun clattered to the floor as he leaned close, pressed his lips to mine.

A scream welled up my throat but didn't sound.  My muscles tightened with thrashing movements not executed.  I wanted to kick and claw and force myself from his grasp, but I couldn't will my body to move.  Each hungry movement of his lips left me quiet.  Lethargic.  Drained, as he kissed me thoroughly.

When he pulled back, I sagged against the wall.  My knees shook as if I'd just finished a marathon.  Blinking up at him, I noticed all trace of my bullet damage was gone.  Healed.  No, couldn't be healed, I thought.  I shook my head a little and looked again.

The skin covering the wreckage of his eye socket was smooth.  Flawless.  His ruined eye was clear, the hazel iris bright.

Reaching up, I touched my trembling fingers to his face, to feel for myself the truth of what I saw.  I expected him to knock my hand away, but he stood still as I ran my fingers over his soft skin.

"Impossible," I murmured, trailing my index finger near the corner of his eye.

"No time," he said, bending to pick up my gun.  He stuffed the small firearm in his pocket.  "We've got to move."

I pressed myself tight to the wall.  "No," I said.

Turning back to me, I noticed a tic form in the base of his throat.  "Leslie, we've got to leave.  Now."

"No," I repeated, raising my chin slightly.  "I'm not leaving until I know what's going on."

He cursed, under his breath, stomping around in a small circle.  Finally, he sighed.  "Luce knows about you, Leslie.  He's using your father as bait, and any minute his demon underlings are going to show up and drag you away."  He looked down the hall for a brief moment, as if listening for them.  "If you want to live, you've got to come with me."

He held out his hand again for mine.

"Wacko," I breathed.

He frowned, and his eyes seemed to darken.  "Excuse me?"

I started to shake my head, and it became an uncontrollable motion.  No, no, no, this was not happening….

In front of me, the young man rolled his eyes.  "I don't have time for this," he growled, and seizing me by the shoulder, he hauled me along with him.

I protested –- loudly –- as he led me through the darkened labyrinth of the science facility, down and around, left, left, right, and left again until I saw the orange, mercury glow of the outside street light shine into the glass door.  My kidnapper paused, looked out onto the lawn.

"Let.  Me.  Go!"

He turned quickly and shushed me like the scary archivist in the admin building.  Stunned, I shut my mouth.

"If you don't believe me," he said, "look there."  Extending a finger, he pointed to two dark masses of disjointed body parts crossing the green near a non-descript, black car parked at the curb.  I shrank into the shadows of the unlit hallway, unable to discredit my eyes.

Softly, he chuckled.  "You believe me now, don't you?" he asked.  I wasn't going to answer him.  "Come," he said, turning from the door.  "We can't go that way."

Numb, I followed him.

* * *

(This piece is part of an ongoing serial story. You can catch up on the plot via the Serials page. If you liked this work, please consider purchasing one of my other stories, or some of my music for your collection. )

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Drollerie Press now closed

It's official. Deena has announced the closure of Drollerie Press.

I have to say that even despite the bumps and potholes along the way, it was a fine run while it lasted. It was a pleasure working with the Drollerie staff, and I'm sad to see everything happen this way (implosion is never pretty; frustrations flare, things are said, rumors float about, and it's just… ugly). But, what's done is done, and in the end, maybe it's for the best.

Best wishes to you, Deena.

So it's pretty much over: my stories have been released back to me, and I would like to reiterate my intentions to seek reprint publication with them (and first-time publication with the ones that never made it that far). For now, I'm leaving the titles up on my "Fiction" page because they are part of my publication history, though I have removed all the buy links.

Onward and upward…

Oh, so many things…

A bulleted list, because I like bulleted lists.

Started moving the cows off the hill on Monday, and tweaked my foot on the way down (arch, not ankle like you'd expect from walking on a lumpy hillside). Now I'm gimping about with my two best friends (or so it seems): Ibuprofen and ace bandages.
My brand-new capo arrived that night. LOVE! No more wonky pitch problems with Sparrow!
Put my foot in my mouth on Tuesday and it did not taste good…
Remedied the situation on Wednesday. Much better.
Got another gig set up! Woohoo! Hopefully many more to come.
I think I finally have a title for that song I finished a week or so ago, thanks to the wonderful lady in my audience on the 15th, who participated in my informal audience poll on what I should call it. If you're out there reading this, thank you!
Got some of my sewing projects done.
Busy watching the leaves change color as we get frost-tipped mornings and cool, cornflower blue skies over golden, harvested fields. I love Autumn.

More later, peeps.

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Shatterproof II: Stranger

He got to his feet quickly, held out his hand for mine.  I blinked up at him, squinting around the fluorescent light glare.

"Um, what about the cops?" I said.

"Forget the cops – you're in trouble and they're useless."

I straightened against the wall, wondering if I could outrun him.

"Come, girl – there's no time!"  He seized my hand and hauled me upright as if I weighed nothing.

"Let go of me!"  Planting my feet, I tugged against him, jerking to free my hand from his grip.

"Stop fighting me."

"Let go!"

"I'm trying to help you."

He drug me down the hall, my shoes scraping and sliding on the floor.  I gave another yank – to no avail – and reached for my gun.  I always carried it, especially at night.  It was my 'security blanket.'  The miniscule pistol in .380 slid free from my jean pocket easily, feeling solid in my hand.  I clung to it.

"Let me go now," I said, leveling the tiny pistol at his head.  "I will shoot you."

He glanced at me, and laughed.

Gritting my teeth, I pulled the trigger.

The bullet exploded from the end of the barrel to sink with deadly accuracy into the back of his head.  The sound was deafening in the close hallway. The young man's body jerked with the force of impact, rocking forward, then back.  Blood spattered onto my hands, my face.  It dribbled through his hair, stained the neckline of his shirt.  Any moment, he would crumple.  Sink in upon himself and slide to the floor.

Time froze as he straightened.  I stared in horror as he took a breath and faced me.  His left eyeball was a shredded husk of a globe, dark red and filmy.  Bone from the splintered socket shone bright white among the bloody matter.  A heavy, crimson clot of something slid down his cheek, leaving a thin red trail in its wake.

"What are you?" I whispered, recoiling.

* * *

(This piece is part of an ongoing serial story. You can catch up on the plot via the Serials page. If you liked this work, please consider purchasing one of my other stories, or some of my music for your collection. )

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I *swear* I'm not crazy

So, you're probably a little familiar with the irritation I experienced right when I got little Sparrow, my Luna guitar, because of the intonation being funky on the bass strings. If you're not familiar, to sum up:

I bought said guitar and fell in love, but strange things happen to the pitch of bass E and A strings when I capo up. Oddly, the rest of the guitar is right on.
I spent a little time working on the action to improve capoed intonation on bass strings. It helped, but not to my satisfaction (I have perfect pitch). Yet, when playing with no capo, the pitch is spot on.
Took guitar to highly recommended guitar shop to have them look at it.
They swore — SWORE — that nothing was wrong with the guitar (implying it was me and my "funky" pitch).
They had me try a different gauge of string to see if it helped.
Again, there was a little improvement, but not much.

*sigh*

This morning, I'm putting the finishing touches on the song I've been working on and practicing my stuff for my concert on Saturday. So, I drag out the capo, and it seems things are even worse than usual. On a whim, I turn on my tuner, and play with the pressure on my capo (a Kyser quick-change). To my intense surprise and delight and shock, I find that the Kyser (with it's extra-duty spring) is the reason my intonation on the bass strings are wonky! It's pinching the fat E and A harder than the high strings — pulling the two bass strings incredibly sharp!

I'm not crazy.

So today I ordered a PlanetWaves NS capo. Supposedly, it's designed with adjustable tension so it doesn't pinch strings, and we'll see if it works.

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Be Alright — a casual performance

Enjoy.

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Creative juices

I find myself in a strange predicament. I have chords and a melody, but absolutely no words. Well, that's not entirely true… I *have* words — they just aren't the right words…

I get the sense that this song is going to be a story about a person (or persons) on the run…

But so far, I just have a killer rhythm, ear-grabbing chord progression, and tension building melody. The words are still eluding me, though they insist on lingering just below the surface.

I'm trying not to stress think about it.

In other news, an old friend of the family stopped by today for a couple hours and we had a nice visit. I drug Sparrow (my guitar) out for an impromptu house concert before he left. It was fun, and I was very flattered that he bought a copy of "Fledgling."

Now, to get my creative juices flowing. (I think coffee will help!)

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Shatterproof I: Gone

I knew something was wrong when he didn't answer his phone.

Silent, I looked at his office, my stomach queasy with uneasiness.  Papers, strewn everywhere.  Books lay on the floor in total chaos; open, upside down, pages crinkled.  Little remained on his usually organized bookshelves.  I stepped inside, my shoe crunching over the broken leavings of a pottery project from my fourth grade art class.  The pieces lay in a starburst on the floor, where someone had dropped — or more likely thrown — it.

"Dad?" I called, even though I knew he wasn't there. I stared at the crudely painted shard of my elementary school pottery.  This was… Someone had been here.

I felt cold.

Something flashed green under a pile of papers still on his desk.  Carefully, I stepped over the rubble.  Reaching out, I nudged the pile of papers aside, revealing his cell phone.

My hands began to shake.  Dad never forgot his cell.  Never.

I pocketed the cell phone and backed up.  Things crunched and slipped under my feet in my haste to get out.  I had to call the department head, tell him something was wrong.  Call the cops.  I felt the door jamb hard in my backside, and whirled to leave the room.

I screamed as I came nose-to-nose with a man.

He blinked.  My heart thundered in my chest. I gripped the door frame to steady myself, white-knuckling.

"I admit, I've never gotten that reaction before," he said, faint amusement curving the corners of his mouth.  He was handsome, and I immediately berated myself for the thought. How could I think such a thing when my father was missing?

"Sorry," I stammered.  "S-surprised me."  I gulped air.  "I have… have to call the cops."  I started to walk around him, but my shoe hit the edge of a stray piece of paper and I slid out of balance.  He caught me by the arm, steadying me.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I trembled, shaking my head. "Office… ransacked."

The young man pursed his lips as if he were irritated.  "Here," he said.  "Sit.  I'll call."

I slid to the hallway floor and tried to hold myself together while he called.  I felt… numb.  Frightened.  Confused.  I placed my head in my hands and closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing.

The young man flipped his phone shut, stuffed it in his pocket.  He dropped to the floor next to me.  "They'll be here in ten," he said.  "We're to stay put."

I nodded.

A few minutes later, he asked, "How do you know Dr. Harlan?"

"He's my Dad."

The young man looked stunned.  "So you're… you can't be Leslie."

I gave him a wan smile.  His face paled until his blonde hair looked brown.  He fidgeted.  "Then we have to leave.  Now."

* * *

(This piece is part of an ongoing serial story. You can catch up on the plot via the Serials page. If you liked this work, please consider purchasing one of my other stories, or some of my music for your collection. )

Time is limited

Found this one at the end of the latest WordPress.com post for a theme celebrating Steve Jobs' life. I thought it lovely advice.

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

Planning for a new URL

I think it's time.

But I need your help.

I want to purchase my own custom domain through WordPress (my very own .com address! Or something similar!) but I've only come up with a couple of ideas. I'd like to ask if you all would like to think up some as well? Feel free to submit several in the comments. And if I pick one of yours? I'll send you a free download code for my E.P. "Fledgling" to say thank you!

As for what I'm looking for:

I want something that signifies me: my songs, my stories. (Sadly, heatherstearns.com is taken already, and I also feel it's a little bland by itself.) I want it to be fairly short, easy to remember, and not too far off from the eclectic singer/songwriter type of vibe…

A few ideas I've come up with already are:

contemporarybard
amodernbard
wordsandmusic
heatherthebard (my Twitter handle, but too many people are still listing me at events as "Heather the Bard" instead of "Heather Stearns," so I'm a little leary of this one…)

I'd like to have ideas in within the next couple of weeks.

Have fun!