S.E. Zell's Blog, page 2

Meanwhile, in Book One…

Hi everybody,

Since I’m a perfectionist and can’t stop, I’ve also been making some edits to my beloved first novel, Jesimae. My hope is to do a rerelease within a month or two of Book II. I’ve even been considering a *gasp* title change! We’ll just have to see how things turn out!

Much love,

S.E. Zell

In Ruins – Update and Final Cover!

Hello! After a long writing hiatus, I’m back at it, and In Ruins is on schedule to be finished soon!

Then the editing can start.

In the meantime, please enjoy the finished cover!

“In Ruins” Update – Life Changes

Hello my lovelies,

Some good news and some bad news.

Let’s get the bad stuff out of the way first: Unfortunately, In Ruins publication date will be pushed back to June 2018. No later, I promise!

But the good news (and the reason the date is pushed back) is that I’ve been working my butt off to return to school and finally earn that English degree. I’m going back! It’s finally official! Starting in January, it’s going to be nothing but all literature, all the time with some creative writing and singing thrown in.

I’ll be harking upon the gale in good ole Thrilliamsburg, VA. That town is the stuff of ghost stories, let me tell you. Maybe I’ll be branching into horror soon! Who knows? So many options! So exciting!

Wish me luck and stay tuned!

Back to (Sunday) School

I hurried up the sidewalk and breezed into the temple. One hand waved manically at all the faces I hadn’t seen in three months while the other scribbled a signature on the sign in sheet.

It was the first day back at Sunday School and–of course–I was running late. Former students called out to me as I ran past them to the teachers’ lounge. I blew them kisses and promised we’d talk after school. Yeah…probably not. See? I’m a great teacher.

After retrieving all of the various materials, finding my classroom, and pulling up the day’s schedule on my phone, I glanced up at the clock. Class started in two minutes. Just enough time to write the schedule on the board. I was definitely nailing it today.

I finished the cursive “e” in Welcome! with a flourish then drew a happy face–because I’m cool like that. Don’t judge.

The panic had begun to subside. I was ready to get back in to it. I had about thirty seconds to center myself and find that dynamite balance between cool young teacher with the tattoos and stern no nonsense teacher who will teach you whether you like it or not. It’s my sweet spot with sixth graders. They’re just young enough to be impressed by broke twenty-somethings. Score!

8:30. Class started. Only, today was a special all-school assembly in the lobby. I had forgotten about it despite having written it on the board a minute ago. The anticipation deflated as I waited and the minutes ticked by. I could hear cheering from down the hall. Good old Dara, getting all the kids psyched for another year. If I had half as much of her energy, I would be the most productive person on the planet.

I pulled out my phone and checked my non-existent text messages. At eight-thirty on a Sunday morning, most of my friends were still asleep.

Minutes later, the cheering changed to a roar of voices. It got louder and louder.

The children were coming.

My heart beat a little faster. No matter how many times I did this, there was nothing so nerve-wracking as standing in front of a room full of eleven-year-olds who didn’t want to be there.

The door burst open and faces both familiar and unfamiliar launched into the room. They naturally segregated themselves–boys at the window, girls toward the door. When the room was full, their chatter died down and fifteen pairs of eyes turned toward me.

Here goes nothing.

Flash Fiction #11

Terror is a funny word. I understood the concept–fear so debilitating that it physically affected you–but I couldn’t remember ever feeling it. Even when there were monsters under my bed and lurking in my closet, I could always imagine them away.

That’s why, when I finally did feel it, I couldn’t name it. It stuck in my throat like a bitter aftertaste. My eyes welled and utter desolation settled in the pit of my stomach.

I looked around, but there was no one there to share my misery. My hands shook and I tried to swallow, but nothing was working.

My heart was pounding in the roof of my mouth. It felt like the meager breakfast I’d scarfed down while running out the door was going to come back up.

And then, just as it had sprung up without warning, it disappeared and left nothing in its wake.

There was a hollow ache that might be coaxed back into a fervor if I really concentrated, but otherwise, emptiness.

Nothing–No Thing–that’s a better word. It’s the only thing that encompasses the feeling left when every other conceivable emotion has taken its toll.

I much prefer nothing.

 

Looking For Replacement Eyes

Tug, tug, tug, tug, tug.

My my mother calls it stress. My coworker says I should see a doctor.

Tug, tug, tug.

I don’t know what to call it. All I know is my eyes don’t want to open in the mornings. As soon as they do…

Tug.

Like a child pulling on his mother’s pants leg…

Tug, tug, tug, tug.

I try to write…

TUG, TuG, tUG, TUg.

I try to work…

TUG, TUG, TUG, TUG.

I try to read, watch TV, stare into nothing…

TUGTUGTUGTUGTUGTUG.

If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last several weeks, this is it. This demon that keeps pulling at my eye and giving me a slightly manic look won’t go away. Not to worry, I have an appointment with the eye doctor next week.

Until then, my time staring at any one thing will be limited, but be on the lookout for more #flashfiction and updates on In Ruins!

 

Day 1 of WorldCon-Off to an Interesting Start

This morning, or was it yesterday morning, I boarded a plane to get from Washington DC, to Helsinki, Finland. I was going to Worldcon 75 to celebrate the glories of fantasy and sci-fi writing with a couple thousand of my fellow nerds.

After a short hop over to JFK in New York, I was on my trans-Atlantic way to the country I’ve only heard sung about in Monty Python musicals. It was an extremely pleasant flight, thanks to an open seat with extra legroom and an engaging Puerto Rican engineer skydiver named Antonio. (Yes, he’s real. I’m only good at making up stories about other people)

I landed in good spirits, if a little exhausted from being up for more than twenty-four hours, and gamely attempted to save a little money by taking public transportation. Now, Helsinki’s transport system is actually tremendous, but a jet-lagged delirious American with two large bags would find it difficult at the best of times.

The kindness of a stewardess from my flight got me onto the train toward the city center. I was given directions to then take the metro two stops to the neighborhood where I’m staying. My addled mind and trembling arms took longer to process than necessary and I think I might have taken a more circuitous route to find the metro than I’d been instructed.

Exiting the train station, I followed the instructions of yet more kind strangers down one set of stairs, up another, across the transport station, through a herd of boisterous teens, and out into the sunlight. It was not where I’d expected to end up. I stood on the sidewalk, blinking in confusion, until my eyes lit on what I was looking for–the metro sign. The sight of that large orange and white “M” staved off a potential meltdown. By now, I felt like I was on a bizarre scavenger hunt and my quest was to find my Airbnb.

When the metro finally spat me out at my stop, I was fading fast. But the joke was on me. My saga wasn’t over yet.

The corner on which I stood had zero signs for its six intersecting streets. Zero. It wasn’t like there were some I simply couldn’t understand due to the language barrier–there was nothing there. I searched high and low, but I might have also gone blind with exhaustion.

A stroke of luck brought me Wi-Fi for about five minutes, and I was able to plug in the address. A quarter of a mile. That’s all I needed to walk. I set off in that direction, confident I was on solid footing again. A quarter mile of hauling two forty-pound suitcases over cobblestone, made me rethink that assumption.

As if that weren’t enough, when I reached the building, I couldn’t find my host’s name listed. I would later learn that she had just moved in and her name plate hadn’t been changed over yet, but at the time, I was nearly defeated. Wi-Fi was gone again, and I had no way to let her know I was standing on her doorstep, waiting to be let in.

Once again, the good citizens of Finland came to my rescue. A little old woman generously tried to lend me her phone, but it too was having trouble connecting.

At the bottom of the building where we stood, a restaurant owner lounged outside his establishment smoking a cigarette. When he noticed our distress, he asked the woman what was wrong. He spoke very little English, so she translated for us.

Two minutes later, I was standing behind his restaurant counter, logging in to Airbnb on his computer. I sent a message to my host and she was downstairs a minute later. Needless to say, that man will be seeing me a few times over the course of this week. The least I can do for all his help is eat at his restaurant.

From there, the day went mostly as expected and ended on a high note with friend reunions and a live podcast featuring George R R Martin where the subject of Game of Thrones was studiously and hilariously avoided. By the time I returned to the apartment, I had been awake for at least thirty-six hours straight.

As I sit here writing this, partially refreshed from a long overdue nap, I can’t help but love the day despite its challenges. To me, the best part about international travel is throwing yourself in the deep end and learning to swim.

If all else fails, at least it makes a good story! Be sure to stay tuned this week for what I’m sure will be more exciting tales of my misadventures across the pond. Goodnight, everyone!

It’s Almost Over!

The Giveaway is almost over. It ends tomorrow night, 7/22! Enter for a chance to win a signed copy of Jesimae before it’s too late! Click here.

In honor of everyone who has requested the book so far, here’s a short excerpt from a draft of Chapter 1 of In Ruins.

“Emyr knew his father was going to kill him. Their disagreements from his teenage years looked like friendly chats compared to the way they interacted now. It didn’t help that since he’d been “rescued” by his father’s men, his chambers stayed locked and drugs forced his complacency. It had taken three months for him to figure out that the “soothing concoction” his father’s servant brought him every evening contained a poisonous sedative. Since the discovery, Emyr had faked its ingestion and snuck out at night to study all he could about his nascent powers. How long that would last was anyone’s guess. If he didn’t think of something soon, he would be dead in a fortnight.

But the circumstances and the woman who had led him to the discovery of his powers were not something he could forget. She’d been ripped away from him just when they were realizing their feelings for one another. He had begged his father to spare her life only to find out he was too late. She and her friend—his former body guard—were already dead. Or, at least, that was the story the King was telling.

Several nights ago, he had witnessed the most quiet and graceful murder one could dream of. The blonde beauty had been holding the Ambassador close in a lovers’ embrace. Emyr had been about to turn away, not wanting to witness what he was sure would come next for such a famous womanizer, when the large man had folded to the ground like a sheet. The woman stood and re-pinned her hair. He’d been fascinated, despite himself. That was when he’d made the mistake of leaning too far in.

She was on him in seconds. The Prince, being no slouch at fighting himself, had been surprised when she’d taken him down almost too easily. That was when he’d begun to suspect his father’s lies. When she spoke, he knew. The fierceness in her eyes, even though they had been a watery blue instead of their natural striking green, had been a dead give away. Joy had flooded him so fast, he’d lost his breath. She was alive. His deadly, beautiful, smart-as-a-whip dream-girl still breathed.

It was only after she knocked him out cold that his faculties had returned enough for the anger to set in. There were plenty of things to be angry with his father about. This one was the worst of all. Besian had lied to his son’s face, letting him believe that his friends were dead. All the while, she had been in his employ and clearly couldn’t remember a thing. That meant Calloway might still be alive. That night, Emyr vowed to find both of them, restore their memories, and set them free.”

No better way to work…

Nothing like snuggling up with the world’s best inspiration/distraction. It’s slow going today, but totally worth it. #puppylove

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Don’t Miss Out!

From today until July 22nd, I’m giving away two books for FREE! Click the link here to enter and win!

Good luck everybody and thanks for your support!