L.K. Latham's Blog, page 11

Time for the August Short Story

It’s 18 Augist, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, Home and Dragons: Mark’s worked hard to reach these final twenty seconds. Who knew his future happiness depended on a dragon?.

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Home and Dragons

Twenty seconds to go. Mark pursed his lips into a small circle and blew the air out, careful to make no sound. If Melissa heard him and had to stop her take, there’d be hell to pay. He put his hand to his head to smooth the side of his hair, but Ginny, his competitor, wrapped her long gold-clad fingers around his and pushed his hand down, mouthing the words, “You’re gorgeous. Stop fussing.”

Collin, the producer standing behind the cameraman following Melissa as she glided along the east wall of windows of the raised dining room, glared at them. Melissa, with her perfect teeth and shiny locks caressing her narrow shoulders and teasing that hint of cleavage, didn’t notice.

This was it. The competition to decorate the top two penthouses in Austin’s grandest downtown high-rise ended tonight. Strain from the past year shivered down his back. When the announcement that the number one televised home decorating contest would be in Austin, Mark’s most stressful year had begun. Months of design tests, screen tests, and nail biting earned him a spot in the competition. But it was only the beginning. Eight weeks of constant designing, shifting walls, smiling, laying floors, carrying furniture up stairs when the service elevator didn’t work, keep smiling, learning to talk on camera, meeting and collaborating with his favorite home-improvement stars no matter how wrong their opinions were, show those pearly whites, Melissa always gets her way, dealing with the construction workers racing to complete the building so the first residents could move in, and keep smiling or you’re out took its toll.

“This competition has been fierce,” Melissa said, her smile perfect. “Just look at this room. A perfect panorama of the city.” Lightning flashed outside the window. The windows rattled. “Even in a storm, this room wraps you in a warm hug.”

Ginny’s dark brown eyes looked down into his—everyone looked down when looking Mark in the face—and her lips also formed that little “oh” as she matched Mark’s calming breath. She was a bitch when it came to getting her way, but that little squeeze made each stand a little straighter.

Andre, Mark’s partner, wrapped his arm around Mark’s shoulders. Mark smiled up at the handsomest man he’d ever known. “We got this, babe,” Andre mouthed.

Another fifteen seconds, and Melissa would wave to Mark and Ginny, camera two would focus on them, and Melissa would announce the winner of the Home Decorating Network’s Seventeenth Annual Best New Decorator Award.

“Soon,” Melissa’s voice, so full of confidence, assurance, and arrogance, flowed with purpose into the microphone, “the judges will enter the front door. They’ve taken your votes into consideration.”

The red light on camera two lit up. “Will the winners be our super-twins, Ginny and the very handsome George?”

Mark watched as Ginny’s dark eyes lit up with her smile as she and George lifted their hands and tapped the matching green rings they wore on their index fingers. Melissa winked at George.

“Or will it be Mark and Andre, the local favorites?” Melissa said.

Andre squeezed Mark closer to him. Mark could hardly breathe, but he remembered to smile. Melissa continued to smile at George.

The light on camera two turned black. Thunder rattled through everyone. The building shook. Still, Melissa held her smile.

“Both teams are winners in my book. Just take a look around this penthouse—”

A high-pitched scream broke through the room.

Another voice yelled, “Oh, my God!”

Still another voice shouted, “Holy shit!”

Melissa’s glowing skin and charming smile turned into flames of wrath, with smoke pouring from her mouth as though she could breathe fire. “That was fucking perfect! Who’s losing their shit on my take!”

Chairs tipped over and objets d’art tumbled and broke on the marble floor as the crew, including Andre and George, raced across the sunken living room and leaped over the glass and steel railing to the east wall of windows, pushing Melissa out of the way.

Collin shouted over the confusion, “Everybody shut it before I fire the lot of you! Places! Let’s take it from the top.”

It was too late. Except for Ginny and Mark and Collin’s assistant, everyone was at the windows.

There was nothing to see except the black of the storm. Power throughout the city was out. Only the production’s generators allowed for any light in the room.

“Did you get it? Did you get it?” repeated Spoon, the director, as he turned to find his assistant director, Lisa, standing next to him.

“In places you little shits!” yelled Collin.

Before Lisa could answer, Spoon yelled to Collin, “We can’t shoot with that thing outside.” Spoon put his arm around Lisa’s shoulders. “This will get us out of these crappy assignments.”

Thunder erupted, shuddering more than windows. Mark and Ginny tightened their grips on each other’s hands.

“There’s nothing out there but a fucking storm!” Collin grabbed Mellissa’s arm and pulled her back to position. “Everybody back in place. Call the fucking judges to get in here.”

“I am not doing that again until—” Melissa yelled.

“Now!” shouted Collin before Melissa could finish complaining.

Lisa, whose scream had ruined the take, pounded the window with her fist. “That was no fucking storm! It was an eye. As big as the window. Whatever it’s attached to could still be out there.”

“Oh,” Collin mocked Lisa as his East London accent dribbled from his lips instead of his usual cool, California flourish. “Lisa saw a bloody eye in the window. Let’s hold production up another fucking week, shall we? We’re not shooting another fortnight just to calm tantrums! Back to work!”

Ginny pushed a loose hair off her face. “His accent’s showing,” she whispered to Mark.

“Always a bad sign,” replied Mark. “He’ll need at least three bourbons to cool down.”

 Ginny nodded. “Which means six, which means hell for us tomorrow if we don’t wrap tonight.”

Andre, still looking out the window, turned to Collin. “I saw it too. It was huge.”

George leaned close to the window. “Can’t see shit with the clouds.” Lightning flashed. He jumped away from the window. “What was that?”

“Where?” asked Andre, leaning into the window.

Collin’s cheeks burned red as his lungs pushed air through his mouth. “Has everybody in this place lost their fucking minds? We’re on the fucking fifty-second floor. There is nothing fucking out there but a fucking storm, fucking with my production schedule.” He pushed open the glass door leading to the balcony opposite the gathered crowd. Rain and wind washed into the living room, drenching him as he turned to face the production crew. “Nothing but a fucking storm! Everybody back to work or—”

Collin didn’t finish his threat. Thunder, a roar, maybe a scream, or maybe a little of all three, shattered eardrums and windows on the east side of the building. Three long, dripping claws attached to a scaled and sparkling green arm pushed into the dining room, grabbing Lisa and Spoon and pulling them outside, each screaming for help.

*****

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From NaNo to Done

Searching for your next favorite fantasy story? Among the choices, Midnight Victories by your truly.

Check it out these reads by clicking here.

Perhaps a better title for this blog: Take a breath. 

Drafting out a new book/story/blog is a lot like barfing up as many words as possible as quickly as possible. Real writing: Taking that barf and turning it into something someone wants to read. The real writing requires lots of hard work and energy.

I dedicated July to drafting Midnight Goblins as my CampNaNo project. The barf is still spilling, and I’m okay with that. Maybe I didn’t hit the number of words I wanted this month, but when I look at all the words I wrote for Midnight Goblins AND all the real writing required to complete two new and fun short stories, I’m feeling good. Today, I’m taking long, deep breaths, doing a little yoga, and saying, “I’m good where I am at this moment.”

Please take the time to do the same.

Yet another writer/friend of mine told me this week, “I just didn’t feel like putting in the words right now.” That’s okay, too. Sweltering heat is hitting large chunks of the world, and we’re all feeling a little down about it. We can’t get out and have fun. (In Texas, we’re also dealing with conflicting and violent social/political issues.) It’s enough to make a person feel like giving up. 

So, here, in case you need permission: Take a long, deep breath and be you. We’ll muddle through this heat wave, and maybe we’ll be a little wiser for it.

Another working day with friends.

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Fantasy Giveaway

Hello Fellow Fantasy/Urban Fantasy readers. Check out these books -Free Books. And yes, Voices of Midnight, one of my books, is on the list. (Big grin on face!)

Check it out by clicking here.

What’s more fun that sitting in a coffee shop writing with friends? Writing the next book!

Inspiration for the next book.

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July’s Short Story

It’s 21 July, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, A Godfather for Christmas: It’s Eugene’s first Christmas since moving to Austin. Before the fun can start, she has to get through the funeral, stop a  hacker, and prevent a stranger from taking over her new home. Luckily, her godfather has a thing for Christmas lights and funeral pyres.

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A Godfather for Christmas

Until this week, only two weeks before Christmas, no one talked about James Earl. No one said his name. No one mentioned murder. But on Saturday, CC decided it was time to grieve. She shut down the office until the New Year; she packed James Earl’s clothes into boxes for donation, allowing Eugene and her brother, Phineas, to help; and she replaced James Earl’s name with Eugene’s on the business’s website to read: Catherine Carson, Security Consultant; Eugene Plumb, Associate. After all, Eugene was doing James Earl’s job, had been since his death. Eugene painted the door to the old servants’ room converted to computer control center with the head of a wolf to both honor the wolf James Earl was and claim the space as hers.

Phineas moved in. At first, it was just to help Eugene heal from her wounds, but he stayed on taking a job at a local health clinic. Eugene slept peacefully curled up next to him every night. She felt at home for the first time since leaving her parent’s house.

The sound of running water through the pipes reminded Eugene of the time. Since Mike’s sudden marriage to Stanly, Mike didn’t live in the house anymore, but he kept his bedroom for long nights at the office. She lifted her hand to turn off the final monitor when a man reached the front door and rang the bell. She tapped the screen for a closeup of the man’s face. He wore a dark suit, appropriate for a funeral, but she didn’t know him. A few other human friends of CC had come to the house today, which was also their place of business. Eugene tapped the microphone and told the man the wake was at the Cafe Philosophy. He didn’t respond.

“Fine,” she muttered, and leaped down the old servant’s stairs into the kitchen two at a time.

Without pausing her pace, she glided through the swinging door to the front reception room and opened the front door. “Hi,” she said. “The wake’s over at Coffee Philosophy. Do you need the address? It’s just a few blocks over.”

Dark brown eyes set under thick sandy brows stared at her. His chin jutted in and out before saying, “Is this James Earl Bane’s house?”

Eugene put a hand on her hip. “He lived here. You’re not looking for the wake?”

“Well,” the man stammered, his eyes scanning her up and down. The right side of his mouth twitched before he said, “Yes and no. I’m his brother, Stephen Banes. Is his business partner here?”

“Oh,” Eugene said. Her nostrils flared as she took in his scent. “You don’t sme-look like James Earl.”

The corner of Stephen’s mouth turned up. “We were both adopted.” He pulled a wallet out from his pocked. “Here’s my identification. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to talk with his business partner.”

Eugene examined the driver’s license. Looked real enough. She motioned Stephen in. “Let me get Mike. CC’s already at the wake. Have a seat.”

“CC?” he asked.

“Catherine Carson.” Eugene waited for him to sit down. She didn’t like his eyes staring at the swinging door. “Mike!” she yelled.

Stephen jumped as her voice echoed in the empty house.

She grinned, hearing his heartbeat double time. “No intercom,” she said.

Stephen looked around the room, at the large old-fashioned desk with its multiple monitors and candy colored lamp, the less than new chairs and side table with its little Christmas tree blinking red, green, and gold, the carved mule post and bannister to the stairs leading to the second-floor and private bedrooms, the paneled doors on each side leading to separate offices, the dark blue velvet curtains closing out the late afternoon sun from the garden window, and the swinging door beneath the stairs leading to the living room. 

Mike walked out of his office door. He was the only one with a bedroom on the main floor, hidden behind his office. His tie hung around his neck, his jacket folded on his arm. He tried and failed to fasten the cufflinks on his right wrist. He stopped, holding his arm out to Eugene. “Can you?” he asked, shaking his wrist. Nodding to Stephen, he asked, “How can I help you?”

Eugene leaned against the enormous desk, half sitting on it. She pointed her chin to Stephen. “James Earl’s brother.”

Mike smiled and twisted to extend his hand to Stephen, but Eugene pulled it back as she clicked his cufflinks into place. “Mike Young. My condolences. Afraid we’re closed until the New Year, but if I can help-”

“I should have called, sorry,” interrupted Stephen. “I was out of town when mother called to tell me about James Earl. She asked if I could stop in Austin to collect his things. Didn’t realize there was a wake today.”

Mike’s face remained unchanged. “I understood James Earl was estranged from his family.”

“You’re his business partner?”

Eugene rolled her shoulders back as the hairs on her neck stood.

Mike smiled into her face and held his left arm up. “And this one. All thumbs today.”

Eugene grunted, but smoothed Mike’s cuff and fastened his cufflink even as she kept her eyes on Stephen. 

Mike returned his attention to Stephen. “Business will have to wait until Monday. You understand. Today’s a bad day. Everyone’s been waiting. After his murder, and then the hunt for his killer-” Mike paused, releasing a long sigh. “You should come. It’ll give you a chance to meet his friends and his wife.”

Stephen’s gaze jumped between Mike and Eugene. He nodded his head, lowering his gaze. “Of course. Haven’t been myself since I found out about his death. I should have thought. I didn’t know he was married.”

Mike handed Eugene his jacket and knotted his tie. “You have your own car? Good. Follow us to the cafe. You have a place to stay?” Mike grabbed one of his business cards from the desktop. “Here’s my info. I always answer my cell. You need anything while in town, call me. Ready to go Eugene?”

Eugene nodded. 

Stephen’s eyes widened as he read Mike’s card. “Lawyer,” he said. 

“Yes. Partnered with James Earl and CC early on. We share clients with particular needs. Shall we go?”

Eugene locked the front door behind Stephen and followed Mike to his car parked behind the house. As Mike drove to the front of the house and waved to Stephen, making sure he followed them, she said. “I don’t like him.”

“I don’t either,” Mike said.

“What was this about CC being James Earl’s wife? I didn’t know-”

“Not even under Common Law,” Mike interrupted. “For now, I want him to think they were.”

Eugene pulled her visor down and opened the mirror. She adjusted it until she could see Stephen behind them. “You don’t suppose – no.” She shook her head and closed her eyes.

“Don’t think what?” Make asked.

“I told you someone tried to get into the servers last week. If I hadn’t changed the back doors James Earl created, they could have gotten in.”

Mike parked on the street a block away from the cafe. He scratched his chin. “Never understood why James Earl was convicted. If his brother was involved…”

Eugene opened the door. “If it was him, he’s good.” She grinned. “But I’m better.”

Mike reached out to her before she stepped out of the car. “Hey, you and Phin stay close to CC. I don’t want Stephen getting too close to her, not tonight.”

“You got it.” Eugene closed the car door as Mike got out and waved to Stephen. “Little prick won’t bother her tonight,” she muttered.

*****

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Blurbs! GGGRrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!

Why is it something so short is so hard for me to write? Before I wrote a single scene of Midnight Goblins, I drafted long and short blurbs for it. Despite not wanting to do this, I followed advice thrown out there in the blogosphere, which said it was a smart thing to do. So far, it appears to be the smart thing to do.

While I expect the blurbs to morph as the novel develops, especially as completing the draft is my July CampNaNo challenge, these short blurbs about the novel are keeping me focused on why I’m writing Midnight Goblins. 

What’s your experience with writing blurbs? 

Do you write them before or after your story?

And speaking of blurbs, I’m curious what you think of these. They sound like they’re from different stories, but they’re all in one. Opinions? Anyone?

The XXX twins fight to remain true to themselves as their new world thrusts them apart. If they can realize their value as individuals, they can unify a divided world, saving it from itself.

The twins are thrust into a world they never knew existed. If they can’t find each other, a war will erupt, tearing apart not only the world they know but their new world. Each must learn to live apart if they expect to live together. 

CC agreed to meet the mysterious Mrs. Smith in Vegas, but she’s tired of waiting. She’s  ready to go home when she meets the XXX twins. They’re not human, but they act like ordinary teens. Before she discovers out more about them, magic strikes the casino, sending CC and Eugene into the Wilderness, a place she knows nothing about.

Eugene thought flying to Vegas would be the worst part of the trip, right behind having to see Mrs. Smith again, but it was worse. Spells are cast, sending them into the Wilderness – a place where magic rules, a red-haired human like CC, and a tattoos werewolves like Eugene is in danger from every one and every thing they meet.

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Time for CampNaNo

So, did 21 days of single-minded work reform my daily writing habits? Kind of. Completed some major editing projects, but still managed just under 20 thousand words in June. I’m still not writing every day. Then again, I know I’m not the type to write every day. No matter what, I take one day a week to relax, read for pleasure, watch a movie (or two or three) and relax. When I give that up, I’m a mess. (Exception is NaNo. During a NaNo month, I’m cool with writing every day.)

Confirmed: The days I took time to exercise – even when all I had time for was a little yoga – I put words to paper. It seems all that advice out there about taking care of self is true, at least for me. I wish my body would let me exercise every day, but it doesn’t. Chronic health issues are a bitch. Every day is a new lesson in learning to live well.

It’s July! That means it’s time for Camp NaNoWriMo. Will Midnight Goblins get an ending? Cross your fingers, think good thoughts, or send me good luck. I so want to get this written.

If you’ve signed up for CampNaNo, look for at the website. We can cheer each other on. I’m easy to find at the NaNoWriMo site: L.K. Latham.

Need something new to read? Check out this group of Urban Fantasy reads. And yes, you will see Midnight Victories (the first book in the Midnight Whispers series)in that collection.

Or: Perhaps you’re interested in stocking up on some free reads.

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It's Hot!

July is Creeping up on me
I set myself a 21 day writing challenge. The amount I wrote isn’t worth talking about. I wrote two new shorts and a a new one outlined/drafted. The next two weeks is all about getting three more done.
It’s HOT here in Austin and it will get hotter as summer progresses. This is the time of year I envy all of you who live in northern climates. Please, complain to me about your hot days of 77F/25C temperatures. We’re hitting 100+F/34+C. I want to imaging glorious, sunny days with cool breezes instead of dreading doing anything that requires me to leave the house.
So today, I sing joys of central air conditioning! Let’s hope the entire summer isn’t a record heat breaker.
Peace,

P.S. If you’re interested in reading short stories, check out my website. I’m offering a free short story to email subscribers for 2022.

June’s Short Story

It’s 16 June, the third Thursday of the month. That means it’s time for a story.

Today, Finding Mr. Doodles: blurb.

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Finding Mr. Doodles

“So, that’s where he’s been,” said Officer Charles LaRoux. He stood and tugged on his belt to refit it over his bulging middle.

Detective Richard Harris remained squatting next to the body of the young man who’d washed up on the edge of the Seawall. He scratched his chin before standing up to tower over the patrolman the Chief, his new boss, had assigned to drive him around while he “got the feel of the place.” That was two weeks ago, and the patrolman still showed up every day to drive him wherever he needed to go.

Harris sighed and looked over the heads of LaRoux and the forensics as the sun dipped its toes into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He would have enjoyed just standing and watching the sunset, but the noise of the Pleasure Pier roared in his ears. After a career in the Army as a Master Sergeant, he didn’t need to shout to make himself heard. “Are you going to tell us who he is?”

LaRoux grinned, showing off full white teeth. “Sure.” His dark eyes glinted in the golden sun. “Ronny Dohl, that young arteest who took one of those the new houses over on 25th Street there by Ms. DuMond’s. You know—she’s the one with that damned cat everyone’s always complaining about. I swear, one of these days me and that cat are going to go at it. It’s gonna be me or him. Vicious little shit. Why, just the other night, I got my usual call to go down there—”

Harris interrupted LaRoux without looking up from his phone where he searched city records for a Ronny Dohl. “Does the cat have anything to do with Mr. Dohl here?”

Officer LaRoux lifted his finger to Harris. “You hit it right on the money there, detective.” He giggled a deep almost laugh but not quite snort that made his belly jiggle. “That’s why you’re the detective. Always thinking. My wife, now she’s always on to me for being a patrolman. Says I should be a detective by now, but I got no mind to do that. Nope, there’s nothing like riding round town talking to folks, making them feel safe just by waving out my window and saying hey. Detective shows up, and right away everyone knows something bad’s happened. Don’t want to be known for that. You know, if it hadn’t been for Ms. DuMond and that shit of a cat, we might never’ve been out looking for Ronny Dohl.”

Harris lifted his gaze from his phone. “Warrant out for him. Animal cruelty, and he’s got an eviction order placed two weeks ago. He hasn’t been in the water that long. Where’s he been hiding?”

“He hadn’t left the house. Ms. DuMond, for all her hollerin’, is an old softy when it comes to pretty boys. Then again.” LaRoux stopped, puckered his lips and eyebrows. Harris opened his mouth to ask a question when LaRoux added, “She didn’t take too kindly at all to him kicking her cat. You have to admit, it’s pretty low to kick a cat.”

Harris folded his arms over his chest, let out a long breath, and asked, “When did he kick her cat?”

“Two nights ago. That’s when she made the official complaint.”

Harris looked down at the technicians zipping the body bag closed. The older of the two looked up at him, nodding. “I’d say no more than two days in the water, but that’s unofficial.”

“Well, seems like we’ll have to—”

“Oh, no detective,” moaned LaRoux.

Harris shook his head as LaRoux’s pasty white face grimaced. “You’re supposed to drive me around to meet everyone. Time to meet Ms. DuMond.”

at her neck. “A little good luck charm I picked up somewhere.”

Luna put a finger to her lips. “Looks familiar, but I can’t place it. Too dark to see it well.”

Thunder cracked again, smashing into the house. Danita startled in her seat. “A very big stor

*****

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Sign Up for June’ Free Short Story

This month’s free short story goes out on the Thursday, 16 June.

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When SGT Harris became Detective Harris of the Galveston Police Department, he expected to deal with lost tourists and angry residents. He didn’t expect goblins.

If this sounds like a fun story, check out these free Fantasy Escapes.

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Welcome June

Seven days left in my 21 day writing challenge. The amount I’ve written isn’t worth talking about. However, it’s a new day in a new month, by next week (fingers crossed) I’ll have pics to share with you of not only a completed new bathroom but also a whole new workspace. 

It’s HOT here in Austin and it will get hotter as summer progresses. This is the time of year I envy all of you who live in northern climates. Please, complain to me about your hot days of 77F/25C temperatures. We’re hitting 100F/34C and it feels hotter with the humidity. I want to imaging glorious, sunny days with cool breezes instead of dreading doing anything that requires me to leave the house.

Sing to the joys of central air conditioning!

And while you’re enjoying your central air or the breeze flowing through your garden room, enjoy a new read. (I am reading more now that I can’t get outside much.) Yes, I joined another groups of Urban Fantasy authors celebrating summer reading.

Books for sale.

Free summer reads.

Check it out by clicking here.

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