C. Lee McKenzie's Blog, page 6
October 23, 2024
The Curse of Havenswood House, Fourth Installment
I have two more installments before The End of this story. If you want to read the First, Second, and Third installments, click on the links. As I’ve said before, this is in its nascent stages, and will probably only be what you’ll read here. I never know if a short story will go on to become more or if I should leave well enough alone. Thanks as always for reading and commenting. I appreciate that very much.
Over the next month, as plans for the masque were underway, the house grew more sinister. Doors flung open even when no one stood before them. They banged against walls or they locked and prohibited anyone from entering. The stairs jerked underfoot, tumbling maids and sending trays or carpet beaters flying. The windows turned opaque at midday and shimmered clear at night. The door to the cellar throbbed like a throbbing heart when anyone ventured near. Servants stayed beneath in their quarters unless they had duties above. Everyone agreed that Cook was right—Aurora’s challenge to the house would be the death of them all. They should flee, but they and their families desperately needed the money.
In the kitchen, servants leaned close to each other and whispered about the curse. If their voices rose over a murmur, the room filled with smoke, or the fire under Cook’s pots suddenly shot out into the room. They stopped their chatter and stole off to bed, dreading the coming ball.
When the masque was only a day away, Aurora suffered a long hour of standing while the seamstress tucked and pinned her costume. It still wasn’t what she’d imagined, but Livy and Maid Mannerly had shown resourcefulness by creating a pheasant and raven feathered cloak. It covered the disappointing garment, and when she lifted her arms, it was as if great wings spread at her sides to lift her into the sky. Once she donned the eagle head mask, she stared at herself in the mirror.
“Almost a gryphon,” she whispered. Nanny would be in shock if she were alive.
Sliding her hand along the bannister, she placed a tentative foot on the unpredictable stairs. The first step only jiggled slightly, so she hurried down to see what the local artist she’d hired had created in the ballroom. She hoped he was more inspired than her seamstress.
When she entered, the room had been transformed into a mythical jungle. Unicorns and dragons, phoenixes, and chimeras frolicked on the walls. In the center of the floor stood a giant paper-maché gryphon. The artist set aside his paints and brushes and bowed.
“It is ready, Miss Havenwood.”
“Yes. And perfect.” At last, something was as she’d imagined it. She’d be sure this artist was handsomely rewarded.
Once she was alone, she twirled around the gryphon, then stopped to stroke his muscled haunch. “You are magnificent.”
All of the doors to the ballroom crashed closed. Then they opened with equal force and banged against the walls. Again and again.
“Stop at once, House!” she commanded. “You will not have your way with this Havenwood mistress. I will give my masque. You won’t stop me!”
The ballroom plummeted into eerie silence. Then a draft of air, like a final breath of life, brushed her skin.
“I’m not going to give in to you, do you hear me?” Aurora turned, searching for a sign of the chilling presence, but it was everywhere and nowhere. “Coward! You hide and taunt, but never have the courage to appear.”
Every gaslight along the walls fluttered and then went out. Now all of the air smelled of decay. It blew out of the darkness and close to her ear. It wasn’t a voice she heard but a threat she felt at her core. I will destroy your masque and all who enter that night. That I vow.
A paralyzing terror shot through her. Her masque was indeed madness. More death. More misery. She sank onto the floor. There was no escape for her just as there had been no escape for the other two women before her. She couldn’t go forward with her plan. Once that thought was fixed in her mind, the evil presence withdrew, leaving her in darkness and the lonely pounding of her heart.
She stretched out a hand to find the way, until her palm fell on the curve of the gryphon’s back. It steadied her and she heard, not in her ears but deep inside her, “Don’t allow fear to rule you.” Aurora knew that if a gryphon could talk, it would sound exactly like this--gentle yet strong.
“I can’t fight this hate-filled presence. I can’t fight this wretched curse.”
“You can fight anything, Aurora. And you can win.”
She’d believed that up to this moment. Now, alone and standing in a shroud of blackness, she wasn’t sure.
“Think of your mother and her mother before her.”
Aurora blinked back the hot flush of tears at their memory. She had flashes from her childhood. Overheard whispers between servants about her grandmother fingering the cellar door key, but staying far from its lock. Then, later, watching her mother, the same horrible indecision etched on her face. Die now. Die later. But in either case, die too soon. Fear was all they knew. Their whole lives they dreaded each passing year, making small sorties at the cellar door, then retreating. The images of their pinched faces stopped Aurora’s tears.
It was time to meet the challenge head-on. Either she would break the curse, or she would succumb to it, but she could no longer live trapped in this miserable uncertainty. She was going to be the last Havenwood mistress to suffer. She was going to end the Havenwood curse.
Well, there you have it. I’m rooting for Aurora, but that damnable House seems to have the upper hand. Let me see what I can do as a writer to even the odds. Until next Wednesday…
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October 16, 2024
The Curse of Havenwood House, Installment 3
I’ve tried to condense this story so it fits inside the month of October, but that is not working. I’m counting on some spook factor residue in November to keep people reading. Hope you’ll leave me a comment and let me know what you think about Aurora and her dreadful Havenwood House and if you think it’s worth finishing even if it goes a bit longer!
The next day, Aurora was out of bed before the sun. The anticipation of John Garth’s visit made the bright morning and the lightness of her mood a contrast to all those dreary yesterdays. She ordered her bath, and after the tub was filled and steamy, Livy sprinkled crushed rose petals over the surface.
Slipping into its perfume, Aurora lay back, relishing the memory of the doctor. He had a presence that delighted her. Just recalling his touch sent a cascade of delight through her.
She’d just closed her eyes, imagining him near, when the water rippled and slapped against her thighs. Startled, she sat upright as the waves grew higher until they washed over the porcelain sides, and the tub shook around her. She gripped the rim, but the shaking grew fiercer.
“Stop!”
“Miss?” Livy poked her nose through the door and fell back against the wall, eyes round with fear.
Aurora rose from the water and tumbled onto the floor. When she landed, the tub stilled.
She held out her hand. “Towel, Livy!”
Livy quickly handed her one but fixed her stare on the half-empty bath.
You will not intimidate me, House. Aurora turned on the stunned girl behind her. She choked back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her if she didn’t fortify herself with anger. “Stop gaping and sop up this water for heaven's sake!”
Fleeing to her bed chamber, she waited until she’d calmed enough to manage hooks and eyes, then she dressed in a simple muslin embroidered with tiny leaves and berries at the neckline. Since Livy was still sopping up water, Aurora fixed her own hair, fastening it at the back and tying it with a lace ribbon. She took a moment to study herself in the mirror.
“Yes. This will do.”
She stooped to adjust the hem, but when she rose to look at herself for final approval, the mirror had gone black.
“Enough, House.” She stomped her foot. The mirror shimmered, darkly alive. She was temping a terrible evil. Fear bloomed large inside her, threatening to suffocate her resolve. How much longer would she be able to endure this? The choices were death on her terms now or death as it had come to her mother and grandmother when the house decided. She held back the tears that stung her eyes and set her jaw, determined to make up her mind soon. For now, she must meet John Garth, so she hurried to the study where Cook had sent tea.
When the doctor entered, his presence soothed and unsettled her at the same time. Her hand trembled when she lifted the teapot.
“Let me,” he said, taking it from her and filling the second cup. “Has the fever returned?”
She shook her head. “I’m feeling very well. It’s the preparations for the masque that have me preoccupied.” And besides this damnable house, it is you who have me in a stir.
He set down his cup and took her wrist in one hand. Her pulse became visible beneath her skin. It pounded at the back of her knees and just below the delicately embroidered berries at the neckline of her dress.
“A bit fast, but,”—he placed his other fingers on her forehead,—“you have no fever. Good. Still, I recommend that you rest and not over-exert.” He released her wrist. “Your Mr. Weebly delivered the invitation to the masque this morning. Very interesting.”
“Why so?”
“Everyone is to come as a gryphon?” He looked up at her, amused.
The wall behind him flexed, then quieted. The house simmered with resentment, but it didn’t erupt. As was its practice, it was lying in wait to pounce when she was most vulnerable—when she was alone.
“I adore those creatures,” she said, “and I want the ballroom filled with them that night.”
“I’ll do my best with the costume. You’ve set me a challenge, Miss Havenwood.” He smiled and Aurora clunked her teacup clumsily onto the saucer.
She dreaded his leaving. His presence leashed the malevolence that usually surrounded her, so for a short time, she lived with less fear.
Sadly, the hour with the doctor sped past, and Aurora stayed at the window until his carriage was only a speck, then not wanting to remain inside, she walked down the path and into the garden.
The stone gryphon nested in a bed of bright red flowers. His front paw raised, his wings tucked back, he stared over the wide lawn and the terraces of lavender. Enchanting. Elegant.
Quickly glancing around and finding no one nearby, she pulled herself onto his broad back and closed her eyes. Once again the feeling of him comforted her. She imagined rising into the clouds and sailing away, leaving the wretched Havenwood House behind. “Gryphon, I must escape this miserable existence.”
A loud crack like lightning sounded overhead, jolting her from her fantasy. She looked up, but the sky was clear.
Installment 4 Wednesday, October 23: The House becomes more threatening as the masque grows nearer. Aurora must give up her ball or confront the unseen evil at last.
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October 9, 2024
The Curse of Havenwood House, Second Installment
Last Wednesday, I posted the first installment of The Curse of Havenwood House. If you missed part one, you can read it HERE. On the following Wednesdays, I’ll post chunks of this more or less Gothic tale until it’s finished. I’m writing and editing as I go, so I hope you’ll cut me some slack. But if you have some suggestions, I’m open to hearing them in your comments.
By the next morning, Aurora’s body raged with fever. She fought it, but even the cooling cloths that Maid Mannerly pressed against her forehead grew hot within minutes. Challenging the house had immediate and, as always, terrible consequences.
“I’ve sent for the doctor, Miss.” Maid Mannerly said applying a fresh cloth.
Aurora flung it aside and struggled to sit up. “I’m not that,”–– she swiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, ––“sick. Fetch notepaper and pen and ink.”
“But—”
Aurora glared at the maid. She treasured the woman, but the pain made it impossible to be civil.
Maid Mannerly marched out the door, disapproval in every shake of her head.
“You will not have your way with me, House.” Aurora eased back against the pillows and closed her eyes until Maid Mannerly returned and placed a tray with writing material across her mistress’s lap.
Aurora took up the pen, squinting against the light, her throbbing head a renegade out to defeat her. Steadying her hand, she wrote invitations to her masque ball. She had almost finished when Livy entered.
Aurora blinked to clear her vision but that didn’t change the form of the man who followed the serving girl into the room.
He strode toward her in the manner of someone who never asked permission. He was only lightly handsome with a sharp nose and alert eyes the astonishing color of—she searched for a description—ancient gold. Even through the haze of her pain, he was magnificent.
“Dr. Garth, Miss,” Livy said, curtsying and then tiptoeing out the door.
Standing next to her bed, he held her wrist. Immediately, the pain in her head subsided and her breath smoothed, becoming long and easy.
With an exhale of relief, she said, “Thank you.”
“I’ve done nothing yet, Miss Havenwood. It seems you only needed to be reassured that someone could help you.” His voice washed over her like a cool spring air, and before her eyelids fluttered closed, she imagined the scent of lavender and the sound of wind passing over feathers.
When she awoke and afternoon light came through the windows, he was still there with Maid Mannerly hovering at his side.
Aurora sipped the water he offered. His hand brushed hers as he took the glass from her, and her body flooded with the lightest sensation. She knew she would have floated to the ceiling if she hadn’t been snug under the covers. “Who are you again?”
“I’m John Garth. The new doctor in Havenwood township. How are you feeling after your rest?”
“Better.” She hoped he didn’t notice the sudden return of high color in her cheeks. She couldn’t explain how that blush was about the coolness almost everywhere except near her navel. There, small flames flickered.
“I’ll return tomorrow, but I believe you’re on the mend, Miss Havenwood.” He rose and took up his brown leather satchel. “Town rumor has it that you’re giving a masque. I trust it isn’t too soon. I advise that you fully recover before too much exertion.”
Maid Mannerly nodded her agreement and looked hopeful. It was clear the servants were apprehensive about her plans.
“It will be next month, so I’m quite certain I will be in good health by that time.”
Her eyes downcast, the maid busied herself with unnecessary tidying of the bed covers.
Before the doctor left her side, Aurora said, “Please come. I’d like your presence.”
He looked down at her with a broad smile. “Of course. I’d be delighted.
“I’ll see you out,” Maid Mannerly said.
“Not necessary. Stay with our patient. I can find my way.”
Contrary to its behavior with everyone else in the house, the door remained closed when he approached it, and when he gripped the brass knob, it easily swept open like any ordinary door.
Aurora smiled. So, House, you don’t dare taunt John Garth.
At that thought, the door crashed shut behind the doctor.
Next week: John. Garth’s second visit to Havenwood House and the consequences.
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October 2, 2024
The Curse of Havenwood House, First Installment
Curses are the scariest things for me. I imagine how relentlessly they entangle people and how helpless they render even the strongest of us. I’m hoping my heroine will find the strength to free herself from the curse that has destroyed her predecessors. Let’s see if she can do that.
The Curse of Havenwood House is about 5,000 words at this point. It may never be more than that. I haven’t decided. I’m test-driving the first 1,000 words of this story in the WEP’s October contest. Feedback very welcome!
The Curse of Havenwood House
by
C. Lee McKenzie
Aurora Havenwood was not going to escape the curse. Every one of her servants at the manor house knew it. Every person within fifty kilometers of Havenwood township did as well. So when whispers of the masque ball Aurora planned to give mingled with the steam in the scullery, that gossip spread throughout Havenwood township faster than a grass fire in August.
“A ball?” Cook set the ladle aside and wiped her hands on her apron.
“A masque, Miss Havenwood calls it.” Livy, the servant girl hovered at Cook’s back.
“Saints preserve us. That one will see to all of our deaths! Livy Peterson, you have not heard right.”
“I heard it from the footman who heard it from Maid Mannerly, and she heard the conversation straight from her Highness.” The serving girl lifted her chin in mockery. “Aurora Havenwood. She’s planning it, all right.”
“And her poor mad mother barely cold in her grave.” Cook’s face was rosy from the fire. She pulled a handkerchief from between her pillowy breasts and blotted her forehead.
One of the call bells jingled, and Livy picked up the tray laden with a pot of tea and toast. “Her Highness wants breakfast.”
“Best not use that tone when speaking to or about Miss Havenwood, missy!”
Livy put a smile on and curtsied. “Yes, Cook.”
She climbed the wooden stairs from the scullery to the main floor, then quickly skirted the door on her right. It led to the old cellar that always remained locked and forbidden. The face carved into its thick panels, its unblinking stare and bare-toothed grin knotted up her innards anytime she accidentally glanced at it.
When she reached the spiral staircase, she balanced the tray and mounted the steps to the top. Since last month, she felt compelled to pause for a look over the balustrade and down onto the entry. The chill of death slid over her skin. The image of Myrna Havenwood’s blood spattered across those hard tiles was still clear as the morning her poor self discovered the broken body.
Livy shivered, and her tray tilted slightly. She steadied it before continuing along the corridor.
When she reached the door to Miss Havenwood’s bed chamber, it swung open. Livy had been in service here six months, but it still unnerved her the way the doors opened and closed by themselves. Some said it was drafts. Cook said it was the ghost of Havenwood House. Livy gripped the tray tightly and entered. “Breakfast, Miss Havenwood.”
The young woman in the middle of the room whirled to face her. Her dark hair fanned around her shoulders and to her waist like a thick, lustrous cape. “Come.” Her voice was soft but steely with authority—gentle, yet strong.
Livy hurried inside to set the tray on the small table next to the window. “Anything else, Miss?”
“A smile.”
“Sorry, Miss?”
“I want a smile. Is that not possible in this house?” Aurora’s deep violet eyes captured Livy’s attention and held it until Livy parted her lips and drew them up at the edges. “Thank you,” Aurora said.
Livy curtseyed and almost said you’re welcome. She wasn’t used to the Havenwoods thanking her.
“You may go, Livy.”
“Yes, Miss.” Backing out, Livy waited until the door creepily closed on its own, and then she hurried to tell Cook that the mistress was behaving in an odd manner. Smiling? In this house?
Once the maid left, Aurora sipped her tea and nibbled at the toast, but she had no appetite. She hadn’t since her mother’s plunge to her death and since the house had turned its malevolent magic on her. The iron key that unlocked the cellar door had appeared on her bedside table the night Myrna died. It was a signal that the curse was now Aurora’s to endure.
Too soon. I’m not yet eighteen.
The threat of the house entangled Aurora from heart to toe, and fighting its suffocating presence took all of her energy. To quickly end her suffering, she only had to unlock the cellar door and enter. Or she could wait, as all the other women in her family had, and die at the precise moment she turned thirty-five years old. She was not willing to do either. But how could she break the curse? None of the Havenwood women in a hundred years had discovered the secret.
She rose to stare out the high-arched window. With her fingertips on the glass, she enjoyed the illusion of touching the elegant stone gryphon far below. A sentinel and guardian of the lavender garden, he’d been her only childhood friend. People didn’t visit Havenwood House. There were no parties. No music. The house didn’t allow that, and any attempt to go against it always resulted in catastrophe—life-threatening illnesses, crippling falls, dreadful nightmares that didn’t allow sleep for weeks. Any attempt for a Havenwood mistress to leave for longer than a few hours had even more dire consequences. Not their death but the death of a loved one. She shivered with the memory of the year her mother challenged the house by staying away too long. Aurora would never forget the image of her poor drowned father being pulled from the pond—her mother racing across the lawn, collapsing next to his body.
Stay, the house demanded, and suffer less.
When she’d been a child, Aurora had often managed to escape Nanny’s watchful eye and sit astride the gryphon’s broad back. She’d imagine his great heart beating in time to the downward thrust of his wings as he soared into the sky with her. If she felt ill, she sought out the gryphon, and he’d never failed to make her well.
I long to reclaim moments of freedom—those young days with my magical beast.
The house constricted. She clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the unnatural groan of wall joists as they bent to some unseen will. She could never hide her thoughts from Havenwood House.
It was irked with her, the same way Nanny used to be when she’d catch sight of her astride that statue. With bristly chin thrust out, Nanny scurried across the lawn like a frantic hedgehog, her face flushed.
“No young lady sits in that manner,” Nanny scolded before leading her away by the hand. Young Aurora always lagged, looking over her shoulder. She was certain that her beast flexed his powerful claws and spread wide his wings as she departed.
With that memory, she sighed, and a foggy circle of longing spread upon the window. “I didn’t care to be a well-mannered young lady,” she whispered. “I wanted to soar with you into the sky. I wanted to be happy and free from this place. If only I were a child again, and I could pretend…” Filled with resentment, she faced her room. “If I am to die young, then I am giving myself that ball. I am going to find a bit of joy in this hideous place. House be damned!”
The floor rippled under her slippered feet.
To be continued… Will you read more?
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September 29, 2024
A Spooky First Wednesday
My favorite holiday of the year is coming soon. I’m looking forward to the Tricks and the Treats and to some spooky stories, preferably read in a darkened room with a flashlight.
It’s also the First Wednesday and #TheIWSG post day.
The awesome co-hosts for the October 2 of the IWSG are Nancy Gideon, Jennifer Lane, Jacqui Murray, and Natalie Aguirre!
Every month, we announce a question that members can choose to answer in their IWSG post.
Remember, the question is optional
October 2 question - Ghost stories fit right in during this month. What's your favorite classic ghostly tale? Tell us about it and why it sends chills up your spine.
I have no trouble answering this month’s question. Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart always sends chills down my back. It’s the step-by-step plan for murder, Poe’s nineteenth-century prose, and the madness of the narrator that grips me no matter how many times I read it. To make this a perfect ghostly read, Poe throws in a literary theme I love—poetic justice. I stumbled across an excellent reading of this story on YouTube. It’s perfect to play while lying in a dark room. If you can do it at midnight, that’s even better.
I’ve written four middle-grade stories that seem to be popular for Halloween reading. They aren't specific to the holiday, but they do have ghosts and mysteries, and skeletons. Instead of giving out candy this year, how about a book or two?
Alligators Overhead, Book 1
The Great Time Lock Disaster, Book 2
Some Very Messy Medieval Magic, Book 3
OR
Quote of the Month: “Evil has only the power that we give it.” — Ray Bradbury, “Something Wicked This Way Comes”
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September 18, 2024
Bloodstone, Lost Witch
Today, I’m giving a follower and fellow writer, H. R. Sinclair, a shout-out for her new book!
Here’s what it’s about and a generous peek at what’s in store for the reader.
Katelyn Grey is a gardener in Southern California. She’s content with pruning shrubs and looking after her step-mom, the only family she has left. That is, until a lawyer shows up and tells her that her long-lost aunt died, leaving her the family home on the other side of the country.
Though Katelyn hates to travel, a weird clause in her aunt’s will forces her to visit a quaint New England seaside town. Her world changes when she discovers she’s inherited a haunted brownstone, fickle magic, and a hidden key that someone else wants. And they’re willing to kill for it.
Now, she must learn how to use magic, find the key, and figure out what it’s for before she ends up like her long-lost aunt. Dead.
Excerpt:
Small colored flecks danced in the sunlight. They darted back and forth. They rushed me, encircling me, round and round, faster and faster, creating a whirlwind of color that made me woozy. I began swaying before the flecks scattered. They swooped and gathered in front of me, coalescing into the shape of a small, translucent woman. She hovered several feet off the ground, sparkling like multicolored glitter and moving like an ethereal ballerina.
When she spoke, it echoed a thousand voices speaking in harmony. “Fáilte. Welcome. We are the Breena. You are of Andraste.”
“I’m Katie.” Wariness crept into my voice. The family books read Andraste. “Yeah, I think I’m Andraste.”
“Yes. You wear the Taith, a gift of the Breena.” She gestured to the traveling boots. “We are pleased to see them in this form. It has been long since the clan Andraste has visited. Tell us, what has become of sweet Clara and her quest?”
She—they—knew Clara? “I’m sorry, she died.”
“That is unfortunate. We liked Clara. You are taking up the quest?”
My stomach dropped. They may have said it as a question, but it sounded like a statement. “I ... I didn’t know my Aunt Clara, and I don’t know anything about a quest. I’m not the right person to talk to.”
“Yes, she was given the quest. As she is no longer, the task falls to the next in line.”
“Is this an optional type of quest?”
“It is your charge.”
“Well, I’m not the next in line. That’s probably my uncle. I’ll put him in touch with you.”
The Breena moved closer to me. One of the little flecks zipped from one side of her face to the other. “You are next in line. You wear the blessing. You are of Andraste, Keepers of Secrets, Guardians of Mamwlada. You are the Legacy. Protector of the Light. You will take up the quest. Find the Oubusch. Find the Others before the gates open. Stop the disciples of Morus.”
“Find what now?”
“Find the Oubusch. Find the Others before the gates open. Stop the disciples of Morus before they break the lock.” The Breena’s voice reverberated off my skin.
I swallowed. “Who’s Morus? What gate? What others? What’s an Oubusch, and how do I find it?”
“The Oubusch will lead you to the Others. Find the Stone, find the Others.”
“But how?”
“Open the box. Use the sundial.” The words rhythmic like a song. Her essence oscillated, and her form began to melt away.
“Wait, what box?”
“What is there is here, what is here is not there. You must hurry, time is ending.” With that, the flecks disbursed, and she was gone.
“Wait, please, I don’t understand.” No one answered.
What you need to order Bloodstone!
Author: H. R. Sinclair
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Series: Lost Witch, Book One
Date of Publication: September 22, 2024
ISBN: 9798329367645
ASIN: B0CTHQJJTF
Number of pages: 290
Word Count: 76k
Available in paperback and eBook
Buy Links:
Amazon: amazon.com/dp/B0CTHQJJTF
Apple: books.apple.com/us/book/bloodstone/id6587574545
Kobo: kobo.com/us/en/ebook/bloodstone-42
B&N: barnesandnoble.com/w/bloodstone-h-r-sinclair/1146070561
Books2Read: books2read.com/lostwitch
And who is H. R. Sinclair?
author • artist • dreamer
H. R. Sinclair is a left-handed hermit prepping for the squirrel apocalypse. She was born and raised in Southern California but now lives and works in New England. She writes fantastical stories and visits cemeteries for inspiration.
Get to know more about this author!
Website: iamhrsinclair.com
Socials
goodreads.com/author/show/21680467.H_R_Sinclair
bookbub.com/profile/h-r-sinclair
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September 13, 2024
Psst! It's Between Covers
Evernight Teen is my publisher for most Young Adult Crossover books I’ve written and sent into the world. They prefer to put books out in the Kindle version before they create the paperback.
My problem seems to be that most of my readers prefer paperbacks. At least, the ones I hear from do. So this is to let those who have said they’re waiting for a “real” book…wait no more. And please let me know what you think about the story in your review. I’d really appreciate that.
#Editor’s Pick at Evernight Teen
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September 4, 2024
The First Wednesday of Fall
I’m still waiting for Because No One Noticed to come out in paperback. Book clubs are asking me when they can buy the hardcopy version, but since this is out of my hands, I don’t have an answer. Soon is the best I can come up with.
If you’d like a Kindle copy, however, I’m giving two away this month. Let me know in your comment or email me if you’d like a free copy!
Thanks, Alex. Great group to be a part of.
The awesome co-hosts for the September 4 posting of the IWSG are Beth Camp, Jean Davis, Yvonne Ventresca, and PJ Colando!
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
Since it's back to school time, let's talk English class. What's a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer?
I’m not sure any rule messed me up as a writer. By the time I was into writing stories, I’d finished my master’s in Linguistics and understood that there are no absolute rules if you’re a descriptivist and that rules change quite frequently.
However, as a writer, I believe it’s important to KNOW the current rules before you BREAK them. That way you can use those MISTAKES for a purpose rather than risk appearing to be ignorant about what the prescriptivists set down as correct.
Here are some rules that have shifted since most of us started school:
Split infinitive
Ending a sentence with a preposition
The use of hopefully as an adverb
The agreement of “they” with a singular precedent noun
Starting sentences with conjunctions
The use of fewer v. less
Certainly, the pronoun system as we once knew it is shifting—at least in spoken English. Me and him/her seem to be on the way to replacing S/He and I in the subjective case. That still shivers me timbers, but it does give me a lot of opportunity to quickly show the difference in generations between my characters.
Quote of the Month:
“From now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.” Winston Churchill
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August 26, 2024
So...About Hoopla
Draft2Digital and Smashwords merged a couple of years ago, and this past month I’ve been getting notification that two middle-grade books I self-published are now available on Hoopla.
With Hoopla I borrow a lot of eBooks and audiobooks using my library card so I’m excited that the series I’ve had on Smashword will now be out to a wider audience. If your library subscribes to Hoopla, kids—even grownups—can read these for free. To tempt you, here’s what Kirkus Reviews has to say:
With fresh language, loads of perky dialogue and unpredictable characters such as witches and talking alligators, McKenzie spins a tale that isn’t just entertaining; it also offers valuable lessons, as the cast of strange characters bond around common goals: save their swampland and deter a crisis. The folksy diction and lyrical, verb-heavy storytelling will leave readers turning the pages all the way to the end, where big surprises await and the real villains are revealed.
A short, fun story that will excite both young and old imaginations.https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/c-lee-mckenzie/alligators-overhead/
ALLIGATORS OVERHEAD . THE GREAT TIME LOCK DISASTER
I’ve been playing with another book in the series to see if I have one more Pete and Weasel adventure in me. Here are the first few lines.
Chapter 1
Two dark shapes—one a bit taller and a tad skinnier than the other—crept along the chain link fence. The soft crunch of a twig brought them both to a halt.
Weasel swiveled to look back and kept his voice low. “I told you no noise.” He can be bossy, but that usually happens when he’s scared or there’s something really important happening. Tonight it’s both of these things.
“Sorry,” Pete whispered, and he crouched lower, putting a finger to his lips.
Weasel signaled for Pete to stay close, and the two went on until they reached the entrance. This was going to be the hard part. The lab was guarded day and night, and only someone with the right badge got past the man in uniform.
But they had a plan. It required magic, of course, and it required that Pete get that magic right. His track record was not the best, but they didn’t have a choice. They had to get inside, and they had to do it tonight. Besides, as Weasel—among others—often pointed out, Pete needed the practice.
Weasel pressed his finger against his nose, the signal they’d agreed on. It was time for Weasel to confront the guard.
Pete nodded. He had this. Or he hoped he did. He crossed his fingers behind his back and waited in the shadows.
Weasel stood where he was for a moment squaring his shoulders before walking toward the lighted gatehouse.
A few things might happen. The guard might be talking on the phone and miss seeing Weasel altogether. If they were somewhat lucky, the guard might see Weasel and recognize the skinny, geeky son of two important scientists that worked here, and let him through.
Of course, that meant the guard was
A rotten guard, or
Really dumb because he hadn’t heard about what happened in the lab last night, or
Asleep.
Pete crossed his fingers, hoping for number three.
Nope.
The guard’s voice was very clear. “I don’t care whose son you are. You do not have clearance, and you are not going inside.”
Dang, Pete thought. He’s not a rotten guard, he’s not dumb, and he’s not asleep.
Wish me luck. I only have ten chapters so far, and I keep being distracted.
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August 6, 2024
A Hot August Wednesday
Because No One Noticed is out as an eBook. The paperback version will be available in a few weeks, and I’ll announce when that happens. GET YOUR COPY TODAY!
Big news is that Evernight Teen is the #1 imprint in young adult digital sales on publisher’s marketplace. That is fabulous!
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
The awesome co-hosts for the August 7 posting of the IWSG are Feather Stone, Kim Lajevardi, Diedre Knight, C. Lee McKenzie, and Sarah - The Faux Fountain Pen!
Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
August 7 question - Do you use AI in your writing and if so how? Do you use it for your posts? Incorporate it into your stories? Use it for research? Audio?
I tested AI by submitting my synopsis to see what it would give me. I was surprised when it came back with a detailed analysis of all my characters. I’ve already found it useful and have referred to it when writing some advertising for the launch. Outside of that, I haven’t done anything with it.
It will be interesting to see how others have used or ignored AI in their writing process.
I have a guest today who has a new book out with Evernight Teen (my publisher). She’s offering a free copy through BookFunnel. I hope you’ll welcome a pub sister to my Substack home!
Here’s a short intro to Break My Limits:
Kellan Matriarch. My bully.
We need nametags for the prospects for the Eight Ball Club - those likely to have a personal billionaire bank account before they turn eighteen. It’s exclusive, and the contenders are as arrogant as they come.
Kellan is prime Eight Ball material in all aspects. And he could get on with being a member if he would just leave me alone.
But he never stops. Not when he hurts me or my sister, and then has the gall to apologise and ask me on a date.
The thing is…I kinda want to know who he is underneath. That might make me sick, or mad but…I want to go.
It’s a really bad idea.
So why do I say yes? GET YOUR FREE COPY TODAY!
QUOTE (S) OF THE MONTH: Who do you side with?
Jeff Bezos says AI is “More Likely To Save Us Than Destroy Us.”
Elan Musk says “If AI has a goal and humanity just happens to be in the way, it will destroy humanity as a matter of course without even thinking about it…”
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