Marian Allen's Blog, page 443
February 28, 2012
Miss Tiffany
I'm gearing up for the April A-to-Z Blogging Challenge (again: post every day for a month except for Sundays — do post the first Sunday, because it's April 1, the first day of the challenge). I'm thinking of having a theme this year. Memories.
So that has me going through old photographs and thinking about the past. Here's what I'm thinking about today. Tiffany, my late cat. I got Tiffany from a no-kill shelter a year or two before I met and married my husband. Our next-door son-in-law called her "The Styrofoam Kitty" because she didn't weigh anything. Toward the end of her life, she lost her voice. She would open her mouth to meow and you could see the muscles moving, but nothing came out.
She was the most misanthropic cat on God's green earth. (Jane, I don't count Tootsie — she wasn't misanthropic, she was pure ebil.) But Tiffany loved the baby. That child could do anything, and the cat would let it pass. Oh, she'd get away and hide, if she could, but she never bit or scratched, the way she would a grown-up.
Tiffany finally just got old. It happened literally overnight. One day, she was herself; a week later, she was dead. She died on the floor, next to the couch where I was sleeping so I could drape my hand over the side and be near her. She was 19.
WRITING PROMPT: Give a character an old pet.
MA
p.s. I'm posting at Fatal Foodies today on the subject of kale chips.
February 27, 2012
Floyd Hyatt Does Dragons
Mr. Hyatt has a post today on a series, the first book of which is the only one I knew existed and enjoyed immensely. Happiness!
The Dragon Knight Series
Description & Review
by F. A. Hyatt
Ace books, Tor
Titles:
The Dragon and the George, the Dragon Knight, the Dragon on the Border, The Dragon at War, The Dragon and the Gnarly King, The Dragon in Lyonesse, The Dragon and the Fair Maid of Kent.
by Gordon R. Dickson
Mention the word Dorsai, and Gordon R Dickson in the same sentence and everyone knows what's up. A little less realized is that this popular and prolific writer of military S/F wrote this wonderful series of Third person medieval fantasy works, starting in the 1970s with The Dragon and the George and continuing until 2000 with the release of the Fair Maid of Kent. Dickson is well researched in medieval lore, customs, and history, so this light and humorous series of books contains the background ring of truth that really sweeps you up, and forms through out , its own character presence.
The seven volumes follow the adventures of James Eckert, a time and dimension displaced professor of medieval history, and his wife. His spirit initially displaced into the body of a dragon, James gains back his human form, finding himself able to change back and forth at will, and also magically talented, under the tutelage of his mentor, Carolinus, in a world where magicians are their own strict guild, and magic use is handled a bit like Pay-Per-View TV. These features are a side issue to the stories though, for James becomes the Lord of a castle and estate, called Malencontri in this parallel universe, and his adventures and problems in dealing with the medieval culture and his responsibilities are the predominant theme that runs through the set.
Great fun reading, and each book fully able to stand on its own, it is a true sequential series crafted by a champion golden age author. Gordon weaves together important figures from the real period, and brings to life less well known, as well as the usual, creatures of medieval lore. From interacting with such figures as Joan of Kent (b.1328) and King Edward, Prince of Wales, to magically animated teapots, these stories are a delight to read.
Now I need to sally forth and acquire the rest of the series. Verily. Forsooth.
WRITING PROMPT: If you woke up tomorrow in the body of a dragon, what's the first thing you'd want to do?
MA
February 26, 2012
#SampleSunday – Sneak Preview
Sounds like a good title for a book or story, but it's only the title of this post. Today, I'm giving a sneak preview of the Holly Jahangiri story I'm working on.
For those new to my blog, I ran a contest last year for the right to name a character in a short story I was working on to publicize a novel I had coming out from Echelon Press. An internet acquaintance, Holly Jahangiri, won, and wanted her name in the story. She ended up being the main character and heroine, and now lives as a character in my inner universe as well as living as an actual person in the real world. Her real self is even more awesome than the character, by the way.
I ran another contest this year, and dang if she didn't win it AGAIN! I used a random number generator to pick the winner, so there was no fix. Unless…. Holly is pretty tech savvy…. You don't think…. …Nah….
Well, that's my quota of ellipses for a week, I think, so here is the sneak preview. This is a rough draft, so don't judge it too harshly:
SURVIVING THE BOOK (sneak preview excerpt)
by Marian Allen
Assistant Librarian Holly Jahangiri continued entering data on her electronic desk pad when she heard the knock at her office door. Living Books required a great deal of data entry. Besides the dates they were checked out and the dates they checked themselves back in, there were all the expenses of pedicab or hovercab fares, costumes, makeup, throat lozenges, props and the occasional false mustache.
"Come in. Put it on the little table. Thank you."
The door opened, but the figure in the doorway wasn't Parlormaid Tambar Miznalia with the tea. This was a tall man, dark and dour.
Holly sprang to her feet and extended her hand.
"High Head Librarian Bistipherus Ownip! Welcome! I apologize for not greeting you at the front door. I didn't expect you."
"No," he drawled. "You didn't."
"Does Head Librarian–"
"No, she doesn't know I'm here. My business is with you."
He entered the room and hooked thumbs with Holly. "Your parlourmaid greeted me if 'greeted' is the word for it."
"Yes, I understand. We'd love to terminate her contract, but she always outbids us at the Employment Exchange. We just don't have it in the budget to fire her. Did you tell her to bring more tea and an extra cup? Two extra cups? And fresh cake?"
Another man now stood in the doorway. This one was young and bright-eyed and shifted from one foot to another, grinning at Holly as if she were a high-fashion tunic designer. This must be the new Message. A job as Living Message was a great way to break into the Living Book business, and Living Message for the High Head Librarian was a position much sought after.
High Head Librarian Bistipherus Ownip used electronics as much as anyone else on the planet Llannonn, but he preferred to send messages by mouth. The notion so enchanted him, he defeated his purpose by accompanying them so he could hear them delivered.
Holly gestured for the men to be seated, but the High Head Librarian remained on his feet and gestured for his companion to stand.
"We won't be here long. Proceed."
The Message cleared his throat and said, "Three weeks ago, a small pleasure ship carrying a tour group of privately employed Living Books was lost at sea."
"Excuse me," Holly said, "but which sea? On Llannonn? How could it get lost in our little bitty seas?"
"Meadow of Flowers Sea," the High Head Librarian said. "Apparently, it's big enough. Continue."
The Message cleared his throat again, and said, "Three weeks ago, a small pleasure ship carrying a tour group of privately employed Living Books was lost at sea. This being unlikely, the Meadow of Flowers policing force is sending an investigator to look into it and, if possible, recover the books. The policing force thought an expert on Living Books would be useful. Since you've worked successfully with the force before, you were chosen."
Holly well remembered that adventure, and it was with reluctance that she said, "Head Librarian Devra Langsam has more experience than I do, and she was part of that investigation, too."
"Ah," said High Head Librarian Bistipherus Ownip, "but she wasn't born out in the hinterland, as your records tell me you were."
"I wasn't born at sea!" She snapped her jaw closed. It didn't matter. What mattered is that she wanted this assignment. She hardly knew whether she hoped for a rest from the endless chaos of work in a library or for an ironically hair-raising escapade.
Guess which one she gets.
If this excerpt amuses you, you might like the first Holly story, "By the Book", FREE at Smashwords, or the novel (without, alas, Holly) FORCE OF HABIT, which is 99 cents at Amazon and Smashwords.
WRITING PROMPT: A character is given an assignment which turns out to be more complicated than expected.
MA
February 25, 2012
Book Box Day!
Mom and I go work at The Book Box, the Friends of Harrison County Library book sale building today. Well, I tell a lie: SHE works and I slope off to the library and write. I do relieve her for a few minutes in the middle of her shift, so that counts, doesn't it?
I usually spend a certain amount of time cruising the shelves — and, let's face it, buying books. Yes, buying. It wouldn't be volunteer work, if I took them for free, would it?
I'm usually just looking to see if anything jumps out at me, but Mr. Hyatt has got me jonesing for some David Eddings, so I'll be looking for his stuff.
Meanwhile, deadlines are looming on a couple of stories, so I need to finish those up.
See you tomorrow!
WRITING PROMPT: Write a character who haunts — alive or dead — a book sale room or a library.
MA
February 24, 2012
Friday Recommends – Elderly, Schmelderly
Morgan Mandel surprised me yesterday by putting up my post at Spunky Seniors almost as soon as I sent it to her. It was about my Aunt Ruth, and how she inspired Pearl in "The Dragon of North 24th Street" and Aunt Libby in EEL'S REVERENCE. Check out the other posts there. It makes me proud to be a crone. Not just for women.
I've never been on this blog, but I aspire to: WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty. SUCH a fun site! The other day, they had ads from back in the day, with shoes for $1.98. Cute shoes, too.
One I subscribe to by email is Aging Abundantly. It covers the age spectrum from empty nest to eldercare, from being the caregiver to needing one. Since the blogger, Dorothy Sanders, is a woman and since most caregivers are women, the posts tend to be weighted toward women. It isn't just a single-gender blog, though. Lots of encouragement, advice and strength for everybody of any gender, any age, any stage.
WRITING PROMPT: How old is your main character? What relationship has he or she had with elderly people and/or caregivers?
MA
February 23, 2012
Soothing the Cat
My crazy cat, Katya, has embaldend herself. Spell-check tells me that embaldend is not a word. Apparently, embaldenated isn't, either. What she's done is over-groomed herself until she has bald spots. I don't know if she's allergic to something or just neurotic. My guess is neurotic.
I was going to take a picture of the damage for the viewing pleasure of all the zombie fans out there, but she's hiding at the moment. Oh — there she is. Well, never mind.
ANYWAY, I went on-line and found some advice for soothing nervous irritation and skin irritation and combined them.
I boiled up some chamomile herbal tea and some aloe plant, let it steep until it was just warm, held the cat in the dry bathtub and sponged the doctored water over her, especially the bald bits. It really seems to have calmed her down a bit. I'm going to go to the natural stuff store and get some dried chamomile flowers to use instead of the tea (tisane, really, since there's no tea in it).
This is a real adventure for me, since chamomile (related to ragweed) can trigger an anaphylactic reaction in people who've already had one, which I have. But I think that would only be if I drank it, and I'm not likely to drink cat-water, not even if you put Chianti in it.
WRITING PROMPT: How much a risk would your main character take for an animal in relatively minor distress? Great distress? Potentially fatal distress?
MA
February 22, 2012
Actually Good Egg Salad
When it comes to egg salad, I'm usually like, "Meh." But I made this for the Grassroots Locavore potluck the other night, and it was better than the fancy one I made. Three ingredients. Can't beat that.
ACTUALLY GOOD EGG SALAD – U NO CAN HAZ
eggs – hard-boiled and peeled and diceddill pickles – diced, not too small
mayonnaise
Mix. Add salt and pepper to taste, but taste it first, because the pickles add a certain amount of salt.
————————————————–
Why do I say, "U no can haz"? Because the eggs, although they're in a store-boughten carton, are from our daughter's chickens and the dill pickles and the mayonnaise are my ones, that I, as one of our girls used to say, "made by hand". You can, though, as Brother Dave Gardner says, "have somethin' sim'lar".
Here is my recipe for dill pickles, and here is my recipe for mayonnaise. You're welcome.
February 21, 2012
Busy Day, Happy Day
When I first started writing, I wrote a story, sent it out, and camped by the mailbox while I waited to hear back. Now, I send a story out, record where and when I sent it, and work on more stories. One of the consequences is the occasional happy surprise, like the one I got yesterday.
My story, "Short Dark Future" has been accepted into an anthology, TRUST AND TREACHERY: TALES OF POWER, INTRIGUE, AND VIOLENCE. Doin' the Asseptinss Dance!
I'm also posting today at Fatal Foodies on a product that works as it claims to work, and at The Write Type on 5 best Pinterest practices for writers — or anyone.
WRITING PROMPT: A character has an unexpectedly busy and successful day. Is he or she happy, or is he or she waiting to get hit in the back of the head with a metaphorical brick to counterbalance all the goodness?
MA
February 20, 2012
F. A. Hyatt On The Belgariad
Last week, Floyd Hyatt reviewed the Amber series. This week, it's the 18-volume David Eddings set.
Light Fantasy Series Review
by F. A. Hyatt
The Series:
The Belgariad / The Malloreon / The Elenium / The Tamuli
David Eddings
Third person POV, largely. Sword and Sorcery- Del Rey 1982-1994
Description & Review
These four Epic Saga style book sets really need to be grouped as one Serial effort, as they chronicle an age-spanning quest in the balance between good and evil in the classic fantasy style, for one particular and evolving world.
I say evolving guardedly, for regardless of the millennium spanned by these four sets (18 large hard bound editions) you are dealing here with a world of armored knights and castles and magicians throughout.
One outstanding feature is the strong voicing of feminine and family ethic by the well-balanced female-to-male lead perspectives served up across the set. The sets are bound together by an ever-present pantheon of gods and nearly immortal or immortal avatars that wend their way through all. All deal with the rise of an evil god that just won't go down for the last time or their henchmen, and evil's temporary and repetitive defeat.
Behind it all are two stones that evidently used to run about making worlds until stranded on the mythic world of concern. Now, they play chess, with the world's residents as pawns, and are behind the individual quests that comprise the four multi-volume epics. Passé as this sounds, the characters are interesting, the prose good, often funny, and the serial quests move along well.
If you are a fan of sword and sorcery, and feel left behind when finishing up a tale, with 18 books to carry on with, you will be in pig heaven here. While there is diversity between the volumes, between the series sub-sets (The Belgariad, The Malloreon, etc.), a certain sense of repetition, partially intended by the story line, exists that panders to just that principle – (if you liked that one, here's more of the same.) None the less, these are well written, if light, fare, and each volume stands alone well enough to be read without being put off.
This is especially true of Polgara the Sorceress and its companion work, Belgarath the Sorcerer, which stand somewhat outside the main Epics as companion volumes. The lead characters change but slowly through the sets. The Sorceress Polgara and her father, the Sorcerer Belgarath shepherd their child charges through the first few, then a child goddess, Araphel accompanies Knight Sparhawk and his wife/queen through the rest.
Specifically of interest for lovers of the S&S Genre.
Thank you, sir! I've never read any of these, so I'm looking forward to diving in.
WRITING PROMPT: Does your main character like to read the same basic book over and over? Or the same book, like the Wilkie Collins character who only read Robinson Crusoe?
MA
February 19, 2012
#Sample Sunday – The River City Falcon
I wrote this many long years ago, but I still have a fondness for it.
The River City Falcon
by Marian Allen
© 1995
The Ford had been around a handful of years longer than the woman who sat behind its wheel. Its paint was the same beige as her trenchcoat; its upholstery, as blue as her eyes. The trim on its dash was the gleaming chestnut of her hair, which was brushed smooth over her crown to cluster at her ears. The woman and the car were both solid, efficient, and a little the worse for wear. They both had good lines, though both seemed bulky in this streamlined age. A difference: The car's emissions were clean; a cigarette sagged in the corner of the woman's mouth, billowing smoke out of the crack she'd rolled in the window.
The Ford cruised up Second Street, catching all the lights green.
The woman drove smoothly, but her eyes were narrowed, watchful, intent. As she made a right turn onto River Road, her upper lip twitched once.
She was doing Humphrey Bogart.
The impression faded as downtown Louisville snatched her skirts away from the muddy river. The Ohio began playing hide-and-seek on the left, ducking behind houses, restaurants, country clubs, then flashing out again with irritating brilliance.
The woman took a right turn onto a side road, then a left, then another right. Houses grew larger and insisted on more personal space. She parked the Ford at the circular end of a long drive, in front of what looked like the Taj Mahal's American cousin. She tucked a bulky leather handbag under her arm as she sorted through her keys and let herself into the foyer.
It wasn't until the lock had clicked behind her that she realized she wasn't alone.
A man stepped into the hall from a wide door to the woman's left. He was large, blond, and hard. He was muscled for power, not aesthetics. Behind him was another man, a smaller but congruent man, less blond but even more muscular. Their clothes seemed to have been stolen from other people's washlines.
She froze, her face neutral, her eyes hostile.
The bigger man balanced like a fighter, ready to leap when the woman should turn to run or draw breath to scream.
"Take it easy, lady," the smaller man said, in a tone recommending that attitude as sound and advisable.
The ormolu clock on the little piecrust table ticked off five seconds, then the woman spoke, her voice turning the words to icicles.
"What are you doing here?"
The larger man laughed. "What's this, some kind of Woman's Lib? You come home, find two strange men in your house, and you're not supposed to be scared?"
She showed her teeth in the faintest of sneers and denied fear with the slightest of shrugs. "Scared? Of you?" She laughed with more scorn than sound.
Poised to pursue, the bigger man staggered back a step as the woman stalked forward. She passed him without a glance–Lady Astor's cat–entering the room he and his echo had just left.
The men had raided the kitchen. Glasses, a bottle of wine, a plate of ham and a loaf of bakery bread sat on furniture never intended for food service. Scraps and stains degraded the oriental carpet.
"You certainly made yourselves at home." She picked her way to a brocaded Morris chair, unfastening her trenchcoat as she went. She tossed the coat over the back of the chair and nestled into it.
"Any objections?" the smaller man asked, insolent, but less insolent than cautious. This woman should have been hysterical, or at least concerned, but the hands that fished smoking gear out of her bag and lit a cigarette were steady.
"You still haven't told me what you're doing here," she said. "Or… shouldn't I ask?"
The big man flexed. "Call us Pat and Mike," he said. "That's all you need to know."
The woman nodded. "I understand. You may call me Mary. Sit down. Finish your meal."
The men looked at each other and sat. After a moment, Pat cut three slices of bread and made himself a double-decker ham sandwich.
"Will you be staying long?" Mary asked.
Mike grunted and said, "Long enough."
"Joel will be pleased to see you," she said. "At least… I hope he will be."
"Who's Joel?" Pat asked around a mouthful of ham and bread. "Your old man?"
Mary quirked her mouth and stubbed her cigarette into a crystal ashtray. "You have an interesting sense of humor," she said. "Or perhaps you didn't know that Joel is the name … he's using these days. Just as Mary is the name I go by."
"The name you go by?" Mike asked.
"We could hardly have kept the names we used in San Francisco. Not after… Well, you know."
Pat's chewing slowed and stopped. He swallowed a mass that would have killed a lesser man and said, "What in the hell are you talking about, anyway?"
The woman looked from one man to the other. Then she leaned back in her chair, folded her hands on her stomach, and laughed in a smothered blast. "Marvelous! Really, it is. Am I to gather that the two of you chose this house at random?"
"Yeah," Pat said. "Is that funny?"
"And you have no idea whose house this is? I mean, whose house it really is?"
"No," said Mike.
Mary's laugh imploded again. "Well, this is amusing, it is indeed. I cannot tell you the eagerness with which I await Joel's arrival."
"Er…" said Mike. "Joel's coming? Here?"
"Why shouldn't he? It is his house. For the time being, at any rate. Of course, he might consider your presence here less diverting than inconvenient. Joel is rather humorless, I'm afraid. We may be obliged to move on ahead of schedule."
The men got the point.
"This Joel," Pat asked. "Just who is he?"
"If you don't know, it would be most indiscreet of me to tell you. I may have said too much already."
"Yeah, yeah," said Mike. "Don't say too much. We don't want to know too much, right, uh, Pat?"
"When's this Joel supposed to get here?" Pat asked.
"At any moment. Of course, he may have stopped by the airport to pick up the others. If he has, he may be later than I anticipate." She shrugged. "Until then, my time is at your disposal. My advice is that you return that disposition to me." She sat forward abruptly. "I must ask you to make up your minds, and do it quickly," she said in a soft but most convincing tone. "I have things to do; I haven't got all day to sit here at your 'mercy'."
"Keep it cool," Pat said.
"That's easy for you to say. But Joel expects certain things to be done before he returns. It was different when I thought you were friends of his, but now… You have no idea what Joel is like when he's cross." She shuddered. "Let me go about my business or leave. I couldn't throw you out if I wanted to, but Joel will take care of you when he comes." She fell back into her chair and fixed poisonous eyes on Pat.
Mike turned his head so that Pat could see his face and rolled his eyes three times. "Whacko," he mouthed.
"Maybe we better be running along," Pat said. "If any cops should ask, you never saw us. We was never in the neighborhood."
Mary's blue eyes became cyanic. "If the police come here," she said in a voice as quiet as the drawing of an arrow, "you will regret it."
The men let themselves out. The woman watched them through the window near her chair.
When the men were out of sight, she bustled through the house, scooping all the jewelry and whatnots she could stash into her large, lumpy handbag. She'd have to leave the large silver pieces and the china, but Pat and Mike might possibly place anonymous information with the police; she couldn't take the time to pack and load. Still, there were other houses, and the afternoon had been out of the common run. Call it expenditure of profits on entertainment, that made it seem less of a loss.
She dusted the arms of her chair and emptied her cigarette butt into a pocket of her handbag. A woman of sentiment, she took the ashtray, too, for a souvenir. She folded the trenchcoat in on itself, with any of her hair and dress-fibers it might contain. She wiped the door handles on her way out–not easy to do with an ormolu clock under one arm and a little piecrust table under the other. She stuck false license plates on the Ford, just in case Pat and Mike had been more observant than they had seemed.
She drove back to River Road, stopped at the phone booth outside Captain's Quarters, and placed some anonymous information of her own with the police. One has one's civic responsibilities, after all.
As she pulled back into traffic, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror. She gave herself a twisted, ironic smile, saying, "You're a good man, sister."
She was doing Bogart again.
WRITING PROMPT: Have a character channel characters from a favorite book or movie.
MA
