Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 99

Photo Prompt 74

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 74th prompt is The Nave.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - Kneel

You made it too easy for us. You and your 24 hour lifestyles, all those all-night joints just crammed full of people, neon tubes lighting the place brighter than the sun. Talk about 'all you can eat'. You just didn't see it coming.



You called us folklore, said anyone who believed in us was primitive. You mocked those who emulated our ways and embraced their darker natures. You turned us into entertainment, made us sparkle and scowl on your silver screen. Your writers tried to warn you - those weren't novels, they were case studies. Some of us even outed ourselves, turning to social media or the press, but you thought we were delusional.



It was easy convincing you that we didn't exist - you pretty much convinced yourselves. So weak, so afraid of what goes bump in the dark. So many people, so determined not to believe. The decision was made to skew the balance. No more would we hide from our prey. Fear makes the blood taste so much better.



You put the first wave of attacks down to cultists, mass hysteria - even terrorism. We recruited the best you could offer into our ranks, and you listed them as 'missing'. They weren't missing, they were the next to attack you. Your horror fans guessed what was happening but there are less of them than there are of you. Yes, we suffered a few casualties, but it's easy to make more of us.



We've already started the second wave. You haven't seen your neighbour for a couple of days, have you? And that guy at work, the one who always says hi in the cafeteria. Gone. We'll be stepping things up soon. Your celebrities, your politicians, your people of power...you will lose them all. Within weeks...



You will kneel before us.

[Guest Post] Beth Trissel on Research

I'm pleased to be able to welcome author Beth Trissel to the Blunt Pencil today! Beth caught my attention with her fascinating posts about herbal lore over on her blog, One Writer's Way , and I've asked her to talk about the importance of research. Over to you, Beth!



Passion for the past and research into those who've gone before me is the underlying inspiration for all my work, as is the beautiful Shenandoah Valley where I live. My Scots-Irish ancestors were among the earliest settlers here. Did you know Virginia has more ghost stories than any other state? Not necessarily because we have a more fertile imagination, but sadly because the Old Dominion has seen more bloody battles over the centuries than any other. Think back, Jamestown (founded 1607) was the site of the oldest successful English settlement and its history is a violent one. And on we go to the many heart-rending wars fought with the usurped Indians, a number of them waged on Virginia soil.



March on to the Revolution; anyone heard of Yorktown, to name just one famous battle? And let's not forget that horrific most uncivil of wars, much of it fought in, you guessed it, Virginia. And yet, this multitude of hauntings doesn't only feature soldiers caught in an endless fray who haven't gotten word the war's over, although there are legions of tales that do, and entire companies of ghosts are said to battle on. Many tales feature the myriad of people, great and small, who dwelt in our richly historic state.



The old Virginia homes and plantations have accumulated a wealth of such stories. Thus, it was while touring some of these English styled manor homes with my dear mother and doing research for my historicals that I conceived the idea for my paranormal romance, Somewhere My Love . Added to this meld of vintage Virginia is my own heritage, a vast source of inspiration from my childhood. On my father's side, I descend from old Southern gentry, now impoverished after the Civil War, Great Depression, and various other misfortunes, including the untimely death of my brilliant grandfather. But the gracious Georgian home his ancestor built (circa 1816) still stands outside the historic town of Staunton.



Ever determined the family home place was haunted, I wove stories through my fevered mind, along with my continual search for Narnia which entailed frequent treks into the old wardrobe. This house is also the primary inspiration behind my recent light paranormal romance, Somewhere the Bells Ring . But I digress. Frequently. The magnificent ancestral portraits in my family and on display in other Virginia homes held me transfixed, wondering. And it was just such a portrait of a striking dark-haired gentleman who embedded himself in my thoughts. Who was he? Why did he die so young? That other painting of the fair young lady…did she love him?



Often, the guides at these old homes are brimming with tales. But other times we are left to wonder…and ask ourselves are these folk who've gone before us truly gone, or do some still have unfinished business in this realm? And what of the young lovers whose time was tragically cut short, do they somehow find a way? Love conquers all, and so I answer 'yes.'



My love of herbal lore also played a prominent role in the story, as did Shakespeare's Hamlet. Talk about research...whewwww....



*The outstanding homes behind my inspiration for Somewhere My Love:



Berkeley Plantation (well worth a visit)



Shirley Plantation (well worth a visit)



Family home place (Not open to the public)



"As I read Somewhere My Love, I recalled the feelings I experienced the first time I read Daphne DuMaurier's Rebecca long ago. Using deliciously eerie elements similar to that gothic romance, Beth Trissel has captured the haunting dangers, thrilling suspense and innocent passions that evoke the same tingly anticipation and heartfelt romance I so enjoyed then, and still do now." ~ Joysann, Publisher's Weekly



Light paranormal romance Somewhere My Love is available in print and/or eBook at Amazon Kindle, The Wild Rose Press, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers.

 

Beth's blog, One Writer's Way .

Beth on Facebook.

Beth on Twitter.

Beth on Goodreads.

Photo Prompt 73

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 73rd prompt is Latin.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - The Mudlark

Anne bent down and plunged her fingers into the wet mud. Nothing but Thames sludge. She turned and tried another spot. Thames sludge...and a handful of nails.

"What you got there, girlie?" Uncle Johnny stood several yards away at the bottom of the ladder, hands wrapped around the heavy knob of his cane. Anne shuddered just thinking of it, and her back ached with the ghosts of bruises long since healed.

"Just some nails, Uncle." She dropped the nails into her basket as loudly as she could. Uncle Johnny would want to know she wasn't keeping anything for herself.

"Good job, girlie! Now keep searching. We don't got long 'til the tide comes back in." Uncle Johnny looked away, surveying the work of his other nieces and nephews.

Anne stuck her hand into another patch of mud. She hated calling him Uncle Johnny, but he insisted they did all the same. "It makes it more legit, see?" he'd say. Still, scavenging in the cold mud was better than what he had some of the older children do.

Her fingers wrapped around something small and oval. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt a thin chain. Probably just some meaningless trinket, something dropped at random upriver and buried at Whitechapel, but...no! She pulled the treasure free. She bent down, as if tying her boot, and glanced into her cupped hand.

A gold locket, filthy but gold all the same, lay on her palm. Anne wanted to wipe away the mud, to clean it up and make it beautiful, but Uncle Johnny would notice if she didn't go back to scavenging. She sneaked a look over her shoulder, hiding her face in her hair so he wouldn't see. Uncle Johnny was looking up the ladder, shouting to someone on the pavement above.

Anne stuck the necklace in her pocket, and sank her hand back into the mud. Nothing. She moved to another spot further down the shore. More nails, a pair of battered old boots, and a single knife from a dining set went into her basket. All the while, she thought of the locket. A memory of its twin cast a shadow in her mind; its twin hung around the neck of her mother.

Anne stifled a sob at thoughts of her mother. Her poor, sweet, kind mother, who died giving birth to her brother. Grief drove her father into the waiting arms of Bedlam, and with no one to care for them, Uncle Johnny came knocking.

"'Ere, girlie, what you doin'?" Uncle Johnny's shout broke Anne's train of thought. She looked up – Uncle Johnny headed her way. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing mud into the tears.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"Why have you stopped? We don't have all day out 'ere."

"I was thinking." The words were out of Anne's mouth before she could stop them. Her hand flew to her pocket. He's seen it, he knows I have it, Lord, he means to beat me again, she thought.

"You was thinkin', were ya? Ya know where thinkin' is likely to get ya! Anne my girl, you know how I feel about thinkin'. I should 'ave known. You, with your fancy notions and your schoolin' – bloody thinkin'!" Dark clouds gathered in his eyes, and his thin mouth set into an even thinner line.

"I was just thinking that maybe we should move down to the next part of the shore – the tide will be in soon, but we'll still have some time further down before sunset." Anne forced herself to smile, and hoped that the lie would distract him. Did he see me flinch, does he notice my hand at my pocket?

"Ohhhh! Oh, well girlie, I think you might be onto somethin'! I don't like thinkin', but if your thinkin' is about what's best for our little family, then I don't mind at all. Go on, you get down there and I'll send the rest along."

Uncle Johnny hobbled away across the shore, shouting at the other children to gather their baskets and head along the river. Anne clutched the locket through the thin fabric of her dress. Her fingers found the tiny wings engraved on its surface, and she smiled. With the money she'd get from the locket, she could rescue her baby brother from Mrs Parfitt. They could leave Uncle Johnny.

"Thank you, Mother," whispered Anne.

Twisted Valentine

A twisted slice of Valentine fiction for you here - I submitted a story to Lily Childs' February Femmes Fatales, and happily had it accepted! There are some corking stories going up right throughout this month, so plenty to keep you occupied. But what was even better than just being accepted was having Whispering Sweet Nothings published today! (Apologies to all the people I called it The Whispering Heart to, that was its original title and I forgot I'd changed it!)



Don't ask where the idea came from as I can't actually remember, I think I just took the phrase 'you captured my heart' a little too literally. That's how I've gotten many an idea - does everyone remember the linguistic nightmare of Spell Check ? Many thanks to Tony Noland for beta-reading Whispering Sweet Nothings for me.



Hope you enjoy it...

Photo Prompt 72

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 72ndt prompt is Snow Prints.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - Anonymous

Photo from Popular Archaeology


Maria scrawled her signature on the form, and handed the clipboard back to the courier. He scurried out of the lab, leaving her and Tom with the coffin.

"Where exactly did Sasha find this?" asked Maria. She ran her hands across the smooth wood.

"There was a stone sarcophagus in a sub-chamber of the main tomb. Total accident they came across it, apparently there was a false wall, or something. Here, she took some photos of the sarcophagus itself."

Tom handed her a sheaf of photos. Maria flicked through them. Her brow knitted and her lips pursed as she got further through the stack.

"But the sarcophagus is blank. No carvings, no paintings, no nothing."

"I know. Just like the coffin. So we have no idea who's in it." Tom glanced at the coffin. At seven feet long and three feet wide, it was the largest coffin he'd ever seen. He hoped it would fit in the CT scanner.

"We'll find out soon enough. Can you help me get it into the CT?"

With much huffing, puffing and swearing, Tom and Maria manoeuvred the coffin into the scanner. Maria pressed buttons on the console and the machine began to hum. She was glad the department had found the funds to buy a full scanner. She hated the old ones, scanning only a portion at a time.

"Was there anything in the chamber at all with it?" asked Maria.

"Apart from a staff, no. The walls were completely bare, too. This guy clearly mattered enough to be mummified, but it's like they were ashamed of him, and didn't want him going into the afterlife with everyone else."

Tom pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and lifted the staff out of a long case on the table. Maria whistled. Normally wood deteriorated over time, even in the largely airless environment of a tomb, but the staff looked like it had only been carved yesterday. A hunk of black rock, the size of an egg and polished to a smooth finish, nestled between the two prongs at the top of the staff.

"What kind of wood is that?" asked Maria.

"No idea. We're going to submit it for testing. Sasha thought the rock was obsidian but I'm not so sure. It's the wrong area for obsidian."

The machine beeped to announce it was ready to go.

"Right, let's see who we have." Maria pressed another button and the coffin slid into the scanner. Tom moved closer to see the screen.

"Bloody hell," he murmured.

The screen displayed a tall figure, male by its size and proportions, and clearly well-built in his day. Maria imagined a seven foot tall Henry Cavill.

"Hang on...do you see anything strange or am I imagining things?" asked Tom. He pointed at the legs.

"His feet...they're incredibly misshapen. You can hardly tell they're feet at all. I wonder if it was a birth defect of some kind? Perhaps he was a genetic mutation. That would certainly explain his height...and possibly why he needed the staff," mused Maria.

"And look here," said Tom, pointing further up.

"Are those stumps on his shoulders? I've seen them at the base of the spine when individuals have had vestigial tails, but never on the shoulders."

"The tomb was for a prince, so maybe this side chamber was for another member of the royal family, but one they weren't proud of. Look at his face – the poor guy has a deformed skull along his hairline." Tom pointed out two jagged stumps about three inches up his forehead from his eye sockets.

"Poor guy. I just wish they'd put his name on the coffin so we can return him to his rightful place in history."

Tom sneezed, and the staff fell from his hand. It clattered against the floor, and Maria gasped to see sparks between the tiles and the black egg-shaped rock. Tom bent to pick up the staff. The lights dimmed, and the computer screens crackled. Her own machine displayed an unwelcome blue screen. She moved away from the scanner to read the error message but Tom caught her arm.

"Look," he whispered. He gestured at the screen.

The lips of the figure curved upwards, and sparks glittered in the depths of the sockets. Maria's mouth dropped open. She looked from the screen to the scanner.

A thump, of a fist against wood, came from inside the coffin.

[Book Review] Blood and Fire

I've long been a fan of Carrie Clevenger's Xan Marcelles, and in this novella, the bassist vampire is marched out of Pale Rider, in Pinecliffe, Colorado, and into a hellish house of mysteries. He's not the only one - Ashton Kennedy, written by Nerine Dorman, is a being known as an Inkarna (essentially a body thief) and he's charged with the task of breaking into the same mystery house to retrieve an ancient artifact. The unlikely pair team up in order to bust some heads and get the hell out of there.



I'll be honest upfront - I loved this. I started with the intention of savouring each chapter and taking my time, but I ended up absolutely whizzing through it. Carrie's Xan chapters are written in his inimitable style, and contrast nicely with Ash's more esoteric and worldweary ways. I always enjoy reading Xan's chapters but it's been a real pleasure getting to know Nerine's Ash. The pacing is excellent, taking us from Xan's Ordinary World of Pinecliffe, and into the hidden mysteries of Luxor House. The house was so well-described I felt like I'd actually been there, and the dual observations make it really pop from the page. The action never lets up, and I would love to see a paranormal thriller from these two.



I can't actually recommend it enough, and as an extra incentive, the book will be free on February 10, 11, and 12! If you can't wait until tomorrow, you can download it from Amazon US and Amazon UK.



Five blunt pencils out of five!

Short Stack Anthology Out NOW!

I'm pleased to announce that I have a short story in a brand new anthology! I submitted One Woman Cure as part of a joint competition between For Books Sake and Pulp Press last year (many thanks to Adam Byatt, Maria Kelly and Michael Shean for their beta reading input) and the anthology, named Short Stack, is available NOW for Kindle!



One Woman Cure appears alongside nine other stories by top female writers in an anthology dedicated to pulp fiction written by women, and about women. My own protagonist, Artemis Hyde, is a gutsy assassin hell-bent on revenge in a shadowy steampunk-esque world. I'm really proud of the story and who knows, if Short Stack does well, there may be more Artemis Hyde adventures in future.



The other stories are absolutely ace, and I'm pleased to be placed in the anthology alongside Bernadette Russell, Evangeline Jennings, Mihaela Nicolescu, Jane Osis, Gill Shutt, Claire Rowland, Shelagh M. Rowan-Lee, Zoe Lambert and Donna Moore. There will also be an event at the Deptford Lounge for International Women's Day on 8 March - I can't make it, but authors Bernadette Russell and Shelagh M. Rowan-Legg will be there, along with Jane Bradley of For Books' Sake and Danny Bowman of Pulp Press. More details here.



I hope you'll check it out, not just for my story but also for the others, and if you like it, leave us a good review! Support lady writers!