Judith Post's Blog, page 29

Snippet

I’m close to finishing my medieval novella for Vella. I hope it’s online by the time you read this. So I thought I’d post a snippet from it so you’d know what I’ve been up to lately. It took longer to write than I expected. I ended up polishing chapters more than usual as I went. It took more concentration, too, so I quit working on my second Karnie mystery to finish it. Once it’s done, I hope to jump back into The Steaks Stakes Are High and do my best to pound the keys. Anyway, here’s a snippet:

They had a plan.  Not a good one, but a few might survive.  Except Sylwan had no intention of honoring it.  She knew what she had to do.

Ordinary people didn’t trust magic.  She couldn’t cast spells without attracting attention.  Now wasn’t the time to start, but she doubted farm implements would be worthy weapons against a giant beast.  So once the village slept, she went to the animal shed and climbed into its attic to retrieve her mother’s two-edged sword.  She’d only use it if it was necessary.  Then she walked to the river bank to wait.

A half-moon painted the water silver.  The river banks were visible, but deep shadows stretched from a clutch of trees close to where the village boats were tied.  Sylwan sat in the shadows to watch and wait, her back propped against a tree trunk, the sword pressed along her thigh.  Nights were warm now, so long sleeves were enough to keep her comfortable, and trousers protected her legs.  Bronson said the monster came as soon as the sun sank, so that’s when she started her watch.  The scent of dusky river mud and green grasses filled her nostrils.  Water lapping and the hum of insects lulled her to drowsiness, even though she tried to stay alert.   Once the sky inked to black, she drifted to sleep. 

Five uneventful nights went by before this night when ripples moved near the far bank, making moonbeams dance across the water.  Bubbles rose, floating closer to her and the shoreline.  Sylwan pushed to her feet and raised Blood.  A long, supple, lizard-like creature, taller than she was, slunk onto the bank.  It sniffed the air, then turned its head toward her and hissed, revealing long, spiky teeth.

Its narrow tongue darted out and wrapped around her waist to pull her toward it.  She sliced Blood downward, and the whiplike tongue dropped to the ground.  The beast raised its head and squealed in rage.  People rushed to their doors, grabbing weapons as they ran out of their huts.

Coblyr stared when he saw her and yelled, “Run!  Get away from the thing!”

She took a fighting stance.  The lizard crouched.  Its yellow eyes studied her.  Coblyr started to run toward it, brandishing his pitchfork.

“Stay back!” Sylwan cried.  “I have a sword.”

Coblyr stared as moonlight glinted off her heavy blade.  He turned to the other villagers.  “We have to help her.”

Gudwif grabbed his arm, tugging him to stay with her.  “You won’t reach her in time.  You’ll die with her instead of battling with us.  Don’t go any closer.”

He started to tug free when the lizard lowered its head and rushed Sylwan, its wide jaws opening to snap at her.  She stepped aside and sliced with Blood.  A deep cut oozed on its long snout.  She’d cut deep, hitting bone, but as Sylwan watched, the skin closed, mending itself.  The monster had magic.

It shook its head and lunged again.  This time, she leapt out of its path and, gripping Blood’s handle with both hands, jammed it straight down, listening to bones give.  She let the lizard’s momentum slice a deep groove in its skull and halfway down its neck.

The thing didn’t fall.  It curled its body to circle her, then locked gazes with her.  Was it smiling?  Its thin lips lifted.  She could stab and slice all night until it wore her out.  She planted her feet again, raised the sword and chanted a quick spell. 

I’d be a sparrow

A few days ago, I read Mae Clair’s blog, promoting Jan Sikes’s latest book, JAGGED FEATHERS. Jan uses symbolism and American folklore in her novel, and she talked about peoples’ spirit animals. https://maeclair.net/2022/02/24/new-release-jagged-feathers-jansikes3-romanticsuspense-whiteruneseries/ A blue jay plays an important part in the story. I’m a big fan of those birds. I like crows and blackbirds, too. They’re smart and quirky. But then, I like all birds. Vultures and buzzards might make me a little leery, but they serve a useful purpose, so I even give them a pass.

I hang four bird feeders in the crabapple tree close to our living room window, and we have a shelf feeder for squirrels, but I throw peanuts on the ground for my blue jays. The blue jays have gotten so spoiled, they call when they see me in the kitchen in the morning. They’re in the pine tree by our driveway, waiting for their breakfast. I get excited when I see the downy, hairy, and red-bellied woodpeckers come to our suet feeders, along with our nuthatches. The cardinals look stunning on the branches of our neighbor’s apple tree, flitting back and forth to the feeders.

We have a lot of birds, too many to list. Two of my favorites, though, are the tufted titmouse and the Carolina wren. But what we have the MOST of are finches and sparrows. Lots and lots of sparrows of different varieties. Once, I was complaining about how much seed we have to buy because of them, and my sister said, “You know, if we were birds, we’d be sparrows.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because neither of us are anything special. We’re just ordinary, like a lot of people. So we should love ordinary. Not everyone can be a cardinal or a robin.”

I think about that every time I start fussing when the sparrows swoop in and wipe out every seed in the feeders in one day. I still grumble, but Patty was right. Ordinary can be extraordinary, just as special in its own way as the rare and exclusive. And P.S. According to two quizzes, my animal spirit is an owl. What’s yours?

Writing a Query Letter #agentqueries #literaryqueries

Mae Clair gives great advice on how to write a query letter. Worth reading if you’re trying to find an agent or publisher. So good, I thought I’d share.

Story Empire

Hi, SEers. Mae here today to discuss a topic that usually makes authors cringe. There are two things I despise writing—a book synopsis, and a query letter. I’ve had to suck it up and do the former, but until the end of last year, writing a query letter for literary representation was something I’d avoided.

I have, however, been sitting on a finished manuscript for almost two years. As a hybrid author, I’ve been published by a traditional small press, and have indie-pubbed my own work. The one goal that has escaped me is to find a home with a Big Five publisher. Most of us dream of that, right?

At the end of 2021, I decided to try. The first step—almost as hard—means finding an agent. We all know this is a lengthy process, almost assuredly layered with plenty of rejection. I’ve read horror stories from NYT bestselling authors…

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Edith Hamilton

My friend, Ruth Baker, is in my writers’ club and is a playwright. She wrote a play about Edith Hamilton’s life, which includes her two sisters and her wife that’s going to be performed in Fort Wayne in early March. Appropriate, since Edith and her sisters grew up in Fort Wayne. Here’s the info if you live nearby and are as big a fan of Edith Hamilton as I am.

Where:  PIT theater at the back of Kettler Hall.  (Not the big Williams Theater).

Price:    20.00

Times:  7:30: on Fridays and Saturdays.  2: on Sundays

When:   March 4,5,6th and the following weekend11, 12, 13th

Pay at the theater by CASH or CHECK   (No credit card)

May purchase at theater OR reserve by calling 260-416-4461  (Thom Hoefrichter)

This theater only seats 99.

The talent is terrific!  Hope to see you there.

I took Latin for four years in high school. Loved the language but don’t remember a thing after all these years. What I do remember is what we translated–The Odyssey, The Iliad–and got so sick of hearing Aeneas whine, I thought I’d shoot myself,–and myths. I loved myths!

My little sister was twelve years younger than I was and used to pester me every night for a bedtime story, so I’d tell her a myth from Edith Hamilton’s book. She learned about Juno and why the peacock’s tail feathers has so many “eyes” and about the sculptor’s statue who came to life. She grew fond of Hermes and worried about how fickle Jupiter was.

Edith Hamilton brought myths to life. I still own her book. But I never realized that she grew up in Fort Wayne and broke so many barriers. This post is my tribute to her.

Short Is Sweet

I finished reading Staci Troilo’s short romance POUR IT ON last night, and what a winner! Romy thinks Rick has come to interview for a job, and Rick thinks Romy’s an employee of her restaurant, not its owner. Two mistaken identities add up to a really fun read. Easy to read at one sitting, it made for the perfect end of a night.

I’ve had a lot of luck reading short fiction lately. Staci’s romance was witty with plenty of humor. I read Mae Clair’s collection of short stories not that long ago, and they were masterfully written, too. February’s a short month–maybe a perfect time for short fiction:) I like to stagger something short with punch between longer novels. And these two books really delivered for me!

I might add, POUR IT ON is a perfect read for Valentine’s Day:) HH and I are biting the bullet and plan on spending the money to try Ruth Chris’s steak restaurant for the first time. I’m hoping to be amazed. Wishing you a Valentine’s Day that’s special, too,, whether you stay home or go out, or are alone or with someone.

Happy Reading!

It’s only half an hour, but….

My writer’s club meets the second and fourth Wednesday of every month. For years and years and eons, we’ve met from 12:30 to 2:30. In the early years, people rotated bringing snacks and a coffee urn for each meeting, but that started to become a burden, so we dropped the goodies and started going out to eat when the meeting ended instead. That’s fun because then we get to yak. Sometimes, we talk writing. Sometimes, we gossip. But it’s always fun to hang out with fellow writers.

Last year, though, when the library reopened its meeting room after Covid, another group had already signed up for the room and bumped our time slot to 30 minutes later. Now, we meet from 1:00 to 3:00, only a half hour difference. but it’s thrown my rhythm off more than I expected. It’s made everything feel a lot later somehow.

I don’t have to leave the house until twelve thirty, so I don’t feel as pressured to run around getting everything ready in the morning. I can sit at my computer and squeeze in some writing, besides just looking at my email and twitter. That’s a good thing, except it lets me get immersed in my work. Then it’s harder for me to shift gears and think about editing and not creating.

Even though I eat a peanut butter sandwich before I leave, I’m starving by three o’clock. (HH would tell you that I starve a lot. I usually amble to the kitchen by three or three thirty every day for a snack). On Scribes’ day, though, I order wings or a sandwich instead of munching on cashews. Only now, it’s close to four by the time I eat, so I’m not in the mood for a light supper until at least seven, sometimes later. I’ve tried to skip supper altogether, but then I’m starving (again) before bedtime.

So, I remind myself. It’s only a half hour difference. But it’s thrown off my usual rhythm. I’ll get used to it. And then I might even like it better. I just never realized I was such a creature of habit, and now I know the truth. I must be. So instead of fussing about the change, I need to embrace it. And I will. Eventually.

I tried. I really did.

Certain things always sound exciting to me, something new to try. I’ve written for a long time, but I always think there’s something better around the corner, something I could do better. And sometimes there is, but often times, I should know myself better.

I read Craig Boyack in Story Empire, and he often works on two or more manuscripts at a time. I thought that sounded brilliant, and it IS brilliant, so I tried it. And I am a total failure at it. I respect people who can multi-task, but this has finally proven to me that I am not one of them. I’m a plodder. One thing at a time. One step at a time. So boring…..

In my brilliant plans, I was going to work on the Vella novella for my medieval story and work on my next Karnie story at the same time. Once before, I tried two stories at once, and it worked. But only when I had lots of time with no interruptions and no melodrama. I could hold two books in my head then. I could flip back and forth between them.

Not now. I didn’t see all of the complications coming. Even if I had, I don’t think I could have coped with them. BUT, I know, I could have finished one manuscript. But not two. My head’s just too scattered. So, for the moment, I’m closer to finishing Blood and Bones on Vella than I am with even getting a good flow with Karnie–even though she’s pulling at me–I’m going to finish Blood and Bones. Because I can see all of the steps in my head. And boy, am I having fun with them! And THEN, I’m going to concentrate on Karnie. Because I know where she’s going, too. But it will take longer to get there.

Blood and Bones is shorter. Much shorter. So I’m going to write like a crazy woman (no comments) and finish the damn thing. Then I’ll start on Karnie. One thing at a time is all I can handle right now. It’s sad, but true. But I’m beginning to suspect that’s probably the best route for me. I’m not a multi-tasker, even though I’d like to be.

Show, Don’t Tell

Every writer has heard “Show, Don’t Tell” over and over again, but Beem Weeks explained it so well on Story Empire, I thought I’d share it with you.

Story Empire

 

Greetings, SE’ers. Beem Weeks here with you again! This month, I’ll be sharing a little insight into the art of Show, Don’t Tell!  

 

“Show, don’t tell!”

If you’re a writer, you have heard this mantra before. But what exactly does this mean? Is it really that important to know? Will it make you a better writer? How does one show their story rather than just plain old telling it?

Today, we’re going to examine this mystical “Show, Don’t Tell!”

How do we show a scene in our writing? The famous Mark Twain quote on the subject goes something like this: “Don’t just say the old lady screamed. Bring her on and let her scream!”

One online writing site breaks it down as simple as possible: Showing is what happens when three writing traits come together to paint a picture in a reader’s mind: idea development (choosing memorable details),

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M.L. Rigdon’s experience, making an audiobook

My friend, M.L. Rigdon, is my critique partner and supplier of peanut butter cookies. She hired actors to make her action/adventure novel THE ATLANTIS CRYSTAL into an audio book.  I bugged her, and she’s agreed to share why and how she did it with us.  Thanks, Mary Lou!

1.  Why did you decide you wanted to make one of your novels into an audio book?

            Initially, because my sister nagged me. She’s always right, so I gave in and confronted the opportunity. There is also the responsibility to give one’s work every chance and that there is a readership out there unable to read the written word. (In college, I hoped to read for the Braille Institute located next to campus. Never got around to it, and today salve the guilt by donating to the local Literacy Council. Think about doing that in your area.) I heard on NPR that libraries are being overcharged by some traditional houses for audio books, causing library systems financial problems when it comes to offering patrons audio versions. I plan to sell mine cheap.

2.  How did you choose The Atlantis Crystal for your first audible?

            Actually, it’s the second book, and I wanted the next one to be with the same author name, M.L.Rigdon. The theme is meant to be a parody of Indiana Jones with a quirky, kick-butt librarian not as narrowly focused as Indy and with more quirks, like her love affair with junk food—something fun and funny but with action that would carry the story verbally. I’m hoping to make use of the films coming out in February and March, Uncharted and The Lost City. Hitting a trend can help find new readers. And sales, of course.

3.  What steps did you have to do to accomplish your goal?

            I went about it sort of backwards. Having a history in theater provided insider knowledge and access to people in the arts. I contacted the daughter of a friend. Dana Bixler works in NYC and does stage and voice for animation. She decided to work through ACX and I contracted her through ACX to narrate Her Quest for the Lance, the final book in  the Seasons of Time fantasy trilogy. What strikes me about Dana’s work is her flexibility and difference from most narrators. She creates a persona for each character. There is a distinction beyond the raising and lowering of the voice. She and her friend Dylan Tacker, another NYC actor, signed to narrate TAC and are now working on the sequel, Seductive Mines.

4.  When the actors finished their work, what then?

            The completed file is sent to me via ACX and I review it for changes and errors. After the corrections are entered for the narrator/s and verified, Dana releases the file to ACX for it to be mastered. When it’s ready, I pay the producer/narrator (I use PayPal) and ACX uploads the book to Amazon Audible and iTunes.

ACX has step-by-step instructions for everything. I would narrate my own works but then I wouldn’t have the time to write and manage thirty books.

5.  Are you happy with the experience?  Will you do it again?

            Next one is already in production. I’m starting to outline the next Philadelphia adventure but have plenty of other books for them to narrate until it’s done. I’d like to focus on the fantasy books and have already asked Dana about podcasts for YouTube and would like to work on shorter advertising options like TikTok.

6.  Any words of wisdom for the rest of us?

            If you can afford it, or if a corporation offers to buy your book for audio (check your rights and the contract carefully!), it’s worth it to hear your works literally brought to life. Good narrators/actors do things with your words that are incredible. It’s expensive but with advertising/exposure, can be another form of income.          

7.  Anything else you’d like to share?

            Keep in mind that the digital market is overloaded. There has been talk about declining sales in the digital format due to market flooding and unfortunate mistakes in final products. If a new writer doesn’t have a following, it’s not easy to establish a readership, even with the many advertising options online. Audible books can provide an avenue for exposure to reach more readers, since there are many who cannot read, or find it difficult due to various challenges, and some prefer the spoken version rather than handheld. I haven’t contacted the library systems yet or would pass along that experience. I’m just getting started with this, but ACX has endless instructions. It’s not the only vendor out there, but the only one I’ve had time to check out and have so far been satisfied with the results.

And thank you, Judy/Judi for the invitation!

Thanks so much for sharing with us on my blog!  I read and enjoyed The Atlantis Crystal.  A fun romp!  I’ve included a link for it, and there’s a free sample of the audible readers can try. 

THE ATLANTIS CRYSTAL (Dr. Philadelphia Hafeldt Book 1) – Kindle edition by Rigdon, M.L.. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

If you’re curious about ACX, here’s the link for that, too. https://www.acx.com/

Have a wonderful February!

Short Story

I promised to write a short story for you, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

 
 
Eugenie finished her can of soda and walked to the trash can in the corner of the break room.  “Can life be any more boring?  It’s always the same, old thing.  Tuna casserole for supper Saturday nights and pizza while I watch 60 Minutes on Sunday.”
“You’re in a rut.”  Livia walked with her as they returned to their worker bee cubicles.  “You need to jazz it up.  Order wings instead of pizza.  And it’s Monday night.  Survivor is on.  Stop to grab a sub sandwich on your way home.  Buy a bottle of wine.”
Eugenie stared at her.  “Wine?  What’s gotten into you?”
Livia smirked.  “Every Monday, I buy a wine that goes with my supper, then Whiskers and I cuddle on the couch to watch TV.”
Eugenie rolled her eyes.  “You and your cat.  I don’t want to be tied down like that.”
“First, a cat doesn’t tie you down.  If you want to leave for a weekend, you put out extra bowls of water and dry food.  Secondly, when do you ever leave town?  Never.”
“But I can if I want to.”
Livia shrugged.  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
They reached their office and went their separate ways.  Eugenie clicked on her computer and began to work.  The same job she’d been doing for years.  She was good at it, but she could do it in her sleep if she had to.  Still, she challenged herself to get everything done at the end of each day.  She was processing another file at two that afternoon when a personal e-mail popped up at the edge of her screen.  She clicked on it. 
It was a no-reply message.  “You’re going to die on August 28.  You have two weeks to get your affairs in order.  The Grim Reaper.”
Eugenie chuckled.  “Good one, Livia!”  She deleted it and returned to work.
On their way out of the office at five, Eugenie said, “I didn’t know you were so creative.  Loved your joke, Livia.”
“What joke?”  Her old friend frowned at her.
“The message from the Grim Reaper?  Pretty clever.”
Livia stared at her.  “I didn’t send that.”
“Sure, you did.”  Eugenie laughed.  “Take credit for it.  It was funny.”
“I didn’t send it,” Livia repeated.
“Okay, whatever you say.”  Eugenie couldn’t help not sounding annoyed.  A joke was a joke.  It was funny.  Get over it.
Livia turned to her.  She looked concerned.  “You’re not listening to me.  I’d never send anything like that.  It’s not funny.  It’s mean.”
Eugenie blinked.  Her friend sounded serious.  “If not you, then who?”
Livia frowned.  “A prank?  Some gimmick to get you to buy a health product?  A psychopath?”
Eugenie grew irritated.  “Well, they’re dealing with the wrong person.  I’m not amused.  They can try to scare someone else.”  She was tired of the endless array of scams she received.  If they e-mailed again, she’d block them.
That night, at home, she took Livia’s advice and mixed things up.  She ordered Chinese for supper instead of stopping at Arby’s for her Monday night brisket sandwich.  She watched Netflix instead of watching Survivor.  She clicked the TV off at ten and read a few pages of the new book she’d gotten from the library.  A thriller.  A woman being stalked by a psychopath.
As she drifted to sleep, she thought of the e-mail she’d received.  Maybe a thriller wasn’t her best choice for tonight.
The alarm woke her in the morning, and she geared up to plug into her usual routine.  She was sailing through more work than usual when at two o’clock sharp, a message popped up on her screen.  “13 more days.  Are you ready?”
She pushed “block” and moved on.  On the walk to their cars after work, Livia gushed about what Eugenie had missed on Survivor last night.  Eugenie stopped at an Appleby’s near her apartment on the way home and picked up an Oriental chicken salad, then she stopped at the liquor store to buy Sangria.  The wine didn’t go with the meal.  Good!  She was a rebel.  She’d make her own rules.
That night, she watched The Great about Russia’s Catherine the Great.  She felt scandalous.  The show was irreverent and even had sex scenes.  What would her mother say?  Then Eugenie smiled.  Her mom and dad had five children.  She was pretty sure her mother enjoyed sex, even if they never talked about it.
She woke on Wednesday morning, feeling pretty daring and frisky.  She told Livia about The Great on their lunch hour. 
“Oh, my, maybe you’re going too far,” Livia gasped.  “We usually watch Poirot on Tuesday nights and talk about the mystery on Wednesdays.”
“We’ve seen them all over and over again,” Eugenie said.  “I wanted to try something new.”
Livia looked disappointed.  “Then I suppose you’re not going to watch Miss Marple tonight?”
Eugenie shook her head.  “I’m going to try a Father Brown.”
“Then I will, too.”  Livia perked up. 
Back at her desk, feeling pleased with herself, Eugenie was surprised when another message popped up at two o’clock.  “12 days.  And counting.”
She stared.  She’d blocked it.  She blocked it again and clicked it as junk mail.  Someone had a cruel sense of humor, and she was tired of him.
On the way home from work, she decided to go all in and stopped to pick up sushi for supper.  What people were thinking about, eating raw fish and ceviche, was beyond her, but her nephew swore it was delicious.  He was young.  What did he know?  But when she tasted it, she realized he was right.  She loved it.
Livia called her during a commercial and loved Father Brown.  So did she.  Together, they decided to be scandalous and watch The Housewives of Beverly Hills next.  Eugenie wasn’t sure she’d like it, but at least she’d know she wasn’t a fan instead of guessing.
At work on Friday, when they met for lunch, Livia took a deep breath.  “I surprised myself last night.  I stopped at a restaurant near my condo and bought fried calamari.  Whiskers and I both loved it.”
Eugenie smiled.  “I bought sushi.  It was delicious, too.”
Livia frowned, taking a moment to think.  “Maybe we’ve gotten too set in our ways.  Maybe you and I should meet at the Senior Center to exercise after work.”
Eugenie’s jaw dropped.  “In our business clothes?  With a lot of other people?”
Livia rolled her eyes.  “We’d bring our exercise clothes to work and change into them before we left for the day.  It would only be a couple nights a week.”
Eugenie’s doctor had been prodding her to exercise more.  If she had to do it, it would be better with people her own age.  She shrugged.  “Why not?  When do you want to start?”
“Not on Monday.   Dancing with the Stars and The Voice start next week.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays?  I record my shows and can watch them later.”
“Let’s do it.” Maybe then Eugenie’s doctor would be happy with her.
But at two o’clock, again, she got a message from the Grim Reaper.  “11 days.”  That’s all it said.   Damn him!  She deleted him and vowed to delete every message he sent without reading them.
On Saturday, she still got a message.  “10 days.”  Then “9 days.”  She didn’t know how he overrode her blocks, but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.  If he sprang some ad on her later, she wouldn’t fall for it.
She didn’t stay home over the weekend.  She took the subway to visit her nephew on the outskirts of the city.  To her surprise, he was happy to see her. 
“I thought you’d become sort of recluse,” he told her.  “You used to be my fun aunt.  You had me over once a month for game night.  I always looked forward to that.”
She remembered.  She’d filled one whole bottom cupboard with games and snacks.  And she let her nephew beat her more often than not.    She’d enjoyed the night until her sister’s husband got sick and needed constant care.  They’d drifted apart after that, her sister caring for Gary as he slipped further and further into Alzheimer’s.
Her nephew taught her a new card game, and she spent the night at his apartment, treating him to brunch before she left on Sunday afternoon.  She met Olivia for fish and chips on Sunday night before they returned to their apartments.  She rented an early X-Men movie and marveled at the action and adventure.
The next week flew by, and she was surprised when it was Thursday again, and she got a note, “Almost Time To Pay Up” from the Grim Reaper.
Oh, lord, Monday would be her last day.  What if the threats were real?  What if the Grim Reaper was real?  She took the subway home from work, depressed.  Life had been moving slow for a while, but now it had sped up.  She didn’t want it to end.
True or not, just in case, she decided to make the most of the weekend.  She called her sister and invited her to stay with her Friday and Saturday night.  She was surprised, no shocked, when her sister said she’d be there at six on Friday night.  She invited Livia to join them, and they went to an Italian restaurant on Friday night, then stayed up late, drinking wine and catching up with each other.  On Saturday, they went shopping.  It had been years since any of them had bought anything new.  They ordered pizzas for supper and rented movies, falling asleep in the wee hours of Sunday morning.  When they finally woke, they cooked brunch together and enjoyed mimosas before her siter left to go home.
Livia looked at her.  “How many days left?”
“Tomorrow’s my last one.”
Livia lifted her chin.  “We’re skipping work.  We’ll go to the store and buy whatever we need for Monday.  We’ll cook and stay inside all day and watch Dancing with the Stars at night.  If the Grim Reaper wants you, he’ll have to go through me.”
Eugenie’s eyes misted, and she blinked hard.  “That’s nice, but. . .”
Livia shook her head, her mind made up.  “He doesn’t want me.  Only you.  But if we can drive him away together, we will.”
She was being weak.  Eugenie knew that, but she didn’t want to die.  “Let’s get anything we’ve ever wanted to try.”  And they went to the grocery store, returning with dozens of chicken nuggets, Rice Krispie treats, all kinds of chips and dips, ice cream and lots of wine.
Livia looked at their stash and laughed.  “No one’s going to accuse us of being gourmands.”
With a shrug, Eugenie reached for a bag of chips.  “Near death rates junk food.”
Livia’s lips pressed together, then she purposely curved them in a smile.  “We’ll see about near death.”  She rummaged in her purse and took out pepper spray and a key ring with a taser on it.  Then she reached for the remote.  “I vote for a Meg Ryan marathon tonight.”
“Can we start with Harry Met Sally?”  Eugenie opened the jar of queso. 
Livia clicked on the movie, then balanced spinach and artichoke dip on her lap.  Three hours passed before they nuked the nuggets for supper.
They’d made it through Addicted To Love before Livia yawned and laid her head on the couch pillow.  “We should save some movies for tomorrow.”
Eugenie slumped sideways on her portion of the sectional sofa.  When her head hit the pillow, she couldn’t lift it.  She pulled the nearby throw blanket over her.  “’Night.”
Livia reached for her blanket, too, but fell asleep before responding.
Monday was the first time either of them had taken a day off when they weren’t sick for ages.  Eugenie was surprised when she didn’t wake up until nearly ten.  She slipped into the kitchen and started coffee, then popped a tube of orange rolls into the oven.  By the time Livia woke, they were waiting, warm and wonderful.
Livia opened an eye and smiled.  “You’re still alive.”
“Technically, I should have until two this afternoon.”
“Maybe we should look up how to draw a pentagram with chalk on your wood floors to protect you from evil spirits.”
Eugenie frowned.  “I’m not sure the Grim Reaper is evil.  He has a job to do, is all.”
“But since when does he warn people he’s coming for them?”
Eugenie poured them each a cup of coffee.  “Would anyone tell us if he did?”
Livia bit into a roll.  “This is good.  Really good.”  She glanced out the kitchen window at a pigeon walking on the narrow sill outside.  “I’m pretty sure someone would mention it if the Grim Reaper sent them a warning.  I mean, most people seem surprised when it’s their time.”
“True.”  Eugenie looked at her.  “Just so you know, I have a will.  I put it on the coffee table, in case.  I’ve divided everything I have between my sister and nephew.  I don’t have anyone else.  I have decent life insurance.  It should give them a little boost.”
Livia scowled.  “I should make a will, too, but my brother’s doing so well, I don’t think he’d think much of my money.”
“Do you have any charities you support?”
“I donate money, but not enough to amount to much.”  Livia’s shoulders sagged.  “I sure haven’t accomplished much with my life.”
“What do you mean?”  Eugenie felt outraged.  “You’ve worked and supported yourself your whole life.  You’re smart and funny.  You’ve made it nice for everyone who works with you.  That’s enough!”
Livia grimaced.  “I’m just saying, when push comes to shove, it doesn’t sound like much.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Eugenie said.  “Actually, there are lots more things that are more important.  Like being nice.  Like being a good person.  You’re all of those.”
Livia smiled and reached across the table to pat her hand.  “Maybe.  But from now on, I want to have more fun.  I want to enjoy life more.”
“Me, too.”  Eugenie paused.  “We should take trips together.  If I live past today.”
Livia stood to pour herself another cup of coffee.  “We have more movies to watch.”
So that’s what they did.  And when it turned two o’clock, Eugenie took a deep breath and looked at her computer.  How would it happen?  A heart attack?  Someone breaking into her apartment?  An aneurysm?  A traffic accident when she crossed the street?
The screen came up, and she blinked.  She looked at Livia.  “This is odd.”
“What?  What is it?” Livia asked.
“The Grim Reaper says ‘Since you’ve started to live, you don’t have to die.’”
“What?”  Then Livia took a deep, solemn breath.  “Oh, God, he’s for real.”
Eugenie’s emotions were so all over the place, she didn’t know how to feel.  But the Reaper had known her, her deeply personal self.  He was for real.  She looked at Livia.  “He knew we were only passing time.”
Livia’s voice shook when she talked.  “He could have picked me as easily as he picked you.”
They sat silently for a few minutes.  Then Eugenie said, “It must bother him when people take life for granted.”
“I’ll never do it again,” Livia said.
“Neither will I.”
The two friends hugged, then Eugenie said, “From now on, we don’t go through the motions.  We live life.”
Livia nodded.  “Want to come with me to visit my brother next weekend?”
“I’d love to.”
And the clock ticked on, and the messages stopped coming.  And the two women enjoyed life a lot more.