C.M. Simpson's Blog, page 218

First Pages: The Runaway

The Runaway is the second short story to be found in An Anthology of Bloodlines . It is also available as a stand-alone short story.

With fire and otherworldly invaders closing in, a commander takes the time to tell the story of his capture and the reasons behind his return to continue the fight. What are the secrets of his past?


The Runaway is currently available as a stand-alone title at Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook, but will one day be incorporated into An Anthology of Bloodlines .

First Pages: The Runaway
In the gathering dark of the downs, campfires twinkled in a shallow valley. The commander of the troops gathered about those fires lay, belly-flat, on the top of one of the hills bordering the valley. He looked, but nothing disturbed the smooth slope of the downs below him.
After staring across the broad valley his troops had to cross the next day, he turned to the sentry beside him.“Keep a watch,” he said. “I can smell smoke.”The sentry sniffed at the air.“I smell nothing,” she said, “but the earth lies restless.”The commander paused a moment, testing the truth of her words, then he nodded and slid back from hill’s crest.“Sir?”He paused.“Captain?”“They’ll need a story, tonight.”He sighed.“I know. You’ll hear it from them, tomorrow.”He did not see her nod in the shadow of the bush sheltering her from sight, but she did not call him again. Once he was far enough below the ridge that he could stand without creating a silhouette, the commander rose to his feet and picked his way down the slope to the central fire.He stood taller than most, but he was well-proportioned, and it wasn’t until he walked amongst other men that his height became noticeable. With darkly-tanned skin, and hair the rich brown of the earth of the downs, the dark blue of his eyes seemed out of place.Those eyes gazed across the gathering about the campfire, and lost some of the lamplight hardness they had gained as he searched the downs for his enemy. Instead, his gaze grew soft with contemplation, as he thought on the story he would tell.He wished it wasn’t so personal. These soldiers had seen only his strength in battle, his quick strategies and clever tactics. It seemed a pity to dispel the myth of infallibility they had built around him.  


END EXCERPT 
If you would like to read more, The Runaway is currently available as a stand-alone title at Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook 

First Chapters: Fisherpriest

Fisherpriest was C.M. Simpson's first published full length dark fantasy novel. While its main theme is of finding one's place in a world not quite their own, it is also a tale of horror, magic and fantasy. Other themes include slavery and racism, and the book contains adult content not suitable for a younger audience or more sensitive readers. C. says it was not an easy novel to write in places, but she enjoyed its journey.

When the two halves of her soul rejoin, Linna finds herself in a city she does not recognize on a world she thought existed only in her imagination. To make matters worse, the god she serves has rejected her, and she is captured and sold to four princes from a distant land, who require a priest of the sea. What starts out as a journey to regain her deity’s approval, soon becomes a flight for her life. With one prince at her side, and unspeakable evil at her back, Linna embarks on a journey where she must survive pursuit by the purist Silver Mountains tribeselves, and captivity by the cave spider clan in order to find her place in the world.

Fisherpriest is the first novel in a quintet of books set on the south-eastern coast of one of Tzamesch's main continents, and is the first of the Tales of the Five Kingdoms series. It is available on Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes and CreateSpace.

Chapter 1: Arrival
I did not know, when I created the fisher priests, that they existed, and it was certainly never my intention to become one.
I was writing. My occupation being an author, this was not unusual. The final details for an overview of the world I was designing for my books were coming together on the computer monitor, and I found I needed another look at the map I’d made.It was almost complete but, when I bent across the map, I found myself falling. One of the between-world portals I wrote about had opened up, pulling me in. Not possible, I remember thinking as I fell, and definitely, most definitely, not happening to me.This had to be too much coffee, and not enough Irish—or was that too much Irish, and not enough coffee? Ridiculous, I was on my way to bed; it was late. I’d wake up in the morning with computer keys imprinted on my forehead, and the computer screaming error messages at me. I’d keep hearing its high-pitched beep long after I’d switched it off.The landing was abrupt and hard, and knocked the wind from me. When I opened my eyes—for I had closed them against the confusion of color engulfing me—I found myself in a darkened rift between two rows of close-set buildings. Sighing in resignation, I decided I’d have to go along with the dream. With any luck the computer would wake me soon.Across from me was the porch of a darkened pub—inn, I corrected myself, if I’d fallen into the map as I thought. I looked up at the slit of sky still visible between the crazy rooftops, and saw star flecks on a platform of black. I recognized none of them; star patterns weren’t one of the things I’d thought to design. It was strange they existed anyway. I stared at the inn again, wondering how long ago it had closed.The street was deserted. Looking at it, I realized I was in one of the lower parts of town—which town, I wasn’t sure; I hadn’t designed any of those either. There was a general store on one side of the pub, and an apothecary on the other. A baker’s shop stood beside the general store, and beside it was the equivalent of a pawn shop on my own world. I shook my head and immediately wished I hadn’t. The buildings around me seemed to spin, and I felt nauseous. I must have hit my head on the way down.It wasn’t until I reached up to rub the lump there that I noticed the robes. They rustled as I lifted my arm. Looking down at them, I saw they were the color of the sea. I was pretty sure I’d been dressed in my usual denims and cotton tee when I’d leant over the map, darn sure my bra had been a better fit than whatever it was I was wearing now.I groaned. If I believed my own fiction, this wasn’t my imagination, and the computer wasn’t going to wake me up. If I had been writing this story, I was a writer who had fallen through one of the between-world portals I wrote about, and landed myself in that world which, surprise, surprise, was actually real. Nonsense, snapped the other, saner, part of my mind, but you might as well play along. I looked about me again, but couldn’t recognize the town.Very slowly, I stood up. Pieces of me shouted loudly in protest, and I leant against a nearby wall to think. I hadn’t known dreams and imagination could hurt so much—another point for my falling between worlds theory. Rejecting the idea, I tried to think of a more likely reason.Maybe the lump on the back of my head reflected a burglary, and I was unconscious while the burglars ransacked my house, and stole my computer and television. I hoped, as I leaned on the wall, that they’d be kind enough to back my manuscript up onto the portable hard drive, before taking the desktop away. I was also hoping they’d leave the portable hard drive behind.If they didn’t, I’d need months to recreate the notes, and I’d have to rewrite the whole darn novel, which would not turn out to be the same book it was now. Dammitall, I liked the book it was now. I stared at the sky, trying to work out what to do next, and hoping I’d wake up before this dream got any worse.The sky paled as I leant there, sending pre-dawn light to reveal what my surroundings looked like. In the end it was the City Watch who decided what I’d do next. I heard the thump of heavy boots on cobblestones, and saw the glimmering light of a lantern reflected down a nearby street. In some of my cities the Watch is a good thing but, in others, it isn’t. Splitting headache or not, I ran.I shouldn’t have. My footsteps attracted the attention of the guards, and they pounded after me. This was probably the most excitement they’d had all night. I hoped the burglary was over, and that I’d come round soon. Better still, I hope the computer would wake me.Computer? part of me wondered. What’s a computer?The dark mouth of an alley gaped at me, offering its dubious shelter. Still trying to work out “computer”, I leapt down it. There was a chuckle in the dark. A foot snaked across my ankles, and I tripped. I put my hands out to break my fall, sending shards of pain slicing up both wrists and into my forearms. A hand descended from the darkness, pulling me into a shadowed doorway.The Watch shone a cautious lantern down the alley, and someone pulled me hard against his chest, wrapping an arm across my shoulders, and muffling my face in his shirt. Hearing the Watch muttering uncertainly at the alley entrance, I stayed perfectly still. Time enough when they’d gone to get out of this. We froze even though the buttressing alcove sheltered us in darkness. Their muffled discussion ended and firm, but fading, boot steps announced the Watchmen’s decision to ignore the alley’s invitation.I breathed a sigh of relief, at least until my rescuer drew me through the doorway at the rear of the alcove. As soon as the door had closed behind us, I was released. With the exit blocked, I backed hastily away from him, until I felt the firm edge of a table hit my backside. My rescuer ignored me, barring the door after us, and calmly crossing to add more logs to the fire burning in the room’s hearth. Still stunned at finding myself in another world and on the wrong side of the law, I watched him uncertainly.He wasn’t too tall, maybe five feet and eight, ten, inches, with short black hair, a neatly clipped back beard and eyes the color of oak. When the fire was blazing to his satisfaction, he spoke.“Tell me, what’s a fisher priest doing this far from the ocean?”It was a request, not quite an order. I stumbled over my reply.“I, I don’t know.”He grinned, white teeth showing through the beard, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.“I suppose you’re about to tell me you fell through a portal by mistake.”I stared at him.“Well?” he smirked.I shook my head, gritting my teeth against the uncomfortable roil in my stomach.“I wasn’t going to tell you anything,” I replied, swallowing back another wave of nausea.He gave me a curious look then, and was silent for a moment. At last he sighed.“Do you know where you are?”I shook my head, trying to ignore the stars that blurred my vision.“No.”He tried again.“Do you know where you’re from?”I was about to tell him, but the fleeting memory of a cream-walled room with a black box on a table had no name. Nor did the city that lay beyond an impossibly high window. Again I shook my head.“Well, do you have any idea where you’re going?”My mind raced and I unearthed a name from the manuscript I’d been working on. Part of me wondered why I’d been writing from the archived prophecies. Part of me wanted to wake up but, as far as the other part of me knew, I was awake. I gave the man the name, certain the rest would sort itself out, after I’d left the shelter of this room.“Faerclay,” I declared.He looked relieved and astonished.“What’s there for you?” he demanded.“A fishing village,” I replied, “and a temple.”“There are closer temples,” he told me, but Faerclay had stuck. It seemed right somehow.I shook my head at him, ignoring another sudden flare of pain.“It has to be Faerclay,” I insisted.His next look was one of speculation, but whatever he was about to say was cut short by a staccato sequence of knocks at the door. While we’d been talking, my rescuer—captor?—had been fussing with a large metal kettle hanging over the fire. Now, he set a steaming mug of leafy water before me. The knocking came again, quick and secretive, on the door to the alley. He cast me another of his shadowed looks, and crossed to answer it.Six, cloaked figures entered at his invitation, and he closed the door swiftly after the last one. For these he poured, not the herbal tea I held, but amber fluid from a wooden keg set beneath some rough shelves on the far wall.I decided the fire’s flickering dance was better to study than the strangers, although I could feel their eyes on me. Nothing was said as they hung their cloaks behind the door.It was only when their cloaks were hung that my rescuer spoke. “Captain. Your Grace. My study awaits.” he paused, looking at me. “You, my lady, are welcome to stay awhile, if you wish. I can help you book passage for Faerclay.”“Thank you,” I replied, and watched as the two men he’d addressed, along with their companions, followed him into what I assumed was his study.If I hadn’t been watching, I’d never have noticed the look that passed between the man addressed as ‘captain’, and one of those who remained in the kitchen. I shivered and sipped my tea.Once the door had closed, the two men hunkered down beside the fire, placing their drinks on the hearth, and stretching their hands to its warmth. They spoke in undertones, appearing to ignore me, yet I felt watched. My sixth sense was clamoring warnings, although neither of the men showed any interest in my presence. Still, I decided to leave.Lifting the mug of tea, I drank. The further down the cup I drank, the stronger the tea tasted. I left the half nearest the bottom. There was something familiar about the flavor, and my warning bells were in full swing again. If I wasn’t careful, they’d make my headache worse, and I vomit up what I’d drunk.Very carefully, I placed the mug back on the table and stood up. There were words. One said words when leaving a house that had offered shelter. What had I decided they were? A part of me laughed. Silly! No one decided what they were. The exact form had been decided eons ago, and passed on, like all such words. One only had to remember. With an odd reluctance, the correct phrasing came, and I was able to speak the proper farewell to the men resting by the fire.“Give our host my blessing,” I told them, “and my apologies for not staying.”I had reached the door, and my hand was on the latch, before they moved. Hearing the sound as they rose, I hauled the door back into their faces. I’d been expecting this.A hand grasped my robe as I darted through the opening. Grasped and held it, as I ran into the alley, and towards the street from which I’d come. I twisted, grabbing the robe, and yanking it free.The hand slipped, and someone swore as I started running again. It was then I heard the chanting. The spell hit me at the same time the tackle did, so that I was unable to break my fall. I was going to have grazes to make a warrior proud, and I thought my arm was broken. I couldn’t even tell them how much it hurt, but at least the spell acted like a splint.A single word was spoken, as I was picked up and set upon my feet, and I found myself able to move again. My forearm shifted and I yelped. That time I’d felt bones move. I cradled the injured arm along my other forearm.“Back you come,” snarled a voice in my ear, and a hand gripped my bicep.I walked obediently down the alley, and into the kitchen where my half-filled mug waited. My first host stood patiently in the doorway, and I realized, as he spoke again, that it was his voice I’d heard in the chant.He gestured to the same seat I had left and, obediently, I took it. My head was ringing from where it had met the cobbles, and my broken arm had begun to ache. I laid it on the table in front of me, but said nothing.“Now, gentlemen,” my host addressed the men waiting at his study door, “where were we?”The door closed behind them again and, again, I found myself in the kitchen with the two men.The one who’d brought me back sniffed, and poured himself another drink from the keg. This time he took a seat beside me. I glanced sideways at him, and he met my eyes evenly, with his gaze.I looked away.He signaled to his partner by the fire.The man rose and took my mug. Crossing to the keg, he held it under the tap and filled it. When it was full, he placed it firmly before me.“Drink,” ordered the man at my elbow.The other took a seat on my left. Using my good arm, I reached for the mug, and drew it to me.They watched as I sipped at its contents. Irish was good, but this, in spite of the herbal tea, was better. Outside, I could hear movement as the city began its day. I looked towards the door, lowering my cup.“Drink it all,” said the man, who sat between the door and me.I brought my gaze to challenge him directly.He met it without flinching.“Drink,” he commanded, voice still soft, as he shifted slightly and laid an arm across my shoulders.I flinched in fright, and tried to hide my growing terror by slowly sipping at the odd brew and watching him over the mug’s rim. His gaze never left my own. Gradually, the aches left my body, and the pain in my arm subsided to a nagging twinge. A subtle warmth crept over me. Halfway down the mug, I stopped.My head felt heavy. I put the mug down and raised a hand to lean on. My eyes sought the comforting dance of the fire.“Drink,” came the quiet voice, and again I lifted the mug to my lips, not protesting when he brought a hand up to steady it.
*   *   *
I woke in the dark, still flanked by my two companions. My face was pillowed on my good arm, and the fire no longer cast its light about the room. Someone held a small vial of smelling salts beneath my nose. My broken arm had been bound and splinted, and I could no longer feel grit in my face. My grazes stung, feeling slightly sticky from the ointment that had been smoothed over them. I smelt krag weed and the bitter taint of float bottles, and knew my injuries would heal quickly and most likely without infection. I also wouldn’t feel them for a few hours. I made a mental note to thank their healer if I ever met them.Pushing feebly at the vial, I tried to lift my head. My mind reached instinctively upwards to the god I served. There was no reply. My host had returned from his study with his guests. I became aware of his stare just as someone passed a full tankard my way. I sniffed at it suspiciously.“Drink it!” someone snapped and, reluctantly, I lifted it to my mouth.It contained nothing more than sweet-tasting water and I drank greedily, feeling life return with every swallow. When it was empty, I set it down before me, and addressed my host.“You said you could direct me,” I began, but he was discussing something new with the man he’d called ‘Your Grace’.I made to rise, but found a hand on my thigh that pushed me back to the seat. Another hand came to rest gently on the opposite shoulder. I turned to look imploringly at my host, but found myself, instead, studying the man he spoke with.The ‘Your Grace’ was of slight build and medium height. He had blonde hair cut short about the ears and face and pulled into a cue at the back. His dress was austere, an oddly blotched black that blended with the shadows, and seemed to absorb the little light shed by a lantern sat high upon a shelf.His voice was low, but silken smooth, and as hard and cold as ice. I could see my host disagreeing with him on some point of business. I didn’t imagine the business they argued over was me. In the end, the blonde man spun away from my host, and snapped an order to his men. Three of them went through into the study. One remained, hand resting on my shoulder, waiting.My host went to a cupboard in the corner of the room. Instead of opening it, he pressed a panel in its side and swung it into the wall. A narrow set of stairs descended steeply into darkness behind it. There was the sound of shuffling feet and grumbling voices, and the door to the study opened again. I looked up. One of the duke’s men appeared leading a group of twenty people.It took a second glance on my behalf to see that these newcomers were chained together, and a third glance to notice the small and deadly muzzles belonging to crossbows cupped securely in the guards’ hands. My gaze sought the face of my host in query. He spoke in reply addressing his guest.“The priestess, your Grace,” he began as the chain of people passed down the stairs.He was answered by a signal from the blonde man to my companion, and I was led towards the stairs also.At first my host appeared resigned to letting me go but, as I drew closer, he pushed my escort from me and pulled me behind himself. The air in the room began to crackle and I heard the blonde man snarl. “She comes with me, Blackman. You will receive her price in addition to the others.”A murmur of sound rose about us, and I felt my sixth sense jerk again. Another caster, ‘my’ wizard was in trouble. Blackman’s voice rose—another spell—but it was too late. The gestures that had accompanied his spell froze midway as the captain finished his chant.My escort took my hand, and drew me out from behind the frozen mage. I caught Blackman’s look of frustration as we passed, but then we were descending the stairs and I saw him no more.It was pitch black, yet I found myself able to see as though the passageway were dimly lit. Beside me, the guard moved with equal ease. It wasn’t long before we reached the bottom of the stairs and rejoined the others.One of the guards said something glib in greeting to my escort. I heard the man laugh and reply in the same strange tongue. As they spoke again, I felt a stir of recognition deep inside my mind, and couldn’t help but stare in mute amazement at them. It was then I noticed the faint slant to their eyes, and the pointed tips of their ears. Without thinking I reached up to my own ears.There was a faint point there as well. I looked up in surprise at my guards. Amused, they stared back and shared a private joke between themselves. Their amusement was cut short by an undisguised clatter of footsteps on the stairs. The guards came alert at once, and the grip on my hand tightened. I felt an unexplainable urge to hide, but was forced to stand my ground.The captain and ‘His Grace’ stepped swiftly out of the stairway. I couldn’t help but notice the captain wiping the blade of a dagger on a black handkerchief as they approached, and I shrank behind my escort.“She can see,” the captain said. “Fix it.”A guard handed my escort a cloth sack. I stood quietly as it descended over my head, quelling the mild panic that started to rise as the bag covered my nose and mouth. My grip on the escort’s hand tightened as I drew a deep breath.“Captain,” I heard him call.I took another breath, trying to keep the rising panic at bay.“She’ll be alright,” I heard the captain say.“Move them out!” His Grace ordered.I heard the prisoners shuffle forward, and allowed myself to be led behind them. My panic subsided as I concentrated on staying upright. My hand gripped the hand of my escort more tightly than before.The journey seemed to take forever. The temperature about me dropped, and I heard the sound of flowing water. It wasn’t until we stopped that the panic came again. I ripped my hand free of my escort’s grasp, and began clawing at the constrictive bag. He grabbed and held it. I pulled away from him, trying to break free until I registered pain as he took hold of my left arm.With the pain hammering at my mind, I found I couldn’t break his grip. I had no choice but to let him pull me down to sit beside him. Someone sat down on the other side of me, and, instinctively, I cringed away from him. The captain’s voice addressed me in the strange other tongue they all spoke. It sounded soothing.I remained frozen, not understanding. He reached across and lifted the bag so that the lower half of my face was uncovered. I took a shaky breath inwards and began to relax.It was then I began to tremble. I tucked my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. A low whistle made me jump, and I instinctively turned my head in the direction from which the whistle had come.I heard the captain answer it, and we were on our way again. We came out of the tunnel some distance from the city. The sound of footsteps and chains echoed across a wooden surface and I guessed, from the sound of waves washing against rocks below, that there was a jetty. The smell of river damp filled my nostrils.The creak and settle of timbers signaled that a boat rocked ahead of me. My escort stopped just short of the jetty, so I did too. I could hear the prisoners being loaded aboard, then the sailors casting off. The cool damp of a rising breeze made me shiver. The liquid bubble and swirl of water had me imagining some sort of ship coming to a stop beside the jetty. ‘His Grace’ gave an order and the sack was pulled clear of my head.The craft tethered to the jetty had to be closer to sixty feet long. It was finely made, and painted black, At first, I thought it was a pleasure craft, not meant for serious business. The ship had the essence of speed about her, and was made for sail. She was a credit to whoever had built her, and it was onto this beautiful vessel I was led, ‘His Grace’ and his bodyguard before me. My escort followed.Beyond it, I saw the shape of another, larger, vessel. From its outline it looked like a cross between a fighting ship and a freighter. A boatload of prisoners was making its way towards it, and armed sailors strode its decks. A gentle tug on my hand brought my mind back to the present and I moved towards the smaller craft.It was as I stepped down onto the gangplank that the first of the memories hit. Only my escort’s quick grab prevented me from crashing into the river.I saw myself as a little girl, stepping onto a fishing boat with a man I knew to be my father. The fishing boat was nothing more than a rowing ketch. We’d rowed out to the reefs and then my father had left me on an exposed island of rock and rowed away. I’d been frightened at first, until a beautiful lady with pointed ears and slanted, sea-green eyes had arrived, surfacing from the waves in front of me like a sea-borne goddess.She and I had played for a long time on the rocks and in the reef depths, until my father had returned and she had disappeared. We’d rowed back in silence. My father had become rolling drunk that night, and stayed rolling drunk, too, for as many nights after as he could manage.I remembered the taunts I’d suffered from the village children. As I’d grown older, I’d found myself increasingly appreciative of my human-colored flesh and father’s pitch-black hair. The sea elf’s blue tinges and gold-bronze crown would have cast me further out than my pointed ears and eyes the color of ocean depths.The picture of my mother faded, and I found myself being shaken by my escort on the plank. I reached out and grabbed him to steady myself.“Memories,” I managed to explain, as we stepped onto the deck of the craft.He nodded, as though that one word explained it all, and took me below decks.‘His Grace’ was waiting. “Sea priest,” the duke began, as the hatch closed, and his crew guided the boat onto the water.“Fisherpriest,” I corrected.He looked confused, but then, I doubted he was corrected very often. “Explain,” he commanded.“I serve Yasmeh, the fisher god. My concern is the well-being of fishermen. The Sea Brethren serve Oceanus, among others, and their concerns are different and factional,” I replied.He must have understood my over-simplification for he smiled. The Sea Brethren were not merely factional, but could be found in either fragile harmony, or outright warfare with each other. At odds amongst themselves as much as the ocean was at odds with itself, these priests were something more than just ‘factional’.“Well, fisherpriest,” he said, “what exactly are you doing in Currinvale?”“Currinvale?” I asked, “But that’s miles from...”“The sea,” he finished for me, “and you are a fisherpriest of sea folk. Your robe states that much. So, what brings you to Currinvale?”“I don’t know,” I replied.“What takes you to Faerclay?”“The temple,” I replied.“And what of Escar?” he pressed.“What of Escar?” I returned, but a warning bell had rung within my spirit, and I knew I had to avoid the city of Escar at all costs. Again I reached up in thanks to my god. Still I received no reply, save for a pressing urgency to reach Faerclay.‘His Grace’ was watching me. “The sea blends with the river in two months’ time. Faerclay holds the honor this year.” His voice no longer held the icy touch it had possessed before, but it was hardly warm as he spoke.I nodded, steadying myself against the ladder that led to the hatch as understanding hit me. The once-in-a-decade Sea and River Meld was the reason I needed to reach Faerclay, but I didn’t have the time to think too deeply on it. There was another matter of curiosity at hand.“What need have you of me?” I demanded.‘His Grace’ looked amused, as though he’d been waiting for me to ask. He gestured towards a table surrounded by a low bench, and I sat opposite him. My escort stood behind me. His bodyguard took up the position behind him.“Now,” ‘His Grace’ began, leaning forward, “my name is Duke Anton Vicarey-Esselwood and I require a priest, a sea priest is most desirable, but a fisherpriest will do.”“I must be at the Sea and River Meld in Faerclay,” I said firmly.The duke sighed. “Will you consider my offer if I get you there?” he asked.“I will consider it,” I replied, “but my answer depends on the outcome of events at the festival.”He bowed his head in agreement, but still I felt uncertain.“What price the fare to the festival?” I asked.“Your services after it,” he said firmly.I knew, then, that he was determined not to let me go. I also knew that only my agreement to his demand would secure me the festival in time. “Very well,” I said.“Your word on it,” he demanded.I allowed my gaze to meet his and we stared levelly at each other.“Your word on my passage,” I countered.“Done,” he agreed, offering his hand.“Done, then.” I took his hand in mine, my green-blue gaze never leaving his gray one.The business closed, he signaled to my escort.I tensed but my guard merely took up station in the galley.The duke squeezed my hand again.“Your word,” he reminded me.“And yours,” I countered. Again my eyes met his.This time he smiled.“Come, I will show you your quarters,” he invited.“Very well,” I agreed, suddenly aware that I possessed only what I wore.He showed me to a small cabin. It contained a low, wooden bed with drawers beneath it, and a fold-out bunk above. A wash-stand was secured to the wall in one corner, and a wooden desk with room beneath it for a trunk stood beside the bunks. I glanced longingly at the soap.“You’ll share this with Tarquin,” my host announced.“Thank you,” I managed, wondering who Tarquin could be.“There are fresh robes in that drawer,” he told me. “I’ll leave you to clean up.”“Thank you, your Grace,” I replied, waiting for him to leave.I had almost relaxed, when I heard the key turn in the lock after him. “Your word, Your Grace,” I yelled, slamming myself against the unyielding wood.“And yours, priestess,” I heard him reply, unconcerned, “and yours.”I satisfied myself with slapping the door again, then turned to the wash-stand. In spite of the krag-weed and float-bottle salve, I still felt slightly nauseous from the pain. I wanted to cry, but I also wanted to be clean. A quick wash, would make surely make me feel better.
*   *   *
I was just pulling the robe he had mentioned over my head when I heard the key turn again. I spun to face the door, hastily smoothing the robe about me. It was the duke’s bodyguard. He looked me up and down.“Tarquin keeps a comb in that drawer,” he said, pointing.I glared at him and crossed to where he indicated.He watched as I found the comb and began to comb the tangles from my hair. It was difficult to do with only one hand.“Supper’s ready,” he added, as I placed the comb back in the drawer.“Supper?” I asked. “What time is it?”“Time?” he said. “I reckon it’s close to midnight.“But I thought—” I began.“You slept, remember?”“I did,” I agreed.He closed the door behind us, and led me to the galley and main room. The duke was waiting. His eyes appraised me as I entered and I drew myself tall beneath his gaze. His lips quirked up in a smile.Oh goody, I had amused him.“Come and sit,” he said.I allowed the guard to escort me to the seat, and sat where he showed me. My original escort served the meal he’d prepared and both guards again took up position behind us. When we’d eaten I was escorted back to the cabin. I heard the duke bid his guards goodnight and another door closed. The key turned in the lock on my door as I lay down on the bottom bunk.The guards could be heard sharing a mild joke as they passed back to the galley. I listened to their voices murmur in low conversation and fell asleep to the sound of their oddly familiar tongue.I was woken later by a loud rattle over my head and sat bolt upright. My head collided with the lowered bunk and I fell back.Tarquin. I assume it was Tarquin, since it he was the one I was sharing the cabin with—Tarquin snorted with what might have been amusement.“Good night, priestess,” he said, and I recognized the voice of one of my earlier escorts.“Good night,” I answered, rolling over and pulling the blanket closer around me. I had discarded the robe without thinking. It lay, folded, on the desk.The big guard’s legs dangled from the bunk as he kicked off his boots. His shirt and breeches landed atop my robe and the legs disappeared. He hadn’t locked the door.I waited until his breathing had deepened and steadied into the rhythm of sleep. The thought of sitting in the free air on the deck above was irresistible. Slipping out of bed, I moved his clothes to one side, pulled my robe on, over my head.This done, I listened again. Tarquin’s breathing remained deep and constant and slow. I crossed to the door. The handle turned easily beneath my touch, and I eased it quickly open. Pulling it closed behind me with much greater caution, I heard it shut with barely a click.There was no evidence of wakefulness behind me, and I breathed a sigh of relief. My bare feet made no sound on the timber flooring, so that I reached the hatch without any trouble.The hatch, however, scraped as I slid it open. I cursed the clumsiness brought about by my broken arm and didn’t wait to see if I’d been heard, before scrambling swiftly onto the deck.There was a man at the helm and two others at the sails. They looked around as I emerged and I acknowledged them with a casual wave of my good arm, before scraping the hatch closed again with my foot. Relying on the habits of sailors, I looked for, and found, a fishing reel hooked over a pole. Picking it up, I moved to quietly the stern of the boat.For a long moment, I sat with my feet dangling over the edge. They didn’t quite touch the water, but it didn’t matter. I dropped the line in, and let it trail behind the boat. The gurgle of water soothed me, and I leant against the rails. There was a peace about the night and the river I couldn’t help but envy. Staring into the pitch black waters, I lost myself in thought.I was startled by the hatch scraping open again, but chose to ignore it. There was a low, tense exchange of words between the man at the helm and the newcomer, and I heard someone approaching. He came to stand directly behind me. I continued staring into the river. A voice addressed me in the guard’s tongue and I recognized Tarquin.When I didn’t reply, he sighed and switched to the common man’s language. “You shouldn’t be here by yourself,” he told me.I didn’t answer.“You shouldn’t be here at all,” he persisted.I was relieved when the line jerked in my hand. The fish fought and, one-armed, I would have lost it if Tarquin hadn’t helped me reel it aboard. Once it had been freed from the hook I dropped it back into the river. Before I could cast the line again, I felt a hand grab my arm. Another closed around the reel.“No more,” he ordered, and, reluctantly, I gave up the reel.It was placed over an upright in the rails. I remained seated, staring at the river. A hand tugged at my arm, ordering me up.“Let’s go,” Tarquin commanded.I shrugged at his grip. It tightened, and, when I resisted it a second time, he sighed. A second hand twisted itself in my hair and pulled. I stood.“Alright,” I snapped. “You needn’t pull at me like that!”He disentangled his hand and led me back along the deck.At the hatch, I stopped.“Why can’t I sit up on the deck?” I asked.“Duke’s orders,” was his terse reply.We went below. This time he locked the cabin door, and I watched as he placed the key about his neck.“Robes off,” he ordered.“What?” I was shocked.“Put them in here,” he continued, pulling open a drawer.Reluctantly, I obeyed, turning away from him while I did so. As I closed the drawer he gave me another order.“Bed,” and he pointed at the lower bunk.Red-faced, I crept beneath the blankets. Questions boiled as I watched him undress and clamber into the bunk above but, when I tried to ask them, all he would answer was, “Sleep.”And sleep I did, waking late to find myself alone in the cabin. The boat was still, as though it were tied up for the day. I pulled open the drawer and took out my robe.Dressed again, I paced. I could hear movement above me. The cabin felt oppressively small, and I could feel the panic starting to rise again. I decided to pray.Again there was no reply, not even the presence of my god. In despair, I paced the cabin once more. My pacing was interrupted by Tarquin’s entry into the cabin. He closed the door behind himself and handed me a bowl.“Eat,” he said.I sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the contents of the bowl. He watched me, scorn twisting his lower lip. Finally he crossed the cabin and tore the spoon from my hand. Without a word, he angrily dipped it into the bowl and lifted it to his mouth. He chewed, swallowed and handed it back.“See?” he demanded. “Perfectly safe. Now eat.”I ate, glaring at him over the bowl.He waited until I’d finished, took the bowl and left. I heard the key turn behind him. It was just as well, for the memories returned in earnest, shortly afterwards.The haunting visage of my sea-elven mother appeared from beneath the floorboards and I remembered the time of our farewell.I had been fishing with my father when we met her again. I was fifteen, fully-grown by human standards, and able to take care of myself. My mother’s people rose about the boat and there was no welcome in their eyes.At her request, I laid my rod aside and slipped into the water. We swam together until the boat and my father were out of sight. In the lee of a towering reef with the open sea before me, I learned the horror of my birth.My father had been part of an expedition that had raided the elves in a war of jealous misunderstanding. They had captured my mother and a few others, and had treated her in the manner of pirates with all female captives.Although she’d eventually escaped, the event was not forgotten. In a raid of their own, the sea elves took their revenge. My father alone, of all those in the expedition, was left alive and, some months later, I was delivered to his doorstep to be raised amongst the fisher folk. Now I was grown, his punishment was due.After that tale, she swam with me back to the village, and bade me farewell. My father’s boat was washed ashore later that afternoon. I never saw him again.The villagers turned against me after that, and I fled their ignorant fears, finding no refuge amongst humans or elves in my wanderings. In the end, I was accepted as a novitiate in the ways of Yasmeh, the fisher-god.Another memory, one of another world, rose against the first and I struggled with the idea of technology and all its trappings as more memories from my half-elven side began to surface. Where had I been that so many wonders manifested themselves, and with such ease? Magic was unknown there, but it was hardly needed. Light that came with the touch of a switch, a way of recording words without pages, carriages that moved without horses. Two sets of memories warred inside my head, until the pictures of that other world gradually gave ground to those of the world I was now in. When they left me, I found myself curled against the base of the door, an overwhelming sense of weakness upon me.I also heard the key turn somewhere above me, and felt the door’s pressure as Tarquin pushed against it. With an effort, I rolled out of the way.“Anton!” he bellowed. “Anton!”I heard footsteps, and an oath, followed by curt orders. Tarquin lifted me and placed me on the bottom bunk. I tried to sit up.“What happened?” he asked.“Memories,” I replied, curling up against him.“Again?”“Mmm,” I nodded, feeling my strength return. “May I go on deck?” I opened my eyes as I asked it, and looked directly at the duke.He frowned.“There is something you should know,” he finally admitted.I felt triumphant.“Yes?” I pressed.“I have some enemies.”I nodded. Considering how he’d treated Blackman and myself, this was not a surprise.“We are watched always. It is better for you if you are not seen yet.”“Why?” I asked.“Your life may be worth more that way,” he said. “Besides, people ask too many questions, seeing a fisherpriest aboard a vessel like mine.”“What about at night?” I pleaded.He stared at me, dark eyes brooding as he considered my request. “A short while only,” he finally conceded, “and never alone.”“Thank you,” I smiled.The duke’s brow furrowed as though something worried him.“Don’t thank me yet,” he chided. “I haven’t brought you to Faerclay.I changed the subject rather than ask if he still intended to take me there.“Why have we stopped?’ I asked.The duke sighed. “It’s daylight. I don’t want to be seen travelling this part of the river, so we’ve anchored under cover of some trees until nightfall. Is that alright with you, m’lady?”I shrugged, ignoring his sarcasm.“It’ll have to be.”


*END-EXCERPT*
Should you want to read more, Fisherpriest is available on Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes and CreateSpace.

Progress Report: Week 4 January 2013

Achievements for this final week in January are as follows:Tier One Projects
DarkFantasyNovel1B—ShadowTrap: format and edited first 18 chapters in CreateSpace; 60 days ahead of scheduleDarkFantasyNovel2B: added 2,000 words; 551 days ahead of scheduleRomanceNovel14A: added 4,500 words; 14 days behind schedule
Backburner Projects
ShortStory29—The Runaway edited, formatted and released.
Publishing Tasks
Created 21 blog posts for C.M. Simpson Publishing blog.Created 24 blog posts for this blog.Updated FaceBook timeline with The Runaway and Old MagicUpdated Linked in with The RunawayCreated Magic Thursday post for 7th March.Uploaded and released The Runaway on SmashwordsUploaded and released The Runaway on KindleUploaded and released The Runaway on KoboUpdated Pinterest with The RunawayUpdated Facebook with The Runaway

First Pages: Old Magic

Old Magic is a short tale about surviving in post-apocalyptic Melbourne by C.M. Simpson. 



After disaster and disease wipe out the world we know, powers carried by right of ancestry act as a sixth sense for trouble in a ruined city. Can she be the only one to have survived?
Old Magic is one of the short stories that will be included in An Anthology of Bloodlines. It is currently available on Smashwords, and will soon be available on Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook.

First Page Excerpt: Old Magic

Heather stood amidst the wreckage of the city in the cold, grey light of dawn. She felt the soft mist of the newly fallen rain settle on her arms. Constant and clingy, the rain reminded her of gum leaves, silver-grey with the same misty drops. It brought to mind the sharp scent of eucalypts on a damp mountainside, a scent that momentarily eclipsed the smell of sodden cement and bitumen in decay.The rain formed a patina of dew over her hair, making the top layer matt so that heavier droplets rolled from her head and down the back of her daypack. Heather wiped a hand across her eyes, clearing away the moisture that clouded her vision, clearing the momentary glimpse of silver-barked trees from before the leaning buildings.The north of the city was dead. She had searched it for life, just as she had already searched through its north-western reaches. She had found only the emptiness of abandonment and decay.St. Albans, Sunshine, Footscray, Essendon and now, it seemed, central Melbourne. Once they had teemed with life. Now, they were only scars on a landscape, where the bush was rapidly moving to reclaim its own.Heather had survived the bombings and the first wave of plagues. She had survived the petty warlords, and the anarchy that had followed the sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world. She had even survived the second wave of sickness. There had to be others.Sighing and shaking her head so that raindrops scattered from her hair, she noticed what had once been a small cafe. Shaking her head again to clear the ghostly images of gumtrees reflected in the remains of the café’s plate glass window, Heather crossed the road towards it. Perhaps she would find food there.The cafe made her think of drier nights when the footpaths had been full of crowds, and trams had rattled down the streets. It reminded her of moonlit walks in the parks beside St. Kilda Road, and of feeding the possums in the trees, forbidden as that was.Clambering past the broken glass of the shattered front window, she stepped into the cafe. There were reminders of old gangs and overlords all around her. The reminders ranged from the paint-spattered walls to the bullet-riddled body at her feet. Something about the corpse caught her attention, made her pause. She moved slowly into the cafe, studying the body as she went.The body was wrong. Something… It clicked as she reached the door leading to the back of the shop. The body hadn't started to smell yet.

END EXCERPT
If you would like to read more, Old Magic is currently available on Smashwords, and will soon be available on Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook. 

New Release: The Runaway

The Runaway is the first short story to be included in An Anthology of Bloodlines . It is also available as a stand-alone short story.

With fire and otherworldly invaders closing in, a commander takes the time to tell the story of his capture and return to continue the fight. What are the secrets of his past?

The Runaway is currently available as a stand-alone title at Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook, but will one day be incorporated into the anthology, An Anthology of Bloodlines .

First Pages: The Buried Blade

To start the ball rolling on the short story excerpts, we have the first page for paranormal urban dark fantasy tale: The Buried Blade , which released last week.
 


When the grass in one of her uncle's fields starts to die, Amanda tries to work out why, but her uncle only sees stones, where she sees fragments of pottery. In a war as old as time, will Amanda convince her uncle of the truth, and remain unscathed, or will she fall under the control of an old and subtle power?

The Buried Blade is a short tale of dark fantasy, which will later be incorporated into An Anthology of Blades.

The Buried Blade is available from Smashwords and Kindle and will soon be available from Kobo, iTunes and Nook.

First Page Excerpt: The Buried BladeThe sword sang in the darkness. It sang through the rubble that buried it. It sang through the bones of skeletal fingers that had wrapped themselves around it.The song could not be heard through the muffling shroud of earth covering the sword although it echoed throughout the ancient citadel that was imprisoned with it. The song seeped through the earth for an age, pushing upwards and infecting the soil as it went. It was inevitable that, where the song forged the way, the ghosts would follow.Nature tried to sound a warning but its guardians were gone, driven out or sleeping or unaware of their powers—and the responsibility that went with them.Animals fled the mounded earth beneath the grassy field. At least, they fled it where they could. The wild ones forsook it with the freedom that only they possessed, while those of domesticity's prison could only show their reluctance for the field, before their masters forced them into it.
*   *   *
“Durned beast!” Willis Harran cried, bringing his willow switch down upon the milk cow's rump.She was the last of the herd to be forced through the gate and, though she had been the easiest of them all, Willis was ready to send her to the knackery. He waved his switch at her once more as his niece closed the gate behind her.“Don't know what's got into them,” he muttered, as he climbed the fence beside the field. “They've been right skittish of late.”Amanda looked at her uncle. The cattle weren't the only ones who'd been skittish about the field. She'd watched the rabbits forsake their warren, and the morning fox skirt cautiously around the fence instead of cutting straight across the field as he usually did.Even the birds had stopped hunting for worms within its bounds. Amanda said nothing of this to Willis. He wouldn't have believed her. He might even have laughed.She followed his broad no-nonsense back towards the small house that served him and her aunt as home, the smell of breakfast driving the field's strangeness from her mind.The sword's song kept upwards until the cattle began to lose their milk, and Willis's threats of both knackery and willow switch were no longer incentive enough to goad them through the gate.The field's grass began to fade. Willis moved the cattle to another field and watched their milk improve. Amanda, interested by this unseasonal change, began collecting soil samples to...

END EXCERPT
If you would like to read more, The Buried Blade is available from Smashwords and Kindle and will soon be available from Kobo, iTunes and Nook. 

Achievements in my first 7 months of being an Indie

And what, some want to know, have I achieved in the last ‘almost-seven’ months as a new indie:·         4 anthologies released (made up of the stories and poems below)·         25 short stories released (17 edited, 6 new, 2 completed, a total of 19,000 new words)·         7 poems released (7 edited)·         7 poems awaiting release (1 edited, 6 new, a total of 1,000 new words)·         2 novels released (2 completed, a total of 34,000 new words)·         11 tween chapter books edited and awaiting release (all pre-written)·         21 covers designed (not including one outsourced; 4 covers ‘retired’)·         5 b&w illustrations created·         1 roleplaying adventure proposal submitted (total of 1,000 new words).·         2 novellas released (2 edited, total of 4,000 new words)Is it a lot? I don’t know. Maybe not if I was writing full-time, but holding down a day job and running a family? Who knows. This year will show another set of figures. Maybe I’ll have a better idea in June. Ask me then.Sales?In 7 months: 38, with over half occurring in the last two months (November and December 2012). Is it worth it?YES!

First Chapters: Secondhand Sweetheart by Madeleine Torr

My publisher just poked me and said I should share the first chapters of my novels and the first pages of my shorter works with you. Given that the last couple of weeks have been all about paranormal, science fiction or fantasy works, I thought some romance would provide a change of pace. Usually these will come out a week after the book releases, but we'll be doing a bit of catching up as well. Enjoy!
 

Secondhand Sweetheart is my first full-length romance as Madeleine Torr. Set in both contemporary Melbourne and Tasmania, Australia, it is the tale of betrayal, recovery and how not everything is as it seems.


When Lisa Montgomery resigns her job as a flight attendant so she can mend her relationship with her long-time boyfriend, Duncan Holland, the last thing she expects is to have to face the prospect of a future with another man. Photographed in a compromising situation with one of the airline directors, and then compromised a second time by the same photographer, Lisa’s future looks bleak, until she decides to take control and see what she can do to repair her tarnished reputation.

Secondhand Sweetheart is available from Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, and CreateSpace.Chapter 1: Nightmare Flight
Lisa knew she shouldn’t have gone to work with a headache—but the flight wasn’t that long—just Perth to Melbourne. Besides she’d rather work it than sit and endure the mindless hours of travel from a passenger’s seat. It would help her stretch her last pay packet, too.
Before working for the airline, Lisa had trained as a secretary, and still had references from the temping agency she had worked for in Brisbane. She knew she would be able to find work; she just didn’t know when. Lisa sighed. She was going to miss being a flight attendant. It wasn’t just the travel, it was the variety of passengers she met, as well as the people she worked with, who made the job worthwhile. She didn’t mind working in an office, but she’d rather walk a flight to Perth or San Francisco than drive a desk all day.None of this mattered, of course. It was her relationship with Duncan Holland that mattered—and if that was ever to have the chance it deserved, then she had to stay in one place for a while. Duncan’s distraction over the past few weeks was proof enough of that. Promising career or not, Lisa knew where her priorities lay, and a life with Duncan was more important than serving the jet set crowd at thirty thousand feet or more.This afternoon would see her walk off the plane in her flight attendant’s uniform for the last time. She wondered how Duncan would take it. He’d be over the moon, probably. No more trips away, with him complaining of loneliness until she got back, and using her absence to excuse the most outrageous behavior.Nadine, who often flew with Lisa, had said she’d seen him dancing the night away with a striking brunette the last time Lisa had taken the Perth flight. And when Lisa had questioned him about it, Duncan had denied it. That is, he’d denied it until she’d said who’d seen him.“That lying bitch!” he’d exclaimed viciously, and had been about to embark on a tirade when Nadine’s voice had entered, sugar-sweet, into the conversation. “Would you like to see the photos, Dunky?”Faced with the proof on Nadine’s mobile phone, Duncan had been forced to admit that he had, indeed, been out with another girl, “but it meant nothing,” he’d said. “It never means anything unless it’s with you.”Nadine had rolled her eyes before snapping the mobile closed and walking away. It was, after all, Lisa’s decision to make. They both already knew Nadine’s opinion on what should be done. Lisa didn’t agree, and the two friends avoided any discussion of ‘The Duncan Problem’ unless one, or the other, of them thought it important enough to bring up. Lisa breathed a sigh of relief. At least Nadine wasn’t on this flight, and they’d probably not see each other too often after it, given that ‘The Duncan Problem’ was the reason Lisa was quitting, and that this had been the cause of one of the few arguments between the two friends. Lisa expected they’d meet for coffee once or twice on the next few occasions Nadine touched down in Melbourne, but then they’d finally drift far enough apart to not see each other anymore. It would be a pity, but that was the way life sometimes went.She stowed her cabin luggage in one of the forward compartments, and turned, smiling pleasantly, to greet the passengers as they boarded. All the time, the dagger-like pain in her temples continued to build until, by the time the doors had been armed and cross-checked, she was wondering if she would make it to the end of the flight. She hadn’t had a headache like this for ages!Turning, Lisa disappeared into the crew’s compartment and took a couple of painkillers. There, that should take the edge off it for a while. She gathered the safety gear, and went out to give ‘The Talk’ to the first-class passengers. Brenda caught her by the arm as she reached the door. “Are you alright? You’re looking a bit pale.”Lisa managed a comforting smile. “I’m fine, just a bit tired. It’s been a long week.”The other girl nodded sympathetically. “Of course. Big decision and all. You’re sure you’re doing the right thing?”Did everybody know? Lisa turned up the wattage of her smile: “Of course I’m sure. This relationship is worth it. I’d be silly not to give it the best chance I could.” Not wanting to hear any more negative comments about Duncan, she stepped out into the passenger aisle before the words forming on Brenda’s lips could be spoken. The dark-haired financier was the best thing to happen to her in a long time, and she wasn’t about to throw it all away because her job kept her from him. There were other jobs she could take that would let her stay by his side.It wasn’t until she was serving drinks later in the flight that her comment about the relationship being worth it came back to haunt her, and with it, her headache. Promising to become a full-blown migraine, it struck without warning, a sharp, stabbing pain that obscured her vision for a few seconds. With an effort, she suppressed a gasp and held her smile in place. “There you go, sir,” she said, hiding her pain and handing the man his coffee-nothing-stronger-thanks.He smiled back, and then frowned with concern as he looked at her. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked. “You’ve gone as white as a sheet.”“Oh, yes, fine thanks,” Lisa replied, feeling as though she was smiling from behind a curtain of fuzz. “I’m completely fine.” As she said it, the pain faded to a tolerable level, and the fuzz cleared.It wasn’t true, of course. Lisa felt far from fine. As well as the dull ache that the headache had become, she was beginning to feel mildly nauseous. She hoped she didn’t commit the cardinal sin of throwing up on a passenger. Handing him the sugar he’d asked for, she moved on to the next person. Studiously ignoring the concerned look from her colleague, she continued to work. “Would you like anything to drink, ma’am?”Somehow she got through the first half of the flight, but she hadn’t realized how much it would take out of her. I must be coming down with something, Lisa thought. I feel exhausted.Concern about her deteriorating health was interspersed with worry about Duncan. She’d been away on flights for the past week now, with no time between them to really go out and be with him. He’d said it was okay, that some project at the office was taking a large amount of his time, and that she wasn’t to worry—they’d make up for the lost time when she touched down for a break. Lisa only hoped that the project he was working on had more to do with finances and accounting, than someone with a pretty face and nice legs. Surely he wouldn’t betray her again?Lisa scowled. She hadn’t told him this would be her last flight, or that she’d be moving in with him once the lease on her flat ran out. She’d wanted it to be a surprise. Now she was beginning to doubt her wisdom. Surely he wouldn’t have found someone else since she and Nadine had caught him out the last time. She was hoping she meant more to him than that. With an effort, she pushed aside the thought that there’d been another betrayal before the last, and maybe there had been others. That possibility didn’t bear thinking about. And besides, it was her own fault. She’d known he needed companionship. It was what had attracted her to him in the first place, and what had made her hold off telling him what she did for a living. When she had finally revealed her job, he hadn’t seemed to be too worried. That had come later, the first time she’d been away for three days in a row.He’d been sweet about it then, she realized, concealing his concerns behind phone calls every night, and ensuring there were flowers waiting for her at each airport. It had almost been embarrassing to have someone cling to her like that. After a while, he had seemed to grow used to it. The phone calls still came—that was natural in any relationship—and the flowers still waited for her, although not at every airport, just her end destination. It was still sweet, and not as clingy. A more mature approach, she’d decided, and one that boded well for the relationship. Lately, though, Duncan’s attitude had appeared to change.He had seemed distracted when they were together, and the flowers no longer waited to meet her when she reached the flight attendants’ lounge. He’d stopped calling her when she was away saying, in spite of her protests, that he thought he was still being too clingy, and smiling apologetically when she mentioned it. He blamed it on a busy patch at work, but then there had been the red-head, and now there’d been the brunette. Could it be that she was doing too little, too late? Had she already lost him, and he just hadn’t gotten around to telling her yet?Lisa hoped not. She had just sacrificed a promising career to give their relationship the chance it would have had, if she’d had a normal job in the same city as her boyfriend. Of course, it had also meant that she might need to give up her flat until her new career path was established, but Lisa didn’t think Duncan would mind. He’d probably appreciate the excuse to have her nearby, and he’d love the fact that she would be there every night to keep him company. At least, she hoped he would.Masking these concerns with a smile that didn’t quite warm her eyes, and pushing down a rebellious wave of nausea, Lisa stepped out into the cabin to serve the first in-flight meal. The painkillers had taken the edge off her headache, and the short respite had allowed her stomach to settle—although how much of the nausea was from the headache and her fear of appearing less than well to the passengers, and how much was worrying over her errant boyfriend was something Lisa didn’t want to think about. If she was very lucky, she’d make it to the end of the flight, call Duncan, and be able to collapse in the car as he drove her home.Disaster struck when she was about half-way down the aisle. She’d been distracted by that male passenger again. The other attendants had already commented on how good-looking he was, and they were right. His hair was so dark it was almost black, and his eyes were that deep, solemn blue of summer skies. What was even cuter was the light sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks. She noticed, also, that the suit he wore was cut by an Italian designer, and his shoes were Italian as well. Whoever he was, he was one of the wealthy elite, like many of those who traveled first class. Even the subtle scent of his cologne reeked of expense.Lisa suppressed her body’s spark of interest with a snort of derision. He probably knew just how gorgeous he was as well and, judging from the contemplative frown on his face, he still thought there was something wrong with her. She knew the type, though. Once you’d gained their attention, they’d stare at you as though you were something unpleasant found on the bottom of their shoe, while contemplating if you’d agree to help them become a member of the Mile High Club. No doubt he’d be overjoyed if she made a mistake—and the way she was feeling now, she was bound to.The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than the headache returned with a vengeance. The cabin spun as Lisa turned to give the meal—a creamy chicken and mushroom paella—to her next passenger. She was aware of a startled shriek of horror, and of the tray and her world tilting sideways, as everything went grey, and the headache whited out all other sound. When her vision had cleared, and she could see again, Lisa found she had not quite fainted, but neither had she imagined things tilting. The contents of the tray were spread from the crown of the female passenger’s head, to the expensive silk skirt covering her lap. “I am so sorry,” Lisa mumbled, clutching the back of the seat for support. “Let me get something to clean you up.”“No, let me help you to a seat.”Lisa startled. That masculine rumble had come from right behind her! She turned to face the source of it, and the world spun again. There was a surprised oath, and she was aware of the world graying out as strong hands caught her and drew her into the supportive circle of a set of stronger arms. Her last thought before the world went completely dark was of the cleaning bill for the silk suit she had just ruined—and how the airline would never have her back, even if things went bad with Duncan and she changed her mind. Interwoven amongst it all was the alluring scent of an expensive cologne…
Mitchell Davidson looked down at the crumpled form in his arms and bit back the urge to swear. Although she weighed no more than a feather, she was awkward to hold, and he was embarrassingly aware that all eyes in the first-class section were on him.Wisps of chestnut hair had escaped the French plait the attendant wore and her face was as pale as spilt milk.“I’m going to sue you for every penny you’re worth.” The female voice came from the passenger that had been covered in paella.Mitchell suppressed a sigh and glanced up at her.“Now, Cassy, you and I both know the airline is not responsible.” He held up a hand to still her protest. “However, as a personal expression of regret, I will help you replace your suit.”“You do know it’s a designer one-off, don’t you?” Cassidy Lawrence’s voice held a hint of triumph.Mitchell could have argued that, with a sick woman in his arms, he didn’t care if the suit had been unearthed from the most exotic tomb of a lost civilization, but he bit his tongue just in time. Cassidy didn’t need the incentive to take him for all he was worth. Besides, flattery would do far more to smooth her ruffled feathers than sarcasm, no matter how well deserved.“I could tell,” he said, “but I’ll equal its value, when you find another you like.”There was an intake of breath from more than one passenger at his offer. He decided to sweeten the deal, hoping he wouldn’t regret his generosity later.“And I’ll take you to dinner.”“You know where…” Cassidy taunted him.Mitchell managed a smile designed to charm.“I know where. Call me to organize when.”Looking like a cat that had caught a canary and managed to cover it in cream, Cassidy succumbed to another flight attendant’s offer of assistance. Mitchell watched as she was led off to get cleaned up in private, before returning his attention to the woman in his arms. Even with the pallor of illness, she was beautiful, and he felt his heart lurch.“Can I help you, sir?” The blonde flight attendant who had been hovering on the edge of his vision leant towards him.Juggling her unconscious colleague in his arms, Mitchell fumbled for his wallet and took out a card.“If you would let me use the telephone in the staff kitchen,” he said, “I’d be grateful.”The attendant glanced at the card and paled.“I’ll need to confirm, sir,” she said. “It shouldn’t take too long.”Mitchell nodded, then focused on the task of lifting his burden clear of the aisle and settling her into the empty seat beside his own. Helping himself to a pillow and blanket from the overhead locker, he made her as comfortable as he could and waited for her colleague to return.All the while, he was wondering exactly what he’d done, and what on earth he was going to do next.


*END-EXCERPT*
Should you want to read more, Secondhand Sweetheart is available from Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, and CreateSpace.

Things I Wish I’d Known When Starting this Indie Gig

So, almost 8 months after I started publishing my titles in earnest, I’ve discovered a few things I wish I’d known about organising myself when I started. I know these sound basic, so bear with me, and, if you’re just starting out and have no idea what you're doing, bear them in mind.1.      The need to keep a single, easily referencable file of the following details for each title published:a.       Book titleb.      ISBN for each different platform (No, you cannot use the same ISBN for Kobo as you use for Smashwords as you use for Kindle as you use for DriveThruFiction and so forth. You must use a different one for each platform as each platform’s release counts as a different version, like hardbacks and paperbacks.)c.       Link to the book page on each platform so you can copy and paste them into blog posts without having to look them up on several different tabs. Looking them up individually each time you need them is not so bad if you only have one platform, but when your work is spread out over seven, it gets slow and tedious.d.      Blurb: as you use it in numerous uploads and blog postse.       Credits used in the front matter for ease of putting into different versions2.      The need to decide on a publisher name prior to uploading anything. Face it, I wasn’t sure how serious I was going to be when I started, so I decided to try it out and then decide if it was something I wanted to pursue. This was a bad decision for two reasons:a.       Going back to all the different pages I had recorded my book details on (Goodreads, Shelfari, Linked-In) and updating them to the correct version was a pain;b.      Clarifying and budgeting for my publishing and writing expenses was easier to see once I separated them completely from my day job earnings.That you can keep different pen names under one account on Amazon and Smashwords. I know it’s there in black and white but was a little overwhelmed at the beginning to actually register what those funny squiggles meant. Different pen names help you differentiate genres, so Carlie Simonsen and Madeleine Torr are pretty important for me to be able to help readers find which of my scribbles they might actually want to read. It also meant that I could branch into publishing for others more easily, which I didn’t expect to do.

Progress Report: Week 3 January 2013

Internet was back up to speed this week, so I released a short paranormal urban dark fantasy short story… among other things.Tier 1 Projects
DarkFantasyNovel1B—Shadow Trap: Completed Edit2 of Shadow Trap. This novel is now 45 days ahead of schedule.
Backburner Projects
ShortStory24—The Buried Blade: releasedShortStory25—Old Magic edited, formatted and released with cover art.
Publishing Tasks
Uploaded and released The Buried Blade on SmashwordsUploaded and released The Buried Blade on KindleUploaded and released The Buried Blade on KoboUploaded and released Old Magic on SmashwordsCreated the cover art and cover for Old MagicUploaded and released Old Magic on KindleUploaded and released Old Magic on KoboUpdated Linked in with The Buried BladeUpdated Pinterest with The Buried BladeUpdated Facebook with The Buried BladeUpdated Linked in with Old MagicUpdated Pinterest with Old MagicUpdated Facebook with Old MagicUpdated Anthologies page on C.M. Simpson Publishing blogScheduled 10 blog entry on C.M. Simpson Publishing blogUpdated Anthologies page on C.M. Simpson blogScheduled 8 blog entries to C.M. Simpson blogCreated a Google+ page for my short fiction and poetryCreated a Google+ page for my novels
Beta-Read Editing for Others:I want to do more for my fellow writers, and I can best do that through my editing skills. I have decided I will do a beta-read edit of around 100,000 words a month that aren’t mine. This month I agreed to almost 200,000. Two wonderful stories whose authors deserve every success. Why two? Because it’s January. Next month I’ll have to keep within the limits J.

Continued editing/beta-reading a 98,000 word science fiction romanceContinued editing/beta-reading a 100,000 word post-apocalyptic high fantasy adventure
New Arrivals:
ParanormalNovel3A: Assassins