E. Napier's Blog, page 3
January 13, 2013
I DID IT!
My first novel is in the Kindle store!
Promises Kept
Yep, there it is. I'm still giddy every time I look at the link.
It's a funny string of circumstances that led to this finially getting published. I read an amazing book, Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost , and checked out the author on Facebook. Turns out, he runs an authors' group. They helped me and inspired me to take thecover art into my own hands. Two days later, there's my book. Did I mention that I'm still giddy?
By the way, definitely check out Tom Winton's books. They're fun reads. "Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost" was a rather eye-opening read at a time when I was down on the direction my life was taking. It was a well-place kick in the pants too.
And check out "Promises Kept." Epic fantasy with pirates, assassins, mages, a talking... Never mind, no spoilers from me!
Promises Kept
Yep, there it is. I'm still giddy every time I look at the link.
It's a funny string of circumstances that led to this finially getting published. I read an amazing book, Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost , and checked out the author on Facebook. Turns out, he runs an authors' group. They helped me and inspired me to take thecover art into my own hands. Two days later, there's my book. Did I mention that I'm still giddy?
By the way, definitely check out Tom Winton's books. They're fun reads. "Four Days with Hemingway's Ghost" was a rather eye-opening read at a time when I was down on the direction my life was taking. It was a well-place kick in the pants too.
And check out "Promises Kept." Epic fantasy with pirates, assassins, mages, a talking... Never mind, no spoilers from me!
December 28, 2012
Six Months Gone
I'd like to say that I have a lot to show for my silence over the last six months. Granted, I made it through NaNoWriMo and have the winner's cert to show for it. But otherwise, it was six months of simply keeping my head above water. But, I'm back and disciplined. A second book close to being finished, the first ready for publishing, and a third waiting in the wings -- I'm definitely back and ready to move forward.
June 25, 2012
Catching Up
My writing and everything else has taken a ack seat lately. The Boy is interning at the Kentucky Rennaissance Faire (page to the King) and I've spent the last couple of weeks sewing like a mad woman. Hats, pants, kilt, leather belt, gown, chemise, etc. It's been crazy but fun.
However, you know it's bad when you look forward to the week so you can sleep in. LOL We're at the Faire grounds at 7AM Saturday and Sunday. But, the Boy is having a wonderful time and it's a lot more fun than being a sports mom.
Unfortunately, all of the sewing, the long weekends, the designing has put a crimp in my writing and jewelry making and photography. I'm hoping to get caught back up. I miss writing. I miss creating.
I'm rambling now. Between the allergy meds and the fact I took a nap (never a good idea), my head is spinning. My office is getting cleaned and organized. The house is staying in shape. Now, just to get back into writing every day.
And get my head back on straight.
However, you know it's bad when you look forward to the week so you can sleep in. LOL We're at the Faire grounds at 7AM Saturday and Sunday. But, the Boy is having a wonderful time and it's a lot more fun than being a sports mom.
Unfortunately, all of the sewing, the long weekends, the designing has put a crimp in my writing and jewelry making and photography. I'm hoping to get caught back up. I miss writing. I miss creating.
I'm rambling now. Between the allergy meds and the fact I took a nap (never a good idea), my head is spinning. My office is getting cleaned and organized. The house is staying in shape. Now, just to get back into writing every day.
And get my head back on straight.
June 13, 2012
Keeping Balance... Kinda
Slowly things are falling into place. The Boy is enjoying his weekends at the Kentucky Rennaissance Faire. I've managed to dust off my sewing skills and made a decent showing. Writing, well, that's been on hold a bit. At least the family has clean underthings.
I am still mourning my beloved netbook. It's sitting on my desk, silent. I'd say it was mocking me with it's blue screen, but I like to think that we had a good relationship. So, I'll glance at it as I wander in and out of my office (I'm sewing in the living and dining rooms because my office is too tiny). I may even pet it once in a while. I miss it.
For now, I've been lucky. Most everything that I have needed to do can be done on my iPhone. When I settle in to write the next installment of Desert Shadows, however, I'll need to move down to the basement. It's cold down there and I'll probably whine a bit here and there. I prefer my sunny little office with my numerous notes thumbtacked to the wall above my desk.
Ahh well... Like I said, writing is on hold this week as I spend my time sewing. New garb for me as well as a new pair of pants for the Boy. If I'm really good, I'll even get the monogram embroidered onto his pouch before 6AM Saturday morning. (We'll see on that as I still have eight more eyelets to cover, the hem to finish on my gown, and the camicia to seam up).
I am still mourning my beloved netbook. It's sitting on my desk, silent. I'd say it was mocking me with it's blue screen, but I like to think that we had a good relationship. So, I'll glance at it as I wander in and out of my office (I'm sewing in the living and dining rooms because my office is too tiny). I may even pet it once in a while. I miss it.
For now, I've been lucky. Most everything that I have needed to do can be done on my iPhone. When I settle in to write the next installment of Desert Shadows, however, I'll need to move down to the basement. It's cold down there and I'll probably whine a bit here and there. I prefer my sunny little office with my numerous notes thumbtacked to the wall above my desk.
Ahh well... Like I said, writing is on hold this week as I spend my time sewing. New garb for me as well as a new pair of pants for the Boy. If I'm really good, I'll even get the monogram embroidered onto his pouch before 6AM Saturday morning. (We'll see on that as I still have eight more eyelets to cover, the hem to finish on my gown, and the camicia to seam up).
June 11, 2012
Drop Back and... Never Mind, Just Bring Gin
So, I'm blogging from my iPhone. Saturday night, my beloved netbook blue screened me. Thankfully, most everything is backed up. I only lost one important document and a few photos -- and the photos are some that weren't magnificent.
See how calm and mature I am being? We can all thank the drugs for that. I'm trying to remain optimistic. I can use the husband's desktop, I have my phone, and the Kindle Fire. But, it's not the same. Even though my office is a major pit, I like working at my little desk. I like working with the tv on for noise.
I like my space and my routines. I don't like using other people's spaces. And the basement is cold.
First world problems, I know. It's still a pisser.
See how calm and mature I am being? We can all thank the drugs for that. I'm trying to remain optimistic. I can use the husband's desktop, I have my phone, and the Kindle Fire. But, it's not the same. Even though my office is a major pit, I like working at my little desk. I like working with the tv on for noise.
I like my space and my routines. I don't like using other people's spaces. And the basement is cold.
First world problems, I know. It's still a pisser.
June 8, 2012
Flash Friday: Another Wendig Challenge Piece
From the list of the following words, pick four and use them in your flash:
Saw
Milkshake
Bath
Flowerpot
Wheelchair
Bully
Zoo
Heretic
Yeah, seems easy, right? It was definitely a fun challenge. HOWEVER, this post has some adult language in it. If you are offended by such, please do not read further. You have been warned.
Mondays Are a Bitch
“You belong in a zoo,” I screamed as I dodged yet another flying flowerpot. Really, this was getting old. Every time I came to give that old bastard a bath, he hightailed it out of the house, as naked as the day he was born-- however many decades or centuries ago that was. I would end up chasing him all over the neighborhood as mothers covered their children’s eyes and teenagers made bets as to whether or not he would manage to hit me.
“I may belong in a zoo, but you’re a bully, you little cunt,” he screamed, dropping the last flowerpot and grabbing his... Oh Hell. I did not need to see him wagging that in my direction. There was nothing I could do but sit on the curb and laugh. Happy fucking Monday, bitches.
Copyright 2012, Erika NapierFor information on reposting or reprinting, please contact:morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com
Saw
Milkshake
Bath
Flowerpot
Wheelchair
Bully
Zoo
Heretic
Yeah, seems easy, right? It was definitely a fun challenge. HOWEVER, this post has some adult language in it. If you are offended by such, please do not read further. You have been warned.
Mondays Are a Bitch
“You belong in a zoo,” I screamed as I dodged yet another flying flowerpot. Really, this was getting old. Every time I came to give that old bastard a bath, he hightailed it out of the house, as naked as the day he was born-- however many decades or centuries ago that was. I would end up chasing him all over the neighborhood as mothers covered their children’s eyes and teenagers made bets as to whether or not he would manage to hit me.
“I may belong in a zoo, but you’re a bully, you little cunt,” he screamed, dropping the last flowerpot and grabbing his... Oh Hell. I did not need to see him wagging that in my direction. There was nothing I could do but sit on the curb and laugh. Happy fucking Monday, bitches.
Copyright 2012, Erika NapierFor information on reposting or reprinting, please contact:morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com
June 5, 2012
Desert Shadows, Chapter Two
Hasibah was floating in a cool darkness. She smiled. It smelled of flowers. Flowers that were a rare treat, appearing as if by magic after the spring rains. There was no sand, no glaring sun, no disapproving djinn. It was paradise.
“Come now, lady, wake up and open your eyes for me,” gentle hands eased her up and placed a second pillow behind her shoulders. Hasibah struggled to stay within the darkness. She did not want to face reality. The voice chuckled and the hands shook her shoulder, “I know you’re awake. Open your eyes and have some water.”
She shook her head, stubbornly keeping her eyes shut. Maybe the voice would get tired of speaking to her if she ignored it. Maybe then she could drift back into the darkness. Cold exploded on her forehead and Hasibah yelped in surprise, her eyes opening in shock.
The voice belonged to an older man who leaned back in a chair beside her bed as he put the damp cloth back into a bowl on the table. Bed? Hasibah looked around wildly. Stone walls, soft bed with cool sheets, a vase of flowers beside the bed -- where was she? She tried to struggle out of the blankets.
“Easy, lady,” the man spoke softly, “We’re your friends here. There ain’t no djinn to be taking you away.”
Hasibah froze, “No djinn?” Was it possible? Her people were everywhere, knew everything!
“She speaks,” he chuckled, offering her a mug from the table, “And no, no djinn. Them magic-wielding bastards don’t come out this far into the desert. Besides, we have a bit of magic of our own to keep ‘em from finding us,” he winked then pushed the mug into her hands, “Go on, drink. Healer says the desert damned near got you.”
The water tasted like bliss as it cooled her throat. Hasibah drank greedily until there was barely a drop left and the bottom of the mug. She blinked in surprise and flushed. One never finished water offered by another, It was rude in a land where water was precious.
“You’ve been around them djinn for a bit if you’re worried about finishing that water,” he leaned back, studying her, “but details like that are for Himself to hear. me, I’ll settle with just knowing your name.”
“Hasibah.”
“Well, Hasibah, I’m Thorin,” he offered her his hand. Hasibah found her own taken and engulfed in a hearty shake, “Now, you know me, you know you’re safe here from the djinn, and the healer says you need rest. There’s water in the pitcher on the table and wash room through that door. I’ll be back in a bit with some food. All right?”
Hasibah nodded with a timid smile. When the door shut behind Thorin, she lay there, listening. No sound made it through the thick stone walls. She counted her breaths. At five hundred, she would make her move. These people obviously hated the djinn and thought she was running from them. Well, she was, but not how they believed. She could not, would not, allow herself to think what they would do if they found out she was a djinn!
Four hundred and ninety-eight. Four hundred and ninety-nine. Five hundred. Hasibah slowly pushed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. She still felt weak, but not weak enough to consider staying. She had to get out and away. She could not afford to trust Thorin’s offered kindness.
She made it to the door and tried the knob. It turned and she carefully pulled it open. Hasibah murmured a prayer under her breath as she looked down the corridor. Empty! The stone was cool and rough against her bare feet as she started out. Every sound seemed to ring through the corridor, every breath, every scuff of her foot.
“And then, they found a woman in the sands!”
Hasibah pressed herself against the wall and froze. Voices! She turned and fled back to the closest door, her hands scrabbling at the knob. She pushed the door open and slipped inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. she shut the door and leaned back against it, eyes closed as she listened for the voices.
“And there she is.”
Hasibah ‘s eyes opened in shock. Thorin was seated in front of a large desk, amusement lighting his weathered features. She glanced at the man behind the desk. He did not look amused at all.
“I see the healer underestimated your weakness, lady,” he said, his voice flat, “In that case, please, come join us.”
Hasibah swallowed and moved to the chair beside Thorin. Dear Gods, what had she gotten herself into? Thorin caught her eye and winked, “Don’t worry, lady, Nazim only looks like he’ll eat your liver. He’s actually very nice.”
“Shut up, Thorin,” Nazim sighed and shook his head. He leaned forward and studied Hasibah for a moment. His gaze was intense, unyielding. She found that she could not look away. He smiled a bit and turned to Thorin, “Very well. She is now your problem. Two weeks to make her decision, just like everyone else.”
“What decision,” Hasibah managed to ask.
“Join us or not,” Nazim shrugged as he stood and looked down at her, “We seek to get out from djinn rule. If you join us, you’ll help us. If you chose not to, we’ll leave you right where we found you.”
“Come now, lady, wake up and open your eyes for me,” gentle hands eased her up and placed a second pillow behind her shoulders. Hasibah struggled to stay within the darkness. She did not want to face reality. The voice chuckled and the hands shook her shoulder, “I know you’re awake. Open your eyes and have some water.”
She shook her head, stubbornly keeping her eyes shut. Maybe the voice would get tired of speaking to her if she ignored it. Maybe then she could drift back into the darkness. Cold exploded on her forehead and Hasibah yelped in surprise, her eyes opening in shock.
The voice belonged to an older man who leaned back in a chair beside her bed as he put the damp cloth back into a bowl on the table. Bed? Hasibah looked around wildly. Stone walls, soft bed with cool sheets, a vase of flowers beside the bed -- where was she? She tried to struggle out of the blankets.
“Easy, lady,” the man spoke softly, “We’re your friends here. There ain’t no djinn to be taking you away.”
Hasibah froze, “No djinn?” Was it possible? Her people were everywhere, knew everything!
“She speaks,” he chuckled, offering her a mug from the table, “And no, no djinn. Them magic-wielding bastards don’t come out this far into the desert. Besides, we have a bit of magic of our own to keep ‘em from finding us,” he winked then pushed the mug into her hands, “Go on, drink. Healer says the desert damned near got you.”
The water tasted like bliss as it cooled her throat. Hasibah drank greedily until there was barely a drop left and the bottom of the mug. She blinked in surprise and flushed. One never finished water offered by another, It was rude in a land where water was precious.
“You’ve been around them djinn for a bit if you’re worried about finishing that water,” he leaned back, studying her, “but details like that are for Himself to hear. me, I’ll settle with just knowing your name.”
“Hasibah.”
“Well, Hasibah, I’m Thorin,” he offered her his hand. Hasibah found her own taken and engulfed in a hearty shake, “Now, you know me, you know you’re safe here from the djinn, and the healer says you need rest. There’s water in the pitcher on the table and wash room through that door. I’ll be back in a bit with some food. All right?”
Hasibah nodded with a timid smile. When the door shut behind Thorin, she lay there, listening. No sound made it through the thick stone walls. She counted her breaths. At five hundred, she would make her move. These people obviously hated the djinn and thought she was running from them. Well, she was, but not how they believed. She could not, would not, allow herself to think what they would do if they found out she was a djinn!
Four hundred and ninety-eight. Four hundred and ninety-nine. Five hundred. Hasibah slowly pushed back the covers and swung her feet to the floor. She still felt weak, but not weak enough to consider staying. She had to get out and away. She could not afford to trust Thorin’s offered kindness.
She made it to the door and tried the knob. It turned and she carefully pulled it open. Hasibah murmured a prayer under her breath as she looked down the corridor. Empty! The stone was cool and rough against her bare feet as she started out. Every sound seemed to ring through the corridor, every breath, every scuff of her foot.
“And then, they found a woman in the sands!”
Hasibah pressed herself against the wall and froze. Voices! She turned and fled back to the closest door, her hands scrabbling at the knob. She pushed the door open and slipped inside, trying to be as quiet as possible. she shut the door and leaned back against it, eyes closed as she listened for the voices.
“And there she is.”
Hasibah ‘s eyes opened in shock. Thorin was seated in front of a large desk, amusement lighting his weathered features. She glanced at the man behind the desk. He did not look amused at all.
“I see the healer underestimated your weakness, lady,” he said, his voice flat, “In that case, please, come join us.”
Hasibah swallowed and moved to the chair beside Thorin. Dear Gods, what had she gotten herself into? Thorin caught her eye and winked, “Don’t worry, lady, Nazim only looks like he’ll eat your liver. He’s actually very nice.”
“Shut up, Thorin,” Nazim sighed and shook his head. He leaned forward and studied Hasibah for a moment. His gaze was intense, unyielding. She found that she could not look away. He smiled a bit and turned to Thorin, “Very well. She is now your problem. Two weeks to make her decision, just like everyone else.”
“What decision,” Hasibah managed to ask.
“Join us or not,” Nazim shrugged as he stood and looked down at her, “We seek to get out from djinn rule. If you join us, you’ll help us. If you chose not to, we’ll leave you right where we found you.”
June 1, 2012
Flash Fiction Challenge from Chuck Wendig -- Random Sentence
The very first sentence of this piece of flash was my random sentence. It was a great writing exercise as well as a step into a different tone and genre of writing. You can check out Chuck Wendig's writing challenges, writing advice, and general thoughts of things at www.terribleminds.com.
The anxious confidence originates. It’s so easy to be detached when you use those ten dollar words. I know what’s really happening. I’ve been planning for this for months, maybe years. Nebulous fantasizing that just recently crystallized into a sharp-edged plan. Each step engraved in my mind. Each step a map towards freedom.
I had my tool. I had chosen it with the precision of a master artisan. This would be my masterpiece, my Pieta. This would be my crowning moment! Hell, this would be my equivalent of a Kentucky Hot Brown. Perfection.
I could hardly wait, but wait I must.
In the dark, I could feel my heart racing with excitement and fear. I could taste the bile as it rose, pushed up as my nerves unraveled themselves. I was too close to let my traitorously weak body ruin things. I had planned for everything. Nothing was left to chance. I took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the musty scents of the ancient clothes in the closet. Dust tickled my nose and made my eyes burn as I stood there and waited. I pressed the pillow against my stomach, trying to quell the sudden pangs of hunger. If, no, when I finished, I would reward it for not growling or emptying. In fact, there was a diner that made a decent hot brown. I held that image in my mind’s eye as I continued to wait.
I cradled the pillow closer. It was gorgeous. Heavy brocade fabric that should have given a designer home pop instead of being relegated to a bargain bin. That’s what the rich and famous called it when they added a pillow or something with a bold color. Adding pop to a room. I was going to add a different kind of pop, but the pillow was beautiful and suited my purpose. I had heard that a master always treated his tools as though they were works of art. I don’t remember where, maybe I made it up. Hmm, it was a good quote. I’d save it and use it again.
Silence pressed against me in the dark of the closet. I could hear nothing from the other side of the door. Could it be? I pressed my ear against the door, ignoring the rough wood. No, I heard nothing. It was! It was time!
the door was silent as I pushed it open. I had oiled it that morning. Like I said, nothing left to chance. It was there. I could see it sprawled on the bed without a care in the world. My cares were soon to be extinguished. Closer I stepped. I kept each breath silent and slow. Even closer I stepped as I raised the pillow. I could see its face, almost feel its breath. I steadied my grip on the pillow even as I steadied my own breath.
Without a final thought, I brought the pillow down with all of my strength.
Copyright 2012Erika NapierPlease contact morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com for reprinting information
The anxious confidence originates. It’s so easy to be detached when you use those ten dollar words. I know what’s really happening. I’ve been planning for this for months, maybe years. Nebulous fantasizing that just recently crystallized into a sharp-edged plan. Each step engraved in my mind. Each step a map towards freedom.
I had my tool. I had chosen it with the precision of a master artisan. This would be my masterpiece, my Pieta. This would be my crowning moment! Hell, this would be my equivalent of a Kentucky Hot Brown. Perfection.
I could hardly wait, but wait I must.
In the dark, I could feel my heart racing with excitement and fear. I could taste the bile as it rose, pushed up as my nerves unraveled themselves. I was too close to let my traitorously weak body ruin things. I had planned for everything. Nothing was left to chance. I took a slow, deep breath, inhaling the musty scents of the ancient clothes in the closet. Dust tickled my nose and made my eyes burn as I stood there and waited. I pressed the pillow against my stomach, trying to quell the sudden pangs of hunger. If, no, when I finished, I would reward it for not growling or emptying. In fact, there was a diner that made a decent hot brown. I held that image in my mind’s eye as I continued to wait.
I cradled the pillow closer. It was gorgeous. Heavy brocade fabric that should have given a designer home pop instead of being relegated to a bargain bin. That’s what the rich and famous called it when they added a pillow or something with a bold color. Adding pop to a room. I was going to add a different kind of pop, but the pillow was beautiful and suited my purpose. I had heard that a master always treated his tools as though they were works of art. I don’t remember where, maybe I made it up. Hmm, it was a good quote. I’d save it and use it again.
Silence pressed against me in the dark of the closet. I could hear nothing from the other side of the door. Could it be? I pressed my ear against the door, ignoring the rough wood. No, I heard nothing. It was! It was time!
the door was silent as I pushed it open. I had oiled it that morning. Like I said, nothing left to chance. It was there. I could see it sprawled on the bed without a care in the world. My cares were soon to be extinguished. Closer I stepped. I kept each breath silent and slow. Even closer I stepped as I raised the pillow. I could see its face, almost feel its breath. I steadied my grip on the pillow even as I steadied my own breath.
Without a final thought, I brought the pillow down with all of my strength.
Copyright 2012Erika NapierPlease contact morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com for reprinting information
A Pirate's Life
A small vignette to introduce you to one of the main characters in my novel, Anna Bazaine.
"Here, Captain."
Anna took the glass as she stepped through the doors of the Split Tankard Inn. Her cloak still hung damply from her shoulders, but arms were put around her in well-meaning embraces even as someone removed the sodden wool to hang it by the fire. There was something afoot. Something that filled her stomach with dread. This kind of feeling in the well-known pirate tavern meant one thing and one thing alone. Someone had not made it back from the storms that had rocked the coasts of the islands.
Cold. She remembered how cold the glass was against her fingers as they lead her through the crowds. It had been placed in her hands by a one-eyed pirate by the name of Mardrake. She only knew him vaguely, but no one expected payment on a night like this. Silent prayers left her lips as she prayed it was not someone in her fleet -- a selfish thought but one that could not be helped. Please, Gods Above and Below, let it be someone else.
Red hair, still damp from the tumultuous seas was plastered against the woman's head as she turned into the light. Anna smiled slightly, her body tense from the feelings that ran heavily through the tavern. One friend found and she always had the latest information.
"Lita.. who?"
The red-haired woman, one of the few female captains worth their salt, drew Anna closer, leaning down to the tiny brunette, "Katie Two Bottle. Ain't been back in three days, lass."
Her eyes widened as she met her friend's gaze, "Katie?"
Lita nodded, "Aye. One of ours."
Ours. Not one of Sinclair's Corsairs, but one of the few female captains. There were many groups among the pirates of the seas around those lands, but none as strong as the bonds forged by the women that had fought their ways to the top. Anna swallowed her rum smoothly, her hand shaking from relief that it was not one of her boats and shock that one of the few sisters had met the bottom.
"Tell me."
"Nothing to tell, Lioness. Ain't seen nothing of her ship 'cept for a fragment."
"You, me..."
Anna's voice faded out as Lita nodded, "I got a parlour reserved. We mourn alone."
Like soldiers, sailors make their living expecting to die at some point in the chilled embrace of the sea. Anna studied her friend as the woman snored quietly, her glass forgotten in the wee hours before dawn. She and Lita had done their damnedest to send Katie off with a well-deserved wake. Quiet as it was, the two women mourned as sincerely as the boisterous men outside their door.
The woman known to many as the Lioness of the Seas pushed out of her seat with a world-weary sigh. It had been a long time since she had faced anything but the excitement of pirating. The excitement was grand, but it was a double-edged sword. Anna gathered up her cloak and hat, leaving a small pile of coins to cover her share of the drinking.
Silence reigned in the tavern, punctuated only by the occasional snore or grunt of the men passed out on the floor. Katie Two Bottles had been well known and well loved so her wake had been attended by many. Anna knew better than to seek out her crew just yet. They would stumble back to the Devil’s Courtesan as the sun moved higher in the sky.
Scents of freshly baking bread hung heavily in the morning air as she strode through the streets, making her way to the manor house that perched on the cliffs over Khardas Harbor. So many friends had not made it back from jobs. Could she, a mother and wife, justify what she was doing for fun? Anna tipped the brim of her leather hat down closer to her face, unwilling to be stopped on her way home.
A shiver wracked her body as though she, and not the ever-cheery Katie, had been drug to the bottom of the mercurial ocean. What the hell was she doing still running cargo at her age and with a young son at home? There had been more than her fair share of close calls and out and out miracles. A soft sigh left her lips as she glanced up at the rosy hues that were beginning to light the sky. The last time had almost been the death of her. When would her luck finally run out?
Copyright 2003Erika NapierPlease email morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com for information on reprinting
"Here, Captain."
Anna took the glass as she stepped through the doors of the Split Tankard Inn. Her cloak still hung damply from her shoulders, but arms were put around her in well-meaning embraces even as someone removed the sodden wool to hang it by the fire. There was something afoot. Something that filled her stomach with dread. This kind of feeling in the well-known pirate tavern meant one thing and one thing alone. Someone had not made it back from the storms that had rocked the coasts of the islands.
Cold. She remembered how cold the glass was against her fingers as they lead her through the crowds. It had been placed in her hands by a one-eyed pirate by the name of Mardrake. She only knew him vaguely, but no one expected payment on a night like this. Silent prayers left her lips as she prayed it was not someone in her fleet -- a selfish thought but one that could not be helped. Please, Gods Above and Below, let it be someone else.
Red hair, still damp from the tumultuous seas was plastered against the woman's head as she turned into the light. Anna smiled slightly, her body tense from the feelings that ran heavily through the tavern. One friend found and she always had the latest information.
"Lita.. who?"
The red-haired woman, one of the few female captains worth their salt, drew Anna closer, leaning down to the tiny brunette, "Katie Two Bottle. Ain't been back in three days, lass."
Her eyes widened as she met her friend's gaze, "Katie?"
Lita nodded, "Aye. One of ours."
Ours. Not one of Sinclair's Corsairs, but one of the few female captains. There were many groups among the pirates of the seas around those lands, but none as strong as the bonds forged by the women that had fought their ways to the top. Anna swallowed her rum smoothly, her hand shaking from relief that it was not one of her boats and shock that one of the few sisters had met the bottom.
"Tell me."
"Nothing to tell, Lioness. Ain't seen nothing of her ship 'cept for a fragment."
"You, me..."
Anna's voice faded out as Lita nodded, "I got a parlour reserved. We mourn alone."
Like soldiers, sailors make their living expecting to die at some point in the chilled embrace of the sea. Anna studied her friend as the woman snored quietly, her glass forgotten in the wee hours before dawn. She and Lita had done their damnedest to send Katie off with a well-deserved wake. Quiet as it was, the two women mourned as sincerely as the boisterous men outside their door.
The woman known to many as the Lioness of the Seas pushed out of her seat with a world-weary sigh. It had been a long time since she had faced anything but the excitement of pirating. The excitement was grand, but it was a double-edged sword. Anna gathered up her cloak and hat, leaving a small pile of coins to cover her share of the drinking.
Silence reigned in the tavern, punctuated only by the occasional snore or grunt of the men passed out on the floor. Katie Two Bottles had been well known and well loved so her wake had been attended by many. Anna knew better than to seek out her crew just yet. They would stumble back to the Devil’s Courtesan as the sun moved higher in the sky.
Scents of freshly baking bread hung heavily in the morning air as she strode through the streets, making her way to the manor house that perched on the cliffs over Khardas Harbor. So many friends had not made it back from jobs. Could she, a mother and wife, justify what she was doing for fun? Anna tipped the brim of her leather hat down closer to her face, unwilling to be stopped on her way home.
A shiver wracked her body as though she, and not the ever-cheery Katie, had been drug to the bottom of the mercurial ocean. What the hell was she doing still running cargo at her age and with a young son at home? There had been more than her fair share of close calls and out and out miracles. A soft sigh left her lips as she glanced up at the rosy hues that were beginning to light the sky. The last time had almost been the death of her. When would her luck finally run out?
Copyright 2003Erika NapierPlease email morningjuiceandserials <at> gmail <dot> com for information on reprinting
May 31, 2012
Thank you!
Thank you! I made 150 blog views today! It was a lovely surprise as I was sitting, waiting to leave town. There will be flash fiction tomorrow. And when I hit 500 views, I'll post the first chapter of my novel, "Promises Kept."
For now, enjoy a photo I took with my iPhone. (My Nikon ran out of juice. It was a photographer fail) a couple of teeny shelf fungi (Maybe? Need to ID them) on one of the steps at the nature trail I explored while waiting to head out.
For now, enjoy a photo I took with my iPhone. (My Nikon ran out of juice. It was a photographer fail) a couple of teeny shelf fungi (Maybe? Need to ID them) on one of the steps at the nature trail I explored while waiting to head out.
