Dave Skinner's Blog, page 9

The Adels-Part 1

Tales of the TawsheThe Adels-Part 1   Tears were streaming down Adel's face as she ran out of the meeting house. It hurt to hear people say that Grandmother's abduction was her fault. She hadn't told that scary Blackheart person about Grandmother's special gift. Sure, she had told the other traveller from the time before, but she hadn't told anyone since then — after Burton had told her not to. I should run away she thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked out across the harbour and the breakwater to the sea beyond. The thought of travelling across the sea scared her, as did any thought of leaving the village, but all morning there had been something inside her, urging her to do something different.A flash of white from off shore caught her attention. A small boat was out there. It wasn't one from the village, all their fishing boat were in the harbour, their crews attending the village meeting, and anyway, this craft was too small to be a fishing boat. She straightened her shoulders, wiped more tears away and headed back into the meeting house. She had to inform Burton that someone else was coming.   Bray, saw the village because of the rainbow. He was watching for a place to make repairs to his failing boat. Settlements along the north shore of the South Lake were rare. Huge limestone and dolomite cliffs that rose dramatically straight out of the water lined this part of the coast. A stretch of beach where a small craft could be pulled up was extremely rare, finding a harbour and a village was almost unheard of, but there it was.   Bray maneuvered the oar he was using as a tiller, a very poor tiller he would have admitted if asked, and directed the small sailboat out of the wind until the sail sagged. Quickly he unlashed the rope securing the sail, dropped it, and sprang forward to secure it to the cross beam. Then, he carefully untied his makeshift tiller. It would have been inconvenient to lose the oar over the side and have to fish it out again, inconvenient and embarrassing. He could live without that. He was certain of two things; he had little skill where sailing was concerned, and he was being watched from the shore. Villages that don't keep watch don't survive, then again, there were far fewer raiders and pirates around since the battle at Waysley. He tried to look semi-professional as he fitted his oars into place, settled himself, and started rowing for the harbour's entrance.   The swells seemed larger as he neared the mouth of the harbour. Their action attempted to throw the stern of the boat first one way and then the other. He had to fight to keep in the centre of the narrow entrance, but once inside the harbour the water grew calm. He rowed the rest of the way to a sheltered wharf. Looking around as he went.   There was a short area of beach beside the wharf where he supposed boats in need of repair could be pulled up. The wharf itself was made of timbers stretched between piles of large boulders, and topped with rough cut lumber. It wasn't very long, maybe the length of two of the larger fishing boats currently bobbing on the smooth water.   There were five boats in the harbour. Considering that the sun was only a quarter of the way up the sky he was surprised to see so many boats at anchor. Common sense told him that they should still be out fishing, most of them at least. If one or two had been lucky with an early, substantial, catch they might be back to unload, but not this many. Fishing villages were never that profitable, although this one did look well-tended.   The village itself was made up of maybe thirty small buildings sitting on a narrow rock shelf that jutted out from the base of the cliff. As he drew closer to the wharf, he saw that the shelf was only wide enough to handle a single row of the houses, which were stretched out on both sides of a small stream that seemed to flow from the cliff face. It emptied into a central well-like structure, and then continued out through a channel in the front. The village water supply he supposed.  Some distance above the stream more water exited the cliff face in a fine spray that sparkled in the morning sunlight — the source of the rainbow that had caught his attention.Most of the buildings looked like houses, although he identified a bakery and a smithy located close to the water supply. The final building on his right was larger than the others, and the only people in evidence appeared to be clustered around it. A meeting place he assumed by the size and appearance, with a meeting in progress.    No one was on the wharf, but he was able to tie up without problem. With both ropes tied off, and his belongings thrown onto the wharf's plank surface, he was tidying the excess of his ropes when he noticed a figure break away from the group of villagers and run towards the pier. Bray was finished with his ropes and standing easily when the runner arrived.The way the figure ran, its build, and its haste informed Bray, well before it arrived, that this was a youth. He identified the runner as a young girl when she arrived. He estimated her age at twelve cycles. Her tunic was worn. Her legs were long and thin, and her chest was undeveloped, but her face brought a smile to his lips. Her body might not have developed yet, but her face had left the little girl behind, and formed into the beauty of a young woman, with a straight nose above a slightly sensuous mouth, full of straight white teeth. Intelligence was obvious in the large blue eyes which were currently appraising him. Bray added more cycles to his age estimate, a woman in a girl's body, he thought.   "Welcome to Rainbow, stranger," were the first words she spoke. "Our head man is dealing with a disappearance. He bids you to wait by the city well until he is free. I am to take you there and wait with you . . . and offer you hospitality."   She suddenly blushed and stammered, "In the form of food and drink of course."   "I would appreciate the hospitality in whatever form it takes," he responded with a smile. She blushed, but answered his smile with one of her own.   Bray picked up his pack, slipped it onto his back, and then picked up his weapons which were rolled in a waterproof, sealskin package. The young woman looked questioningly at that package, but didn’t say anything about it. In a larger town Bray would have taken the time to fasten his weapons about his person before continuing, but he didn't see the need here. His sword, knives, quiver, and bow may not be readily at hand, but he could still protect himself against anyone or anything he was likely to meet here, after all he was a trained Tawshe warrior.   As they neared the end of the wharf he asked his guide about the disappearance.   "Grandmother Adel is missing," the girl answered.    "If it is your Grandmother who is missing you probably want to be with your family. I can wait for the Headman alone if you want to go."   "She isn't my true Grandmother, that is just how people refer to her because she is older than everyone else, way older than everyone else. My true grandmother says Adel was old when she was still a girl."   "Could she have wandered off," Bray asked although he didn't see how that could happen. He didn't see a path leading away from the village, in fact, the only obvious path appeared to lead to the mouth of a cave located beside where the stream exited the base of the cliff.   They had arrived at the city well where Bray found a number of large boulders positioned for socializing.   "If you will wait here I will attend to some refreshments," the girl informed him.    He nodded his agreement, and she strolled away to a house three down from the stream. Bray located a large bolder that would serve as a seat and a table, dropped his pack, sat down and looked around. An oven in front of one building identified the bakery, and a kiln identified a potter’s. Each was a combination dwelling, both workshop and home. The smithy's shop appeared to be a separate building. The villagers were still all milling around by the large building. It was easily the biggest of all the structures, but the construction method looked to be the same. All the buildings had stone walls which seemed to be built without the use of mortar. Frames for windows and doors were rough cut timbers as were the roof supports he could see. Doors were also made of wood while windows were covered loosely with animal skins. The construction indicated that this village had been here for many years, three or four generations Bray guessed.***   As Adel prepared food for the stranger she was able to watch him from her window. She found him pleasant to look upon. He was at least a head taller than her. The sleeveless leather jerkin he wore was stretched tight across a broad chest, and his arms were well muscled. Adel had noticed scares on them earlier. His face was what drew her attention. In her limited experience she would consider him to be handsome; in fact he looked exactly like the hero of her fantasies, longish blond hair, beardless, square jawed, deep blue eyes, and a smile that made her knees go weak. She took a deep breath that shuddered a little bit when she inhaled. He also seemed nicer than the other three visitors from a few days ago. They had made her shudder in a different way although their leader had also been handsome, but his eyes and his smile had been cold.***   Bray saw the young girl reappear from the doorway she had entered, and make her way carefully to where he was sitting. She carried a loaf of bread tucked under one arm. In her hands she held a wooden platter containing dried fish and two mugs. Bray helped her unload the items to his stone table.   She pulled her eating blade from its sheath at her waist. As she cut pieces of fish and bread Bray gathered both cups and obtained water from the well.   "My name is Bray," he offered.   "And my name is Adel," she responded as she handed him a pieces of fish and bread.   "Adel seems to be a popular name here. Didn’t you say the missing woman was named Adel also?”   "We are both named Adel because we both have the gift of —" she bit off her words. “Yes”, she finished abruptly before proceeding to eat.   Bray followed her example. The food was tasty. The fish was spiced and the bread was fresh. They ate in silence until the portions she had cut were gone. Bray declined her offer for more. Food had been shared; the village had met its obligation to a visitor, custom dictated that he only eat a little no matter how hungry he was.   "What gift do you and Grandmother Adel possess?" he asked when their food was finished.   The expression on her face changed. Her brow wrinkled slightly. Her eye lids dropped minutely. A normal observer might not have noticed the change. ***   Adel was torn. She wanted to answer him. He seemed very nice, and she trusted him, but she had been warned about telling strangers about this. Still, she told herself, she had to be sociable to a guest. Custom told her so, and anyway, she knew this young man was trustworthy. She could feel it.   "We are both known to the little people," she admitted a little reluctantly as if expecting him to draw away, or meet her statement with laughter.   "The little people you say. How interesting. What types of little people exist around here?"   Looking relieved, Adel, instead of answering his question asked one of her own. "How many different kinds are there?"   "There are quite a few actually. I was taught that they are all different types of faeries. We have Hobs and Brownies where I grew up. I once saw Nymphs on Maidensland Island, and I have been told that there are Water Sprites in the delta of the Lazy River around Marshtown, but I've never seen them. I have also never seen Far Darrig, Clurichauns or Leprechauns, but I am sure they all exist, and probably many more that I have never heard of. So, what kind do you have around here?"   "I believe they are Leprechauns, or at least I heard someone call them that once. Our villagers refer to them as little people. I have only seen them thrice."   "What did they look like?"   "Helooked like an old man with a long beard. At first that is what I thought he was, but then I realized he was much closer than I thought, and therefore was much smaller also. He was about the size of my brother who was eight cycles old at the time. He was dressed in green pants and shirt, a red coat, and a red cap. Does that sound like a Leprechaun to you?"   "It sounds like either a Leprechaun or a Far Darrig, but it is hard to tell because of the colour of the clothing. Leprechauns usually dress in green while Far Darrigs always wear red coats and caps. You will have to ask the next time you meet one."   "I don't want to —" Adel started to say before she was interrupted by the arrival of two men.   "Hello, is there something we can do for you, stranger?"   Bray had been watching the men approach. The man leading was large with a barrel chest, thick neck, and substantial arms. He sported a large bristly beard on a weathered face. The second man was smaller and older, but he also looked well acquainted with hard work and sunshine. Bray stood when the larger man spoke.   "I certainly hope so, sir. My boat's rudder snapped on me two days ago during a storm. I was hoping I could find a replacement here."   "I thought it might be something like that, so I brought our wood smith with me." He indicated the second, older, smaller man. This is Tad. My name is Burton. I am the village leader."   Bray introduced himself and shook hands. Both men's hands were strong with sure grips although Tad's were bent slightly when he relaxed them. Bray wondered if it was the results of shaping the wood or age.   'Why don't we take a look at your boat, and see if we can help."   When Bray made to pick up his packs, Adel spoke up.   "I can watch that for you," she offered.   Bray handed her his backpack, but kept his other package with him. This action wasn't missed by Burton or Tad.   "Thank you, Adel. I appreciate it," Bray said and then followed the two men towards the wharf.   As they walked Burton nodded at Bray's weapons in their sealskin wrapping, "Fighting man I take it."   "I have fought, but I’m not a soldier if that is what you mean. I'm just a wanderer."   "How do you make a living?" Tad asked.   "Doing any work I can find. I’m happy to trade labour for food, lodgings, or whatever else I need."   They arrived at Bray's boat. Tad stepped down into it warily. Bray didn't blame him. The boat was old and worn. There was water in the bottom. He had traded five days of wood chopping for it because he had been tired of walking.  It had started leaking the second day out, not enough to make him worry, or at least not worry a lot. It didn't take Tad long to make an evaluation.    "This boat will need re-chalking as well," he stated. "I can fix you a new rudder. I have the necessary wood. How will you be paying?"   "I was hoping there was some work you might need help with," Bray answered.   Burton took over the bartering as they walked back towards the well. "If you are any good with those weapons there is something you might be able to do for us. An old woman who is very important to our village has disappeared. There were three men here for the last two days, but they were also gone this morning. We think they have taken her."   "Why do you think they took her, as opposed to her having wandered off?"   "Grandmother Adel would not wander off. She is old, but she has all her faculties. There was also a suggestion of something not right in her home; nothing was broken, there wasn't a mess or anything, but her walking stick was still in the house, and she wouldn't go anywhere without it. Also, the only exit from the village is through the cave that leads to the top of the cliff. It is too difficult a climb for her these days."   "Why would three men take an old woman away from her home? That is what I’m having trouble understanding."   When Burton didn't answer Bray tried a different question. "Young Adel told me that she and Grandmother Adel shared a gift. Does that have something to do with your theory?"   "Negotiating with the little people is the gift that the Adels share, Burton admitted reluctantly. Young Adel has been warned about idle talk on this subject, but she cannot seem to understand that all people are not to be trusted. She mentioned it to a stranger who stopped here a few moons ago, and then these latest visitors seemed to already know it. They were asking questions about Leprechaun gold almost right from the start. I am surprised Adel mentioned it to you. I scolded her last time, and some other people have already blamed her vehemently for Grandmother's disappearance.    "We need someone to go after the men and get Grandmother back. We can send two men with you, but this is a fishing village. Those men were armed while we have only a few men who can handle a sword and a few bows for hunting when —"   Burton was interrupted by what sounded like a vicious animal fight coming from the top of the cliffs above the village. Brays mind catalogued the sound as canine, dog maybe, or wolf, but whatever it was, it was angry.* * *   At the top of the cliff, Wolf Blackheart stood with the old woman lying in the dirt at his feet. He had carried her draped over one massive shoulder for the whole trip through the caves. This was not a problem for a man with his enormous strength, although the closeness of the cave had been problematic in places. Her hands and feet were tied, so she had to be carried. She was gaged and drugged as well. Wolf Blackheart was a very careful man. He planned everything to the last detail. His attention to detail was what had allowed him to succeed in every twisted scheme of theft and deception he attempted, even when killing was required.   It was his obsession for careful planning that kept the old woman drugged, tied, and gaged. He didn't know what other powers she might possess, and there was no reason to let her speak or make unnecessary movements.  He had once seen a Wizard pluck a knife from another man's sheath and plunge it into the man's throat with nothing more than a casual gesture of his hand. Wolf Blackheart took no chances, even with old women, but especially women with strange magic-like abilities.    The dog attacked his men's spears again, as they tried to force it to the back of the cage. Its ferociousness surprised him. A week ago, when he had locked the dog into the cage it had been nothing more than an overly-large, mangy, mastiff.  Now, after a week with little food, and continuous tortured from jabbing spears, the animal was completely mad. When he had returned with the old woman, he had set his men to moving the dog's cage into position. One man had gotten too close and the dog had torn his arm off. Unable to stop the bleeding, Wolf had killed the fool. Now, after this venture he would have to recruit someone else to take his place. Maybe he would try to get someone just a little smarter this time. It might save him some work over the long term.   The men had finally managing to muscle the cage into position at the mouth of the cave. Wolf smiled. He wished he could witness the look on the villagers faces when they came across the dog in the cave, well, if he was lucky he might hear their screams, but that would depend on how soon they sent someone after him, and how soon his men got the cage positioned, which was taking longer than it should. He yelled at the men to motivate them.This end of the cave was accessed from a small gully that water had eroded out of the earth over the years. The gully was as deep as he was tall, but only slightly wider than his shoulder span. In some places it was even tighter, and his men had to chip away at the walls in those places to get the cage through. Once in place, the cage would effectively seal this entrance until the villagers managed to get some tools up here to dismantle it. That and meeting the dog in the cave was going to stall any pursuit for days, he hoped.A man couldn’t make it through the openings in the cage. They were too small. The end wall of the cage would have to be broken by a smithy, and the narrowness of the cage would make it difficult to swing a hammer properly in the same way the narrowness of the cave would make it difficult to swing a sword.  Whoever met the dog in the cave was going to be sorely surprised.His men finally got the cage into position. One of the new recruits coiled up the rope that was tied to the top of the removable cage door, and threw it up to Kent who had positioned himself above the cave entrance. Kent took up the slack on the rope, and then with a quick hand over hand motion pulled the cage front up and away. The men with the spears backed away from the cage. The dog watched them warily for a few minutes without moving.“Use the spears to push him back,” Wolf roared. “We don’t have all day.”Two of the men started towards the dog with their spears raised, the dog backed away from them until it was out of the cage and into the cave. It continued to back away until it was lost in the blackness within, then with a growl it was gone. Wolf smiled again. The cave had barely been wide enough for the dog to turn around. A perfect plan he thought to himself. Now, let’s get that gold. “Get the cage moved up tight to the entrance and make sure it is under the overhang,” he yelled at his men again. He picked up the old woman and carried her over to the cart.* * *Bray removed his weapons from the sealskin. He had eaten a meal with Burton and the two men who would be travelling with him. He would have preferred to undertake the search on his own, but Burton had insisted that he take Ramos and Gerard along. Bray wasn’t sure why, but the men seemed dependable, and a couple of extra swords could always come in handy. Ramos and Gerard had gone to get their packs and supplies while Bray prepared his.He removed his sword from its scabbard. It moved smoothly and there was no evidence of rust on the blade. Next he checked his Nadian knives, not that he expected any problem with those blades. Nadian made blades were the best that there were. Bray’s knives had been made by a Nadian master craftsman under contract to the royal house. His father had given them to him on his fifth birthday as swords — hence their small size.  Bray used them to kill his first man at the age of eight. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough to save his father’s life. He had also used them to avenge his father many years later. The knives rode horizontally on his lower back in a special dual scabbard designed by his old teacher. He slipped the scabbard around his waist and tightened the attached belt. With the knives sitting comfortably, he attached his sword scabbard to his belt, and then considered his bow and quiver. The bow he would have to carry in a hand while he was wearing his backpack, but he attached the quiver to the side of the pack with rawhide strips. The arrows were not readily available in that configuration, but leaving them behind was not an option.Bray looked for Adel, but she wasn’t around. She had slipped away when the meal had been served, and had not returned. Bray wanted to say goodbye to her, and thank her for the hospitality, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen because Ramos and Gerard were making their way towards him along with Burton. “Will you thank Adel for her hospitality, Burton? I didn’t get a chance earlier.”“It will be my pleasure, Bray. Good luck on the hunt to all of you,” Burton concluded.***Adel, watching from the mouth of the cave saw the men shoulder their packs and head towards her. She slipped deeper into the darkness of the cave. Her plan was to stay ahead of them until they reached the hilltop, hide herself in the trees, and then follow them through the woods until they made camp. By then, it would be too late to send her back. They would have to let her go along. The idea of leaving the village terrified her, but something stronger was urged her to go.***There wasn’t any conversation between the men as they traversed the cave. Ramos led the way with Gerard behind him and Bray at the rear. The villagers were thinking about what might lay ahead of them, and trying to remember the lessons they had received about using a sword. Bray was listening carefully. He thought he had heard a sound ahead of them some time before, but he wasn’t sure. Although Ramos and Gerard were not talking, their passage through the cave was noisy. They brushed against the walls in the narrower places. Their swords brushed rocks and walls almost constantly. If there was something ahead of them in the cave it was doing a much better job of moving silently.Most of the cave they traversed was like a narrow tunnel. In places it widened into galleries, branched off into other channels, and in two places it had been joined by a stream that appeared from and disappeared back into the cave’s wall.After some time, Gerard pointed to a mark scratched in the wall and informed Bray, “Half way.” The mark was barely visible in the pale glow that emanated from the walls. Bray had expected to have to use torches for light, but the walls gave off a weak luminance that made it possible to see without the use of fire. Bray had asked about it, but his companions had no answers.They had travelled perhaps half as far again from the half-way mark when Ramos stopped suddenly. Ahead of them, where the cave curved to the left they saw the back of a person stepping out of the gloom. It was a woman and she was moving slowly and softly backwards towards them. Although he couldn’t see her face, Bray could tell by her posture that she was terrified. He dropped his pack silently to the ground. He was going to string his bow, but there wasn’t time as an echoing roar sounded ahead of him. The young woman spun around and ran towards them, as a huge, wild looking dog sprang into view. Its eyes were red rimmed and full of hate. There was blood on its chest and saliva dripped from its jaws. The cave was too narrow for swords, so Bray grabbed his knives as he screamed “down!” to those in front of him. The dog sprang. The young woman, who Bray had recognized as Adel, fell to the ground and curled into a ball. The beast’s leap carried it over her. Directly ahead of Bray, Gerard had dropped face down to the ground. Ramos tried to pull his sword, couldn’t, and at the last moment tried to turn away. The dog’s jaws clamped onto his shoulder. Bray heard the sound of bones breaking and flesh being torn as he ran along Gerard’s back and slashed a knife downward across the dog’s face, barely missing Ramos’s head. The dog released his hold with a howl of pain. Ramos crumbled to the ground. Bray sprang forward; both knives flashed in short arcs, too fast to follow. The dog opened its mouth to scream its anger. Bray drove a knife up from under the jaw into its brain. The dog collapsed. Bray’s second knife went in through an eye, followed by a circular movement that maximized damage — habit more than necessity.He withdrew both knives, cleaned them on the beast’s coat, and returned them to their scabbard before he turned to Ramos. Gerard was already attending to him, so Bray turned his attention to Adel who remained curled in a ball on the cave floor. She flinched when he laid a hand on her shoulder.“It is alright, girl. The beast is dead. You are safe, but what are you doing here?”“I have to go with you,” Adel said as she climbed back to her feet.“You have to go, why?”“I don’t know why, I just have to. There is a compulsion on me that I don’t understand,” Adel admitted.Bray didn’t question her about it, but rather turned to examine Ramos’s injuries. It didn’t take long to realize that he would have to be returned to the village. Gerard was of the opinion that Adel should take him, but she was physically unable to support him, so the task fell to Gerard.“You should accompany them, Adel,” Bray suggested, but she refused.“I have a part to play in finding Grandmother. I can feel it. I have to go, if you don’t take me with you I will just follow behind.”Adel didn’t understand that Bray would never leave her on her own. It was something he was incapable of doing in the same way that he couldn’t abandon the search for the old woman. Not abandoning a person or a promise made, was ingrained in him through circumstance.“As you wish,” he said as he gathered up his pack, “but do as I say, and we will travel without talk until we are out of this cave.”They travelled silently and carefully for the first while until Bray was certain there were no more surprises waiting for them. Then they picked up the pace. As they walked, Bray wondered about the men who had abducted the older Adel. Releasing the dog into the cave was clearly an attempt to stop anyone from following them, but they had a substantial head start on any pursuers, so why go to the trouble. You don’t get a dog into the state that animal had been in by simply releasing it into a cave. Clearly the animal had been tortured and starved for some time before it was let loose. That suggested forethought, planning, and more time than was available after the abduction itself. Furthermore, it suggested more men than had been so far identified. While three men had been involved in the abduction there had to be more dealing with the dog. That was the only way the timing worked. How many men he would be dealing with was unclear, but the fact that they would be close by was obvious. The attempt to stop the pursuers suggested that. You don’t go to that bother if you are planning on putting great distance between you and your pursuers.***Wolf Blackheart stood at the side of the trail and watched his men trudge by. He had five men in the lead, followed by the cart containing their food supplies and the old woman. The donkey pulling the cart was moving well, and the ten men bringing up the rear were keeping up — no stragglers — they would make his planned distance easily before dusk. Another half day tomorrow would see them to their destination. Then the fun would begin. Blackheart had to admit he was looking forward to the fun. He liked to kill. It made him smile. They had given him the name Blackheart for a reason, and he had kept the name because he felt it suited him. He had other features that could have led to other names. He was a big, powerful, man. He was fast. He was handsome. He turned heads when he walked by. He was more intelligent than anyone else he had ever met. Any of those characteristics could have been adopted as a name, but the characteristic that stood out the most was his cruelty. Wolf felt that when his crimes eventually caught up with him, and they cut his heart out they would find it was black, devoid of light and goodness. Yes, the name Blackheart suited him.***Someone else felt the same way about the colour of Wolf’s heart. As the column of men moved off down the trail there was a twinkle of light beside a large oak tree, siting off by itself, overlooking the cliffs and the water. A figure seemed to step out of the trunk of the tree. It was short; coming to no more than a normal person’s chest in height, dressed in a long red coat that almost brushed the ground. On its head it wore a red cap from which strands of red hair were trying to escape. As the creature watched the column of men trudge away up the path it placed its hand on its hips. An action that pushed the coat open exposing soft green leather breeches tucked into red leather boots, and topped by a soft green silk blouse. The action also exposed the fact that the watcher was female and beautifully proportioned. Amadella had been sitting high in the oak tree enjoying the view when she had seen the caravan approach. Normally she would have ignored their passage, but something had drawn her attention. From her vantage point high in the tree she could discern a glow coming from the bed of the donkey cart. As the cart passed below her she made out a person, obviously a prisoner, within it. Although the dirty bandana over the eyes and mouth obscured the person’s appearance, the glow told Amadella the captive was an Adel. Now at the bottom of the tree, she lifted her hands, holding them cupped before her. Her lips moved as she spoke quietly, and finally she lifted her cupped hands to her face and blew into them. In the next instant there was a red breasted song bird resting their. Whispered instructions were given before the bird launched itself into the air. It was soon lost from sight. Amadella strolled off towards the cave to the village. Her people would be warned. She had other information to gather.***“It’s a cage,” Adel stated.“Yes it is,” Bray agreed.They had stopped a short distance from the mouth of the cave because something was not right. The sun light streaming into the cave was broken into rectangles where it illuminated the walls and floor. Bray had figured out what it was before Adel spoke, but had not bothered to explain it to her. He was more interested in what lay beyond the cage. Were the abductors still close? Were they carrying bows? Were they laying in ambush waiting for whoever came to the mouth of the cave? It would be a simple thing to shoot people as they attempted to squeeze between the stone and the cage if that was even possible. He held Adel back when she started forward.“Let us make sure no one is waiting out there.”“Why would they wait around?”“Why use the dog?” was Bray’s response.Adel considered this, but moved on to a question of her own.“How will we know if someone is out there waiting?”“By using our senses,” Bray answered as he crept forward and took up a safe position just out of sight of any possible observers.He motioned Adel to silence then stood quietly observing the landscape beyond. He stood motionless for as long as it would take a large cooking pot of water to boil on a good fire. Although his eyes roamed back and forth across the area he was not expecting to see someone hiding in the underbrush or amongst the trees. Instead he watched for movement, watched for animals suddenly startled, listened for unnatural sounds, or the lack of natural sounds. He detected nothing inapposite.Adel was concentrating so hard that Bray’s sudden movement forward startled her. She made a small sound in her throat, and then embarrassed she snuck a look at Bray. He didn’t react. He simply continued closer to the cage, presumably to examine it.“Do you think we will be able to move it?” she asked.“It appears that they have jammed a log between the back of the cage and the dirt wall, so I don’t think it will move easily.” With that he proceeded to shake and heave the cage. Adel couldn’t help but notice the muscles of his arms as they bulged. He was able to move the cage slightly to the sides, but unable to move it back from the mouth of the cave. He tried to lift it, but realized that the cage sat slightly under the cave’s roof making it impossible to lift without moving it backwards first. The gully leading to the cave made it impossible to move the cage sideways for more than a hand span or two.The cage was made of thin metal straps interwoven vertically and horizontally. Its rough construction left different sized openings all around. The weave on the back wall was tighter than that on the side walls, but both left openings too small for him to fit through. The weave on the roof was looser than that on the walls, with larger openings, but still too small for him to squeeze through . . . although.“Do you think you could squeeze through those openings if I lifted you up?” he asked Adel, indicating the cage roof.She considered the possibility, tilting her head first one way then the other before she answered, pointing to an opening in the second row from the back edge. “I think that is the largest. I can try.”Adel dropped her small pack, and positioned herself below the opening before she lifted her arms above her head. The top of the cage was at her wrists with her arms stretched up like that. Bray squatted behind her, placed his hands — palm side up — beside her feet, and then had her step onto them..“Here we go,” he announced as he started to lift.Adel was as light as her slim build suggested.  Her body rose up through the opening until it stuck with both arms and her head part way through. Bray lowered her back down, and they tried it again with one arm raised and the other not. She was able to squeeze through that way. She had to wiggle a bit to get her hips and behind through but she made it without many scrapes. She stepped off of Brays raised hands onto the top of the cage, and then climbed down the back wall. Bray passed their packs out to her.Adel was digging away at the place the log was jammed into the dirt wall while Bray tried to force his end up and away from the cave when they heard the sound of a throat being cleared.Bray was probably more startled than Adel because he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. He was even more startled when the person suddenly appeared at the mouth of the gully and started walking towards them. She, most definitely a she, was one of the little people, probably a Far Darrig in his opinion, although the tales usually referred to them as male, but if there are males then there are probably females also he reasoned. She was dressed predominately in red with flashes of green showing here and there. She wouldn’t have been much taller than a child, and judging from the way his body was reacting to her she had some Siren blood in her ancestry.“I have to talk with you, Adel, but I am judging that you want to free your friend first. Am I correct?”Adel seemed to shrink away from the creature as it approached, but then she steeled herself, stood straighter, and answered. “Your help would be greatly appreciated, but you mustn’t get your beautiful cloths dirty. I can finish digging this out.”A laugh like the tinkle of bells escaped from the woman’s smile. “Oh, how sweet, I was told you were a darling, and now I see for myself, but not to worry I will not be digging.” With that she made a sweeping hand motion. The log dissolved into smoke, and floated away on the breeze.“Now come, my dear, let us find the sun again and have a talk,” she announced as she took Adel’s hand to lead her away.“But my friend is still stuck.”“I am sure your friend can free himself now. He looks quite competent, and we should talk privately. What I have to tell you is for Adel ears only. It would be —.” her voice faded away as they both disappeared up the gully and over the rim.
***

Dispirited

Earlier this week I read the following quote by Carl Sagan. It is inspiring, but dispiriting at the same time.

"We are at a crossroads in human history. Never before has there been a moment so simultaneously perilous and promising. We are the first species to have taken our evolution into our own hands. For the first time we possess the means for intentional or inadvertent self-destruction. We also have, I believe, the means for passing through this stage of technological adolescence into a long-lived, rich and fulfilling maturity for all the members of our species. But there is not much time to determine to which fork of the road we are committing our children and our future." Carl Sagan, Broca's Brain (1980)

1980 is the date the paperback version of Broca's Brain was first published. The ideas were previously presented in other publications dating from 1974 through to 1979.

This week was the week of the 2014 United Nations Conference on Climate. I haven't heard yet, but I fear this one will be as dispiriting as the previous one in 2009.

The week started with marches and demonstrations - world wide - begging for politicians (read that as the countries we all live in) to take positive action on climate change. Maybe, because I can't shake this depression I am feeling, I can't foresee anything positive happening no matter how many people are asking.  Sagan warned us, back in the late 1970s, that "there is not much time to determine to which fork of the road we are committing our children and our future." I feel we missed the boat.

This week ended with news that scientists have discovered, in a cloud in the center of our galaxy, the
"beginnings of life bearing chemistry". Meaning that there is hope for other carbon based life in our galaxy. Maybe not now, but hopefully in the far future.life will develop on some other planet that has more conscience than ours, because it looks like intelligence is a dead end on this world.

Glutard

I was called, glutard, the other day. I have to admit I liked the term even if it could be construed as inaccurate and perhaps derogatory. It refers to someone who is gluten intolerant (which I am) and of course is a combination of the word gluten with the word retard.These days, there are many of us glutardsaround as the abundance of gluten-free products showing up on grocery shelves attests to. I'm thankful for this new abundance of available products. Even in our county with its sparse population of 5,500, there are gluten free bakeries and restaurants with gluten free options available. It wasn't like that four or five years ago. I'll be even happier when the price of these products comes into line with glutinous items, but I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for that to occur, and I’m not going to mention it here because it is too sticky a subject for this post.I used the term "glutard" in the paragraph above just to sense how it felt. Is it derogatory? Can it be related to calling a person a retard? Does it carry that connotation?

Using the term retard to refer to someone is definitely derogatory. It is slang version of a valid term. The urban dictionary has this to say about the term retard:

"A person born with a mental condition and therefore has to work a million times harder to be able to do simple things (such as learn and communicate) that we take for granted. On top of this, a retard will usually suffer a lot of ridicule from society because people fear what they do not understand. The people who choose to make fun of the mental retarded tend to be complete morons and cannot comprehend that these people have feelings and emotions just like anyone else." [Ed. Honest, that is what it says.]
Dictioary.com defines retard as a verb, a noun, and as slang. The definitions are:
1. Verb (used with object)To make slow; delay the development or progress of (an action, process, etc.); hinder or impede.
2. Verb (used without object)To be delayed.
3. NounA slowing down, diminution, or hindrance as in a machine.(Ed. I have not included the additional ‘machine’ definition.)
4. Slang: disparaging and offensivea) A contemptuous term used to refer to a person who [is] cognitively impaired.b) A person who is stupid, obtuse, or ineffective in some way.“a hopeless social retard.”

Being gluten intolerant is definitely a "condition", and we do have to work harder to accomplish those simple actions called eating, shopping and snacking, especially here in Canada where Tim Horton's only gluten free product is a crummy package of two little cookies. Granted we aren't normally ridiculed because of our condition. Usually people don't know we are suffering the effects unless there are auditory or odorous symptoms, which isn’t outside of the normal considering that gas and diarrhea are both symptoms of being gluten intolerant.

Retard — used as a verb or a noun — means to slow or impede a process. This doesn’t work when it is used in connection with gluten intolerance. The last thing gluten does to people who are intolerant is slow down the digestive process, in fact, it does the opposite. So, if glutard is going to be used we have to classify it as slang. But is it disparaging, or offensive, or even acceptable? Let’s look at a possible definition.
Glutard.NounRefers to a person whose normal digestive process is hindered (in the sense of normalcy) and encouraged (in the sense of speed) by the consumption of gluten.
I think I have to conclude that glutardis an appropriate term for us, as long as it is used in its true sense, and not in a derogatory way. So, I’m going to use it, at least until some wordsmith comes up with something better. After all, we glutards are causing big changes regarding which foods are available from our grocers and restaurants, and how often do any of us (glutard or not) get to influence change for the better.

I'm a glutard and proud of it.

Forgot the Cookies

Writing Group exercise.

I was frantic. I had made these beautiful, wholesome cookies for my friend’s memorial service, and like a true dolt I forgot them. Now, I had to scramble.
The bakery I found was small, exclusive, and pricy, but it was all that was available on Sunday afternoon. I almost stepped right back out when I first entered the store. There was a strange odor I didn't recognize or like, but my cookies were at home and I didn't have an option, so I took a deep breath and pushed on in.I asked for cookies. The clerk gave me a silly grin, and suggested brownies as an alternative, because their cookies had sold out. So, what could I do? She put the goodies into a white, paper bag with the name of the store (Cannabis Sweets) on it, above a cute picture of some leaves, and there was that smell again — just a slight hint this time. I figured it must be infused into the paper bag, but I wasn't worried. I had to find a different bag anyway, or else everyone would realize the brownies weren't made by my own hands. There was a small department store open on the main street, so I dropped in there and picked up a different bag.As I was transferring the treats from old bag to the new, I decided I had enough to try one, just to make sure they were tasty. They were.
The service part of the memorial lasted about forty-five minutes. By the time it was finished all I could think about was having another brownie or something else from the sweets tray. I rushed over to the food table as soon as possible. I was amazed at how appetizing the food looked. It appeared to glow, and all the various coloured dishes and flowers appeared brighter somehow.  I concluded it had to be the lighting — maybe those new LED lights make things look better. I made some oohing sounds to express my appreciation for the display. The tables were covered in yellow vinyl — you know that cheap stuff that comes in rolls for occasions like this, but it looked better than normal — more colourful I supposed. It was pot luck. No hot food, just salads like potato, coleslaw, and spring greens. A few vegetable trays with bowls of dip in their centres, buns, cold meats and variety of cheeses, my brownies and a couple of trays of cookies.  It all looked so good that I forgot about the desserts and filled my plate.
I was strangely hungry, so I stayed close to the table. At first other people filled their plates and wandered away to socialize. Most snagged a brownie or a cookie along with their meal. After about half an hour or so — I'm a little fuzzy on the time line for some reason — everyone had drifted back to the food tables and they weren't leaving. With almost everyone crowded around the tables it was difficult to get to the food. I had to elbow a few people out of my way a couple of times.
I had purchased a large bag of the brownies, which turned out to be appropriate because everyone loved them, including me. I fessed up about having to buy the brownies, and so did the two people who had brought the cookies. We had a good laugh about it, and about a number of other things. In fact, considering it was a memorial service there was an abundance of laughter and other noises. People were moaning in appreciation as they ate. Others broke away from the food group to snuggle in corners, closets, and cloakrooms. I was propositioned a few times myself. Some people just sat and thought. They must have been good thought because they all had little funny smiles on their faces. They were probably thinking about the friend who we had all come to send off. All in all, it was a good memorial. I think my friend would have appreciated it.

Write a bad review or forget the whole thing?

A short time ago, I downloaded a free novel from Amazon. I came across it in a Goodreads group discussion. The author was celebrating a soon to be released 2nd novel in the series by giving the first novel away free for a short time. It looked like a promising read in the Fantasy genre with good cover art, and an intriguing outline. Unfortunately it didn’t live up to the promise.
I started it a few days ago, and the first thing I questioned was why the author was stating with backstory instead of jumping right into the action. I let it pass. I have been reading a lot recently about ‘first lines’ and ‘first paragraphs’, so I just put it down to my own current bias, and carried on.
The second thing I noticed was the commas. Now, I am certainly not a punctuation guru. I also am a new author. I struggle with grammar, punctuation, and tense, but I tend to research things I don’t understand, practice the correct forms, and try to get it ingrained into my writing.
For the use of commas, I use the FANBOYS acronym (look it up if you don’t understand what I mean). It doesn’t cover all instances, but it is a good starting point. Obviously, this author used a different approach. In fact it looked very much like my first novel before I had it edited. Perhaps I am not sophisticated enough to understand what the author did, or maybe there is a stream of thinking that says comas are used only to signify pauses, or maybe the author took a page from one of the old or current masters, and figured what was good for the goose—and so on. Unfortunately, the common wisdom tells young authors that they can’t get away with creative punctuation until they are classed as one of the masters. As a reader I can live with creative coma use, so I carried on reading chapter 1 (actually I believe I was only on page 3 at this point).Perhaps the first two problems honed my error awareness sense because that is exactly what happened. I started finding the odd sentence that was obviously wrong – incomplete, wrong words, that type of thing. Irritating, but I finished the chapter anyway thinking, very poor or no editing.
At this point I thought I would look to see what reviewers had said about the novel. I checked Amazon and Goodreads. The novel has many reviews in both places. All of them talk about how wonderful it is. I found one on Amazon that gave the book a 4 star rating instead of five stars because of the problems I was seeing, but the reviewer said the problems weren’t enough to degrade the book further.
With so many positive reviews, and almost a perfect 5 star rating, I returned to reading with hope for better things to come. From what I had read so far, the story line was promising. It wasn’t using characterizations from Tolkien or Howard, and aside from the problems already stated I was enjoying the writing.
Again, my hopes were dashed. I found numerous errors an editor would have picked up on. I think I found four or five in the first few pages of chapter 2. Here is an example:“He agreed to return once the size of the force, if that wasn’t an exaggeration, would truly be,”
I gave up, and deleted the book from my device, but it has been bothering me for days now. How can there be so many rave reviews for a first novel that clearly has not been edited. It is a rare first novel that is a masterpiece, but with proper feedback this one had great promise. Why didn’t any of the reviewers – except for the one -- mention the errors? For me, I don’t want to be the one dissenter in the crowd of applauders. When I run into these types of errors, I prefer to send an email detailing them, and keep them out of the review process, but I am talking about those few errors that are missed by even the best editor - not something of this scale. Should I write a bad review that catalogues these problems, or should I just forget it. 

Breakfast Wine

Sleep eluded me last night. It was one of those nights that happen every once in a while where the brain just runs on and on. Usually I can figure out why. At three-o-clock last night that was exactly what I was trying to do. I concluded it was the wine.Wine doesn't normally have a wake up effect on me, in fact it is usually the opposite, but last night’s wine was a Coffee Pinotage. According to the net there are blends where coffee is added to wine, but this wasn't supposed to be one of them. This wine advertised a hint of coffee taste. At three-o-clock this morning I was wondering about the validity of that statement, maybe they drop a few been into the barrel to get that hint of taste.Then I started thinking about the market niche that a coffee infused wine would target. If it is going to keep you awake for twelve hours you don’t want to be drinking it in the evening as I did. Breakfast wine anyone? Maybe a pleasant little wine that goes well with cereal, bacon and eggs, pancakes, or crepes.Probably a financial bonanza for restaurants that serve breakfast where instead of offering you a fresh, hot, morning coffee before you order, they would be offering coffee or coffee-wine. Coffee at $1.50 or wine at $6.00 – financial bonanza.This isn't as far-fetched as I thought it would be. I think this happens in France, so maybe that is the market niche. At three-o-clock last night, the only other possibility I could think about where coffee-infused -- keep you awake -- wine would be useful was for all-nighters.Not night shifts – all night study sessions or late night, all night, emergency work sessions. We used to do the work sessions all the time in the computer (IT) profession. Computers seem to always crash late at night, or night time was the only time that maintenance could be done, so we would work all or most of the day, and then work all or most of the night also. Lots of coffee was required, so would coffee infused wine work in those situations? Everyone will have their own answer to that question, but personally I can’t see it happening. Give me a bottle of wine before asking me to rebuild a server, and you are asking for problems the least of which would be me saying ‘screw this I’m going home even if I can’t sleep when I get there’ at some time during the night.Perception would also be a problem. We accept people walking about with coffee cups, and it is nothing to see someone who is working stop and take a sip of coffee, but would we accept someone stopping to take a swig from a wine bottle in the same situation. I think that would be a hard sell.
I wish the wine makers well with their coffee flavored/infused wines, but I don’t think I will be partaking again, at least until it is offered with breakfast.

New Year Blahs

New Year BlahsDecember 2013 was a depressing month. The weather was terrible; too much snow, too cold, and to top it all off Christmas seemed to ooze by before I even noticed. I was hoping January and 2014 would lift my spirits, but my hopes were dashed.A few days into January, I read a CBC news article about what to expect in 2014. I should have skipped it because it wasn’t inspiring at all. If you are a Canadian — as I am — you might not want to read what comes next.I fully realize that nothing is ever going to be the way it was when I was a younger man. The world has changed both financially and morally. I accept that fact, but I still hope for better times. I still hope to come across an honest politician. I still wish our political leaders would consider what is best for the people instead of just their own interests. That wish is doubled for business leaders, real estate agents, and everyone else who has contributed to putting us in the state we are in.The CBC article reported that in the span from, 2004 to 2013, the price of milk and bread has more than doubled. That in itself is bad enough. I don’t have twice as much disposable cash or income now, compared to what I had in 2004, but that isn’t what irritates me the most. What bothers me are the lengths some companies—especially in the food industry – go to hide the fact that they are raising their prices. What I’m talking about is the reduction of volume while keeping the same price; a slightly smaller package for the price of the older, larger package, or even worse the same size package with less content. The food industry isn’t the only culprit either. My wife bought some makeup the other day, and the actual product only took up half the package. The other half of the box had a piece of cardboard across it to stop it from collapsing. She bought two items. They were both packaged the same way, and the stuff was terribly expensive.Another point reported in the CBC article was that ‘young families are increasingly realizing that home ownership may not happen in their lifetime’. The average home price in 2004 was $226,353 while the projected average home price for 2013 is $382,200. That is an increase of $155,847 or about 68.8%. I am thankful every day that I’m not part of a young family just starting out in life. Their choices seem to be monster houses that are unaffordable to most, or 400 square foot condominiums which are equally unaffordable, and almost unliveably small. Properties are overpriced, but real estate agents still stage bidding wars to bump the prices up as much as possible. I glad I don’t have to play their games, and I’m sorry for those who do.The final point that stayed with me from the CBC article was that in 2004 Canada had a 1.4 billion surplus, while in 2013 we had an 18.7 billion deficit. Despite Steven Harper’s promise to never run a deficit, Canada has been in the red since 2008. I lived and worked through the belt-tightening that was necessary to get us to that surplus figure, but at least back then we had some hope that once things got better they would stay that way. Hope kept me going back then, and although 2014 looks bleak now, I suppose there is always hope. The markets correct themselves, housing bubbles burst, bad politicians loose elections, greedy business people go too far and things collapse, and the people who survive get smarter. They realize that overcrowded cities are not nice places to live, that accumulating more wealth than you can use is not a worthy goal, and maybe that old standby, honesty is the best policy.
For me, I hope that those few honest politicians and business leaders out there can influence some of their associates, and that 2014 looks better at the end then it does right now.

Locked out

When my boys—Morgan and Luke—were eleven and four respectively, we lived in a century old home in Owen Sound. We all loved the house, but it was a money pit most years.The year I’m thinking about, we had removed the front stoop in preparation for building a new porch. This made it necessary to enter the house through the back door, into what used to be the summer kitchen. This was a room added to the house at some time in the past. Its floor was higher than the rest of the floors, and the wall that divided it from the rest of the house was an eighteen inches thick exterior wall. This entrance was guarded by a solid oak door that was hung on the inside edge of the wall, while the step up was at the other side. This meant that the floor continued on the level of the inside floor, past the door for about eighteen inches, before it stepped up to the level of the back room. The door lock was one of those old, surface-mounted locks with the little latch on top that served to lock the door. Sometimes it got locked without anyone realizing it had happened. On the night of this story, that is exactly what happened.I had left Morgan to babysit his brother—it was still legal in those days—while I went to play darts. When I returned at ten-o’clock, I found that the door was locked, so I knocked loudly on the door to wake Morgan up. No response. After a few minutes of knocking I started calling his name as well. Still no response. After a few more minutes, I was pounding furiously on the door, as I yelled ‘Morgan, as loud as I could. Still no response. I knew Morgan was a sound sleeper, but this was ridiculous. More pounding and banging followed with the same lack of success. By this time, I am lying on the floor with my head stuck in the eighteen inch step, trying to yell through the space under the door. I tried alternate pounding and yelling for about to ten or fifteen minutes. I think there was some cursing thrown in also. I stopped after each attempt to listen for a response, or the patter of feet on the stairs, but heard nothing. Finally, in desperation, I decided to call the four-year-old. “Luke!” I screamed as loud as I could.“What?” Came the immediate response.“Open the door, Luke,” I yelled. I heard the patter of his feet on the stairs, so I concluded he had been sitting there listening to me scream.“Why didn't you answer me?” I asked.
“You weren't calling me, Dad,” he replied.

More on Self Publishing Options

Options for publishing your novelBefore you begin:1.      Have a completed product. This means fully written, with all the necessary Front Matter and Back Matter pages that are necessary for the type of book. Refer to The Chicago Manual of Style, page 1.4 (of the sixteenth edition) which is available from the library. 2.      Have your book professionally edited. This cost me $1,375.00 for my novel of 209 pages. It included two full edits looking at; Grammar, punctuation, sentence structures, word choice, misplaced info, areas that need to be ‘beefed up’, areas that drag, description lacking, repetition, incomplete plot lines, etc.!, from an editor who specializes in first time authors. The following article tells about what editor do; http://kobowritinglife.com/2013/07/18/want-readers-hire-a-copy-editor/?utm_source=cheetah&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=augKWL . There are numerous large editing companies around these days.  First editing is an example: www.FirstEditing.com.  Their quote to me ranged from $1,115.79 USD for “ Level 1 - Standard Editing  Standard Editing includes checking spelling, grammar, punctuation, consistency and appropriateness of verb tenses, transitional phrasing, continuity/flow of thoughts, and support of statements.”, to $2,510.53 USD for “Executive Content Editing  Executive Content Editing is the most in-depth editing service that we offer. This all-inclusive package encompasses Editing Levels 1, 2 and 3 (spelling, grammar, punctuation, consistency/appropriateness of verb tenses, transitional phrasing, continuity/flow of thoughts, support of statements, formatting of citations/references, and footnote editing according to your requested style guide) PLUS significant content re-writes of up to 20% of your entire document when necessary. This ensures a smooth presentation with consistent plot/character elements. Additionally, you will receive a professional editorial review of your writing's overall substance, organization, and presentation.”3.      Obtain an ISBN—International Standards Book Number—from The Canadian ISBN Service System at:  http://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/ciss-ssci/index-e.html Note you should send a copy of the book to Legal Deposit of Library and Archives Canada. See this link: http://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/041/008/index-e.html4.      If you plan to follow the agent/publisher route, create an agent query letter. The requirements, examples, and a database of agents can be found here;  http://www.querytracker.net/index.php  or by searching Agent Query online. Be prepared to wait at least 8 weeks to hear back or not to hear back. Check the agent’s web site for exact requirements—this is important because they are all different, some want samples, some don’t. Personally, I found that without writing credentials this was almost a useless exercise except for writing the summary of the book.5.      Write a few short and long pitches. These are the summaries that entice a reader to consider your book.Methods:Traditional: Agents and Publishers:Being new to the writing/publishing process, I don’t have any history to help verify what I have learned recently, but it appears that Publishing Houses are going through significant change. They no longer employ an army of editors, for one thing, and from what I have read, they want to deal with agents not writers. Therefore, if you want to try to follow the traditional process—as I tried to do first—I suggest the following, have lots of patience, send your query letters out on mass, and hope they aren’t too busy to answer.I have noticed a few instances where someone has put out an eBook which has become successful, and then the agents and publishers start making offers to them.  I wonder if this will catch on?Pay to have it published:This method also appears to have a number of companies anxious to take your money. I didn’t attempt this method, but I did make the mistake of downloading a free white paper from one site (AuthorHouse—I have included their white paper as an attachment on this email.). I received a call within two days from a very persistent salesman. It took three months to get rid of him.I think this is a valid option if you want to publish something for your own bookshelf or something to pass on to your family, but if you want to sell your book I suggest the Traditional method or the following eBook method.There are a number of printing options available on the eBook sites also. Publishing a printed version yourself:This route is definitely a viable option. It requires some additional work on the format of the book to make sure it is exactly the way you want it to be printed—again, refer to the Style manual of your choice for this. You also have to produce a cover page and a back page. Then, find a printer. According to a presentation done for our writer’s group, this is doable for a reasonable price--$7.00 per book was the best price our presenter found. With many, the size of the run (how many are printed) and the setup costs are factors of the cost.Publish it yourself as an ebookAs I said on an earlier blog post, I found this to be a reasonable inexpensive, simple, and not extremely frustrating—just reasonably frustrating method. There are a few points I would like to make.
Formats:The three sites I used—Google, Kobo, and Kindle—all accept various formats (doc, docx, PDF, epub, odt) and so on. I read somewhere that the Open Document Text format (odt) converts to epub cleaner than a doc or docx format, so I used it as the source for my eBook in calibre. (calibre is the eBook management software I talked about on my blog post, http://calibre-ebook.com/download_windows) Please note: If you download calibre, watch out for additional programs being downloaded along with it. Read all the download instructions carefully because sometimes you have to say no thanks. I uploaded my novel in the epub format, that way it only had to be translated on the Kindle site—they use the MOBI format if I remember correctly.The newer Word versions can save in Open Document format (odt), or the free suite of programs Open Office is another option.  It is available at http://www.openoffice.org/ and has a mac version.
Legal issues:For Canadians, the easiest option is Kobo because they are a Canadian company. If you are not a US citizen and you sell through Kindle and/or Google you have to complete an IRS form—the W-8BEN. This form can be submitted electronically for Google, but has to be printed, filled in, and mailed for Kindle. It doesn’t do anything for you except to allow the IRS to collect taxes at a rate of 30%.Canada has a tax treaty with the US, but in order to get a lower tax rate you have to get a number called an ITIN from the IRS. This means filling out some forms and contacting a company/agency/office which has the right to verify your identity. The closest is in Barrie, and of course they charge a fee.Although I have my novel out on Kindle and Google, I have yet to sell anything through them, so I didn’t bother with the ITIN. When—read that as if—I sell a lot of books I will consider it again.
The Cover:A good cover seems to be a big issue. It is suggested on a couple of sites to spend the money to have it done professionally—both the art and the design. I did my own design, but my son asked a friend he works with to clean it up for me. It looks better now. One of the sites I’m on—I believe it is Kindle—has a design your own cover option. It is new, and is in beta development (which means it still has bugs and you will be helping to iron them out). An article I came across the other day told about an author who used one of these sites for raising money to get enough to have the artwork and design done, so I don’t think this is inexpensive, but ask around and see what you can find.
Marketing and Advertising:Once you get your eBook out on a site you are free and clear, right? Sit back and collect your money. Don’t we wish it was that simple? I suppose we all hear the stories about those writers who put out their first book, and it is gobbled up by the people, but alas, that obviously isn’t my situation. My book is classified as Science Fiction. On Kobo, in the Science Fiction category there are 26,506 books listed, so how do we get our masterpieces noticed?Again, there is the option to pay for advertising--there is always the option to pay. Kindle (Kindle Direct Publishing) has an option where they do some promotion of your book if you list it exclusively with them. I think I will try that for my next book. It is called KDPSelect. Here is the web site: https://kdp.amazon.com/self-publishing/KDPSelectGoogle has two parts to what they offer. Before you can sell through them, you have to sign up for the Google books partner program. https://books.google.com/partner/You can join this program without selling through Google.
CreateSpace is something I haven’t looked at, but here is the blurb from an advertisement. CreateSpace is a leading provider of independent publishing tools that empower authors to produce, publish, and distribute their printed work.  Learn more  about the royalties and distribution options available with CreateSpace.
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/ is another option worth checking out. It is free and seems to be successful in distributing eBooks for independent and indie authors and publishers.
Bookpleasures.com http://www.bookpleasures.com/websitepublisher/ looks to be an interesting site for book reviews.
Kobo and Kindle suggest strongly that you join Goodreads, put your book information on the site, and participate with reviews and discussions to promote your book. There appear to be a number of sites similar to this. Goodreads has an author’s program which allows authors to advertise their books http://www.goodreads.com/author/programalthough it hasn’t done anything for me so far. They also send out a monthly newsletter which contains some very interesting entries about marketing, writing, and promotion. Here is a sample: http://kobowritinglife.com/2013/07/29/how-do-you-promote-on-kobo/?utm_source=cheetah&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=augKWL
If you have looked at a few of the entries I have included here, you have realized that Social Media plays a big part in some of the suggestions and offers. I have included an article at the end of this document called Harnessing the Power of Social Media to give you an idea of what is offered, but personally I agree with what Patty Jansen said in the above article.
 “What does promote mean? Since the start of self-publishing, it has come to mean spam the living daylights out of all your Facebook and Twitter friends, and pay big bucks for advertising that may or may not work, but even if it works, effects are usually very short-lived.”
Michael J. Sullivan – The master of Self-Publishing and Self-Promotion has some good ideas on how to go about it that have worked for him. My son gathered some useful posts from him for me from redit. Here is the link to Sullivan's web page: http://riyria.blogspot.ca/
Harnessing the Power of Social Media
Whether you’ve contracted with one of the ‘big six’, self-published, or you’re just starting out, there’s no denying that your online profile can make all the difference. This is why we’re delighted to bring you a guest post from people-in-the-know. Authoright PR are a group of book marketing experts, who we’ll be working with over the next few weeks to bring you some top tips for getting your novel noticed. Here is their Director of Marketing, Hayley Radford, talking about harnessing the power of social media.

Social media is short-hand for self-promotion. This 21st century phenomenon is dabbled in by many of us, but few really know how to use Twitter and Facebook to their best advantage. So how can you make your online profiles work for you? and, of course, for your writing?

Firstly, you need to take the personal element out of it by separating your private Facebook and Twitter accounts from more strategically designed platforms that give a clear indication of the brand you are trying to establish. This image needs to be consistent, professional in appearance and comprehensive in design.
Now to the content. Don’t upload any material that isn’t directly related to your writing; that means no tipsy photos of you on nights out, no pictures of children and pets being amusing. You must keep it fresh and book-focused. Things you can write about include elements of interest and themes drawn from your book. You should always try to broaden the appeal of your work wherever possible, so that it has a chance of making lots of positive connections; a great trick is to be news aware, highlighting contemporary news stories or trending themes that are of interest to everyone and writing about them in your own words, particularly those that can be related back to your book.

Authors need to be dedicated in order to make Facebook and Twitter work for them - since many simply don’t have the time to update their profiles multiple times daily, we run Social Media Marketing Campaigns at Authoright that essentially do all of this time-consuming, strategic work for them. Even those writers who hate the idea of using social media to promote their work recognize that they cannot afford to overlook its potential.

The most outstanding quality of social media is the ability to make direct connections, quickly and concisely. It’s crucial that you develop a comprehensive strategy for this: who am I going to contact, follow, like and why? By targeting key individuals – writers, journalists, literary blogs, charities or clubs that reflect the themes of your work – you can suddenly access a ready-made fan-base and these in turn will lead on to other, fruitful connections.

A great example of a successful Social Media Marketing Campaign that we’ve run at Authoright is that of our gifted fifteen-year-old writer from Palo Alto, Anna Caltabiano, who’s debut novel All That Is Red is causing a storm online. By aggressively targeting groups and individuals within her genre – Young Adult fiction – and making connections with similar social media contacts that operate within her thematic arenas – self-harm, teenage mental health, fantasy-fiction – we have been able to accrue almost a quarter of a million follows for Anna on Twitter and she has a loyal following of 41,000 – and growing – on Facebook. Through well-judged content, Anna can demonstrate how switched-on she is to the kind of issues that her target audience may be struggling with. The result is a dynamic all-rounder, an author who can demonstrate their viability, their written flair and make generous and important connections with readers and reviewers alike.

If you get social media right, you can find that your online audience will do much of the work for you, writing about you, praising your talents and making connections with other potential fans and book-buyers on your behalf through their own profiles. And since there are nearly a billion people all over the world who are actively engaged with social media, it’s a sales market that no author can afford to ignore.

For more information on how to become the master of your own media, come visit us at www.authoright.com/authonomy

How I met my brother-in-law

How I met my brother-in-lawI stood on the sidewalk looking up at the impressive brownstone that marked the end of my search. I don't know what I had expected to find, but I was sure this wasn't it. None of my acquaintances could afford a place like this, it was too grand, too opulent, to aristocratic for my friends, or for that matter any of the people who had been at the party last night. Granted, my parents and their friends could afford something like this, but my friends--some the children of the disgracefully rich, like my sister and I—could not, and more importantly, didn’t want something like this.I rubbed my hands over my head again in another useless attempt to erase the hangover headache that had plagued me since in woke up. It must have been a wild party last night; the condition of our apartment seemed to support that conclusion, even if I couldn't remember a thing about it, well anything after one-o'clock anyway. As I had groaned my way around the apartment this morning, I had wondered about my lack of memory. I'm usually not one to black out, and I was sure I hadn't drunk enough to warrant the hangover I was suffering from, but obviously my aching head was making a mockery out of the few memories I had. To make matters worse, when I had gone to get my sister out of bed, instead of seeing her fuzzy blond hair on the pillow, all I found was a cocktail napkin with an address scrawled across it.Behind me on the street, a car blew its horn, shattering my reflections, and almost shattering my head, as pain exploded behind my eyes. With coloured lights bursting across my field of vision, I made my way up the steps, and pounded on the door, well it sounded like pounding to me. I should have been more devious I suppose, should have tried to be subtle in my approach, but that wasn't going to happen. I was hung over, my head was splitting apart, my sister was missing, and I was getting angry. I like a mystery as much as the next guy, but not at my expense, not involving my family, and most assuredly not on the morning after.The door opened in a reasonable amount of time to reveal a smiling, good looking man about my age wearing a pair of shorts with the word 'beware' stenciled across the crotch. I took an immediate dislike to him."My name is Tom Brown, and I'm looking for my sister Bay," I explained."Of course, Tom, come right up, we've been expecting you. How is your head this morning? That drug we slipped you usually causes a terrible headache."I cast knives into his back with my eyes, as I followed him up the stairs, and into a spacious living room. As I entered the room, I saw Bay tied to a chair on the far side of the room. I stopped just inside the doorway while my guide continued across the room, and stopped beside Bay’s chair."What the f..." I started to say, but the door slamming shut behind me cut it short. I would probably have spun around quickly if I had been feeling better, as it was, I just turned slowly. Two large men with Neanderthal characteristics now blocked the door.I walked to the chair, went down on my knees, and untied the cloth gag from my sister's mouth. "Are you okay, Bay?""Do I look okay? What took you so long? Get me loose, and let's get out of here."Oh, I probably forgot to mention, my sister is a spoiled bitch.I reached behind her, and started to loosen the ropes that bound her."Please don't do that," pretty boy said.At least this is going to be civilized I thought. "Why not?" I inquired."Because we haven't completed our business."I waited for him to continue, but he seemed to want me to ask first, so I did, "What business?""The ransom payment of course. Did you bring it?""I'm sorry, but I had no idea this was a kidnapping. Exactly how was I supposed to know this?"Pretty boy looked a little perplexed. "It was on the napkin.""I hate to disagree with you, but the only thing on the napkin was this address.""No. There was a ransom note written on the inside.""The inside! Why the hell would I look on the inside? Hold on, I have it here somewhere." I patted my breast pocket, and then the lower pockets in my coat, reached my hand into the lower right pocket, and retrieved the napkin.I unfolded it. The first unfold revealed nothing, as did the second. I help the napkin by the corners, and displayed it to pretty boy without saying anything more. He got a hurt look on his face, and stared past me at the Neanderthals.“Ned, you were supposed to write the note. I’m pissed at you now.”Both of the Neanderthals looked like they were ready to cry, in fact I think I saw a tear glisten in the corner of the eye of the one on the right. “And Ed, you were supposed to make sure he didn’t mess up.” They both hung their heads after that.“Which one is Ned?” I asked.“It doesn’t matter,” he replied as he stumped over to a couch and flopped down.“Sorry I asked,” I huffed. “I was just making conversation.”He looked taken back for a moment before he realized what I meant. “Oh sorry, that isn’t what I meant. It doesn’t matter because they both answer to the name, Ned.”“My mistake, I thought I heard you call the other one, Ed.”“I did, one is Ned and the other one is Ed, but they both answer to both names. I’m a little taken back by your suggestion that they are both named Ned. My father and mother would have to have been stupid to name them both the same. I mean, they are twins, but naming them both Ned would be ridiculous. It would be like that old Bob Newhart show with the brothers Darrel and Darrel. That doesn’t happen in real life.”“And yet here we are having this conversation,” I thought. “So which one is Ned and which is Ed?” I asked.“I don’t know. I can’t tell them apart. Did I mention they are identical twins? Just look at them, can you tell them apart?”He had a point, they were identical in appearance, and they also dressed identically.“It would help if they didn’t dress the same,” I offered.He puffed up with indignation, but then seemed to deflate before he answered. “That would help, wouldn’t it, but they like to do it their way. They have that special bond thing that identical twins sometimes have.”“Yes, I can see that they are special,” I agreed. The twins looked pleased at that comment.“Are you two finished?” my sister asked indignantly. “Remember me? I’m the one still tied to a chair after God knows how long. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t had any coffee yet.” her voice was getting loader as she continued. “I would like to wrap up this little get together, and get the hell out of here. Obviously, my brother didn’t bring any money with him, so you might as well let us go. You can try this kidnapping thing on someone else when you get it better organized. In fact, I will give you a couple of names of people I would like to see this happen to. So how about it, can he untie me? Can we go?”She was almost yelling by the time she finished. I put my hands over my ears to block out the noise, because it made my headache flair.“I don’t think we can let you leave until I figure out what we should do. Would you be willing to go get the money, and bring it here?” He directed that last part to me, but before I could answer my sister started up again.“You have got to be kidding. You have to be stupider than those morons you call brothers. Why wouldn’t he just call the police? All he has to do ...” I think she realized what she was saying because she stopped talking which was good because I was about to gag her again.“You are probably right,” pretty boy said. “Thanks for pointing that out, but we can do something about breakfast and coffee. My brothers are great cooks, and if you promise not to try to escape, I can untie you.”“Anything is better than being tied to a chair. Okay, I won’t try to escape,” she replied.“Ned, make us some breakfast please. Ed, you make coffee, and see if we have any of that special hangover remedy,” he said as he rose from the couch, and went over to my sister.I held my breath, as he untied her. I didn’t know if she would come out of that chair kicking and scratching or what. I have learned to always expect the worst from her, but this time she surprised me, or maybe whatever pretty boy was saying quietly to her, while he undid the ropes, calmed her down. Whatever it was, she got up slowly, and daintily.When she was standing and had rubbed her wrists, her capture took her hand in his, and proceeded to apologize.“I’m terribly sorry if we have inconvenienced you in any way. I should have known the moment I laid eyes on you, and realized how beautiful you are that I would do anything you asked of me. That was why I gaged your lovely mouth when all I wanted to do was kiss it. I hope you can accept my apology, and not hold this unfortunate incident against me,” he stated, and then he bent and kissed her hand. Honest, he kissed her hand.I expected her to smack him on the back of his head while he was bent over, but she didn’t. In fact, she blushed and then said coyly, “I suppose it wasn’t that bad. At least my kidnapper is good looking. Why don’t we sit on your beautiful couch?” She led him like a puppy back to the couch, and kept holding his hand even after they were seated.Neither of them looked my way which was probably good because I was sitting there with my mouth open. I didn’t know which one was being more ridiculous, luckily I didn’t have to consider it for long because one of the twins brought me a glass of something.“Hangover medicine,” he informed me as he handed it over. “Drink it all in one go.”I was dubious. After all they had kidnapped my sister, and on top of that, the stuff looked and smelt terrible, but my head was killing me so I held my breath and gaged it down. It tasted fine, and within seconds my headache was gone.“Better?” said the twin as I handed back the glass.“Yes, much better, thank you.”“Good, breakfast is ready. Come.”He led us into a spacious dining room containing a large, very expensive, antique table, hutch, and sideboard. One end of the table was set for five with fancy dishes and silverware. The table was crowded with serving dishes full of various delicious looking foods. As we took seats the second twin came through a set of swinging doors at the end of the room carrying a large platter of meat. The smell of bacon, sausage, and grilled fish wafted over the table. My stomach growled. With smiles all around, we dug in. No one spoke for some time.I sat back in my chair with my third cup of coffee clutched in my hands, and resting on my extended belly. “That was delicious. You’re right, your brothers are great cooks, and I have to say, the kidnapping business must be really good because this house is impressive.”“This was our parent’s place. We live here now, but we can’t afford to keep it up. We lost most of our inheritance in the collapse back in 2008. We’ve been living on the remainder for the last five years, but it’s almost gone. That’s why we tried a kidnapping. I know that doesn’t justify what we did, but we were desperate.”“I take it your jobs don’t bring in enough money?”“No, not nearly enough. We all have good educations from top notch schools, but we all took fine arts programs. We were rich after all. I’m an actor, but I haven’t been discovered yet. All I’ve had is a couple of commercials. People don’t seem to want to hire my brothers either, probably because they want to work together.I looked over at the Neanderthal twins. “Yes, that is probably the reason,” I thought. I was having a hard time finding any sympathy for these people, but my sister seemed to be completely on their side. I decided we should get out of there before she suggested we pay the ransom.“Well, I’m sure you will find some way of making money, but rights now we have ...” The twins cut me off.“How?” they both said.“I don’t know off the top of my head, but I’m sure something will come along. The economy is picking up finally. A friend was telling my last night, at the party, that she is opening a restaurant as soon as she can find a chef, so things are looking up. I’m sure something will turn up.”“We cook.”“Yes you do, and you are very good at it in my opinion. Maybe you should get jobs as cooks.”“That’s a wonderful idea,” my sister jumped in. “Janet talked to me about that, and she’s looking for a maître d' also.” She turned to pretty boy. “Could you be a maître d'?”“I suppose so. I’m an actor after all. I can play any role.”“Wonderful! It’s settled then; we’ll call Janet, and have her over here for dinner. Ned and Ed will cook, and you will host.”“What if Janet says no?” I queried.“Oh, she won’t, I’m sure. We’re part owners of the restaurant after all. How can she say no?”“What do you mean, were part owners? I haven’t invested any money with her.”“Actually you have. Janet asked me to invest, but I couldn’t find my cheque book, so I used yours.”I stared at her with my mouth open in disbelief, “When did you do that, and how did you get my signature?”“Last night at the party, and I’ve been forging your signature for years, but we’re getting off topic. This isn’t about you brother. It’s about helping out new friends. Now, who has a phone I can use.”You all know the story of that diner party. Janet has told it many times. She loved the food, and the idea—so much so that she named this restaurant ‘The Twins’. It was and continues to be a success.That is the end of my story, so please join me in a toast to the newlyweds—my lovely sister, and her husband (my new brother-in-law). Cheers.