Monthly Archives: February 2009

Yesterday’s Excerpt

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Yesterday’s exceprt was from Chapter 8 of The Voyage of the Minotaur, entitled Terrence’s Jungle Adventure. Here is a little background about the chapter.

The book follows several people and rotates between their viewpoints. Terrence was not originally going to be one of those people. He was going to be a supporting cast member. However, I wrote seven chapters and I looked at my story so far and realized I really needed some action. Terrence was already plotted to be involved in some important action later in the story, but it was going to happen offscreen as it were. So I added this chapter, which was not in my original outline. This changed the whole focus of the rest of the story. Now that Terrence was one of my main characters, his relationship with other characters became more important, and when I did get to that big action climax, I was there.

The Voyage of the Minotaur – Chapter 8 Excerpt

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It was mid-afternoon when Terrence stepped back out of the tent and back into the marketplace of Nutooka. He paid no attention to words of goodbye from Oyunbileg. As it always did afterwards, the color seemed to have drained out of the world and it now looked as monochrome as a picture from a photographic plate. And just as they always did afterwards, sounds seemed far more intense than usual, and he felt as though he could pick out individual voices from among the crowd of native merchants and their customers. He pulled off his slouch hat to mop the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, and then started as two women brushed past him. They were two women from the Minotaur, and seemed too engrossed in their conversation to notice him.
He recognized both women. One was Professor Calliere’s red-haired assistant. The other was a dark-haired woman, about two inches taller and thirty pounds heavier, who was a female medical doctor. Her name was something that started with a ‘k’ sound—Cleves or Keeves or something. Terrence stood and admired both women as they walked near the edge of the stall selling bolts of cloth in many colors. Both were women of class: dynamic, intelligence, determined. They were both the kind of women that he could have seen himself courting, in another life.
He was still watching the two women when the sounds of a great kafuffle somewhere on the other side of the market reached his ears. No sooner had this registered than seven or eight mounted men rode into the market near the two women from the Minotaur. These riders were dressed in various clothing of tan, brown, and white, but each had a red sash wrapped around his waist, and each wore a red hood completely covering his face, with only two holes cut out through which to see. The most remarkable thing about these mounted men though, wasn’t the men themselves, but their mounts. Terrence knew that horses were unavailable on Enclep, but it was still a shock to see riders upon huge, ferocious-looking birds. The birds were as tall as a horse, though unlike that noble steed, they ran on only two massive legs, and had tiny useless wings. Their clawed feet were almost two feet across and the massive beaks upon their mammoth heads looked as though it could easily clip off a man’s arm, or disembowel him in a moment. They were mostly covered with brown feathers, though there were black and white details on some of them. The men had them saddled, and though they squawked incessantly, they seemed to be under firm control.
One of the men on bird-back, reached down and scooped up Professor Calliere’s assistant as though she were a shapely bag of wheat. Another grabbed the female medical doctor. Still another grabbed a native woman from nearby. Two or three had already appropriated women from somewhere else in the market and two more tried to grab nearby native women only to be thwarted by their intended victims diving behind market stalls. The entire flock of riders raced to escape the market and the city, which led them down the path directly toward Terrence Dechantagne.
With one deft motion, Terrence pulled both his nickel-plated forty five revolvers from their shoulder holsters. He fired first one and then the other in rapid succession emptying all twelve cylinders. The first rider fell to the ground, hit several times, as did the great bird that he had ridden. The second rider, shot through the neck, tumbled to the ground. The woman that had been his captive plopped unceremoniously onto the dirt. The rest of the riders turned their birds, in a way that would have been impossible in the confined area had they been riding horses, and headed for the far side of the pathway between stalls, leaving their dead fellows and a single noisy giant bird behind.
Quickly popping the cylinders of his revolvers open and reloading them, Terrence barely noticed the short red-head at his side. He tasted the metallic cloud of gunpowder smoke that hung in the humid air. By the time he had finished reloading the guns though, the mounted men had turned the corner and vanished, and he had time to take notice that it was the professor’s assistant whom he had rescued from the second rider.
“Are you alright, Miss?
“Lusk, Egeria Lusk. You’re going after them.” She said. It was more a command than a question.
Not taking time to realize that it was an employee of an employee, as well as a woman, who was now ordering him about, Terrence just nodded, stuffed his two guns back into their holsters, and taking a running jump, leapt into the empty saddle of the now riderless bird. The bird turned its head around almost one hundred eighty degrees and snapped its mighty beak, taking off one of his shirt pockets and a little bit of chest hair. Terrence balled up his fist and punched the creature in the head as hard as he could, then grabbed the reigns and kicked the bird in the flanks, just as he would have done a horse. The monstrous avian, apparently now satisfied as to just who was boss, shot off through the marketplace.
The trail of the kidnappers was not difficult to follow. They had created a great deal of disturbance as they raced through Nutooka with their captives. The first problem was that the people of the town had filled in the pathway behind the riders: people here, as anywhere else, wanting to see for themselves what all the commotion was about. The second problem was that Terrence had never ridden a bird before. He had ridden horses, mules, and once, when drunk he had even ridden a pig, but never so much as a chicken until now. Even though he was firmly seated in a saddle, it seemed as though the saddle was constantly about to slip off the rear end of the swaying animal. The net result was that even though they were many and he was only one, and even though they had the additional weight of their captives, these men, these apparent kidnappers were leaving him behind.
Following a narrow but distinct dirt pathway, the trail of the band of riders on their giant birds swept down a few nearby streets and then out of town and into the jungle. This pathway was one of the frequently used corridors through the dense jungle from Nutooka to outlying farms and villages in the area. Even to Terrence, relatively unskilled at tracking, the evidence of their passage was plain. Broken branches on the edge of the road, as well as large and distinctive footprints in the dirt, kept him on the right track.
Seven or eight miles from the city, Terrence heard the sharp crack of rifle fire and the whiz of bullets as they passed by his head. He pulled up sharp on the reigns of the great bird and tried to see where the shots had come from. He spotted two riflemen high in the jungle trees, just as they fired for a second time. One was to the right of the path and one was to the left. Both wore the scarlet sashes around their waists and the scarlet hoods of the gang that he was following. A shot went straight through his mount’s head. The monstrous bird reared back then fell; leaving Terrence on his back, with his left leg pinned by the avian’s neck. Pulling out both revolvers, he pointed one in the direction of each of the riflemen and fired six quick shots, three from each pistol. He was rewarded with a cry of pain from the rifleman to the right and saw the man plummet from the tree. He turned both pistols on the left rifleman and fired the remaining six shots. The second rifleman fell from the tree too, but he fell without a sound.
Still lying on his back, Terrence reloaded his guns. He expected to be shot at again at any moment, but no more gunfire erupted from the jungle. The gang of kidnappers had left only two of their members to deal with him. While he had to admire their ability to climb jungle trees and shoot rifles from their perches, Terrence was glad that they had underestimated him. He kicked his leg free of the giant dead bird, and stood up. Then he retrieved his hat which had fallen off. He had a decision to make. Did he continue on foot, not knowing how many miles lay between him and those he was pursuing, or did he go back for help? Did he abandon a woman from the Minotaur to some unknown but undoubtedly horrible fate?
The sounds coming from the trail behind him relieved him of the need to make such a difficult decision. The unmistakable hiss and chug of a steam carriage was clearly audible before the vehicle itself appeared in the road. Driving was Augustus Dechantagne. Sitting next to him was a man that Terrence had never seen before. The two wizards, Dudley Labrith and Suvir Kesi, sat in the back seat. The vehicle came to a stop just in front of Terrence, who hopped up onto the passenger side running board.
“There you are, old man,” said Augie. “Heard you were having trouble. Miss Lusk told me what happened and I grabbed some help and here I am.”

What I’m Reading Now

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Between grad school, teaching, and trying to write I’m finding very little time to read. I’m still working my way through Royal Harlot by Susan Holloway Scott. It’s not my usual type of read, but I’m enjoying it well enough. Of course I’m reading it on my Sony Reader, having downloaded it from the Sony eBook Store.

Prejudice in Pulp Fiction

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Paizo, who publishes a great series of mostly reprinted classics called Planet Stories, have a blog entry describing and explaining the racism present in many pulp classics. In part James Sutter, Planet Stories Editor says:

“In the past, publishers uncomfortable with content sometimes cut drastically from older books (especially Kline) in order to sanitize for their new era. We say: let the works stand on their own and speak for themselves. H. P. Lovecraft used the N-word. Robert E. Howard had some (today) scandalously negative portrayals of non-white races. Yet this is history, and to redact history is to lose a vital part of how we got to where we are.”

Read the rest of this excellent editorial here.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess – Chapter 4

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Chapter Four: Wherein we make decisions about our supper

When we were not two hundred yards down the road, I let Hysteria drop to a trot, for in truth I did not expect anyone to follow us into the night, daring wild animals, bandits, or hobgoblins regardless of how fine a pie smith Mistress Gaston was reported to be. A few hundred yards beyond that, she dropped of her own accord to a walk and I expect she was beginning to feel a bit mopey because of the slap the orphan had dealt her. At that moment I was less interested in her mental condition than my own physical one though, because I was holding a cast pie pan in each hand and they were both heavy and still quite warm.

“Here.” I turned in the saddle and handed one pie to the orphan. “We can eat while we ride. If we wait until we find a campsite, the pies will be cold.”

“Do you have a fork?” the boy asked.

I mused that this seemed an unlikely request from any boy, most of whom I have found uninterested in tableware on the best occasion, and especially from an orphan whom one might have supposed to have been forced by necessity to dig into all manner of food scraps with his hands. However it was not a question to which I needed to reply in the negative, for I always carry a fork in the inner left breast pocket of my coat, which I call my fork pocket. I gave the orphan my fork and pulled my knife from my boot to use on the remaining pie.

“This is a very nice fork,” said the orphan.

“Of course it is,” said I. “That fork came from the table of the Queen of Aerithraine herself.”

“You stole this fork from a Queen?”

“Impudent whelp!” cried I. “That fine fork was a gift from the queen, with whom I once had the pleasure of spending a fortnight.”

“What kind of queen gives a man a fork?”

“A kind and gracious one.”

That apparently satisfied the boy’s curiosity for the moment and for the next few minutes we concentrated upon the pies. I am not one to mourn a lost pie and that is well, for the pie that was lost to me on that night, as I have previously mentioned, was a pie for the ages. A fine pie. A beautiful pie. A wonderful pie. This new pie was almost as good though. It was a crabapple pie, which was a common pie to come upon in winter in those parts, which is to say Brest, as cooks used the crabapples they had put up the previous fall. This pie was an uncommonly good pie, with nutmeg and cinnamon and cloves and butter. I had more than a few bites by the time the boy spoke again.

“What kind of pie is that?”

“Crabapple,” I replied. “What pie do you have?”

“It is a meat pie.”

“A meat pie,” I mused, as I thought back upon how long it had been since I had eaten any other meat than the dried venison I had in my saddlebag. I had eaten a sausage a week before, but it had been a fortnight and half again since I had eaten mutton stew with potatoes and black bread in Hammlintown. That had been a fine stew and the serving wench who brought it to me had been nice and plump and had smiled quite fetchingly when she had set down the tray. Stew is a wonderful food and even when it is not served by a nice and plump serving wench, it always seems to give me the same feeling when I eat it that a nice and plump serving wench gives me when I see her.

“What are you doing now?” asked the orphan.

“Pondering stew,” said I.

“Well stop it. Rather ponder this instead. You eat half of your crabapple pie and I will eat half of my meat pie. Then we can trade and eat the other halves of each others pies.”

“Alright,” I agreed. “But this will mean that I have to eat my dessert first and my supper after.”

“Just pretend that the meat pie is your dessert and the crabapple pie is your supper.”

“A crabapple pie could be a fine supper. In fact I have been to countries where the most common part of a supper is crabapple pie.”

“Fine then.”

“But a meat pie is in no country a dessert.”

“Then trade me now.”

“How much have you eaten?” I asked.

“About a fourth. How much have you eaten?”

“About a fifth.”

“Then eat another twentieth,” said he. “Then we will trade pies and each eat two thirds of what remains and then trade them back. At that point, we will each eat what remains of the pie we originally started with. That way you can think of the first portion of the crabapple pie as an appetizer, the portion you eat of the meat pie as your supper, and the final portion of the crabapple pie as your dessert.”

“You are a fine mathematician for an orphan,” said I. “But it suits me. Will it not bother you that your appetizer and your dessert are of meat pie and your supper is of crabapple pie?”

“I have decided that I will make this sacrifice,” said he. “Since it was you that provided the meal.”

More Free eBooks

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From John comes word of another great spot to pick up free eBooks. OnlineUniversitiesandColleges .com are offering downloads of 100 great books. Check it out here.

Books Everyone (10-12 yrs. Old) Should Read

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Tom Swift and his Electronic Hydrolung

Imagine an aqualung so small it fits on your belt, and so powerful it will allow you to swim the entire Atlantic Ocean without coming up for air. Not as sophisticated as some recent young adult books, Tom Swift never the less still holds up. This Tom is the son of the orignial Tom Swift and has very cool inventions and adventures of his very own. So far I have only seen two of the Tom Swift Jr. books available free, but his dad’s are everywhere. Get Tom Swift and his Electronic Hydrolung in a variety of eBook formats here.

His Robot Girlfriend – Chapter 5 Part 2

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Patience’s eyes flickered, and then her arms and legs moved straight in line with her body. She stayed in that position for a moment and then turned and sat. With a single swift motion, she stood up to her full height.

“You are Michael Winston Smith?”

“Patience? Are you alright?”

“You are Michael Winston Smith?” She looked at him, seemingly without recognition.

“Yes. Yes, it’s me.”

“I am Daffodil serial number 55277-PFN-001-XGN-F0103. My software is up to date. The primary setup procedure requires approximately six hours. During this period, I your Daffodil, will be unavailable for other activities. It is recommended that during this time period you make a few basic decisions. What initial duties do you wish me to have? What clothing, if any, do you wish me to wear? What name would you like me to answer to?”

Patience became quiet. Mike watched her anxiously for at least twenty minutes, then realizing that her primary setup would not hurry just because he was actively watching her, he went to the family room and sat down. He didn’t read and he didn’t watch vueTee. Dinner time came and went, and it was only when his stomach made a loud swirling noise that he decided he would get up and eat something. He stood up and turned around to come face to face with Patience.

“The primary setup procedure is complete,” she said. “I your Daffodil, will not require a secondary setup procedure.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mike. I am fine.”

Mike jumped forward and hugged her fiercely.

“You remember me?” he asked her.

“Yes Mike. I remember you. My experience memory is write only.”

Mike forgot about eating, but his stomach didn’t and made several more loud noised. Patience quickly made him a sandwich and served it to him along with potato salad that she had prepared that morning. Afterwards, they went to bed. Though Mike held her until he fell asleep, they didn’t have sex. He just needed to remind himself that she was there.

The man in the blue jumpsuit leaned over and poked Mike in the chest. “This is a known issue.”

Pain shot through Mike’s chest. Horrible, terrifying pain. Mind-numbing pain. The kind of pain that makes one realize that there really is an end. He opened his eyes. He was lying flat on his back in his bed, bathed in sweat, clutching his chest. No, not again! Please, not again! He reached to his left and grabbed Tiffany’s arm, as another bolt of pain shot through his chest.

“Honey, argh!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Tiffany. “My God, Mike. You’re white as a sheet.”

“It’s my chest,” said Mike. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Come on,” she said. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

The next half hour was a terrifying blur. Trying to don shorts, while at the same time fighting the pain. A fast car ride. Rushing through red lights. Sitting in the hospital waiting room. At last he was lying in an emergency room bed. A male nurse was giving him a shot in the stomach that gave him a bruise the size of a football. The pain was going away. Where was Tiffany? He looked around. She had been here a moment ago. Then he saw her.

Lying on the bed next to his was Tiffany’s broken body. She had a blood all over her. Her arm was mangled. Her legs didn’t look quite right and Mike knew it was because her pelvis was shattered. None of that had killed her though. It was that tiny bump on her head. It didn’t look like anything at all, really. It certainly didn’t look like something that could kill a person. It was. It did and it was.

“No, this isn’t right,” said Mike. “This isn’t how it happened. This was eleven years ago. You were lying here eleven years ago. You died eleven years ago. That’s not the same time. I had a heart attack way before that. When was it? Fifteen years ago?”

Then Harriet burst into the emergency room. “Daddy!”

Mike’s eyes popped open. He was still in bed. He turned his head slightly and felt as though his head was going to explode. He looked for Patience, but she was no longer in bed. He got up and walked to the bathroom. Opening the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin and tossed four into his mouth. Then he chewed them.

Something landed heavily on Mike’s shoulder. He jumped and spun around. Patience was standing there. The arm that had been on his shoulder was still outstretched. He grabbed her and pulled her to him. Cupping her face in his hands, he covered it with kisses. Dozens of tiny kisses spread across her face turned into one deep kiss on her luscious perfect mouth, which she returned.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I am still alright, Mike.”

“No. I mean are you really all right?”

“I am still waiting for the software patch,” she said. “But that only affects rebooting. All my systems are in good working order.”

Mike clasped Patience’s face once more between his hands and kissed her deeply. Then she frowned.

“You have a fever, Mike,” she said.

“Yeah. I feel like shit.” He staggered slightly.

Patience led Mike back to the bed and tucked him in. Then she brought him a glass of juice. When she was sure that he was as comfortable as he could be, she lay down in the bed beside him, and brushed his hair with her hand. She stayed with him until he dozed off once again.

Mike spent most of the day in bed, eating very little, but at Patience’s insistence drinking plenty of juice and water. He felt annoyed, because it seemed to him that Patience was the one who had been truly ill. She should have been resting. She insisted though that she was fine and informed him that he had likely picked up some kind of parasite at the beach.

“That water was not very clean,” she said, as she handed him two antiparasitics.

By evening, he was feeling much better. He got up to shave and take a hot shower, then went back to bed and read “The Tales of Beedle the Bard” until he was drowsy. With Patience once again lying in bed beside him, Mike went back to sleep. He spent most of the night with his hand on that perfect body beside him. The next morning Mike felt well enough to take his morning walk, Patience right beside him of course, urging him to keep up the pace. Driving to the walking track, he started on the long oval. Even though the sky was overcast and the weather had turned decidedly blustery, they walked the full five miles, shaded by the massive sunscreen above the track. They walked at a quick pace, but instead of feeling as though he were going to pass out, Mike felt rejuvenated when they returned. He shaved, showered, and when Patience brought him his breakfast, along with more antiparasitics, he ate and felt great.

“Do you feel up to going furniture shopping today, Mike?” Patience asked.

“I think I do. Do we need furniture?”

“We do if we’re going to make Harriet’s old room into a guest bedroom. Some of the other furniture is so worn that it should be replaced too.”

Mike put on a new pair of slacks and a grey sweater. He thought that he looked pretty good. Of course he realized, when Patience walked into the room, she would still look completely out of his league. She had on a dark blue peasant top, a pair of tight fitting Capri jeans with sequins along the bottom of the legs, and a pair of black high-heeled shoes with flowers on them that she described as “Bocaccio round toe pumps”.

They hopped in the car and headed for the Pico Mundo mall. Once there they went to Modern Furnishings.

“Do you have a splitback lounger in reddish brown leather?” Patience asked the clerk.

“Um, just what you see,” he said.

Mike didn’t know what it was that Patience had asked for, but they ended up picking out a nice leather couch with clean lines that was pretty comfortable. The also found a nice double bed and a pair of nightstands. He paid for them and scheduled delivery. They had lunch at Gyro Time. Then, before leaving, Mike insisted on stopping at Venus to buy some more clothes for Patience. He was finding that he enjoyed seeing her dressed up in her sexy clothing almost as much as he did seeing her naked. Patience certainly seemed to enjoy showing off new clothes to him. This time she selected something called a Marylin-collar sweater dress, which completely covered her from neck to mid-thigh, but showed off every curve and, Mike was happy to see, every bump too. As they walked across the parking lot toward the Chevy, Mike stopped suddenly and looked at Patience.

“What is it, Mike?” she asked.

“I’m falling in love with you, you know,” he said.

Patience smiled happily. “I thought you might be, Mike.”

“Really?”

“At first I didn’t know for sure. But once I got to know you and your needs, I believed that it would be only a matter of time. I am for you, Mike.”

“Yes,” Mike mused. “Yes, you are for me.”

What I’m Writing Now

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I was hard at work on the sequel to Princess of Amathar, the working title of which is Knights of Amthar. Then I got sidetracked with Eaglethorp Buxton and the Elven Princess. This is going to be a quick little piece of about 25,000 words. All the while I have been editing The Voyage of the Minotaur, which led me to want to write more about those characters, so I dived into this new story, tentatively called The Dark and Forbidding Land. So I’m on chapter four of Knights of Amathar, chapter seven of Eaglethorp Buxton, and now chapter three of The Dark and Forbidding Land.

Books Everyone Should Read – Part 3

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Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs

One of the most underrated books of all time, this is a great adventure, a great love story, and a brilliant story. Get it for free in a variety of eBook formats here. This link will take you to Feedbooks, but the book is available at Manybooks.net and other perveyors of free books.