Teaser Tuesday - Mystic Taxi

More from the scene I posted last week. But it's not concluded yet. :)

The following is an excerpt from my steampunk urban fantasy Mystic Taxi:

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Wanda followed Henry into the kitchen. When he grabbed the knife off the counter, he turned to stare at her with such hostility he didn't look like himself anymore. He'd gone completely mad.

"Put the knife down, Henry," Wanda said calmly, though she felt anything but calm. Panic swelled inside her like pent up steam in an engine. A scream crawled up her throat but she swallowed it down. "Your arm is still bleeding. Let me help you."

He gave her an exaggerated smile, his mouth spread wide and his sharp canines looking more like fangs than teeth. "I'm fine." He waved the knife back and forth through the air as if in play, but Wanda knew better. Holding out his bleeding arm, he said, "Want to see it, Wanda? Come closer and I'll show it to you now."

Who was this man? Certainly not the same Henry she'd grown to like and admire over the past few weeks. His sudden change in personality reminded her of her great grandmother, who'd also gone crazy, except that she'd killed herself and not someone else. Henry had murder in his eyes.

"I've seen this before," Claire said in a small voice. "In a human, though. A ghost rumored to have stabbed a prostitute to death haunted the hotel room I was in with a client. The ghost cut the man with its ghost knife and he went crazy."

"What happened to him?" Wanda didn't take her eyes off Henry, who continued to stare at her with eerie intensity.

"He threw himself out the window." Claire inhaled deeply before adding, "We were fifteen stories up."

A light seemed to spark in Henry's eyes as if he finally understood something. "It's the sickness the ghost gave me that's making me this way." He turned to face the counter and pushed up his sleeve, laying his scratched and bloody arm on the shiny white surface. He lifted the knife blade.

Horrified, Wanda yelled, "Henry! You can't cut off your arm."

"It's okay," he said. "It'll grow back. Eventually."

Oh, my God. "Stop, Henry. I mean it."

He held the blade higher.

There was only one thing left for her to do. Wanda rushed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, pressing her hand firmly over his heart. Power surged through her, her skunk stripe pulsing against her scalp, and she started to draw out the demon half of his soul.

Marketing Monday

Crickets everywhere, yet none are chirping for me. :(

I thought I was coming down with my husband's cold, but maybe not. I felt awful yesterday, but already feeling better today. Whenever I feel like I'm getting sick, I take either Primal Defense or Host Defense, which is a lot like that Airborn stuff I've heard of only stronger and more natural. It's also more expensive, but definitely worth it when you think about how much being sick can cost you.

I created a new blog for my graphic design business, Duvall Design, though I structured it to look more like a website. Wordpress is excellent for that. Their templates are remarkable. I put up several samples of my work, if you'd like to see. I'm hoping to get some book design projects, the covers as well as inside pages, from small presses. I have a lot of experience (30 years, to be exact), so if you know of anyone looking for a designer, please pass along my website address. I need the work.

I'm teaching myself Flash, but it's really hard to find any good tutorials online that are consistent. The lessons jump all over the place and you can tell the instructors are clueless how to teach. Flash is a very complex program.

I've started plotting the sequel to Mystic Taxi, titled Clockwork Cat, and I'm not quite sure which way to go with one of the new characters I'm creating. Wanda's teenage cousin, Iris Rose, is sent to live with her, and the girl has issues. She's Hellspawn and just learning to deal with her differences since her demon features didn't start to show until she reached puberty. Is she shy and withdrawn? Or outwardly belligerent? Not sure yet. So I'll spend a lot of time story-dreaming to figure her out.

Now off to pay bills for my mentally disabled sister.

What's Up Wednesday

What am I good at? I've been pondering this question for days as I start feeling the onset of panic over no money coming in. My design clients have all but deserted me, and I need to figure out what to do. At least my husband still has a job, but the pittance he gets isn't enough to pay all the bills.

Unfortunately, I have a skill set that's not in demand right now. I specialize in creative communication, especially the visual sort, as in advertising and publication design. I've been at it for 30 years, so I have a solid foundation of experience. But if no one needs it, no one needs my expertise.

I've designed a few websites in the past, but it's not something I like to do, and I never had the time to hone that particular craft. I have the time now, so maybe I'll explore it more. When it comes to the graphics and photoshop end of it, I'm an expert, but it's the interactive stuff that holds me back. I never learned the programming end of it.

I opened a new WordPress blog and I'm going to use that to create my online portfolio. If I had the money to pay for web hosting, I'd create a design website through WordPress, but the site I have for my writing is all I can afford. This new one will be for my visual art. Now it's just a matter of buckling down to get it done. I'm also going to create a custom background for my twitter profile.

I've been exploring book trailer production for the past couple of years, but there again I never had the time before to practice creating them. So I plan to work on a couple of trailers for my own books and see where it takes me. I've been wanting to experiment with iMovie on my new and bigger Mac, and now I have the chance. I spent this morning gathering images for Mystic Taxi and downloaded the perfect music score. I hope it's something I can do well, and if I can, it's a service I can offer other authors.

It would be great if my books sold, because then I could focus more on my writing to augment my other creative endeavors. I'll slog along with what I can for now and hope for the best. The economy has to turn around at some point, doesn't it?

Teaser Tuesday - Mystic Taxi

No marketing news to report, but I did hear from my agent last week saying she'd send revision notes for Mystic Taxi this week. She's also getting in touch with the editors still considering Knight's Curse.

Time for a new teaser from Mystic Taxi. Poor Henry got cut with a psycho ghost's ax and is suffering the side effects. Is insanity just around the corner? Or can Henry be saved before he loses his mind? (author note: I edited out a short section unrelated to Henry's plight to prevent possible confusion.)

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"Henry!" Wanda grabbed him by the shoulders to give him a hard shake. "You're scratching your arm again and now it's bleeding. Get a grip!"

Henry still wore his coat and the sleeve was soaked with blood. He blinked, fire roaring behind his eyes, and it wasn't his will trying to break through that was causing it. He had a fever.

"You're sweating." Wanda pulled him gently down to the couch beside his nephew. "You're really sick. Would you just show me your arm—"

He turned away from her and stared at Vernon. A murderous rage built inside him and his scales rose like hackles on an angry dog. Someone had hurt his nephew! His blood boiled, and not just with fever. His fury was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

Henry swallowed, his mouth dry as a dust storm. He had to get something to drink. He eased off the couch and stumbled toward the kitchen, but dizziness overtook him and he fell before he got there. Claire rushed to help him.

"Henry, are you okay?" she asked.

"He's sick," Wanda said. "He got cut by a ghost—"

"I remember." Vernon seemed to forget his own injuries as he scooted to the edge of the sofa, his eyes anxious. "I was there. I saw it happen." He heaved himself off the couch and staggered over to Henry.

Henry tried to focus on his nephew, but the image was blurry and washed out. Instead of Vernon he saw a woman and two small children cowering in the corner of the apartment. They looked terrified, their eyes wide and their mouths open with silent screams that brought about a strange excitement in Henry. He wanted to see them bleed, smell their blood, and watch their eyes become vacant as the life seeped out of their mutilated bodies. He wanted…

The vision faded and he saw Vernon, Wanda and Claire staring down at him in concern.

"Oh, my God." Henry sucked in a choked breath. "That ghost imprinted a memory on me, gave me its diseased anger." He scratched at his arm, trying to rake the skin off, to peel away the sickness that wanted to drive him insane.

Henry dragged himself up from the floor and stumbled the rest of the way to the kitchen. He grabbed a knife off the counter.

Teaser Tuesday - Mystic Taxi

No news to report. Same old, same old. But at least the sun's out! :)

The following is from my steampunk urban Fantasy, Mystic Taxi. Henry and his nephew are trapping ghosts for Henry's niece, who's a witch. She needs them for an experimental potion she's brewing. All goes well until one miscreant specter shows up and things get dicey.

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The ghost's eyes appeared huge and its brows furled in rage. Henry glanced at the weapon in Alfonso's transparent hand and saw that it was as ghostly as the ghost itself.

"Vernon, the axe isn't even solid. Relax." He stepped up to the ghost that had stopped only a few feet away from them. It held up its axe as if to defend itself, but its expression had turned curious. Henry held out the trap. "Looky here, Alf. Know what's inside? More members of your family. Go on in and hack away, son. Let it all out."

"Uncle Henry!"

"Hush." Henry waggled the trap at the ghost. "Come on. You know you want to."

The thing drew back its arm and swung the axe down on the trap, which shattered into a shower of shimmering pieces.

Henry frowned. "How the hell did that happen?"

Vernon stepped behind the oak tree, using the trunk as a shield. "I don't know, but I say we make a run for it."

If the axe-that-wasn't-there could smash a ghost trap, it could probably do serious damage to skin and bone. Henry held up his hand. "Peace, okay? We'll leave you alone. Just go about your business and have a nice… death." He started down the hill, motioning for Vernon to follow.

The ghost swung its axe again, and the blade sliced right through the sleeve of Henry's coat. It also sliced his arm and the pain seared him like a salt burn. Henry hissed through his teeth. "Vernon, run. Fast!"

Vernon was quick as smoke, kicking up clods of dead grass as he made tracks down the hill toward the cab, the carton of ghost traps in his arms clattering like discordant wind chimes. Mystic's headlamps flicked on and her engine started. She hadn't been sleeping, she'd been watching.

The ghost took another swing and Henry was ready this time. He leaned back, the axe blade missing his neck by inches.

"Look, pal. I never did anything to you. Take a hike." Henry felt his eyes heat up and his will push forward. "I'm warning you."

Alfonso what's-his-name paid no attention and lunged at him again. Henry danced backwards and sideways to evade the blade. He focused on controlling the ghost, but there was no mind inside it to manipulate. It was like Eunice had told Vernon: Angry energy, and powerful. But no match for a hungry demon.

"Mystic!" Henry called. "Come and get it!"

A line of green mist shot out of the cab and flew up the hill toward him. The ghost continued its furious mission to cleave Henry in two, giving no notice to the Vox demon speeding toward it. Within seconds, the snake of demon energy twined around the specter and squeezed. The ghost's eyes widened and its mouth grew round in an O of surprise. It began to shrink and fade as Mystic devoured her meal. Then it was gone.

(author's note: The ghost may be gone, but the trouble it started is just beginning.)

Thursday Thoughts

OMG, is it Thursday already? I'm so discombobulated since my husband's schedule changed at the store. His weekends are now Tuesday and Wednesday, so I've sort of adjusted my own schedule to match his so that we can do our weekend stuff at the same time. But it's screwing up my internal clock.

I have nothing to blog about and too much to blog about. Does this ever happen to you? It's hard to focus. I have the writing life, the personal life, the job life, the social life *cough*, and then just life in general. So this is going to be a mish-mash of stuff.

Pupzilla. Always a good subject for me since she's so much the center of my life these days, and not by choice. She's just a very demanding dog. Kinsey has calmed quite a bit, matured, but she always needs something and my husband is more than happy to give her anything she wants whenever she wants it. I'm not so inclined, and I get to live with her all day.

Lately, Kinsey has this thing for her frizbee. I bought her 3 of them, and she's obssessed. That's all she wants to do is catch the frizbee and she'll shove it in your face all day long if you don't throw the slimy thing covered in her dog slobber. She's only five months old, but she can leap in the air and twist every which way to grab it before it hits the ground. I think I need to enroll her in agility training when she's a little older.

Prices are going up everywhere, despite the crappy economy. You'd think it would be the opposite, wouldn't you? I got my snow tires replaced with my radials yesterday, and it cost me $10 more than it did last year. Why?

The worst of it is my dentist. My husband and I both have periodontal disease and need frequent maintenance cleanings which cost double the standard cleaning rate. I need mine 3 times a year, my husband needs his 4 times. We received the insurance statement the other day that showed a bill of $185 for one periodontal cleaning. Holy crap! That's $25 more than it cost 3 months ago! WTF? So I called to let the dentist's office know we'd be taking our business elsewhere. The office manager called me back with all kinds of excuses, like they hadn't raised their rates in 3 years (not true, they just hadn't raised them 18% like they suddenly did this year), but they'll make an exception just for my husband and I by keeping us at the old rate, which is still $20 more than every other dentist in town. I backed down, but probably not for long. We've really been pinching our pennies.

My design business is not as lucrative as it was in the fall. Clients aren't producing the projects I had scheduled for them. This gives me a lot of free time to write, but it's hard to be creative when your gut is clenched with anxiety because you're not sure how you'll pay next month's mortgage.

I didn't mean for this to be such a whiny post today, but I imagine it mirrors a lot of other people struggling through this recession. I'm sure there are others who, like me, don't drive anywhere unless they absolutely have to, put shopping for new clothes on hold, stopped eating out, keep the heat turned down to just above the breath-fog level, launder less frequently, eat more macaroni and cheese, and take do-it-yourself projects to a whole new level.

I'm going to have to work on writing a more positive post tomorrow. It will take some research, so I better start now. :)

Teaser Tuesday - Mystic Taxi

I had no marketing news yesterday, so I decided not to post. My agent has been out of town. Hopefully I'll have something to report next week.

I do have a teaser to share with you. In this scene, Wanda is masquerading as a "spawnster" in a local bar so she can get in to a clandestine meeting that will be held by the villain later than night.

The following is an excerpt from my steampunk urban fantasy, Mystic Taxi:

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Wanda stood in front of the building, glancing up and down the quiet street dotted with traffic that was as much on foot as by horse. A steam car crept by, its occupants checking her out, grinning, laughing. Had she made a mistake? Had they seen through her disguise?

"Ma'am?" came a man's voice from behind her. She turned to stare up into the brutish face of an overweight spawnster with little hair on his head and plenty on his face. He had black horns growing out from his temples. On second glance, they looked more like small thorny antlers. "Can I buy you a drink?"

He stood in the doorway of Greaser's, his goat-pupil eyes scanning her top to bottom. He grinned and stepped aside to let her pass. "I'm Emmett," he said.

Wanda blinked and swallowed her uncertainty. She had a part to play and she damn well better start playing it. Her smile deliberate and slow, she said, "I'm Wanda. Pleased to meet you."

"You're new in town. I can tell by the accent."

She started to mock a curtsy, but switched it to a bow. Less feminine. Heaven forbid she be mistaken for a whore. Thickening her accent even more, she said, "I'm from the south, relocatin' to the city. It's too borin' where I come from."

His grin broadened, showing some teeth, his incisors long and pointy. "Then I think you'll like it here. Never a dull moment in Spawnstertown. What's your poison?"

Her stomach turned at the thought of oil pooling thick and warm at the bottom of it. "I'm partial to Safflower."

He chuckled. "A lady's drink. Want cinnamon on top?"

Cinnamon? How disgusting. "No, thanks. And make it a single shot, please. I don't drink much. Goes straight to my head." She smiled and gazed up at him with what she hoped was a sultry look. She didn't feel sultry, especially not with this guy.

It must have worked because his eyes began to glow red. "Can I take your coat?"

She slid her coat off and folded it over her arm. "I'll hang on to it, if you don't mind."

He guided her to a rugged table that had seen better days in an earlier era. The top was pitted and stained, yet a thick coat of varnish made the wood glisten as though wet. She sat down on a black chair with a ripped seat cushion.

Wanda rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward, her chin cradled in the palm of one hand. "So tell me, Emmett, what's so great about Spawnstertown?"

"You name it, we got it," he said as he sat across from her. "Gambling, weapons, drugs, prostitution—"

"I have no use for whores."

"We got some handsome spawnster bucks in the stable who'd be happy to tickle your fancy." He waggled his bushy eyebrows.

Heat flushed her face and she hoped it didn't show.

I Love You!

Let's all do something positive today. Share the love.

Freestyle Friday - Accentuate the Positive!

Wow, the negativity in the writing community has been a bit overwhelming lately. I suspect a lot of it has to do with our sucky economy and the frustration of watching the writer's dream get squashed time and time again. It can be terribly hard to constantly face rejection, yet you know you must be persistent or all your efforts are for nothing. Kind of a prescription for depression.

The writer is a determined soul, and that soul needs nourishment to survive. What better nourishment than happy stories of positive experiences? When all you hear is the negative, the journey toward representation and publication can be terribly daunting. Jessica Faust at Bookends is giving writers an opportunity to share their good experiences with agents, and Rachel Gardner is asking readers to post what makes them happy! I have too many, so rather than post them on their blogs, I'm going to blog about them myself.

I've been working on advancing my writing career for more years than I care to admit, and I've experienced myriad ups and downs on this crazy roller coaster. So I'd like to share some positive experiences I've had with literary agents. I've had many, but I'll only mention the ones that have affected me the most . There are some wonderful literary agents I've had the good fortune to come into contact with, and I hope you will, too.

I wrote a paranormal mystery some years ago that was a reunion of childhood friends story that encompassed a treasure hunt, a murder mystery, and ancient Hawaiian legends. Yeah, quite a stew, but that's how my storytelling mind works most of the time. It's always a struggle to keep it in line. Anyway, this fabulous agent at Bookends named Jacky Sach really liked the manuscript and wanted to help me whip it into shape. She tried, she really, really did, and we worked together on it for nine months, but in the end she decided it just wasn't suspenseful enough. And you know what? She was absolutely right. She didn't become my agent for that book (which is destined to be rewritten as YA), but she gave me my first experience with working with an editor and she taught me how to improve my skills as a writer. I'll be forever grateful for the hours Jacky spent trying to turn my sow's ear into a silk purse, LOL! She's a remarkable person, and a fantastic agent.

A few years ago I attended the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference and got an appointment with literary agent Rachel Vater. She was lovely and listened to me pitch my urban fantasy novel. When I was done, she asked if she could read the notes I had in front of me. Embarrassed, I said sure. She read them with great interest, then explained to me exactly what was missing in my plot. Oh, my God! How did she do that so fast? In less than five minutes, she deciphered the mess that was an unworkable plot and got me excited about taking a whole new direction with the story. I went home and gutted that book completely, keeping only the main character, and rewrote it from page one. That book became what is now Knight's Curse. And though Rachel passed when I queried the new and improved version, she remembered me and handwrote me a personal note. I'll cherish it always, just like I'll forever cherish her fabulous advice.

I have a wonderful agent now who's completely behind my book. Well, both books now that I've added a new manuscript for her to peddle, and I couldn't be happier. Elizabeth Winick of McIntosh & Otis is articulate, professional, responsive, and brilliant. What more could a writer ask for? I have a lot to be grateful for, and I feel certain Elizabeth will help me reach my career goals.

If you have positive agent stories to share, I hope you'll post them in the comments section here. I'd love to read them!

Thursday Thoughts

Ever since I started taking three-mile walks with Kinsey (aka Pupzilla), I’ve tugged some old conference workshop CDs from mothballs and am re-listening to a lot of oldies but goodies. The agent and editor panel discussions are obsolete (but entertaining) since this industry changes on a dime, but the craft workshops are still spot on. I’d forgotten how good a lot of them are.

All my conference workshop CDs are from past Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Colorado Gold conferences. They’re awesome. I enjoy listening to the voices of old friends I haven’t seen for a while, and who I look forward to seeing again in the fall. But there are also some excellent workshops conducted by guest speakers, many of whom are award winning and best selling authors.

In 2004, the CG conference was fortunate to have professional journalist and mystery author Jonathan King as our keynote speaker. The man has a journalist’s eye for detail, and he taught two workshops during the conference that reflected his genius. Since I’m making revisions to Mystic Taxi, and one of the issues is including and deleting details that slow or detract from the story, I listened very carefully to Jon’s advice.

It’s vital for journalists to make every word count, so extraneous details and explanations are verboten in their work. As fiction writers, we can learn a lot from good journalism.

Jon read from a variety of examples where the details were precise and telling, using very few words. The emotions ran high in many of them. My favorite was from a piece a journalist wrote about the Oklahoma City Bombing:

After the explosion, people learned to write left handed. To tie just one shoe. They learned to endure pieces of glass embedded in their flesh. To smile with faces that made them want to cry. To cry with glass eyes. They learned in homes where children had played to stand the quiet. They learned to sleep with pills, to sleep alone.

Without explicit explanations about how some people lost their right hands in the blast, their faces disfigured by shrapnel, how they had lost children and loved ones in the tragedy, this description effectively tells readers all they need to know about this life-altering catastrophe. I want to write like that.

He gave another example from a piece he’d written himself, and again it was a journalistic work, about a murder suicide. Jon took the details provided in the police report to paint a picture of how an ordinary afternoon spent at Disneyworld had ended in two tragic deaths. Heartbreaking. A receipt found in the dead man’s pocket revealed that just a couple hours before he shot his wife and then himself, he’d bought them both ice cream at Disneyworld. This is such a telling detail. What does it say about the man’s frame of mind? The man who killed his wife and then himself was a cop, by the way.

I invite you to select an effective description from your WIP or finished manuscript that you feel is a good example of distinctive detail that tells more than it shows without actually explaining anything. It’s a challenge.