Summer is here! And with it, so many book signings! Meet me at Lone Tree library at Highland Ranch in Colorado, on July 20, 2014 for your signed copy, or just come to chat, I'm always happy to meet new people. Especially fans. Especially fans who will flatter me. :)
I have reached a milestone! The Cause was 92 pages, on a Word document. For Love of Rome has reached 100, and is far from done! To celebrate, here is the first page of my new creation.
" Rain pours from the slate gray sky in endless buckets, soaking my thin clothes in seconds. Shivering with cold and wretchedness, I stumble to my feet, slogging as best I can through the thick mud and snow. At least there’s no one around to see my tears. Pain burns in my arm and side, blood seeping between my frozen fingers. The icy drops that pelt my head and drip down the back of my neck were the last straw, breaking me. I fall again and don’t bother to try and rise. I might as well lay still and accept my fate. It’s clear by now that the gods of my people do not favor me. “Khüü.” I make an effort to lift my head and look up at the man who spoke. I recognize his barbarian language, even if I don’t understand all of it. He called me boy that much I do know. “Speak … you … Latin?” I gasp, hardly daring to believe my luck. He scowls, grunts something under his breath, and then bends his massive body toward me. He’s big, bigger than any man I’ve ever seen in my life, bigger even than my father, who is hardly small himself. “You, boy. You want die?” he growls in my own tongue, his shaggy eyebrows bristling dangerously. I shake my head weakly, mustering the last of my strength in order to give him an answer. “No sir. Please. I want to live.” His frown breaks into a satisfied grin. Before I can react, his huge hands are around my middle, pulling me to my feet. I wobble unsteadily, nearly falling again, and the tears begin to flow anew. Seeing my distress, he picks me up as though I was a newborn, and not thirteen and nearly a man, and holds me close. “Easy, boy. No cry. Easy boy. Safe now.” I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against his arm. Vaguely, I can hear him shouting orders to someone else, and many answering calls. I don’t have the strength left to care. My rescuer lowers his voice, addressing me once more, but the words make no sense, and I can’t tell what language he’s choosing to use. Only one word stands out to me. He repeats it over and over, and in the haze of weariness, I understand that he’s given me a new name. A new name for a new life. Selig. I am Selig. I am lucky. I will live. " As I sat eating breakfast in the school cafeteria this morning, I happened to glance outside (we are lucky, here at Carroll, to have beautiful, large windows) and I noticed 2 Magpies desperately trying to build a nest. The following dialogue is undoubtedly what they were shouting at each other.
Mrs. M: There, Frank, that stick. I want that one. Frank: *sigh* Ok dear. Are you sure, I mean, it's a really big- Mrs M: I WANT THAT ONE! Frank: Ok, ok. *reluctantly hops down to pick up stick* (This interlude marks Frank's desperate efforts to lift a stick bigger than his head up to the very top of the tree. Frank is very devoted to his wife.) Mrs M: Lovely! That'll go right there. A little more to the left ... little more ... that's it, good- NO! FRANK! You dropped it! You dropped my stick! Go and get it this instant, Frank! I must have it! Frank: *mutters curses to self* Mrs M: What was that? Frank: Nothing dear. I'll ... go get your stick. Please don't peck me again- OW! Ok, ok, I'm getting it! Hold your feathers, miss bossy sparrow-OW! Ok! Geez! (Frank's devotion is proven once more. Until he reaches the top. And drops the stick. Again. The curses that ensued should not be repeated by civilized beings. To his credit, Frank tried 6 more times. He finally got it right! YAY Frank! He is my hero of the day.) My newest book, currently titled For Love of Rome, has reached 67 pages! (It ... it was at 80, at one point, yes, but let's not mention that. Ever.) This calls for a celebration! Internet Champagne is on me guys, especially since I'm only of age to drink it in a fictional world... For those of us in the sad non-fiction world who cannot enjoy Champagne, here's a short excerpt as another way to celebrate! Enjoy, let me know what you think in the comments.
"Pulling the hood of the jacket low over his eyes, he moved cautiously through the dark streets, keeping close to the walls. He did not particularly relish the idea of encountering anyone. “Guide me.” He whispered to the darkness, touching the metal charm he always kept around his neck. The owl had been with him since birth, never leaving his side. It reassured him to know it was there now. “You’ve led me this far, father, now help me find my way. Please. Don’t let me get lost.” He prayed. After that, he let his feet go where they wanted. He didn’t think about the road, or the maze of alleyways, and especially not the dangers that lurked around every corner. Several times he heard footsteps behind him, and had to duck behind houses and into black alleys to let them pass. The only people out at this hour were the ones he’d been taught all his life to avoid like the plague. “Are we lost, young prince?” Marcellinus whirled about, panic sending his heart racing. “Stay back! I’m-I’m warning you! I’m armed! How do you know who I am?” The man detached himself casually from the shadows, coming closer. “Expensive jacket, permanent imprint of a gold circlet on your hair, and an owl charm reserved for children of the nobility. You’re also arrogant enough to think that because of who you are, nothing bad can possibly happen to you, even though you’re wandering the streets alone at night like an idiot. You even smell like royalty.” Marcellinus forgot his fear momentarily, deeply offended. “I do not smell! I washed yesterday!” The man laughed. A beam of moonlight pierced the clouds, and the boy shuddered, remembering his terror. He could make out his enemy clearly enough now to see the dark wooden mask. It had no face, only slits for the eyes." Some say you don't exist
Some claim say you're just a tool, for lazy writers to in their prose desist Don't take offense Don't take it out on me! I know you're out there, even if you don't make sense. Please go away. I do believe, I do. No need to convince me further, no need for you my opinion to sway I'm told the cure is slamming my head against the wall but so far that hasn't helped at all The headache is getting worse Don't you dare hide behind that brain cell, I know you're the source! Dear writer's block. Sweet writer's block. Please leave me be. If you don't, I'll smack you with a clock. |
C. M. Meert
Slightly neurotic author with one published book, (The Cause) which you should buy in order to fulfill your deepest wishes and feel accomplished. Also so the author can feel accomplished. And loved. Archives
October 2015
|