The Sorcerer's Apprentice

After a bit of a dry spell, I have a new title with a release date and a cover!! Whoo-hoo. Maybe no one else is quite as excited with the news as I am but I hope some faithful readers will be glad to see a new Dierdre O'Dare story!

The title is of course the same as a classical music piece that I used to play at Halloween along with an old LP of Chinese opera and Night on Bald Mountain and a couple of other moody pieces. The Chinese opera was especially spooky sounding!! I am such a casual classical music fan that I cannot even tell you who wrote The Sorcerer's Apprentice but it's basically a cautionary fairy tale set to music in which the youthful apprentice  has been assigned many chores by his sorcerer master and tries to use a bit of magic to do them fast and easy with less than great results! Of course I had to put a twist on this theme when I wrote my own take on it!

The Sorcerer's Apprentice will be released on October 17 as part of the Making Magic PAX collection. I am betting the five stories will be great, hot and also evocative of the Halloween season with magic galore and a range of practitioners who maybe apply a bit of sex magic to their efforts ;-).

This is an unedited excerpt so be kind when you read; don't look for errors as I am sure there are some! But it will give you a flavor of the story, anyway. It is a wee bit droll in tone but there are serious spots too and a bit of romance and the mandatory happy ending. In between--well, you'll just have to wait and see!

Excerpt:

Driz knew he’d received all the formal schooling he could expect. He was, after all, eldest of the three children of a hedge witch single mother in the ancient realm of Melcovia. After he had completed the mandatory four years of public school, deemed adequate for the average working class child of the realm, Mum had struggled to get him through the Mystik Magick Academy Charter School–ten long and costly years. But her strength and determination were  both exhausted. She also had to consider the two younger children now. Nothing had actually been said, but she clearly expected Driz to do well enough to assist his siblings. Right now, he had little to offer.

Graduation behind him, he cursed the excesses of his last two years in school, an error that had seen his previously stellar marks plummet far below the scholarship level. He’d discovered sex, alcohol and recreational drugs, which played hell with his studies. It began to look like his remaining choices were but two. He either had to find a normal, mundane job – the word sat on his tongue like an obscenity—or locate a free-lance practitioner of magick who would take him on as an apprentice. The school, he’d found, didn’t teach nearly enough to make him the top flight mage he aspired to become.

So far his search for a master had not been fruitful. Was there no wizard, sorcerer or magician left who could take Driscoll Darnell under a protective wing and help him develop the talents he felt sure would prove exceptional?

Life was no long good in Melcovia, especially for the magic community. The latest incarnation of the government seemed to have lost traditional respect for the magical arts. What few mages were left either found employment at one of the remaining schools of wizardry which retained a bit of the old cachet or went into hiding to escape hassling by the personal police force of Premier-for-Life, Monsante Congerson.

His Excellence had no use for magic. Everyone said he called it an anachronistic folly beneath his notice, although a minor nuisance at times. Thus the police hazing of any stray gifted citizen, clearly condoned if not encouraged. Every minor blip on the smooth road of the ruler’s life, he attributed to bad magic and sent his enforcers out to discipline any likely candidate. Such discipline could be harsh. Anyone with a whiff of magic soon learned to keep a low profile or seek protection within the ancient and sacred strongholds far from the capitol city of Melcorth.

Driz and his family resided in a suburb of that city, where Mum could work legitimately as a midwife and a nurse practitioner. Those professions were still acceptable if one kept the magical aspects beneath the notice of the officials. Someone had to deliver babies and deal with the cuts, bruises and breaks of juvenile escapades and the routine complaints of the elderly. Mistress Darnell did this very well.

To get Driz through school she had also moonlighted as a waitress in a local pub and beer garden but she was getting a bit too old for that. Customers favored the youthful, buxom and flirtatious with their tips and gifts, not a middle aged mother showing the signs of her struggles. When her gratuities dropped below the pitiful wages the tavern owner doled out, she had quit. Even that small bit of added income was missed. The family had not a penny to spare.

Out of school now for three fortnights, Driz began to grow desperate. His hands did not fit a shovel handle, he loathed the idea of carrying weapons with the military or the guard force to enforce the dictator’s edicts, and clerical work bored him to tears. What else was there to do? He decided to send out an urgent telepathic call for a master.

Surely somewhere in the realm, someone would hear and summon him. Carrier pigeons had to have a known destination and hand scribed letters a place to be delivered. He did not know one single magician to reach by either method except his old teachers, none of whom would do for his needs.

Summoning all the magical lore he’d gained in school, and with an urgent prayer to the Powers-That-Be, he lit a candle. He then stood it in a low vessel of water taken from a running stream and focused his sight on the reflection of the flickering yellow flame. He sent out his frantic mental call three times and then waited for a reply.

***

Corydon Callipsich Cremonis rinsed his bowl after cleaning the last of the soup from its rough sides. Although his life had come to this sad pass, he knew he was better off than many of his brother mages and sorcerers. Dom Tanguich, who held to his ancestors’ traditional respect for magical folk, allowed Cory a comfortable cottage on the grounds of the Tanguich mountain stronghold in eastern Melcovia and generally kept him supplied with such necessities as wood for his fire and food for his table. This might not make for a luxurious life such as magedom had once enjoyed but was more than adequate. Of course one could always conjure up a few pretties but that just wasn’t the same. Gifts and offerings were much sweeter!

In exchange for the support, Cory shielded the estate from the notice of the Premier and his minions and turned the feet of any who wandered their direction to other paths unless they brought good fortune rather than trouble. Beyond that duty, the Dom made few demands on him. Yes, he was fortunate--but lonely. Living here, cut off from others of his kind, made for an austere existence.

He wandered out to the stone stoop of his abode and watched the fading sunset. From what he could see, much-needed rain was not likely. Perhaps a small spell was in order. The Tanguich livestock required new grass and the crops in the fields down the narrow valley from the hilltop fortress were beginning to wither from the extended dry spell. Ambling back inside, he went directly to his work bench and dragged up a three legged stool. He planted his bottom on the solid wood and prepared to get to work.

After he selected certain herbs, an appropriate candle and several other implements, he began. Although his powers were substantial, magic was taxing work. When he concluded the spell, he sat back with a sigh, weariness settling over him like a cloak. Far removed from others of his kind, he had few ways to recharge his special energies. That worried him. Still, unless he had totally lost his touch, rain would fall before daybreak. The Dom would appreciate his supportive gesture, or so he hoped.

Just before he snuffed the candle, it gave an urgent flicker. At the same time, from its niche above the work table, his crystal ball emitted a startling flash of light. Whoa, what’s all this? He snatched the globe down and gazed intently into its depths. As a shadowy figure appeared there, a wisp of thought trickled through his mind. He focused his attention on the signals until a message shaped itself out of the vague whisper.

::Is anyone listening? I seek a mentor, a master, a high mage who is not bound to any university or post but works alone. I am a talented young man with magical ancestry and gifts of my own, but I need further guidance and instruction. I’m willing to work hard, be your total slave if necessary. All I ask is that you teach me!::

Pinpointing the location from which the plea came proved more difficult but after a time Cory determined the caller was somewhere in or near the capitol city. This contact seemed an odd coincidence, almost as if his wish for companionship had summoned a response. Perhaps it had. He focused on the dim image within his crystal ball, trying to make it clearer. The young man appeared comely enough and perhaps sincere in his wish, earnest, at least.

Without giving it a great deal more thought, Cory replied. ::You must make your way to where I am to prove your determination and latent skills but if you arrive at my door within a ten day, I will grant your wish.::

::Wait! Give me some hint, a clue to where you are, at lest what direction I must take.::

Cory sent the tiniest glimpse of the mountains behind the Tanguich holdings. The area was remote but a couple of the peaks were fabled enough for portrayal in paintings and exotic tales of adventure. That was more than enough of a hint. Smiling to himself, he cut the communication, extinguished the image in the crystal orb and placed it back in its space. If the gods were kind, perhaps he’d get what he desired and needed. Maybe the distant youth would also.

Where the Thunder Walks

This article written a few years ago sheds some added light onto the background behind Gwynn Morgan's novel, Back to Tomorrow which we discussed here recently.. Few of Gwynn's books lack at least a subtle hint or two of paranormal things and they often crop up in Deirdre's tales as well.
I/we feel they are a real and valid part of life and have experienced enough of them myself to be a "true believer.". There is much 'out there' that we cannot see, hear, smell or taste, much less touch but we are given a hint now and then and that's enough for me to find these unknowns real!

Back to Tomorrow By Gwynn Morgan, Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com/BacktoTomorrow.html

                                                        Where the Thunder Walks

Not for nothing do we have an old saying, "Good things come in threes."  Three is a number of great power and potent magic.  The idea of the triad runs through many primitive religions and was even borrowed by the Christians for their Trinity because of the amazing power inherent in the "Rule of Three."  Thus, it was no real surprise when a peculiar revelation came to me recently, one involving yet another mystical trine.

Almost everyone familiar with New Age beliefs and literature has heard of the energy vortex or power point located in Boynton Canyon, near Sedona, Arizona.  During the past ten or fifteen years, it has been widely publicized by the Dick Sutphen and others.  Perhaps less well known, unless one has traveled U.S. Highway Interstate Eight west of Yuma, Arizona, is a point known as the "Center of the Universe" where another group has built a huge pyramid and metaphysical center. 

I recently fell to thinking of these two places and suddenly realized there must be a third one!  I promptly dug out a state map.  First, I tried a pendulum.  I could scarcely believe my eyes when it hovered over the middle of Cochise County, in southeastern Arizona, where I now reside.

Then, with a ruler, I measured the distance between the two known points and then to the area the pendulum indicated.  I found it was almost exactly the same distance from Sedona as was the desert spot, and only slightly farther from the latter.  The exact spot is in the San Pedro Valley, north and east of the communities of Sierra Vista and Huachuca City.

Suddenly, it fell into place with an almost audible click.  Of course!  The Apache sensed a mystical atmosphere in the region and made it their special hideaway.  Even earlier, the Sopaiburi and other Amerind tribes frequented the area.  Their name for the region was the origin of the modern name "Huachuca" (pronounced Wa-CHOO-ka) and meant "Where the Thunder Walks."  How better could one describe a vortex of energy and power?

Although the name has in modern times been settled on a range of mountains along the southwest side of the Valley, I suspect these early denizens applied it to an opposite mountain area, now called the Dragoons.

Even deeper into the past, people were here.  Along the San Pedro near the modern settlements of Hereford and Palominas, on the ranch of Mr. Ed Lerner, a site has been discovered where primitive warriors killed mammoths.  Prior to this find, few even acknowledged man and mammoths coexisted, at least in the new world.

But at this site, some of the fine stone arrow and spear heads known as "Folsum Points" have been found embedded in mammoth bones.  This leaves no room for doubt that ancestors of Native American people actually killed mammoths, which perhaps were mired in mud or quicksand in that area.  More than one of the gigantic beasts fell prey here to Stone Age hunters thousands of years ago.

Mysterious hieroglyphics can also be found,  graven in stones of all the mountains which surround the valley, possibly left by the same folk who slew the mammoths.  Still earlier, southern Arizona was a plateau, higher than more northerly regions which were then a swampy forest, now preserved in part in the Petrified Forest in northeastern Arizona.

I grew up about thirty miles from the Sedona vortex point in central Arizona's beautiful Verde Valley.  At that time, I had no idea such things as an energy vortex existed, much less that one was near by.  I only knew "my" valley was a special place and its air often seemed to be charged with a peculiar intensity.  I rode horseback all over the hills and canyons of the region and absorbed its magic until it became an integral part of me, leaving a constant awareness of the 'otherness' which exists all around us.  Then I grew up and left the area and thought no more of it for many years. 

After wandering about for a number of years, I finally settled in Cochise County.  Here too is much natural beauty of the sort typical of the southwest.  This stark, rugged land holds many secrets and hidden treasures. 

Here too the very air sometimes seems to hold a special vividness but I gave it little thought until recently.  Once I 'caught on" I had to laugh at myself for being so slow to reach this awareness.  The whole region is infused with a special magic, and I had felt it all along, without really thinking about it. 

To the southeast side of the valley lies a range of mountains now called the Mules.  Some years ago, my husband and I, in a fanciful mood due to reading Tolkein and other fantasy tales, had christened this range 'The Sleeping Dragon'.

Viewed from across the valley around modern Fort Huachuca, it takes only a little imagination to see a great beast, tail curling near the Mexican border and head not far from the town of Tombstone.  Thus, the dragon has guarded at least two mineral lodes of great worth:  the copper mines of Bisbee which are also the source of the famous "Bisbee Blue" turquoise, and the rich silver lode of Tombstone. Since geologists know there are yet more rich mineral deposits to be found, other 'boom towns' may yet arise, unless the dragon wakes.

The valley is also steeped in history.  It is here the Spanish explorer Coronado first set foot in land which is now the United States, probably the first European to enter the region west of the Mississippi.  Here in the 1770s, about the time the Colonists on the Eastern seaboard tired of British oppression, the Franciscans established a 'visita' ‑ a small mission without a resident Padre ‑ at Quiburi, a Sopaiburi village on the west bank of the San Pedro River.  The ruins, a few melting adobe walls, are now inside the San Pedro Riparian Conservation area, protected by the Bureau of Land Management.

Sometime later, a plague wiped out most of the Sopaiburi and the influx of the warlike Apache drove the survivors to retreat to the region of Tucson.  For awhile, the people of Cochise and Geronimo had the area to themselves, but then the European Americans descended. 

Settlers began to arrive and the Army came, setting up camps and outposts which were later centralized to become the present‑day Fort Huachuca.  Intrepid ranchers such as Pete Kitchen and John Slaughter brought cattle from Texas to graze on the rich grasslands, wandering prospectors found valuable minerals, and "civilization" came to the San Pedro.  Ironically, most of these newcomers didn't have the sensitivity to realize they invaded a special place. 

Today thousands of tourists pass through to view the historical mining camps of Bisbee and Tombstone.  In 1996, Karchner Cavern in the foothills of the Whetstone Mountains will open, a new attraction to rival the wonders of Carlsbad Caverns if preliminary photographs are any indication. 

At Fort Huachuca, the Army trains soldiers in the modern 'magic' of Military Intelligence and Electronic Warfare, while the Army Communications Command develops and applies lasers and other state‑of‑the‑art technology.  All this where a century ago, the 'Buffalo Soldiers' and their officers flashed heliograph messages across the valley from the present day Huachuca Mountains to peaks in the Dragoons while the Native Americans they pursued used smoke signals and even more subtle and secret communications.

Mining has slowed greatly and there are few cattle ranches left, but relics of both remain, along with those of the earlier residents.  Thus, new links in an old chain are still forged with the passage of time.

Yet another peculiar coincidence links the three points.  The San Pedro River is one of very few in the continental U.S. which flows predominantly northward.  It joins the Gila near the towns of Winkleman and Hayden.  To the north, the Verde River flows south to meet the Salt River north of Phoenix.  South and west of Phoenix, the Salt joins the Gila.  The Gila crosses the state to flow into the Colorado, just north of Yuma.  Thus, a network of running water links all three sites, or very nearly so.  Given the geographical dispersion involved, this would hardly be expected, so it seems to have some arcane significance. 

As nearly as I can determine, the exact vortex or power point is on private land, east of the San Pedro River.  I do not feel free to disclose the exact coordinates.  Quite possibly the owner does not even know of its existence.  However, I can attest the whole region is alive with energies any sensitive person can feel. 

Each of the mountain ranges bordering the valley has its own special ambience, due to alignment with and proximity to the power point.  Natural wonders are many, and long term residents all relate tales of strange sightings and events, either experienced personally or related to them by trusted friends and kinfolk.

Last summer, I was pursuing one of my hobbies, taking pictures of the lightning during the approach of one of the region's typical spectacular summer thunderstorms.  Later, when I had the film developed, I found one picture truly amazing.  There in vivid clarity was a towering figure limned in lightning bolts.  It strode east, toward the exact power point, holding aloft a mask or skull, perhaps an offering to the Force which inhabits the vortex.  My camera had captured a specter too fleeting and too brilliant for the eye to perceive, giving me a likeness of the Spirit of Huachuca.  Indeed, this is Where the Thunder Walks, and I now have proof.

Though the true Seeker never fails to learn and question, there is so much that we do not yet know.  The exact nature of these mysterious sites falls into this category.  That they exist is definitely true; that our ancient ancestors often utilized them in some manner by constructing their most sacred and arcane temples and holy places in their vicinity is also.  Today though, how best we might utilize them is still in the realm of the unknown. 

Therefore, it is probably best the San Pedro vortex remains in its pristine state for the time being until our level of knowledge increases to the point where we can properly harness the potential offered by such wondrous resources.  Here, where there are strong links to both the past and the future, perhaps there is even a gate to other places and times or other realities.  Eventually a Seeker will come, one who is ready, and he or she will find the key, learn the combination, or simply open the door.             

Until then, the Dragon sleeps and the Point of Power waits, like Excaliber held in stone for the destined hand to raise it. But those of us fortunate enough to live in the area can smile a small secret smile when we hear the old timers' tales of strange phenomena.  We can also feel the vital energy and be 'charged' by the residual radiance of this special place Where the Thunder Walks.

Upcoming Releases

I recently turned in two short novella length pieces to my great publisher, Amber Quill.  They will be released in October and November in the Amber Allure GLBT line. Each will be part of a PAX collection and both have fantasy and magical themes.

The first will be out on October 17 barring unforseen issues, and is titled The Sorcerer's Apprentice. It is perhaps slightly inspired by the famous classical music tone poem of the same name but of courss features gay romance and quite a different twist on the apprentice's ineptitude and development. The second, for a mid-November release, is a 'fractured fairy tale' titled Hanson and Graber: The Price of Magic. It is humorous for the most part, more than a little tongue-in-cheek but not as totally whacky as Tom Fleet's Incredible Machine! (I have to admit that one got carried away LOL.)

They are both under contract now but not edited and I will hold off a bit on posting the excerpts until I have the final mss in hand and cover art. No use showing off my mistakes! Thank goodness I have a woonderful and eagle-eyed editor who finds and helps me fix all those boo-boos.

Now I am finally getting back to another tale for my Thin Green Line series, this one tentatively titled Druid in Drag for the opening scene in which one hero crashes a drug-baron's orgiastic party as a gorgeous woman. He hasn't really  been a cross-dresser but decides it is kind of fun.... The other hero, well, he's an alien but not a little green man or three eyed or anything--but I'll save that for later!

Of course there will be more doggie tails--er tales. I have got to feature my newest family canine soon; we think he is Dachshund and Cavalier King Charles spaniel mix and adorable but quite the little rascal, too. Then I discovered a breed previously unknown to me called Eurasier or Eurasian. My beloved Alanna from long ago who we thought was Chow and wolf mix looks just like some of them! They're a  fairly new breed, mixing Chow and Spitz and are supposed to throw back to some of the ancient direct wolf-descended dogs of early humans. Hmmm, that triggers some what if ideas too!!

Speaking of that, I want to get back to my long postponed Horse Clans series with one story on how the shifting gift was won by a young prehistoric woman who saved a mare and foal from wolves and thus pleased the goddess Epona. And a modern set tale about a country band of horse-shifting friends descended from the DeJean/Johns clan introduced in Nellie's Rogue Stallion and Colette's Savage Stallion. (This one came to me as a result of an ad for some figurines with dragons as rock musicians! I loved it and said wait, why not horse shifters who would have to be country musicians???) So look for Appy Jack and his buds maybe late next year! That may take more than one story even...

You can see I am not resting on my laurels or anything like that despite a bit of a dip in production this past several months due to my move --hopefully the final one!!--and some other busy-ness and issues that cropped up to get my muse to the point she needed light duty only for a time. We're back and rearing to go!!

Here's a few pix from my new high desert home. And I am lovin' it!
The back of the house--now have climbing roses on those trellises. In the second, I built the 'saguaro' bird feeder and the bird bath was a gift. (That's the garage/shop behind them) And the sunset glow on the Sacramento mountains is just awesome. We have fabulous sunsets here and I am a huge sunset freak! You can learn more about all this at my other blog deirdre-fourds. That's the one where I talk about everything except my/our (can't leave Gwynn out!)  writing!

Back to Tomorrow, PG-13 excerpt

Back to Tomorrow by Gwynn Morgan  ISBN 1-59279-182-4 (p)
www.amberquill.com/BackToTomorrow.html

Here is the current cover. The lightning bolt in the background came from a photograph I took and talked about earlier on my fourds blog! It's "the spirit of Huachuca" or where the thunder walks. BTW Huachuca is an ancient Native American word and is pronounced Wa-CHOO-ka
www.deirdre-fourds.blogspot.com

Blurb:

Librarian Emily Dennison has always loved history, but catapulted into 1889 Tombstone, she finds life far from the idyll she imagined. Meeting Zach Tremaine, a newspaperman from Philadelphia, she gets involved in his quest to rescue his younger sister from her abusive paramour, gambler Jake McEuen. This leads to more adventure than Emily ever thought possible. Eventually she has to confess to Zach that she is from far away, not in distance but in time. Fearful of being torn back to 2000, but missing her modern conveniences, she hardly dares to love him though she aches to.

Zach isn’t quite sure what to make of Emily, so different from any woman he has ever known but so sweet and spunky that she wins his admiration and soon his heart. Just when he thinks he has convinced her they belong together, a bolt of lightning tears her away. Or was it Joker Jake McEuen, seeking revenge?  Can Zach live long enough to search until he finds her? Can she get back to tomorrow in time to save him from McEuen’s murderous rage?

Excerpt:

April 24, 2000
Hardwick, Vermont

"The postman just came, Em. Run out and see what we have today, would you? I can't leave off stirring this fudge yet."
Aunt Faith's cheerful voice cut through Emily's gloomy thoughts. Leaving the window, which looked out into the rainy afternoon, she moved to obey. Her heart wasn't in the small task, nor in anything she could imagine doing. Pausing on the back porch to tug on overshoes and a mackinaw, Emily grabbed an old umbrella and forged out toward the mailbox that stood beside the highway some fifty yards from the house. Driven by a biting wind, icy raindrops stung her cheeks, as if nature wept with her. Six months, and so little has changed. It almost feels as if time is standing still.
Although most of the mail seemed to be addressed to Faith Dennison's business, Maple Leaf Confections, the last item, a thick brown envelope, bore Emily's name. Moisture smudged the return address, but the handwriting looked like that of her friend, Carol Hodges.
Emily hurried back to the house, curiosity over what she had received temporarily overcoming her depression. Almost anything would be welcome if it took her thoughts away from the ache of loss and the pressing issue of what she should do with the rest of her life.
She'd come here to Aunt Faith's last fall after leaving New Hampshire, stayed to help with the rush of business prior to the holidays, and somehow hadn't managed to move on. She kept delaying just one more day, unable to find a new direction for her life.
Carol was now nearly seven months pregnant--as Emily herself might have been, had the planned wedding taken place last October. They were still best friends, four years past their two-year stint as roommates and their college graduation. Carol had sympathized with Emily's loss through several long phone calls, but that offered no clue as to what she might have sent.
While Faith went through her mail, Emily carefully pulled the heavy tape off the flap to unseal the envelope. She upended it, gave the envelope a slight shake. A single sheet of paper filled with Carol's scrawling handwriting and a small, leather bound book slipped out into her waiting hand. Emily quickly scanned the scribbled lines, the erratic sizes and shapes of the letters reflecting Carol's volatile personality.
Tom and I found this fabulous old trunk in Tombstone that we thought would make a wonderful toy box for Junior. In the process of cleaning it up, we discovered this little book in one corner. Remembering how you love old tomes, I decided to send it to you right now. Maybe reading will while away some otherwise dreary hours.
Please think about coming out to Fort Huachuca for a visit. Spring in Arizona is lovely and I'd so enjoy your company while I wait the last few weeks before this rowdy child makes his appearance. All I can do now is sit and talk, but then, I was always good at that, wasn't I?
Emily smiled, recalling their many late-night conversations, sometimes one or both falling asleep in mid-word, too drowsy to go on. She could use a dose of her bubbly friend's enthusiasm now. Maybe she'd accept the invitation.
She turned her attention to the little book. Holding it gently, she absorbed the aura of age, let her senses appreciate its special value. The soft binding of red leather was cracked and worn, marred in spots by traces of mildew, but basically still intact. The book exuded a musty scent, which she found vaguely comforting. Old books had always fascinated her. The odor brought to mind only pleasant memories.
As she held it, the book fell open to reveal hand-scribed lines, the ink faded to a sepia tone but still clear. The writer had a neat, elegant hand, the delicate copperplate penmanship of a bygone era.
April 24, 1889. Arrived in Tombstone. To actually see a place of such notoriety triggers a thousand fantasies. I can scarcely wait to begin my explorations, although my primary purpose in coming here must take precedence. The place is not wholly as I expected, being both more rustic and more cosmopolitan. The country around is stark and empty, miles of ragged, pale hills and scraggly bushes too small to be counted as trees. One wonders how anything can live in such an inhospitable environment, but local people assure me the desert teems with life. Other than some birds and a few lizards, however, I have seen little so far."
For a moment the book, the cozy room, and all else faded. In its place, the described landscape appeared, vivid in every detail. The harsh glare of midday sun burned Emily's skin and made her squint. She wrinkled her nose at the sulfurous dust on the creosote-scented breeze, which carried the muffled sound of distant gunshots.
Afterwards Emily decided she must have seen a postcard or a photograph, perhaps something Carol had sent when she and her husband first arrived at Fort Huachuca. The fort was only twenty some miles from Tombstone. No other way could she explain the curious vision, hallucination, or whatever it was. When she came out of the odd trance, her aunt was peering at her with an expression of concern.
"Em? Are you all right, dear? You looked so peculiar for a moment. You haven't received more bad news, have you?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. It's a note from Carol, my old roomie, you remember? She and her husband bought an antique trunk in Tombstone to make a toy box for the baby. They found this diary or journal in it, which she's sent to me."
Still feeling slightly dizzy and displaced, Emily shook her head. This was the strangest sensation she'd ever experienced. She snapped the book closed, deciding not to look at it any more until later. A curious paradox of wishes warred inside her. She wanted to put the small tome away and never see it again, but also to sit down at once and read straight through.
Since her aunt still looked worried, Emily continued. "Carol invited me out to visit. Her baby's due in June, and she sounds as if she's running out of patience. Her doctor has prescribed rest, staying off her feet as much as possible until she gives birth. I expect that's a real trial for her. She's always so full of energy and activity."
Faith set her mail aside and resumed her work. "Why don't you? It would be a nice change of scenery and a break before you decide what to do next. I know life is dreary here right now, and that can't help pull you out of your grief."
Although Faith seemed to address her remarks to the bowl of fudge she spread onto a baking sheet to harden for cutting, Emily heard the sincere concern in her aunt's words. Inhaling deeply to absorb the rich, sweet scent of the warm candy, Emily hoped the aroma would dispel the lingering sting of acrid desert air.
Belated, Emily remembered to reply. "Perhaps I will. There isn't much more I can do here to help out, really. In all honesty, you have everything down to a gnat's eyebrow. Except for doing the books, when I try to help, I only wind up being in the way."
"It's an old lady's habit, Em. I'm too used to working alone to adjust now. Not that I don't enjoy your company, but life's too slow and quiet here for you. You're used to the bustle of a college town, your library, friends around, and young folks. Twenty-six is far too young to settle into an old maid's quiet routine."
This time Faith's keen gaze sought Emily's, as if demanding her attention. "You really ought to go. Call your friend tonight and start making plans."

A bit about Back to Tomorrow

Hello, Gwynn here today. I wanted to share some background about my time travel tale, Back to Tomorrow. I suppose it came about because I watched a Hallmark movie titled, as I recall, The Letter. Anyway it was a story about a young man in present time who communicates with a young woman during the Civil War through an old desk and letters until he finally ends up living part of the past. It did not have a real romance style happy ending but there was a ray of hope that the 1860s woman was reborn in a present day descendant. As a total die-hard romance fan, I was not quite satisfied but the idea of reaching across time via the written word held an irresistible appeal.  Pretty soon I began to play with some what ifs

The picture here is the original cover which I had done by a talented friend with the Poser software--although the Amber Quill version's cover is much more artistic and commercial, I have a soft spot for this one which I basically planned myself. It is on a mug and mouse pad I got when it first came out under the original publisher. Sadly that was short lived and I am thankful again that Amber Quill took in  my orphan!

When I wrote this book, most of it in a burst of activity in about six-eight weeks in the summer of 2000, I was living "twenty miles west of Tombstone" as I explained when I talked about The Man in Black. I really did want to do a Tombstone tale but not one on the notorious Earps, Holiday and Clantons et. al. That had been, IMHO, done to death and then some. Probably dug up and done to death again! I was like "Yech, no way." So I definitely did my own thing here. The only historical character that appears is Nellie Cashman and I took some liberties with the time she was there according to what I could find out on her--she didn't rate two percent of the verbiage the gunfighters and such have garnered but she was a remarkable lady and I was glad to honor her..

Last week I attended for the first time a meeting of a local writers group--some published and more aspiring. I had carried along a couple of books to 'prove' my boast that I had published ten novels and since reading something to the group is a rule apparently, I read the prologue of this tale. Everyone wanted more so I guess it went over okay!

As always, I tried to make the setting totally vivid and real, and since I am familiar with the whole area in which the book is set, that wasn't hard to do. I know the scent of rain-wet creosote and mesquite, the ferocity of the frequent thunder storms, the heat baking down on the white hills, and the red canyon going up from the San Pedro valley side to reach Bisbee. I especially loved both Emily and Zach and the fact I made Zach not a miner or gambler or gunslick but an eastern man who loved to write! I also tried to be authentic in the way people talked, acted and thought in 1889! I am fussy about historical accuracy and although I know I make an error now and then, I do try to be authentic.  I may throw a book across the room when I find a character speaking or acting in a manner totally inappropriate to the era of the tale! I hope no one will find anything like that in this book!

New cover, buy info and excerpt in the next post!

The Deadline Demon

Yep, it's something we writers have to deal with now and then. Maybe we procrastinated a little too much feeling that date was far in the future and of course we had plenty of time to get the next project done. Ooops, all of a sudden that pitchfork carrying demon is right there goosing us in the backside and we're burning midnight oil to get the job done. That's me recently. I actually was committed to two projects that needed to be done by September 1 at the latest. All of a sudden it was August and neither was done. Oh stuff!!

Well, one has been submitted and the other is taking shape. They are both tales in the fantasy or paranormal vein, and one will probably be coming out in October, maybe even both. Once I have cover art and a firm release date, I will be telling you about them both.

For now, I would turn the time and keyboard over to Gwynn to fill you in on another of her stories but unfortunately we both use the same fingers and keyboard so that is a bit iffy. Soon though! She's itching to tell you about her Tombstone time travel Back to Tomorrow and a couple of her other books so you can expect that soon.

I'm actually caught up since I had told you about Rez Dogs and Scooter Trash about the time it came out and that was my latest release. By the way, it got a really nice review on sensual reads.com that I was just told about a day or two ago. Elise gave it a 4.5 rating and said, "The story is told with just enough action to keep it moving and the right touch of tenderness and love.... the perfect story for when you want something fast and satisfying." She liked both the heroes and the setting, too! To read it all go to http://sensualreads.com/?p=10496

See you soon, either Gwynn or me, with more stories behind the story, excerpts, great cover art and news!

The Farm Girl's Dragon--Excerpt, PG-13

The Farm Girl's Dragon by Deirdre O'Dare
www.amberquill.com/AmberHeat/FarmGirlsDragon.html

Blurb:

Yerna Yatskievych left her humble beginings on a poor farm to become one of the few female knights in Draconia. . Soon finding herself in the younger prince’s guard, her  role is both wonderful and challenging. Of course he is far above her reach but a girl has to dream sometimes…

For Hazwell the Disposable the trappings and perks of royalty  hold little appeal. He wonders what will become of him when that brother becomes king. With Prince Max away, a few duties fall to him, revealing a life he will never have more than a tempting taste of. His young guard’s hesitant request to be relieved of a problem start a chain of events with incinerating consequences. Then treachery and mischance bring about huge changes.

With this couragous young knight at his side, he dares to reach and strive farther than he had ever dreamed , even to claiming an ancient family power and rising to incredible heights.

Excerpt:

Draconia, Draconisla
Late Spring

 
Yerna hunkered down to fasten the stiff buckles of her shining new spurs. The metal twinkled in the slanting sun of early morning. Her heart skittered at the thought of the future. Today she'd be dubbed Sera Yatskievych, Knight of the Draconian Empire. Of the twenty-seven squires who'd be knighted today, only three were women, including her.
It had been a struggle, without a doubt, but the six-year effort was now behind her. Of the original group of forty-six recruits, five women and fourteen men had flunked out. Yerna felt more pity than contempt for them, but a bit of both. Maybe she had a little more motivation than most and the benefit of the strength and stamina gained in the first fifteen years of her life.
The eldest of a family of seven, with the only two boys born late in the sequence, she'd taken on the tasks normally given to sons in the family. Finally, the two boys were big enough to do her work between them. That's when she'd left. A troop of knights had come through the area seeking recruits for the king's guard. Tall and sturdy, Yerna had jumped at the chance, although it was a route few farm daughters took.
She straightened from her crouch, making sure every line of her crisp, new breeches and tunic fell into place. Then she settled the metal cap on her head, buckled the yet-empty scabbard at her waist and went out to join her squad. For the special ceremony, they had spent two long days marching to Draconia, the capital, from their training camp in the hinterlands.
Next time they journeyed it would be to duty stations, and she would be mounted in proper knightly style. The coins comprising her reward for excellence in several combat disciplines, along with the gain from a few careful wagers, clinked softly in the hidden pouch inside her tunic. More than enough to buy a decent horse later today.
Although it was hard not to crane her neck and gawk like the bumpkin she really was at the sights of the city, she kept eyes front and stared fixedly at the back of the young man marching in front of her. They had formed into ranks of three for the march to the grand palace and their knighting. Rumor had it Prince Hazwell himself would be taking part.
Second son and nicknamed The Disposable, Haz was still royal, still respected and still inspired awe among the common folk--like Yerna. For a moment, her thoughts drifted. Of course, none of her family would be here to witness her change in status. She doubted they even cared.
But for her, it meant much. No more slopping hogs, milking cows, mucking byres or enduring the lash of her father's tongue and the frequent blows given when things did not go well. Byromyr Yatskievych was neither a patient man nor a fortunate one.
Things often went badly on the farm. He had more luck producing children than anything else. His first wife Morna had given him three daughters and a stillborn lad, whose difficult birth resulted in her decline and final death. Lerma, his second, had added two sons and two more daughters to the mix. He cursed the misfortune that the order and gender of his children was not reversed. With strong young sons early in life, things would surely have gone better for him.
Until she left, Yerna received the brunt of his displeasure, even while doing the bulk of the work. But no father would dare hit a royal knight--not that he would ever have such opportunity. She planned never to go home.
The troop made a sharp quartering turn and came to a halt in the stone paved yard in front of the palace. Flags whipped overhead in the stiff spring breeze and a small band began to play. At their commander's yell, the twenty-seven knights-to-be snapped to rigid attention. Peering past the shoulder of the man in front of her, Yerna saw the prince and his entourage emerge from the massive formal doors of the palace. They descended the wide staircase to the level of the courtyard and crossed it to stop before the group.
When he stepped to the fore, the first thing she noticed was the prince's height. He towered almost a head above the knights and courtiers surrounding him. He wore a uniform not unlike theirs, although of much finer cloth and more elaborate decoration. Several medals hung from colorful ribbons around his neck. They were not the ordinary valor-in-battle medals, though. She'd learned to recognize them all as part of her training. Of course, a prince probably merited a bit of flash just by virtue of his royalty.
The ceremony passed in a blur. She vaguely heard the command to reform into a single long line and obeyed. The band played. There were speeches to which she gave little attention and finally, the most important part began. In the row of twenty-seven, she was ninth. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as the prince strode to the first candidate. The young man knelt, bowing before the status of the crown for which the prince stood proxy today.
Prince Hazwell drew his sword, tapped the young man on each shoulder and intoned the ritual words. "I dub thee Ser Bronkowski. Arise, knight of the realm."
All at once, the prince stood before her. Her legs went rubbery. It was good she was required to kneel for she would have had trouble standing steady. Her gaze fell to the prince's gleaming boots, the golden spurs, again similar to those she wore now, but more ornate. She fought waves of dizziness, dreading the vision of shaming herself by falling to the ground. The shining blade touched her right shoulder and then her left. One firm thump and then another. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath.
"I dub thee Sera Yatskievych. Arise, knight of the realm."
Yerna wasn't quite sure how she managed to stiffen her legs and her spine to get up, but she did it. Once standing, she saw the prince's medals, hanging right in front of her face. To find a focus, she fixed her gaze on them, struggling to read the ornate script. Although girls in her village received little schooling, she had been driven to learn to read, write, and do basic arithmetic. Even while she labored though the steps from page to squire and now knight, she continued to work on those skills as well.
Her breath leaked out in a slow sigh as the prince stepped along to the next candidate. His proximity had affected her more than she'd expected. He had a powerful aura, something more than simply the unearned grandeur of being a royal personage. After he moved on, she turned her thoughts back to herself.
I'm a knight! By all the gods, I did it. What comes next for me?
She realized she'd given very little thought to the actual business of being a knight. Beyond purchasing her horse and gear, she really had no idea where to go or what might be asked of her. Knights were soldiers of sorts. That much she knew. Soldiering meant duty stations, fighting perhaps, maybe even training young pages and squires as she had been trained. Vistas unfolded in her imagination, possibilities both exciting and daunting.
Aye, what comes next?