One of the Lucky Ones

While I technically didn't get officially elected, I'm taking from James Garcia Jr.'s post and Tameri Etherton's post that I have been unofficially selected to be a winner of the Lucky 7 Meme.  Thanks, Jimmy and Tameri!  Happy Birthday to you both as well!  So, with no further ado, let's see what we have.

Here are the rules:
1) Go to page 77 of your current WIP.
2) Go to line 7.
3) Copy down the next seven sentences, lines, paragraphs (I've seen it done many ways).
4) Tag 7 other authors.
5) Let them know.

I've elected to post seven paragraphs per item 3) above.  Please be forewarned, there is very adult content here.  I even had to change my blog's settings for mature content.  This is from my upcoming first book of a trilogy on Atlantis.  The current working title is Before Atlantis:  From Mediterranean to Mesopotamia.

“How to service me.”

            Her will rose to the surface, wanting to do something violent to this man to protect her freedom, but she forced her docile expression to stay fixed.  “I am a seeress of my people, not a whore, Yemeni, although I know there are followers of this army who are very well versed in the art of servicing men of your tastes.”  She wanted to suggest he summon one of them, but held her tongue.  The violence in his expression spiked and she was treated to another slap across the face, opening up her lip.  She tasted her own blood, but didn’t wipe it from her face as she looked up at him with childlike hurt in her expression. 
            “None of them look as fresh and rare as you, woman,” he said, his voice dripping with contentment with the blood on her face. 
            She bowed her head feigning her acceptance of her fate.  “Will I be yours alone or shared by all the men?” she asked in a meek voice.
            Yemeni looked at the men who brought her in and ordered them out to guard the entrance to the tent.  Inwardly she grinned in triumphant.  He came closer to her and grabbed her hair to pull her up.  The pain that lanced through her skull was intense and caused her muscles to clench and try to curl away only to cause her more pain in her neck and shoulders as he nearly dragged her to a pallet with cushions adorning it.  He threw her on the cushions and began to peel off his robes.  She sent a quick inner probe to ensure her child was safe, then rose to her knees and grinned at him. 
            Yemeni paused in removing his breeches at her strange smile.  She curled a beckoning finger to him.  Surprised, he moved closer and she put her hands on his thighs, ignoring the throbbing member jutting up at her from his breeches that still required removal.  Her blue eyes bore into his.  Suddenly, he collapsed beside her.  Sighing, she rubbed her head at the ache and felt new warmth on her upper lip.  Swiping at her nose, she discovered by the red smear on her wrist that blood was dripping from it.  She sighed.  Too much power use for her body.  She will be helpless soon.  She ripped Yemeni’s robes into strips and bound him.  After ensuring his bonds were sufficient, she touched his temples and infiltrated his mind, trying to find something good to work from. 

 Chapter 14

Ashur was in no condition to give commands.  No nightly attack would happen.  No one wished to risk harming Nimuan while she was in the enemy camp and Ashur was coaxed away from the front line by his mother in the early morning hours.  She took him home and managed to get him to sit on his pallet in his room.  She fixed him some tea and brought it to him, startled to find him in the exact place and position she left him in.   Light was beginning to brighten the sky as she knelt before him and cupped a hand to the cup she handed him that steamed.  His grip took the stone cup, but he simply held it. 

Now for the seven nominees.  So many have already received this wonderfully fun award, so it will be a difficult choice.

1. Rose Pressey
2. Angela Wallace
3. Amaleen Ison
4.  Kait Nolan
5.  Michelle Krys
6.  Jackie Miller
7.  M.E. Franco

If it seems random, it was.  I tried to go through my Twitter follower list and looked at a bunch of you to see if you have 1) a blog and 2) not received this award yet.  I'm looking forward to seeing what those lucky 7 have for their WIP excerpts.

Happy Reading!

ROW 80 Update for 10/05/11

Ok, update for my goals for ROW80.  I've completed my first goal.  Yay!  I just gave myself way too much time to complete it.  Makes me feel wonderful.  All my typed text in Microsoft Word has been transferred over to yWriter5.  Now I need to decide on a project to devote my attention to for the next goal.

Since I am ten chapters and 35,000 + words into Before Atlantis, I am going to work on that one first.  As I have been reading through sections to title them, I realized my deep connection to the story and characters and really want to begin the edits and fill in more of the gaps left in the story.  So, instead of adding so many words for each project, I'm going to try to add 1000 new words to this project each week and spend at least 3 hours a week on edits.

This is really getting me excited.  I'm even able to keep up on basic housework, my children's schedule, and ROW 80.  Now to see if I can get my 30 minutes of exercise in tomorrow.  Maybe since I'm getting a load of laundry done tonight, I can get a little ahead since I didn't schedule laundry until tomorrow. 

If I get time this weekend, I'm hoping to post some book reviews I have drafted and saved.

Almost done reading How to Date a Werewolf by Rose Pressey.

Happy Reading!

Working all Night, or Hardly Working

Doesn't Custard look so worn out from all the hard work at the computer?

I decided to post my progression on the four big novels I've been trying to work on. So, I will post the total words I have typed up without editing for each today.

Prequel to Atlantean series;
Current working title, non-creatively, Before Atlantis;
Word count: 34,766

Atlantean series, Book Three;
No working title;
Word count: 21,840

Historical Christian Romance;
Current working title, From Night to Dawn;
Word count: 15,149 (this is actually going through a complete rewrite)

Paranormal Investigator novel;
No working title;
Word count: 11,088

I need to make some goals. Unfortunately, because I'm still a pen and paper type writer, I go very slowly. I first write on paper my scenes, then I type them into Word and edit as I go. I still have to edit when I'm done and I am not printing and reading as may be an easier method, so I miss things often and have to edit again.

Not only that, but the scenes I am typing may not be in that portion of the book when I'm done. I have a tendency to write a scene here and a scene there that really isn't making much sense for the overall timeline; its just what I feel inspired to write at that time. Eventually things do piece themselves together - or get thrown out.

Happy Reading!

Excerpt from Book 1 of an Altantis Series I am Writing

This is an excerpt from an Atlantean series I am writing. It will be a trilogy when I'm done. Let me know what you think and if I need to do anything to clean it up. Have I got your attention and desire to read more? Feedback from an audience would be very welcome.

Dark brown eyes gazed out from the thick woolen headdress covering an obscure form. The view was bleak - a barren stretch of sandy desert lay before the lone figure. The dark eyes hardened, and then the gaze shifted to the left where a thin strip of green glimmered promisingly on the horizon. The percussion of a balag enticed the wool-covered head to turn further to the left in the general direction of the sound. A small crowd had gathered at the mouth of the desert and the drummer remained hidden amongst the nearly shapeless wool-covered people. Regardless, the dark gaze that surveyed the group of on-lookers picked out the outlines and eyes of family members and former friends. The gaze met each set of eyes with intense determination, causing gazes to falter or quickly shift away. A lock of long brown hair worked its way out from beneath the woolen headdress and waved gently in the hot wind blowing across the sands. From this distance, the life giving sea could not be seen nor heard, but its briny tang still teased the air all around the desert.

A tall, wool-covered figure detached itself from the crowd and approached. Stopped a half a furlong away, arms stretched up and lean fingers pulled the woolen headdress back. Then the woolen scarf was unwound from the face and head. The man’s dark brown hair shimmered with white threads. Lines spread out from the intense dark eyes that squinted against the powerful light of the Mediterranean sun.

“My daughter,” the man addressed the lone figure, “for your crimes....”

“I have committed no crime,” a firm, yet feminine voice answered from within the woolen scarf. The woolen headdress tilted back slightly as though the lone figure were thrusting her chin out defiantly.

The man closed his mouth, looked sternly at her, and began again. “For your crimes against the sacred, the gods have deemed you unworthy and have commissioned your removal from the holy community.”

The woman hidden beneath the wool laughed. It was harsh laughter, full of derision. “We all know full well it was the counsel that deemed me unworthy of a crumbling society,” she said in clipped tones. Her voice lowered so only the man before her could hear. “And you, Salgan, knew it was I who suggested crimes to be punished with banishment.”

The man slowly lowered his head in acknowledgment and answered in a lowered voice that only she would hear. “Nimuan, little did you know then that you would be the first to suffer this punishment. The holy community has benefited from your contribution in this way alone.”

There was the sound of teeth clicking together behind Nimuan’s scarf before Salgan continued for the crowd’s benefit. “You are therefore stripped of your name, your title, and your family. Nothing will tie you to the holy community. You must also give all your belongings to the priests so that they may be cleansed.”

Someone behind Salgan brought a torch over to a pyre built upon the sand. The wood was soaked in oil and caught fire quickly. Nimuan lifted a brow at the display and her eyes snapped coldly.

“All that was mine has already been stolen away by the priests,” she said bitterly. “What more can you possibly want?”

“You will leave the holy community as you came into it,” Salgan said slowly and emphasized by looking at each article of woolen clothing she was wearing.

Nimuan’s dark brown eyes spit a fierce fire that made the pyre flames behind Salgan appear a mere flicker of light in comparison. She trembled with outrage while a battle waged within her to stubbornly keep the protective clothing. She knew the dangers of the intense heat, blowing sand, and bitterly cold nights awaiting her in the desert. But still... she had a chance. Fighting the priests would end her life now.

Slowly, she reached up and unwound the woolen headdress revealing the face of a woman in her early twenties. Her skin was bronzed by spending a great deal of time by the sea and her brown hair had a red tinge. Despite her youth, she held herself upright with regal authority and there was deep wisdom in her fierce gaze as she removed the outer cloak to pull the woolen dress over her head. All that remained were her sheepskin shoes and she dreaded their removal. She could already feel the hot sand burning her feet through them. She was accustomed to white beach sands tempered by the cool surf. Desert sand was less forgiving.

Reluctantly, she bent to the task of removing the sheepskin. A pile of light brown wool lay before her after their removal. Her naked body glowed bronze in the sun. As the priests came to take the woolen garments, she lifted her shameless gaze to the crowd beyond Salgan. She took a deep breath and let half of it out, holding the remaining breath a moment, then let it out to speak.

“Listen to me,” she began. Her voice became like the shimmering heat waves flowing off the sands. It flowed toward the crowd and everyone heard as though she were speaking intimately in their ears. “I may be dead to you now, but I will return.” Her body swayed gently and her brown gaze faintly glowed amber. There was a gasp from within the crowd. “And my return will be welcomed because it will bring life back into the community.”

“We will thrive without you, spirit,” Salgan said, although his voice quavered.

The amber lit eyes turned on him. “Beware, Salgan. A trusted hand will betray you and your house will be swallowed by the earth.”

Salgan turned his back toward the naked woman and sought the crowd’s attention by lifting his hands. The pungent aroma of burning wool filled the air. “Pay no attention to the spirit or she will lead you toward the emptiness awaiting her.”

Some turned away for fear of offending the gods and being carried away by a vengeful spirit.

Nimuan stood on the brink of the desert, gently swaying under the power of the prophecy filling her mind.

“The tribes will unite and the gods will die. Neighbors will seek the holy community’s secrets. The community will be forced to leave their home to thrive on a dead continent. Pestilence will claim their numbers and northern seamen will save them....”

“Do not listen!” Salgan cried out to the people. “Cover your ears against the blasphemy!” He began waving frantically and half a dozen people turned and fled back toward their village.

“One day, Salgan,” she said, slowly, “they will stop listening, but to your voice, not mine.” She turned away from the remaining crowd and walked into the desert. In the prophetic trance, she did not feel the searing heat or the blowing sand.

Please take note that this is my own work from my own imagination. All characters are purely fictional and any resemblance in any way to anyone is merely coincidental. Any copying and redistribution of this material will also fall within copyright infringement.