Kate Warren

Welcome to this special birthday edition of Weekend Writing Warriors. 

Everyone in my family has been sick lately (one at a time, thankfully) including myself.  My birthday wish was that no one vomit today and thus far, no one has.  My husband was the last to get the dread virus, and seems to have worse symptoms than the rest of us did, but he's the only one who has kept all his food down, so I'm pretty impressed at this point.  I'm also pretty tired so without further ado I give you...the next eight!

I did a little creative punctuation here, for which I'm certain I'll be forgiven.  A little of the mystery should be cleared up this week.  Hope you like them:




          The petite blonde stopped at the sight of a gun aimed at her head.  She put a hand to her heart and slumped against a wall, the red satin of her negligee riding up her thigh as she leaned.  "It is you!  Thank goodness...for a minute there I was scared."

          Jackson stood frozen in place and blinked mutely for a minute.  The girl looked familiar to him--she had pointy ears so she was obviously a local; he recognized her face but for the life of him could not bring up her name.  The music, fire, and negligee were far too easy to read, and while he might have been flattered under other circumstances, at the moment he was just pissed off.  Finally he found his voice and said "What the hell are you doing in my suite?"




That's my eight for this week.  I'll do my best to make all my visits in a timely manner, and I'll see you all next year!

Kate

November has come and gone, and with it my participation in National Novel Writing Month.  This was a hard-fought victory over stress and circumstances beyond anyone's control.

Now is the time to take a break, but not too long a break.  I will go back to working on The DeFord Chronicles, Part II.  The goal is to finish, edit, and publish it in 2014.  If all goes well, North Pole: Confidential may also be finished, edited, and published before the end of next year.  But I don't want to set my expectations too high, as we never know what life holds in store for us in the future.

My family had a nice Thanksgiving with two exceptions: three of the kids were in various stages of sickness, and I burned one of my fingers due to an unnoticed hole in an oven mitt.


I hope everyone has been well in my absence, and I promise to attempt getting back to a normal posting schedule.  I also hope to resume my participation in Weekend Writing Warriors.  Been missing the WeWriWa crowd, and reading everyone's posts.

That's all for just now.  I'll post again next week, if not before.

Kate

Ladies and gentleman, readers of all ages, I have a confession to make: some days I like dogs a lot better than I like people.  Today is one of those days.

The picture to the left is a dog we had years ago.  Gorgeous, wasn't she?  She was a sweetheart and we all still miss her. 

We have two dogs now, smaller ones.  Both are half Shih Tzu, but the other halves are different. One of them has social anxiety disorder, caused in part by the myriad of therapists we have had in and out of the house, working with the two of our children who are officially autistic. He needs retraining that will take months, and because he bit someone--a stranger to him, Milo's always gentle with his family--he needs to be confined whenever we have company, until his retraining is finished and he can be trusted, and even then we'll still watch him very carefully. 

Unfortunately, Milo doesn't like being confined.  He has a secure yard within our back yard, and he doesn't like being in there when there is fun going on in the bigger yard.  And so he barks.  Milo's never been the quietest dog on earth.  He has sensitive hearing and will sometimes bark for what appears to be no reason.  Our usual joke is that he's barking at a squirrel in the next county.  He'll bark at vehicles, people, stray sounds.  Some of that is normal and some is due to the anxieties of his new situation.  It will lessen in time as he gets used to the changes we've had to make.

Now, we're responsible dog owners.  We don't let our dogs roam the neighborhood, we keep them well groomed and up to date with all veterinary visits and vaccines, and we try to limit Milo's barking as best we can.   We don't want to inconvenience anyone else. It's harder in the summertime when the kids are in and out all the time and the dogs follow suit.  Milo barks more when he's outside.  But we've never had a complaint from anyone in the village...until today.

I was out in the big yard pulling my daughter and our neighbor's daughter in a wagon.  Milo and our other dog were in their smaller yard and Milo wanted to come play, but we're not ready to trust him with other people's children yet.  An older gentleman in a shiny black SUV from two streets over drove up on the road behind our yard and proceeded to shout at me (without leaving his vehicle) about my dog who barks "all day long" (not true) and he's sick of it and if we don't take care of it he'll have the Sheriff at our door.  Then he drove off and I watched him go straight back to his garage.  He made a special trip for this.  With what he drives that probably cost him a full tank of gas, so he must mean business.

Being me, I called the Sheriff's department and asked about the penalties for barking dogs.  Turns out that in our county, there are no noise ordinances.  Granted we don't want trouble with neighbors, but legally there is nothing the Sheriff's department can do except to maybe suggest a bark collar, which we will not even consider without consulting our veterinarian. This being the year of rotten timing and vexing occurrences, the vet's clinic is closed for Labor Day.

This little village isn't a bad place to live, provided one stays out of politics.  But between last year's visit from Human Services (unfounded report, most likely made by the guy who was yelling at my kids last summer about the way they were dressed), the river, the railroad (much more traffic since the sand mines went in), the state highway, and this little wrinkle, I'd love to move.  My husband and I are country people and would prefer more space around us.  That will have to wait though.  And there is no chance of us giving away a dog that our 9 year old autistic son calls his "best friend."  We'll find a way to deal with this as responsible neighbors and pet owners.

I'd just like to say, for those of you who have issues with a neighbor's barking dog, please do not approach the situation the way this man did.  Dog owners are people too.  Try going to their door and introducing yourself.  Mention that you've noticed their dog is barking a lot and wondered if anything was wrong or there was something you could do to help (there probably isn't but it's a nice gesture).  You may find out that the dog is undergoing retraining and that the barking will subside in time.  Or you may find that the owner is irresponsible and the dog is barking for help, but at least you will have mentioned the problem without threatening anyone or shouting in front of children.  A little common courtesy can go a long way. 

This has been a difficult summer.  We're still waiting to hear if my sister has more cancer than what was removed during her surgery.  We've severed ties with the therapy company that was working with our boys and are researching other options.  The dog bite incident.  The irate neighbor incident.  And all of this has occurred within the last five weeks.  I'm looking forward to fall.

Oh well, school starts tomorrow and that will calm things down for everyone in the house.  I hope your summer has been better than mine.  I'll post again soon with a more cheerful topic.  Now, I'm going to go spend some time with my dogs, because they never threaten me, talk down to me, short-change my kids, or otherwise act in a deceitful or mean way.  Yep, I definitely like dogs better than people today.

Kate

Fun Fact:  I have rewritten the lyrics of Deck the Halls to make it a Back-To-School carol.  I am considering doing this with more songs.  Suggestions are appreciated.

First off, how about a cute picture?  And that one is just about as adorable as they come.

So many things have happened lately that seem to be "out of the blue."  Normally I wouldn't mind.  I like blue.  But lately the things coming out of it are not so great.

The major issue is that my baby sister has cancer.  There are other things going on, but that's the only life and death one.  The good news is that it's a type of cancer that is usually non-aggressive.  The bad news is that when they went in to take it out, they may have found more.  We're all waiting to see, which is all you can do.   She's young, and generally healthy, so the prognosis is good overall, but it's still scary for all of us. 

My two fully autistic sons are transitioning out of a therapy program that has been part of their lives for more than four years.  We're working on figuring out the next steps, which may include us developing our own program as there's not a lot in our area, resource-wise.

Meanwhile school is now officially fewer than two weeks away!  Oldest son will be in eighth grade, middle son is starting middle school (that could be fantastic or awful), third son will be in fourth grade, and our daughter---the baby of the family--starts Kindergarten.

I'll be getting back to a regular posting schedule soon, and doing interviews and guest posts on other blogs.  I hope you'll join me in my cyber-travels.

Kate

Dear readers,

You could be forgiven for asking where the heck I've been.  Sometimes I wonder that myself.  It's been an interesting week, to say the least.  My fibro is flaring up worse than it usually does, my computer got hacked by ransomware, the electricity was off for half a day, and it's the last week of school for the kids.

This is the kind of time when I could really use a few extra hands or hours or days of the week.  I have some projects to finish up before I surrender to a summer of few expectations.  My goals are as follows: 1. Survive; 2. Help the boys continue to progress; 3. Work on the house; 4. If possible finish the never-ending manuscript.

Summers are notoriously chaotic at my house, and this one will likely be no exception to that rule.  I'll try to post on a fairly regular schedule, and participate in Weekend Writing Warriors , but I make no guarantees at this point.

I'm writing this rather late at night and my brain wants sleep so I'll keep this short and say that I hope each one of you is having a lovely time and will have an enjoyable summer season.

Kate

April was a long month.  During this early session of Camp NaNoWriMo I wrote almost every day, managed to add more than 50,000 words to my WIP, and did not finish the darn thing.  But I am much, much closer to the end than I was on March 31st.  NaNoWriMo events are great motivators for me.

In the last week my spring headache rush has come.  They always get bad this time of year.  Could be allergies, or a reaction to the warmer weather, or perhaps merely the stress of anticipating the coming summer. 

I was about ready to post and do some work on sprucing up the blog when the internet went out.  Obviously not the entire internet, but mine certainly went down.  Apparently people in twenty states were affected.  Let me tell you, I am far more dependent on my internet connection than I realized.  Oh sure, most of my social life is on here.  And of course, my business is run 99% online.  But I was a bit surprised at how very much I missed the internet.  It's certainly a good thing that I didn't have to go longer than two days without service.  And I did get more housework done than usual. :o)

Anyway, I thought I should give you all a taste of what has been keeping me from you.  I'd ask how you managed to bear the deprivation of my company but I suspect most of the world didn't even notice I was gone.  For those of you who did...a sneak peek at the raw and unedited (and disappointingly still unfinished) The DeFord Chronicles, Part II. 

Out of the many subplots in the novel I have chosen this excerpt regarding a young lady who is in love with one man, but sadly about to be betrothed to another.  At her first offical court ball she determined to prove herself an unequal match for the duke of Langdon.  Unfortunately her success was not well-received by her scheming uncle.



          That night as Gillian was readying for bed she thought over her performance at the ball.  She had made a great fool of herself and embarrassed her uncle terribly.  She had gone out of her way to prove that she would be a disaster as a duchess, using her inexperience and sheltered existence as the ultimate excuses for her behavior.  It was true that she had not been to court before, and that a great many things had been kept from her in terms of knowledge of the world.  That worked to her advantage.  Since she had not attended any other balls, or events where the entire court was present, no one could say that she was not honestly unprepared for the night. Only she and a few others knew better.
          She was brushing her hair in front of the glass when she saw her uncle enter the room.  Her hand froze mid-stroke.  He was most certainly not pleased.
          “Out, all of you.” Everard commanded.  “I would have words with my niece."
          Gillian turned an anxious face to the retreating servants.  Not one of them gave her even a glance of sympathy.  They would not risk their master’s displeasure and thus their own employment.  
          He waited until the door was shut behind the last of them, then
stalked across the carpet and struck Gillian from behind with the back of his
hand, knocking her off of her chair. 
           “You think you are clever, do you?” He kicked the chair away and circled her menacingly.  “Playing the ignorant country lass.  Get up. Get up!”  He hauled her to her feet, fingers biting into the flesh of her upper arms, and backed her against the hard stone wall.  “A fine performance my girl but it was all in vain.  Look at me.”  When she failed to comply he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, forcing her head up until they were nose to nose, his wine-soaked breath as awful as his cruelty. 
           “You will wed the duke.  I care not for your opinion on this or any other matter.  You will wed him and you will promote me at every opportunity or I will make you suffer as you have never dreamed you could suffer. Do you understand?”
          She nodded as best she could, eyes wide with fright, tears streaming down her face.
          Everard released her and walked away. “Pleasant dreams, dear niece.”
          Gillian heard the door close and slid to the floor, crying as quietly as she could.  Her arms hurt and her head too where it had felt as if he would pull her hair right out.  She loosened the bodice on her gown and pushed it down to look at her arms, purple streaks were already forming in the shape of fingers.
          She had never loved her uncle.  Now she hated him and wanted to see him ruined and broken.  She should confess these wicked thoughts, but she was enjoying them too much.  The hatred would give her strength to do what she must.
          First she thought of sending a note, but none of her uncle’s servants could be trusted to deliver it. Gillian had no doubt he had ordered them to watch her carefully.  The only reason he had not locked her in her chambers was that he knew she had nowhere to go.  Who could she turn to for aid? 
Duncan must not know.  He would challenge her uncle, and much though she loved him, Gillian was not ready to believe him invincible, besides which Everard would not play fair.  It would have to be a lady.  Princess Therese might help her, but she did not wish to take advantage of their tentative alliance.  And really, what could a girl of ten and seven do, even a princess?
          She could not go to the queen.  She tried to remember if any of the ladies at court had been companions of her mother’s but her mother had died when she was very young and her father not long after.  There was no one in particular she could remember as one on whose sympathy and assistance she could rely. Having been raised in the country she herself knew no one at court, and it would be dangerous to approach just anyone. It was impossible for her to know who might side with her uncle, probably all of them.  They would likely think her mad to spurn the possibility of becoming a duchess.  She wished desperately for Duncan, but he more than anyone must be kept in the dark, for his own safety even more than for hers.
          Suddenly she saw it. The only possible solution: a lady who was known for her tender heart and goodness, who was close to the queen, and whose husband and father were powerful men.  She would go at once while the marks were still fresh.  The hour was not too late, and as she was still dressed no one would pay any attention to her.

                                             ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  ♦  

          “My lady there is a maiden at the door who wishes to speak with
you urgently.”
          Isabelle removed her rings and sat.  “Who is she, do you know?”
          “No my lady but she looks as if she has had an awful fright.  She said you are her only hope.”  The servant repeated exactly what Gillian had told her to say.  The weight of the gold coin the girl had given her was a pleasure to feel in her pocket.
          “Show her in.”  Isabelle took off her bracelets and necklace then turned to receive her unexpected guest. 
           “Lady St. Robert.  Please help me!”
          Isabelle was moved by the plea, which she took to be heartfelt, but the falling at her feet and grasping her skirt was a bit much.  She recognized the petitioner at once.  Carlisle’s niece, who was to wed the duke of Langdon.  “Calm yourself, child.  Tell me, what manner of trouble are you in?”  She hoped in her heart that she could help for the girl looked quite wild. 
          “I must escape my uncle.  I cannot wed the duke and he will kill me if I do not!”
          “Lady Gillian, you exaggerate.  Surely your uncle only wishes what is best for you.  Lady Gillian, what are you doing?”  Isabelle stared as the girl pushed her bodice down.  She stared still when she saw the marks, but her eyes had turned from shock to outrage.  She touched one arm gingerly.  “Who did this to you?”
          Tears filled Gillian’s eyes.  “My uncle.”
          Isabelle looked into the girl’s eyes and knew at once that it was true.  Dramatic she might be, but not dishonest.  “Why have you come to me?”
          “I have no friend at court. I do not know who to trust.” Gillian confided as a tear streaked down her left cheek.  She brushed at it unhappily.  “I have heard of your kindness.  And I…”
          “Go on.” Isabelle urged.
          “I heard that your family is not on friendly terms with my uncle.  I could not risk seeking help from anyone who is allied with him.”
          Isabelle nodded.  That was a very valid point.  “From whom did you hear that we are not on good terms with Carlisle?”
          “From your son Duncan.” Gillian’s eyes turned frantic.  “He must not know about this, that my uncle hurt and threatened me!”
          Oh dear lord! Isabelle thought.  So that was the way of things.  She had noticed a change in her eldest son.  He was more thoughtful, seemed to have some purpose, was actually being responsible.  Did the girl return his feelings?  Yes, or she would not have been so adamant that he not know of what had occurred. Isabelle of all people knew her son’s impulsive nature.  No, it would be best if he did not know of the incident. 
           Isabelle latched onto the later part of Gillian’s exclamation. “How did he threaten you?  Come, sit over here.” She guided the girl to a bench closer to the light so she could get a better look at the bruises forming. The dark purple was a stark contrast to Gillian’s fair skin.  These were deep bruises.  Only a man intent on injuring could have made those marks.  This was not the result of a rare fit of temper from a man who did not know his strength.
          “He, he said…”  Gillian paused to take a deep breath, fighting back the hysteria that wanted to surface.  “That if I refused to wed His Grace the duke of Langdon that he would make me suffer as I have never imagined suffering before.  He did not say how, yet I know he meant it.  I can still see his eyes.  He is evil, and he hates me.  He will kill me, I know it!”  She dissolved into tears and let Lady St. Robert soothe her as her own mother might have, had she lived.
          “Hush dear.  I will help you as much as I am able.  I cannot promise anything now.  But I will try.”  Isabelle was not certain she believed Carlisle would actually murder his niece, but it was clear that he was not above inflicting pain.  The poor girl clung to her and wept her heart out.  When the tears had ceased, Isabelle stroked Gillian’s head and patted her hand.  “Now, you must go back to your chambers.  You must act as if nothing has happened.  Can you do that?”
          Gillian nodded.  “I can do anything for Duncan.”  She covered her mouth with her free hand.
          “You need not be alarmed,” Isabelle smiled.  “I had guessed it already. 
You do not make things easy on yourself in choosing my son over a duke.  Still, if you have the strength to fight, you shall never take for granted what you gain.”  Gillian made to leave.  “A moment, please.”  Isabelle went to a large chest and rummaged through until she found a good sized brown pot filled with what seemed to be an aromatic goo.  “I shall see to those marks before you go.  This will take some of the pain away, and lessen the swelling.” She carefully smeared the salve on Gillian’s arms, talking to her all the while.  She could sense a deep need for mothering in the girl.  She knew that Eustace and Annora Carlisle had died when Gillian was quite young. 
          When the treatment was finished and Gillian’s bodice back in place, she hugged Lady St. Robert fiercely and then fled the chambers.  Isabelle smiled.  She liked this Lady Gillian who had stolen her son’s heart.  It would be a delicate business untangling Everard’s web, but she would try.  “Oh Duncan,” she sighed, “you never make things easy.”


That's all for now.  I look forward to getting back in touch with the world, and resuming my participation in Weekend Writing Warriors.   See you around the web.

Kate

Greetings, fellow Sixers!  Thank you so much for coming to visit today, and for coming to visit last Sunday as well.  I'm happy to report that most of my family is much better.  Husband and I are still pretty wiped out from all the illness, but mostly good.  The final member of our family may be coming down with it (no! he had the flu shot! it's not fair!) or maybe he isn't.  Time will tell.

Anyway...last week's Six Sentences got such a great response that I thought this time I'd just pick up where they left off.  That and my random scrolling put me in the middle of mindless ramblings of a blocked writer, and I wasn't about to share six sentences of that.



          The queen hardly drew breath.  The king himself remained riveted on
the combat.
          This cannot go on for much longer, Graciela thought desperately, certain that every moment spelled her betrothed’s injury or defeat, yet equally certain that every moment also held his triumph.  She did not try to understand the contradiction in her mind.  There was no time to consider, to ponder, there was only her knight locked in struggle on the field.  Her Anton.



That's my six for this time.  Next week I'll share Katarina's thoughts, or you know, something else.  See you around visiting all the other awesome Sixers!

Kate

Dear readers,

I have spent the last several days in my pajamas.  One of the advantages of working from home, you might say, but normally I do get dressed.  The flu, however, rather put me off my game.  Actually, I'm still not back on my game.  I feel medicated, but I'm not.  Must be tired.  I am finally starting to get better as the fifth member of my family comes down sick.  It is our hope that our youngest boy does not become ill, as he would likely land in the hospital again.  He's the only one who got a flu shot though (seriously rethinking my anti-flu-shot policy now) so in all likelihood he will be fine.

There was a point to this...ah, I remember.  I felt well enough to get dressed today and have been putting some thought into ways to do better in the coming year.  Writing more is one.  Camp NaNoWriMo in April is a definite possibility.  I'm planning to spruce up the old website a bit.  If you have any suggestions of what you'd like to see here, please do let me know.

Early next year Bridging The Gaps will finally be available in paperback!  Yay!  Oh, and I'll get some photos taken so that you can all see my sparkling personality more clearly.

Other than that, there's not much to report right now.  The WIP has stalled due to illness, I'm back to participating in Six Sentence Sunday through the end of that lovely program, and I'll be resting as much as I can for what's left of 2012.  Also, I'm having a birthday on Friday, but you don't have to get me anything.  I'm good.

Welcome and thank you to those who gather at my humble blog to read my contribution to Six Sentence Sunday.  Thanks also to those who not only read, but comment too!  Your words are invaluable to me.

So, here I am using my random scrolling method once more.  I may alight upon something ridiculous.  Just so you know, this is the first draft, completely un-edited and thus far unfinished as well.

Today we are in chapter... 21, apparently.  The scene is the championship round of swordfighting in a tournament.  The competitors are fairly well matched and this has been going on for a while.


          "It seemed like hours since the bout had begun and still both men fought on as if possessed of serious ego issues.  Neither would give any quarter, and the spectators were yet unsure of who would be their tournament champion.  First Sir Anton would appear to have the advantage, then Lord Allemande.  Feints and lunges, parries and cuts, all in a primal rhythm, an age-old cadence of sweat, something I can’t think of right now, and battle.
          The crowd was deadly silent, listening to the tang of steel catching steel, the grunts of the combatants, even their footfalls on the field where a day of tramping boots had worn the grass away and dirt and dust stood sentinel in place of the green blades that had once reigned in peace over the ground. Two young ladies nearly opened wounds on their hands from digging their fingers into their palms."


In case anyone is wondering, the young ladies are Sir Anton's betrothed, Graciela (you may remember the two of them from previous SSS entries), and Princess Katarina, who has a major thing for Lord Allemande--a man who has been forbidden to her and is ignoring her, two circumstances guaranteed to stoke the passions of her fifteen-year-old heart.

That's all from me for today.   I will apologize in advance if I don't get to all my favorite Sixers' posts.  Feel like I'm coming down sick and I'm hoping to spend as much of the day as possible resting.

Kate