Kate Warren

This scene isn't set at New Year's but for all those who have been asking about the mystery blonde in Jackson's hotel suite, I decided to post that scene in its entirety.  I'll be switching back to my historical fiction series in January, so if you want to know where my last few week's of WeWriWa posts (from my Christmas comedy WIP North Pole: Confidential) were heading, read on...




          After a week at the North Pole Jackson still marveled that there was a hotel anywhere in the world that still used actual keys instead of key cards or some other advanced technology.  He fished his room key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock only to find that his room door was unlocked already.  He let it swing in, even more surprised to find that a light was on in the kitchen portion of the suite, and from the angle of the beams on the floor it looked like there was one on in the bedroom as well.  He kicked off his shoes to minimize the sound of his footfalls.

          Cautiously, he drew the gun he always carried on his person and eased into the room, checking behind the door and keeping his back to one wall as much as possible.  There was music playing softly, and a crackling blaze in the fireplace, but other than that he could not hear anything suspicious.  Moving silently, he kicked the door closed and it shut with a loud bang.

          “Oh,” a soft, feminine voice exclaimed.  “Jack?  Is that you?”

          Jackson gritted his teeth.  He hated it when people called him Jack, and strangers in his personal space calling him that was a particular pet peeve of his.  “Pizza delivery!” he called out, training his gun on the direction from which the voice had come.

          “But I didn’t order any, oh!”  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?”

          She smiled in a way that reminded him of a smug neighborhood cat that had annoyed the hell out of him during his childhood.  He had gotten more than one scratch from that little bastard, and he would not be surprised if this one scratched too.  She tilted her head and gave him what he was sure she thought was her best appreciative gaze.  “I should think that would be obvious, Jack.”

          His arms relaxed a bit and he lowered the gun as he bit out, “My name is Jackson, not Jack.  You’ve got two minutes to explain who you are and why you’re really here before I throw you out.  If you talk fast you might have time to get dressed too.”

          She bristled and moved her painted lips into a practiced pout.  “You mean you don’t remember me?”

          “Let me see,” he pretended to think, “blonde, presumptuous, way too high an opinion of herself—reminds me of a couple dozen women, but the pointy ears narrow it down to … no one I know.”  He used the gun to point to where her jeans lay draped over the back of a chair.  “Clock’s ticking, Goldilocks.  Start with your name.”

          She let out an exasperated breath and pulled the jeans on as she answered.  “Joellen.  Joellen Baxter.  We met this morning at the Bakery.  I would have thought you’d remember.” She shot him a look of irritation.

          “Thought doesn’t seem to be high on your priority list.” He countered.  “What’s with the seduction scene?  I’ve had my share of luck with women, but I’m not that irresistible.”

          “Don’t underestimate yourself Jack.” She purred.

          He stepped closer, pressing the gun to her cleavage and speaking through clenched teeth.  “It’s Jackson.  And the next person to call me Jack is going to get a lesson so harsh, they’ll never call anyone Jack again.”

          Joellen’s eyes widened and she seemed to finally understand that her prey was not in the mood.  “I didn’t mean anything by this.  Well, I mean I was planning to seduce you, but that was all I wanted.”

          His eyes narrowed to intimidating face slits (I know!  I'll change it later).  “Why?”

          “To…” she faltered briefly, truly frightened by the intensity of the dislike blazing in his ocular orbs.  “To steal you from Angel.”

          Jackson was so surprised he nearly dropped his weapon.  “What?  Steal me from…?  We’re not even a thing.”

          “You’re not?” Her jaw fell. “You mean I went to all this trouble for nothing?”  She threw her hands in the air.  “Great!  Total waste of an evening!  Unless…” she turned and threw him a sultry look.

          He holstered his gun and ran a hand through his hair.  “Finish getting dressed.  Why did you even think I was involved with Angel?”

          Joellen’s words were muffled on occasion as she slipped back into the rest of her clothes.  “It’s pretty obvious she likes you.  And you weren’t exactly dying to get away from her either.”

          Jackson shook his head.  He did not understand women at all.  Because he didn’t ignore someone it meant he was dating her?  What book was that rule written in?  Not one he’d read, that was for sure.  Nor did he understand why Joellen would want him just because she thought Angel had him.  Did women really do things like that?  He’d known a few dirt bag guys who would steal another man’s woman just to prove they could, but he thought women were above that sort of thing and were just looking for someone to love them.

          Joellen emerged from the next room, fully clothed.  “Listen, it’s not that I just go to bed with any guy.  I do find you very attractive.  I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think I’d have a good time while I was at it.”

          “That’s practical, I suppose.” Jackson said with a bemused expression on his face.  “Look, I appreciate the compliment, and you’re a very pretty girl … woman … elf …  But we seem to be on different wave lengths here.  You’re too hot, I’m too cold, and after the week I’ve had sleep sounds just right.”

          He walked her to the door and was about to let her out when a thought occurred to him.  “You would really have slept with me just to hurt Angel?”

          “Yes,” she admitted brazenly, and rubbed up against him.  “And the offer still stands if you change your mind, Mr. Frost.”

          He looked down into her smoldering eyes, at her cherry red lips, and said “My mother told me always let a lady down gently.  But you’re not a lady.”  He opened the door and shoved her out into the hall shouting “not in a million years, blondie” loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear, and then slammed the door in her face, locking it for emphasis.

          Next he did the only sensible thing: had a sandwich and a glass of milk, brushed and flossed his teeth, and went to bed.  Alone. 




May 2014 be filled with blessings for you and yours!

Kate

Here it is the final week of NaNo and I have not posted a single update about the event (or a married one either) on this blog.  What can I say?  Life got crazy.

This year I have fallen behind several times due to stress of the kind that takes away all creative ability.  Yes, it is said (even by me) that you should push through the block and just write something, but there are times when even that won't work.  I think most people feel this when worried about one of their children.  I won't post about all of that right now, we're still in the middle of it at this point, but I will in the future in the hope that I will be able to provide some help and hope to other parents who face similar issues.

Back to NaNo...  The novel this year is a Christmas-themed humor story called North Pole: Confidential.  It's the story of what really goes on up there, from Santa's fractured marriage, to disappearing elves, dirty cops, and a talking moose.  The main character, through whose eyes most of the story unfolds is Jackson Frost, an investigator from the states sent north to find out what happened to Santa's right hand elf, who's been missing for several weeks.  Other characters of interest include: Angel Claus, Santa's adopted daughter; Sergeant O'Hurley, grumpy local policeman; Mrs. Claus, a piece of work; Santa's colorful and coffee-loving assistant Donna; Angel's group of friends; and a little old lady called Teeny who is not what she seems.

I'll try to post an excerpt soon.  Perhaps the entire first chapter.  I rather like doing that.

Other NaNo happenings include my taking over as unofficial Municipal Liaison for my region, and running The NaNorphans Guild for mentorless newbies.  The Guild has been my baby for four years running now, having been recruited to run it my first year, during which I was a 'Norhpan.  I'm thinking it may be time to hand the reins over to someone else, as I've put in to be notified when applications open for next year's ML job.  I love doing both, but I probably need to choose one.

Time for a break, to get away from the computer after catching up on internet things that go by the wayside during the challenges of the week, and play a game with the kids. 

I've begun this year's NaNo and already done something I haven't done in previous years.  I started over.  Granted it's only the second day, and I'm keeping what I wrote before, but this is new for me.  I had a terrible time trying to write yesterday.  I just wasn't feeling it and this morning I figured out why: I started too early.  Not early for the event, but early for the story.  The title is North Pole: Confidential, but did I start in the North Pole? No.  I started with one character on a train.  Boring!  And if I'm boring myself how are the readers going to feel?

So I started over, after my character arrives at the pole.  And it's going much better.  The words are flowing, and I'm casting characters in my head.  The first beginning will be reworked and included later in the novel so that wasn't time lost either.

Now, a bit about the story for you:  Undercover detective Jackson Frost is posing as a writer planning a piece on the North Pole, but he's really there to investigate a disappearance.  Santa's right hand elf has gone missing just as they're gearing up for their busiest time of year.  Jackson will uncover secrets he never would have guessed about what really goes on at the North Pole: the Claus' troubled marriage, blackmail, union issues, financial problems, a cookie smuggling ring, and possibly even murder!

Just so you know this is a humor novel.  I've created an inspiration board on Pinterest (joined specifically for that purpose) and a playlist of YouTube videos to keep me in the holiday spirit.  I'll post links to these if anyone is interested, and I'll try to keep everyone updated on my progress.

Happy writing, and for those not writing, happy reading!

Kate

Last time we covered myths about National Novel Writing Month.  For this blog post we'll talk about reasons why anyone might choose to participate in this event.

For those who are as yet unaware: National Novel Writing Month, commonly abbreviated as NaNoWriMo, is a 30 day literary challenge in which each participant strives to write 50,000 words before midnight on the last day of the month.  All of these words must be written during the month of the event, which is November.  And contrary to the name, it's actually inter-national now.

But what's the point, you ask?  The point is to let go of your doubts, your fears, that voice in your head that says you can't/shouldn't/have-no-business doing something.  In this case that something is writing a novel.  A lot of new and established writers deal with doubts about their work.  NaNo give you an excuse to force those doubts from your mind, suck it up, and just write the first draft.

On to the reasons!

Reason 1: Anti-Someday
Have you been thinking about writing a book someday?  Ever noticed that someday never seems to come around?  Half of everything is just showing up.  If you want to write a book, you have to "show up" to write it.  Sit down and do this thing.  NaNo can be very helpful with that.  It's only one month out of a year.  And if you try and decide it's not for you, that's fine.  NaNo asks the question: why wait until someday when you could write it in Nowvember?  Yes, I made up that word.  I like it, and I shall keep it.

Reason 2: Motivation
Maybe you're already writing but you've hit a slump, or a block, or like me you couldn't self-motivate to save your asterisk.  Well it's oddly motivating to have several hundred thousand people all over the world doing this with you.  Everyone writes their own story, but you're all writing at the same time.  If you're competitive, you can use your writing buddies' word counts as motivation to do better.  If you're not competitive, there's still the self-challenge, which isn't much to ask for one month.  I do most of my writing in November.  Why?  Because NaNo is highly motivating for me.  

Oh, and before I forget, you don't have to be a novelist to participate.  The Rebels forum is full of people who are writing non-fiction, memoirs, short story collections, etc.  You can even work on an existing story, as long as you only count words written during the event.

Reason 3: Support
The site is jam-packed with people who know the joys and pains of writing.  Whatever you're going through, someone else has been there.  Need advice, or just a place to vent about a character who won't behave?  Go to the forums or NaNoMail a buddy. 

There are Pep Talks too, to boost your spirits in those middle days when your momentum is flagging.  This year alone we will have pep talks by Bella Andre, James Patterson, and Patrick Rothfuss, and those are only a few of the well-known authors who will help us along our journey.  Also writing pep talks: NaNo veterans and staff who have been there and done it, and quite literally have the t-shirts.

Reason 4: Community
This is sort of related to support, but goes to a whole other level.  There are inside jokes, and tips, and entire fora devoted to helping you on your NaNo journey.  Need a name, a plot twist, a bit of dialogue or a title?  Check out the Adoptables.  Have a research issue?  Try the reference desk.  Plot holes the size of small European nations?  Go to Plot Doctoring.  Can't decide between two or more things?  Post in the polling booth to get opinions from others.  

There are genre lounges, and age groups, and fan groups, there's even a forum called "NaNoWriMo Ate My Soul" for people having trouble (though I think I've laughed more in that one than any of the others, except maybe "Adopt a Villain Catchphrase").  The world of NaNo is also organized into geographic regions so you can connect with other writers in your area, if that's something you want to do. 

Throughout the forums the rule is friendliness and help.  There is a real sense that we're in this thing together.  We cry on each others' proverbial shoulders and celebrate each others' successes, and we all share a unique experience.  Win or lose, we are WriMos.  And we are awesome!

Reason 5: It's fun!
I won't lie, the first year was terrifying and nerve-wracking, but it was also amazing.  Each year since the fear gets less and so far the fun keeps going.  This will be my fifth NaNo, and it's something I look forward to each year.  In fact, it something a lot of people look forward to.  There are many, many repeat WriMos.

We have a great time bonding over strange things that appear on our computer screens, especially when we're writing while tired, or fun typos.  There's a forum called "Games, Diversions, & other Exciting Forms of Procrastination" that's full of word games and such.  There are word wars, which I've never done but I hear are a ton of enjoyment and also help with the word count.  People write songs about NaNo, poems about NaNo, there's even a musical about NaNo (look it up on YouTube; it's great!).  NaNoToons, an ongoing, event-specific comic about fictional WriMos, is awesome! 

Some people have parties, and write-ins.  And if you win, there's a certificate, special offers from the sponsors, and if you like you can buy that year's one-of-a-kind-design winner's t-shirt (see last line of Reason 3).  Not to mention this little detail of having written a novel.


Well, it's late and I have novel-planning to do.  I apologize if I forgot anything, and I'd be happy to answer any questions you have.

Happy writing.

Kate

November is just around the corner so I thought I would take a few moments (or more) to talk about something that has become near and dear to me as a writer: National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as NaNoWriMo.  Lest anyone wonder, the pronunciation is NA-no, as in a nano-second, and RYE-mo, as in wri-ting and anyone called Mo.

A simple internet search will reveal a wealth of information and an even greater wealth of opinions about the event, some giddy and praise-filled, and some so scathing they could burn the rust off a car's bumper.  I'm hoping to provide a middle ground, battle some myths, and have some fun using spiffy statistics.  Of course that's a lot to cover so this is going to take more than one blog post.  Today I'm focusing on myths surrounding NaNo (the event)  and WriMos (the participants). 

Myth 1: NaNoWriMo is about writing a lot of crap.
This is a common misconception which I think is made by people who don't understand that giving yourself permission to write a less-than-perfect first draft is not the same thing as aiming for the gutter.  

Personally, I choose to write at least 50,000 words of workable fiction.  Is it perfect? By no means.  But it's also not total crap.  Requiring quantity does not preclude quality.

That said, first drafts are first drafts for a reason.  More than 99% of them have problems, and often major problems.  Stephen King says his first drafts suck, though he may not use that exact term to describe them.  In fact I believe his term is rather stronger than mine.  

The point of NaNo is not to write crap but to give yourself permission to suck, which you will anyway to start with, so that you can get the first draft written.  Once that's done, then you can start editing and turn a jagged, gritty, ugly first draft into a shining gem.  Or leave it as is, print it out, and use it as a doorstop.  The choice is yours.


Myth 2: You can literally write the word "eyeball" 50,000 times and win.
This is technically correct but I'm classifying as a myth because I don't believe very many people would go to the trouble of signing up, writing or copying one word 50,000 times (or two words 25,000 times), validating their "novel" and printing out their lovely winner's certificate to show off when they'd have to face this: "You wrote a novel?  Cool!  What's it about?"  Seriously, who would do that?  The level of "impressed" goes down a great deal when friends, relatives, co-workers, etc., find out you essentially cheated.  And how would they get out of that situation? Actually that could get interesting, and I'd probably want front row seats and popcorn. 

NaNo does work on the honor system.  Nobody checks your writing.  No one but you even sees it unless you choose to share it with someone.  And I think there is something admirable about trusting people to be on the up and up.

Yes I'm sure there are people out there somewhere who would do this, however, that is not NaNo's fault.  Those people are the ones who will cheat at anything.  It points to a flaw in them, not in the event. 

Small note: there are minor discrepancies between many word processing programs' word counts and the official NaNo word count, so technically they might have to write "eyeball' 50,147 times.


Myth 3: NaNo makes it sound like anybody can write a novel.
Newsflash: anybody CAN write a novel.  A novel is defined, not by industry standards mind you but by actual definition, as a work of prose at least 50,000 words in length.  That's it.  You don't need an MFA, or a background in journalism, you don't need a life of fascinating experiences.  There are no qualifications for being a writer other than simply to write.  Anybody who thinks otherwise needs to get off their low-horse and take a good look at the world.  NaNo is not a good place for snobs, that much is true.


Myth 4: NaNo makes people think they can write a book worthy of publishing in only a month.
If you think this you haven't been to the website.  Nowhere does it say you will have a finished final draft, just a first draft that it is then up to you to revise, edit, and otherwise polish.  Does the world of agents and publishers issue a collective sigh and rolling of the eyes each December? Possibly.  But really all NaNo contributes to that is volume.  Every month of the year sees new writers pitching first drafts.  The number may go up after November, but that's it.  This is not a new thing. 

But not everyone who writes a novel wants to publish one.  Some people don't write for compensation but for the sheer joy of writing.  I don't know whether they are rolling in dough, are true artists who are above such material concerns, or just have a lot of time on their hands, but that really doesn't matter.  We should all know by now that people are different.  We do not all think the same way.  We do not all want the same things.  


Myth 5: Nothing good has ever come out of NaNo, and by good I mean traditionally published.
I have twelve words for you: Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen; The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.  These are only two of many published books that started as NaNoWriMo novels.  Not only were they traditionally published, they're both bestsellers!  And they are not alone.  There's a list.  Here's a link to it: Official List of Published NaNo Novels.  And here's another link: Goodreads list of Published NaNoWriMo Books.

Bonus Myth: No real author would participate in something like NaNoWriMo.
The reasoning for this one varies from the idea that "real" authors write a lot all year long, to just a general scorn for the event and by extension any one who would participate.  In refutation, please look back at my response to Myth 5.   I'm not going to name-drop but there are famous authors, other than those I've already mentioned, who participate in NaNo.  They may not make a big deal out of it, but they aren't looking down their noses at the event.


Also consider that there is more to NaNo than just the writing, though that is absolutely the main goal.  NaNoWriMo is a community where writers around the world can connect and commiserate on the trials and the joys of the craft.  Sure there are people who just write as a hobby, but hobbiests can be every bit as passionate about their hobbies as professionals in the same field are.  All writers share certain things: love of stories, frustration with characters, fear of plot holes, and much more.  NaNo brings us together and reminds those of us in an often solitary endeavor that we are not really alone.  


That's all I have to say for now.  I hope you've found some of this instructive, or at least entertaining.  Stay tuned for my next post in this special NaNo series as we hurtle toward November.

Kate

Because it's too early and not hot enough yet for the dog days. 

July has begun.  I don't know where June went, but Camp NaNoWriMo is on again.  I am attempting to participate once again, though with a much lower goal.  This is the second of the month and I have yet to write a word towards the 10,000 I am planning.

I wish I could offer some words of wisdom, sage observations, or witty remarks, but I'm not doing all that well lately with my fibromyalgia.  My internet activities have been sharply curtailed so that there are days I don't get beyond checking email.  So my time is spent with the kids, helping them as best I can, doing a bit of reading when time and headaches permit.  Finally saw Les Miserables and I almost immediately started rewriting the lyrics to form a condensed version.  I made a dress for my daughter out of an old t-shirt, and it didn't turn out too badly.  I've rearranged a few things in the house, but haven't made any major changes.  Oh, and I've designed the dream bathroom for when I win the lottery (note to self: might want to actually buy a lottery ticket once in a while, as this would improve chances of winning).

I am very sorry to report that the local bookstore is closing.  The owners have been great friends and supporters to me in my writing.  There are many who will miss having a bookstore, myself among them.  This is the second, or perhaps third book store the area has lost.  Makes me wonder if our town just isn't big enough, or big enough on reading.  A sad happening regardless.

Switching to a more pleasant topic, for the upcoming holiday we'll be having a small cookout.  My husband will try out his new (used) grill and I will provide the potato salad and balloons stuffed with colorful confetti in lieu of fireworks.  We will also watch 1776, as has become our yearly tradition.

Here's to all my friends across the internet: writers, readers, artists of all kinds, and those who just like cruising websites.  Hope you're all having a wonderful summer.  And to those in America, have a safe and enjoyable Independence Day.

Kate

I have been given the Sunshine Award by the lovely and talented Lorraine Paton, whose new book Devin's Second Chance releases this June!

Thank you, Lorraine!


Here are the rules for the Sunshine Award: 

1. Thank the person who gave you the award in your blog post.
2. Answer the questions below.
3. Pass the award to a bunch of deserving and inspiring bloggers, inform them and link to their blogs (The rules actually say 10-12 people, but I'm not going to choose that many this time. Why? Because I'm a rebel, that's why.)

So, here are the questions: 

Favorite Color: Blue! Never met a shade I didn't like but my favorite is that deep, bright classic blue.  

Favorite Animal: Well that would be a dog, or a horse, or a pig.  Hard to choose really.  

Favorite Number:  Um...8?

Favorite Non-Alcoholic Drink: Pepsi.

Facebook or Twitter: Both.  Facebook is easier for me.  Twitter goes so fast it's hard to keep up, especially because I can't use my phone for it.

Your Passion: Which one?  I love writing, music, design, history, etc.  

Giving or Getting Presents: Yes. I love giving presents, but I like getting them too, so I could really go either way on this one.

Favorite Flower: Roses. But lilacs are a close second and the wood violet is dear to me as well.  Come to think of it, I have a real fondness of apple blossoms and pansies too. Did I mention that I have an indecisive streak? But roses are my favorite. 


Now to name those whom I wish to honor with an award.  The following people have been chosen because they A) have blogs, B) are likely to post, C) have not been chosen by Lorraine, and most importantly D) they have brought some sunshine into my life.  Please note, there is another category here: E) because I will continue to tag my sister until she starts posting again.  You are brilliant and the world will know it because I said so!

Jes Langan
J.M. Blackman
Angela Quarles
Kate Meader
Tessa Dare
Tess Quinn
Cassandra Grafton

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

Dear people,

At least I assume it's only people visiting my site.  I suppose cats might be using our internet connections while we're asleep, but I doubt they would find much of interest here.

I've made it through the first two days of Camp NaNoWriMo and I am currently ahead on my word count.  My attempts at tent building have failed thus far, but I do not despair of hope.  I will find a way.  Perhaps I should borrow some duct tape from one of my fellow campers.  

My cabinmates are wonderful.  We chat regularly and have entered the Cabin Challenge under the team name of Marshmallow.  The idea is to reach a collective word count, and so if one of us falls behind another can write extra to help the team.  I have received much encouragement from the other campers in Cabin Marshmallow.  I sense new friendships will blossom during this camp session.

The story is progressing as well.  I think the plot will really pick up now and a finished draft may well be within sight. 

The food has been ok, and I have not run into any poison ivy yet.  I have not gone swimming in the lake, for two reasons: 1. I don't swim; and 2. there are rumors of vicious monsters that attack your plot, dragging it down and putting holes in it, twisting and turning it until you can't recognize your own work.  I don't consider myself particularly superstitious, but I figure it's better not to chance it.

I'll write again when I have a break in activities.  Hope all is well for you.  Give Aunt Bertha a hug for me. 

Yours sincerely,

Camper Kate


P.S. Please remember that April is also Autism Awareness Month.  As a mother of autistic children, this means a great deal to me.  The world is sadly lacking in understanding of this disorder and cruel words, even when clearly spoken out of ignorance, can hurt our children and those of us who love them.  Please find some time this month to learn more about autism, or to share what you know with another.  Thank you.