Day 3: Dream

D: This is such a spoiler, A.
A: I know! I know but I can’t help it!
D: You must!
A: But! But it was so perfect and everything made me cry yesterday but this really made me cry. And I just had to share it, because, crying.
D: Who are you, and what have you done with A?
A: I know, right?!
D: You don’t really get all emotional . . .
A: Well, not with you.
D: Gee, thanks, A
A: No seriously – I’m so used to you and your theatrics and dramatics–
D: My what now?
A: Oh, come on. You know what I think of you – you have this . . . this feel to you that’s a little overblown. We all know you lost your true love. You’re pained. You’ve hidden yourself away bla bla bla – but Sean and Maureen. . . They were separate from all that.
D: This is why you don’t like me.
A: Well. . . . yeah. Yeah, that is why I don’t like you. Your story was known to me from the beginning. And seriously, it’s soooooo melodramatic. I mean, I like it, sure, but gods, there was nothing for me to explore there.
D: Or perhaps you’re just exploring it from Maureen and Sean’s point of view.
A: . . . Don’t make points I can’t argue with, Druid.
D: Ha!

Score one for the Druid; he’s not wrong. And weirdly, not upset with me for that whole melodramatic bit.

Whatever. He knew his author when he took up residence in her head.

Some days, writing can suck. It can be lifeless and uninspired, uninteresting and meaningless, and all the other un-and-less words out there.

Last night was not one of those nights.

Until last night, I hadn’t read what I wrote for April’s Camp NaNoWriMo.

This book is a definite challenge for me, and re-reading what I’ve already done either confuses me because it’s not linear, or makes me want to get down to the granular details, which is not in this book’s best interest, yet.

Last night was different. I re-read what I wrote in April and I was surprised – hell, I was moved.

It wasn’t the jumble of words I thought it was – I mean, there was enough of that to last a lifetime, sure, but it wasn’t all bad.

It took me by surprise; it made me cry – for real! And most importantly, it reminded me that there is a story here – it reminded me that I’m completing a story and it’s hard. It hurts. These characters have been hurt and – no pressure – it’s up to this book – it’s up to me, and them, and everything – to address it, to write it out, and complete the story.

There’s something to this week – maybe it’s the new moon, maybe it’s the eclipse, maybe it’s some magic I can’t quite name – but for once, I’ve acknowledged I’m a writer. Or storyteller. Or something.

It only took 6 years.

Dream, Maureen.

Dream.


Day 3 Camp NaNoWriMo Total: So far, 560 (the post above), but I still have a goal of 1,000 WIP words, so those 560 don’t count.
Words To Go: 47,211
Day 3 Brainwave: We need more (spoiler).
Day 3 Reminder: Just because they’re not likely to end up in the final draft, some scenes just need to be written so they’re there. It’s a repeat of Day 2, but honestly – this might just be the standing reminder.


Welcome to the World of the Changelings. Pick your Poison:

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Day 2: Mouldering Detritus

Aunt Margaret collected bits of silver and books, mouldering paper and the detritus of our families’ lives like other people collected coins, or stamps.

Aunt Margaret collected bits of silver and books, mouldering paper and the detritus of our families’ lives like other people collected coins, or stamps.

D: Moulding Detritus? Oh, that’s just a delightful turn of phrase, A.
A: Like it? I thought it was lovely, myself.
D: You would.
A: Whatever – read on, D.

Besides Maureen, my favorite character in the Changelings series is Margaret McAndrew, Sean’s Great-Aunt. Of course, I had no idea who she really was – or rather, the entirety of who she really was – until midway through the redrafting of Rise of Kings. I’ve always liked her though – ever since Margaret tossed a pot of paint at Maureen for entering her art studio unannounced, I knew I finally had a female character who could go toe-to-toe with my very headstrong, determined Changeling.

Grace O’Malley, in Into the Mist, could have been that too, but she was very much concerned with leading her men and staying one step ahead of the Crown – and I was very much concerned with not ascribing too much to an already-known historical figure.

Grace was someone Maureen looked up to – idolized, even. I suspect – and hinted at it in the text – had Maureen and Sean stayed, as Maureen wanted, eventually she and Grace could have had a relationship like the one she shares with Margaret. Of course, Maureen would have become a dyed-in-the-wool pirate and heaven help Queen Elizabeth, the Realm, and everyone else, then!

So, I’m glad it was Margaret who popped up when she did – she’s less an ideal and more a human. She’s eccentric, certainly, but she’s strong, smart, independent – and still shows her scars. Despite everything she’s been through, she’s not afraid to love Sean and Maureen. She doesn’t just protect them as was her task; she guides them, teaches them, and loves them. Their relationship humanizes her as well, as much as it humanizes Maureen (see: pirate).

D: I like Margaret, too.
A: Well, I would hope so, D.
D: No, I mean, of course I do – but I don’t know her as Margaret – I only get to read about her and . . . and . . .
A: And pop in occasionally and cause her a great deal of anguish?
D: I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t causing brooding somewhere, A.
A: (eye roll) No kidding.
D: But that’s what I mean – I do only pop in, as you so eloquently put it. So, seeing her from Maureen’s eyes. . . it’s–it’s gratifying. Thank you, A, for giving me that.
A: I’m not sure how to react to this, so I’m just going to go with it. You’re welcome, D.


Day 2 Camp NaNoWriMo Total: 1,171 (not including the post above)
Words To Go: 47,211
Day 2 Brainwave: Explore Catherine’s childhood. It can be a spoiler if you’re not careful, but that’s ok. Right now, she has no tether, no humanizing influences. It’s needed to understand why she has a certain comfort with where she is.
Day 2 Reminder: Just because they’re not likely to end up in the final draft, some scenes just need to be written so they’re there.


Welcome to the World of the Changelings. Pick your Poison:

Day 1: Kicking off – where I left off

I dreamed we were young again. . .

We were in Grace O’Malley’s stronghold, the first time we traveled in time… We were bright with the belief we were simply biding our time… that winter day, we had no knowledge of what was to come.

And so, Day 1 of Camp Nano begins where I left off – with the dream sequence that put me over the edge for my April goal.

Separated from her best friend, and first love, Maureen lives quite a bit in her head in this book. It’s a change I wasn’t exactly prepared for – she was the driving force of almost all the adventure in the last two books. Her headstrong drive landed her and Sean into quite a few scrapes – as this passage later explores.

It was an interesting experiment, to have her review her memories through the haze of dreams – particularly since I wrote the original scene for an early draft of the first book, but only published it on this site, as the short story, The Race.

Maureen is still the driving force in the narrative – hers is the frame for Catherine’s story – but she really is alone now – and while–

D: Alone? She’s not alone. She has Margaret.
A: Well, yes but it’s not the same thing. And gee – thanks for interrupting me.
D: You weren’t going anywhere with that sentence and you know it. Anyway, Margaret has some of the same memories – some of the same experiences–
A: Margaret is there. You know she’s there. You left her there.
D: Ahem. Spoilers, A.
A: It’s not the same, D. You know that. That’s why you feel guilty.
D: Guilty? Me??
A: . . .
D: Ok, ok point taken. But honestly, where am I in all this?
A: Excuse me?
D: I thought this was my book?
A: It is, but–
D: And you’ve written near-50,000 words to date and I think all I’ve gotten out of it is a pithy ‘I am born’ statement.
A: Are you really calling David Copperfield pithy?
D: No, I’m calling your reinterpretation of it pithy.
A: . . .
D: But I digress – where am I?
A: That’s a good question, D. One Maureen is currently asking.
D: Oh… oh dear.
A: Yup.

Why did Dubh never come to say goodbye – or hello? It was not he who had died that day, and it had been a year – 215 years – and at least a day for him since that horrible morning.

Was he afraid, or ashamed? Or was he still fighting on the Plain?  Would he fight every day, every moment of his life, to try to reclaim the one who’d passed from the realm of men before his time?

The fierce blue eyes shone bright again in my memory. They blazed across the seething battlefield, just as they had when he revealed himself across the sea of flame as a ship was lost, and again through the faerie mists, which boiled red at my command.

Always apart from us – always on his own. Always promising he’d make it right.

But he’d always kept his promises – even as he kept his secrets.
Excerpted from Changelings: The Memory of Myth (c) KM Sullivan/ktirsh


Welcome to the World of the Changelings. Pick your Poison:

Ready. Set. Go. Camp NaNoWriMo

Camp NaNoWriMo is kind to me – always has been. I’ve attempted the official NaNoWriMo in November three times, and three times, I’ve failed – or rather, allowed a variety of life events take precedence. I even have a category here dedicated entirely to that failure!

I’ve done a camp three times too – and all three have been a success in their own way. While April and July tend to be chock-full of their own particular brands of catastrophe, I’ve always managed.

The ability to adjust one’s goal at camp probably helps – but really, I think it’s the 30-day forced focus combined with the lightheartedness of the ‘camp’ atmosphere that works for me. I mean, I write blog posts with a character in my head – lighthearted is always going to win the day!

Of course, The Memory of Myth – book 3 in the Changelings series – isn’t exactly lighthearted. It’s really kind of a monster. It makes me cry (which is good, but still…). It writes differently than the other two – it’s more a series of vignettes than a book right now. I also never expected to be with these characters at this stage in their lives – Catherine’s story originally had a much different genesis, but here we are.

D: A? A, I have the oddest sense of déjà vu. A: {Sigh} Oh, do you? D: Yes, indeed. It seems as though we were just here... but years ago. Several years. Decades, even. Eons-- A: Two years, D. It has only been two years.  D: Only?! My dear A--  A: You're a time traveler - you of all people should know time is just a construct.  D: . . .  A: Fine. Yes. I've kept you waiting for 2 years. At least it wasn't another 20. D: At least?! Wait, that's a threat, isn't it? A: You do catch on quick, Druid.

The dialogue still lives!

And here – in the July Camp NaNo – I hope to finally put “the end” on the first draft of book 3. And, I’m going to do it with the help of a project that makes use of the several gigabytes of pictures I’ve taken over the last few years while I wasn’t writing. There’s a collection of about 80 photos I’ll be choosing from to inspire scenes, vignettes and whatever else it takes to get into the heads of these irascible characters of mine and finish these books! I’ll be posting them here with some “daily line” and D/A commentary – and on Instagram!

FREE STUFF

In April, I found the calendar on the NaNoWriMo blog really helpful (ok, I found the stickers I rewarded myself with really helpful, but whatever), so I made one of my own for July. There are 2: a blank one to write in your daily goals/daily word count, and one that’s editable in PDF, if you want to be paper-free – it’ll even tally up your goal/daily word count!

CampNano July Calendar – blankCampNano July Calendar – now updatable in the PDF itself!


Welcome to the World of the Changelings. Pick your Poison:

The World of the Changelings: The name’s the thing

First things first – how do you pronounce those names?

From Niamh Golden Hair and Nuada Silver Arm, Áine, Manannán mac Lir and Dubhshìth, to Tír na nÓg and Tech Duinn, the world of the Changelings is a challenge when it comes to cultural/historical/mythological accuracy and ease of reading. Not even for me!

The following is a true story.

The boy, who has just read the last two chapters because he was totally responsible for The Rise of Kings ending where it does: Ok, we have Nim… Nimeh? Nimmmm…

Me: “Neeve.”

B: But…

M: or is it “Nimuay”?

B: . . .

M: I don’t know how to pronounce them – I make up pronunciations in my head. Always have. To me, she’s “Neeve.” I’m pretty sure. Or is it “Nimuay?”  Whatever – it’s in the appendix.

B: (muttering to himself) oh my god mom…

M: I have to spell it like that. It’s her name! She’s a real mythological figure.

B: . . .

M: Don’t look at me like that. You know what I mean.

B: Ok.

M: (He has a look, so I keep talking) Don’t worry – aside from the real myths, I cut down on that authentic name thing. There are a lot of Martins, James and Roberts though.

B: And by a lot…

M: Well, see, names stay in families, and the story is cyclical, so it worked.

B: You’re going to have an appendix, right?

M: . . . .

B: (Forestalling the “is the pope catholic, and the sky blue” snark) Ok, so maybe put the pronunciation guide at the beginning?

From the mouth of babes. Even 16-year-old smart-arse babes.

So yes, I know the Irish-language (and some pict/proto-celtic) names can be a bit hard on the tongue to non-Irish speakers. Like I admitted to the boy, I make up pronunciations in my head anyway – you DO NOT want to know how I’ve pronounce words like Houghton Mifflin or even simple words like façade.

And because The Rise of Kings picks up right where Into the Mist left off, the mythology comes fast and furious. So yes, this time, the name guide will be in the front. Lesson learned!

Characters – and their pronunciation – from Changelings 1 & 2

Those with a slash after their name instead of parenthesis have an anglicized name by which they are also known.

Dubhghall, Dubh Súile, Dubhshìth, Dubh, (DOOgal/Doov Sul-e/DOO-she/Doov) Doyle – his name changes with the century, but he will always be the dark stranger, the warrior, monk, and prince.

Gods & Goddesses

Niamh Golden Hair (Neeve) is the rebel queen of Tír na nÓg, and Dubh Súile’s confidante.

Nuada Silver Arm (NU ah) is the king of Tír na nÓg.

Áine (AAN-yuh), Nuada’s onetime queen and Niamh’s mother.

Manannán mac Lir (MaNa-Nan mac LEER) is Nuada, Bres and Balor’s father and onetime ruler of Faerie.

Donn (Don) – brother of Manannán mac Lir, ruler of Tech Duinn, the Land of the Dead.

Lugh (Lu) – a warrior, craftsman, and bard – although known to man, Lugh is new to the pantheon established in Changelings.

The Dagda (Dada) – The father of Manannán mac Lir and Donn, he is the father of all, keeper of time, and god of the earth.

Fomorians (F’MoR-e-ans) i.e. the Fomorian Faction is the name used by Nuada’s enemies in the Fomorian War. Nuada’s brothers, Bres (BRESH) and Balor, led the faction.

Tuatha Dé Danann (TOO-ha da Dah-n’n) – at once old gods and historically, an ancient Irish race.

Warriors

Fionn mac Cumhaill/Finn McCool is the leader of the legendary group of warriors, the Fianna.

Oisín (Ush-EEN) is the son of Fionn mac Cumhaill, a poet, and a member of the Fianna. He tarried in Tír na nÓg for 300 years.

Cú Chulainn (Coo-hullen), the Hound of Ulster, a warrior who many believed to be the son of Lugh. (Listen to his name here!)

The Purely Fictional

Mairead mac Tadgh (Mar-EAD mac Teague) is the love of Dubhshìth’s mortal life and the mother of his child. She was thought to have killed herself when Dubh disappeared in Ireland.

Mártainn mac Aindriú/Martin mac Andrew is Dubhshìth’s rival for Mairead’s affections. He married her when Dubh was presumed dead in battle, and pledged his warriors to help win the war Dubh had been fighting.

Domnall mac Aindriú/Donal mac Andrew is Dubh’s son, who he thought had died with his mother, Mairead. He did not, instead he lived to be an old man whose descendants may or may not include Maureen and Sean.

Places

Tír na nÓg (TEAR na’nog), the Land of the Young, is one of many Irish mythological “otherworlds,”

Tech Duinn (Tec Doon), the House of Donn, which became synonymous with the Land of the Dead.

Teach na Clochach (Tcha n Cluh-hu) House of the Rock aka Cloak Tower – or, in Aunt Margaret’s words: “To me, and to all your ancestors sixty times removed, the keep – as it were – has been called Teach na Clochach – House of the Rock. Clochach sounds an awful lot like a guttural ‘cloak’ to those who’ve lost their native tongue.”

Into the Mist characters – they’ll be back for Book 3

Dian Cécht (deeAAn kay-cht) is the king’s healer.

Credne (KRA-na) is the silversmith who created the king’s silver arm.

Macha (mOH-ka) is handmaiden to Queen Áine.

Miach (ME-ik) is Dian Cecht’s son and a young healer.

Recommended: A New Hype

adventureswithD-final (1)A: Head on over to The Recommenders to tell us what you’re hyped about in upcoming books, movies or shows in the month of May – and get a quick run-down of what we’re looking forward to, as well!

D: What is this we, stuff A? Your plebeian list certainly isn’t what I’m hyped about.

A: I’m going to regret this, but what, pray tell, are you hyped about? And why are you italicizing “hyped?”

D: Hype: Noun – propaganda, excitement, flimflam. Flimflam, A. Flimflam.

A: I think you just like the word flimflam. And I don’t blame you.

D: No, it’s a sham, that’s what it is.

A: A flimflam sham?

D: A . . .

A: Or how about a yam-sham?

D: You are not going to Buffy your way out of this one, A.

A: Oh, yes I am – because I already won. Yam-sham it is. So, what are you yam-shamed about?

D: I hate you.

A: No you don’t. Come on. What are you excited about?

D: Fine. I’m quite pleased that I shall be visiting with – and congratulating – Abd-al-Rahman. He was proclaimed emir of Cordoba, Spain today. I’m so excited for him. He’s been challenging the local rulers for some time now, and I want to give him some encouragement – unifying the fiefdoms is going to take some time, but it’ll be worth it, in the end.

(Long pause. Stares at the Druid. Druid casually checks nails for dirt. A swears she can see a smile winking at the edges of that ridiculously smug face. A huffs and grabs her phone to research.)

A: Um, D – we’re hyped for things happening in this year – not in 756!!

D: Time is relative, my dear A.

A: . . . Fine. Give Abd-al-Rahman my regards.

D: I shall do that.

A: And everyone else who lives in the 21st century, check out the post at The Recommenders, and add your two cents!

A sale – a story – and a surprise?

1birthdaypancakesWell, that went by fast. I knew it was getting close, but it was still a bit of a shock when Facebook reminded me yesterday that a full year had passed since I released the first book – the 20-year project – of the Changelings saga. It also marked the nine months since I’ve blogged with any regularity. Now, while I can’t say the latter will change to any great degree, I can honor the former with, drum roll please–

D: You mean this drum roll?

A (Ridiculously cheesy grin): Glad you could make it to the party, D.

D: It’s not a party without me – as well you know.

A (Cheesy grin at odds with eye-rolling): Of course. Will you do the honors?

changelingsebookcover-flat4D: Of telling everyone that the glorious tale of my life and loves – oh wait, you haven’t gotten to that one yet–

A: D…

D: Right, anyway – that the almost-glorious tale, Changelings: Into the Mist – and A’s attempt to escape from me by writing an Irish spy thriller, Three Ghosts – are FREE starting today. Wait – did I just say free?!

A: Yes, D – it’s a promotion. It ends Sunday the 15th.

D: Well, that’s okay, I suppose.

A: You never took gold for your songs.

Cover Art by Casey T. Malone

Cover Art by Casey T. Malone

D: But I did get a good cup of mead or ale out of the deal.

A: I have wine. I’m good.

D: Fair enough – now, what’s the surprise?

A: Nope – story first. Because not only are we celebrating Changelings‘ birthday with a sale, we have a brand-new side story – staring you.

D: Oh. This one. You’ve saved it.

A: I have, and I thought, with Veterans/Remembrance day just past, it was appropriate. Enjoy.

Remember

“What do you remember?”

Dubh Súile mac Alasdair lifted his eyes to the red-haired man standing over him. He looked smart in his pilot’s uniform. He was young, yet his green eyes spoke of many battles.

Every day it was the same question.

Every day he said the same thing.

“Nothing.”

It was a lie.

Each of the 1200 years he’d lived among man and Fae spread out before him – loves and lives lost taunted him whenever he closed his eyes. Time etched fondness in the lined faces of his teachers in the Druid grove – and in the tonsured heads of the monks who took their place three centuries later. Each moment of the war that had torn him from the world of man screamed at him in dreams and the memory of magic, which had once been his reward, still lingered on his skin.

But that was not what the young man meant.

queen marys hospital

Queen Mary Convalescent Auxiliary Hospital

A broadsheet included with this day’s breakfast declared it 1 March 1944. The narrow bed in which he lay was courtesy the Queen Mary Convalescent Auxiliary Hospital just outside London, England.

He had not been in London for nearly 400 years. Metal-clad machines that growled in the street had replaced the placid clatter of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles. It had been one of these – these things which looked more like monsters reserved for the unmapped territories at the world’s edge than something man should ride within – that had put him at the mercy of the white-capped ladies of Queen Mary’s.

In fact, the only thing that remained the same in old London-town was the threat of ongoing war, only this time it wasn’t with the French.

“Nothing at all?” Pale eyebrows arched to etch lines of disbelief in the sergeant’s face.

“I remember nearly cracking your skull, even as I cracked my own.” Dubh snorted and shook his head. It had not been his finest moment, but Nuada Silver Arm had not meant it to be, either. In fact, he was certain the king of the Fae had intended it to be Dubh’s last moment.

“You and the cab came out of nowhere – if you hadn’t rolled me out of the way, I might have been hit by the bloody thing, myself. Your reflexes are sound, at least.”

“Physically, perhaps,” Dubh admitted. “My memory before that black cab is a little dim, however.”

“And yet, the doctors tell me the memory loss is a protective mechanism – depending on what it’s protecting, I would say that reflex is also very good, soldier.”

Dubh raised his own eyebrow and the sergeant finally cracked a smile.

It was about time. At turns solicitous and stern, the sergeant had been trying for two days to uncover Dubh’s identity, and yet it seemed to Dubh that the young man’s official suspicion was at odds with a more affable curiosity.

Even so, Dubh hesitated to reveal anything. His mortal record was lost to time, certainly, but creating an identity from whole cloth was dangerous. No longer did man rely on a messenger who might take days, if not weeks, to reach his destination. In 1944, a command from a faceless man half a world away could move – or halt – an entire army.

The sergeant sat on the edge of Dubh’s bed, and the hairs along his neck rose as he moved his legs. Typically, his visitor came later in the day, when Dubh was allowed the novelty of rolling around in the wheeled chair. Even then, the sergeant never stopped long, and he never sat.

The sergeant’s smile turned into mock surprise. “What’s this, no retort? No denial? I call you ‘soldier’ and you simply accept it?”

“I have been a warrior – among many things – all my days. I could no more deny it than willingly stop breathing. And yet, I do not know for whom I fight.”

“For Queen and Country, that’s who,” the sergeant snapped. “I had a thought you were from one of the Highland regiments. A lad from the Black Watch had gone missing on his way back from the front. Deserter, they thought.”

Deserter. The word slithered through the air, now sharp and sour. The sergeant’s eyes had turned to flint as he waited to pounce on any twitch or other sign that Dubh’s memory loss – amnesia the doctors called it – was a ruse.

Dubh blinked once, then twice, and waited for the sergeant to continue.

“A Corporal Doyle McAlister, late of Strathpeffer? I sent up your photo. Captain there says it was blurred – don’t know how that bloody happened – but it’s close enough.”

Breathing was suddenly difficult. Dubh’s family name – and the name of their home – had changed only slightly. Was this more of Nuada’s machinations, or some other agent of fate?

He took care with his next words. “The names feel familiar, sir, but I can’t say for certain that I am your man.”

“That will do enough for me.”

LIkCehE

Lancaster “S for Sugar”, the first RAF heavy bomber to complete 100 missions.

It was Dubh’s turn to smile. “Why in such a hurry to tag a name to me, sir?”

“Because amnesia or not, you’re a canny one, Corporal. You watch, you wait and you keep your own counsel. I have need of a man with your skills.”

Dubh arched an eyebrow.

“And I was only granted two day’s extra leave. I’m due back at 8 Group tomorrow. So, unless you would prefer to return to the front with your regiment…?”

Dubh didn’t let the question hang in the air too long. He had seen the mechanical monstrosities that man had made – and he had no desire to witness them any closer than he already had.

“You’ve cleared this with McAlister’s commanding officer, Sergeant O’Malley?”

“Indeed, Corporal McAlister, I have. How do you feel about aeroplanes?”

To be continued. . .

D: And the surprise?

A: Pardon?

D: There’s supposed to be a surprise. You promised – and it’s not allowed to be the “To Be Continued,” either.

A: Oh. Well, in that case, come back tomorrow.

D: If you were really a great and powerful–

A: Come back tomorrow, D – I promise, there’s more.01BlueVelvetChangelings

D: She said it here, folks – and unreliable though she may be, I know firsthand that there is much more to this tale already written. So, head over to Amazon and pick up the first installment in the Changelings series – or a quick spy thriller – and escape into our memories for a spell, for FREE!

SINGULARITY — IT’S ALMOST HERE

What’s this Singularity thing I keep crowing about? Check out diettante factory’s “Road So Far” on the Singularity journey – and don’t forget to stop by the release party on Facebook for some great conversation and a terrifying freebie from the writers of Singularity!

Adventure with us to Jessica B. Bell’s Wayward Home for Lost Characters

adventureswithD-final (1)D: Well, look who’s alive.

A: Really? That’s all you have for me? Not-very-imaginative-snark?

D: Well, it looked like you were in a hurry and I know you want to keep these ‘adventure with us’ guest blog notifications to half a page.

A: . . .

D: OK, fine. It’s been a while. I’m rusty.

A: Don’t worry about it, D. We both are – and while we get our groove back, please head over to the newly-christened dilettante factory, home of the sometimes-twisted, creative brain of H.K. Abell, AKA Helena Hann-Basquiat. It was my honor to write the very first guest blog for the factory – a piece reviewing the upcoming book, Singularity, and exploring just what happens to the stories and characters we don’t write.

D: Should I take what happened to your maybe-possessed, digging-his-own-grave with no memory character as a warning, A?

A: You could . . .

D: But (crosses fingers) . . . ?

A: . . . you could, but then you might get cautious and a cautious Druid is a boring druid. Stay snarky D. You’re not going anywhere.

SINGULARITY AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER

Singularity – the sinister and sublime meta-fiction compilation featuring Jessica B. Bell – is available to pre-order on PubSlush!