Becoming Unplugged

Well everybody, I have a confession to make: I have recently moved.  I've gone out of my parent's basement (for the second time--don't assume I've been living there my whole life) and gotten a room in an apartment with a new roommate.  Hip, hip, hooray!  There's just one downside.

There's no internet.

Now, my roommate gets by with a smartphone and a limited data plan, whereby she can check her emails, her Facebook account (assuming she has one), and looking up various nearby locale.  Me, I have an old flip phone that freaks out if people send me group messages.  I suppose I could just buckle down and get a smartphone, but that would require purchasing something as expensive as my tablet and then agreeing to a fifty-dollar-per-month contract, on average.  My phone currently costs me around $20 per month, and as anyone who has ever moved knows, right after the move you don't want to add more costs to your monthly budget than you already have.  What with student loans repayments, car and health insurance, monthly rent, heating, and gas payments, and just stocking an empty fridge and cupboard, my heart faints at the thought of adding either a monthly phone or internet payment.

How, then, am I writing this blog post?  My work has a small library, at which I do necessities like pay online bills, check my email, and think about catching up on TV shows (we are not supposed to stream videos, since that gobbles up bandwidth).  I also slack off on other necessities like changing my mailing address and registering my new address with the DOV.  (But hey, it's Thanksgiving.  I'm going to my parents' for dinner today anyway, so I can do all that then)

Having limited internet access has had an interesting effect on my life.  Suddenly, I have so much extra time!  I can no longer binge watch television shows on my favorite procrastination site, Netflix.  I can't waste time looking at fan art of my favorite books, television shows, and video games via Pinterest.  I can't scroll through miles and miles of Facebook feed trying to find things that aren't articles or random pictures re-posted from another re-post to figure out what's going on in my friends' lives, all while ending up clicking on time-wasting and error-prone articles and quizzes to figure out what type of princess/fantasy creature/political viewpoint I am (although I still have to scroll through miles and miles of those things, all without clicking on articles, during my limited internet time).  I can't go to news site after news site, trying to find some joy and comfort in a world seemingly bogged down with hatred.

So what can I do with my time?  In the past (nearly) two weeks, I've made dinners, washed dishes, unpacked, cleaned bathrooms, played the piano, gone to church activities, watched a couple movies with my roommate, watched a movie in the theater with my brother and sister-in-law, done laundry, read two novels, worked forty-plus hour weeks, read an entire book in the Bible (okay, it was the Book of Esther), had deep conversations with my roommate about science and religion, played video games on my old Game Boy Advance for a brief amount of time (yes, I dragged that out of the depths of my parents' basement when I learned there would be no internet), gone to a dinner at a friend's house, explored a bit of the neighborhood, exercised, and written.

Oh my, have I written.  I've written more in the past week than I have in the past two months, and that, to me, is incredible.  I used to be able to scribble out in an hour a single page by hand, with many starts and stops.  The other day, in an hour and a half, I wrote four pages.  I wasn't aware of my hand moving faster than usual, but it apparently was.  I slogged through a tough spot I've been working on for months and moved on to a scene I thoroughly enjoyed.  While that scene still has its problems, I feel like they are manageable, that running across those problems isn't cause for dismay.  I still have a tendency to procrastinate my writing until a half an hour before bedtime, bedtime being the time at which I will get eight hours of sleep before having to get up for work, but once I start writing I feel like I can't stop.

As I've begun writing in earnest, my dreams have started to become more vivid again.  And when I mean vivid, I mean full-length movie vivid, with plot, villains, usually me as some sort of superhero, often a soundtrack, and a fairly coherent plot (for a dream).  I still don't always remember my dreams when I wake, but I remember they were epic.

So why is this post on my writing blog instead of my lesser-known personal blog?  Because unplugging me from around-the-clock access to the internet is possibly the best thing I've ever done for myself.  People keep asking me when I'm going to get internet or if I'm going to get a smartphone, and I just shrug my shoulders and say, "Maybe never."  They are aghast, agape, astounded at this answer.  They can't remember a world without the internet always at their fingertips.  I can--I didn't have steady access to the internet until I was well into high school.  It's not that the internet didn't exist (I'm not that old), it's just that my parents kept our computer under lock and key much of the time.  It wasn't until college, when I got my own hand-me-down laptop, that I suddenly had access to as much internet as I could ever possibly want.

I started writing in junior high.  In high school I was still going strong.  By college I was still strong, but I started having less and less time to write.  When I entered my first job out of college, my time for writing was a precious commodity.  When I went back to college, the internet became my place of refuge.  Then, exiting college a second time and not getting my dream job, the internet (most specifically online movies and television) became my cage.  Now that I have limited access to the internet, I'm starting to remember why I enjoyed writing so much and why my dream is still to become a well-known author of children's books.  I don't care if I ever become rich.  Fame would be nice, but only to the extent that it means that thousands of people have read and enjoyed my books.  All I've ever wanted to do is write, and I don't need the internet for that--not all the time.

For the rest of the time, there's always the library.

Preparing for Glory 4 part 1

I promised I'd continue writing Preparing for Glory, didn't I?  So here's the next part.  I'm trying to incorporate past and present into the story, so if you have troubles with my transitions please let me know.  (It's just the past in this segment, though I do plan to have a switch from past to present in Chapter 4--I just haven't finished writing this chapter yet)

Enjoy!

Chapter 4

            She dreamed of the night he brought her home.  Josias carried her in his arms, his jacket protecting her from the chill of the night, through the forest until the glowing porch light of Josias’s house shone through the darkness.  He opened the back door, careful not to disturb her, and flicked on the kitchen light.

            Once inside, Josias regarded her dirty face with a pensive stare.  “Come on,” he said softly, “let’s give you a bath.”

            The Seraphim ducked her face towards Josias’ chest.  He was kind, so much kinder than the other men, though she didn’t understand him any better than them.  But she felt safe with him, and she hoped maybe, just maybe, her nightmare would end.

            Without letting go of her, Josias maneuvered through the kitchen, grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap.  He took her to the bathroom and stood her in the pale green porcelain tub.  He pulled the jacket off of her, and she awkwardly covered her body with her wings.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

            The Seraphim stared at Josias as he turned on the tub faucet and let the water run over his hand.  Then he wet the washcloth.  Gently, he washed the dirt off her face and the long feathers on her head.  Gradually, slowly, the Seraphim relaxed, giving Josias and arm to wash, helping him take care of her wings and tail.  With all her feathers, it took a while for Josias to clean her, but by the time they’d finished she trusted him to take care of her.

            Josias dried her with the fluffiest towel he owned.  “See, isn’t that better?” he asked, rubbing all the feathers on her head.

            She gave him a faint smile.

            “Now to find something for you to wear.”  Grunting slightly, Josias pushed himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom. 

            Shyly, still covering her body with her wings, the Seraphim tiptoed after him.  She peeked at pictures hanging on the walls as she passed—three little boys playing in the sprinklers in the backyard, the oldest’s prom date, the youngest tearing apart a computer, giving a goofy grin with wires sticking out of his mouth.  They all surrounded one picture with the entire family sitting in a flowery field—Josias, his three sons, and his wife.  She stared at them—their smiles, their wingless bodies—and stroked the feathers on one of her wings.

            “Here you go,” Josias said, startling her. 

            She jumped and fluttered her wings, scooting a little ways down the hallway.  One of her wings brushed the frame of the family picture, and it started sliding down the wall.

            Josias caught the picture and replaced it on its nail.  “Whoops,” he said.  “Almost had an accident there.”  He turned to find the Seraphim huddled in the corner, her hands clenched over her head.

            With a sigh, Josias knelt next to the child and gently pulled her hands down.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”  He fiddled with a brown cloth in his hands and brought held it up.  “I don’t exactly have anything in your size, seeing as you have wings and all, but I think this might work.”

            It was a button-down shirt.  Carefully, Josias pulled the child’s arms through the shirt and put it on her backwards so the buttons were in back.  He did up the top and two bottom buttons of the shirt, letting her wings hang out unhindered.  “There,” he said, gently turning her around.  He smiled.  “Now you don’t have to feel so afraid.”

            The Seraphim picked at the too-long sleeves and brought them to her nose.  She sniffed them.  Though she didn’t know it then, she soon learned they smelled of fabric softener and Old Spice.  She peeked up at Josias and smiled back.

            “I bet you’re hungry,” said Josias.  He took her hand, ignoring the long nails that pricked at his skin.  “I went shopping today, though I only bought enough for one for the week.  That’s okay though.  I’ll go shopping again tomorrow.”

            They went back into the kitchen, and Josias pulled out fruits and vegetables out of the fridge and laid them on the counter.  “I’m not sure exactly what you’d like to eat, but we can start with these.”  As an afterthought, he pulled out a pack of lunchmeat.  “I’m feeling a little peckish myself, so I think I’ll join you.”

            The Seraphim stood on her toes and peeked over the counter.  Her hand inched towards a cluster of grapes.

            “Go ahead,” Josias said.  He plucked a grape and ate it, then plucked off a second one and pushed it towards her.

            The child picked up the grape and rolled it in her hands.  Tentatively, she put it in her mouth and bit down.  The skin was bitter, but sweet juice exploded in her mouth.  She swallowed, then quickly picked another grape and stuffed it in her mouth.  Pretty soon, she was shoveling grapes into her mouth by the handful.  Once they were gone, she moved on to carrots, which she gnawed through, then a tomato, which she ate like an apple, and on to Josias’s lunchmeat.

            Josias tried to stop her when she reached the meat, but when the child downed it just as quickly as the produce he just chuckled and sat back.  “So you’re an omnivore—or at least, I hope so.  That’s good to know.  And you certainly were hungry.”

            Finally, with a whistling sigh, the child stopped eating.  She curled up on the ground and wrapped her tail around her legs.  Tilting her head back, she looked up at Josias.  His pepper-gray hair didn’t look like anything special, he stood with slightly-hunched shoulders, and his wingless and tailless body baffled her, but he had treated her kindly when no one else had.  With another whistling sigh, she crawled to Josias and wrapped her arms around his leg.

            Josias gathered her in his arms.  “What am I going to do with you?” he whispered.  “What’s your name?”  He pointed towards himself.  “Josias.”

            He pointed towards the Seraphim.  She just stared at him.

            Sighing, Josias patted the child on her head.  “If you won’t tell me your name, I’m going to have to give you one.  I can’t just call you ‘you’ for the rest of your life.  You know, I still don’t know if you’re male or female.  Maybe you don’t have a gender.  But I’d rather name you right the first time.  How about we try to figure it out?”

            Josias carried the Seraphim to his den and sat down at the computer.  She watched, interested, as he brought up picture after picture of different animals and birds.  “I’m not sure how best to do this, since I don’t know if you were born from an egg or born live.  Heck, maybe you grew in a cocoon.  But let’s try this.”

            He pointed at himself.  “Boy.”  He pointed at a picture of his wife.  “Girl.”  Then he pointed at the Seraphim.  She was silent.  “Okay, next try.”  He brought up picture after picture: a maned lion, “Boy.” A lioness, “girl.”  Several other mammals, a dog with a litter of puppies, a farmer collecting eggs from a hen, a peacock and peahen, different tropical birds, all while pointing to a male and saying, “boy,” and a female and saying, “girl.”  All without getting a response.

            “Ah well,” Josias said.  He gently set the child on the ground and stood, stretching.  “We can try again tomorrow.”

            Then he noticed the child was still staring at the pictures, her lips curled down in a frown.  She glanced at the picture of his wife, then at another family photo on the desk.  She picked it up and stared at the man in the picture.  It was Josias, though his hair was a light brown instead of gray.

            “Do you like pictures?” Josias asked.  “I can show you more, though I’m tired of looking at the computer.  Here, let’s look through some old photo albums.”

            He pulled the albums off of a bookshelf and sat down on a worn leather couch.  The child crawled into his lap and nestled in the crook of his arm.  Smiling sadly, Josias opened to the first page.  “That’s me and my wife, the day we married.  I thought she could never be more beautiful than on that day, though I was wrong.”

            They moved slowly through the album, with Josias explaining what was happening in each picture, though the child couldn’t understand him.  There were pictures of dates that Josias and Larue went on together, the day Matthew was born, their first hovercar, their trip to Alaska.  Then the child gasped.  Josias watched her as, with lips parted, the child leaned close to one particular photo.  It was of Larue and Michael soon after Michael was born.  Josias had caught her nursing Michael.  Larue always felt shy while nursing, and she’d been angry when Josias had shot the photo.  But, the Seraphim learned later, Josias said that was when he thought she was the most beautiful, the most at peace.  And so he’d placed it in the album.

            The child stared at the photo, then flipped back a page to where Larue was still pregnant with Michael.  She slipped off Josias’s lap and walked to the computer, where the picture of a bird and her eggs was still up, as well as a photo of the newly-hatched baby birds a few days later.  The child pointed at the bird.  “Girrll?” she asked.

            Josias nodded.  “Yes, girl.”

            The child rushed back to the couch and pointed at Larue.  “Girl?”

            “Yes, girl.”

            The child placed the palms of both hands against Josias’s chest.  “Boy.”

            “Yes.”

            Then she placed the palms of both hands against her own chest.  “Girl.”

            “Girl?”

            The child smiled.  “Yes.”

            Josias gathered the girl into his arms.  “Well then.  Hello, little girl.  What are we going to call you?”

            They went back to the computer and Josias looked up names.  He said the ones he found interesting to the girl and tried to gauge her reactions.  Finally, he said, “Netanya.”

            The winged girl smiled.

            “You like it?  Netanya?”

            She giggled and held the too-long sleeves to her face.

            “Well then.”  Josias stroked her chin.  “Hello, Netanya.”

Preparing for Glory 3 and JuPerWriMo results

Well everybody, it's the last day of July, and JuPerWriMo is officially over.  How did I do?

Abysmally.

I've written for Preparing for Glory three times--count them: three--in July.  I am a terrible, terrible person when it comes to staying on schedule.

Maybe that's because I'm terrible at making schedules.

BUT that does not mean that I will simply drop Preparing for Glory and never speak of it again.  No, I will not.  I promised to write a book, and I will write a book.  I am also getting the itch to start writing my next Defenders of Light book again, so I may have to relegate Preparing for Glory to one day a week (not that I was doing more than one day per week anyway), but IT SHALL BE WRITTEN, for I DECREE IT!

That said, I am terribly terriby sorry that I did not write more in the month of July.  To make up for it, here is the third "chapter" of Preparing for Glory (when I do the editing, I may combine Chapters 2 and 3).  There are bits that I don't like as much as the previous two chapters, but hey, it's a rough draft.  What do you want, perfection?  (yes, whispers the corner of Elisa's mind.  I need it.  I NEED it.  Well, too bad, mind)

I hope you enjoy this story I am crafting.  I have never done a Sci-fi before, and I feel like my writing narration style is similar to my other books, but hopefully I can write "adult" enough to separate it from my other books, with their younger target audience.  Anyway, enough about my writing woes.  Here is Chapter 3:

Chapter 3

            Seth’s training, training he’d never thought he’d need, flashed back to him.  Do not approach a Seraphim.  Do not transport goods for a Seraphim or treat a Seraphim as a passenger.  All trade to and from the Seraphim’s home world has been suspended.  Do not allow any Seraphim to gain control of any advanced technology.  If you come across anything related to Seraphim or their home world, report to the Interplanetary Customs Disciplinary Council.

            Here was a Seraphim, lying unconscious on the ground, thousands of light years from its home planet.  How was this supposed to align with all the reports and warnings that he’d received as a pilot over the past two years?

            Phoebe quickly overcame her own personal aversion towards Seraphim—that, also, had been engrained in society fairly well since the discovery of the Seraphim—and crawled back to it.  She touched the Seraphim’s arm, then cheek, then cupping her fingers under the Seraphim’s nostrils.  “She’s breathing,” said Phoebe.

            “She?” asked Seth, still unsure of what to do.

            “Yeah,” she mumbled, gingerly lifting the cloak off of the Seraphim and setting it to the side.  “The males have this frilly thing on their head, like a rooster’s comb.” Phoebe flared her fingers on her left hand over her head, illustrating the frill.

            “You know males from females?” said Seth.

            “I was obsessed when the Seraphim home world was discovered.  Weren’t you?”

            “Not exactly.”

            “Oh.”  Without so much as a glance at Seth, Phoebe examined the Seraphim’s wounds, pressing her fingers around the head wound, then letting her hand hover above the broken wing.  “Come and help me.  We’ve got to get her to my father.  Do you think it’s safe to move her?”

            Seth shook himself out of his stupor.  “What?  No, we have to report this.  If she’s here, then there could be others.  They get their hands on a spacecraft, their war will spread throughout the galaxy.”

            “Oh, can you put your training in the closet for once?” Phoebe snapped.  She glared at Seth.  “I don’t know about Seraphim, but if some human was beaten until they fell unconscious and they still hadn’t woken up, then I’d have them halfway to the nearest hospital by now.  Now, if you want to join those Earthkeepers and be a bigoted humanist, treating every nonhuman as a subperson, then this marriage is off.”

            Seth felt his face burn.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean—”

            “Just help me pick her up,” Phoebe interrupted.

            Pushing back his training, which was screaming at him that he should report a rogue Seraphim’s presence on Earth to some form of authority, Seth squatted down and scooped the Seraphim into his arms as gently as he could.  She was surprisingly light—no more than sixty pounds.  The soft touch of the down on the Seraphim’s arms surprised him—he knew Seraphim were covered in feathers, but he hadn’t expected the feathers to be so delicate.  The Seraphim was wearing some sort of hand-knitted halter top, which allowed her wings to hang freely out the back.  They trailed along the ground when Seth stood, along with her long tail.  “Can you help?  I can’t walk like this.”

            Phoebe nodded.  She scooped up a small bag that had fallen on the ground—which Seth assumed the Seraphim had been carrying—and looped it over her shoulder. Then she slipped the tail around Seth’s arm and awkwardly grabbed the Seraphim’s wings.  She tried to fold them shut.

            As Phoebe moved her broken wing, the Seraphim moaned.  Her eyelids fluttered but remained shut, and she whimpered something that sounded like, “Daddy,” before falling silent once more.

            Seth stared at the Seraphim’s face.  It was strange, looking at something so familiar to a human and yet so foreign.  Her nose was narrow, her lips a pale pink, her feathers a soft white except for her blue eyelashes, a scattering of blue feathers sprinkled across her cheekbones, and blue feathers along her jawline.  The long feathers on the crown of her head were also blue, to match the blue of her wings and the blue that ran along the back of her arms.  Yet despite all the feathers and her misshapen feet, Seth might have mistaken her for a teenager dressing up in a costume for a media convention.  No wonder humans were so enamored with Seraphim when they first found them.  Of all the intelligent alien species they’d come across, the Seraphim looked the most like them.

            “Okay, I’ve got them,” Phoebe said, breaking Seth out of his musings.  “Let’s go before anyone sees us.”

            With a nod, Seth started walking.  He and Phoebe moved forward at an awkward mixture of a shuffle and a jog.  As they headed for the cover of the trees, Seth’s eyes flicked up towards a camera that overlooked the cargo pads.  Was the camera pointed in the direction of the Earthkeepers’ attack?  Had anyone been watching?  An uneasy feeling twisted his stomach—he’d never actually paid attention to what the consequences of breaching the laws surrounding Seraphim were, but at the very least he’d be grounded without pay if he were found out.  His ship might even be taken away.

            Phoebe led the way between the trees, finding trails where most people thought there were none.  She’d grown up in these forests, run along their many paths, a child of a small town that exploded in prosperity when the spaceport was built.  It was the spaceport that had sparked her interest in repairing technocrafts, but she’d never lost her roots in the woods.

            It wasn’t long before they came across the first outbuildings of the town.  Seth was glad—though the Seraphim was lighter than a human, his arms were still getting tired.  Plus, his feet kept bumping into Phoebe’s, and they nearly tripped several times.

            They skirted around the edge of the town, keeping a line of trees between them and the nearest houses.  Eventually, they came across a small building that looked like a house that had been partly swallowed by a storage unit that was tacked onto the back. Seth knew a large sign on the side of the building facing the road read, “Russel McKay, Veterinarian.”  A large fenced-in backyard ran along the storage unit half of the building.  A large pepper-brown mutt, with chocolate eyes and floppy pointed ears, half-heartedly wagged his tail as they approached.  A low growl grumbled in his throat.

            “Hey, Fortitude,” Phoebe sang.  “It’s just us.”

            The growl stopped and the wagging increased, though Fortitude followed them until they reached a gate in the fence.

            Phoebe kicked up the latch with her foot and pushed the gate open with her knee.  She and Seth shuffled through the yard to the back door.  “Wait here,” she instructed. She gently let the Seraphim’s wings down to the ground and slipped inside.

            Seth stood awkwardly holding the Seraphim while he listened to Phoebe move through the building.  Fortitude sniffed the Seraphim’s wings, then Seth’s arm.  He licked Seth, his long, wet tongue wrapping around his arm with each swipe.  “Fort,” Seth whispered, trying not to wriggle under Fortitude’s attentions, “stop it.”

            “Dad,” Phoebe called from inside the building.  “Hey Dad, I need your help with something.”

            Seth heard Phoebe’s dad say something, and Phoebe respond.  He couldn’t hear what was said, and he was getting anxious standing out where someone could see him holding a girl with giant wings in his arms.  Plus, Fortitude had moved on from Seth’s arm to his pant leg.

            Before Seth could successfully nudge Fortitude away with his foot, Phoebe called, “Okay Seth, come on in.”

            He pushed the door further open with his shoulder and slipped inside.

            The inside of the storage unit was segmented on the right side into kennels furnished with clean rugs and litter boxes.  There were a couple of dogs sleeping in the kennels and a parrot sleeping near the front, but other than that the kennels were empty.  A wall to the left separated the kennels from a stable for larger animals, and a half-open hallway ran between the two segments.  At the end of the hallway was a door that led to the house half of the building.  The house had been refurbished into operating rooms, exam rooms, and an office up front.  Seth stepped sideways through the hallway, trying to be careful not to tread on the Seraphim’s wings, up to the front office.  There was a large window that let the vet see into the lobby, and Seth peered through the window.

            Phoebe was sitting on the edge of a couch in the office, and her dad Russell McKay sat behind it his desk.  Phoebe looked up and smiled, and Dr. McKay followed her gaze.  His gaze fell on the Seraphim in Seth’s arms, and his eyes widened.  He stood and rushed forward, his long white lab coat flapping behind him, and said, “Put her on the couch.”

            Seth slipped into the office, and Phoebe helped him lay the Seraphim face-down on the couch. While they were trying to organize her limbs and wings in what looked like a comfortable position, Dr. McKay locked the door to the veterinary clinic and closed blinds on the windows.

            When Dr. McKay returned to the office, he immediately shooed Phoebe and Seth out and closed the office door.  They watched through the large window as he knelt next to the Seraphim, examined her eyes, felt around her neck until he stopped at the back of her neck, then gently felt along her wings.  He stormed out of the office, entered a storage room, and came back with a large brace and several pieces of wire and foam.  After some fiddling, he adjusted the Seraphim’s wing and used the brace and foam as a makeshift splint.

            As Dr. McKay set the Seraphim’s bones, Phoebe said, “Thank you for helping her.  I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

            A rush of guilt filled Seth.  “I’m the one that should apologize.  My training got in the way, and all you wanted to do was help someone in pain.”

            Phoebe nodded her understanding.  They watched in silence for a few moments, then Phoebe asked, “Where do you think she came from?”

            Seth shrugged.  “Maybe she was captured before the embargo occurred.  Or maybe someone smuggled her here.”

            “But why is she all alone?  Did she escape?  All she had was this.”  Phoebe tugged the bag off her shoulder and unzipped it.  Inside were some small sealed boxes, some clothes, and a small book that looked like a diary.  Phoebe riffled through its pages.  It opened to where a Polaroid-style photograph was slipped inside.  Seth had only seen one of those in a museum.  He remembered being fascinated that a non-digital photo could be printed off immediately after being taken.  Yet the existence of this particular style of photograph was itself not the strangest thing.  In the photograph, a little child, white-faced and blue-feathered, sat on the lap of an older gentleman, with three men varying from their early twenties to thirties clustered around them.  All five smiled into the camera.  While the girl’s wings weren’t obvious, Seth caught a glimpse of bright blue feathers over her shoulder.

            “How long does it take a Seraphim to grow up?” asked Seth.

            Phoebe picked up the photo.  “I don’t know.”  She glanced up, then pointed.  “Look.”

            Seth stared through the window.  The Seraphim was waking up.

Preparing for Glory 2

Chapter 2

            Seth and Phoebe met, as was their custom, on the hill overlooking the spaceport.  Seth arrived first, and he waited anxiously, running his hands through his short dark hair, until he caught sight of Phoebe weaving through the trees.  She was wearing her mechanic’s uniform of grease-stained overalls with wrenches and screwdrivers sticking out of her pockets, and her long auburn hair, streaked with gold, was tied back in a ponytail.  Seth’s face split into a grin.  He never knew he could love someone so much until he met Phoebe.  He started towards her, and Phoebe in turn skipped up the hill and practically launched herself into his arms.  They kissed long and deep, until Phoebe broke away and said, “Well hello there, Officer Parker.”

            “Officer?” Seth mumbled.  “I’m just a simple pilot.”

            Phoebe tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought for sure you’d be an officer by now.”

            “Nah,” said Seth, “An officer must go where the military commands, but a free pilot—”

            “—goes wherever the stars may shine,” Phoebe finished with him.  She pecked him on the cheek once more, and they held hands as they walked up the path to their usual lookout point on the hillside.

            Vista Spaceport was in the middle of a forested canyon in the northern Rocky Mountains. Though it was somewhat out of the way, many forest-dwelling extraterrestrial species felt more comfortable coming to such an underdeveloped location.  Seth had always loved the view from his and Phoebe’s special lookout point, the shiny metal of the shuttles and cargo ships landing and leaving juxtaposed against the deep green of the Douglas Firs and the craggy mountain spires.  He and Phoebe clambered on top of their boulder and leaned shoulder to shoulder, their pinky fingers intertwining.  Seth sighed.  As much as he loved space travel, it was good to be home.

            “I’ve missed you so much,” said Phoebe.

            “Me too,” Seth replied.  “Space was getting too lonely.”

            “I bet you’re glad you planned this two-week break.”

            “Yeah,” Seth said, “but if I keep taking vacation time there will be no time left for when we get married.”

            It slipped out before Seth even realized it.  Phoebe turned to him, her hazel eyes growing wider and wider and a smile slowly spreading across her face.  Seth felt his cheeks burn red.  They’d talked before as if they would spend their whole lives together, but neither of them had ever said the “M” word.  He hadn’t even discussed it with Phoebe’s father yet.

            “Married?” Phoebe yelped.  She covered her mouth with her fingers and squealed, hopping off the rock and bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “Really?  Do you mean it?”

            Seth scrambled off the rock.  He ran his hands through his hair, suddenly unsure of what to say.  “Yes.  I mean…if you’ll have me.  I know I’m not much, but the ship will be paid off in six months, and then we can go anywhere, do anything.  You can be my mechanic and I’ll be your pilot and…”

            Phoebe shut him up by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.  She pulled away.  “Yes.”

            “An—and what?”

            “Yes I’ll marry you,” she said, giggling.  She poked one finger into his chest.  “But you’d better give me a proper proposal, because I won’t stand for anything less than scattered rose petals and a candlelit dinner.”

            The proposal!  Seth groaned inwardly.  There was so much he’d messed up just now, from forgetting to ask the permission of the father to casually dropping the word in conversation instead of having a proper proposal.  Yet one thing was right—she’d accepted him.  She’d said yes.

            “This calls for a celebration!” said Phoebe.  She drew away from Seth and held his hand.  “I’ve kept our hoverbikes in ready-to-go spit-shine condition, if you want to go for a spin.”

            The shock of Phoebe’s acceptance finally passed, and happiness bubbled in Seth’s chest.  “Sounds perfect.”

            They headed down the trail, hand in hand, both giggling and nearly falling over each other like foolish schoolgirls.  Then Phoebe stopped, and her giggles ceased.  She clenched Seth’s hand.

            Seth followed Phoebe’s gaze.  They had nearly arrived at the spaceport, and they could see the cargo pads.  A figure in a long brown cloak shuffled along the empty pads, glancing furtively behind it.  The hood of the cloak was up, and the creature beneath the cloak was misshapen, humped.  The hump moved, and Seth wondered what it was.  Perhaps the creature was an insectile extraterrestrial, and the hump was its extra legs.  But why was it bothering to walk on two legs?

            Then Seth noticed what was worrying Phoebe.  Scurrying like rats, moving stealthily from crate to crate in a silent effort to approach the creature, were five men.  They wore black leather jackets with the emblem of a burning Earth emblazoned on the shoulders.  Earthkeepers.

            Earthkeepers felt that all extraterrestrial species were abominations, that Earth should be for Earth, and they were constantly protesting humans’ trade with other sentient species.  Though they rarely performed on terrorist levels, there were always a few cases per week of some poor visiting alien that was mobbed in the name of the Earthkeepers.

            When the hooded creature was in the middle of an empty pad, the Earthkeepers slithered out of their hiding places and attacked.  The creature whirled around and tried to escape, but it was obvious it couldn’t walk very well.  It tripped on the hem of its cloak and fell to the ground.  There was a flash of blue as one of its limbs slipped out from under the cloak, then the Earthkeepers surrounded the creature and Seth lost sight of it.

            Before Seth fully realized what was going on, Phoebe’s hand slipped out of his and she took off running towards the Earthkeepers.  Seth ran right behind her, but he stumbled to a stop in shock when the Earthkeepers started kicking and punching the creature.  It shrieked in pain, and he heard the sickening snap of breaking bones.  Bile rose in Seth’s throat, and he jerked himself back into action and started running once more.

            Phoebe had never stopped.  She took a wrench from the pocket of her overalls and started swinging it wildly, yelling at the top of her lungs.  The Earthkeepers stumbled back, surprised at her ferocity, before moving to surround her.

            “Stop this!  Stop it right now!” Phoebe screamed. “You lay one more finger on that person, and I’ll shove each of you into a cargo hold that isn’t atmospherized.”

            “That’s no person—it’s an alien, and it has no right to be on our planet!” said the leader.  He grabbed Phoebe’s shoulder.

            “Hey!” Seth yelled.  “Get your filthy hands off her!”

            The leader turned towards Seth, and his eyes automatically fell on the bright red V emblazoned on Seth’s pilot uniform.  The pilot and security uniforms looked almost identical, and Seth could sense the Earthkeeper trying to decipher which Seth was.  If he was security, Seth only had to press a button on his belt and backup would rush to his location.  Unfortunately, he was just a pilot.  Seth squared his shoulders and did his best to tower over the Earthkeepers.

            Finally, the Earthkeeper shoved Phoebe away.  “Let’s go,” he said to his crew.  They scattered and disappeared into the forest.

            Phoebe flashed Seth a relieved smile, then knelt down next to the collapsed cloak-shrouded person.  One clawed foot, relieved of the odd-shaped shoe that sat next to it, stuck out from under the fabric, as did a long white feathered tail that ended in a fan of blue feathers.  Phoebe carefully lifted the cloak off the person and scrambled back in surprise.

            It took a moment for Seth’s mind to register what he saw.  Two wings with long, blue feathers, one wing crumpled underneath the body while the other lay at an awkward angle.  Limp arms, hands held near a blood-spattered face that was half-hidden underneath long feathers. The long tail and birdlike feet.

            He was looking at a Seraphim.

Preparing for Glory 1

As promised, here is the first part of Preparing for Glory (I have a lot of catching up to do on this nearly half-over month).

Chapter 1

            The night was clear, and the light from the silver moon cast the forest into a fairy dream.  The shadows from the gilded trees stretched into the darkness, and mist drifted just above the ground.  But the beauty was lost on the drunkard.  He stumbled along the dirt road—one of the only unpaved roads left on the planet—his empty beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.  The bottle’s brown glass reflected the moonlight, a glinting light in the darkness.

            Something crackled under the drunkard’s feet.  He squinted and spotted a paper flyer under his right sneaker.  Teetering unsteadily, he bent down and picked it up.  After several long seconds he realized it was an advertisement for a travelling circus performing in the next village.  Grunting, the man pushed the paper into his pocket and continued on his way.

            A flickering golden light off somewhere in the woods made the man pause.  He shuffled, turning to face the light, and opened his eyes wide in an effort to bring his blurred vision into focus.  The light wavered and dimmed, and a part of the man’s hazy mind wanted to find the source of the light before it disappeared.  Another part told him to ignore the light and continue on, but his curiosity grew the better of him and the man stepped into the trees.

            Branches clutched at the man’s clothes and snagged his hair, but he pushed on.  The light before him disappeared, and in a fit of frustration the man pushed through a tangle of scrub oak.  He paused then, and his empty beer bottle slipped from his hand and clattered across the ground.

            Ten feet away, separated from the man by a patch of seedy grass, was a creature that could only have existed in myth.  Long, white limbs and a lithe body were shielded partly from view by sleek enormous wings.  The feathers gleamed, though their color was lost in the moonlight.

            The creature raised its feathered head, revealing the face of a beautiful woman.  She stared at the man with large, doe-like eyes, her body trembling from cold or pain.  Finally she spoke, and her musical voice sent shivers down the man’s spine.  The meaning of the words were lost on him, and when she spoke again he shook his head.

            The woman lifted one wing, crying out in pain, and revealed a winged child asleep against her chest.  The woman gathered the child in her arms and struggled to her feet, revealing the tattered gown she wore, stained with blood, her misshapen feet, the long, sinuous tail that swayed behind her.

            The man stepped backwards, but the winged creature staggered forward, pressing the child into his arms.  He tried to push the woman away, but she clung to him, her voice pleading, her clawed hands scratching at his arms.  Finally, the man grabbed the child, just to get that woman away from him.  The child’s eyes fluttered open briefly before closing once more.

            The woman smiled then, and tears glistened in her eyes.  She slumped to the ground, lay down, and was still.

            The man stood frozen until the creature’s labored breathing stopped.  He tried to think, but the alcohol numbed his mind.  The man didn’t want this child—this misshapen angel.  He was so thirsty.

            Groaning, the man bent down to retrieve his bottle—perhaps there were a few drops left.  Something in his pocket crackled.  The paper.  The circus flyer.

            The drunkard licked his lips and held the child close to his chest.  The sleeping child turned towards him in response and cuddled against his warm body.  An idea formed in the drunkard’s hazy mind, and he made his way back to the dirt road with more care than when he’d left it.

            Soon he would have enough money for all the alcohol he desired.

*          *          *

            Josias was tired.  With every day that passed he became more aware of the aches in his back, the pains in his knees, the way his hand trembled when he held a cup.  But nothing compared to the hole in his heart.

            He stood in front of the open kitchen pantry, barely aware of what he was staring at.  Uncooked grits and egg substitute sat on nearly empty shelves.  Josias decided he wasn’t hungry after all.  He closed the door.

            A pleasant ringing filled the air.  Sighing, Josias gave a melancholy, “Hello.”

            A screen on the refrigerator, which usually told Josias that he was out of milk and only had a small handful of grapes and an old head of lettuce by way of fruits and vegetables, winked and changed to show the face of his oldest son Matt.  “Hey, Dad,” said Matthew.  He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his narrow nose.  “How are you?”

            Josias shrugged.  “Same as always.”

            “You holding up?  Still going on your walks?”

            Josias looked away.  He couldn’t lie—not to his own son.  “I haven’t felt much like walking lately.”

            Matt sighed.  “What about your vegetable garden?  Are you doing that this year?”

            “I haven’t decided yet.”

            “Dad,” Matt said, and when Josias looked back at the refrigerator screen Matt’s face was stern.  “As a doctor and as your son, I have to say, stop it!  Mom wouldn’t want you to live like this—shut off from everything you love.  You have a lot of life left to live—you’re only fifty-three.”

            “An old fifty-three.”

            Matt sighed again and ran a hand through his short blond hair.  “Look, I hate seeing you so sad.  Michael’s spring break is in two weeks, and I’ll talk to John and see if we can all come up to visit you—you can pester John about that new girlfriend of his.”

            Josias chuckled softly.  “Yeah, maybe John will be the first one to give me some grandkids.”

            “Yes!” Matt pointed at the screen.  “You just keep thinking of those grandkids you need to love.  I’ll see you in two weeks.  I love you, Dad!”

            “Love you too.”

            The refrigerator screen went blank, then proceeded to inform Josias that he was low on practically every form of food.  Muttering under his breath, Josias turned away.  Matt was right—he shouldn’t stay cooped up in the house all day—but he’d been in a deep depression ever since Larue died.  But if he was going to be around to pester John, he was going to need some food.  A walk to the market would do him good. Grabbing a jacket, Josias headed out the door with a canvas bag draped over his arm.

            Josias’s house was a couple miles outside of town.  He owned a good-sized parcel of land that had been handed down through the family for generations, though most of that land was forest. Many times over the years developers had wanted him to sell it, but he couldn’t part with it.  The land was untouched, virgin, and though there were plenty of forests left on Earth hardly any of it could be considered truly wild. It was all cultivated and carefully controlled to keep the ecosystems in balance—as though nature hadn’t been able to do that for billions of years beforehand.  For that reason alone, Josias felt his land was sacred.  It would remain in his family until the day he died, and hopefully long afterwards.

            The sunlight felt warm on Josias’s face, though it did little to warm his heart.  Still, the farther he walked the more his spirits lifted until he had to admit that Matt was, once again, right.  Then he thought about how often Larue would walk with him hand-in-hand to town, sometimes in a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat and sometimes wearing one of those sleek modern two-piece outfits made for comfort, and his heart crumbled.  How could he live without the woman he loved?

            Right before he entered town the forest ended, giving way to a community park. It was usually an empty field with a couple of baseball diamonds at one end and a playground supervised by robot nannies, but today large colorful tents filled the green, triangular flags fluttering in the morning breeze. An elephant trumpeted somewhere among the tents, and the chittering of monkeys filled the trees on the edge of the forest.

            Three children stood clutching the ropes that cordoned off the area, and the oldest read the words on a sign to his younger siblings, “Come one! Come all! Let your minds be astounded and your hearts amazed at the Spectacular Sterling Brother Circus. Gates open at 6 pm, show starts at 6:30. Carnival open throughout the weekend.”

            The three children talked excitedly to each other and ran home to tell their parents. Josias stared at the sign. He had never heard of the Spectacular Sterling Brothers, but Larue had always loved the circus—especially the acrobats.  Perhaps…perhaps it would do his heart good to go to such a light-hearted affair and think of her.

*          *          *

            Six-fifteen found Josias standing in line to enter the big top, one ticket clutched in his hand.  But when he’d found his seat and the entertainment began, Josias was severely disappointed. The Spectacular Sterling Brothers were not like the circuses he’d gone to in the past. The animals were underfed, and there was no sense of love between them and their trainers. The clowns weren’t funny, and the acrobats were less than ideal. During a short break between acts, Josias slipped out of the tent.

            The sun had gone down, and Josias wandered aimlessly between tents and closed carnival booths.  With the main show performing in the big top, the rest of the circus was deserted.  Signs decorated in old-style script advertised fire dancers, freak shows, and talking beasts.  One sign caught his eye:

            Coming soon: Fallen straight from heaven, view the beautiful Angelica, a vision among mortals.

            The sign featured a painted portrait of a young girl in a white gown kneeling on a pile of white sheets.  Her short golden locks framed her face, and her large blue eyes stared off into heaven. Sapphire wings rose above her shoulders and gracefully sloped down to the floor.  Blue feathers were scattered across the sheets.

            Could the Sterling Brothers really have come across an angelic child, or was some poor girl getting trained to wear satin wings and sail through the air using trick wires? Josias felt the whole circus was a sham. The condition the animals were in was enough to convince him to call the authorities.

            A child’s scream pierced through the night air.  Adrenaline coursed through Josias’s body, and he ran towards the high-pitched shrieks, his older age and depression forgotten.  They were coming from a hastily-constructed wooden shed.  Josias slammed into the plywood door, and it crashed open.

            Three men held down a struggling child while a fourth stood above her wielding a bone saw in one hand. There was a confusion of movement, too many limbs for one small child, and it took a moment for Josias to realize that the child had wings—long, deep-blue wings that flailed and thrashed, knocking over buckets and trays, as the child tried to escape its captors.

            The men didn’t notice Josias standing in the doorway with all the commotion the child was causing.  The man with the bone saw grabbed something that thrashed above the child’s legs, a long white tail with a blue-feathered tuft on the end, and pulled it straight.  He lowered the saw towards the tail, and the child jerked.  The saw scraped against the tail, and a thin red line showed up sharp against the white.
            “Hold her steady!” the saw-wielder snapped.  “Why hasn’t she been given anesthesia?”

            “She has,” one of the other men said. “It’s not working!”

            “Then get the tranks!”

            “You wanna kill her?”

            Josias’s rage over the child’s anguish overflowed. “What are you doing?” he roared.

            The men fell silent and stared at Josias.  Their grip on the child slipped, and it clawed at one of the men.  He yelled, and the child slipped out of their grasps and scrambled to Josias in a flurry of feathers.  The child clutched at Josias’s legs and cried to him in unintelligible words.

            The poor child stared at him with large, pleading eyes.  They were the deepest blue he had ever seen—deeper than the purest gem.  The child was naked, but its body was covered in tiny feathers as soft as chick’s down.  The feathers on the child’s back and the back of its arms were blue, as were the long, graceful feathers on its wings, which trembled as they folded tight against its back. Longer blue feathers flowed down the crown of the child’s head, lying on the child’s head like human hair; they reached almost to the child’s shoulders.  The rest of the feathers were the purest white, except for blue feathers just above the child’s jaw line and a scattering of blue feathers that lay across the child’s cheekbones like freckles.  The only parts of the child’s body that wasn’t feathered were the child’s pale pink lips, the palms of its hands, and its feet, which looked more like a prehistoric raptor’s talons than a human’s feet.  Josias couldn’t tell whether the child was male or female, but he knew one thing: it was a child, and it was on the verge of tears.

            Josias’s heart melted into a soft puddle. He gently knelt down and silently pulled off his jacket, which he placed around the child’s shivering shoulders.  “Don’t worry,” he said softly.  “You’re safe now.”

            “Hey!” one man’s rough voice barked. “What are you doing?  That’s our property!”

            “This is a child,” Josias shot back.  He rose to his feet and met the man’s eyes with an unwavering glare.

            The man sneered and spat to the side.  “It sure aint human.”

            “That doesn’t matter.  This child is obviously sentient and is protected under interplanetary law.”

            “We’ve checked the databases.  There’s nothing like her in the registered species—there’s no way she’s from another planet.  No records, no rights.  And that sentience you’re talking about?  Whatever’s coming out of her mouth is no more of a language than monkey chatter.”

            Every word that left the man’s mouth turned Josias’s stomach.  He spoke in a barely-controlled growl. “There is more value in this child’s life than you could possibly imagine, yet you treat it like trash.”

            “Like I said,” said the man, sauntering up to Josias.  “That’s our property.  We can treat it however we want.”

            The child shrunk away from the man, pushing harder against Josias’s thigh.

            Josias placed one hand on the child’s head.  “Fine.  How much?”

            “What?”  The man blinked.

            “How much did you pay for the child?”

            The man thumbed his nose.  “It’s not about how much we paid.  We can make ten thousand extra in one year alone with her in our show.”

            Though Josias’s hand remained steady on the child’s head, his other clenched into a fist. If he wasn’t careful, these men would clean him out of his life’s savings.  Yet could a top price be placed on so precious a life?  Calculating quickly in his mind, he said, “Then I’ll give you thirteen thousand.”

            The man laughed once and turned towards his friends, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  He turned back towards Josias.  “Twenty.”

            “Fifteen.  That’s all I can afford.” If you’re not in the database, I will need money to raise you myself, thought Josias.  “Now go get your register.”

            Not believing their good fortune, two of the men bumped their fists one on top of the other in victory and left the shack to grab the register.  When they returned, the man input the data to transfer fifteen thousand dollars to the Spectacular Sterling Brother Circus, and Josias exposed his wrist.  It was quickly scanned, and though Josias was instantly fifteen thousand dollars poorer he felt more alive than he had in months.

            The transaction complete, Josias gently lifted the winged child and cradled it in his arms. The child was surprisingly light—no more than fifteen pounds.  The child leaned its head against his shoulder and clung to his shirt with hands whose fingers were tipped with tiny claws.  Something slithered around Josias’s waist, and he stiffened until he realized it was the child’s tail.  Josias stroked the child’s head feathers with one hand and kissed it on the cheek.  “Don’t worry,” he whispered in its ear.  “I’ll take care of you.”

JuPerWriMo? Hmmm...Should I?

Dear Readers,

I don't know how many of you know this, but there is something that happens every November called NaNoWriMo. To those of you who look at that and think Nanskj;wij;?, this stands for "National November Writing Month." Basically, it's one big party of writers and dreamers scrambling to buy new notebooks and pour a sloppy and wonderful first draft of a novel, with the most common goal being to write 50,000 words in the thirty days of November.

I have always wanted to participate in NaNoWriMo, but each time November rolls around I find myself writing papers, or grading papers, or getting ready for finals, or applying for graduate school, or attending performances, or hosting Thanksgiving parties, or cleaning up after Halloween parties, or setting up Christmas decorations, or...you get the idea. By the time I get my pretty new notebook and shiny new mechanical pencil, Christmas songs are playing 24/7 and I'm wondering how that white-bearded man in a fluffy red suit appeared in the middle of my living room without my noticing him.

Due to my obvious inability to set aside time to write in November, I want to dedicate July as JuPerWriMo (*cough* that stands for "July Personal Writing Month," if you couldn't tell *cough*). I wanted to dedicate June, but...I sort of forgot. Now, I know that I left a bit of a cliffhanger at the end of Shadow's Light, but I want to use this as a non-Defenders of Light exercise (mainly to prove to myself that I CAN write 50,000 words in a month without sacrificing the quality of my Defenders of Light series). There are a few stand-alone story ideas that have been rattling around in my head, and I want to give you, dear readers, the opportunity to vote for which one I will write (Of course, if none of you vote, then I'll have to go eenie meenie miney mo, and I always seem to cheat at that). I will post the story on my blog, much as I have done with The Scroll (though I may post it up in segments after JuPerWriMo, if my creative juices seem to do better on a notepad than a keyboard).

With that, I give you the four choices of JuPerWriMo:

The Game Master:
This is actually based off a dream I had one night when I'd obviously been watching too much something (I'm not sure what, as all I remember after I awoke was "wow, I am definitely glad that wasn't real").

"The near future. Everything was normal until the night the plane burned as it fell out of the sky. Happy Vale, Utah, woke to find itself surrounded by a dome of light cutting it off from the rest of the world. But that wasn't the worst of it. As we waited anxiously for something to happen, mechanical creatures tore up through the ground and attacked, slaughtering us. Then they simply stopped. A voice echoed through the air: "I am the Game Master. Welcome to my game. The rules are simple: survive. There will be five winners, five survivors. I am watching."

"We have food for now. Some of us have weapons. Most of us are religious, but what will happen when our food runs out? And what if those monsters come back? Is there any way to beat the Game Master at his own game?"

I know, I know, this sounds a bit like The Hunger Games mixed with Stephen King's Under the Dome. But in my defense, I haven't read Under the Dome (I just know it's about a small community that gets trapped under a dome of some sort...really, I haven't even read the back cover of the book), and I've only listened to the first Hunger Games on audio book. All I know was that my dream was very long, very detailed, and very creepy. I'd love to write this and see how this all works out, placed in a setting with a religious community and mechanical monsters popping up every so often, waiting to see if the darker side of human nature wins out.

The Stone King:
This one is also based off a dream I had. (I have some pretty crazy dreams sometimes) In it, I was actually a boy...I think. Or I was watching the boy...it was all a little muddled.  It definitely wasn't as detailed as my Game Master dream. I've had to build this story basically from scratch.

"The world is a dark wonderland filled with stars, with Cinder Dogs made of living flame are kept as pets and luminescent birds flitting through glowing trees. But once there was sunlight, in the days of the Stone King. And now the world is growing cold. Death is creeping through the land, brought by the servants of those only known as the Twin Rulers: the Shadow and the Flame. When these servants attack the home village of young Jethro, his father saves him at the expense of his own life, leaving him with the task of finding the Stone King and returning the world to its former glory.

"Jethro travels through the starlit land, finding a companion in Witness--the last of the Mist Maidens. Witness holds the memories of her people in her young soul, as they are born of the collection of the woes of the women of the world, and the Mist Maidens remember the days of the Stone King. Witness helps Jethro, but even the aid of the Stone King and his control over the Will and the Word may not be enough to banish the Shadow and the Flame."

So, how much of this was in my dream? Basically an image of the boy standing before a talking statue and asking for help in returning the land to light. So...yeah...I've had to make everything else up.

Preparing for Glory:
This one was not based off a dream, but an idea. What if there is life on other planets, intelligent life, but we are made in the image of God and are God's children? What about those other sentient beings? What if an angel came to Earth and spent her whole life wondering how she fit into God's plan?  I actually came up with this idea several years ago, back when I first started to notice how many angel and demon books were starting to come out. This one is a bit of a sci-fi/fantasy mix, and I really hope it works when I get around to writing it.

"One chilly night, a drunken man stumbled across a mother cradling her child. They both looked somewhat human, except for their wings and long, feathery tails. The mother forced her child on the man and died. The man, desiring nothing except more alcohol, sold the child to a nearby circus.

"A few days later, an elderly man saved the girl from the circus, buying her from them. He took her home to the mountains, named her Netanya--meaning "a gift from God"--and raised her in his tiny village.  Ten years later, a new inhabited planet was discovered with beings that looked like Netanya. Humans named them the Seraphim, for they looked like terrible winged angels. Soon after the discovery of the Seraphim's planet, the planet was deemed off-limits to contact, trade, and diplomacy. The Seraphim were violent, fighting among themselves, declaring themselves the rulers of the humans who discovered them, demanding that the humans worship them. But the Seraphim were planet-bound, as they didn't even have the technology to harness electricity. On Earth, Netanya and her adoptive father learned of the Seraphim and wondered if she was one of them. Yet how could she have been discovered on Earth when her home planet wouldn't be discovered for years?

"Netanya's father believed that the Seraphim were God's servants, and that they had gone astray. He believed that she had been sent by God so that she could be prepared to return to them and lead them back into God's grace. Netanya didn't know what to believe. She had read the Bible, and she knew that humans were the children of God--so what did that make her?

"Either way, Netanya felt she had to leave--for her father's sake. If she was discovered, he would be arrested for illegally transporting and harboring a Seraphim. So now Netanya must sneak back to the Seraphim's home planet and face whatever destiny is in store for her. And her new allies, Phoebe and Seth, are the only ones crazy enough to take her."

Some of the bits of this story are really well planned out.  Some I'm just hoping will fit.  And while it's set in the future in a sci-fi sort of setting, I'm betting it's more of a soft sci-fi when sci-fi is used and strong in the fantasy department.

Freaks R Us Detective Agency:
Heheh. I'm kind of cheating on this one.  It's not a stand-alone story. If I wrote this, I'd write the first book in a kid's series--maybe the first two if the first one ended up being really short. This is also based off a dream (Again?? What's with my craziness?), two dreams, to be honest. In the first dream, I could fly by manipulating air and ended up at this hotel for rich people battling off burglars with machine guns. In the second dream, I could fly (again), but this time I did it by controlling flames--sort of like a female Human Torch (except I didn't catch fire, so maybe it's more like a female armor-less Iron Man). In the second dream I was having a grand time flying, catching things on fire, and--oh yeah--flying. Superman kept flying behind me, trying to convince me to stop destroying things, but I was having too much fun to listen to him.

So the concept behind Freaks R Us Detective Agency is this: Girl (I haven't found the perfect name for her yet) wants to be a detective. She's always wanted to be a detective. She's devoured all the Sherlock Holmes books, she was a devout Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown fanatic when she was little, and she enjoys watching Monk and Perry Mason. She can also fly by controlling air. Her family knows about the detective bit, but her flying abilities are her own little secret.

Girl's father works part-time as a bodyguard during charity functions, and one time he takes Girl with him on his assignment. It's at this retreat up in the mountains, an area that Girl has always wanted to explore, and since he has no reason to believe there will be any problems he takes her with him. While dad is off doing bodyguard stuff, Girl goes exploring.

Meanwhile, Rich Boy (again, I haven't found the perfect name yet) is stuck at this boring retreat with his dad. In a fit of rebellion, he decides to go off hiking without telling anyone where he is going. On the trail at the top of a cliff, Rich Boy sees Girl standing on the edge with her eyes closed. Then she steps off the edge and falls out of sight. Panicked, Rich Boy runs to the edge to see Girl floating comfortably (though his screams startle her and she loses control for a moment). After Rich Boy calms down, he and Girl become friends.

Of course, something goes wrong at the retreat, and it's up to Rich Boy and Flying Girl to save the day.

Book two would deal more with the actual creation of the detective agency and Flying Girl's first big case.  This series would be more of stand-alone short novel serials with slight overarching themes.


So, what do you think? What should I write for JuPerWriMo? Vote below!

Rough Draft of Shadow's Light Complete!

Hello readers!

As you may or may not know, I've been writing the rough draft of my second book in the Defenders of Light series, Shadow's Light for quite a long time (if you don't believe me, just look at the post before last.  Yup, that's right, it was written in 2012 and brags about me getting my first book published).  This journey has been a strange one, filled with fear on my part.  You wouldn't think I'd be afraid, having already written one book (aside from The Scroll, which I still need to edit and try to get published with a traditional publisher), but I am.  You see, I've only heard good things from people who read Hunter's Quarry, and I've been afraid that I would let them down and myself as well.  So what probably should have been a one-year process turned into two.  Well, the time for fear is over!  I have completed my rough draft of Defenders of Light: Shadow's Light!

For those of you who follow my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/ParmleyBooks), you know I promised that I would post the third chapter of Shadow's Light once I completed the rough draft.  Without further ado, here it is, warts and all:

Chapter 3: The Darkened Soul

            Derth watched Keplar throw another log on the fire.  The bright flames warmed the cabin they were camping out in.  He could have gotten up to help, but he didn’t.  There was no purpose in anything.  He had no purpose.

            The door slammed open, and Broggen entered, carrying two dead rabbits by their hind legs.  “I hate winter,” he muttered, tossing off his gloves and coat.  His lank black hair only partially covered the scar that ran across his forehead.  “There’s never enough game.”

            “Not like you’re one to know anything about hunting animals anyway,” Keplar said wryly.  He threw another log on the fire.  “They’re too cunning for you.”

            “Shut up,” Broggen snapped.  He threw the rabbits down on the table next to Derth.  “It’s your turn to skin them.”

            Derth continued staring at the fire.  The dancing flames entranced him.  He followed their movements carefully as they lulled his mind towards the abyss.  He’d stopped paying attention to Broggen long ago—ever since his encounter with the girl.  Now he knew Broggen was inconsequential, just as he was.  There was no point in pandering to his wishes.

            “Hey!” yelled Broggen.  He slammed his hand on the table.  Derth didn’t flinch.  “Don’t ignore me when I give you an order!”

            “Just clean the rabbits, Broggen,” said Keplar in a bored tone.  “Leave the kid alone.”

            Broggen whirled on Keplar.  “I will not leave that whelp alone.  We’re starving and out of work and money, thanks to him.  If he hadn’t become mental at the last moment, our assignment would be done and we’d be on to find our next client.  Instead, we’re stuck squatting in this hole, hunting rabbits to survive.  We should kill him and throw his body to the wolves.”

            Derth’s cold grey eyes flashed up and caught Broggen in their stare.  He stood, turning the full force of his power on Broggen.  Let him feel fear.  Let him cower in my presence.  Broggen’s face paled, and he fought against Derth’s power.  But as Derth stepped forward, Broggen stumbled back into the wall where he stood trembling.  “That is not a wise choice of words,” Derth said in a low voice.  “Do not think that I am powerless or that I would hesitate to kill you if you even started to raise your hand against me.”

Derth let his power radiate towards Broggen, forcing the intense fear onto Broggen with even greater strength.  “In fact,” he whispered, “I think it might give me pleasure.”

“Derth!” Keplar barked.

Derth’s concentration broke, and his power evaporated.  Broggen slumped to the ground, breathing heavily.  Derth tilted his head towards Keplar.

“Broggen’s right,” Keplar admitted grudgingly.  “With winter upon us and this assignment hanging over our heads, we’re out of luck and money.  Unless you happen to know something that will change our luck, we’re stuck here until spring.  So, do those echoes of yours have any good information?”

Derth’s stomach clenched at the mention of the echoes.  Sometime, somehow, Derth had become connected to that girl Kristine—their target.  And, though Derth hated to admit it, something about the girl intrigued him, made him feel things he’d never felt before and question the unquestionable.  Somehow, she felt…precious to him.  The thought of doing something to endanger her—it sickened him.  But that was irrational.  She was the target.  She was what the client wanted.  And Derth had made a contract to bring her to the client.

The echoes whispered to him, fragments of thoughts and conversations Kristine was having.  Derth closed his eyes, focusing on the whispers, making sense out of chaos.  “Elwenarien,” he said.

“Elwenarien?” Keplar said, disappointed.  “That’s a pretty big place, an entire country, and it’s crawling with Elves.”

“Anduniae,” said Derth.  He opened his eyes.

“Anduniae?” Broggen said.  He stood.  “I’ve heard rumors, something that can help us.  Plus, we might be able to make a little money on the side.  Anduniae, we can work with.”