EXCERPT: Harlequinade 5: Theater of Desire

Nota bene: If you haven't read and completed Harlequinade 4: Theater of War you REALLY DO NOT WANT to read this excerpt. This excerpt will spoil the crap out of the previous book. If you either HAVE finished book 4 or just don't give a darn about learning spoilers, then proceed and enjoy! 

Harlequinade 5: Theater of Desire to be released June 15, 2018~! You can learn more about the Harlequinade at my brand-spanking new website, www.celinasummers.com!

Nothing could be more exciting for Catherine Brighton than having the company’s shows booked on London’s West End. Bringing the Carnival trilogy to England allows her to fulfill an ambition beyond any other. After defeating the Harlequin and destroying most of the window of Time, the strange world of magic has receded from her world.

But it doesn’t take long for her and her husband, Dominic, to discover new dangers. Her panic attacks are getting worse, and now the company has come to the notice of other immortals—many of whom want her for themselves. As the magic of the Carnival trilogy winds around them all, old enemies become allies. The Harlequin is no longer trying to take Catherine but seems to be working to protect her instead.

Can she overcome her distrust and learn to work with the Warden of Time? Or will another immortal break through his guard? In the Theater of Desire, everything is starting to change.

LONDON. THAT’S all.

London. 

I resisted the urge to squeal like a teenage girl. The Royale Theater Troupe was going to play the West End. The day after we arrived in London, I stood across the street from the Dumas-Oxford Theatre and watched as our sets, costumes, and props were loaded in. Chris, our designer, had flown to the UK several months ago and supervised the construction of our new sets. I hadn’t even seen them yet. 

It’s funny, really. No one looking at the huge crates and packing boxes would ever guess the magic contained inside them. Right now, they looked like huge plywood boxes. In a few days, however, they would comprise the immense, fanciful sets for the Carnival trilogy, the story of when two young girls met and fell in love with two extraordinary young men. 

Our history, believe it or not. 

After we’d signed a contract with James Harrison, the undisputed magnate of the West End, we’d invested much of our liquid capital into the four shows we were performing in London. First, we’d do the trilogy in true repertory. The audience would buy three tickets for three consecutive nights to see the story in its entirety. Then, we’d bring Harlequin to the London stage. 

I was nervous about performing the trilogy again, and I’d made no bones about it. The trilogy was really a retribution our erstwhile enemy Phillip Lewis had created to punish Dominic and Alistair. After all, what could be crueler than forcing your captives to relive their heartbreak every night for two hundred and forty-one years? For two hundred and thirty-nine years, they’d only done the first show, Carnival. Three years ago, the trilogy had been born and performed in full for the first time. Once Phillip found me, he added the two sequel plays. 

After all, I was the culmination of the story. 

Everything that happened in Asylum and Sacrifice had set the stage for my entrance into the tragedy. I, Catherine Brighton, who my husband thought was the reincarnation of the original Odette de Chevigny in the court of Louis XV….Odette, his first wife. I didn’t like to remember Odette, and I didn’t want to channel her onstage anymore either. 

Unfortunately, it was starting to look as if I couldn’t channel her anyway. Although everyone else had been right back in the swing of things within a few days once we started reworking the trilogy, I’d hovered on the cusp of the power and never just dived right into it like I always had before. Those insidious shows changed us. They made Dominic more autocratic and Alistair more alluring. They made me anxious, even though now they shouldn’t. Phillip was gone; I’d obliterated his mind myself. Mary Houghton had been destroyed also. 

The dark council of mages in Medmenham had been obliterated by the Harlequin, my erstwhile enemy who had tormented me in some bizarre game and lost. He was probably sitting in his tacky throne-like chair, trying to figure out a way to repair the damage I’d done to his ceiling where every pane of glass was a moment of decision in time. 

I had a rather large shard of that glass, actually— the shard where Dominic’s soul had hovered on the brink of life and death. The shard I’d broken just a split-second before he was lost to me forever. But with that shard had come uncertainty, too. The panic attacks I’d thought were a thing of the past had returned with a vengeance and were far more potent than they’d once been. 

So now I was broken too, just like that shard of glass. 

Broken. Just like the Harlequin’s little dolls. 

I hadn’t mentioned that to Dominic yet. I watched as the stagehands wrestled a huge crate of flats out of the truck, sliding it carefully onto the loading dock. They had no idea that what they were handling was actual history. No one did, save the cast, and it wasn’t something we talked about. Not even among ourselves. 

“Getting nervous?” 

I looked up. Dominic was standing a few feet away, watching me with a small smile curving his lips. 

“I keep seeing zeroes and dollar signs on the wrong side of the decimal point,” I said lightly. “That and all the articles scoffing about an upstart amateur American troupe being stupid enough to try a true repertory series on the West End. Between the two, I’m petrified.” 

“The show will sell out for the entire run. Zeroes should be a positive thing.” 

“I know.” I looked up at him from under my lashes. “Just…concerned. I’ll be all right.” 

“Well, there’s nothing for you to do here, really,” he pointed out. “Shall we go? I have a call to make.” 

“A call?” I laughed. “Do people even talk that way anymore?” 

“I do. I’m meeting an antiquarian who has a set of Goethe I’m interested in.” 

“You want to go to a bookstore? On our first day in London? For Goethe?” 

“Of course not.” Dominic raised his hand and hailed a cab. “We’re going to his house. It won’t take long.” 

 “We need to go house hunting.” 

I sighed as he opened the door for me and slid into the waiting car. Dominic had point-blank refused to take a house or apartment without seeing it first. We’d had a fairly serious disagreement about that, but in the end he’d won with one word. 

Rats. 

“Look at this article,” he’d said, coming into my office with a magazine. “Apparently the entire theater district is infested with rats. How do you expect anyone in the company to move into a place sight unseen? It could be dripping with rats and then we’d be stuck in some rat trap for a year.” 

After that conversation, I’d insisted that no matter where we moved the cats were coming with us. 

Once we'd gotten pet passports, plus all their shots and microchips, we’d sedated Spawn and Demon and they’d flown with us to England. Even now, they were in their comfy crate, totally pissed off at me, at the hotel. And Dominic had won the living arrangements argument, insisting that when we got to London I would take charge of the business of the theater as usual while leaving the housing situation to him. 

That’s why we were all currently lodged in a sterile hotel chain. 

“Do you realize how impossible it will be to find lodgings for the entire cast and crew in metropolitan London?” I asked, warming to my theme. 

“Not impossible,” my husband replied as the cab pulled into traffic. 

“I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know enough about London to even begin the search.” 

“As I told you already, I’ll take care of everything. You have enough to worry about.” Dominic didn’t seem that concerned. But I handled the accounting for the company myself. If he knew how our capital had been deprived by this move to the UK, he might not have been so flippant. 

“Wherever we end up, it’s going to cost us a fortune.” I caught myself gnawing on my thumbnail, so I dropped my hand into my lap. “London is horrifically expensive. We should have stayed on Broadway a couple more years and built up the bank account first.” 

“Oh, it won’t cost that much. If you’re worried about the company’s finances, I’m more than willing to foot it a loan.” He smiled lazily. “The interest will be a pleasure to collect.” 

“Lecher.” 

“Guilty as charged.” 

The taxi pulled up in front of a block of houses. We were in Mayfair, which seemed only appropriate considering why we were here. Only a wealthy person, like an antiquarian, was able to afford a house like these. The entire block was made up of a series of tall Georgian townhouses, their facades broken only by a few flower boxes and front doors with small stoops and Palladian columns. Dominic paid the driver then took my elbow as we went up the four steps of the stoop. 

To my surprise, Dominic opened the door and walked right in. Confused, I followed. 

“Seriously? Shouldn’t you have at least knocked?” 

The entrance hall was a long, narrow room with a gorgeous staircase winding both up and down. The whole room was open and light, and the terrace was clearly visible through the living room, dining room, and kitchen. Whoever this antiquarian was, he certainly had hired a fantastic interior designer. The walls were painted a cool gray above creamy wainscoting that seemed original to the house. The floors were polished to such a shine that the furniture was reflected in it, and while the furnishings were modern they didn’t clash with the feel of the centuries’ old building. 

“He said he’d be on the first floor and just to come up,” Dominic said. 

“We are on the first floor.” 

“Not in Britain. Here, this is the ground floor.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“Apparently it does to them. Shall we go upstairs?” 

Together, we climbed the staircase—which made me extremely jealous, I might add—and emerged into an immense drawing room. The door in the back wall alerted me there was another room behind this one, but this room took my breath away. I glanced at the comfortable but still elegant furniture, the tasteful art on the walls, that plush rug covering the wooden floor, the recessed fireplace, the two cats dozing on the sectional… 

I didn’t have to ask if this was our house. Spawn and Demon were curled up together in a multi-colored heap. 

“Dominic, how did you pull this off?” 

“I bought the property right after we signed with James,” he confessed. “Then I hired an interior designer, who oversaw the renovations. I am not as content as you are in apartments or lofts, and I wanted to make certain that you had your own home while we were here. The furnishings are a bit sparse, but I thought you’d enjoy shopping for your own. In the meantime, we’re moved in and that’s one less stress you have to worry about.” 

I ran my hand along the velvet plush settee facing the sectional, and a twist of guilt made me take a step back. “But what about the company? How can we put ourselves in a gorgeous house and leave them in hotels?” 

“Love, I don’t think you understand. I said I bought the property, not the house.” 

I wasn’t quite catching what he was trying to say. 

“We own all the houses except one on this side of the block,” he explained patiently. “They’ve all been renovated into apartments and furnished. In fact there actually are four apartments more than our American crew needs, so we have an option for additional income should it become necessary. That’s even with me setting aside an apartment for David and Christopher when they come, or family like Eleanor’s parents or Janet’s children or your father. This is my gift not just to you, but to them. If they ever decide to retire or to leave the company they each own their own flat in Mayfair. It’s a nest egg for all of them. As for you, I—” 

I stopped him with a kiss. He tightened his arms around me, sliding his fingers into my hair. I broke away, laughing, and he was laughing too. 

“Are you going to thank me properly?” 

“Of course I am, but that will have to be later.” 

“Later?” 

He sounded so horrified that I laughed again. But his eyes were sparkling and his body relaxed. This was something I had yet to become accustomed to. Since I’d shattered the Harlequin’s glass ceiling that allowed him to travel through time, Dominic had slowly…gradually learned how to relax. If I woke up in the middle of the night, he was sleeping next to me and not sitting in a chair mounting a psychic guard so I could rest. The cares and burdens of over two centuries had fallen from his psyche, and he was healing as a result. 

That alone made everything we’d endured worth it. 

More Harlequinade! Release Day #2

It's book release day! 

The great thing about writing the Harlequinade is that the story is told in so many theatrical ways. First you have to introduce the plot:

For me, writing about the theater was just a matter of time. I spent my misspent youth as an actor, director, and designer in professional theater and there's something about being involved in a production that's addictive. Then, too, theater stories have a good track record. *coughPhantomcough* It's easy for the lines between the reality of the play and the real world to get blurred. Theater is as close as we get to real magic in our mundane world, so for a fantasy writer this was fertile ground.

But once the reviews started coming in, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. People were responding to the story the way every writer hopes they will. And when you start getting reviews like these:

"I never expected something this good. This is a unique storyline to me. So many surprises. I was almost part of the sudience. I definitely felt, but I also remembered. I will not give up the story. This is a book that has to be experienced. I loved the characters, they drew me in quickly and never let go. I felt it all..."

"Theater of Seduction grabs your attention from page one, draws you into its intricate web of delicious characters and spins a story full of everything you never knew you wanted in a book. I am hooked and can’t wait for what’s next. Based off of this piece of work, I will gladly read anything Celina Summers cares to write. She is just that good..."

...you know you did something right. Getting reviews like that are extremely gratifying. Means that I did my job correctly--I told a story that resonated with readers. They got it--which means they get me. The world of the Harlequinade has been set. (Grab Harlequinade 1:Theater of Seduction here)

So after setting up the plot, you have to introduce your protagonist. And today is the day you get to really meet Cat Brighton in book two of the Harlequinade--Theater of Deception.

Cat Brighton may be my favorite character I've ever written. She's a badass with serious vulnerabilities (panic attacks are no fun). She's compassionate by nature and ruthless by design. (You kind of have to be in theater). She's sexy, sarcastic, smartass, sassy--a lot of alliterative s-words. But what makes her so much fun to write is that she's always thinking ahead, always trying to decipher the puzzle before she's even convinced there is a puzzle. So when she finds herself in situations that should be impossible, she keeps her equilibrium and finds a way to push through it.

After you've set up your protagonist, then you move on to other characters--the hero and the villain. Or, in Cat's case (because she never makes anything easy) multiple heroes and multiple villains and none of them stay in their lane.

Thing of it is, I can't tell you too much about them or the whole story's ruined. Suffice it to say--things are not always what they seem.

(Yes, that's a new cover. My Harlequin's looking pretty awesome, don't you think?)

This much I will say. This series is a urban fantasy/time travel/historical fantasy/paranormal romance that stretches over a ten-book story arc. Whatever a character may be in book one, he's almost certain not to be in book five. There are multiple male characters to follow--Dominic is Cat's leading man in Theater of Seduction, while Alistair is her...heck, I don't even know what Alistair is. Quicksilver, really--he's a very changeable kind of guy.

As for the Harlequin...

Do you know how hard it is to write a Harlequin? To make the character serious although he's wearing the medieval origins of a clown costume? To make the character sinister without going full-blown Stephen King "It"?

The one character who stays in his lane throughout is Phillip, the director of the Theater of Seduction. But even then, that lane takes a lot of unexpected turns.

At the heart of all, though, is a story that is unique. It's fun, it's dangerous, and it's hopefully thought-provoking.

I spent a lot of time thinking my way through this story. I mean ten books! That's more epic than my epic fantasy! But I set myself a challenge with this world. I wanted to see how far I could push a storyline, how vast a character arc I could create--if I could take the fantasy and magic of the theatrical world and add real fantasy and magic to it.

Let's find out if it worked.

Theater of Deception--available today! 

There is no illusion greater than fear.

Six months after Catherine Brighton’s theatrical troupe finishes its Broadway run of the Carnival trilogy, the company mounts a new play: Harlequin. The character fits perfectly into the theater of seduction—a magical power that compels an audience’s emotional responses. However, rehearsals are tense. Her husband, Dominic, distrusts the actor playing the lead role. Cat and Alistair, Dominic’s brother, struggle to keep the peace.

Soon something inimical is dancing around the company, spinning strands of danger that entangle Cat in a shockingly familiar web. She fears that Phillip has somehow returned from the dead—not that Dominic believes her. Whoever her unknown enemy is, he’s masquerading as the title character from Harlequin—a character both sinister and seductive—which terrifies her. But when she unexpectedly finds herself trapped two centuries in the past, Cat learns that there are far worse things to fear. Like Time.

So...Let's Talk About the Harlequinade's Life History in Publishing

A few people in the world have read some or all of my Harlequinade series. Many of those people are NY editors at Big 5 houses, and from most everyone who's read one or more of the books I have gotten seriously mixed signals. 

Let me catch you up. The Harlequinade series is set in a world where American professional theater meets urban fantasy/horror--kind of like Something Wicked This Way Comes had a love child with The Phantom of the Opera. It's a serious genre mashup with elements of horror, paranormal romance, urban fantasy, historical fantasy, time travel, and literary science fiction. The first book in this series, Theater of Seduction, won an award at RT, landed me my awesome agent, and managed to bulldoze its way through numerous publishing departments only to be killed off after multiple reads. The feedback I did receive was a variant of the following:

Don't know where we'd shelve it.

Too intellectual. 

Needs more *insert whatever the last editor said to take out of it*

--and my personal favorite:

Chapters are too long. 

Don't get me wrong. These are all legitimate criticisms from editors I don't know and some very good friends as well. As anyone who follows me knows, I am absolutely incapable of writing something uncomplicated. So these points are certainly valid, particularly as literature is a very subjective field from top to bottom. 

Is it any wonder that my forehead is permanently flat from banging it into my desk? In fact, the very first Big Five house (probably THE Big Five house in my opinion) my agent submitted Theater of Seduction to looked like a miraculously speedy done deal. The manuscript hit an editor's desk who absolutely loved it. Couldn't wait to sign it. Then it got to the final editorial committee and one guy shot it down.

Still have nightmares after that horrorfest. Went from looking like a world record--land agent, submit to major publishing giant, editor falls in love and contracts it--to a harbinger of heartbreak. 

Everyone who's read the series loves it. They love the voice, love the setting, love the twists, love everything but contracting the book for publication, in fact. So when that happens--and considering that NY publishing isn't looking for anything new and different despite what they may claim on their blogs--that leaves only a few fates for my much-beloved Harlequin. I can trunk him and forget I ever wrote the series, I can look for a small publisher, or I can self-publish. 

Until a couple of months ago, I would have slam dunked the Harlequin into my trunk and then cried miserably for months. But seeing how lightning struck unexpectedly with Zozo (evidently, it takes a demon for me where it takes a village for normal people), the self-publication option is unexpectedly attractive. 

May only cry for weeks instead of months. 

But here's the thing that I think a lot of publishers miss--there is definitely a market for non-trope, intelligent, multiple-genre romance out there, and that market is NOT getting the kinds of books they prefer. I am not a huge reader of romance, but I love it when I find those smart epic romances like the Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon. And I don't go in for percentages, either, like some publishers do in their submission guidelines--"the plot needs to be 50% romance" and so forth.

My novels hit right around 100,000 words each. Does that mean 50,000 words need to be all romantic plot? 

Kind of...sterile and unromantic when you put it that way. 

At the end of the day, publishing is a business and that business was thrown ass over head with the advent of digital publishing, followed by the ease and (relative) affordability of self-publishing so that now it's hedging its bets--established authors OR self-publishing success stories with a built-in platform who crave the phrase "bestselling author" behind their name. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Except, perhaps, for the readers who are craving something new. 

I've been blessed throughout my career as an author and editor to meet so many people--fans, reviewers, editors, other authors and particularly those in the romance genres--who have sincerely loved my work and gave me the opportunity to share in theirs. At the end of the day, I'm going to rely upon their judgment on my work because their judgment is what really matters. Harlequinade is too risky for Big Five publishing and that's cool. 

But it's not too different for readers actively searching for something different. And different happens to be my specialty. 

This is a massive series--ten completed books including a historical fiction prequel--with one of the riskiest characters arcs I've ever attempted. Yes, that's saying a lot considering what I'm known for doing to my characters. But I wanted to experiment with the romance genre, and set its tropes against speculative fiction tropes just to see what I could make of it. And what ensued was, in my opinion, pretty damn awesome. These books are books I would read over and over--not because I wrote them, but because someone finally did.

So here in a few months, you guys will get to meet my favorite characters I've written so far. I have a feeling the Harlequin might just intrigue some of you. 

What? 

Yes, the Harlequin is one of the main characters. He's the bad guy, in fact. 

Maybe. 

My motto remains unchanged. Nothing is as it seems.

Theater of Seduction--February, 2018

Theater of Deception--March, 2018

Theater of Cruelty--April, 2018

Theater of War--May, 2018

Theater of Desire--June, 2018

Theater of Vengeance--July, 2018

Theater of Destiny--August, 2018

Theater of Birth--September, 2018

Theater of Death--October, 2018

Theater of Power (prequel)--November, 2018

Strap in, kids. It's about to get busy with the Harlequinade.

Harlequinade Book One--Theater of Seduction back jacket copy:

Catherine Brighton had given up on theater when crippling panic attacks drove her from New York and her dreams, but when enigmatic director Phillip Lewis invites her to join his theatrical company, she knows it’s her ticket to Broadway. The company’s magical performance style is the holy grail of theater, an acting style that uses empathy to heighten the theatrical experience and psychically seduces the audience. Catherine quickly discovers that the company isn’t what it seems. Phillip has a strange hold over the cast, and the lines between reality and the play blur into a dangerous emotional minefield…one that’s cost previous leading ladies their lives.

The danger is compounded when Catherine falls in love with one of the male leads, Dominic LeClair, who is torn between his love for Cat and the secrets pressing in around them. When Catherine’s best friend, Mike, offends Phillip at a party and dies in a mysterious accident hours later, Catherine begins to question the uses of the company’s unique magic—and Phillip’s motives.

Despite her fear, Catherine is drawn deeper into the mystery surrounding the company and the man she loves.  As the eighteenth century tragedy unfolds on the stage, Catherine discovers that the plot extends well beyond the script, and empathy can be used for much more than wowing an audience. If she can’t find a way to free them all from Phillip, she’ll remain trapped in his theater of seduction forever.

Long Time, No See

Gee--sorry, folks. Real life and my parents' internet-free zone have kept me out of the loop for weeks now. Add to that heinous editing deadlines, a new manuscript that just won't shut up and the kids and you'll understand my recipe for blogging disaster.

I'll try not to let it happen again. I promise.

At any rate, it's been kind of difficult to get my head on straight lately. To begin with, Harlequin, the sequel to my urban fantasy Deception Enters Stage Left, is cranking along at supersonic speed. Last week, I wrote almost 50,000 words on the manuscript and am seriously looking at closing the first draft out within days. Naturally, because I overwrite like a check fraud fanatic, that first draft is probably going to close out at 125k plus.

Because I can edit the heck out of anything, I'm thinking I'll be able to trim at least twenty-five thousand adverbs, dialogue tags and unnecessary scenes out of it. I'm really liking the story. I'm starting to play with some new theories about where to take my spec fic work. I'm getting more drawn to fantasy worlds that are shared with our own--without getting caught up in the tropes of urban fantasy per se.

Let's put it this way: anyone who saw the movie Magic when it first came out probably came away with an active dislike of ventriloquist dummies. (I know I did.) Creepy little clown dolls? Not a big favorite since Poltergeist. Now I'm trying to do the same thing for all of those harlequin masks hanging on walls all over the world--save with a lot of commedia dell'Arte influence and a healthy dose of the American theater world to make it more fun.

And, of course, I'm spending a lot of time torturing my characters. That makes everything worthwhile.

A Great Day

So, I've been working hard on my paranormal romance/urban fantasy theater novel Carnival, now renamed Deception Enters Stage Left, getting it ready to query. Since the month of February is cursed in my household--a superstition my husband created and now has me believing in--I decided that I wouldn't query until March 1. Keeping that goal firmly fixed in my mind, I started to send out queries after midnight.

Then this morning, I found a request in my mailbox. That's always exciting. Before I'd quite gotten the SQUEEEEEE! out of my mouth, I hit refresh and found another. This time, I bypassed the SQUEEEEE! and went straight for the valium. I'm an old-fashioned kind of girl in that way. Then I went and took a hot bath--with bubbles naturally--before I returned to my computer.

And lo and behold, there was a third request in my email.

Three. In one day. Dang. I'm not the mass-query kind of writer. I send out only a few at a time, mostly because I had a nightmare once of sending out a hundred queries and getting all the responses screwed up as a result. So I send out small numbers--like ten. I usually pick them with an eye to their response times too. So while I might send out a couple with quick turnaround times on query letters, I compensate by sending out some that have longer response times and then some that are the ones who say on their website "if we aren't interested, we won't reply." That way, I figure that when the inevitable rejections come, they'll stagger in instead of swarming. Then I send out one query to replace the rejection so that I never have more than ten out at once.

That's my theory anyway. I like to try to keep my stress levels down as much as possible.

So anyway, now I had three submission packages to get out today. I always--always--double check my submissions before they go out just to make sure that something wonky hasn't happened and I knew that was going to take up a bit of time. Problem was, I already was fully booked for the day. I had to get four more chapters edited for a project I'm working on for another writer, I had a brainstorming session with Rob for our vampire project, I had a doctor's appointment, a book trailer to make, edits to get done for my short story collection (Metamorphosis) coming out in a couple of weeks plus my daily writing hours--and I even had hopes of getting the house in order.

Yes, yes...the house is still messy. But, here I am at four am the next morning with everything else on my list done. I'm feeling pretty proud of myself. Now for the fun part--I have to get up at eight.

A writer's life is grand, isn't it? Hectic, stressful and bizarre, but grand. I figure as long as I don't turn the news on for a while, my mood might remain cheerful for a couple of more hours at least. Here's hoping!

Wow. I just realized something. I even got a blog post into the mix. Wonders never cease.

Another Day of Internet Activity

Back on the promo bandwagon again! It's not as if I have anything else to do, save for lying here and staring at the ceiling or watching REALLY bad TV. The husband is out of town on a business trip, the brat is 'at work'...or whatever qualifies as that in this day and age...and it's just me, the cats, and Google search.

If I make it through all this and actually gain some measure of success, I'm going to write a book for the rest of you debut writers and make my fortune. Then I can buy a house in the woods and kill some more Elves.

That is the goal, after all.

I did start a new story last night. Originally, I thought it was going to be a short story but now it's starting to look like *SHOCK!* another novel. *sigh* Why can't I write SHORT for god's sake? Is it because as I go along, I keep jotting down more plot information and then realize I can't possibly implement all of it under 90K words? And I'll thank you all not to mention the words 'verbose', 'windy', or 'idiot' thank you very much.

What makes this new story interesting is that it has all the hallmarks of dark urban fantasy which is normally NOT my forte. We shall see if I can get rolling on it.

Asphodel 2 rewrites are over halfway done. I expect to have them finished within two weeks, which will help me reach my self-proclaimed deadline. Darkshifters is stalled--I have to decide the final culmination of the plot. My original intention won't work.

Damnit.

Oh well! Back to the grind! If you get a minute, go check out Fantasy Book Spot. The owner Damon left a very nice comment on my previous post and his website is kick-ass. There are a lot of great reviews and the site is well-organized and fun to cruise around. Good forums too.

Ciao!