So I Got Tagged With This Lucky Seven Thing And So Here Are “Seven” Lines From Waiting on the Dead

Pretty much on exactly the same day that I got picked for my incredibly prestigious award (I’m still waiting for my statuette. I get a statuette, right?), I also got hit with something else. No, not the bus that many people have waited years for, but something that’s actually pretty cool. I’ll let the awesome Candice Bundy explain:

The rules for this one are quite simple:

1. Go to page 77 of your current ms.
2. Go to line 7.
3. Copy down the next 7 lines/sentences, and post them as they’re written. No cheating.
4. Tag 7 other victims, …er, authors.

Also available in an attractive v-neck for the ladies!

In her post, she asked, as an offal lover, for a bit of Waiting on the Dead. Her request hit me at a pretty difficult time in my writing. In short, I hate it. I’m good with the blog posts, but halfway through the editing of The Storm of Northreach I just hit the wall. It’s not good enough. I’m not good enough to fix it. You know, the typical angsty writer bullshit that every one of us whiny little narcissists go through periodically. Well, fine, that THIS whiny little narcissist goes through from time to time. I’m trying to get through it, there are a couple of things that need to be addressed, and part of it has nothing to do with writing but involves the other production shit and WHINE WHINE WHINE I WANT A PONY.

I hope to be over that soon.

The First Draft Beginning of the Unnamed Project

Earlier today, I posted about the new project I’ve started. Read that, then this. Remember: help me choose a title, and the contributor of said title gets immortalized forever by being one of the people eaten messily in the story.

It’s the first draft, so forgive me if it sucks. Let me know if it does, though, just so I can try to fix it.

Anyway, this is how it begins:

Inside the Zombie Studio: An Interview with Comrick and Daevan of the Curse of Troius

Thank you for joining us today on Inside the Zombie Studio, the highest-rated and only show on television after the rise of the walking dead. I am your host, William Tetley.

(audience moans, shuffles)

Joining me today are two of the primary… shall I call them movers? of the zombie fantasy novel, The Curse of Troius. I am honored and pleased to welcome first the Stranger of Daneswall, Daevan. I hope that it wasn’t too much trouble getting through the horde surrounding the building?

Last Alley – An Excerpt from The Storm of Northreach

This is the latest excerpt from The Storm of Northreach, the sequel to The Curse of Troius, due out sometime in 2011. As of now, this is unedited, since I wrote it yesterday afternoon. It may reflect that fact. But it does give an idea of what the novels are like without giving anything away, since this the former minstrel Ternn’s first appearance anywhere. Enjoy! Or hate it. I can’t tell you what to do. But you can tell me what you think.

***

The pouring rain ran in a sheet down Ternn’s seamed and pinched face. He clenched his arms protectively the crude clay jug pressed against the sodden fraying remnants of his shirt.  He staggered down the half-flooded road, plodding obliviously through the rank water that had risen from the lowest channels of the refuse canals that cut through the Gutters.  At this point, he would have waded through a knee-deep pool of the city’s collected shit in order to reach his favored spot, now that he’d gotten his hands on enough of Icar’s rotgut to keep him in a stupor for a few days.  With his treasure, he’d be able to keep the memories haunting him at bay for a little while longer.

Chapter 12 Excerpt from The Storm of Northreach

Another unedited sneak peek at my current project.  This time, a new character!  Excitement!  Thrills!  CRAVAT-ADJUSTING!  Are you not entertained?!

The man with the golden key frowned as he examined the intricate gears and mechanisms inches from his nose.  His eyes narrowed behind the glass of his gold-rimmed spectacles as they searched for anything out of place in the workings of the Gnarri-made machine.  He eyed the coils and cogs and gears, making sure no tooth looked worn or scratched or pitted and that every pin and post was straight and sturdy.  Only then did he place the thin key inside its dedicated slot.  His fingers, though thick, manipulated the thin metal gently, almost lovingly, and a faint smile lifted the thin lips that normally rested in a sedate and calm downturn.

The Space: A Short Story (Updated)

This idea popped into my head between last night and this morning.  I talked it over with Lady Aravan to nail down the idea, and wrote it today.  Hope you like it.

***

Ralph Ebbets gripped the phone tightly in his damp fist, hating the whining edge that crept into his voice.  “Honey, I packed my lunch today, and – “

His wife’s voice cut him off sharply.  “Oh, heaven’s sake, Ralph,” and he hated the way she used his name as a contemptuous weapon, against which he could raise no protest for it was but his name, “your son is going back to school today and he wants to have lunch with his father before he leaves.  Can’t you change your precious routine for one day?”

Excerpt: Prologue to The Storm of Northreach

Before I finished the end, I looped back to the beginning.

***

The tree branch digging into his buttocks was uncomfortable, but Ajen was barely conscious of that now.  He had planned to give Alys a little scare when she arrived for their tryst on Dane’s Knoll by climbing up the massive silver-barked tree that rose from it.  When she arrived, he was going to let her mill about the trunk for a time, let her build up a good bit of worry, then leap down and surprise her.  He’d anticipated getting a good slap out of it, but she’d be grateful for arms to wrap around her and make her feelings of fright go away.

Blamers – A Short Zombie Story

That short story idea I mentioned?  I carved some time today to bang it out.

***

There’s a lot to hate about the world today.  I mean, between the lack of electricity, horrendous snarls of traffic from abandoned cars, the total absence of a friendly face, and hordes of disgusting rotting cannibalistic walking corpses  - let’s face it, there isn’t much to be happy about.  Unless you count being alive in the face of all this, which is sort of a mixed curse and a blessing when all is said and done.

Chapter 10 Excerpt from The Storm of Northreach

Possible title change?  You bet!  As always, unedited and probably bad.

***

To the east of Northreach Town and Tower, one of the Baron’s subjects, a man Rig Anders had never met and now would never get the chance to stumbled along in the slogging mud and rain.  Mogedin Vane, Mog to most of the residents of Pellslook while they yet lived, Boggy Moggy to his closest friends due to an unfortunate incident as a youth, leaned far forward as he half-ran and half-stumbled along, perpetually on the verge of pitching forward and using that momentum to carry him forward.  From time to time he overdid it, pitching onto his face and putting another coat of mud on his already-caked body.  At least the wet ground was soft, since he was unwilling to use his arms to keep his face out of the muck during the inevitable times he stumbled and fell.

Me and My Scale

I sigh as I walk through the door, trying to prepare myself.  My hands are a little clammy, which is ridiculous, but I can’t help but feel nervous.  I clear my throat as I approach, trying to project confidence.

He doesn’t look at me as I approach, his eyes in the middle distance looking at nothing that I myself can see, offering only his profile.  He is immaculately dressed, his tuxedo perfect in every way save one: his tie is slightly loosened.  The perfection of every other stitch makes it obvious that this is deliberate, his way of showing just the slightest tweak of contempt for us all.  His dark hair looks oiled and smells vaguely of raspberry vinaigrette, and his aquiline nose hangs just slightly over the line that demarks arrogance.