This excerpt is from my new manuscript THE TRASHLINGS. Our hero, Reese Knightling, stumbled upon a strange bluish creature the night prior, a grunting, snorting thing that looked and sounded a lot like a--pig.
BTW: I just put up my website for this book, if you want to take a quick peek!
www.thetrashlings.com
xoxo -- Hilary
"C'mon, lazy bones, time to get up!" called Reese's father from the other side of the door. "I'm making my world renowned pancakes in honor of our first breakfast in the new house, so get a move on! You start your new school tomorrow kiddo, so we need to get unpacked today."
Joseph Knightling sent his son to bed last night, hoping a good night's sleep would cure him from his visions of imaginary blue swine in junkyards.
Reese insisted what he saw, or at least what he thought he saw was real, but by the time his father calmed him down, even he thought maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. What if the flash of bright lights had skewed his vision, changing the beast's color to a blotchy blue, making an oversized raccoon or possum, shriek away in a panic? The vast woods of Funks Grove were teeming with wildlife. It could have been anything.
For now, Reese decided he'd forget about his otherworld encounter. Today he'd get his computer set up and email his friends about their new house. He decided he'd leave out the part about the technicolor pig. He didn’t want it to get around his old school that he’d already gone nutty, confined one night in the backwoods town.
He climbed out of bed and went to his window. He sat on the sill and looked down at the hazy yard, still weighed down with fog. It looked different in the daylight, faintly benign. He saw the boat--the one the pig thing disappeared into last night. He looked for the tire it left behind. It had vanished.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reese joined his father and sister at the kitchen table.
"There he is," said Reese's father cheerily. He plopped a heavy plate of pancakes in front of him. "I gave you a tall stack, since you didn't have dinner last night. You must be starving."
Famished, Reese drained his orange juice in three noisy swigs and assaulted his pancakes, cramming his mouth with an oversized bite.
Smiling slyly, Darby eyed Reese as he ravenously stuffed his mouth. "Dad, could you please tell Reese not to eat like such a...pig?" she asked.
Joseph warned his daughter. "Darby Knightling, that's enough."
"How does she know?" Reese looked at his dad, hurt. "You told her?"
Darby cut in before her father could answer. "Dad didn't have to tell me anything. I could hear you all the way down the hall last night, freaking out about your blue pig. Speaking of pigs, could you please pass the bacon?" She giggled, delighted at her own cleverness.
Holding up the plate of bacon, Reese looked ready to hurl it at her. "Whatever I saw out there exists! I didn't imagine it! What would you know anyway? You still sleep with a nightlight, hugging your stupid plastic horses!"
Joseph slammed his fist on the table, rattling his plate. "Now, that's enough!" he shouted. "Darby, your behavior is completely uncalled for. Reese, put that plate down--now! I wanted us to have a nice breakfast, not a wrestling match. Darby, apologize to your brother!"
Clenching her chin stiffly, Darby sulked for a moment, but begrudgingly obeyed her father. She looked directly at Reese, hoping he might actually listen to her for once. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm just tired of you pouting all the time. I like it here and I want you to like it too." She smiled weakly. "Mom would have liked it."
Joseph hadn't yelled like that in a long time. Reese knew he'd been impossible the last few weeks. He deserved his sister's teasing, acting like a spoiled brat to her and everyone else. He smiled back at her. "You're right, she would have."
Joseph looked fondly at his children, thankful to see the two agree on something. "That's better, and you're both right, your mother would have loved this place. She had wanted to get away from the city for years. I'm sure she's happy that we're here." He got up from the table with his mug of coffee. "Now, I need to start unpacking. You two clean up the dishes, alright?"
"C'mon dad," said Reese. "I thought you wanted to clean up as part of our first breakfast celebration."
Joseph chuckled. "Good try son. Do you see pigs flying now too?" Even he had to throw in a pig joke.
Grabbing his glass and plate, Reese headed towards the sink. He peered out the kitchen window. Thick October clouds loomed over the junkyard. "Not yet," he replied.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
My Shiny New Editor--Julie Amper of Holiday House!
So, I spoke with my editor from Holiday House, Julie Amper, for the first time today! I was a little nervous, not knowing what to expect, but she immediately put me at ease. We had a fantastic talk and all her suggestions for NIGHTSHADE CITY I totally agree with. I'm so excited to start editing. Looks like we will have a release date of Fall 2010. My rats will finally cut loose during Halloween, yay, perfect timing for the little buggers, nice and creepy!
Speaking of creepy, I'm over half way through with Edwin Copperpot, my YA novel about the dead, and now I'm deciding where I'm going to take the ending. My friend suggested I throw some flesh eating zombies in, since they are the current fad, but they move too slow, the novel would be 500 pages long! Anyway, zombies just aren't my bag, too sluggish and the dialogue would just be a bunch of moans and groans and "I wanna eat your brains" nonsense...my dead folk have far more character than that, they're funny too! See for yourself! http://www.nightshadecity.com/EdwinExcerpt.html
So, lesson learned: Don't be scared of your new editor, flesh eating zombies yes, editors no!
xoxo -- Hilary
Speaking of creepy, I'm over half way through with Edwin Copperpot, my YA novel about the dead, and now I'm deciding where I'm going to take the ending. My friend suggested I throw some flesh eating zombies in, since they are the current fad, but they move too slow, the novel would be 500 pages long! Anyway, zombies just aren't my bag, too sluggish and the dialogue would just be a bunch of moans and groans and "I wanna eat your brains" nonsense...my dead folk have far more character than that, they're funny too! See for yourself! http://www.nightshadecity.com/EdwinExcerpt.html
So, lesson learned: Don't be scared of your new editor, flesh eating zombies yes, editors no!
xoxo -- Hilary
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Teaser Tuesday -- THE TRASHLINGS
This is from my new manuscript, THE TRASHLINGS, already in the hands of a few editors. It's a middle-grade fantasy. Our hero, Reese Knightling, is investigating the junkyard, where he had an eerie encounter with the pig creature, just the night before...
xoxo -- Hilary
It was going on two o'clock. Since most of their things were in a Chicago storage unit, Reese didn't have much unpacking to do. His dad sat in the family room, doing the bills on his laptop, while Darby busied herself in her room, arranging her massive collection of stuffed animals and plastic horses.
Reese grabbed his coat and quietly headed outside. The incessant fog webbed through the yard, its spidery plumes ferreting their way into every piece of wreckage, knitting them strangely together. Its vapors blanching the whole lot the color of bone. An ideal setting, thought Reese, surveying the metal cemetery of vehicles--perfect for Halloween, barely two weeks away.
A few yards to the right of the house, stood a rickety staircase leading down to the junkyard. He walked down the stairs and stood on the ground. He felt odd standing in the junkyard after what happened, but not scared anymore, at least not in the light of day.
He walked over to the old car where the pig thing had been last night. He stuck his head in through the missing door. The car looked as if it had been gutted. The dashboard demolished, smashed to a fine powder. The front seats flattened, presumably by the weight of whatever had bounced all over the inside. The upholstery was now missing, as if the seats had been skinned alive. The same rancid goo that the creature left on Reese's hand coated the bulk of the car's interior. He recoiled as the gummy balm's aroma hit his nostrils.
The scent reminded Reese of his dad's Chinese cooking fiasco, wherein he managed to ignite an entire frying pan of oil, nearly burning down their Chicago brownstone. The house stank for weeks. "At least he sticks with pancakes now," said Reese. He pulled his head back outside and took a deep breath, escaping the heady odor.
He turned in a circle, surveying the entirety of the expansive yard. His father was right. There was a lot to explore. There were cars, appliances and random junk dating back to the fifties or earlier for all he knew, a story behind every item. He maneuvered through the mountains of scrap. The lower the scrap, the older it was, eras on top of eras.
His eyes caught sight of an odd van. Not odd for any other reason, other than oddly out of place. Like the rest of the vehicles in the yard, it donned extensive damage, its innards torn out, dents galore, and all four tires missing. It had all the earmarks necessary for labeling it scrap, but with one distinction. It looked brand new. The blue paintjob shined in perfect condition, no rust or corrosion to speak of. Clearly modern, it couldn't have been more than a year or two old.
Reese examined the driver's side. A yellow logo covered the door, along with a company name, Langley Geophysical Services. Reese opened the door, revealing a barren shell. At first Reese thought maybe car thieves had stolen it and stripped it for parts. That happened in the city, so why not here? Upon closer inspection, he quickly changed his mind. Deep gashes trailed down the van's naked floor, some cut clean through, revealing the ground below. Reese couldn't figure out what type of equipment could slice metal like that. The jagged gouges looked more like claw marks than something manmade.
Reese reached for a piece of paper stuck under the driver's seat. It appeared to be some kind of Langley work order, dated only a few months back, in August. It gave the junkyard's address and listed its purpose as GPR services. Reese's brow creased, none of this made sense. Why would this van, purposely sent to the junkyard, suddenly end up as its scrap? What had gone on here?
The wind hissed, whipping madly through smashed car windows and hubcaps. Reese climbed into the van for warmth. He sat in the driver's seat, the only seat left. He spied something colorful sticking out from under the brake pedal. It was a clump of hair, thick and wiry like steel wool, a purplish color. It looked phony, like the kind on his sister's stuffed animals. Strange gold flecks stippled each individual hair. The tuft had a metallic smell intermingled with some kind of animal stench, like a rusty tin can jumbled with the ape house at the Chicago zoo. "Gross," said Reese. He shoved the Langley work order and the clump of hair into his pocket. In spite of its offensive smell, the purple tuft demanded a second look. He would check it out later. Right now, he had one more stop to make.
xoxo -- Hilary
It was going on two o'clock. Since most of their things were in a Chicago storage unit, Reese didn't have much unpacking to do. His dad sat in the family room, doing the bills on his laptop, while Darby busied herself in her room, arranging her massive collection of stuffed animals and plastic horses.
Reese grabbed his coat and quietly headed outside. The incessant fog webbed through the yard, its spidery plumes ferreting their way into every piece of wreckage, knitting them strangely together. Its vapors blanching the whole lot the color of bone. An ideal setting, thought Reese, surveying the metal cemetery of vehicles--perfect for Halloween, barely two weeks away.
A few yards to the right of the house, stood a rickety staircase leading down to the junkyard. He walked down the stairs and stood on the ground. He felt odd standing in the junkyard after what happened, but not scared anymore, at least not in the light of day.
He walked over to the old car where the pig thing had been last night. He stuck his head in through the missing door. The car looked as if it had been gutted. The dashboard demolished, smashed to a fine powder. The front seats flattened, presumably by the weight of whatever had bounced all over the inside. The upholstery was now missing, as if the seats had been skinned alive. The same rancid goo that the creature left on Reese's hand coated the bulk of the car's interior. He recoiled as the gummy balm's aroma hit his nostrils.
The scent reminded Reese of his dad's Chinese cooking fiasco, wherein he managed to ignite an entire frying pan of oil, nearly burning down their Chicago brownstone. The house stank for weeks. "At least he sticks with pancakes now," said Reese. He pulled his head back outside and took a deep breath, escaping the heady odor.
He turned in a circle, surveying the entirety of the expansive yard. His father was right. There was a lot to explore. There were cars, appliances and random junk dating back to the fifties or earlier for all he knew, a story behind every item. He maneuvered through the mountains of scrap. The lower the scrap, the older it was, eras on top of eras.
His eyes caught sight of an odd van. Not odd for any other reason, other than oddly out of place. Like the rest of the vehicles in the yard, it donned extensive damage, its innards torn out, dents galore, and all four tires missing. It had all the earmarks necessary for labeling it scrap, but with one distinction. It looked brand new. The blue paintjob shined in perfect condition, no rust or corrosion to speak of. Clearly modern, it couldn't have been more than a year or two old.
Reese examined the driver's side. A yellow logo covered the door, along with a company name, Langley Geophysical Services. Reese opened the door, revealing a barren shell. At first Reese thought maybe car thieves had stolen it and stripped it for parts. That happened in the city, so why not here? Upon closer inspection, he quickly changed his mind. Deep gashes trailed down the van's naked floor, some cut clean through, revealing the ground below. Reese couldn't figure out what type of equipment could slice metal like that. The jagged gouges looked more like claw marks than something manmade.
Reese reached for a piece of paper stuck under the driver's seat. It appeared to be some kind of Langley work order, dated only a few months back, in August. It gave the junkyard's address and listed its purpose as GPR services. Reese's brow creased, none of this made sense. Why would this van, purposely sent to the junkyard, suddenly end up as its scrap? What had gone on here?
The wind hissed, whipping madly through smashed car windows and hubcaps. Reese climbed into the van for warmth. He sat in the driver's seat, the only seat left. He spied something colorful sticking out from under the brake pedal. It was a clump of hair, thick and wiry like steel wool, a purplish color. It looked phony, like the kind on his sister's stuffed animals. Strange gold flecks stippled each individual hair. The tuft had a metallic smell intermingled with some kind of animal stench, like a rusty tin can jumbled with the ape house at the Chicago zoo. "Gross," said Reese. He shoved the Langley work order and the clump of hair into his pocket. In spite of its offensive smell, the purple tuft demanded a second look. He would check it out later. Right now, he had one more stop to make.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
It’s official!! NIGHTSHADE CITY to be published by Holiday House Books!
Finally, I can give my news! NIGHTSHADE CITY, my first manuscript, has been sold to Holiday House Books! I'm so excited to be a part of this house! They've been in the business of children's literature since 1935! Julie Amper, who I've heard loads of great things about, will be my editor and I can't wait to get started!
I want to give a special thanks to my agent, Marietta Zacker. She has been instrumental in making this happen. She is not just an agent, but my biggest supporter and a real friend (and shrink too)!! So many, many thanks Marietta! I'd also like to thank Nancy Gallt, who stood behind my work and of course Craig Virden. If he had not taken a chance on my work, none of this would have been possible. I've said this before, I will forever regret never being able to meet him. Someday, though...
Thanks to everyone involved and a huge thank you to my husband, Eric, who read this manuscript about 20 odd times and was my free freelance editor! He listened to me talk about it endlessly (more like whine) and still stayed married to me!! Now that's a great man!!
xoxo -- Hilary
Friday, August 7, 2009
My First Official Interview or Are You Sure You Want to Interview ME??
So, on Thursday of next week, I will be having my first official interview with a graduate student from Northwestern University's prestigious Medill School of Journalism in Chicago. We will be talking about how I fell into writing (almost literally) and how my artistic vision transfers to writing. Uhhh...good question! After all, I did manage to get a degree in painting and art history and now I'm writing about rats and dead people. Wha? Exactly! How did that happen??
I can't speak of non-fiction writers, but there are a plethora of us fiction guys and gals who write and do some form of visual art as well. I think they go hand in hand, creative writing and visual art--Author & Illustrator. Whether it's on paper (or your laptop these days) or on canvas or mashed into clay. It's that spark, you know? That thing that drives us to keep going and keep making and molding and of course creating bold new ideas.
Enough said! I'm excited about this interview! I thought, you want to interview me? Huh? Are you sure you have the right person? I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted she had the right Hilary Wagner! Ha, ha! So, I'm meeting my lovely interviewer on Thursday at Starbucks and hoping I don't put her to sleep in her latte. That could be rather messy and dangerously hot. Hopefully she'll go for an iced coffee! ;)
I'll let you know how it goes! BTW: Happy Friday!!
P.S. I have big news, but per my wise agent can't say what it is yet!! ACK!!
xoxo -- Hilary
I can't speak of non-fiction writers, but there are a plethora of us fiction guys and gals who write and do some form of visual art as well. I think they go hand in hand, creative writing and visual art--Author & Illustrator. Whether it's on paper (or your laptop these days) or on canvas or mashed into clay. It's that spark, you know? That thing that drives us to keep going and keep making and molding and of course creating bold new ideas.
Enough said! I'm excited about this interview! I thought, you want to interview me? Huh? Are you sure you have the right person? I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted she had the right Hilary Wagner! Ha, ha! So, I'm meeting my lovely interviewer on Thursday at Starbucks and hoping I don't put her to sleep in her latte. That could be rather messy and dangerously hot. Hopefully she'll go for an iced coffee! ;)
I'll let you know how it goes! BTW: Happy Friday!!
P.S. I have big news, but per my wise agent can't say what it is yet!! ACK!!
xoxo -- Hilary
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
New Teaser from NIGHTSHADE CITY - Billycan
A few people have been asking for a bit more of NIGHTSHADE CITY, so here it is! This is a favorite excerpt of mine, all about Billycan, the most depraved rat in all of the Catacombs. In other words, not a nice guy! It's hard to believe some day this angry fellow will be in print. Yikes! All comments welcome!
xoxo -- Hilary
Billycan ambled down the corridor of Sector 337 with a deviant leer. He had come to collect the Ministry Stipend. His red eyes flashed against the flickering torch light, making his appearance more maniacal than usual. Parading down the corridor, he swung his beloved billy club, as he yelled raucously for the High Ministry's weekly Stipend.
The towering, snow white rat had the vexing habit of sporadically speaking in the third person in a grating, irregular tone. "Billycan thinks you should be more generous to your Ministry. Don't try my patience, Billycan wants the Stipend paid now!"
Billycan held the dual title of High Collector of Stipend and Commander of the Kill Army, dangerously clever and wicked to his very core; the white rat served his Ministry well. Catacomb citizens were hard pressed to find something about the albino rat that didn't strike them as unsettling. Especially sadistic, his depravity outreached even the most evil of creatures. His callous persecution of Catacomb rats harmonized with his cold, colorless exterior.
Citizens claimed Billycan to be possessed, supernatural--just not right. The old ones maintained he once drove a rat to stab himself, possessing him with his eyes. The rat lived through the ordeal, to this day claiming Billycan's eyes glowed like galvanized rubies, two glass bulbs filled with a red vapory substance, commanding the citizen to take his useless life.
The few rats that had dared to challenge the High Collector were either deceased or missing their tongues, a favorite among the appendages he enjoyed extracting. He had a raised, black scar running across his face, as a result of one such challenge during the Bloody Coup. The thick gash trailed from the corner of his left eye, over his long snout, finally tapering off at the opposing corner of his mouth. His opponent met a gristly fate. The Trilok Loyalist had briefly gotten the upper hand over Billycan, but not for long. Left bleeding out in the corridor, the fearless rat lay dying, one eye splattered against the corridor's dirt wall.
Rumors circulated through the Combs regarding Billycan's damaged brain. Everyone knew he served as a lab-rat at the Top Sider pharmaceutical company, the infamous Prince Laboratories. He alone survived the torturous experiments. No other white rats existed in the Catacombs or all of Trillium for that matter. Since his liberation from the lab, he'd never seen another of his kind, nor did the rats of the Catacomb's every produce one. Excluding Billycan, the albinos were gone forever.
A favorite topic, the citizens often debated as to what made Billycan so wicked. Some insisted the drugs given to him at the Top Sider lab had eaten away part of his brain, leaving only the corrupt portions intact. Others believed he was a demon rat, sent from the pit fires of the underworld, while others argued the eerie white was nothing more than a bad egg, plain and simple. Years of inbreeding, forced on the rats by the lab personnel, combined with the mind altering injections were most likely the culprits, but gossip propagated throughout the Combs.
The Top Siders' testing had caused Billycan's spine to grow coiled and elongated, obliging his neck and angled jaw to jut out far in front of his body. His milky coat disbanded at the base of his extended tail, which trailed behind him like a hairless garden snake, revealing his pale skin, a powdery, encrusted white, more reptilian than vermin.
The drugs from the lab cursed him with a nagging and insatiable hunger, still unappeasable no matter how much he gorged and gobbled. Forever eating, Billycan could not keep weight on his considerable bones, giving him a lean, cadaverous manifestation, like a farmer's scarecrow half stuffed.
Stipends were collected weekly. Eleven years back, Killdeer proclaimed each citizen must produce one Stipend a week, a tariff for enjoying the sanctuary of the Catacombs. Stipend consisted of items useable to the Ministry, such as food, weapons and tools. Food had to be edible. Attempting to disguise compost as Stipend incurred a fatal consequence. Once, a desperate rat tried to palm off a rotting pear as Stipend. As sentence, Billycan chained her to a post in the center of Catacomb Hall, leaving the rat to die of hunger for all citizens to see. Still a youth, the girl's parents wailed in misery as their daughter took in her final breath.
"Stipends for Killdeer!" shouted Billycan. "Stipends for Killdeer! Everyone to their doors, quickly, quickly, do not test Billycan's patience." With a piercing pitch, his voiced blasted through the corridors. "Billycan's time will not be wasted. Have them ready. Billycan does not like to wait--no, no, no!" The Collector sauntered down the corridor, followed by three hulking lieutenants and his Kill Army assistant, Senior Lieutenant Carn, all four pushing rusty wheelbarrows in a single file line.
Billycan walked with his hollow chest pushed out like an underfed rooster. He wore a crimson and navy blue sash, Kill Army colors, made specifically for his lanky frame by the High Mistress of the Robes. As he strolled, he swung his billy club from side to side, banging it on Catacomb doors, and scratching it against their flimsy planking with an uncanny resonance. Citizens knew the Stipend routine. Don't speak unless spoken to, have all items ready and above all things, don't look the High Collector in the eyes.
xoxo -- Hilary
Billycan ambled down the corridor of Sector 337 with a deviant leer. He had come to collect the Ministry Stipend. His red eyes flashed against the flickering torch light, making his appearance more maniacal than usual. Parading down the corridor, he swung his beloved billy club, as he yelled raucously for the High Ministry's weekly Stipend.
The towering, snow white rat had the vexing habit of sporadically speaking in the third person in a grating, irregular tone. "Billycan thinks you should be more generous to your Ministry. Don't try my patience, Billycan wants the Stipend paid now!"
Billycan held the dual title of High Collector of Stipend and Commander of the Kill Army, dangerously clever and wicked to his very core; the white rat served his Ministry well. Catacomb citizens were hard pressed to find something about the albino rat that didn't strike them as unsettling. Especially sadistic, his depravity outreached even the most evil of creatures. His callous persecution of Catacomb rats harmonized with his cold, colorless exterior.
Citizens claimed Billycan to be possessed, supernatural--just not right. The old ones maintained he once drove a rat to stab himself, possessing him with his eyes. The rat lived through the ordeal, to this day claiming Billycan's eyes glowed like galvanized rubies, two glass bulbs filled with a red vapory substance, commanding the citizen to take his useless life.
The few rats that had dared to challenge the High Collector were either deceased or missing their tongues, a favorite among the appendages he enjoyed extracting. He had a raised, black scar running across his face, as a result of one such challenge during the Bloody Coup. The thick gash trailed from the corner of his left eye, over his long snout, finally tapering off at the opposing corner of his mouth. His opponent met a gristly fate. The Trilok Loyalist had briefly gotten the upper hand over Billycan, but not for long. Left bleeding out in the corridor, the fearless rat lay dying, one eye splattered against the corridor's dirt wall.
Rumors circulated through the Combs regarding Billycan's damaged brain. Everyone knew he served as a lab-rat at the Top Sider pharmaceutical company, the infamous Prince Laboratories. He alone survived the torturous experiments. No other white rats existed in the Catacombs or all of Trillium for that matter. Since his liberation from the lab, he'd never seen another of his kind, nor did the rats of the Catacomb's every produce one. Excluding Billycan, the albinos were gone forever.
A favorite topic, the citizens often debated as to what made Billycan so wicked. Some insisted the drugs given to him at the Top Sider lab had eaten away part of his brain, leaving only the corrupt portions intact. Others believed he was a demon rat, sent from the pit fires of the underworld, while others argued the eerie white was nothing more than a bad egg, plain and simple. Years of inbreeding, forced on the rats by the lab personnel, combined with the mind altering injections were most likely the culprits, but gossip propagated throughout the Combs.
The Top Siders' testing had caused Billycan's spine to grow coiled and elongated, obliging his neck and angled jaw to jut out far in front of his body. His milky coat disbanded at the base of his extended tail, which trailed behind him like a hairless garden snake, revealing his pale skin, a powdery, encrusted white, more reptilian than vermin.
The drugs from the lab cursed him with a nagging and insatiable hunger, still unappeasable no matter how much he gorged and gobbled. Forever eating, Billycan could not keep weight on his considerable bones, giving him a lean, cadaverous manifestation, like a farmer's scarecrow half stuffed.
Stipends were collected weekly. Eleven years back, Killdeer proclaimed each citizen must produce one Stipend a week, a tariff for enjoying the sanctuary of the Catacombs. Stipend consisted of items useable to the Ministry, such as food, weapons and tools. Food had to be edible. Attempting to disguise compost as Stipend incurred a fatal consequence. Once, a desperate rat tried to palm off a rotting pear as Stipend. As sentence, Billycan chained her to a post in the center of Catacomb Hall, leaving the rat to die of hunger for all citizens to see. Still a youth, the girl's parents wailed in misery as their daughter took in her final breath.
"Stipends for Killdeer!" shouted Billycan. "Stipends for Killdeer! Everyone to their doors, quickly, quickly, do not test Billycan's patience." With a piercing pitch, his voiced blasted through the corridors. "Billycan's time will not be wasted. Have them ready. Billycan does not like to wait--no, no, no!" The Collector sauntered down the corridor, followed by three hulking lieutenants and his Kill Army assistant, Senior Lieutenant Carn, all four pushing rusty wheelbarrows in a single file line.
Billycan walked with his hollow chest pushed out like an underfed rooster. He wore a crimson and navy blue sash, Kill Army colors, made specifically for his lanky frame by the High Mistress of the Robes. As he strolled, he swung his billy club from side to side, banging it on Catacomb doors, and scratching it against their flimsy planking with an uncanny resonance. Citizens knew the Stipend routine. Don't speak unless spoken to, have all items ready and above all things, don't look the High Collector in the eyes.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Exciting Stuff, I Tell Ya!
All I can say is I'm going to have some exciting news soon and I can't wait to share! Hard work really does pay off! Who knew??? Ha, ha!
My WIP, Edwin Copperpot, is coming along at a fevered pace, so if I can keep concentrating on that instead of mulling over all the "what if" scenarios about my "news", I may just get some more writing done! I had a eureka moment in the middle of the night last night (bit of an insomniac) and I know now exactly how this novel is going to end, spinning together all its unearthly twists and turns, so I've got a lot to get paper!
Happy almost Friday, everyone!
xoxo -- Hilary
My WIP, Edwin Copperpot, is coming along at a fevered pace, so if I can keep concentrating on that instead of mulling over all the "what if" scenarios about my "news", I may just get some more writing done! I had a eureka moment in the middle of the night last night (bit of an insomniac) and I know now exactly how this novel is going to end, spinning together all its unearthly twists and turns, so I've got a lot to get paper!
Happy almost Friday, everyone!
xoxo -- Hilary
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday Teaser? Huh? EDWIN COPPERPOT
Yes, I know, I've lost my mind! I've had a lot going on lately and I'm hoping to have some exciting news soon, but I wanted to post something from EDWIN COPPERPOT, my WIP.
As you may have guessed, Edwin is our MC, a somewhat cynical, incredibly charming chap, who happens to be deceased. In this scene, our cadaverous hero, is on his way to the mysterious House of Warrants. They run the show in this booming necropolis.
Please enjoy and all comments welcome! And oh...happy Friday!!
xoxo -- Hilary
The carriage thundered down the streets, careening round corners as it neared the House of Warrants. Edwin sat inside, wondering why his withered entrails were feeling like watery knots. Phantom pains, he deduced, his own thoughts making him feel things he wasn't supposed to feel, at least not any longer.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop. He pitched forward, scarcely catching himself, almost smashing his face into the opposing wall of the coach. He chuckled. That would just be his luck, wouldn't it, a shredded face of pulverized bone and absent teeth, perfect first impression for the prestigious Warrants. Don't be so anxious, he told himself. You've nothing to fear.
He peered out the window. The carriage had stopped before towering iron gates. Beyond the gates awaited the House of Warrants, a colossal stone stronghold of pillared perfection, which loomed high over the deadened poplars, glaring down at its defunct populace with a flinty air of superiority.
The gates opened of their own will, cracking apart like an iron ribcage. The carriage slowly rolled inside, now at a snail's pace, as if ushering Edwin to his execution. He leaned forward surveying the grounds, lifeless as the rest of his surroundings, but quite manicured all the same, a deathly charm about them. A weary looking fellow raked up dead leaves, dumping them into a basket, while his grim associate, who was all but missing his entire back side, swept the never ending dust from the cobbles.
Edwin noticed an entrance off to the side of the main gates. An endless line of the dead waited single-file, only allowed entry when checked off a register by a bulky woman. She was clad in prickly charcoal skirts, with an iron chain of keys kept round her waist. Two uniformed men accompanied her; both dressed in the same sooty gray. Why did he receive such particular treatment, an escort, a carriage? Surely it wasn't his noble status, what would that matter now?
The carriage stopped directly before the steep front steps of the House of Warrants. Without time for him to have descended from his perch above the stallions, the mustached man materialized at the carriage door, opening it. "Sir," he said.
Edwin climbed out. He watched the lengthy stream of deceased waiting in their snaky line at the far west entrance of the building, like servants having to skulk in through kitchen door, their lowliness too unpleasant to be seen by their esteemed employers. His curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you come for me in the carriage? Why am I not waiting in line over there, with the others?"
"Maybe you're special, sir." The man smirked for a split second, swiftly shifting back to his unbending sobriety. Edwin didn't care for his caustic tone, but didn't think it wise to take notice of it just the same. The man evaporated. The front doors of the manor opened from the inside. Again, the man appeared. "This way, sir."
So used to the utter dinginess of all things since his reckoning, Edwin stood with his mouth gaping as he scanned the interior of the majestic House of Warrants. With high vaulted ceilings, it hung with ornate chandeliers of crystal, each one twirling with blue smoke. Stark white busts, lined the walls on stone pillars, the Warrants, he assumed. Even the deadened flowers were exquisite, painstakingly preserved in their hand painted vases. Impeccably clean, nothing broken, no random bones or parts lying about, it was like stepping into a reoccurring dream, that familiar echo of a once beautiful life, as if at last being heralded through Heaven's proverbial gates.
Edwin didn't anticipate a useful answer, but couldn't help but ask. "How is everything kept so pristine? I've tried for an eternity to keep our manor house in some sort of order, but to no avail, almost as if the more I tidy up, the more mess manifests."
The man began to walk, Edwin followed, his buckled shoes clacking on the marble floor. "I know not the secrets of the Warrants," was all the man had to say on the matter. Edwin presumed the miniature man knew much more than he'd ever let on, but he seemed the type who'd never reveal the time of day, let alone well guarded secrets. He imagined the man must have been a spy before his reckoning or more likely a butler, to himself keeping all the peculiar secrets of the well-to-do.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wednesday Teaser! THE TRASHLINGS
So, I'm busy-busy working on a my WIP, EDWIN COPPERPOT and another (secret) project, but I really, really wanted to post a Tuesday Teaser, late though it may be!! This excerpt is from my new MS on sub, THE TRASHLINGS. Our three teenage heroes are looking for the man who encountered the same horrible creature they did. This is a scene from the mental hospital, bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!! All comments welcome! Thanks guys!
xoxo -- Hilary
A cardboard sign perched on an unmanned front desk, leaning precariously against a candy dish filled with petrified jellybeans. The hand-writing read, 'Ring for Service', with a red arrow pointing downward to a tarnished bell.
Bruno tapped on the bell. They waited for a few minutes. No one came out.
Ritchie leaned lazily against the desk, resting his elbows on it, already disinterested. "Aw, c'mon people," he grumbled. He beat on the bell. "Hey, I gotta life to lead. Can we get some service?"
"Ritchie!" barked Bruno. "What's the matter with you?"
Ritchie sluggishly looked up at the ceiling, unmoved by his brother's scolding. "Whatever," he moaned. "Why are we here, just for your stupid homework assignment?"
"No, to find out information," said Reese. "Trust us, it's important."
The door behind the desk opened with an indignant groan. A bony woman, bordering on ancient, scuttled out in a stiff white uniform, scrunching up her prickly features, visibly bothered. Her lips stretched in displeasure, making them nonexistent as she scrutinized her late night visitors. Her voice chortled with a gravelly timbre. "What do you want?"
Ritchie opened his mouth and raised his eyebrows, about to answer, probably with something sarcastic. Bruno swiftly kicked him in the ankle before he could talk; quite sure the old biddy didn't need further prodding by his blockheaded brother.
"Hey, what'd you do that for?" muttered Ritchie.
Bruno ignored him. "Yes, ma'am," he said in his most polite young man demeanor. "We're here to see Victor Zimmerman."
The woman eyed them circumspectly. "Aren't you children out rather late?"
Bruno misplaced his voice, suddenly becoming lost in the woman's cavernous wrinkles, highlighted by the ruthless lighting, everything about her thorny and hard.
Reese jumped in. "Uh, yes, ma'am, " he motioned to Ritchie. "Our older brother's boss made him stay after hours, but we raced here anyway, hoping to see our Uncle Victor before you locked up." Reese spotted her name tag, Nurse Honeysuckle. Nothing sweet about her, he thought. "Nurse Honeysuckle, we know it's late, but it's been so long since we've seen him."
"Is that right?" She popped her angled chin over the edge of the desk and gave Ritchie a firm inspection. "So, you’re the oldest?"
Ritchie's eyes locked with hers, memorized by her cataract, a vaporous white. He stammered, only managing to spit out an, "Uh..." This time, Reese kicked him in the ankle, knocking him out of his daze.
"Everybody quit kicking me," Ritchie grumbled under his breath. He stiffened his back and sucked in his stomach, trying to appear as tall as possible. "Uh--yeah, I mean, yes ma'am--I'm eighteen, the oldest. As you can see, I'm a full grown adult."
The nurse snorted. "Full grown, eh, I'd say you were downright stunted for an eighteen year old."
Bruno stifled a laugh.
Ritchie's mouth dropped open, duly offended by the disparaging comment. "Hey," he said, "I'm not stunted, I'm a late bloomer and by the way that's a pretty rude--"
Nurse Honeysuckle cut him off abruptly. "Give me your id."
Ritchie huffed as he rifled through the many pockets of his cargo shorts. "Oh, wait a minute." He bent at the knees and retrieved his driver's license from inside the toe of his sandal. "Eureka! Here it is." He proudly displayed the id.
"You keep your id in your sandal--a smelly shoe?" asked Bruno.
"It's the safest place," said Ritchie.
Bruno nodded his head, amazed at his brother's reoccurring lack of logic. "Ritchie, it's a sandal. It's full of holes. Don't you get that it could have fallen out?"
Ritchie grinned with satisfaction. "But you're wrong, genius. The sweat from my foot keeps it stuck in place. It's been there all day. It can't fall out."
"Uh, gross," said Reese.
Ritchie held out his license to Nurse Honeysuckle, who cringed at the germ ridden laminate. She fished a crumpled tissue from her pocket and reached for his id with skeletal fingers.
"Richard Black," she said, reading the license. "Very well, you can see him." The nurse grinned devilishly. "Mr. Zimmerman is one of our most interesting patients. I simply don't know what we would do around here without his constant repartee." Reese could tell from her tone she plainly did not like Victor Zimmerman.
Nurse Honeysuckle primly handed Ritchie back his license and pushed over a musty leather bound book, tapping a yellowed fingernail on a blank line. "Sign right there--by the coffee ring." Ritchie scribbled on the ledger.
Nurse Honeysuckle pushed forward over the desk and glowered at all three boys. "You have thirty minutes until visiting hours are over, not one second longer. You will do as you're told or you'll have me to contend with and I'm not one to be trifled with. Am I clear?" The boys nodded.
She curled a knobby finger, beckoning them round the desk. She turned and opened the door leading to the wards. "Follow me."
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
New EDWIN COPPERPOT excerpt for Teaser Tuesday!
Here is another excerpt from my WIP, EDWIN COPPERPOT. My YA novel about the deceased and their many trials and tribulations. I hope you enjoy the read and all comments welcome!
xoxo -- Hilary
Maura stared listlessly at her tea. Edwin had been gone far too long. From what she could see though the fog, the high moon had come and gone at least three times, and she was beginning to worry. Perhaps Edwin's assumptions were correct and he was being punished for his living misdeeds.
Beatrix Black or Bunny as she preferred, simply couldn't tolerate it further. She rolled her eyes and rapped her moldered fingers on the table. Apparently, before her reckoning, Miss Black's beauty knew no bounds, or so she claimed, but now she donned a face reminiscent of a shriveled turnip, and at the moment it was an especially irritated shriveled turnip. "Maura, really, your doldrums are becoming tiresome."
A flighty young lady, death by drowning, Bunny Black had no patience for the sorry sort. Rich and spoiled in life, she did not see the need to consider such things in death. To her deficit, had she taken it upon herself to consider such things, she might not have drowned that fateful night. She may have realized skinny dipping, in late October, while intoxicated was not a well formed idea, especially when one couldn't swim.
"I'm sorry," said Maura. "Things just don't feel right. What if he's in trouble?"
Bunny snickered wickedly, which came out as a piggish snort after pushing through her shrunken sinuses. "I wouldn't worry. I'm sure Mr. Copperpot knows trouble quite well."
Maura smiled dimly. "Bunny, you're horrible. You know Edwin's not like that."
With a crimped finger, Bunny fished a gnat from her tea. "Don't be so juvenile, dear. Every man's like that. Besides, Charlie Redgrave told me a thing or two about your dear friend, Edwin Copperpot."
Maura looked up from her tea. "What did Charlie tell you?"
Bunny leaned in, all too happy to reveal her confidential conversations. "Charlie told me he and Edwin traveled in the same circles in their living years, frequently in each other's company at social gatherings and formal occasions."
"Edwin never mentioned knowing Charlie before his reckoning. He would have told me."
"He would not have told you. He didn't know himself!" Bunny batted her eyes for no apparent reason. "Far too busy admiring himself and pursuing the ladies, most of which, according to Charlie, needed very little pursuing--shameful harlots--Edwin never took notice of Charlie, too wrapped up in his cavorting and scurrilous activities."
Maura acted unaffected by Bunny's juicy assertion. "I'll never understand it."
Displeased with the lack of reaction, Bunny frowned like a sickly baby. "Understand what?"
"Why the dead still care so much about the details of the living. Edwin Copperpot could have murdered someone during the course of his life and I'd still call him my friend. He's never once given me a reason not to."
Forcing her rigid lips into an exceedingly dismal frown, Bunny reached out a wilted hand and rested it on Maura's sleeve.
"What is it?" asked Maura.
"Oh, dearest, don't waste your time."
"Don't waste my time on what?"
"On him."
xoxo -- Hilary
Maura stared listlessly at her tea. Edwin had been gone far too long. From what she could see though the fog, the high moon had come and gone at least three times, and she was beginning to worry. Perhaps Edwin's assumptions were correct and he was being punished for his living misdeeds.
Beatrix Black or Bunny as she preferred, simply couldn't tolerate it further. She rolled her eyes and rapped her moldered fingers on the table. Apparently, before her reckoning, Miss Black's beauty knew no bounds, or so she claimed, but now she donned a face reminiscent of a shriveled turnip, and at the moment it was an especially irritated shriveled turnip. "Maura, really, your doldrums are becoming tiresome."
A flighty young lady, death by drowning, Bunny Black had no patience for the sorry sort. Rich and spoiled in life, she did not see the need to consider such things in death. To her deficit, had she taken it upon herself to consider such things, she might not have drowned that fateful night. She may have realized skinny dipping, in late October, while intoxicated was not a well formed idea, especially when one couldn't swim.
"I'm sorry," said Maura. "Things just don't feel right. What if he's in trouble?"
Bunny snickered wickedly, which came out as a piggish snort after pushing through her shrunken sinuses. "I wouldn't worry. I'm sure Mr. Copperpot knows trouble quite well."
Maura smiled dimly. "Bunny, you're horrible. You know Edwin's not like that."
With a crimped finger, Bunny fished a gnat from her tea. "Don't be so juvenile, dear. Every man's like that. Besides, Charlie Redgrave told me a thing or two about your dear friend, Edwin Copperpot."
Maura looked up from her tea. "What did Charlie tell you?"
Bunny leaned in, all too happy to reveal her confidential conversations. "Charlie told me he and Edwin traveled in the same circles in their living years, frequently in each other's company at social gatherings and formal occasions."
"Edwin never mentioned knowing Charlie before his reckoning. He would have told me."
"He would not have told you. He didn't know himself!" Bunny batted her eyes for no apparent reason. "Far too busy admiring himself and pursuing the ladies, most of which, according to Charlie, needed very little pursuing--shameful harlots--Edwin never took notice of Charlie, too wrapped up in his cavorting and scurrilous activities."
Maura acted unaffected by Bunny's juicy assertion. "I'll never understand it."
Displeased with the lack of reaction, Bunny frowned like a sickly baby. "Understand what?"
"Why the dead still care so much about the details of the living. Edwin Copperpot could have murdered someone during the course of his life and I'd still call him my friend. He's never once given me a reason not to."
Forcing her rigid lips into an exceedingly dismal frown, Bunny reached out a wilted hand and rested it on Maura's sleeve.
"What is it?" asked Maura.
"Oh, dearest, don't waste your time."
"Don't waste my time on what?"
"On him."
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Teaser Tuesday -- New Edwin Excerpt
I said I was not going to put up any more of my WIP, EDWIN COPPERPOT, but alas, I'm eating my words! I'm about 75 pages in and at this rate the book will be finished in a month or so! I reserve the right to change the last statement at any time! Here is another segment. For those of you who know nothing about the story, Edwin and his cohorts are all departed, living in a sort of purgatory. This is a YA Fantasy & black comedy, with mystery and a little touch of romance. I hope you enjoy the read and please feel free to comment, excusing any first draft typos!!!
xoxo -- Hilary
Percy Poole and Edwin rounded the corner, exiting the theatre. They were on their way to the café, meeting Maura, Charlie Redgrave and Bunny Black, then off to explore Maura's mysterious graveyard. The topic had become of some interest in their little circle of the dead and it seemed the perfect night for investigating. Truth be told, they had nothing much better to do.
Edwin stuffed the playbill in a breast pocket. "I must say, I've always been one for supporting the theatre, keep Shakespeare alive and all that wonderful stuff, but never, and I truly mean never, did I think I'd see the fair Juliet dragging her legless carcass across the stage to meet the severed head of her star crossed Romeo. It made the romantic scenes rather awkward, don't you think?"
"It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, quite literally!" said Percy. They laughed riotously, making their way across the bustling avenue, always busiest at high moon. "So Edwin, what do you make of our little yard of interment on our already interred island?"
"I truly have formed no opinion. We're all dead and buried already. Why would anyone want to go through all that nonsense again? Maura had a good thought on the matter. She deduced that possibly the graveyard belongs to those never buried. Those poor souls whose bodies were never found or perhaps buried in unconsecrated ground, dumped unceremoniously in a hole, something like that. Maybe their dead relatives made a burial ground, a cemetery, to honor those not honored properly at death."
They approached the café, when from out of nowhere a diminutive man materialized directly in front of them, his forehead appearing just inches from Edwin's nose. Normally Edwin would have walked right through the stranger, but the man's severe façade unnerved him, nearly sending him backward.
Edwin grabbed his hat so as not to lose it, while he reclaimed his footing. The squat, bald man stood before him, his eyes vacant. His spoke coolly. "Lord Edwin Copperpot, I presume."
"Your presumption is correct, sir." Edwin took two steps back, not comfortable with the man's close proximity. He studied the man, his stony face, unfamiliar, but recognizable all the same. "Who, may I enquire, is asking?"
The man wasted no time with pleasantries. "You have been formally summoned to the House of Warrants. As a servant to the High Warrant, I have been sent to collect you--now."
Percy slapped Edwin on the back. "Our Mr. Copperpot--called by the Warrants, what an exciting turn of events, to be sure! Well done, Edwin!"
Edwin ignored his chum's good wishes, quite taken aback and uncertain, to some extent dubious of the man's intentions. "You’re a different chap than before, shorter and your mustache it's quite different. You do look similar to him, but you're not him nonetheless. I thought he would be fetching me."
The man's deadpan expression did not change, however his eyes flashed an unfamiliar shade of purple, and then quickly shifted back to their lifeless gray heather, as if saying something without saying it. "Who says I'm not the same chap?" He motioned to the street. "Now, get in."
Percy gasped. "Good God, now that's a carriage!" Before them stood an enormous black carriage led by four imposing stallions. Slithery braids of smoke wafted from their dingy sable coats, as they whinnied and snuffled in the night air.
"Sir," said the man to Edwin, nodding at the open carriage door.
Edwin did not want to go. An ill feeling swept over his entire being. He'd never felt this way since well before his reckoning. He felt unsure of everything. "I need to bring along a friend of mine, Miss Maura Lancaster. She will be accompanying me to the House of Warrants. She's only just round the corner, in the café."
The man spoke brusquely. "No one goes to the House of Warrants, who has not been summoned. Called alone, you must go alone."
Percy put his hand on Edwin's shoulder, steadying him. "Edwin, don't be so nervous! You'll be fine. I'll go round and tell the others of your good fortune. Maura can wait. You can tell her everything upon your return. You know how she loathes waiting for news. This will be sheer torture for her, all the more fun for you!" He walked Edwin towards the carriage, who was simply too staggered to speak further. "For goodness sake, don't look so serious. We'd all die for a chance to be in your shoes! Now off you go."
Edwin climbed into the coach, feeling as though he couldn't say no. Percy shut the door behind him. The undersized man had already disappeared from the street, reappearing atop the carriage, with the reins in his hands. "Ya!" he commanded, snapping the reins. The horses sped quickly down the avenue.
Edwin poked his head out the window. Holding his hat in the wind, Percy Poole waived to him, his figure growing smaller and smaller with each revolution of the carriage wheels. Percy swiftly dashed round the corner to the café, on his way to enlighten everyone of Edwin's remarkable news.
The pit of Edwin's stomach curdled.
------------------------------------
xoxo -- Hilary
Percy Poole and Edwin rounded the corner, exiting the theatre. They were on their way to the café, meeting Maura, Charlie Redgrave and Bunny Black, then off to explore Maura's mysterious graveyard. The topic had become of some interest in their little circle of the dead and it seemed the perfect night for investigating. Truth be told, they had nothing much better to do.
Edwin stuffed the playbill in a breast pocket. "I must say, I've always been one for supporting the theatre, keep Shakespeare alive and all that wonderful stuff, but never, and I truly mean never, did I think I'd see the fair Juliet dragging her legless carcass across the stage to meet the severed head of her star crossed Romeo. It made the romantic scenes rather awkward, don't you think?"
"It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night, quite literally!" said Percy. They laughed riotously, making their way across the bustling avenue, always busiest at high moon. "So Edwin, what do you make of our little yard of interment on our already interred island?"
"I truly have formed no opinion. We're all dead and buried already. Why would anyone want to go through all that nonsense again? Maura had a good thought on the matter. She deduced that possibly the graveyard belongs to those never buried. Those poor souls whose bodies were never found or perhaps buried in unconsecrated ground, dumped unceremoniously in a hole, something like that. Maybe their dead relatives made a burial ground, a cemetery, to honor those not honored properly at death."
They approached the café, when from out of nowhere a diminutive man materialized directly in front of them, his forehead appearing just inches from Edwin's nose. Normally Edwin would have walked right through the stranger, but the man's severe façade unnerved him, nearly sending him backward.
Edwin grabbed his hat so as not to lose it, while he reclaimed his footing. The squat, bald man stood before him, his eyes vacant. His spoke coolly. "Lord Edwin Copperpot, I presume."
"Your presumption is correct, sir." Edwin took two steps back, not comfortable with the man's close proximity. He studied the man, his stony face, unfamiliar, but recognizable all the same. "Who, may I enquire, is asking?"
The man wasted no time with pleasantries. "You have been formally summoned to the House of Warrants. As a servant to the High Warrant, I have been sent to collect you--now."
Percy slapped Edwin on the back. "Our Mr. Copperpot--called by the Warrants, what an exciting turn of events, to be sure! Well done, Edwin!"
Edwin ignored his chum's good wishes, quite taken aback and uncertain, to some extent dubious of the man's intentions. "You’re a different chap than before, shorter and your mustache it's quite different. You do look similar to him, but you're not him nonetheless. I thought he would be fetching me."
The man's deadpan expression did not change, however his eyes flashed an unfamiliar shade of purple, and then quickly shifted back to their lifeless gray heather, as if saying something without saying it. "Who says I'm not the same chap?" He motioned to the street. "Now, get in."
Percy gasped. "Good God, now that's a carriage!" Before them stood an enormous black carriage led by four imposing stallions. Slithery braids of smoke wafted from their dingy sable coats, as they whinnied and snuffled in the night air.
"Sir," said the man to Edwin, nodding at the open carriage door.
Edwin did not want to go. An ill feeling swept over his entire being. He'd never felt this way since well before his reckoning. He felt unsure of everything. "I need to bring along a friend of mine, Miss Maura Lancaster. She will be accompanying me to the House of Warrants. She's only just round the corner, in the café."
The man spoke brusquely. "No one goes to the House of Warrants, who has not been summoned. Called alone, you must go alone."
Percy put his hand on Edwin's shoulder, steadying him. "Edwin, don't be so nervous! You'll be fine. I'll go round and tell the others of your good fortune. Maura can wait. You can tell her everything upon your return. You know how she loathes waiting for news. This will be sheer torture for her, all the more fun for you!" He walked Edwin towards the carriage, who was simply too staggered to speak further. "For goodness sake, don't look so serious. We'd all die for a chance to be in your shoes! Now off you go."
Edwin climbed into the coach, feeling as though he couldn't say no. Percy shut the door behind him. The undersized man had already disappeared from the street, reappearing atop the carriage, with the reins in his hands. "Ya!" he commanded, snapping the reins. The horses sped quickly down the avenue.
Edwin poked his head out the window. Holding his hat in the wind, Percy Poole waived to him, his figure growing smaller and smaller with each revolution of the carriage wheels. Percy swiftly dashed round the corner to the café, on his way to enlighten everyone of Edwin's remarkable news.
The pit of Edwin's stomach curdled.
------------------------------------
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Happy (rainy) Independence Day & an excerpt from Nightshade's sequel!
It is rainy, cool and gray here in the city of big shoulders. I'm still happy to celebrate the Fourth of July, even though our plans have been canceled and everyone we know is sitting at home or at the movies! We'll BBQ tomorrow, so not a big deal and we think the rain will be cleared up by the time it's dark enough for fireworks, so we'll enjoy that for sure, even if the grass is a bit soggy. My six year old son is a little bored, but Star Wars is on, so life is good in Vincent's world! My one year old is running around the house with a paper hat her teachers made at school of red, white and blue stars. She's been wearing it since she woke up at 7am this morning!
Since we are inside for now, I did get to spend a little time today on the second book of NIGHTSHADE CITY, not writing, but reading. I plan on doing some editing for sure, but I really like the way its going so far, very different from book one. I went through it, trying to pick out an excerpt to post, but everything simply gives too much away. I did find one though. I think it gets across a little of the new book's story, without revealing too much. BILLYCAN: Book Two of Nightshade City, is a WIP, so please be gentle on this first draft excerpt.
I've posted it below or you can click on the link, if you'd like to read it on Nightshade's website. http://www.nightshadecity.com/Billycan-Excerpt.html
Thanks and happy, happy Independence Day, rain or no rain!!
xoxo -- Hilary
This is an excerpt from The Feast, Chapter Four of BILLYCAN: Book Two of Nightshade City
From the fringes of the plantation, the feast took on the form of a heathen ritual, the sizzling boar, a sacrifice to the disciples' pagan gods. Crooked torches lined the manor's perimeter, flaming bayonets, gashing the weighty darkness.
A swamp rat with tattered owl feathers dangling from its ears, thumped steadily on an otter-skin drum, dragged out from the manor's attic. Its primordial beat knitted its way through the network of cypress, causing the other creatures of the swamp to swiftly take to their nests and burrows.
The horde flocked around the flaming razorback in a cockeyed circle, barely able to contain their mounting frenzy. They pushed each other playfully, giggling with childish glee. The swamp rats eyed the funeral pyre of boar eagerly, their mouths dripping with spittle, the thought of fat, fleshy pig almost too much to bear.
A young male, overly agitated by the boar's smoky tang, edged too close to the blaze, carelessly scorching his tail. As the rat's tail ignited, the horde laughed riotously, their teeth glinting like a band of hellhounds. The screaming rat fled to the pond, diving in rear-end first, quashing the flames that had swallowed his now blistered tail. The rowdy horde fell clumsily on each other, slaphappy with merriment.
Thicket and Stono turned towards the gathering crowd, searching for Billycan. Carn grabbed his chest. Mannux put a heavy paw on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Steady, son, you'll be alright, no worries. Your friends are all around you."
The front door of the manor finally opened. Thicket and Stono jumped up and down, spotting their king. The yard erupted in thunderous noise. The swamp rats stomped their feet, clambering up each other's backs, trying to catch a glimpse of the towering white rat that would lead them to the promised land.
Carn felt a balmy rush of air. He looked skyward. The brown bat colony had swept in like tiny shadows, circling high over the feast like a clutch of vultures, waiting for their chance to pick at the bones.
Taking in the sheer spectacle of it all, Oleander reached out and grabbed Carn's paw, icy with fear. She squeezed it as tight as she could. Carn stood and stared, void of expression, as he regarded the king of the swamp rats, once again taking in the face--the eyes. His pigment drained to a cold, dimpled gray, as faded images of the bleak Catacombs and its Kill Army Commander flooded his mind.
Mannux grabbed Carn's shoulders, steadying him. The former Kill Army lieutenant looked as though he might fall to the ground. Mannux spoke softly. "Steady, boy, steady. He's just a rat, nothing more, flesh and blood and bone. You can prove that to yourself tonight. He is not the supernatural force they think him. He is no more powerful than you or I." He nodded at the cackling horde. "Nor any of them."
Billycan strode to the edge of the porch, slapping his scaly tail against the rotting wood. The horde fell silent. His eyes flashed against the bonfire, a ghostly surge of vaporous red. Taking in his swarm of devoted subjects, his muzzle swelled into a jarringly familiar leer.
Carn thought he may very well die of fright.
Since we are inside for now, I did get to spend a little time today on the second book of NIGHTSHADE CITY, not writing, but reading. I plan on doing some editing for sure, but I really like the way its going so far, very different from book one. I went through it, trying to pick out an excerpt to post, but everything simply gives too much away. I did find one though. I think it gets across a little of the new book's story, without revealing too much. BILLYCAN: Book Two of Nightshade City, is a WIP, so please be gentle on this first draft excerpt.
I've posted it below or you can click on the link, if you'd like to read it on Nightshade's website. http://www.nightshadecity.com/Billycan-Excerpt.html
Thanks and happy, happy Independence Day, rain or no rain!!
xoxo -- Hilary
This is an excerpt from The Feast, Chapter Four of BILLYCAN: Book Two of Nightshade City
From the fringes of the plantation, the feast took on the form of a heathen ritual, the sizzling boar, a sacrifice to the disciples' pagan gods. Crooked torches lined the manor's perimeter, flaming bayonets, gashing the weighty darkness.
A swamp rat with tattered owl feathers dangling from its ears, thumped steadily on an otter-skin drum, dragged out from the manor's attic. Its primordial beat knitted its way through the network of cypress, causing the other creatures of the swamp to swiftly take to their nests and burrows.
The horde flocked around the flaming razorback in a cockeyed circle, barely able to contain their mounting frenzy. They pushed each other playfully, giggling with childish glee. The swamp rats eyed the funeral pyre of boar eagerly, their mouths dripping with spittle, the thought of fat, fleshy pig almost too much to bear.
A young male, overly agitated by the boar's smoky tang, edged too close to the blaze, carelessly scorching his tail. As the rat's tail ignited, the horde laughed riotously, their teeth glinting like a band of hellhounds. The screaming rat fled to the pond, diving in rear-end first, quashing the flames that had swallowed his now blistered tail. The rowdy horde fell clumsily on each other, slaphappy with merriment.
Thicket and Stono turned towards the gathering crowd, searching for Billycan. Carn grabbed his chest. Mannux put a heavy paw on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Steady, son, you'll be alright, no worries. Your friends are all around you."
The front door of the manor finally opened. Thicket and Stono jumped up and down, spotting their king. The yard erupted in thunderous noise. The swamp rats stomped their feet, clambering up each other's backs, trying to catch a glimpse of the towering white rat that would lead them to the promised land.
Carn felt a balmy rush of air. He looked skyward. The brown bat colony had swept in like tiny shadows, circling high over the feast like a clutch of vultures, waiting for their chance to pick at the bones.
Taking in the sheer spectacle of it all, Oleander reached out and grabbed Carn's paw, icy with fear. She squeezed it as tight as she could. Carn stood and stared, void of expression, as he regarded the king of the swamp rats, once again taking in the face--the eyes. His pigment drained to a cold, dimpled gray, as faded images of the bleak Catacombs and its Kill Army Commander flooded his mind.
Mannux grabbed Carn's shoulders, steadying him. The former Kill Army lieutenant looked as though he might fall to the ground. Mannux spoke softly. "Steady, boy, steady. He's just a rat, nothing more, flesh and blood and bone. You can prove that to yourself tonight. He is not the supernatural force they think him. He is no more powerful than you or I." He nodded at the cackling horde. "Nor any of them."
Billycan strode to the edge of the porch, slapping his scaly tail against the rotting wood. The horde fell silent. His eyes flashed against the bonfire, a ghostly surge of vaporous red. Taking in his swarm of devoted subjects, his muzzle swelled into a jarringly familiar leer.
Carn thought he may very well die of fright.
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