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What is a gentlewitch?
We are quickly approaching the release date for Netherford Hall, and I’m currently busy working on the third installment, The Game of Hearts, right now, so my brain is thinking about all things gentlewitch. (Which is available to pre-order in paperback and in ebook–and soon in audiobook.) Now, this is a term I’m very familiar with. In fact, I’ve been writing so much about gentlewitches that I forgot it’s a term I made up. So, I wrote a little backstory about said magical beings, a la Tolkien’s “Concerning Hobbits.” What is a gentlewitch? To understand the Love in Netherford series, one must first become acquainted with the role of a gentlewitch in…
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‘Cause I’m Short On Time, I’m Lonely and I’m Too Tired to Talk
The above lyric is from Keane’s “Can’t Stop Now” and it’s apropos for more reasons other than I just like the song. Life, in short, these days, has been nothing short of OMGWTF. I really don’t want to go into the details, ’cause honestly, this blog ain’t that sort of thing. We’re okay. We’re managing. But I hadn’t been able to write a lick in the last almost three weeks due to the insanity of life as of late but… BUT! (Oh, shit, she’s whippin’ out the caps) I wrote last night and came close enough to the middle mark in the novel that I will call it 50% finished.…
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Thursday poetry, 5/7 “Delight and the Word”
To keep my brain nimble and, um, creative, I’ve decided to start a Thursday poetry tradition here. I can’t promise the poetry will be awesome, or inspiring, or even good. But once upon a time I fancied myself a bit of a bard. So, here goes. Delight and the Word Delight and the Word met in a fever dance under the shadow of the ship’s mainsail– the creak of weathered wood and the hum of the engines played counterpoint. When the Word’s mouth opened, all was softness and breath, the hushed moist maw of the Beginning and End. But Delight was wilder and her hands were fleur de sel; her…
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A Tuesday short story WIP excerpt
But Alice was practically obsessed with exposing the truth and making a name for herself as a journalist, one who plunged into the deepest, darkest corners of the city to expose the maggot-ridden underbelly. She would grab opportunity by the scrotum, and direct it where she wanted to go, never relenting in her pursuit of cold, hard, facts. Of course, first she’d write a few fluff pieces, just to get the papers interested in her work, but then she’d go for the jugular. The instruction card was hand-written, and stamped with a government-issued seal of authenticity. Alice turned it over again in her hands and read the opening paragraph: Congratulations…
