It's only just begun, yet summer is firmly in place in my mind and schedule. A writer can't always enjoy the nice weather, but I have a few times now. It is enjoyable to sit and sketch an idea, or plan a particular plot twist, even a jot a few lines of poetry, while in the company of whistling birds and a the sleepily nodding heads of daisies and other flowers. I like it very much.
I did promise some samples, did I not? This novel is nearly complete now. I need to finish the last chapter and, of course, the dreaded editing and revision. But otherwise, I'm very close to finishing this "debut" novel. The others are pieces of a 6-9 book series, which I doubt any editor in his right mind would agree to publish. However, Veiled Memory has some promise, I think. I may be a little biased :)
Today, I'll post one of my favorite scenes. Loki is a villain, and a nasty one at that, lurking in a crypt at the moment.
Loki stirred, stretching his wings until the tips scraped against the wall. Moist stone and feathery mold poking between the blocks tickled the sensitive edge. He pulled them close to him again.
He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the flickering lamplight. Kerosene marred the musty air. Loki preferred the latter. It hinted at the work of years, even centuries, of decay. Down here, he would be difficult to find in the maze of corridors, dead ends, and hapless corpses. They had been stripped of their flesh a long time ago. Bits of frayed and fading cloth clung to the ivory skeletons. One skull had a family of rats living in it. Dark, furry bodies writhed and bulged out of the empty eye sockets and around the gapped teeth.
With the scanty light of the lanterns dangling from hooks in the ceiling, and the sporadic torches bolted to the wall, the image was of a spirit in eternal torment. Yellow-eyed parasites nibbling at the eyes, finishing the decomposition that the maggots had started. A few of the remains had flashlights, batteries as dead as them, sprawled beside limp hands. Lost, but not alone.
Loki smiled. A treasure trove of cadavers, these wandering men had helped feed his voracious appetite. Something lived in this place of death.
Timbers had been matched together in each corner with a crude design, as if to say here, there was no need for beauty or fine workmanship.
The cold seeped into his spine. His wings ached, like teeth gnawing between his shoulders. They did not function well in cold and damp. Loki frowned. He needed to warm them up, either by flying for a while, or feeding.
Swiveling, he tested his surroundings. Two large living things were close by. That would be Eric and Janet, the latter retrieved without Cassy’s knowledge. He could not feed on them just yet. Azrael needed to be able to sense them, to feel their presence and come searching for the couple. The alpha had developed a strange fondness for the humans; another sign Azrael was no longer worth his obedience.
Not too bad, I hope?