Sunday . . . bloody Sunday

D: Do we have a problem with Sundays?

A: Yes, they’re always followed by a Monday.

D: And are you not ready for Monday?

A: D, no one is ever ready for Monday.

D: Are you getting a little existential on me, A? Do we need to go back and have a little chat with Camus?

A: Loved that book, said that Meursault was Christ in my paper on it, and no.

D: Moving right along. Is this the only reason you’re cursing out Sunday?

A: Um, how about my vicious sunburn?

D: Oh boy . . . you do know that the scientists of this world have a lovely invention called sunscreen.

A: You sound like TC. Stop it.

D: And yet it still stands.

A: I wanted a bit of color.

D: A, you’re Irish. Flesh tone is color for you.

A: Says the Pict.

D: I know from pale, A.

A: Point taken.

D: So, you’re sunburned and you r weekend is nearly over – any more invectives to throw at Sunday’s head?

A: No, not really. It was just a long slog of a day, but it had great rewards. I accomplished three out of four goals I set for myself last week.

D: Do tell, A – I’m breathless with anticipation.

A: Snark will get you anywhere, D! I dusted off the treadmill (and used it!). I filled in and was able to erase all those (Figure out what you’re talking about, lady) tags in part 2, which clocked in at 26,199 words –

D: So we’re already over 50,000?

A: Yes, but Parts 3 and 4 shouldn’t be more than 30k combined. There’s always the editing rounds to get rid of fluff, too D.

D: I know, and forgive me if I feel that you’d need no less than 100,000 words to do justice to my greatness.

A: Really?

D: It’s one hell of a story, A.

A: Uh huh.

D: Honest.

A: I think I just heard my fingers scream in agony.

D: I think that’s your sunburn. Speaking of Part 3 . . .

A: That’s the other goal I managed to accomplish – Part 3 has it’s first outline.

D: Dare I ask?

A: Ah, go on.

D: What does this outline say, A? I peeked over your shoulder and I’m a bit concerned.

A: Why? I was kinda proud of it myself:

  1.  Captured – Dubh gone, Maureen spastic, Sean slaps her
  2. Breakout –Dubh is rescued, Sean and Maureen are SOL
  3. The Interview – Nuada grandstands; remember monologues are cliche.
  4. Revolution
  5. Revelation
  6. Big Boom
  7. Even Bigger Problems

D: That’s it, keywords?

A: And the start of everyone’s emotional state for each section – I found that very helpful in making sure the arguing from Part 2 didn’t get out of hand. Besides I thought you’d be happy – there are at least two opportunities for you to indulge your love of smoke bombs.

D: I did see that. Thank you, A.

A: I do what I can. Oh, and before you ask: editing.

D: Editing?

A: This week’s goal: Editing.

D: That’s it?

A: I think chocolate might find its way on there, too

D: In conjunction with the treadmill?

A: Maybe.

The Druid Tells the Tale
A has yet to make any changes to this site because she is a lazy, no good—

A: Oi, Druid! Knock it off!

D: Killjoy.

Fine; she’s a busy lady and getting her to sit still long enough to complete a thought is a marvel. She hasn’t acknowledged any awards yet, so I’m going to do it for her. John W. Howell at Fiction Favorites has nominated us for the Always Here if you Need Me Award. In addition, Olivia Stocum  and Briana Vested  have nominated us for the Liebster Award. There are others, but A was lax in recording what they were, the horrible wench. There will be a full post presently, in which everyone will be lauded in full. In the meantime, however, thank you most kindly for reading, nominating and sharing the … what is this called (blogosphere) ah, yes, the blogosphere love.

. . . And Introducing: A invites Audience Participation

D: Really A?

A: Do I bug you during your Tale-telling?

D: Yes.

A: . . . Fine. Regardless, I would like to engage people a little and get some feedback. I have been blessed with some very astute, knowledgeable and charming readers and I’d like to know what you think of serializing a novel.

If Part 3 defies my expectations (and everything about my return to the writing world has defied them), I’m looking at a nearly 100,000 word young adult novel. It needs some paring (try a butcher knife – can it, D), but ever since I wrapped up Part 1, I’ve been thinking about serializing the first book. Each part comes in at a fairly respectable 25K words, and are complete stories in of themselves. It was initially written this way – to be published as independent novellas that could form a nice little collection. I abandoned that idea when I realized that it had a second and then third story (you’re welcome).

So, those who know, what do you think of a sterilized novel in today’s market, and today’s technology?

Claude, Part 4: A New Beginning

D: It’s over?

A: Well, my part in Claude’s story is over.

D: Well, I suppose. . .

A: No.

D: What?!

A: I am not getting you a pocket pet.

D: Can I get a baying wolfhound then?

A: No!

D: A, everyone knows a boy needs a dog. If not for me, then do it for TC.

A: He’s a cat man.

D: He looks good in pictures, but that child is weird.

A: No black cats for your Druid grove?

D: That is a vicious lie – cats preferred the lochs to the grove, A.

A: And this from the man who was disturbed that it was 6/6/13 under a dark moon.

D: We all have our foibles. Now are you going to shush and let people read the conclusion to Claude?

A: Me? (Sigh) Yes, go, read! (Bloody Scot).

D: (Pict).

A: (Whatever).

Will beg on demand

begging

(Photo Credit: Flicker Commons)

D: A! We don’t beg!

A: We may have to.

D: Why?

A: I’m offering up an opportunity for guest bloggers.

D: Guest… bloggers…

A: Yes, people who are not me, posting words to this site. Potentially interacting with you.

D: A!! Are you leaving me??

A: Yup.

D: NO—wait, wait, this could be fun.

A: It’s good to feel, well, not loved. . .

D: Needed?

A: That’s not it either. You got on pretty well for 10 years without me paying any attention to you.

D: True. Well, what then?

A: Let’s just say it’s good to know you’ll maybe appreciate the loss of me, even if it is just for two weeks.

D: Why, A? Why?!

A: TC is going to Band Camp (is it wrong that I have bad, inappropriate jokes lined up in my head at the mention of that? Yes. Bad Mother Award. Just for you. Thanks, D.)

D: And?

A: And then he’s going up north with my dear sister.

D: So?

A: So, D, that means for the first time in 12 years, I’ll have 2 whole weeks to myself. First Time. Twelve Years. Two weeks.

D: I sense debauchery.

A: D!!!

D: Well . . .

Without TC, there will be no need to flash this... because the cats take no heed!!

Without TC, there will be no need to flash this… because the cats take no heed!!

A: No, I was more thinking of holding court in my dining room, eating only peanut butter from a spoon and finishing as much of the book as I could manage. That means being MIA from the blogosphere, Facebook and I wish, work.

D: Oh.

A: You and I can still chat, if you want, but it will be to prep posts for when I return . . . well, and that writing thing. I’m really wondering how other people might interact with you. You’re a unique fellow, after all.

D: Yes, I’ve seen some choice words when people comment.

A: I love ‘em: Pretentious, Pill, Loveable Jerk, Task master . . . the list goes on! So, it begs the question: Who would like to have a conversation with D?

D: Don’t all clamor at once, now.

A: Ignore him. He’s feeling insecure—

D: I am not!

A: You shouldn’t; you’re pretty awesome, even if you are a pain in the a—

D: Family establishment, A. Hush.

A: Fine, but it still stands.

D: I thought it was sagging.

A: That’s just low.

D: Exactly.

A: Seriously? You’ve been in my head way too long.

D: I know (Sob). Please, someone, give me a break?! Please!?

If you would like to be a guest blogger – by hosting your own conversation with D, sharing some insights of your own about dealing with ornery, ostentatious characters, riffing on the weird, tortuous world inside a writer’s head, or another topic of your choosing – let me know in comments, or email me at ksully1111 (at) gmail (dot) com.

The Druid Tells the Tale

I’m having a great deal of fun while A peruses Jack Flacco’s site. There are Zombies. There are fabulous women who wow  and super heroes. There are random musings and there are zombies. Did I mention Zombies? (Yes, D, you did. You like vampires, I like zombies. It’s the one fantastical thing I have not yet encountered. Wait, the one? Vampires? Really? That’s another story, A. Oh boy.).

A: I want to give a shout-out to the genre-bending Eye Dancers. I love how Michael blends aspects of his story with his topic of the moment. It is always artfully done and always an interesting read.

D: Just in case you’re NOT like A, and want to do something productive with your time, head on over to the Readful Things Blog, because it is time once again for Marketing/Publishing with Harry Steinman. Today’s topic: Cover Art, because yes, everyone does judge those books by their cover. This is why they haven’t put A away yet – she looks so nice and sweet on the outside.

A: Cheers, D.

D: I do what I can.

Life in the fast lane

“Why didn’t you stop her?”

The words touched the dread clawing at Sean’s throat. He couldn’t stop the tide of angry, panicky words. “I couldn’t! She clubbed Sir Nathan in the head! She’s helping them and she’s refusing to leave – she’s so deeply enmeshed in this that there is no talking to her, no reasoning with her.”

“Because you insist on using reason.” Dubh grabbed him by the shoulders. “This is not a reasonable war. These men and women are full of emotion and passion. They sing about martyrs and blood sacrifice. This is danger and love and Maureen is throwing all that she has at it. Use it; speak to her. You are stronger than this, boy.”

Sean spread his hands out in front of him, wishing they held some answer. Emotion? He had that, but Maureen was past listening. He’d lost his chance.

“No, you haven’t. You haven’t even begun to fight for her. I can’t do this, Sean. None of us belong here.”

Sean felt a finger of foreboding slide down his neck. All the questions he wanted to ask, like where Dubh had been the last two months, dried in his throat. Dubh was scared; even amidst Bingham’s men, Dubh had not shown fear.

D: 2 months? You let 2 months go by?

A: I let? You’re the one calling the shots, D.

D: I know, but 2 months?! No wonder.

A: They’re 15 – well, Sean is 16 now, but still, what did you expect?

D: (Bloody teenagers). Okay, so I may have allowed things to get out of hand, but how do you reckon it was 2 months?

A: Simple math that made my head kind of hurt because I took it too far. Did you know that because you spent a generation away from the hill that you spent 60 days in Tír na nÓg?

D: Wait, A. Slow down. You used math?

A: Yes. It hurt.

D: I can see that. Back to the two months . . . ?

A: Oh, yeah. 24 hours in Tír na nÓg equals about 6 months for us. I’d say you spent about six hours chatting and travelling when you visited Niamh. That puts you at 1.5 months, but then you still had to integrate yourself with the uprising and get your bearings. It’s an approximation.

D: I did not spend that much time chatting.

A: Then what were you up to, D?

D: You’ll find out.

A: I am not going to like this at all, am I?

D: You might. You seem to have an appreciation for the epic. You may even enjoy yourself.

A: That’s pushing it, Druid, and you know it.

D: Yes, but I can always hope, A.

A: You keep hoping and I’ll keep writing, how about that?

D: Can’t argue with you.

A&D: For once.
A’s telling the tale today, baby!

Slow down a little with Kate Shrewsday and vote for her to be a Penguin Wayfarer – then she gets to wander on foot across Britain. I recently discovered Kate’s page, thanks to Andra at the Accidental Cootchie Mama. Kate’s musings on her world make me smile. In order to help her realize her dream, click on the following link and vote for Kate (the only Kate on the page): http://www.ajourneyonfoot.com/  (Can we come, too? Not our journey, D. But I—I’m working on it, D. Between you and TC, if we don’t get over there eventually, I’m toast!).

D: Thunder stealer.

A: Do you have anything better, Druid?

D: No. I’m going to go mope in my corner.

A: You could always lurk back to your corner.

D: I refuse to dignify that with a response.

A: Cheer up, D. There’s always tomorrow.

My Dearest Love

D: A love story, how sweet.

A: It is sweet, D. And one day I may actually get to tell the whole thing.

D: This story has been rambling about up here for a while – Evie and I are good chums. The second story is loosely based on your grandparents, yes?

A: Where are you going with this?

D: I’m just wondering about the third story.

A: It hasn’t happened yet. I’m working on it.

D: Will it have ghosts?

A: No, I think Evelyn and Samuel do that just fine.

D: What about vampires?

A: Nope, you skulk around for that well enough.

D: Then what?!

A: I’m waiting for me, dummy. Now shush; let people read the story!