Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Hello, World from the Writing Drone

That's me, cubicle drone by day, writer by night. I'm interested in fantasy (the writing kind, not the creepy bar in the guy who wants to buy me a drink kind). My first book will be up on smashwords in the next few months and I'm pretty stoked about that. The title of the series is

Wizard and Spy

Two young women, with a great deal of help from a wagon driver, witch, wizard, centaur and the people of the frozen north, are trying to become masters at their chosen crafts, prevent a small group of wizards from ruining the world and not get killed in the process.

Here is a random page from the book:


“It’s true that there were some very strange happenings in front of my home today,” agreed the captain thoughtfully. “But I cannot see how my daughter could have been involved. Today is her day for learning healing, and she left for Aunt Lott’s early this morning. As for Aunt Lott, I met her in the market but a short half hour ago, and she has been there all day, as a great many witnesses can prove.”
“Well, it was obviously a case of mistaken identity,” the guard said, clearly relieved, and turned to go.
“Wait a minute!” shouted Nefalgar. “If she was in the market, what do you say about this?”
With a dramatic flourish, he pulled out Denae’s missing knife.
“My knife,” Denae exclaimed, snatching it from his hand, before he could pull away. “Where did you find it?”
“Where did I find it? Where did I find it?” he repeated incredulously. “I got it out of my boy, that’s where I found it!”
“Maybe he stole it,” offered Lucia helpfully. “Denae told me she thought she had lost it.”
“Stole it?” he turned on her furiously. “Do you think he stole it and then stuck it into his own arm?”
“I don’t know,” Lucia answered thoughtfully. “I don’t know your son. Is he unusually stupid?”
“Yes, he is,” Denae nodded energetically, and then, in response to a rough shake by her mother, “What? I was only trying to be helpful in finding out what happened.”
Nefalgar was so angry that he opened his mouth to speak but could only sputter. Aunt Lott, with a look of deep disapproval, pulled a royal blue handkerchief from her pocket and wiped the drops of spit from her shirtfront.


In the meantime, I still have my day job to pay for the bills and the margaritas. I'm sure this blog will be good catharsis for writing about that, too. There is my boss the social climber, Rita the Rule Nazi and Dan, Dan the Invisible Man who shows up at work every third Tuesday. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

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