D: Attention poets, bards, storytellers and all, the Community Storyboard Prompt of the week is “Frost.”
A: Aren’t bards and storytellers the same thing?
D: . . . .
A: Just checking! And all of you should check out the CSB, and submit, too!
In Review: Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse
When picking your ‘team’ for the zombie apocalypse, Ranger Martin should be high on your list. When picking a book to read – for the sheer fun of it or for the love of a good story – Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse, by Jack Flacco, should also be high on your list.
A tightly-knit story, woven together with humor, pathos and just-around-the-corner danger, Ranger Martin, was everything I wanted out of a thriller. It starts out with a bang, and doesn’t let up until the final page.
As I read, I felt as though I was riding along with Ranger Martin and the kids: I felt the desert air, felt the fear and thrill of adventure. Jack’s words made their struggles and fears mine as I read. Additionally, the camaraderie between the characters, and the relationships – kid-to-kid, and kid-to-adult – flowed naturally.
Ranger himself was, at turns, wild, mysterious, heroic and just plain fun. Frankly, I read the book wishing I had a Ranger Martin in my life growing up – zombies or no. While the book is humorous at times, Jack never lets you forget that the zombies are a very real danger. I found myself holding my breath in some sequences, fearing the worst but hoping for the best. I also loved the twist on the genre that Jack employed. As a newbie to the zombie mythos, I enjoyed it quite a bit.
Of course, you’ll have to pick up the book in order to find out what that twist is, and I highly recommend that you do so. Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse is due for release on October 22, 2013, and is available at amazon.
This review was based on the digital ARC, provided by the author.
Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse from the Author:
Never call them zombies. That was one of the rules. So much for rules, everyone who made up that garbage is either dead or undead. It doesn’t matter anymore. They go by other names—chewers, eaters, maggot bags, the changed. Whatever they’re called, they’re everywhere. And they’re not giving up until every last human becomes a single serving entrée to satiate their uncontrollable appetite.
Enter shotgun-toting Ranger Martin who is determined to end the zombies’ all-you-can-eat buffet. In an abandon military silo on the outskirts of the Nevada/Arizona border, he and his specialized team of assassins plan their assaults. Who’s he kidding? His team consists of three kids in their teens, and a boy barely old enough to wipe his own nose. But when a secret air force base in the Mojave Desert proves there’s more to the change than anyone knew, the temptation is too great. Now Ranger and the others set out on the road to overthrow the center of the infestation—a frantic race that will either destroy the hunger-prone zombies or cost him and his friends their lives.
Use your zombie prowess to stalk Jack on his official website or on Facebook.
The Druid Dazzles with Daring-do
A: What exactly are you doing daringly that dazzles so much, D?
D: Wouldn’t you like to know.
A: Well, that was the point of asking the question.
D: . . .
A: I mean, you have something back up all that hype, right? Or you just a flimflam man?
D: Flimflam man? Are you calling me a sham?
A: With yams.
D: You are ridiculous.
A: Yes, I am. And see, I have proof, right here. In writing. Back it up, D!
D: Could I just get on with the tale-telling?
A: Certainly, my dazzling drivel-meister.
D: There is something wrong with you.
Celebrate it
D: John W. Howell, he of Fiction Favorites fame, has been published in The Paperbook Collective. Congratulations, John! Hey, A – do you think he’ll forgive me for mistaking him for that other guy?
A: That other guy?
D: Yeah, you know, that other John guy – John Milton?
A: Maybe if you ask real nice and offer to do a real interview with him, he’ll consider it.
Promote it
D: The Literary Syndicate, your resource for all things helpful in our literary world, has established a “Features” section on his blog. Want to showcase your work – look no further, as Features are Wanted!
A: And check out Papi’s first feature, Angie Skelhorn.
D: I have it on great authority – if one considers A’s assertion a fact (and I’m not sure I do, as she once insisted that fuzzy socks were a requirement for breathing. Her authority on anything has been mighty suspect after that), it can be more than a little nerve-wracking for writers to go beyond the borders of their heads, but Twitter at least allows one to do it while still in your bathrobe–
A: And fuzzy socks.
D: (Sigh) Legends of Windemere scribe, Charles Yallowitz offers up these tips to de-beak the Twitter-beast and instead, utilize the tool as an effective weapon in your promotional armory. Enjoy.
A: With fuzzy socks.
D: Seriously?
A: It’s cold.
D: Moving on.
A: Kill joy. You don’t know what you’re missing. And neither do you, out there in the blogosphere, if you haven’t, check out Green Embers. Green is this week’s Blogger of the Week at Readful Things, and frankly, there is no one more deserving.
Read it
D: there are more than a few talented wordsmiths here on the blogosphere – talented and prolific. One is Jessica Bell, who writes at the behest of Helena Hann-Basquiat. Check out the latest installment of the Bayou Bonhomme serial, In the Shadows.
A: And once you’ve shaken off the shivers and anticipation, check out Charles Yallowitz’s poem, Yesterday, She Was, at the Community Storyboard. It is beautiful and touching.
D: In other words, break out the hanky.
A: Finally, Sue Vincent has some great news – you can download The Initiate, adventures in sacred chromatography, to celebrate the upcoming launch of her books, The Living One and The Osiriad. Find out more on her blog, Daily Echo.
Debate it
A: Helena Hann-Basquiat has a thought-provoking and entertaining piece at the Outlier Collective, Euthanasia is Sexy—
D: Did you just use the words Euthanasia and entertaining in the same sentence?
A: Yep. And don’t just think it’s for real people, D. . . characters can—
D: Don’t say it, A. Don’t even think it.
A: Then you know what you have to do, don’t you?
D: Take over the world and ensure that you are slave to my power for all time.
A: . . . .
D: Yep, thought so.
Write it
A: Only 14 days until NaNoWriMo!
D: I think there should be care and feeding tips for owners of writers embarking on the NaNoWriMo gauntlet.
A: Really? Aside from the pejorative terminology, that almost sounds like you care, D.
D: You think I want you going off the rails? I’m all for you trying to write series 2 in 30 days, but I’m afraid if you aren’t kept well, part of it might happen from a hermit cave or worse, a jail cell.
A: . . . your concern is touching. I think.
D: Don’t say I never did anything for you, A.
A: Never would I ever, D. . . .(Insanity is doing something, right?)
D: (You bet your aunt fanny it is.)
A: (eye roll.) Speaking of writing (and not from a jail cell or otherwise) Catherine Ryan Howard, from Catherine Caffeinated, asks, How Much Time Do You Need to Write?
D: And while you’re writing, here are some words to avoid like the plague
A: Do cliché’s count?
D: Maybe…
A: You’re hopeless.
D: Thank you. Keep in mind this list doesn’t apply to all but it is a helpful guide.
Publish it
A: Every once in a while, we do aim to educate.
D: Every once in a while? A! I educate all the time.
A: Pray tell…
D: I’m a time travelling Druid. My very being is educational.
A: The scary thing is, you believe that. But since you don’t know anything about the publishing industry (and I know precious little myself), check out this 2-part series from Critical Margins:
- Current and Future States of the Publishing Industry Part 1
- Current and Future States of the Publishing Industry Part 2
D: If you like your publishing tips a little on the funny side, check out Fiction Favorites and 1WriteWay’s simu-published “Top 10 Things Not To Do When Trying To Get Published.”
Prompt it
D: that doesn’t make sense, A.
A: People can infer, D. I’m pretty confident that the intelligence level around here is capable of that. . . well, maybe not you.
D: I will fong you.
A: . . . .
D: You aren’t the only one who can make tv and movie references, woman.
A: Fine. Fong away. Meanwhile, at the Community Storyboard, the prompt of the week is Yesterday. Check out the offerings, including mine, and submit your own!
D: And The Queen Creative’s Prompts for the Promptless this week is Kintsukuroi. A wrote a lovely piece here.
A: You thought it was lovely?
D: Of course I did. You thanked me at the end. I can hold that over your head for the rest of your days. It’s beautiful.
A: I will fong you!
D: And with that, we wish you good night, ladies and gentlemen – thank you for catching up with us here at the D/A Dialogues.
A Date with A Druid, Part 2
Is D ready for the modern world of dating? Is the modern world of dating ready for D?
It started out as a desperate cry from lonely Druid – let me have a date with your character, 1WriteWay (Marie Ann Bailey), I promise I’ll behave. Yeah right, said the writers. Nevertheless, the date happened. Read on for the exciting conclusion to “A Date with A Druid” as D attempts to woo Mary, a contemporary woman in a series about three widowed cousins who start a private investigation firm.
The Druid picked up the bouquet of roses and held them out to her. “Has your lover ever given you flowers as beautiful as these? Has his lips burned a kiss onto your hand, as I have. Oh, yes, dear lady, I felt you shiver with that kiss.”
Mary took another gulp of wine. She was going to have to have a long talk with 1WriteWay, her author. She studied her glass, wondering why it was empty so quickly and, more importantly, how to extricate herself from this large, overbearing, egotistical hunk of a man . . .
“Come, my lady – don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what it’s like to live outside the lines your writer has given you.”
He gestured to the gentleman behind the bar for another round. Mary twisted herself around to shake her head at the man but he was already gone. Damn. She turned back to D. He was still talking. Well, he certainly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, didn’t he? Too bad she did, too.
“She doesn’t give me – I mean, she’s very good at interpreting my story–”
“Don’t you want to feel for yourself? Feel alive in ways no one else can possibly imagine?”
Mary had a hot denial at the ready but paused. She lifted the new glass of Chardonnay and eyed D over the rim. He had a point.
But he was far too pleased with himself to give in.
She touched her lips to the glass – just a small taste this time. Her cheeks were already flushed with the heat of the alcohol and it would not do to let that heat encourage those ridiculously blue eyes any further than she already had.
“I suppose you can help me do that, then?”
A slow, wicked smile spread over the man’s face and his eyes drifted to her lips. A cool tingle of wine still lingered there and Mary resisted the urge to lick them.
This was not fair. What was it about Druids that made them special? Was it magic? 1WriteWay should have warned her to brush up on her history before allowing this date to happen. And that A – she had a lot to answer for, letting this man loose.
“Not magic, my lady – just several centuries of watching man’s progress and interaction with one another.”
“Oh.” Mary frowned. Had she said that out loud? She didn’t remember speaking. No more Chardonnay. “You know, you’re making this very difficult for me.”
“And what could I do to make it better for you? I do only wish to please.”
“Why is it when you say that, it sounds so . . . so . . . naughty?”
“Only if you wish it so, my lady.”
“Why, I – Oh for heaven’s sake, put on a shirt.”
The Druid burst out laughing and Mary covered her cheeks with her hands. Her face was burning.
“Alas, all I have is a rag from my days as a pirate – I did not wish to embarrass you with my poor wardrobe.”
“Pirate?” Mary fanned her cheeks. Visions of swashbuckling heroes flickered through her mind.
No. No swashbuckling. No pillaging of her honor. No. No. No. Overbearing, that’s what he was. Overbearing, egotistical and . . . and . . . deeply affecting . . . No!
Mary gave herself a mental shake. Chauvinistic. Yes, that was it.
Perhaps his naked torso was better. “Maybe, um, you could just button up your coat,” she muttered.
“As my lady desires.”
“And stop with that – my lady this, my desires that. My name is Mary, and I would prefer you use it.”
D bowed his head. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was laughing silently. His eyes were far too merry for him not to be. Honestly, this was just too much.
“And what’s this about not wishing to embarrass me? Quite frankly D, I think you’re enjoying my discomfort far too much. My God, if Randy ever said—What? Why are you laughing?”
“Your lover’s name is Randy?”
“Yes?”
D was giggling into his stout. Giggling.
Druids shouldn’t giggle, Mary thought as she sipped her Chardonnay.
“I’m sorry, my lady – much of my life was spent in the British Isles,” he said. He was gulping at the air, trying to catch his breath.
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Oh well, it’s just that – excuse me – the word ‘randy’—“
God, he was snorting now. Mary rolled her eyes.
“The word ‘randy’ is slang for – for–” The Druid took a deep breath and managed to compose himself. He arched an eyebrow at her but the effect was lost in his ruddy face and the tears that were still coursing down his cheeks. “For the sexually excited – well, for you my lady.”
His smile turned into a leer and he reached for her hand again.
“Why, you conceited pig! You are the worst kind of – of man!”
Mary yanked her hand from his heated paw and bolted from her seat with enough force to rock the chair on two legs. D stared up at her and she thought she caught a glimmer of surprise in his face before the mask of suave confidence smoothed his features.
“I am the only kind of man—“
Before he could even finish the sentence, Mary smashed the bouquet of roses in his face and stomped to the door. Of all the—1WriteWay owed her for this, that was for damn certain.
But even as she reached the door, the Druid’s words echoed in her head. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what it’s like to live outside the lines.” She paused, her hand wrapped around the handle. She did wonder.
Against her better judgment, Mary spared the Druid a glance over her shoulder.
Oh, for the love of—not only had the waitress rushed to his aid, but D was also smiling graciously at the barman as he stooped to clear the scattered rose petals. As she watched, D turned those deep bedroom eyes on the girl until she twirled her hair.
Honestly. Man or woman, it didn’t matter to that randy—Mary caught herself and grinned. It was funny – somewhat. Perhaps she should go home and teach Randy what his name really meant.
Broken
I am a collector of broken things. Usually I’m the one who did the breaking – butterfingers is a kind term for what happens when breakable objects come within reach of my hands. And broken things linger; I have a spot for them – a home – to wait until I get around to applying the glue that will make them whole again. It can take years before that happens, however. Once broken, it takes me a long time to find edges that match and patterns that connect. The piece waits to tell its story.
This is the story of a book I broke.
I didn’t know I was doing it at the time. In fact, I thought I was fixing it. I thought that the character that had been handed to me would make the book. I thought he would save it.
I wasn’t fond of him, that Druid interloper, but as his story spun itself out in my head, I knew he belonged. It was his story, just as much as it was mine – just as much as it was the story of the characters that populated it long before he made his appearance.
So I broke it – even as I kept writing the second and then the third book in the series, I was working with a mutilated thing, a limping shadow. It had so much potential, but I couldn’t find it. He felt out of place, as though he hadn’t had time to come to love the other characters as I did. And they – well, they resented him almost as much as I did. His edges and patterns did not match. I was afraid they never would.
I relegated it to a dusty corner of my mind, to wait with all the other broken things, until I could see it fully. It took a decade.
When the Druid stepped out of that corner, fully himself, I realized the book could be whole again. I sat down right away and started typing. I called it a revision at first, but it became obvious, as I wrote in my 500-word-a-day chunks, that it was more than that. I was putting the story back together, the way it was supposed to be told.
The edges – where the Druid started and the story he adopted ended – were mended. The patterns – the weave of his life as it affected the clan who made him – burned brightly. Instead of a jumble of pieces, it became a tapestry. Each thread was lovely but the tale they told left me breathless. Good or not – quality fiction or not – that it gave itself to me, and waited for me to fix it, means a great deal to me.
The story that was broken is now whole – and I love it. I even admire, just a little, the Druid who trusted me enough to wait until I was ready. Thanks, D.
This was for Prompts for the Promptless at Queen Creative: Kintsukuroi is a Japanese noun meaning “to repair with gold”; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.
Check out these other “Broken” prompts:
- And What a Story it is @ TheMatticusKingdom: http://thematticuskingdom.wordpress.com/2013/10/16/and-what-a-story-it-is/
- Modified Choka @ Bastet and Sekhmet: http://bastetandsekhmet.wordpress.com/2013/10/16/modified-choka-kintsukuroi/
- Fish with Gold @ Fish of Gold http://fishofgold.net/2013/10/16/fish-with-gold/
The Druid Asks the Questions of Briana Vedsted
A: D. D, put down the hat.
D: What are you talking about? Briana’s coming!
A: Yes, but she does write other things besides westerns featuring Billy the Kid. Besides, the hat just looks–
D: Don’t you say it, A. Billy liked it, and that makes it just fine.
A: Whatever. Just make sure you don’t smack Briana in the face with the fringe on your shirt.
D: (eye roll). As if it were long enough to do that, sheesh. With that, ladies and gents, it is my great pleasure to welcome to the D/A Dialogues, Ms. Briana Vedsted.
D: You are a prolific writer, Ms. Vedsted – tell us a little bit about your upcoming novel, Me and Billy the Kid.
B: Me and Billy the Kid is fictitious tale about the infamous western outlaw Billy the Kid and some other characters from the time, including Jesse Evans, Richard Brewer, and the legendary Sherriff Pat Garrett. New to the tale is Billy’s young girlfriend, Angel, who quickly becomes the object of Garrett’s fascination.
D: I hear you have a publisher for Billy – what has been your experience with indie publishing versus traditional publishing?
B: Tate Publishing, the company who I’m working with for Billy, is more of a vanity press, and so far, I admit that indie publishing is my favorite. It’s a lot more stress-free and I have more control. I still have my hopes on publishing the traditional route one day, but for now, self publishing is the best I’ve found.
D: Where do your characters come from? Are they people you’ve known all your life, did they come knocking on your mind’s door, demanding to be written, or is it a combination of all of that?
B: My characters are a combination of people I know and people that just popped into my head. It is by far easier to take real life people I know and make them into characters, for me. With most of my characters who are imaginary, I usually see them very clearly when I start writing, but after awhile, appearance starts to change and I have to make a list of each color’s eye color, hair color, age, etc.
D: Of all your characters, who would you rather spend a day with? What would you do?
B: I would of course love to spend a day with Billy the Kid! Even though my character is slightly different from the really William H. Bonney, to be able to hang out with a legendary old west cowboy would be amazing. And I would just sit and listen to him talk all day long. I’d want to hear the stories he could tell!
D: Who is your least favorite character? Who, if they were to be in the middle of a stampede of cattle, would you save last?
B: The character I’d let the cattle trample would probably be Maggie, the main character in The Untold Story of Margaret Hearst, alias Maugrim Valletta (a.k.a. The Ballad of Margaret Hearst). She’s a foolish, rebellious teenage girl who falls in love with the wrong man and does everything she can to be with him. She is the only character I have that I don’t like. And actually, she turned out just the way I planned. I think I hoped she would have developed a new personality, but alas, she was a very obedient character and went alone without arguing.
D: What genre would you like to try – if you haven’t already?
B: I’ve actually tried writing every genre I could think of. But so far, my favorites are fantasy and western.
D: I hear there is a vampire-and werewolf-like story in your future? Care to share a spoiler-free sneak peek?
B: Here with the Wolves is about werewolves and the human-like Slayers who kill them to protect humans. Here’s a piece from the first book in the series:
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Ness, the conquering hero.”
My hand dropped to my knife blade, and I had to remember that it was kind of illegal for an alpha to kill a member of her pack, no matter how annoying he was.
“Hello Malcolm.” I turned to face the dark faced aggressor. His blue eyes took in my bloody appearance, my bandaged arm, and the don’t-mess-with-me-right-now-or-I-just-might-rip-your-head-off look with amusement.
“I guess I was wrong about you: you were able to kill a wolf after all.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Was Malcolm actually giving me a complement?
Then he opened his infuriating mouth again, “Or did Kenneth do it for you? Were you scared? However did you manage to spend three whole nights out in the woods? Did you have to borrow your little brother’s teddy bear, or maybe his security blanket, huh?”
He laughed coldly, and again, the only thing keeping his head on his shoulders was Dustin’s hand on my arm.
Kenneth started to stick up for me, but I waved him away. I wanted to show him I could handle myself. I shook off Dustin’s arm and stepped right up in front of Malcolm. The sound of my own voice surprised me, it was so low and gravely, I don’t think it even belonged to me. “As your Alpha, I command you to hold your tongue. If anyone is going to do any lecturing, it will be me. Unless you are severing the bond, bow before me so as to prove your loyalty to our pack.” This was the first time I’d ever pushed anyone. Never before had I summoned up my alpha ability of dominance to order anyone around.
And now Malcolm was faced with a dilemma. He could choose not to bow (which I probably would have done) and be turned out of his pack (okay, maybe I would have bowed, for Kenneth’s sake), or he could bow to his mortal enemy and remain in the pack.
He chose the second option.
Falling to the ground, Malcolm groveled. (It was a bit much, in my opinion.)
Embarrassed and a bit ashamed for pushing him so harshly, I cleared my throat, “Uh, okay then. Rise Malcolm. You have proven your loyalty.”
Blue eyes like daggers, his dark face shockingly pale with humiliation, Malcolm got to his feet. His voice dripped poison as he said, “I honor no alpha but Kenneth. The day his reign is over, I’ll come after your life.”
D: Thank you for sharing that with us, Briana. How much of your family’s work on its ranch has influenced your storytelling?
B: All I know about horses and cattle I learned from experience. Living on my family’s ranch has helped inspire the majority of my stores, western or other genres. Ranching can be a dangerous occupation. I know what it feels like to get bucked off a horse, come face-to-face with a lion, and get lost in the middle of nowhere. Great joy comes with the territory, as well, and so does sorrow. Living the life I do has given me lots of opportunities, and I try my hardest to accurately describe all events I write about.
D: A and I both loved your post I am an Author. What advice would you give to other young and aspiring authors out there.
B: Really the only thing I would say is that you’ve got to love this craft. I mean it. If you don’t love writing, it might be the wrong job for you. But if you do love it, then just keep writing. Everything gets better with practice. Yes, there will be naysayers along the way, but you have to be strong.
D: All right, Briana – I love asking this question of people who have a myriad of characters at their disposal: It’s a Druid showdown – me vs. a character of your choice. Who do you think can take this time-travelling Pict warrior down?
B: I’m going to have to say Kenneth, alpha of the Slayer pack from Here with the Wolves. He’s the most level-headed character I’ve ever come up with, and a born fighter. I’m not sure he could actually take you down, D, but he is an archer, as well as an extremely good swordsman. And if necessary, he’s all for flaunting his martial arts skills. If you bother his protégée, Ness, be prepared to face the wrath of Kenneth!
D: Yikes, I think I’ll leave Ness alone!
Well, there you have it folks, Ms. Briana Vedsted. To learn more about Briana and her work, head over to When I Became an Author. You can also buy her books, The Night I Walked Off Boot Hill, A Girl Named Cord and The Ballad of Margaret Hearst
on Amazon.
Me and Billy the Kid will be released on November 5, 2013.
Related articles
- The Druid asks the Questions – Michael S. Fedison (dadialogues.wordpress.com)
- The Druid Asks the Questions – Charles E. Yallowitz (dadialogues.wordpress.com)
- The Druid asks the Questions – Marie Ann Bailey (dadialogues.wordpress.com)
- The Billy the Kid and D Files – Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Writing with myself
D: A? A, where are you? A, we have a post to write.
A: (muffled) I’m over here.
D: What are you doing over there? How did you manage to get in there, anyway? Is that a – wait, I don’t want to know what that is.
A: I’m hiding.
D: Did they finally finger you in the cookie caper?
A: Huh? Have you been reading crime noir again?
D: Maybe.
A: Okay, well you can go back to that. I’m good here.
D: No, you’re not. That looks awfully cramped, and I’m not sure your neck is supposed to bend at that angle. What are you hiding from, anyway?
A: Myself.
D: . . . You never cease to amaze me, A—
A: Why, thank you D.
D: I wasn’t done. You never cease to amaze me with the depths of your madness.
A: Why, thank you D.
D: (eye roll). Why are you hiding from yourself?
A: It’s either hide or reach through the mists of time and wring my neck. I’m thinking hiding is better.
D: . . .
A: It’s not right, D! It’s not right what I do during hand edits. Why don’t you stop me?!
D: Because it’s really funny.
A: . . . Letting me write notes to myself is funny? Not editing a few pages and then leaving me a pithy note saying “You’ll know what to do…” is amusing?
D: Well, when you say it in that tone of voice, no. But at the time, it was hilarious.
A: It’s not fair, that’s what it is – I don’t remember what I write during hand edits D. It’s like Christmas every time I turn a page to see what I did with it. When I see a blank page, I start to wonder if maybe I was just being lazy. When I see a blank page with a ‘love note’ from myself, I start to wonder if maybe I was really a sadomasochist with a death wish.
D: So that’s why you were yelling at the draft yesterday.
A: Yep.
D: Did you fix the scene?
A: (deep breath) Yep.
D: Well then there you go. You knew you could do it.
A: Don’t push it.
D: I would also like to point out that I have as much control over editing you as I do over writing you.
A: I suppose.
D: I mean, you whip out that red pen and all hell breaks loose on the page. I run when that happens A. It’s safer.
A: Coward.
D: Yep. Now what are you waiting for? Haven’t you read the part where you told yourself to re-write the first six chapters of the next section? Time to get writing, woman.
A: I did what?
D: You haven’t gotten to that note?
A: No.
D: So, I think I hear the kettle boiling. Or the doorbell – yeah, that’s it. Will you excuse–
A: D, where do you think you’re goi–
D: Sorry, have to run – it’s been swell! See you, A!
Seriously, I should not leave notes to myself in my edits, even if it is my own personal form of time travel. It’s just not nice, plus it’s a bad writing habit and more than a little lazy. Luckily, it’s fairly harmless (unless I do figure out how to reach back and wring my neck. Then I’m in trouble). What is your worst, funny and harmless, bad habit?
October 13 Prompt – Yesterday
Here it is, the prompt for the Week of October 13 – Yesterday.
A Date with the Druid, Part 1
It all started when Marie Ann Bailey, at 1WriteWay, agreed to allow D to interview her. He somehow got it into his head that one of her characters, Mary, was a suitable focus for his attention. After much begging–
D: A.
A: Sorry. After much pleading–
D: A!
A: Fine. After subtly insinuating that perhaps he could entertain the lady for an evening, Marie and I granted D and Mary a chance to get outside our heads for a date. This is what happens. . .
A Date with the Druid, Part 1
Mary stood in front of the dark wooden door. The glass inset was opaque and tinted green so she couldn’t see through to the interior of the pub. She took a deep breath, pulled her mirror out of her Louis Vuitton knock-off wallet purse, and took one last look at herself. The streetlamp behind her set a halo about her short salt-and-pepper hair. Her face was in shadow. She sighed.
“Well, I promised her one date,” she muttered to herself as she clasped the door handle. “One date … with a Druid.” Mary pulled at the door, releasing heat scented with body odor and beer. She wrinkled her nose and walked in.
The pub was lively, with nearly every round table filled with people eating, drinking and talking, seemingly all at once. The bar before her was lined with every manner of backs and butts. Most of those at the bar were focused on the soccer game playing out on a telly stuck high up in a corner. The hazy yellow light of the dirty overhead lamps cast everyone and everything in a dull glow. It seemed that no one had noticed her walking in, and yet she felt eyes on her.
Off to her left, there was a sense of someone watching. She turned and there, in a corner, sitting alone but for a bouquet of red and white roses and a pint of dark ale, was he. The Druid. The … man … that Mary had agreed to meet. He stood up as Mary approached the table. Oh my, she thought, he’s taller than I imagined.
His hair was long and dark and, to her relief, he wore clothes, a long dark coat and pants. Mary had only seen the drawing of the Druid on The D/A Dialogues and had been anxious that he would show up dressed, or undressed rather, pretty much as he was in the drawing. The Druid looked down at Mary and smiled, his dark eyes peering into her blue. Mary felt her knees ready to buckle.
“Hi! You must be D!” Mary knew her voice was a bit too loud as she thrust her hand out in front of her.
The Druid’s smile deepened. He took her hand but instead of shaking it, as he knew Mary expected him to, he gently turned it and kissed the top. Her skin was cool, no doubt from the chilly night air outside the pub, but his lips were warm. Mary shivered slightly with the kiss and firmly but slowly withdrew her hand.
D pulled a chair out for her and, with a slight nervous laugh, Mary sat down. God, I’m acting like a schoolgirl, she thought as the Druid took a seat to her right.
“What would you have to drink, my lady?” He still had that all-knowing smile, as if he could read her thoughts. Mary started to feel annoyed. She was in love with Randy. No Druid, no matter how tall, dark and well-muscled, could interfere with that. Not to mention that he was much too old for her, several centuries too old.
“A glass of Chardonnay, thank you.” She smiled back at him, revealing her perfect white teeth. The Druid snapped his fingers, ordered another pint for himself, the Chardonnay for Mary when the server came. Then he leaned in.
“I’ve heard so much about you. You are more beautiful than my imagination allowed. You remind me of a wench … I mean, a woman I knew, oh, a couple of centuries ago. She was feisty, very independent. But she could not resist me.” He gave her a large smile, revealing his perfect white teeth. Mary bristled.
“Really, I … is that a compliment, somehow?”
“Oh, indeed, my good lady. Ah, here are our drinks.” He paused to attend to the bill, and Mary was relieved that he wasn’t running a tab. She didn’t want to have to deal with a drunk Druid.
“So how is it a compliment? I mean, really, we’ve only just met and yet you imply that I will not be able to resist you.”
The Druid leaned back in his chair, his dark woolen coat falling open, revealing his broad, toned, naked chest. Mary grabbed her Chardonnay and took a big gulp. I love Randy, I love Randy, she started chanting in her head.
“The only woman I know that has so far resisted me is A, and I believe that’s simply because I live in her head. One cannot have an affair with a figment of one’s imagination. However …” The Druid leaned forward and grabbed Mary’s hand. “However, since we are both figments of imagination …”
Mary pulled her hand away so abruptly that she almost knocked her wine over.
“Nevertheless,” she said as she tried to steady her breathing. “I am in love with someone. I am not about to cheat on him.”
The Druid picked up the bouquet of roses and held them out to her. “Has your lover ever given you flowers as beautiful as these? Has his lips burned a kiss onto your hand, as I have. Oh, yes, dear lady, I felt you shiver with that kiss.”
Mary took another gulp of wine. She was going to have to have a long talk with 1WriteWay, her author. She studied her glass, wondering why it was empty so quickly and, more importantly, how to extricate herself from this large, overbearing, egotistical hunk of a man.
Will Mary yield to the … charms (?) of the Druid? Will the Druid find him with wilted roses and a glass of Chardonnay thrown in his face? Will either character ever speak to their authors again? Let us know what you think, dear Reader. Where should this story go?
Terrifically told tales
A: So, how did your little boy’s night with Charlie go?
D: I’m not talking to you.
A: Then you won’t mind if I start the tale-telling?
D: What? Of course I mind! It’s Wednesday – that’s Druid’s Day, not A’s day to steal D’s thunder day.
A: Is Druid’s day anything like Durin’s Day?
D: . . .
A: Well?
D: I refuse to encourage you.
A: Like I need any help from you, Druid.
Read
A: First, go buy, and then go read, Echoes in Darkness. Andra at the Accidental Cootchie Mama, as well as several other wonderful writers (we’re looking at you Kate Shrewsday, among others!) contributed to this collection and you need to buy it now.
D: While A is a little on the demanding side, I must concur. There’s also this new phenomena called “Read Tuesday” it’s rather like Black Friday, but better.
A: I should hope so. I mean, I love shopping and all, but I’m not really down with trampling three old ladies and kid in a wheelchair just to get my hands on the latest gigipet-elmo-bracelet weaver hybrid toy. Those wheels hurt and don’t get me started on Grandma.
D: Are you quite finished?
A: Certainly, D – please, go on.
D: (Sigh) Head on over to Read Tuesday to find out what it is and what you can do to make it a success.
A: Well, that was rather anti-climactic.
D: (growl)
Wowzers
A: Since D is growling and that is a little more than horrific, check out Jack Flacco’s weekly feature, Women Who Wow. For the month of October he’s featuring women of the horror genre who really have it.
D: Also stop by The Literary Syndicate for Papi Z’s daily review of all things horror. The list so far. . .
Interviews
D: Since A is slow and tardy and all around a p—
A: Watch it, Druid.
D: Since A has been delayed in getting questions out to my potential interviewees, please enjoy this interview of SK Nicholls by Marie Ann Bailey, at 1WriteWay.
Out and About
A: Our dear friend, and one of the few people who can make D behave, Briana Vedsted will be having her very first book signing on November 16. If you find yourself in Cortez Colorado on November 16, stop by the local library!
D: Woo hoo!
A: There you have it, folks – the praise of a Druid. Don’t get too loquacious on me, D.
D: (Snarl).
Check it out
A: I’m not really sure if he’s thinking the snarling and growling are good things. Regardless, as he’s off being a cave man sort, this one is for the ladies – check out The Nongenue. Because as they say, being a girl really isn’t pretty, but with these ladies, it is really really funny.
Just for Fun: Shopping
D: Cave man indeed . . .hmph. Two can play at this game. Want to know the most random shopping list I ever witnessed A create? No really, this one was beyond the beyond.
A: It was for a Halloween party, D.
D: You mean every day isn’t Halloween for you? I’ll have you know that Griffin Guts and Toe Jam are NOT a herb-crusted cheese ball with Tomato jam.
A: I don’t want to know how you know that. What about Dried Dragon Snot?
D: Oh A, everyone knows there’s no such thing as Dried Dragon Snot.
A: But the Griffins—
D: Dragon snot does dry, A. It burns. Forevermore.
A: This random bit of nonsense was brought to you by Prompts for the Promptless: Shopping! Visit Queen Creative today to read others!
D: Some of our favorites included
- Don’t Forget the Soap http://thematticuskingdom.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/dont-forget-the-soap/
- Listmania http://manresamaine.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/listmania/
- Shopping List http://suestrifles.wordpress.com/2013/10/09/shopping-list/
A: You heard it folks, endorsed by a Druid. Go. Read!
D: Don’t forget the Community storyboard prompt for this week, One Day!
A: And finally, a poem from another set of prompts, Friday Fictioneers, that really caught my attention. It speaks to what can lurk in the heart of an artist. Head over to Being the Memoirs of Helena-Hann Basquiat for The Sound Your Heart Makes.
D: Funny, I don’t have anything snarky to say to this.
A: It’s either a sign of the end –times, or a sign that it’s time to wrap this up. Good night, folks!
The D/A Dialogues 
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