ISWG Wednesday First Post: The Story's the Thing

 

The awesome co-hosts for the December 6 posting of the IWSG are C. Lee McKenzie, JQ Rose, Jennifer Lane, and Jacqui Murray!

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say. 

Remember, the question is optional! 

December 6 question: Book reviews are for the readers. When you leave a book review do you review for the Reader or the Author? Is it about what you liked and enjoyed about your reading experience, or do you critique the author? 

I always try to review the book. If there is something I think the author did particularly well, I will point that out. For the most part, though, the book is the thing.

Speaking of books, Book 4 in the Deliverers Series is complete. I am currently rereading, proofreading and editing it prior to sending it out to my beta readers after the first of the year. If anyone out there would like to be a beta reader and perhaps post a review on Goodreads, please reach out in the comments section. 

Deliverers 4: Chapter 6--Tavern Talk

On the night before my first show in forever (CT Renaissance Faire), here's the 6th chapter of my current work in progress, The Deliverers 4: Sparkling Mist of Time.

Matty’s mother got them what she called “some appropriate attire,” (which meant a linen shirt, cloth vest, and brown breeches for Eric and a homespun dress and bonnet for Kate.) and put them right to work. Eric was sent to chop wood to feed the fires in the kitchen and the taproom while Kate served drinks and meals to guests. After he was through chopping, Eric was sent to help Matty pour drinks. The taproom had filled up as the afternoon went on and soon it was filled with the buzz of conversation.

As they worked, both Kate and Eric kept their ears open for any information regarding the movements of the British but heard none. Most of the talk was about the harvest and the weather. Prospects for the upcoming winter appeared bleak.

“Aye, geese have headed south early this year,” one farmer muttered into his beer. “They don’t hang about when cold weather’s nigh. We’ll be gettin’ frost soon enough, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“You’re right enough about that, I’ll warrant Sam,” another said. “But I’ll take the cold over what I heard’s on its way.”

“What’s that, Nathaniel?” Sam asked.

“Now don’t tell me you haven’t heard the rumors from down Norfield Parish way,” Nathaniel replied.

“Well, I heard some talk about King George’s regulars makin’ raids and such down county, but I didn’t put much stock in it—especially after I heard some other rot.”

Here Eric, who had been sweeping nearby, pricked up his ears.

“And what rot would that be Sam?” Nathaniel asked.

“Well that good King George has enlisted spirits to fight for him or some such,” Sam scoffed. “Talk is they come screechin’ outta Devil’s Den. That can’t be right. The only spirits I’ve ever heard tell of were behind the church on Cemetary Hill, but I ain’t ever seen ‘em. It’s just stuff our mams used to frighten us when we were lads.”

“Aye, that may be true enough Sam, but the other day I had a visit from my brother who lives down on the coast in Norwalk. He said that the British had attacked Fairfield and burned the town, or part of it anyway.”

“They never,” Sam said. “Why would the King’s troops attack Connecticut? We haven’t made any trouble, not like those rabble rousers in Massachusetts or Pennsylvania. Why would King George want to bother with us?”

“There’s some that would not take kindly to that sort of talk,” Nathaniel growled. “We can’t let ol’ George and his lobsterbacks keep pushing us around, I say.”

“And there’s some that would call that kind of talk treason, Nathaniel Goodbody,” Sam snarled back.

“All right, all right, calm yourself,” Nathaniel replied. “I’m not tryin’ to pick a quarrel with you Sam Wainwright. I’m only tellin’ you what my brother told me, but you haven’t let me tell you the strangest part.”

“And what might that be, pray?”

“These lobsterbacks, oh all right have it your way,” he spluttered, catching Sam’s look. “These British regulars are being led by a blue man.”

“Blue man? What kind of rubbish is that?” Sam cried, smacking his pewter mug down on the table.

“My brother says it ain’t rubbish,” Nathaniel countered. “They’ve hit a good many towns. The blue man is all sparkly and leads a troop of spirit soldiers—the Ghost Brigade folk’re callin’ them.”

At the mention of the sparkling blue man, Eric’s stomach churned, and his knees shook. This was definitely not normal. He kept sweeping, fighting the urge to run and tell Kate.

“The ghost what?” Sam asked incredulously.

“The Ghost Brigade,” Nathaniel repeated. “The spirits are all sparkly, too—walk around in a mist that glimmers like fireflies. Folk say they’re the spirits of the dead what deserted from the French an’ Indian wars an’ were hung for it. They pop up in the night or the early morning, scare the dickens out of everyone an’ then the regular troops rush in, secure the town, burn part of it if there’s any resistance, an’ then pop up in another town a few days later and do the same thing all over again. Word is they’re headed this way fast.”

Sam stared at him as if he had sprouted wings. “Nat Goodbody, have you taken leave of your senses? You’d best get back to mending the roof of your house. You’ve had a drop too much to drink, I’m thinking. We’d both best be getting on home, any road. Hey lad, what do we owe you?”

“Uh, one and six,” Eric stammered.

“Here y’are,” Sam said handing him some coins as he and Nathaniel rose unsteadily from their chairs. “Keep the change, but you’d best hide it under your mattress. Don’t want any Ghost Brigade to get their hands on it, haw, haw!”

The two men lurched out the front door as Eric rushed to find Kate.

The Deliverers 4: Chapter 5--Keller Tavern

The tavern looked like a large, rambling colonial house. It had several brick chimneys that rose up above the gray slate roof tiles at odd intervals. The two story building was clad in white clapboards. Green shutters flanked each of the many windows that looked out on the street. A square, painted sign depicting a rider on a horse stood on a post in front. Eric still could not believe how unchanged it was from his own century.

A sturdy carriage with a team of horses harnessed to it stood in the road in front of the tavern. The driver looked down at Eric and Kate disinterestedly as they went through the gate in the white picket fence that lined the road and approached the large green front door. Eric turned the worn brass doorknob and pushed the door open.

The hum of leisurely conversation and the slightly sweet scent of pipe tobacco washed over them as they stepped inside the foyer. Directly in front of them was a staircase leading to the guest bedrooms. On their right was a closed door. To their left through a wide, open doorway they could see tables and chairs and a fire crackling in a field stone fireplace beyond. It was from this room that the talk and the tobacco smoke emanated.

Suddenly, there was a banging and scraping from upstairs and three men in embroidered silk coats, white wigs and tri-corner hats came scrambling down the staircase. Pushing past Eric and Kate, they pulled open the door and hurried out to the carriage. As they left, one of them called back over his shoulder. “Hurry with that baggage, boy. We have to be in Hartford by dark.”

Eric and Kate turned and saw a trunk and several other pieces of luggage with legs teetering down the stairs. “Coming good sirs!” the baggage called. Under its breath it muttered, “If you swine carried your own bags, you might get out of here all the quicker.”

“Uh, hey, need a hand?” Eric asked.

The baggage stopped in the middle of the flight of stairs and a boy’s face peeped around the edge. He looked to be about the same age as Eric and Kate. His brown hair was tied back in a small pony tail. Stray wisps trailed across his pale face.

“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there,” he said. “Yes, I would gladly accept a hand, as many as you can spare. Thank you.”

Eric and Kate both relieved the boy of part of his load. Together they carried it all out to the carriage. Two of the men had already entered and settled themselves. The other waited for them at the rear, hands on hips.

“Make haste. We are already behind schedule thanks to the muddle at breakfast!”

The boy began strapping the luggage to the rear of the carriage with large leather straps and brass buckles. Apparently he did not do it fast enough to suit the man who pushed him aside and fastened the buckles himself. After tugging on the load, he gave a nod of satisfaction and alighted into the carriage without even looking at them. He gave a shout to the driver who snapped the reins and they were off with a pounding of hooves and a cloud of dust.

The boy snorted as he watched them go. “Humph, not so much as a farthing tip, ungrateful wretches.” He turned to them. “Hello, I am grateful for your help. My name’s Mathias. Welcome to Keller Tavern.”

A Writer's Week #120: An Illustration in Progress

 Hey there, everybody. As I've noted here in my previous posts, I've partnered with Boston illustrator Emily Hurst Pritchett to produce new covers and maps for the first three books in the Deliverers Series. I'm hoping to have the completed cover any day now, and I'm on pins and needles with excitement and anticipation. So much so, that I've let my writing completely slide.

I'm finding it hard to concentrate because I'm thinking of everything I'll have to update once I have the finished cover. First, I'll be redesigning the blog to whatever color scheme will match the cover. I'll also have to change the blog's title and graphics. I'll also have to update the interior of the book, the cover and interior for the Kindle version, and the audiobook cover. I'll also have to redo the book trailer. I've always been proud of the original as it's the first video I ever produced:

Actually, while all this is true, I have to admit the real reason I haven't been writing is that I've got a massive case of writer's block. I've never really had trouble in this area before. Usually I'll puzzle over a sticky situation for a couple of days--no more than a week--and get back on track, but this has been going on for over a month. Part of it is due to distraction, but most of it is because there's a major plot twist, and I just can't work out exactly how the rest of the book will play out. Hopefully, I'll get it sorted out soon and will be able to move forward quickly.

Anyway, here is a look at the final two cover choices I picked out of the half dozen or so that Emily presented to me:

These are both extremely rough, but you get the idea. I won't tell you which one I picked. We'll save that for when I have the final version!

The Deliverers 4: Chapter 3 -- Brave, Old World

As soon as they were through, the door disappeared, just as it always did. Eric surveyed the landscape.

They were standing next to a stream that was bordered on the left by a steep grass-covered rise and on the right by a dusty dirt road. It was fall—the leaves on the trees off in the distance were a fiery mix of red, yellow and orange.

A few large oaks bordered the road, but the nearby area was mostly farmland. Stone walls marked off fields. On the ridge above them a herd of brown cattle grazed.

“This is your world, any idea where we’re at, laddie?” Hallo asked.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” Eric replied. “If this is the Revolution, then it’s almost 250 years before I was born.” Just thinking about the meaning of that was creeping Eric out.

The sight of the hill, the stream and the road gave him a funny feeling. It all seemed so different, and yet familiar…then it hit him.

“Hey guys, I think this is my stream.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked.

“Well, there’s a stream a lot like this one that flows through my front yard, right by the state highway,” Eric explained. “And there’s a hill that leads up to the yard on the other side.”

“Ah yes, I think I see what you mean,” said Stig, who had been to Eric’s house before. “That’s the hill you had to blunder down to get to the drainpipe, only now there are no trees or undergrowth and the state highway is just a dirt track.”

“Oh wow,” Kate gasped. “Very weird.”

“Yeah, real freaky,” Eric agreed. “Hey, my house was only built 50 years ago. I wonder what was there before.”

“It seems to me you’ve been given a unique opportunity to find out,” Stig said.

“Well, what’re we waitin’ for?” Hallo asked. “Lead the way, laddie. Let’s see what the ol’ homestead looks like.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Eric said.

With Eric in the lead, they all crossed the stream and climbed over a stone wall. Eric was gripped by a strange sense of unreality as he walked up what would have been his driveway toward his house. But there was neither driveway nor house. Instead, he saw a meadow where cows were grazing on thistles and dry autumn grass. A few fields away was a small farmhouse, wisps of gray smoke rising from its chimney.

Eric’s legs went a little wobbly. This was a little too much to take.

“Oh man, this is messed up,” Eric said. “My yard is a cattle field.”

“That farm reminds me a little of home,” Kate said. “I kind of like your world, Eric.”

Eric gave a weak smile. “Um, well Calendria sort of reminded me of descriptions of the American colonies during the Revolution, but I never thought I’d actually get a chance to find out for sure.”

“I say, it must be quite a shock to you my boy,” Stig said. “But I really think we should see about finding someone who can get us up to date on what’s been happening around here—er, no pun intended.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be good,” Eric agreed, nodding absently.

“Which way to town?” Stig asked.

“Town? Um, uh it’s that way,” he said, pointing vaguely toward the road.

Stig flapped his wings. “Splendid! Then I daresay we should be off.”

The owl took to the air and Kate turned and started back the way they had come.

Hallo took Eric gently by the arm. “Come on lad, ya can’t stand around lookin’ for what won’t be here for a couple hundred years, don’t ya know. Let’s be off.”

They headed down the hill to the road together.

A Writer's Week #119: Drawing Up a Plan

 Since I've resumed posting this year, I've been talking about refreshing the Deliverers Series brand in order to breathe new life into the books ahead of the intended release of Book 4 by the end of 2023. The refresh will include a redesign of the blog, including a new propriety domain name, new book trailers, and new marketing.

The biggest and most important change is going to be a complete redesign of the books themselves. That includes new cover illustrations, titles, maps, chapter heading illustrations, and chapter title fonts. I searched for an illustrator for a while, and I found a cracking good one. Her name is Emily Hurst Pritchett, and she is based in Boston. She is a seasoned illustrator with a number of book covers to her credit, along with numerous other projects each year.

I really love her illustrations, and I think her style is perfect for the series. She's already started on Sharky and the Jewel. Artwork for all three books should be completed by early summer. Here are several examples of her work:

Here's the bio from her website:

Emily was raised on a steady diet of animation and comic books that built her love of storytelling through art. She studied illustration at Brigham Young University. She has illustrated picture books, middle-grade books, and role-playing game materials, including three Christmas books and two Christmas projects based on Dungeons and Dragons. She especially enjoys working on any fantasy story.

Emily currently lives in Boston with her husband and two children, where she enjoys sketching the interesting characters she meets on the street and admiring old churches. She fills her time with reading, video games, Dungeons & Dragons, and acting in community theater. Her dream is to travel through Italy, where she will also sketch interesting characters and admire old churches.

Check out her collaboration with her husband Luke, a physicist and aspiring poet, at haiku.emilypritchettart.com. 

In my next post I'll share some proposal sketches that Emily prepared from which I chose a couple to work up into more polished samples.
 

The Deliverers 4: Chapter 2 -- Back, Back, Back

The Hallway of Worlds had not changed. The red-carpeted corridor stretched on seemingly forever to his left and right. Identical rectangular doors with panes of frosted glass in their upper halves lined the Hallway. Behind him, he knew, his own door had changed back to resemble the others—it always did. Golden chandeliers hung at intervals from the ceiling, their many candles burning without a flicker in the still air.

Without warning, a desk materialized on his right. It was littered with papers and files. A quill was stuck in a jar of India ink. Behind the desk stood the smiling figure of an old man. He was dressed in blue shimmering robes and wore a conical blue hat with golden stars and moons on it. Blue eyes twinkled behind gold wire rimmed spectacles and his long white beard cascaded over the front of his robes.

Darting around the desk with no hint of age, the old man embraced Eric roughly. “Hello my boy, so good to see you. Happy birthday, by the way. The others should be here shortly. Things are moving so quickly that I sent Stig to Calendria to get the others while I called you. Oh yes, here they come now.”

Eric turned and saw his friends hurrying down the Hallway toward him.

A girl with long black hair rushed up and hugged him. “Hi Eric. Happy birthday,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She looked up at him with sparkling violet eyes. “I really missed you.”

“Uh, hi Kate,” Eric stammered. Kate looked even older than when he had last seen her that past summer. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

“Hey, what about me?” a dwarf with a long red beard asked as he grabbed Eric’s hand and pumped it up and down. “I missed ya too, don’t ya know. It sure is good t’ see ya, laddie. You’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake. Ain’t that right, birdie?”

“Yes, quite,” agreed a large white owl who had just alighted on the Gatekeeper’s desk. “How are you, my boy? I hope you’ve had a splendid birthday.”

“It just got a whole lot better, Stig, thanks,” Eric said, smiling. “Hey Hallo, how’s everything?”

“Oh can’t complain, can’t complain,” the dwarf replied. “Then again, if I did, no one’d listen more ‘n likely. Hey, birdie said it was your birthday. Congrats lad. What’re ya up to now?”

“I’m 14.”

Hallo laughed. “Hey not bad, not bad. He’ll be catchin’ us soon, eh birdie?”

“He certainly is growing up before our eyes,” Stig said with the hint of a smile.

“I’ve got a long way to go to catch you two,” Eric said, laughing. Stig was over 400 years old and Hallo was approaching his 200th birthday. “But at least I’m older than one of us.”

“Hey, be nice. I’ll be as old as you in a month,” Kate said.

“Well, now that we’ve got that all sorted out, perhaps we should get to the task at hand,” the Gatekeeper cut in.

“Yes sir,” Eric said. He had been so happy to see his friends he had almost forgotten everything else.

 “What’s our Assignment this time?”

The Gatekeeper frowned. “It’s really something a bit out of the ordinary this time my boy.”

“A bit out of the ordinary, sir?” he asked. What could be more out of the ordinary than any of the other Assignments he had been on so far?

“Yes. Do you remember your last Assignment?”

“Why sure we do,” Hallo said. “We had t’ find that there Dragon’s Voice on the Dragon Islands.”

“Yes and you did a marvelous job. Do you remember the last time you were in the Hallway of Worlds?”

“Yes, you took us to that door that was chained and locked. The sparkling mist had stopped leaking out from under it,” Kate said, frowning.

Eric remembered, too. That door was the one door in the entire Hallway that did not have a world behind it. Supposedly it was a door to nowhere and had been used to store matter from worlds that had failed. The matter, or sparkling mist because that is what it looked like, had begun to seep out from under the door and was finding its way into troubled worlds, contributing to their instability. The mist had shown up on two worlds that they had visited.

When they had returned from the successful completion of their last Assignment, the Gatekeeper had informed them that the real reason the door had been padlocked was not to keep people from wandering in, but to keep someone or something from getting out.

The Gatekeeper nodded. “And I told you that whatever was in there had torn a hole out of that non-world and was loose.”

“Yeah, I remember. They could be anywhere now.”

“Yes they could,” the Gatekeeper agreed. “However, I now have a bit more information.”

“What have you discovered?” Stig asked.

“Well, this creature is made from the combined matter of many failed worlds. That means its makeup is quite complex. I believe it is capable of assuming whatever guise it desires.”

“That’s gonna make him tough t’ nail down, don’t ya know,” Hallo said, removing his red cloth cap and scratching his head.

“I’ve been doing a bit of checking,” the Gatekeeper said. “As you are aware, I have a number of different teams that go out on Assignments clearing up problems on troubled worlds. I have asked them to keep their eyes open for signs of this creature. They all reported encounters with sparkling mist on their Assignments, which confirms my suspicions that the mist is at the root of the recent unrest on all worlds over the last few years.”

“So you mean it’s been going on longer than you thought?” Kate asked.

“Exactly,” the Gatekeeper replied. “This creature has been working quietly behind the scenes and I knew nothing about it—something that has not happened in a very, very long time.”

“Besides the sparkling mist, has anyone discovered anything else about the creature?” Eric asked.

“It was very elusive, although it has been sighted periodically,” the Gatekeeper said. “Finally, one team got a definite fix and I was able to put a Tracker on it.”

“What’s a Tracker?” Eric asked.

“An agent trained in surveillance and disguise. They can move easily from world to world. Once they are on the trail, they are very difficult to shake.”

“Well, that’s news to me,” Stig said, ruffling his feathers. “All this time, and you never told me about them.”

The Gatekeeper chuckled. “Don’t get your feathers ruffled my dear friend. I’m entitled to keep one or two secrets. Trackers would not be nearly as effective if everyone knew about them. Anyway, the Tracker has followed the elusive creature to an unexpected location.”

“Where is that?” Stig asked.

“Eric’s world,” the Gatekeeper said simply.

“My world,” Eric cried. The thought of a strange creature that could change itself into anything wreaking havoc in his world was scary. “Where is it, exactly?”

“The question is not where my boy, but when,” the Gatekeeper replied. “The creature has discovered a way to use the sparkling mist to punch a hole in the very fabric of time itself.”

“So he could be anywhere at any time in the history of Eric’s world,” Stig mused.

“Wow. Have ya got any idea where…er…um, when he is?” Hallo asked.

“He is on Eric’s world during a conflict known as the American Revolution, and,” here the Gatekeeper looked intently at Eric, “He’s in Eric’s home town.”

“Candlewood Corners? But why?” Eric cried.

The Gatekeeper frowned. “I don’t know for sure, but I have a guess. The creature is trying to change history, most likely with the intent to tear the fabric of Eric’s world apart.”

“Why?” Eric asked.

“My information indicates that it is trying to undermine the stability of the universe. For that it needs to gain power, more specifically, matter. Destroying a few worlds would give it plenty of matter to work with.”

“Wow,” Kate said. “That’s bad.”

“Bad. Bad?” Eric shrieked. “It’s terrible. Some whacked out creature is trying to destroy my world. We can’t let that happen. We have to do something!”

“Yeah, Eric’s right, we gotta do somethin’,” Hallo agreed. “But, er, what?”

“Of course we have to do something. We can’t let worlds be destroyed if we can help it,” the Gatekeeper said calmly. “I’m going to send you all back in time to Eric’s world, as long as that’s all right with all of you.”

“I’m in,” Eric said firmly.

“We wouldn’t dream of not helping Eric save his world,” Kate said. “We’re all in.”

“Absolutely,” Stig said.

“Ya can count on me, don’t ya know,” Hallo agreed.

“Thanks guys,” Eric said, tearing up. “But it’s not just my world. We gotta stop this thing. If it gets enough power, who knows what it’ll do.”

“Splendid. Now, let’s see. My, my, this is going to take some doing,” the Gatekeeper said, stroking his beard.

“Don’t we just go through my door?” Eric asked.

Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh Eric, please. If we did that we’d just wind up on your world in the present.”

Eric blushed. “Oh yeah, true.”

“As I was saying, this will take some doing,” the Gatekeeper repeated. “Now let me see, it’s been a long time…”

The Gatekeeper approached the door and placed his right hand on its frosted glass window. He turned his hand counter-clockwise and the door turned with it, blurring and spiraling like it had been liquefied. When he removed his hand, the door was upside down. The Gatekeeper smiled.

“There, that should do it,” he said with satisfaction. “When you enter, you will find things are a little bit different Eric. Good luck to all of you. This Assignment may be your most critical.”

With that, Eric pushed to door open and they all passed through.

A Writer's Week #117: A Fresh Start

 Hi everyone. I hope you have all had a great week. My week has been pretty eventful. It's been a while since my last Writer's Week post, but I feel like I've finally done something that's worthy of a post. I have resumed work on The Deliverers 4: Sparkling Mist of Time. The first 12 chapters were completed in 2016. Since then, I have not done much with it aside from some editing and chapter rewrites. Over the last couple months, I've written four more chapters. 

This week, I made the decision to complete the book by the end of this summer and get it ready for publication in time for Christmas. It will take a lot of work, but I'm extremely excited. So, once again I will set a goal to write 2,000-3,000 words per week in order to make those deadlines. I'll write a post each week to keep you updated on my progress.

Coming to this decision was a long process. Writing is a solitary activity. You have to be focused on the task, and it's easy to doubt yourself. I was burned out after three years of intense activity--writing books, writing blog posts, coordinating book layout and design, marketing, selling books at various shows. All of this was happening while my children were growing bigger every time I turned around. So, I stepped back for what I thought would be a year or two. That turned into six or seven. After some talks with my wife and other family members and friends, I decided to buckle down and get back in the game.

Now, I'm starting from scratch. With that in mind, I've come to the difficult decision to redesign and rebrand the series. I agonized over this for the better part of the last year. Daniel Vogel, the artist for the first three books, was just 14 when he did the cover and map for Sharky and the Jewel. He did a fantastic job on all the books and I will always be very grateful for his contributions. However, that was 11 years ago, and I felt that it was time to update the look of the series.

Once I came to that decision, I had to find an illustrator. Daniel has moved on to other things, so I spent a month searching for an illustrator whose style matches my vision for The Deliverers and would be appealing to middle grade readers. Last week, I found her. I'll announce who it is in a future post, but this week, we agreed to partner with each other, and I couldn't be more excited. Right now, she's reading the first book and will be working on some rough sketches next week. Really looking forward to seeing what she comes up with and sharing the journey with all of you. 

Have a great week!

The Deliverers 4: Chapter 1—Battle Fatigue

Boom! The sound of the cannon reverberated up and down the main street of Candlewood Corners. The onlookers removed their hands from their ears and applauded as the red coated soldiers knelt and fired their muskets at the opposing army who were clad in homespun linen and brown cloth breeches.

Eric Scott sighed as the American Revolution re-enactors played their parts. The Battle of Candlewood Corners, Connecticut was fought on October 22, 1777. It just so happened that October 22 was his birthday and every year his family went to the re-enactment as a sort of birthday/patriotic celebration.

For 14 years this was how he had spent his birthday. At first it had been fun, but ever since his father had died three years ago, it seemed boring and pointless to him. He watched as the British troops routed the colonial militia, pushing them back past Keller Tavern.

The tavern sat at the intersection of two state highways in the center of town. During the battle, the tavern had been hit by a cannonball from one of the small cannon the British had brought with them. The ball had lodged in the wall and remained there to the present day. Eric had to admit that was pretty cool—a tangible piece of history, proof that the battle had actually happened.

“Eric, let’s go up to Musket Ridge and watch the militia drill,” his mother said. Dressed in faded jeans, a brown and green sweater and Nike cross trainers, she held up a digital camera. “I want to get some pictures of the demonstration.”

A camera? How embarrassing, he thought. Why doesn’t she get a smart phone like everybody else? 

His mother claimed she could not get the hang of ‘gadgets’ like that. Frankly, he was surprised that she had made the leap from her old film camera to the digital model his Uncle Rocco had given her last Christmas. To say she was technologically challenged was a huge understatement.

“Ma, do we have to?” Eric moaned. “It’s so boring.”

“It’s history, dear,” she replied. “You’ll thank me for this one day. Besides, you know how much your father loved the battle. Remember what he used to say?”

Eric nodded. He could remember as if his father were right there with them. “This isn’t something that should be taken for granted,” he used to say. “Just think buddy, this is something that happened in our own back yard, this is your hometown’s heritage!”

Sighing once more, he jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and followed his mother and a stream of fellow townspeople down King’s Highway and over toward Musket Ridge. The ridge sloped up from the main road. Beyond an ancient stone wall there was an open space that was used as the parade ground. On it about 40 re-enactors in colonial garb were milling about.

They wore a mish-mash of different outfits. Some were clad in blue military uniforms with scarlet facings and turnbacks, others in rough wool coats of brown or tan. Most sported tri-corner hats and had cartridge belts slung over their shoulders. All were equipped with muskets and bayonets.

One man in blue carried a sword. Eric perked up a little when he saw him. Of all the figures of the battle, the captain of the militia had always been his favorite. For one thing, he carried a sword, which Eric had thought was cool. For another, he was the hero of the battle of Candlewood Corners. No one really knew who he was. A fire had burned town hall to the ground in 1815 and the records in which the names of the combatants were recorded were lost along with many other documents. Without any written account, his name had been lost in the mists of history, but his deeds during the battle of Candlewood Corners had been passed down from father to son ever since. He was known simply as the Captain.

In the annual re-enactment, the role of the Captain had been played every year for decades by old Richard Atwater, an attorney in town. The Atwaters had always claimed that the Captain was their direct descendant—Silas Atwater. This had come to be generally accepted by all because, even though there was no proof to the claim, there was nothing to say definitively that he was not the Captain.

Mr. Atwater had been playing the part for so long that Eric had come to visualize the Captain as an older man dressed in a blue military jacket with golden epaulettes on his shoulders a sword at his side and white breeches with black boots.

The sword was what really fired Eric’s imagination. As a child, he had been fascinated by the way Mr. Atwater had wielded it during the drilling demonstrations, pointing it to emphasize his commands. It was a genuine relic of the Revolution and had been in the Atwood family for generations. It was the basis of the family’s claim that the Captain was in fact Silas Atwater. So far, no evidence had come to light that suggested otherwise, so everyone went with it.

Eric knew from his history class that the real redcoats had been sent to confiscate stores of ammunition and supplies that were located in town. By the time they arrived, however, the majority of these had been removed. When the British had discovered this, they had set fire to some of the buildings in town.

Some of the locals had tried to stop them, and had been fired upon by the troops. Some of the colonials fired back, but most fled, raising the alarm. This was what was being re-enacted now.

The bells in the old Congregational church began to ring. This was the signal for the start of the second phase of the re-enactment. A drummer in the camp began to beat the call to arms. Lining up in ragged columns, the Captain led the militia from the parade ground, down the road and into the woods where they crouched in wait behind stone walls, trees and brush, guns at the ready. Soon a troop of redcoats marched into sight.

Ringing church bells alerted the countryside, mobilizing militia from the surrounding towns who came flooding in to defend their town. The British had taken what they could and were now heading back down King’s Highway the way they had come. Eric watched as the militia and other colonists waited for the British to march past them and then fired.

When they did, he let out a breath and realized somewhat sheepishly that he had been holding it. He had to admit that the re-enactments were kind of cool. The truth was, this reminded him of his father. While that was troubling, in a way it made it seem as if his dad was close by.

“Mom, can I see the camera? I want to take a couple of pictures.”

His mom smiled and handed him the camera. “Sure dear. When this is done, let’s go get some pizza and celebrate birthday number 14.”

“Sounds cool,” Eric said as he clicked away.

                                                                                            #  #  #

When he got home, he said goodnight to his mom and went to his room. Flopping down on the bed he stared up at the ceiling and groaned. He was full. He had definitely eaten too much pizza. The ice cream after that had not helped, but it had been good. All in all it had been a decent birthday. He just wished he had some friends to share it with.

The truth was he had friends, but they were too far away to share his celebration with him. In fact, they were a whole world away—almost as far away as his dead father, or so it seemed to him. He had met them by traveling to other worlds and together they had shared three adventures to solve problems that threatened to destroy those worlds.

After each journey, Assignments they were called, he found it more difficult to leave them. Stig was probably his best friend. He was a talking owl who had recruited him for his first Assignment where he had met a girl named Kate Endria and Hallo Tosis, a dwarf.

He sat up and reached for two items that sat on his nightstand. One was a smooth orange stone the other, a small bottle. He placed them on the bed in front of him and stared at them in silence.

Seeming to come to a decision, he picked up the bottle and removed the stopper. A bluish mist seeped out and oozed down the bottle’s side. It sparkled. Eric took a small paintbrush and dipped it in. Removing it, he held it over the orange stone. A trail of sparkling mist swirled up from the blue substance on the tip of the brush.

Just as he started to lower the brush, the stone began to glow and sparkle. Eric’s hand froze and his heart leapt. The Gatekeeper was calling him! Carefully, he wiped the paint off the brush on the rim of the bottle and re-stoppered it. Slipping off his bed, he grabbed the stone and slid the bottle into his pocket.

He crept out of his room, down the hall and out the back door. Running around to the side of his house, he picked his way down the steep, wooded slope that lined the front yard. He was forced to slow down because the footing here was treacherous—roots and loose dirt threatened to trip him as he headed down toward the stream that gurgled at the bottom.

When he reached it, he headed upstream toward his driveway and the drainpipe underneath. The Gatekeeper was the person who gave Assignments to those he felt were up to the job. When they were needed for an Assignment, the Gatekeeper called Eric and the others to the Hallway of Worlds—a long corridor filled with doors to other worlds. In order to get to the Hallway, the Gatekeeper opened up a door in the drainpipe under Eric’s driveway.

That was where Eric was headed now. As he approached the drainpipe in the fading light of the autumn evening, Eric felt a surge of emotion. He never knew what awaited him beyond the door and the uncertainty was both exciting and worrisome.

Stepping out onto a rock in the stream, he hopped from rock to rock until he stood on the lip of the pipe, the shallow water flowing over his sneakers. He squished his way inside the ribbed interior of the drainpipe until he came to the door. It was round, fitting the contour of the cylinder snugly. There was a pane of frosted glass in the upper half. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and walked in.

A Writer's Week #94: With a Little Help From My Friends

It's been a couple weeks since I've had a chance to sit down and compose a Writer's Week post, so let's get caught up. Hmmm, where to start? I had a fantastic day at the Newtown Holiday Festival last Sunday in Newtown, CT. Everybody was so friendly and a sold some books to some great kids, made some friends and hopefully some new fans. For every book I sold, I donated a matching copy to the Salvation Army for their wonderful Christmas Distribution program.

  


 

Thanks to everyone who has purchased a copy of either Sharky & the Jewel or Order of the Crystal Lion and some wonderful authors who have donated copies of their books (C. Lee McKenzie, Karen Pokras Toz, Kimberly Sentek, Margo L. Dill and Celia & Orison Carlile) I have 88 books. With a week to go, I only need 12 more books to reach my goal of 100. Help us do it by visiting my store. Thanks so much! We're almost there!

Last night I sat down with illustrator Daniel Vogel for the last of our meetings to review progress on the cover for The Deliverers 3: The Golden Dragon of Ang. It is really coming along. We discussed some tweaks and color/style points. I'm really pleased and excited by the way it's shaping up. I should have the final artwork to review shortly after Christmas and the finished front cover in early January, which means we're still on track for a February release. I'm really looking forward to it as I'm extremely pleased with the book.

With all this activity, I have not allocated much time to finishing the plotting of The Deliverers 4. That's okay, though. Most of the major plot points have been worked out. I think I'm ready to start writing and I'll let the characters sort out how to handle whatever crops up. That being said, I suppose I need to get on with writing the darn thing. So, my plan is to begin writing this week. I'll let you know how I make out next week.

Oh yes, this coming week will feature a couple of exciting things that you should watch for. Order of the Crystal Lion is being reviewed on Wednesday the 11th on The Secret Files of Fairday Morrow. They will also be running an interview with me on (gulp) Friday the 13th, which I hope does not prove to be unlucky for either myself or them. Jessica and Stephanie are good friends and I am grateful, as usual, for their support!

I also have one other bit of news that I will share with you next Friday. I can't say much, but if you have a Kindle, like middle grade fantasy, and like to save money you will love this announcement. Watch this space on Friday to find out what it is. Peace!