January 3rd, 2010



 Back and will be catching up with e-mail tomorrow. Wrote a 4.5 k story while up at what turns out to be San Juan Island, not Orcas (which those who headed out to see Mt. Constitution discovered). And got another one started, but it's dreadfully middleless at the moment.

Here's a teaser from the finished piece, whose title I dunno quite yet, it's still in 1st draft form:

This book was bound in thick black leather, and a brass clasp held its pages closed. It smelled bad – a whisper of scent reached Lucinda, redolent of dead things and sulfur. She knew to the core of her being that it was a magic book, and one that her father, her gentle tender-hearted father, should not be consulting. But she saw him open the brass clasp and take a knife to the tip of his finger, that he might lay a drop of shining red blood on the title page. Lucinda could not see very well from her vantage point, but it looked to her as though the book simply absorbed the blood, drinking it in thirstily through the white page.

She raised herself on her elbow to see better and made the smallest of noises as she did so. Her father turned, and saw her looking.

“Go to sleep, Lucinda,” he said. “This is an adult thing, and not for your eyes.”

“What are you doing?” she asked. She had heard tales of necromancy and demon-summoning, of the arts that black wizards practiced, but she had never heard them from her father, only the distorted tales told to scare naughty village children or the even more lurid versions that the children told each other. Fear seized her: her father was dabbling in dark magic.

“Researching,” he said.

“Researching what?”

But he did not answer that question, only repeated, “Go to sleep, Lucinda.” And with the words must have come a spell, for she found herself lying back down, suddenly drowsy and content and warm, feeling herself safe in bed, with no thoughts of dead things or evil arts, sleeping and not hearing the rustle of Del turning pages, his face intent on the words written there.