Writing Tip #2 - Plot Development

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Writing Tip #3 - How to Captivate Readers from the Get-Go

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Writing Tip #4 - Backstory

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"Rogue Shadows" Sneak-Peak

Chapter 1

Right Killer

A bitter wind howled against Fire-Gem as he flew over the Ardi’on Sea. He tried to look ahead, his eyes yellow slits, but saw nothing except the dark sky and churning waters. The cat-like beast felt his tail flop this way and that with the wind, no matter how hard he tried to hold it still. He gritted his fanged jowls against the cold and tightened his grip of the creature that carried him onward.

The siren that kept him in flight was from the sea bird–like people who swarmed King’s Bay between Suvaria and Tulaun. The beast’s form was that of a man, yet bird wings stretching twenty feet from feathered tip to feathered tip replaced his arms. The feathers were dark shades of gray, brown, and black. Instead of legs, he had feathered bird feet that ended in black talons. A large tail fanned out behind the siren and guided their flight. His eyes, black orbs rimmed in copper, stared ahead to their destination and his dark hair sleeked back as the wind blew against them.

The siren’s flock had owed Fire-Gem, for the pooka had fulfilled questionable favors for them in the past. The Raptor Flock had agreed to return those favors without having to be convinced.

The brown-and-black-winged siren flexed his muscles repeatedly. His beady eyes blinked and his tail swooshed to and fro with the wind’s current. Fire-Gem glanced over his shoulder and knew Tulaun had faded from sight long ago. Though he traveled to a nation of ever-watching, tyrant Treelings, he could not hold back a smile.

He thought of the Wraiths who enveloped Lord Demus’s castle. They had met with him. They had agreed to train him, agreed to make him a Spellbinder! At last, he would be powerful! He would be feared! He only had to slay Lord Demus. That was all. It was nothing, was it not?

The siren’s shoulder muscles stopped their constant flexing until they soared, the siren’s feathers rippling with the wind. Fire-Gem, eyes wide, turned his ears ahead. Against the night’s sky and the few stars that watched, a spiked line of trees rose from Ardi’on’s waters. They had reached Han Ci. Fire-Gem grinned.

They glided over the land and the trees guarding the country’s border with long shadows. Without warning, the siren tucked in his strong wings and the two dropped like a stone. Fire-Gem fought against a cry, but it fled his lips before he could catch it. They fell toward a meadow enclosed by trees and, before the ground struck against them, the siren stretched out his wings, slowing their fall and landing on a tree with a whoosh! Fire-Gem panted as he clung to the siren, his hands unwilling to let go as his tail trembled.

The siren looked around in a jerky, bird-like fashion, his feathers bristling against the night’s chill. The tree’s branches swished and a limb stretched toward the siren. Squawking, the creature leapt from the tree onto a boulder. The siren eyed the Treeling and two knots on the tree’s trunk glared back. He looked away, his feathered tail opening and closing like a fan. “Off,” he ordered the pooka.

Fire-Gem tried, but his white-knuckled hands refused to release. “Thy flight hath startled—”

The siren shrugged his shoulders and Fire-Gem slipped off with a shout. His claws scraped down the boulder until he thudded to the ground. The siren snickered. Fire-Gem staggered to his feet and sat back against the boulder, his head in his human-like hands.

“Too hard?” The siren smirked with a raised chin. “Just a little flight, not bad at all.” Fire-Gem, his yellow eyes ablaze in the darkness, gave the beast an icy stare. The siren beamed and a sound slightly lower than a raptor’s call rumbled from his chest: a siren’s laugh. “Be back in hour. Shadow Minstrel likes killing pookas, I hear. I like eating them; pooka’s liver nice . . .” The siren leaned forward, his copper eyes aglow, and licked his lips with a moan.

“Thy mockery shall be proven false! I shall be here, alive and well, when you return!” Fire-Gem spat, his back and tail bristling.

“You die,” the siren muttered. “Shadow Minstrel kill you.” With a shake of his head, the siren leapt from the boulder and spread his wings. He shot up with a roaring wind and flew out of sight.

Fire-Gem watched the siren go then looked around him, his ears upright. His hair stood on end from the back of his neck, down his spine, to the tip of his tail, every nerve stretched to its limits. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, for he knew he had to be calm with a clear mind. He sat cross-legged against the boulder with his tail wrapped around him.

The pooka listened to the breeze rustling the forest as conversations pulsed from the ground. Treelings could talked through their roots. He heard the quiet chirps of a few birds perched in their limbs, their feathers ruffling. Most fowl stayed away from the Treelings’ branches for fear of a swatting bough. Fire-Gem wondered if he would hear a Jaw Jin camp or catch a glimpse of the nomadic people, the only humans to live in Han Ci.

The meadow stretched out beside him, ringed in trees so old and tall, they formed a fortress of green. Tall grass and wild flowers swayed with the breeze. The smell of charred ash showed signs of travelers, dignified travelers indeed to be given a Fire Permit. A few stars were dotted overhead and he could hear the sound of the Ardi’on Sea lapping against Han Ci’s shores in the distance. A werewolf’s mournful howl rose up from the shadows and faded into nothing like smoke. Another answered. Fire-Gem was not surprised; werewolves were everywhere in the forested country. The howling called died down soon after arising.

All else was silent.

Fire-Gem strained to see in the gloom, yet only saw tree silhouettes, stars, and darkness between. The pooka lifted his chin and smelled the air. His yellow eyes searched, but saw no one. Had the Shadow Minstrel not received his message? Ah! Those cursed Raptor Sirens! How could those bird-people fail him and not deliver his request? He would wrench every feather from the flock’s tied-down bodies if—

A flute’s song lifted from the stillness.

Fire-Gem sat straight up, his tail flicking. His nose twitched. He saw no one, and yet the song continued. It was a slow song, almost sad, with an underlying cold note of foreboding. It drifted between the trees and across the meadow. Fire-Gem looked to the distant timberline, eyes wide and spine tingling. His gaze darted from tree to tree, but he saw no movement.

No, no, the song came from the trees closest to him. Fire-Gem flinched, low to the ground, and faced the Treelings. Nothing moved as the melody continued. What was going on? The pooka’s chest heaved with each breath as the flute’s song swirled around him. The Treelings’ roots were quiet as their limbs stilled, regardless of the breeze. He swallowed hard, knowing they had withdrawn deeper into their limbs, trunks, and roots to hide.

Fire-Gem lifted his chin and turned to the meadow. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. The Shadow Minstrel would arrive when she saw fit; he had to be patient.

A hand caressed his shoulder.

Fire-Gem flinched and looked behind him with a gasp. He saw nothing but the boulder and darkness. He sat back, his eyes darting to and fro. With a shake of his head, he took another deep breath to calm his frantic heart.

Fingers wrapped around his tail and yanked. Fire-Gem yowled and spun around. The pooka’s gasps filled the night as he looked for signs of life. He saw no one; he smelled no one, and nothing stirred. The flute’s melody filled his ears.

A hand ran down his back.

With a hiss, Fire-Gem lashed out and jumped away. His claws slashed only air. His eyes looked wildly all around and finally fell on the boulder. He saw the darkened outline of his shadow. His mouth dropped open. The shadow stood on its hind legs, high over him, its head cocked to one side. Its tail flicked, though Fire-Gem’s did not. It soundlessly reached with a dark hand. Fire-Gem panted and retreated.

Grass rustled from behind, and the pooka’s ears flicked back in alarm.

Dark forms, their bodies flat against the ground, leapt amid the trees. They flowed like a dark river pouring across the land, their flush figures bounding in step with the music. They were the shadowed outlines of animals: wolves, stags, foxes, and hares. Other beasts weaved between them, dwarfs, gargoyles, and a troll. They had left their bodies long ago, and now all that remained were the silent shapes of shadows.

Fire-Gem hunkered to the ground, his tail between his legs, though he held his head high. He watched the shadows swirl round him. They stared at him with empty eyes and smiled, their jaws outlined by fangs and licking tongues. Fire-Gem swallowed again as the flute’s song rose higher and grew in excitement. As the song changed, so did the shadows. They came closer until their gliding bodies almost brushed against Fire-Gem’s feet.

One jabbed his side, making him recoil with a hiss. Another snapped its fangs and he could smell its hot breath on his face. Another came forward and seized a fistful of his black hair. Fire-Gem dug his claws into the ground as the shadow tried to lift him off his feet. With a yowl and eyes ablaze like fire, the pooka tried to force the shadows back. They stepped away, not because Fire-Gem could harm them, but because their Shadow Minstrel wanted him alive. Fire-Gem’s own shadow silently watched as it stood on its hind legs against the boulder, head lowered, tail flicking.

The music stopped and the night was still. The hold on Fire-Gem released.

The shadows parted in unison, like waves of the sea. Fire-Gem looked around, fear of the unknown forcing him lower to the ground. Another dark form emerged from the gloom, yet this newcomer was no shadow. Her form was small, made of flesh and bone, and she walked straight toward him. Fire-Gem gulped and looked away. The Shadow Minstrel approached.

She was a Hart and her movements were as soundless as any shadow. The Hart’s skin was a dark sandy hue and her black hair stuck out in all directions behind her. Amidst her wild hair were two deer-like antlers, spiked and bent back to follow the flow of her hair. Large, deer-like ears pointed from either side of her head, and a long thorn pierced through one. She was small in height and stature, a bit taller than a dwarf, but no larger than a human child.

She wore a deer hide dress and was barefoot. An ornately designed flute swayed in her belt, its end carved to look like a man screaming in agony, his mouth gaping and eyes wide. Her lips, tongue, and mouth were dyed black, the mark of a Shadow Minstrel. She stared down at Fire-Gem as her shadows made way for her. She stopped before the crouched pooka, her black mouth tightened thin.

Fire-Gem stared straight ahead as he rose on his hind legs, his hands fidgeting with each other. “Honored Shadow Minstrel . . . um—”

“Thorn,” she whispered.

Fire-Gem looked up at Thorn with an open mouth. Her voice was so small, so gentle! “Thorn,” he whispered with a bow. He cleared his throat and straightened. “Thou art as fearful as thy stories proclaim.” Thorn lifted her chin without a word and Fire-Gem glanced away. “I have come to beseech thee to employ thy dark arts. The Tulish Spellbinder, Lord Demus? Have . . . have thy ears heard of such a—”

“Kill Spellbinder?”

“Yes, if you please.”

The Hart nodded and folded her arms over her chest. “I work for pay. No money, no killing, no deal.”

“Yes, yes, thy ways are sound and respected—”

“You have all money now?”

“I shall have it all for thee whence thy work is complete.”

Thorn scowled and shook her head. “Money. Now.”

Fire-Gem grinned up at the Shadow Minstrel. “I shall pay, my lady.” Thorn’s eyes narrowed. “Thy hands shall be full of riches. Thou hath only to wait—”

Fire-Gem’s ears pricked as Thorn’s song filled the air. The shadows looked at one another, grins stretching their mouths. A shiver ran its fingers down Fire-Gem’s spine. “My lady,” he began, quivering, “I meant no disrespect—”

His shadow moved from the boulder with a bound. It streamed across the ground, its flat form stretched out long. Before the pooka could react, a shady hand seized his tail and jerked back. Fire-Gem yelled as he struggled, his shadow forcing him to the ground.

Dark, two-dimensional hands grabbed him from behind; his shadow held him against the forest floor. Fire-Gem, his yellow eyes wide and chest heaving, kicked and hissed, his tail thrashing. Thorn watched, her song as sweet and sad and cold as the look in her eyes.

Fire-Gem’s shadow made not a sound as it held him. The pooka opened his mouth to cry, but heard nothing but a throaty gag. His eyes bulged as his shadow wound its tail around his throat. It tightened around his neck.

“Lady—heck!—Thorn!” he rasped, but she did nothing as she watched, her song climbing higher and higher into the night.

Fire-Gem’s heart raced. His lungs burned. His throat would collapse at any moment!

Thorn lifted her chin and closed her eyes. She withdrew the flute from her blackened lips and placed her hands behind her back. Fire-Gem’s shadow released him in an instant. The pooka rolled onto his side and coughed between wheezing gasps. Thorn stared down at him, her head tilted to one side. “What be your shadow’s name? Pride?”

Fire-Gem did not answer as he tried to breathe.

Thorn sighed and shook her head. “Money. Now,” she whispered. “Always.” Fire-Gem did not respond. His panting filled the silent night. “A lot,” Thorn continued. “No little. Yes?” Fire-Gem nodded. Thorn’s black lips twitched into a smile that disappeared in a heartbeat. “Good,” she whispered. “Give me before job starts.”

Fire-Gem sat up, his eyes closed and head throbbing. “When . . . when should I expect thy coming to Tulaun . . .” His words trailed off as he opened his eyes and looked around. Thorn was gone and her shadows had followed her. He was alone once again. Fire-Gem glanced warily at his shadow stretched across the boulder. It sat crouched on the ground, ears up and tail bristled as it mimicked him exactly. Fire-Gem eyed it a moment longer, but knew Thorn’s hold over it was no more. He swallowed hard and rubbed his throat. With a final look to his shadow, the pooka stood to his hind legs.

He looked up into the dark sky. With a shake of his head, he closed his eyes. He grinned and chuckled, making himself gag. After clearing his throat, he smiled again. This was the foul play needed to kill Lord Demus! Shadow Minstrel Thorn, what a lovely name! She was perfect. Perfect!

Fire-Gem’s smile grew. He knew Lord Demus had faced many foes in the past. Many had hunted him and tried to kill him. He was a survivor, subduing his foes time after time. Yet, Fire-Gem doubted the Spellbinder had any defense against his own shadow.

—                    —                    —

            High in a tower in Black-Wing’s castle stood a man propped against a windowsill, a cup of warmed wine in his hand. He leaned heavily to one side due to a wound on his leg, though the pain had dulled. His brown eyes looked keenly from the villagers below to the rolling lands of the Hilled Country. With a deep breath of the chilled morning air, he closed his eyes and was grateful to be free from Wraith’s Hallow.

As Prince Theron scanned Black-Wing, he could smell the twang of the village and the sharp scent of smoke as it curled from the rings of huddling villagers. Dar-o-gal and his mercenaries stayed close to their horses’ stalls, jugs of ale and any woman who was willing in their hands. Theron wondered why the White Dwarf and his ruffians had not left the city, yet he did not question them. The smell of fresh grass wafted from the distant Hilled Country and the breeze that carried it waved his dirty-blond hair about his eyes.

Theron stood in a small room, a decent fireplace warming the chamber, and a bed stuffed with feathers positioned in a corner. His armor rested in its stand against the wall. The metal had been recently cleaned by squires, though no amount of scrubbing could polish out the dents of battle. His sword hung in its sheath on a chair and waited for its master’s bidding.

Theron sipped the warmed wine and wrapped his thick cloak around his shoulders. As he looked out, his eyes fell across the horizon to a shadowed line of trees. His gaze darkened at the sight of Wraith’s Hallow, the haunted wood he had left only days before. He knew Olivia’s bones were still there. A corner of his eye twitched and his hold on his cup tightened.

“Ah! My lord!”

Theron turned from the window as Sobriina walked into the room, her armor and travel wear replaced by a sea-green kirtle that waved behind her with each step. The she-elf shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest and jerked her head toward the chair. “You shan’t stand! Your leg is still freshly wounded. The honored Seer of this house may send down The Wizard’s wrath if you cause the wound to bleed further!” With a huff and a flick of her flowing black hair, she scooted the chair across the room.

Theron limped to her side, the mention of the One in Red causing him to frown. “The Wizard’s wrath has already come,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Theron said with a cringe as he eased into the chair. He clutched his leg and eyed the bandage that encased his thigh. Vivid red seeped through the dried brown blood that dappled the cloth. He sighed as he leaned back into the chair and took another drink of the wine.

Sobriina groaned and shook her head. “I came too late, I see,” she muttered with a scowl. Theron grinned and fidgeted with the hem of his cloak. “Stay put, and do not stand. You are an impossible patient.” The she-elf turned to a shelf and took down clean bandages. “Impossible!”

“I can’t stay in one place.”

“Stay, my lord!” Sobriina’s hands fisted as she stared down at him. “Or I will tie you down and force you to sit!” Theron threw back his head and laughed. When he saw the stern look in her eye, he nodded and looked away, the laugh dying in his throat. “You are wise to comply,” the she-elf said as she knelt at his feet.

“Wise? Ha!” Theron laughed again. Sobriina glared at him, her purple eyes shadowed. “A she-elf against a trained knight.” Theron scratched his chin as he looked off to imagine the outcome. “That would be interesting to see.”

“I believe the wine is talking now,” Sobriina mumbled as she looked to his wounded leg.

“No.” Theron beamed. “You hear me, nothing more.”

Sobriina shook her head, but could not hide the smile in her eyes. “Hold firm and steady,” she said as she took hold of his old bandages. “Do not—”

“I won’t move; I heard you.”

Theron sipped his wine as Sobriina unwound the bandages with gentle hands. He glanced down at her and his eyes glowed. He looked at her long black hair as it flowed over her firm shoulders and down her back. Her purple eyes, intent on her work, were more captivating than when he had last seen them. Her neck was slender and beautiful and her lips were inviting.

Theron cleared his throat and turned away. He shook his head to clear his mind and raised the cup of wine. Before the cup’s rim touched his lips, Theron stared down at the liquid and set it aside before he did anything foolish. Better to not have too much, he thought.

“Are you well now?” Sobriina whispered.

“Ah, the leg’s not as horrible as you think.”

“No, no. Not that. Is your heart well and calm in accepting Lady Olivia’s death?”

The light in Theron’s eyes faded like a candle’s flame in a thunderstorm. He glanced away and cleared his throat. “Yes.” A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Yes. She is dead; there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Sobriina nodded as she set aside the old, bloodstained cloth and began to clean the wound. “You did your best,” she said. “The Wizard understands your pain.”

Theron did not answer as he stared out the window.

The Wizard knew nothing. The One in Red had not helped him find Olivia. If he had, she would be alive and they would still be betrothed. She would still be his queen. Theron swallowed hard and rubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb. No, The Wizard knew nothing.

Though the prince did not realize it, a little hole blemished the glass of his heart. Root-like cracks jutted from the hole and cut along the glassy surface. There were other marks scratched alongside it and a crack like a spider web ran up the side. They were small fractures from the pain of loss and rejection, the loss of his woman and rejection from his unseen Lord. Small fractures, but they throbbed with pain, all the same.

“And you and your dear comrade?” Sobriina said. “What of him?”

Theron’s staring eyes blinked and they turned her way. “Who? You’re talking in riddles today.”

“Sir Eldie. You two have not shared a conversation since . . . when was it? In the village we found in Wraith’s Hallow. Is there something wrong with your bond?” Sobriina looked up at him, her purple eyes searching and her brows drawn low.

Theron opened his mouth to speak, but did not know what to say. Why would she ask him such things? “Eldie is not the same,” Theron muttered as he turned away. He shifted his weight in his seat and looked to his wine again. “It’s cold this morning.”

            “Ah, you shan’t point a finger at another,” Sobriina continued and set down the wet cloth. “Three fingers are pointing back at your own heart when you do so. You have transformed into a new creation as well, my lord.”

Theron did not respond, not wanting to think of his right-hand man. How had he become such a coward? Eldie, his reliable friend, was now someone he hardly knew. He shook his head and sighed heavily. “What’s the cook preparing for our meal?”

“Quail, stuffed with something sweet. It was pleasant to the eyes and senses. I wish it were stag, though. I favor stag.” The she-elf grinned and licked her lips at the thought of the savory meat.

“There’s no venison out here.”

“Still.” She shrugged. “I miss the venison of white stags. My father would hunt through Deep Wilds, and even in Stage Folk territories when the hunt led down their paths—”

“Just for meat?” Theron’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “Not worth the dangers, I’d think.”

“For the thrill as well,” Sobriina replied. “I always wanted to join and ride along and, well, catch any sight of a Wilder. Any! May it be Stage Folk or Fang!”

Theron grinned as he looked down at her. “Why am I not surprised?” Sobriina beamed and turned to him, her purple eyes glowing with the excitement of old times. Theron chuckled and looked out the window again. His gaze moved up over the walls of Black-Wing, across the Hilled Country, and to the world beyond. The sky was blue, though gray rain clouds threatened storms to the west. He watched a starling soar though the breeze in search of its breakfast and—

What was that? Theron’s eyes narrowed as he looked away from the bird. A pillar of thick black smoke lifted into the air in large billows.

“There was one time when Celeste, my junior sister, and I ventured close to Deep Wilds.” Sobriina said as she worked on the final adjustments to his bandages. Theron’s brow furrowed as he eyed the dark plumes that curled toward the sky. “We were comrades with Wild Elves at the time. I respect all elves, but Wild Elves are not to be allowed to lead, or make decisions, or to be trusted, for that matter. Anyway—”

“Something’s wrong,” Theron whispered. Sobriina looked up at him, her mouth open in midsentence. “Something’s . . .” Theron bent down, took the bandage’s loose ends from Sobriina’s hands, and tied them tight. Without a word, he heaved himself upright and limped to the door.

“My prince?”

He did not respond.

“Theron!”

Theron stumbled out of his room. His knights were alert and awaiting his orders as they stood guard. “Where’s Eldie?” he demanded.

“On his way to the dining hall, I suppose, my lord,” one said with eyes lowered.

With a growl, Theron stormed down the passageway with Sobriina following behind.

“We can summon him for you. You mustn’t reopen that gash!” she cried.

Her words landed on deaf ears as determination dulled the pain in Theron’s leg. He rushed up a flight of stairs and through a dark room, finally bursting into an open hallway. It had many windows and was lined with benches. People were making their way into the dining hall.

Everyone stopped and bowed as the prince rushed in, all conversation hushing to silence. The prince noticed only the large man seated on a distant chair, a woman on his lap. The man’s dark-brown hair was pulled back and tied behind his head. His firm shoulders were hardened by war and lined with scars, and one of his two swords was still strapped to his back. Theron rushed to the man’s side and stared down at him.

“My lord,” Eldie said. He tossed the woman off his lap and stood. “Something wrong?”

Theron growled under his breath and pointed out the window. “That. There. Fire. The Hilled Country should not be on fire. That’s Evermeet!” Eldie’s eyes widened as he saw the smoke. His back straightened and his mouth dropped open. “And why am I to discover the dangers! Where are the lookouts on the battlements?” Theron, face red and fists clenched, stepped toward Eldie. Pain shot through his leg and sent him to his knees. The gathering gasped and several came close to lend their prince a hand. “Stones on bones!” he cursed and ignored them all.

“Here,” Sobriina said as she stooped beside him. “Take my arm—”

“I can stand on my own!” Theron hissed. He glanced to the smoke and swallowed hard. The distant village, now up in flames, was made of his people. The nation he had sworn to protect! He knew who had lit the sleepy village; he had seen their violent hand enough times to recognize it. Wilders, Claw Kin most likely. Maybe some Cedar Folk too.

What if Lord Demus was among them? A dark smile turned Theron’s lips at the thought of running the Spellbinder through. Lord Demus had taken his woman, his Olivia. That deed alone was enough to shed blood over. The Spellbinder must be slain! Theron stumbled to his feet, teeth gritted as he grabbed his side, wanting his sword but realizing it was not there.

            “No reports have come in,” Eldie muttered as he stared out the window.

            “Where’s my armor?” Theron looked for his armor bearer. “Boy!”

“We would’ve heard something by now—”

“Boy!” A squire rushed into the room, face reddening with each gasp of air. “Quick! Quick! Armor and sword!”

Eldie watched as the boy raced to fulfill his master’s word. “You’re wounded,” the large man muttered.

“You’re very observant,” Theron grumbled.

“You shouldn’t go.”

“Evermeet’s on fire—”

“The men and I can handle it.”

“There are Wilders. I hate Wilders!”

“You can fight them another day—”

Theron faced Eldie and looked him in the eye. His right-hand man blinked and stepped back, his eyes averted.

“Assemble the men,” Theron ordered. “Tell Dar-o-gal we need his services again.”

“That White Dwarf’s getting expensive—”

“Eldie!”

“Yes! Yes, my prince.” Eldie stepped away and bowed low. He glanced at Sobriina, his gaze asking for help. She stared at him and said not a word. With a growl, he turned and marched away.

Theron glanced out one of the windows and watched the columns of smoke rise into the clear sky. A muscle in his jaw flexed. They would be too late, and he knew it. Yet, even if he killed one Wilder, it would be worth it.

            “I am accompanying you,” Sobriina said.

            “Not this time.”

“My lord—”

“Sobriina!” Theron shot her a cold look. “Not. This. Time.”

The she-elf fell silent and looked away. She did not pry further as Theron watched the distant smoke, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

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"Rogue Shadows" is published!

Wedding Jitters

It's coming up! You're big day! The day you'll vow to spend the rest of your life with the person you adore! How exciting! How new! How terrifying!

I will be married this Saturday (just three days) and, let met tell you, even when you are committed to another and KNOW you will marry them, that doesn't mean you won't have wedding jitters.

You know, those knots in your stomach as you think of all that will change. Knowing you'll have to take care of another person and not be as selfish as you are right now. You'll have to love when you want to be disrespectful. Cook dinner. Clean. Fold his underwear. Fix the plumbing again! Hand him a beer after his long day of work, though you just got off too. Listen to her talk in circles about how she feels (which never makes that much sense anyways). Those kind of things.

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband-to-be. A lot. A LOT! And there's nothing that will change my love (because true love is a chose based of the honor of your word and not a feeling that comes and goes like the wind). I know he will take care of me and be by my side when things get hard. We'll love, we'll fight, we'll say mean things without meaning it, and kiss and make up, and learning from everything and everyone we can. 

Still. I'm nervous.

Satan's a smart booger too, if you haven't noticed. He hates marriage, because God created marriage to be a epic metaphor of Jesus and the Church. The husband is Jesus and the wife is the Church. Ephesians 5:22-24 - "Wives, be subject to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ also is the head of the church, He Himself being the Savior of the body. But as the church is subject to Christ, so also the wives ought to be to their husbands in everything." Jesus laid down his life for the Church, and in turn the Church submits and follows Jesus wherever he goes.

Because of Satan's hate of truth, he has been trying everything to destroy our engagement. The love of my life and I got into a huge fight that rippled into other areas of our lives, creating unneeded stress and drama. We did learn more about one another, so always be on the look out for troubles teaching you something valuable. Also, for the first time, I've been looking at other guys. Not in a "oh, I'm gonna flirt with them and see where it goes! ;)" but in a curious way. I know it will lead to fantasizing, which will lead to desire, which will morph into unfaithfulness. I don't want that. In the name of Jesus! I don't want that. So, these new thoughts from the enemy have been met with brutal force and will be silenced with the Word of God. 

Please respect what I say here, as you see, I'm being very blunt and honest with you.

It's ok to have wedding jitters. It's normal. Marriage is a HUGE thing that should not be taken lightly. Far to many people don't take it seriously, thus all the broken homes and damaged kids who will be the leaders of the next generation, who don't know what a healthy, non-chaotic lifestyle truly is. Brakes my heart. 

What is not good is to not talk to someone about it. Find a good, trusted friend who is strong in the Lord who can listen to all your fears and worries and gently remind you of the truth.

Now, if you are in an unhealthy relationship, by all means your wedding jitters won't leave. If you know the relationship is bad, get out now before you have said your vows before God and man. Just because someone said "I love you and will always be here for you" means nothing when their actions do not line up. Stop. Breath. Look out your relationship objectively. Find out what God wants. Do it. Please don't stay in a destructive relationship. For the sake of your children and your own sanity, find someone who will love and respect you unconditionally. 

If you are in a relationship God wants and blesses, then please relax and remember it's ok to be nervous and have jitters about your wedding day. No cold feet now! :)

You've got it! Your day will be great! All the planning and organizing is almost over! Even if all your ducks don't line up in a row, at the end of the day you'll be married and happy! :)

And may God bless you as your adventure finally begins!!! 

The Car who Wanted to be a Motorcycle

Once there was a car named Sam. Sam was a sleek, green car with tinted windows and a secret no one knew. Sam had always wanted to be a motorcycle instead of a car. They always went so fast and looked so cool with two wheels instead of four, bulky tires like Sam had. Motorcycles always got more attention too, and they always where ahead of him on the roads. Sam wanted that.
Looking at his reflextion, he frowned at his large frame and his windows and doors. He was mad at the Global Operations Department, the factory where he and anything with wheels was manufacturered, had decided to build him. Though he had never spoken with the Global Operations Department, or G.O.D., he knew they had made a mistake in his design plans.
"They made a mistake!" Sam said angerly. "They don't know what they're doing! I'll fix myself then to what feels right!"
That day, he went to the auto shop and declared he wanted to be what he was always ment to be, a motorcycle. "But," the repair man stammered, "but you're not a motorcycle. Your a car."
"Can't you see that's not who I am?!?!? I'm supposed to be a motorcycle! Don't you tell me what I can and can't be!"
"Alright! Alright, I'll do it."
Sam had to go into the auto shop several times to correct G.O.D.'s error. Bit by bit, his wheels came off and he learned how to ballance on two, his frame was replaced with a narrower build, and his stearing wheel was replaced by handels. After months of work and change, Sam looked at himself again, smiling at his motorcycle appearance. "Great!" He said. "Now put in a motorcycle engine."
"Hum, we can't do that," the repair man said. "We tried the last time you where in, but the wiring goes beyond our abilities and if we tried, we'd probably brake you.  You'd never start again."
Sam's smile faded as he thought. "But, I still have a car's engine. A can't be a real motorcycle without a motorcycle engine!" "Well, we can't help you." "But, your the best!" The repair man shrugged. Sam sighed, knowing that it didn't matter how much he looked like a motorcycle, he would never be able to function like one.
"G.O.D. might be able to do it for you," the repair man said.
"I'll try them," Sam said with hope.
He drove up to the G.O.D. office, though it wasn't a good drive like he thought it be. He wasn't ballance on his new two wheels and kept forgetting to think like a motorcycle, not a car.
When he reached the office, he went inside and found a man standing at the door with a huge roll of papers in his hands. "Hello, Sam," he said. "The repair man called ahead and asked if we could put a motorcycle engine inside you."
"Can you?" The car/motorcycle grinned, feeling hope at last. Maybe now I can be what I was ment to be!
"No," the man said. Sam frowned. "To replace your car engine with a motorcycle engine goes against your original plans and design. We made you a car and a car is who you'll always be."
Sam shook his head, confused. "I'm not a car. I'm a motorcycle! See? See my two wheels, my seat and no doors? See my handlebars and frame?"
The man shook his head as he unrolled the papers in his hands. "Sam, look. Here are your designs. It took six months to come up with the perfect design just for you, two months to draw it out, and eight months to create you."
Sam's mouth dropped open as he stared at the hundreds of calculations, draw plans, interior and exterior design, engine construction, and so much more. Maybe . . . Sam though, maybe they did know what they where doing.
"You will always be a car, Sam." The man rolled up his papers, his brow knotted for he knew this was hard for Sam to hear; hard but good. "It doesn't matter how much you change G.O.D.'s design, we meant for you to be a car, and a car is what you are." "
But," Sam looked down, "I don't feel like a car."
"But a car is what you are."
"But it doesn't feel right."
"So you think that G.O.D., the manufacturer of thousands of cars in hundreds of countries before your designs where even thought of, is wrong?"
"Yes. Maybe. I don't know . . ." The man and Sam stared at one another without a word.
"We can help you, Sam," the man said. "We can rebuild you from the top to the bottom based on your original design."
Sam shook his head. "I don't know."
"You want to be true to yourself?" Sam nodded. The man held up the rolls of paper. "This is who you are! Be true to your original design that G.O.D. has made for you!"
Sam looked up at the man, at his plans. He looked behind him down the road away from G.O.D. He didn't know what to do.

Do you?

Kingdom Minded

I've been learning something very strange that I really like!
I've started going to an ultra in depth Bible study at my church and have been learning so much! God has been pointing out my pride through a book called "The Bait of Satan" by John Bevere, broke down my insecurities of being "stupid" in another of John's books, "Under Cover", and now have opened my eyes to the Kingdom of God through a WONDERFUL book called "The Final Battle" by Rick Warner. Each book has been very helpful and has opened my eyes to things I need to change about myself and I strongly encourage you to read them as well.
Anyways, I've been learning how to be Kingdom Minded. When I say Kingdom, I mean God's economy, life through God's eyes and not how this world says to live. It's difficult, I'm not going to lie. I'm a human, in a physical world, trying to think and act like someone who lives in a spiritual world with a Kingdom, Heavenly Army, and system that is far above earth. Yah . . . it's a bit tricky sometimes.
But!
It can be done for all things are possible with God. So, how do we start?
First, we must understand what it means to have a Kingdom Mindset. It means that your goals, motive, and drive is all based off what God wants. It is rejecting our world's mindset, or working hard only to be successful just to die comfortably, and taking on a godly attitude. This means that the speed racer who cut you off at rush hour should not be cussed at, but prayed for. They might have had a worse day then you and is late to pick up their kids from school. It means to help that smelly bum, instead of ignoring them. It means to stop thinking "How can this situation better me and what I want?" and think "What can I do for someone else?" W.W.J.D. isn't an cheesy phrase, it's truth. What would Jesus do should be a constant question. I know for me, if I just ask what would I do, nothing good or fulfilling will ever happen.
Well, why would you want to have a Kingdom Mind? Let's face it, life sucks. The people who act like it isn't are either good at lying, good at dulling the pain, or have God. When we stop thinking like this crappy world tells us to think, we begin to see things as they really are.
Everyone has a spirit, but we don't function naturally in the spiritual world. Therefore, our spirit can get sick and weak and need help. However, in this physical world, we don't know how to think, act, walk in, and live in a way that edifices our spirit. God made the spiritual world. He knows how to nurture and protect our spirits. He is more then able to in fact. Therefore, we must strip away the physical, deteriorating world's view and take on God's eternal mindset.
What would this look like? Well, I'll tell you.
My dream sense I was thirteen is to become a successful author with my stories available all over the world where everyone knows my epic tails! I've been striving for that goal ever sense. So, I've been learning how to market, signed up to teach writing workshops, I'm going to several book fairs, learning how to use social media to my advantage, and so on. BUT! God does not seem interested in marketing or aggressively pursuing success. This confuses me because I'd think he wants our books to become popular so that more people can read it, therefore more lives can be changed. Apparently, he thinks differently. God and I have been talking a lot about the future lately and he has shown me my goals are not Kingdom Minded. For the moment, God seems more interested in me writing, establishing the Hearts of Glass series, and not worrying about the next big gig. I kind of think I'm not ready to be big, so he's wanting me to go slow.

It's annoying, honestly, because I feel like a race horse unable to speed out onto the track to beat the race. My rider, God, is chill and laid back and not wanting me to speed ahead. I have to trust him and know his way is the best way; being Kingdom Minded. I'm not very good at this, its still a new idea, but it is a fulfilling one. When I know that my goals align with God's, things go a lot smoother. If I was left to myself, I would be punishing myself all the time for not writing or working on marketing, while I'm currently working full time and planning my wedding. I'm learning its okay to relax and let writing wait for a time. It's hard, but its what God wants.

Be Kingdom minded. It's not natural, but it's worth it. It will take time and a conscious effort, but I know you can do it!

:)

Writing Workshop: Writing Fundamentals

Writing is an art, and like all arts, it is helpful to learn from an instructor. I will be teaching a Writing Workshop on April 9th at the La Grande Art Center. You will learn the fundamentals of writing, such as word choice, plot development, and, my personal favorite, character development. Please bring a pen and paper to partake in the exercises. 

After the session, I will read exerts from both my books, "The Day the Devil Smiled" and "Hearts of Glass: Shattered Lives" and share my personal adventures in the writing world. 

Throughout the two hours, I long to encourage you to pursue your dreams of writing and give you resources to publish your own work. Everyone should give their story a chance and let it be printed!

Come and check it out, learn a lot of necessary writing tools, and I'd love to chat with you afterward. See you there!

Day: April 9th

Time: 1-3 P.M.

Location: Union County Art Center

Bring: Pen and paper