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Curses Snippet and Question time!
🕑 Added 2020-08-10 23:08:10 +0000 UTCFirst, sorry (not sorry?) about the zombie face surprise. I wanted to show you all that Man Friend found some of my old postcards while redoing our garage and put them up in the Murder Shack. This postcard was from 826Seattle (now Bureau of Fearless Ideas) and I love it. ( I used to volunteer there!) Also, that postcard is necessary right now. I think I've burned myself out a bit. I've been trying to write a new chapter of Lena for you...and it's been really slow going. I can usually sit down and write a chapter rough draft in a day. Then I send it to Mel, and we spend a day editing it so it sucks less. My chapters are usually anywhere from 2-4,000 words. It's taken me two days to write 1600 words...and I'm just blanking out. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.
So what have I been doing?
* I turned in Curses. It will come back to me next week and I'll have to do line edits. If that works, we turn it in for copy edits on 9/1.
* I've been prepping a secret project for submission to an agent. I love my agent! My agent is great. But I wrote something different that isn't YA and it's not the kind of book he sells, so we're talking to some people in the hopes of netting me a secondary agent.
* I've been teaching. This has taken more of my time than I thought? I knew teaching was hard, but BLUGH. But I'm teaching online through Hugo House and today my YA Novel Writing Class is going to tackle tropes, archetypes, cliches and pet peeves.
*Which means I've also been reading a lot of student work and other teaching material. This week I learned about Erik Erikson's stages of development. So that was cool.
So, lots of things and none of them naps. Today I wanted to post another snippet of Curses for you, and see if any of you have any questions out there for me! Questions about books, writing, or why I have an autographed photo of Erik Estrada in my garage--anything is fair game. Just hit me up in the comments.
And for now, here is the snippet! This is early on in the book when we first get to meet Tevin, one of the main characters.
****
Tevin DuMont waited at the servants’ entrance. Since the jig was up, they wouldn’t want the likes of him coming in the front door. He spun his bowler hat in his hand, his body relaxed as he leaned against the brick edifice that was the Downing household when they weren’t at their country estate. The Downing townhome was in a fashionable neighborhood off of the market square, nestled right in downtown Grenveil. If that didn’t tell Tevin how deep Downing’s pockets were, the bustle of servants going in and out the back and the scale of deliveries being dropped off would have. Out of habit Tevin counted them up as they went in the door next to him. Hothouse flowers, sides of venison, a brace of quail, cheeses in thick wax rinds, fresh apples, and cases of sparkling wine. It was an embarrassment of supplies, and they weren’t even having a party. Well, maybe they were going to have a private one as soon as they got rid of him.
Tevin popped his hat back on and began to whistle. That was usually the last straw for most people. He only managed a few bars before the door snapped open, and one of Downing’s hired men poked his head out.
“The master will see you.” His tone very much implied that he didn’t think the master should do any such thing.
“Obliged.” Tevin tipped his bowler with a grin and the man softened. That was the best way Tevin could describe it. His gift of charm didn’t change people or cloud their minds, it just made them more moldable, like warm beeswax in skilled hands. The charm might have been a fairy gift, but his looks were his own, and he wielded both with the casual ease of someone long used to a task.
The hired man—probably a butler—led Tevin through the kitchen. “Would you like something? Sandwiches? A nice apple? The cook makes a lovely raisin bun—”
Tevin patted the man’s shoulder. “No, thank you. I’m sure the master would like to see me quickly.” When the butler looked crestfallen, he added, “perhaps on the way out.” After all, he didn’t want to disappoint the man. And he was hungry.
The butler nodded. “I’ll ask the cook to set one aside for you.”
Tevin followed the butler through the obscene wealth that comprised the Downing household. His boots met thick imported carpets. The light that fell on him was filtered through stained glass windows. The candleholders all had fresh beeswax candles ready for dusk. Mage light would have been cheaper and more convenient, but Downing was old school fairy lineage and wouldn’t want to dirty his home with anything that came from mage magic. It would be beneath him. To Tevin it seemed a silly reason to pass up a cheap and useful innovation, but what did he know?
The butler waved him into a study but didn’t enter. Tevin almost asked him to wait. Downing wasn’t one for power plays, so this meeting would be short, and he would call the butler back to make sure Tevin left immediately.
“Don’t sit.” Avrel Downing, baron of a small but—unfortunately for him rich—barony in the south, stood up from his desk and glared at Tevin. Well, technically, Avrel thought he was glaring at Tomas. Swindlers never used their real names, and the DuMonts were meticulous with their craft.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Tevin’s smile a sharp blade. It wasn’t sporting to kick a man when he was down, but Tevin harbored a dislike for parents that bullied their children. In many ways, Avrel doted on his daughter. She could have anything she wanted, except the one thing that mattered—control over her future.
Avrel sighed as he descended into his chair. The baron likely knew, at least intellectually, that he was still mad, but the emotion would be muted while Tevin’s gift worked its magic…whether Tevin wanted it to or not. He missed a really good argument. Tevin’s gift had been bestowed when he was seven. Now the only people he couldn’t charm was family—his parents had made sure of that. Every once in a while, he met someone immune, but not often. If his charm didn’t get them, his looks did.
“You’re a monster,” Avrel said, dropping his head in his hands.
“I know,” Tevin said, not unkindly.
“You played her for a fool, an absolute fool.” Avrel’s face took on the appearance of a mournful dog.
Tevin kept his lips shut, though he wondered what bothered Avrel most—the loss of face, or his daughter’s heart ache? It wasn’t his place to correct the baron. He was here to get paid. “We could always go through with the engagement—”
Avrel recoiled as if he'd been struck. "My daughter’s line is fairy blessed on both sides."
Whereas Tevin’s blood was common as dirt, not a noble speck of magic in his lineage anywhere. This is what they banked on, the parent's aversion to sullying their own bloodlines. Diluting them. Tevin relied on them choosing that over a supposed love match. Tevin thought it was a pretty safe bet. No one had picked their daughter's wishes over bloodlines, not in the four years he’d been running this particular con for his parents.
Avrel didn't disappoint. He handed Tevin a leather pouch with a groan. Tevin opened it, counting the coin inside.
"I hope you're proud of yourself, you cretin." His voice had no heat in it, though.
Tevin pocketed the leather purse. Cretin was new. He rather liked the stately sound of it. Almost classy. “I am, thank you.”
Avrel stared sadly out the window. “You can let yourself out.”
Tevin didn’t say anything as he slipped out the office door.
He almost ran smack dab into Lydia, who was waiting in the hall. Her big blue eyes were wide, anxious. Tevin opened his coat and showed her the purse. Those big blues lit up as she danced in place. Lydia threw her arms around Tevin, kissing him on the cheek. He held her for a second, before letting her go.
She handed him an embroidered handkerchief, the ends tied up in a small bundle. He didn’t count that one out, putting it directly into his pocket with the purse from her father. She gave his shoulders a last squeeze, her grin lighting up her whole face. Tevin shooed her off, sending her back up the stairs to her room. Wouldn’t do for her doting papa to come out and find them.
He made his way down the hall and into the kitchen. The cook, a rather fierce looking woman with apple cheeks, waved a begrudging hand at the bun sitting on the table. “Jennings wanted you to have it.”
Tevin picked up the bun and took a bite. He didn’t have to feign enthusiasm. It was perfect—raisins and a hint of cinnamon and some sort of honey glaze. “You, madame, have a gift. This is perfection.”
The cook wiped her hands on her apron, a blush tinting her cheeks. “It’s just a bun.”
He shook his head. “Not to me.” He lifted it. “This, madame, is art.”
She firmed her lips, her eyes getting distant. She held up a finger telling Tevin to wait as she strode briskly to the pantry. Tevin savored his bun and waited to see what else the cook would offer.
****
Happy Monday! (But is it? I mean, it's still a Monday.) Hope you all are well!
Lish
Comments
Ha! That's how my husband decorates. We have zombie stuff EVERYWHERE.
OMG, I *love* the zombie mask (including the spike).
