When Morning Comes Too Early Excerpt "Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal" HR Apostos

“Do you want to meet me for lunch?” He asks.

I mutter something incoherent.

“I am an optimistic man and I rocked it last night so I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’.”

I nod, mutter, and point to his dirty clothes that have grown into a pile on my bedroom floor. I hear movement and know that he’s glancing at the clock.

“I’m going to be late. I’ve got to go.”

I take a deep breath of his scent as he kisses me one more time. I hear the door close softly. Detective Farina is gone.

I am just settling on to my chaise on an abandoned beach next to a well oiled and tan looking Farina when…the door creaks. I hear four paws and several nails tap tap tapping across my bedroom floor. Then a weight upsets the quiet of my bed. There is a scent of doggy breath and something licks my ear. “We worked last night Grey. I’m still sleeping.”

Grey licks my cheek. I lift a hand without looking and give the wire-haired terrier mix an ear scratch. “I’ll get up in an hour. Go back to bed.” I feel him move to the foot of the bed and curl up into his favorite spot, where Farina’s feet had been minutes earlier. Grey licks a few times, sighs, and everything is quiet again.

A few minutes later, another set of paws skitter across the floor. I feel new weight on the bed. The mattress shifts with each step. The new arrival comes to a stop next to my face. A paw lands on top of my head, a wet one. Smelly too.

“Buddy. Buddy!” I hear Heather calling as she walks up the stairs. “Let’s go! Mommy’s got your bath water run. I found Squeakie.” Heather walks up the hall and through my bedroom squeaking all the way. “There you are. Naughty Boy.”

I try not to move. Heather sees movement. Every movement. I try to hold my breath but a sneeze escapes.

“Good, you’re up.” She says cheerfully.

Too damn cheerfully if you ask me.

“No, I’m not.”

Heather’s footsteps cross the room. I hear her stop next to my side of the bed. The weight next to my head lifts when she picks up Buddy.

“Open your eyes.” She says.

“No.” I cuddle further into my warm cocoon, refusing to budge.

“Heather Darling, open your eyes and look at your bed sheets.”

I open one eye to see a dark blob on the sheet in front of me. Then I open both of them. There is a mess of black/brown goo on my bed sheets.

“Now sniff.”

I glare at Heather for a moment and then do as ordered.

“Buddy is in fine form today. He’s in such fine form that when I let the boys out to do their business this morning after doing his thing,”

“Peeing.” I mutter.

“He proceeded to roll over for a back rub in mud and a pile of...”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. So as it turns out Heather Darling, you are now up for the day.”

“Crap.”

When A Self-Proclaimed Mercenary Goes Hunting

Tinkletoes makes a face that silences all. The self-proclaimed mercenary turns his head, taking in all of House’s changes. He raises an eyebrow and says, “You must have those hilts well hidden.”
“Yes. I do.” She proclaims with a lilt of pride.
Tinkletoes steps away from the wall with his drawing on it and looks into the living room from the kitchen. He takes one step, his heavy combat boot meets the stone floor. He takes another louder step with the other foot. Each step is deliberate and each one heavier than the last. He stops at a wall and rams into it with a muscled shoulder. Tinkletoes moves a few inches down the wall and does it again.
“What…what are you doing?” House asks nervously.
“Nothing much.” He answers as he opens the pantry and pushes against its back wall. “Just admiring your improvements House. Can’t a guy do that?”
“Did you see the improvements that I made to my living room?”She asks.
“What’s going on?” Paige whispers.
Dylan crooks a finger at his older sister, she leans down. “House is trying to distract Tinkletoes so he doesn’t break something.”
“Show me.” The self-proclaimed mercenary says. He follows House’s voice into the living room taking slow, heavy steps the entire way.
“It took months to decide between carpet and wood floor. Then Mural Man reminded me that three cats in a house means three times the hair balls. He knows how much I detest having my floors smell like cat food.” House continues to narrate her tour. “I added a closet to the main entry for coats and things.” In her excitement House creates a temporary opening through the wall, leading Tinkletoes straight to her latest addition.
Writer Lady says, “TP.”
The faerie flutters close by.
“Will you please go and find out what’s going on?”
The faerie disappears in a puff of smoke.
“Since Tinkletoes and House seem to be working things out on their own, who wants pancakes?”
All three children call out “I do.”
“Let’s get breakfast quickly before House changes something else.” Writer Lady says. “Has anyone seen my skillet?”
Tinkletoes walks through the opening speaking in brief acknowledgments with a strange sparkle in his eye.
TP appears in front of Tinkletoes.
“Yeah?”
“Writer Lady wants to know what’s going on.”
“Man stuff.”
TP giggles and continues to flutter in front of the self-proclaimed mercenary careful not to fly into Tinkletoes as he’s hunting.
“Are you going to help or just keep flying in front of my face?”
TP disappears in a puff of smoke.
“I thought not.” Tinkletoes continues down one of House’s new hallways. It is unusually long and appears to grow longer with each new step. “How long are you gonna make this thing?”
“Take one more step and voilà.” House says.
Lights go up and Tinkletoes enters to find a wall with six large flat screens mounted to it (two rows of three), a console organizer with LED back lighting, and a large sectional sofa. The ultimate gaming room.
“What’s this?” The self-proclaimed mercenary asks.
“This is Dobby’s room. He wanted something special so when you play together, the men get to have fun without any stupid kittens in your way.”
“It’s kitten proof?” He asks.
“Neither Writer Lady nor the kittens can see this room. It was the first enchantment woven into the room’s design and one of my favorites. That and sound proofing. Mural Man has been helping me. We are having fun putting special touches into everyone’s individual space.”
“Everyone has their own room?”
“Everyone will.”
“How did you get Writer Lady to agree to that?”
“She told me to?”
“Writer Lady told you to give everyone a room?”
“Yes.” House answers.
“What did she say exactly?” Tinkletoes asks.
“I want there to be plenty of room for everyone.”
“That’s not the same as giving everyone an individual room.” Tinkletoes says with a grin.
“Everyone has a room. Dobby has the gaming room, the kittens have a play room with live trees to climb, TP has a bachelor pad, Aunt Purdy, Furnatche, and the kids have an adventure bungalow room, Diomedes has his own study off of High Command, Carp has a space that he designed, Ray’s room looks like a giant cheese puff, Daemon has a sauna room...”
“Wait a minute...you gave the demon a room?”
House sighs. “I created something more in tune with his natural environment. Demons require longer rest periods than other magical beings as well as much warmer atmosphere. Don’t you know anything?”
“What else have you got?”
“Pirate and the Lady With The Long Gold Hair have adjoining cabins that resemble those on a cherished ship from his previous life.”

“Monitor Man?” Tinkletoes asks. “Where’s his room?”

“Mural Man and I can’t decide if I should build one for him or not. He hasn’t been around for a while. What do you think?” House asks.

Tinkletoes looks closely at the gaming equipment, the big screens, the snack area, the self cleaning cat box. “Dobby will love it.”

“Thank you. That wasn’t what I was asking.”

“What do I think about you building Monitor Man a room?”

“Yes.”

“Monitor Man and I aren’t really that close. Why ask me?”

“Mural Man says that even though you act like an obnoxious, self-serving, know-it-all that deep down. It must be really deep down, seriously deep, deep down.”

“I get it House.”

“Mural Man says that somewhere inside of you there is a good man.”

Tinkletoes looks away from the couch and at the ceiling. “Thanks.”

“Should I?”

“Have you and Mural Man worked out a design?”

“A roomy man cave with a custom fireplace and clean lines.”

“Save it.” Tinkletoes says. “He’s not my favorite person but it would be a nice thing to do to keep the design on hand, just in case.”

Tinkletoes exits Dobby’s gaming room through a door on the far end of the room to find himself in a hallway with vintage bulkhead light fixtures and  a steel door in military green.

“Where does this door lead?” He asks.

“To your room.”

Excerpt "Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal"

Lunch At The Bistro

I manage to hide from everyone for the rest of the morning only emerging from the house to meet The Super Vagina for lunch. I start to cancel six times but my pride won’t let me. So here I am at twelve-thirty in the afternoon walking to a bistro four blocks from Heather’s. I find Detective Farina waiting for me, menu in hand. I plop down in the chair across from him feeling annoyed. I pick up the menu in front of me and pretend to study it. From behind my barricade I watch Detective Farina as he peruses and wait to pounce. The waiter comes to our table and Detective Farina orders. I cannot wait to lay into him but on the other hand. It’s not very nice to yell at someone right before they eat.

“And for the lady…”

I am brought back from my ‘He ruined my morning by existing and now he must die’ moment to find both men looking at me expectantly. “Salad?” I spurt out.

“Which one?” The waiter asks.

“Yeah…um…which one.” I look at the menu that I’m holding. “There’s a really good one, with chicken on it.” I find it just in the nick of time. “Grilled Chicken Salad. I’ll have the Grilled Chicken Salad.”

The waiter and the detective exchange glances.

“Two grilled chicken salads.” The waiter announces. “To drink?”

Detective Farina looks at me and asks. “How about an iced tea?”

I nod.

“Two iced teas.” The waiter announces. He takes the menus from us and wanders off to do waiter stuff.

“How are you feeling?” Detective Farina asks.

“Tired, cranky.”

 

He nods. He doesn’t ask why I am cranky. He doesn’t admonish me for my mood either. He sees that this is my current state of being and quietly accepts it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk about. I’m tired, it seems impossible to get any sleep and everyone is acting weird.”

“Things have been busy.” He agrees. “And as for the weirdness…I spoke to a witness this morning who swears that the dead are rising from their graves and taking over our bodies. An evil voodoo shaman is controlling everything. Or will be quite soon.”

“Really?”

“We will all be getting our instructions from the voodoo shaman through our cell phones.”

The waiter arrives with our order. Detective Farina looks at his lunch, looks at the waiter and says, “This looks good but I think that it could be better. Could I get a side order of brains?”

The waiter pales.

“He’s not serious.” I tell the waiter.

Detective Farina has not turned his gaze. “I’m completely serious.” He says. “I must re-fuel before we take over.”

The waiter looks at me. I shake my head.

“On second thought, you look intelligent. Your brain should be very tasty. Just squat down here. I’ll take a quick bite. “

The detective looks at me and says, “It tastes just like sushi.”

The waiter looks at me, eyes wide. “Is he serious?”

Detective Farina’s phone vibrates on the table. He checks the message. “It looks like I have new instructions from our leader. You can go.”

The waiter skedaddles.

“What?” He asks. “It was funny.”

 I can feel my demeanor softening, “Not for the waiter.”

“You were smiling. That’s what’s important.” 

The detective’s phone vibrates again. He gestures for the waiter, who comes to our table, slowly. “I have to get back to work. Can I get this to go?”

The waiter nods and takes his plate. Detective Farina leaves money for both the bill and the tip. “I’m sorry.” He says, looking at me.

“I know.”

He walks to my side of the table and bends over to kiss me good-bye. “Go home. Get some rest, we’ll have fun tonight.”

Drawing Lines

“You wouldn’t dare,” House yells.

“No, House you’re right. I wouldn’t dare anything.” Tinkletoes reaches out to the pine panel in front of him and begins to doodle. “Always remember. I am a soldier. I don’t dare. I do what needs to be done.” After several minutes, the self-proclaimed mercenary steps back from his creation.

Writer Lady, Carp, Ray, Tinkletoes, TP and both kittens all study the result of his efforts.

Peter enters the kitchen with Paige, Dylan, and Furnatche in tow. They stop to look at the newest addition to House’s interior. Dylan proclaims. “I did not do that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’ve been with us all morning.” Peter says.

“I did it.” Tinkletoes announces.

Paige looks at the drawing on the wall, she steps closer and studies it. “The similarities between this and one of Dylan’s stick drawings is uncanny.”

Ray chomps on a cheese puff. He looks at Tinkletoes. “You draw like a four year old. Totally cool man.”

“As long as nobody blames this on me.” The tow-headed boy’s face grows serious. He looks at the self-proclaimed mercenary and asks. “If you only draw stick people how can you show the other soldiers what to do?”

“I abbreviated things.” Tinkletoes announces with a grin.

“And they just knew what you meant?” Dylan asks.

“Everyone used the same abbreviations, that way, we all spoke the same language.”

“They use ‘X’s like in football.” Paige says.

“The military is more sophisticated than football.” The self-proclaimed mercenary grins. “Let me show you.”

A large white board on an easel along with a marker appears to the left of Tinkletoes. There is a note on the board that reads: WRITE HERE.

Tinkletoes holds up his drawing charcoal and says, “Thanks House. I’ve got this.” He turns back to the freshly installed pine paneling and commences drawing. “First, you have to map things out.” He continues to narrate as he draws. “Here’s the camp. The enemy camp is hidden by this hill.” He draws an upside down “V” shape. “Over here is the access road. There are mountains to the east and an ocean to the west.”

“Are you going to add happy little trees?” Dylan asks. “The man on TV puts in happy little trees.”

“No, it’s not that kind of a picture.” Peter says.

“There’s a mountain range over there.” Tinkletoes draws a bulky looking shape. “Here are our guns.” He says adding several ‘X’s. “Hiding over here is the enemy.” He announces drawing several ‘O’s. “That was how I communicated with my men.”

“It looks just like football.” Paige says.

“No it doesn’t.” The self-proclaimed mercenary counters folding his arms.

“It kind of does.” Writer Lady agrees.

Ray points to the wall with a cheese puff. “Yep.”

“There are mountains.” Tinkletoes points out.

“On a football field.” Writer Lady counters.

“Okay fine. Maybe soldiers don’t draw.”

TP pops in and flutters through the air directly in front of the wall. “Oh my goodness.” The faerie exclaims. “TP fix.” The faerie waves a hand over the surface of the wall and the ‘X’s and ‘O’s begin disappearing.

“I need that.”

“No you don’t. You need to clean up the mess that you made.” House says. “I was pretty and you ruined it.”

“I made a bold strategic move.” Tinkletoes counters. “If you want to be pretty again then give me my hilts!”

“I don’t know that they look like.” House says.

Writer Lady looks at the ceiling and raises an eyebrow.

“Does it look like this?” House projects a picture of a stilt on to the front the dishwasher.

Carp taps Tinkletoes on the arm. Tinkletoes glares at Carp. Carp points to the illuminated illustration.

“No.” Tinkletoes answers.

“What about this?”

A picture of a Pogo stick appears.

“Picture a sword without the sharp end.” Writer Lady suggests.

A picture of a sword with the pointy end removed appears.

“No, no, NO!” Tinkletoes says. He pulls his Bowie knife out of the case he wears on his hip and covers the blade. He holds it towards the ceiling.

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady, “Can she see this? Where are her eyes?”

“She’s magic. She has 360 vision. Silly Human.” TP giggles.

Tinkletoes nods. “Look for something like this. Just the handle.”

“That’s not very impressive is it?”

Tinkletoes’ neck reddens and slowly begins traveling up the length of his neck.

Peter whispers something to Dylan and the four-year old runs out of the kitchen with Furnatche on his heels. The tow-headed boy returns with his recently broken toy light saber.

Dylan holds it up and says, “Like this. See?”

“Oh.” House says.

“Do you know where they are?” Writer Lady asks.

“Yes...maybe...who says that I know where they’re at?”

“It would be a really nice thing to do if you gave Tinkletoes his hilts. It is not his fault that they were stored in the attic when you began working on new layouts for yourself. I was the one that stored them there.”

“I don’t care. I don’t like him and I don’t want the boob to have his toys.”

Tinkletoes puts his knife away and runs his hand down the length of his face in frustration. TP flutters up to Tinkletoes’ ear and whispers something. The self-proclaimed mercenary raises an eyebrow and smiles.

“You know House, Mural Man isn’t going to be happy when he finds out that you’re acting like this.”

“So.” House challenges.

“Where is Mural Man?”

“He’s out...getting his fold lines ironed.”

The redness begins to dissipate and one side of Tinkletoes’ mouth turns up in a grin. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if Mural Man knew how you were behaving.”

TP whispers something else to Tinkletoes.

“No.” Tinkletoes says.

TP whispers again.

“No.” He answers and shakes his head.

The faerie persists.

“I’m a man. I’m not sayin’ that about another man.”

TP tries again.

Tinkletoes growls. It is a low rumble, barely audible. He glares at TP. The faerie holds up both hands on either side of his shoulders apologetically. Tinkletoes clears his throat. “Yeah. It would be a shame if Mural Man found out. You might not see his umm..." the self-proclaimed mercenary pauses before he finishes his sentence,"shapely behind again for a long time.”

“Fat chance. He’s nuts about me. Try again Soldier Boy.”

Welcome 2019

Here it is. The first Saturday night of the new year and I once again find myself doing something that I don’t usually do. Writing not only about the writing but about the blog. And about my plans for the blog in 2019.

You think that I plan this stuff out?

TP (giggles): Silly humans.

If this is your first visit to my blog let me give you head’s up. In my every day life, I plan things a lot. Like all the time. Even dinner. Okay I plan dinner most of the time. I plan it some of the time. I have been known to plan dinners out in the past.

In my writing life, any planning that takes place is all up here. (Points to head). I am a Pantser. I fly by the seat of my pants. I say whatever comes to mind. Filtering happens during the edit. If you’re lucky.

My plan was to post the first two installments of the current story beginning next Saturday night. But here I am, sitting in High Command half asleep because, hey...it’s Saturday night. I have to say something. I don’t want people to think that just because I have been a bit quiet during the month of December that it’s going to be a permanent thing.

Not happening man.

I’ve been here this long. Why stop now?

In 2018, I did mix things up a bit with the blog. Writing other stories without the usual cast of characters that I have come to know and love is fun but the truth is after a while a writer’s characters especially the ones that you write a lot...they become family. Although I did enjoy venturing out a bit into other types of fiction I did miss them.

(Looks around) They’re all here. With me. In High Command, while I’m writing. Tinkletoes is getting damn frustrated at this lack of attention. He’s a big man. (That’s what he says.) His people miss him. A lot.

Dude relax. We’ve got like...five followers.

“Five? Are you sure?” Tinkletoes asks.

Carp says, “She couldn’t be a writer if she didn’t know how to read.”

“I guess not.”

In 2019, I want to tell more stories featuring the characters that I have missed so much during these last months. Writer Lady, Tinkletoes, TP, Carp, Ray, Dobby, Diomedes, Furnatche, Spots, Smudge, Peter, Dylan, Paige, and Aunt Purdy. We’ll see who else turns up. Where did Daemon go anyway?

Dylan crosses the room and stops next to my chair. I look down at the four year old. “Where did the old sword go? Does Pirate still have it?” He asks.

I shake my head.

Peter enters and stands behind his younger brother. “No. We got it back. The queen insisted that it stay with her for now.”

“But it belongs in Faerie.” The tow-headed boy says.

Writer Lady looks at me and says, “It’s okay. I’ll explain it to him.”

I nod.

She steers Dylan out of High Command quietly explaining that as the current reigning monarch of England and the Commonwealth the queen has the final word regarding the custody and protection of Excalibur.

I listen as Dylan becomes more insistent that the magical sword belongs in Faerie.

Writer Lady finally gives up and says, “Fine. When you meet the queen of England you can discuss it with her.”

Dylan is packing for England now.

This should be interesting.

There may be some new characters and different kinds of stories online in 2019. I have a pair of spies that I am anxious to work with (I was hoping for a collaboration for that one but I have yet to run into the right partner for it), I have also been hearing whispers of a small town where on one Saturday morning all of the introverts ran wild for one day...it might have potential.

Remember, as a writer and a pantser (standing with head held high wearing a pair of men’s boxers on my head and holding up a broom like Gandalf with his staff), "I Commit To Nothing."

TP and his harem of pixies toast in unison. “Commit To Nothing.” They fly away laughing at me and my silliness.

So now you know what the deal is. Beginning next Saturday, January 12, 2019, I will use this month to re-post the beginning of the current story. Then we will pick up where I left off. It looks like Tinkletoes and House will be going head to um...crown molding(?) in a battle of wills. She has magic on her side. Tinkletoes? He has um...um...camo. Lots of camo. And stuff. It will be fun.

Thanks for reading. See you next week.

HR Apostos

The Fork In The NaNoWriMo Road

As many of you know I took the NaNo Rebel route and experimented with my NaNoWriMo project this year. I did one last edit of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal” before beta readers take a gander. A goal that I reached yesterday afternoon. Soon I will venture into the second leg of my 2018 adventure. Starting the next book. 

A different book. A different style of writing. A different point of view. A different genre. All new characters. Because I like to mix it up and make things as difficult for myself as possible. Soon it will begin. A venture into young adult fantasy with a splash of historical fiction thrown in. Yeah. Things are gonna get interesting.

You may ask yourself, “Why would she do that?” I have to answer. “Why not?” There are six days left in the month of November. I’m determined to hold Christmas activities off until December at least. Because I’m a grown-up, I don’t want to start earlier and you can’t make me. So there. (Sticks out tongue). 

Instead of Christmas elfing, I want to snuggle up at home with my coffee and my leggings and write about wizards, elves, and stuff. Have you noticed how great I am at using ‘and?’ I am so talented some days that I amaze myself. This morning I had to search for my clean underwear. It was in the freezer. You don’t need to know that. It was the cats' doing, I'm sure of it.

Then what’s the purpose of this post you may ask. Wait a second...(thinking, light bulb appears above head). The purpose of this post is to help my fellow NaNoWriMos as they come to the end of their journey.

Yesterday afternoon, after I finished my edit, after I checked my word count, earned my certificate, and watched the congratulations video, I had nothing. It was three pm and I had nothing. I had no touch down dance. No celebration planned. Nothing.

I walked through my house thinking, “That was so great. I’m proud of myself. Umm...what do I do now?”

Within minutes, everything that felt perfectly balanced was thrown off kilter. I found myself looking for things to do, anything. I cleaned. I cooked. I perused streaming services for an hour until I found something to watch. 

Fellow NaNoWriMos. Be ready for the sudden drop after you have crossed that NaNoWriMo finish line. Stop. Take thirty minutes now and set something up before you finish. Get that celebration planned even if you just go out with friends for a while. Make plans that will fill the sudden opening of time until you’ve had the chance to adjust back to the way you lived before NaNoWriMo. You’re going to need it.

I must bid you adieu. I see something walking out into the clearing. What is it? A white-tailed deer? A wizard? An elf? To find out you'll have to wait for the next book.

Finding Your NaNo Schedule (Ramblings From High Command)

November 16, 2018

It is November 16^th and we are officially over the halfway mark for NaNoWriMo. Although I came into High Command to continue my edit of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal.” Yes. This year, I am completing a third edit of the novel that I wrote last year. Because that’s what NaNo Rebels do. We don’t follow the original script. ;)

Let me share this with you in the longest most drawn out way possible because that’s what I’m good at. Seriously, ask anyone.

The work week is over and it’s Friday night. I have promised my mom for the last three nights in a row that I’m going to take the night off entirely and relax. Yeah...that hasn’t happened. But, I have to say that I am working at quite the leisurely pace at this point.

After I finished my meal, put some clothes in the dryer, and tidied the kitchen, I retired back to the couch and a stream of “Fantastic Beasts 2: The Crimes of Grindelwald” promos on YouTube. Hey, I’ve been waiting over a year for this movie. Okay? Besides, I had to sit back and take the promos/reviews in. It relaxes me.

Well, I found myself shifting around on the couch, looking around the room, back at the television, and shifting around a little more. After a few minutes of that, I checked the time on my phone. Eight pm. It was eight pm and I was not editing nor was I in High Command.

I have a day job and during the month of November a night job as well. I was not doing my job. Even though it was Friday and I could have gone to the movies or done something recreational. Okay...it probably would have been a movie. It is NaNoWriMo, it is eight pm. Guess what? The television goes off and I get back to work.

When you’re taking part in NaNoWriMo it is difficult to change over to the more intense writing schedule. This is my third year. I am taking to it a lot more easily than I have in the past. 

At the beginning of NaNoWriMo, the first three – five days...it’s fun and exciting to race home at night and work on the next “Great American or British or Canadian or South African or Spanish (you get the idea) Novel.” After that there are a few nights where you sit on the couch and whine really quietly to yourself about how you don’t want to do this anymore. Okay, the cats can hear you but only because they have freakishly good ears. Okay ...your mom can hear you too but only because you’re whining into the phone. You don’t do that? I thought that everyone did that. I’d better tell my writer friend (fidgets and looks around the room) who happens to whine a lot. It’s not me, I promise.

By day fifteen you have not only established a schedule but your schedule. If you deviate from the script, something feels off.

Which is what happened tonight, I realized that I have found my work schedule. I am at the point now when I can sense when it is time to be working. What is that called, my Spidey sense? No. My Writer Sense. When that starts tingling...find pen and paper, find a computer, find the laptop, find a chalk board, find something because things are happening and if you aren’t writing them down...(lowers head) bad writer. Bad Writer.

It’s time for me to get back to business. My Writer Sense is tingling.

Because: Telling stories...it’s what I do.

Sweet Dreams.

---HR Apostos

P.S. Think of me while y’all are at the movies. NO SPOILERS!

Hello November

I love writing. I love talking to people about writing. Some days I even write about writing. When a writer writes about their life as a writer, sometimes it’s difficult to decide how much to share about your life and how much to keep to yourself. Tonight I am making the conscious decision to share a little bit more about my writing life. Mostly in an effort to explain why there will be no new fiction this weekend.

November brings cooler temperatures, fallen leaves, cider, and pumpkin spice flavored everything. For a few thousand people it also marks the beginning of NaNoWriMo. NanoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is a program that encourages anyone to write a fifty thousand word novel over the course of thirty days. I have only reached the fifty thousand word goal on time once. The year that I wrote “Heather Darling and the Case of the Killer Tampon.” I skipped a couple of years, participated again last year and wrote about two-thirds of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal.”

I spend a lot time at a computer at my day job and have been adapting my life choices to reflect that; which means spending a significantly lower amount of time at my computer at home. This year, instead of fast drafting a novel I will be finishing my final edit of “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal” before it goes to beta readers. I was over a third of the way through my third edit of the book when spring hit with its myriad of outside chores and other activities. There are editing months within the NanoWriMo program but I didn’t quite stick with it last year. Okay?

Then I lost my third edit. It’s on the hard drive...somewhere. So for NaNoWriMo this year I am editing. A good edit can take about two weeks...without a day job, errands, socializing, household chores...you get the idea. With all of the other stuff, it takes a little bit longer.

My plan for this year had been to start writing a stand alone young adult fantasy novel tentatively titled, “The Wizards in the Woods,” which stems from a tall tale I told my great nephew when he was two. Raiden is six now. Seven? No six. My point is that this story has been cooking for a bit. In order to start the fantasy novel, I have to edit “Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal” that’s the deal that I have made with myself. I would like to start “The Wizards In The Woods” during the final days of NanoWriMo 2018.

I am an editing fool at the moment.

You may not see much new fiction from me this month. I regret not being able to finish the story that I had been writing before November began. It will continue in December at the latest. If you haven’t noticed, I can be a bit long winded at times. I wanted to let readers know what is going on and to let y’all know that if you do not see new fiction I will try take a few minutes here and there to share my NanoWriMo journey with you.

The process of fast drafting a novel may no longer work for me in its entirety but the practice of focusing closely on a writing project for thirty consecutive days is still highly useful. It was what drew me to the program initially, I want to take advantage of that and as a result, write better books.

Welcome to November and a little bit of craziness in my neck of the woods. (Looks behind reader). Did you bring a sleeping bag? This could take a while. You’ve got a backpack there too huh. Did you bring any snacks? Dinner was light. Dessert isn’t so great either.

Testing The Patience of a Self-Proclaimed Mercenary

“I’m just pointing out that the attic disappearing was funny until you realized that something of yours was up there too. How you take that information is up to you.”

“Like I said, she has a mean streak.” Tinkletoes says.

Writer Lady watches as Tinkletoes studies the room. Particularly where the wall meets the ceiling. The self-proclaimed mercenary sets his mug down on the counter. He retrieves a chair, placing it as close to the wall as possible, he stands on it. Tinkletoes begins pushing at the air where the ceiling used to be.

“What are you doing?” Writer Lady asks.

“What if this is one of House’s tricks? What if the ceiling and the attic are still here?”

“Like an optical illusion?” She asks.

He nods.

Writer Lady shakes her head. “Not possible.”

“Why?”

“Because if the ceiling was still there you would have knocked yourself unconscious. Your head is where the attic used to be.”

“Really? I didn’t realize that your ceiling was so low.”

“Where do you think the mud that was stuck to it last spring came from?"

Tinkletoes waits for more information.

“Your head. You came in last spring covered in mud after one of your and Carp’s camp outs.”

“It wasn’t a camp out.” He corrects.

“Okay, play date.”

“Carp is in training. He wants to be the greatest assassin in the world, he can’t do that without knowing how to disappear and go into hiding.”

Writer Lady looks at the six foot four inch self-proclaimed mercenary in his desert brown and forest green mixed camo garb. Tinkletoes has paired it with a black t-shirt encouraging sci-fi geeks of all philosophies to ‘Co-exist’ and asks, “You were going to teach him how to blend in?”

“Invisible. I’m like a chameleon, woman. I can walk into any bait and tackle shop in the state and no one blinks an eye.”

“That’s because they’re busy trying to close their mouths.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. She turns away and checks on the kittens. He continues to study the room, contemplating where his hilts might be.

TP pops into the kitchen. “They’re not gone. You just can’t see them.” The faerie says.

Tinkletoes looks at TP. “Really? I had no idea.” The self-proclaimed mercenary responds. He clenches his jaw as he steps down off of the chair and commences looking in cabinets.

“What are you looking for?” Writer Lady asks.

“My hilts, a portal to my hilts, a hand to come through the wall and present me with what I want.”

“That would be the Lady of the Lake. She only looks after Excalibur so unless you need an enchanted sword...” Writer Lady counters.

“The Lady of the Lake can only visit if there’s water. Silly Human.”TP giggles.

Tinkletoes looks in both sinks then opens the dishwasher, seeing nothing but dirty dishes, he closes it to find Writer Lady glaring at him. “It was worth a try. Is there anything in the washer?”

She does not answer and continues glaring.

“I’m thinking that’s a ‘no’.”

TP flies in front of Tinkletoes and says, “They are not gone. House will give them to you, all you have to do is ask.”

Tinkletoes looks at the ceiling. “I want my hilts. Now!”

A piece of paper is fed down between the edge of the kitchen’s decorative molding and the wall. It falls to the floor. Tinkletoes picks it up. “No way Jose.” The self-proclaimed mercenary uses several choice words.

“You haven’t asked yet.” Writer Lady points out.

“Yes I did.” Tinkletoes counters.

“You didn’t ask. You ordered. Ask this time.”

Tinkletoes takes in a breath and prepares to begin shouting.

Writer Lady holds up a hand finger extended in a ‘wait’ gesture. “Ask nicely.”

“House, I’m ready for my stuff.”

Writer Lady rolls her eyes.

“TP will help.” The faerie proclaims. He flutters close to Tinkletoes and waves his hand along Tinkletoes’ jawline.

“My dear House, would you please be so kind as to return my hilts to me? I would really appreciate it.” The words flow out of Tinkletoes’ mouth to his and Writer Lady’s surprise.

“No.” House’s voice echoes throughout the room. “That request was not authentic.”

“Give me my hilts.”

“No!”

The color rises up Tinkletoes’ neck to his face turning both a vibrant red. “If you won’t bring them to me, I’ll find them myself.” He begins opening drawers, doing his own search. He tries to anyway. The moment that he pulls open a drawer it closes again.

“Don’t try my patience Tinkleboob, you can’t begin to keep up with me.” House proclaims. All of the cabinets and drawers begin opening and closing simultaneously.

Writer Lady moves out of the way. Tinkletoes runs back and forth across the kitchen looking for a glimpse of his precious hilts. Carp and Ray enter the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Morning all.” Carp says.

“Dudes.” Ray calls.

“Good morning. You’re just in time for the show.” Writer Lady says.

“A little help here.” Tinkletoes says between dashes.

“Sure.” Carp says, as the assassin-in-training begins to help. “What are we doing?”

“That’s easy.” Ray says, “Tinkletoes is trying to get a look in House’s drawers. You really need to find better hobbies, man.” Ray starts looking in the drawers located closest to the pantry. “I wonder if there are any cheese puffs around here.”

The pantry door opens and a bag of cheese puffs flies out at Ray. He catches it. Ray quickly opens the bag and commences snacking.

Tinkletoes notices Ray’s lack of movement out of the corner of his eye. He stops searching and asks,“What are you doing?”

“Eating cheese puffs.” Ray answers.

“Where did you get them?”

“House.”

“Did you ask for those?”

Ray answers slowly, between bites. “I said, ‘I wonder if there are any cheese puffs in here.’ She sent a bag flying, I caught it.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. “He didn’t ask.” The self-proclaimed mercenary looks up and yells at the ceiling. “You gave him cheese puffs and he didn’t have to ask for them.”

“Yeah...and...so. What are you going to do about it, Tinkleboob?”

“What are you going to do about it?” Writer Lady asks.

A grin crosses Tinkletoes’ lips and a light comes to his eyes. “With an enemy like House a soldier always needs a secret weapon. I’m going to use mine.” The self-proclaimed mercenary reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of drawing charcoal.

When Changing Houses

“Changes to floor plan will commence in five, four, three, two, one...”

“Again?” Writer Lady stands in the middle of her bathroom wearing her bathrobe and waits for the walls to stop moving. The walls change from a white to a cool mint green color. She looks at the walls and mutters, “I feel like I traveled through time and been dumped in an ice cream parlor. All the room needs now is pink and white stripes.”

In a matter of seconds, accents are changed and Writer Lady finds herself surrounded by pictures and accessories covered in stripes of crisp white and bubble gum pink.

“And the nightmare is complete. Thanks House.”

“You’re welcome.” House responds.

She lets out a sigh and exits the bathroom only to find herself at the end of a long hallway. A hallway that looks like someone poured melted rainbow sherbet all over its walls or a unicorn sneezed all over them. At least there wasn’t any glitter. Not yet anyway. Rainbows and unicorns are usually followed by some sort of glitter.

The hallway narrows and lengthens with every step that she takes. Eventually Writer Lady reaches the final stretch. Spots Wash and Smudge Mal sit at the hallway’s end. The pair of kittens study her closely with a look of focus and determination. Writer Lady recognizes that look. It’s a look of...hunger. She closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them both cats are at her feet. Each kitten is sitting on his hind legs, looking up at her adoringly, empty bowl in paw.

“Food Provider, we love you. Feed us.” They cry.

“In a minute.” She answers. Writer Lady walks past them and turns right only to find another bathroom, This time, it’s flowery and pink. “Hell no. That is not staying.” To the left is her bedroom. “Finally,” escapes her lips as she enters the room, a pair of hungry kittens in tow. “Give me a second guys. I’ve just showered. Let me get dressed, then I’ll feed you.”

“We’re hungry.” Smudge says.

“We’re starving.” Spots cries.

“We need food now.” Both insist in unison.

“I’ll be right with you kitties.” She responds, removing clothes from the closet and undergarments from a drawer. “This will just take a minute.” Writer Lady is beginning to open her robe when a voice behind her says.

“You’re making them wait?” Tinkletoes asks.

Writer Lady closes her robe and turns to face the self-proclaimed mercenary. Tinkletoes is standing just outside the doorway with his favorite mug in hand.

“Yes. I’m asking them to wait while I get dressed. If you don’t mind.” She gestures for Tinkletoes to turn away and runs into the bedroom closet. “After I get dressed I will take these two into the kitchen and feed them.” She calls as she gets into her clothing.

“Good.” Tinkletoes calls back. “I’ve already been here for an hour and there still isn’t any coffee.”

Writer Lady steps out of the closet in her clothes and looks at Tinkletoes. She looks him over, studying him. “Have you broken both of your hands since you were here last?” She asks.

“No.”

“Then why didn’t you make the coffee?”

“It’s your house. It’s impolite to go mucking around in someone else’s kitchen.”

“Impolite?” Writer Lady questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” Tinkletoes looks back at Writer Lady. His facial expression changes from one of confidence to one of confusion. He turns to the kittens. “Impolite. That was the right word, wasn’t it?”

Writer Lady clears her throat.

He looks at her again.

“The real reason that there isn’t any coffee made?” She asks.

“I’m the only one here so far. I’m not doing girl stuff.”

Writer Lady gives Tinkletoes a look of disdain. “If you want coffee, what are you doing here in the bedroom?”

“TP said that the kitchen was down this hallway.”

“No, it isn’t. The kitchen was next to the bonus room when I came to bed.”

“It’s not there now.”

“Changes to floor plan will commence in five, four, three, two, one...”

“Kitties!” The kittens run to Writer Lady and she scoops the pair up to safety. They watch as Tinkletoes disappears and the walls begin moving. The bed and dresser are replaced with the refrigerator and the stove. The door to the closet disappears and is replaced with what Writer Lady hopes is her pantry. The walls change from a dark espresso wood paneling to a much lighter pine.

“Okay, it’s a country theme.” Writer Lady mutters. “I might be able to get used to this.”

The windows get bigger and a small greenhouse window is added.

Writer Lady quickly calls out, “House, remember our agreement.”

The greenhouse window disappears to be replaced with a picture of a rooster. The larger windows shrink back to their original size.

Smudge looks up at Writer Lady. “I thought that you said that you wanted one of those.”

“I do but House and I have an agreement that no changes are to be made to her exterior.”

“Why?” Spots asks.

“How do I explain to the neighbors how things like second stories or windows are added without a single workman coming to the house?”

“That would be hard.” Smudge agrees.

The walls have stopped moving and things are no longer appearing or disappearing. Writer Lady finds the cats’ food dishes and quickly fills them.

“Looking good.” Tinkletoes says as he enters. “The new table is really big too, there’s room for everyone. I just passed it.” He continues looking around. “There it is.” He says with a gesture towards the counter closest to the stove. “There’s coffee.” The self-proclaimed mercenary announces as he crosses the room and pours himself a cup.

Writer Lady peruses the new kitchen more closely, “If the kitchen is in here then where’s the bonus room?”

“Maybe House used some of the space for a bigger kitchen.” Tinkletoes offers.

Writer Lady looks up. “The ceiling is higher.”

“Great, isn’t it?” Tinkletoes says. “It’s not so dark now.”

“If the ceiling higher then where is the attic?”

Tinkletoes looks at the new ceiling, “It looks like House got rid of it.”

“I have things stored up there.”

“Not anymore.”

Tinkletoes sips his coffee while Writer Lady fixes her own mug.

“I left prototypes for a new hilt design in the bonus room.”

Writer Lady looks at Tinkletoes with a blank expression.

He puts down his mug and mimics striking down a Sith lord.

“Oh...your toys.”

“Collectibles.”

“Between Ray, Dylan, Furnatche and the kittens being here...I decided to put them somewhere safe. They’re in the attic.”She grins mischievously.

Tinkletoes looks at the ceiling where Writer Lady’s attic used to be. “But the hilts are important. I need those.”

“No attic, no toys. It looks like they’re gone now.” Writer Lady points out. There’s more grinning.

 "Did I ever tell you that you've got a mean streak?" 

What Makes A Good Hero

I do not like to blog about writing because it seems like everyone who writes writes about writing. I prefer to travel off of the path that everyone else is taking. While I’m writing, anyway. Tonight, I feel compelled to share. When I feel compelled to share then y’all get a page full. At least. Because for me, talking writing = lots of words.

By the way, if I ever become too long winded, ask me about my cats, switch to cooking, move into shopping for food and skip over to going to the mall. I hate shopping. It shuts me up at least eighty percent of the time.

  Let me get back on topic. Yesterday, I was mowing my lawn. Yes, I’m still mowing. I don’t control the weather. Anyway, I was mowing and thinking about regardless of how much I enjoy doing it, after a full spring and summer of yard work I am ready for a break. Then that all too common phrase popped into my head, “I need a hero.” I need a hero, someone to save me from my yard work.

  Wishing for a hero to save you from your yard work is kind of like praying to God to save you from not finding toilet paper after you’ve sat down on the toilet in your own home and the house is empty. It seems like a waste of air. Heroes and deities are there for the hard stuff. In my mind at least. Yard work and missing toilet paper are not difficult problems.

The phrase, “I need a hero” led me back to heroes. What a hero is and how they should be defined. There are so many different types of heroes in writing. The hero, the reluctant hero, the anti-hero, the superhero among other variations. I thought more about it. A hero. If I got my hero, how would I describe him. I thought about it for several laps around the yard. I came up with this.

        The guy who shows up. 

  That’s it. It’s that simple. Silly huh? 

  Think about the heroes that you read, watch on television or in movies and talk about. They all have three things in common. They see that something is going wrong, they show up, and do everything that they can to help.

   I was thinking about heroes again tonight. Not because of yard work this time. I was just skipping through my thoughts and stopped there. It happens sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Most of the time.
  The people who show up make the best kinds of heroes. The characters who have difficulties, challenges, angry bosses, empty bank accounts, rebels trying to stay out of trouble but who stick their heads out there anyway (like Han Solo). Why do you think that Superman loved Lois Lane yet had a terrible time talking to her? Why did he have a horrible reaction to kryptonite? Without those things he would have been too perfect. To be accepted by readers he needed a weakness or two, some vulnerability. He needed to have humanity. All heroes do, but the people who see trouble, drop what they’re doing and show the hell up, they are the true heroes.

If you want to write a good hero, write characters that show up and help in every way that they can. They don’t have to be rich, gorgeous, have six pack abs, laser eyes, or capes. They just have to show up.