A City Detective’s Night In The Country--Excerpt "Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal" HR Apostos

When Ian and I come into the house after an early morning tour of the farm, we find Detective Farina sitting at the dining table. He’s still in his pajamas and his head is resting on the table. A mug of coffee sits on the table next to his head and is cooling by the second. I’m not going to say anything. Luckily, Ian does it for me. I am returning to the kitchen after washing up to make breakfast just as Ian sits down next to the detective with his own steaming mug.

He studies the detective’s unmoving form, “I think that you’ve finally done it Lassie.”

“What?”

“Wore the poor lad out.”

“Impossible.”

I watch out of the corner of my eye as my father puts his head on the table to study Farina even more closely. “The unruly hair, the red eyes, the drooling, the vacant expression...all marks of carnal overload.”

“Like I said. Impossible. We went to bed early.”

Ian begins to say something.

“And went to sleep.”

“No, no. Detective Farina does not have the look of a man that has seen a bit of sleep. You say that you went to bed early did ya?”

“Aye, the lad was put to bed early,” I say imitating my father’s Irish brogue. “Just like a wee bairn.”

Ian sits back up and says, “Bairn is a word of the Scotsman my girl.”

“I tried.”

“And a lovely try it was.” He says as he turns his attention back to the detective. “So what is it that robbed you of your sleep?”

“The trains, the wildcats, the coyotes, the frogs.” He says. He raises his head and looks at Ian. “Damn crazy frogs. Doesn’t anything ever go to sleep around here? It was awful. But nothing was as bad as the dancing zombies.”

Ian looks at me. “He’s been dancing with the zombies.” My father announces.

“And I thought that a man like you would be faithful. Shame on you Farina.”

The detective raises his head and glares at me.

“I finally nodded off some time this morning, when I closed my eyes there were frogs, coyotes, birds, and a train conductor. They were all zombies and they were all dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.”

“Which was the song that was playing when the alarm went off.” I say with a smile. I walk over to the dining table and rub the detective’s shoulders for a moment. I lean down and whisper. “It’s going to be forty-five minutes before breakfast is ready. Go back to bed.”

Farina wastes no time rising from his seat. Ian and I listen as the detective makes his way back to the bedroom. Farina’s groan of relief echoes through the house as he falls back into bed.

To The Hilts

“My room?” Tinkletoes asks.

“Everyone has a space.”

“Let’s take a look.” He says as he crosses to the metal door and opens it. Inside is a standard military issue cot and a standing locker with a pair of full length doors. Maps and diagrams of some of Tinkletoes’ light saber designs line the walls. There is a clock running in military time and a shadow box displaying the history of hand grenades with bullets lining the outside edge. The self-proclaimed mercenary takes a few steps, stops in front of the locker and opens the door. Half of it stores back up t-shirts and sets of camos. The other side holds light saber parts, tools, and weapons storage.

“Well...what do you think?” House asks.

“Everything looks orderly. Plenty of supplies. I like the grenade bin. Nice work.”

“Of course.” House says. “Lay down on the cot.”

“Where are my hilts?”

“Safe. Lay down on the cot.”

“I came here for my hilts.” Tinkletoes counters.

“You’ll get them. Lay down first.”

A growl emanates from Tinkletoes’ throat.

“Who wants another pancake?” Writer Lady calls.

Dylan runs to her side, empty plate held out in anticipation of more food.

“I don’t know Dylan. You’ve already had three and these are almost the size of the plate.” Writer Lady says.

Dylan looks up at her with big eyes. “I’m still hungry.”

“Rough night huh?”

“I was up all night slaying ninja-zombies with Dobby in the Midlands.”

“The Midlands?”

“The lands between Earth and Faerie. They had already invaded Earth and Faerie was next.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby. The ginger tabby looks up at her from his dish and shakes his head.

“Where was I?” She asks.

“Dead.” The tow-headed boy answers. “The grown-ups all bought it ages before I got there.” Dylan holds his plate closer to the skillet. “Can I have the pancake now?”

Writer Lady lifts the freshly fried cake on to his plate. “A big pancake for a big story. It’s a trade.”

“Thanks Writer Lady.”

Dylan accepts his prize with a grin and runs back to his seat. Writer Lady hears Ray comment from the other room.

“Whoa. That's your fourth pancake. A lot of food for such a little dude. Remember this is a no hurl zone. No tossing those things back up man.”

“Well?” House asks, waiting for a response

Tinkletoes closes his eyes for a moment. “It doesn’t feel like a cot.”

“It doesn’t. It has been enchanted to feel like a medium firm pillow top mattress with a feather bed topper. It also has 850 thread count sheets and a silk duvet.”

“That’s why I feel like I’m going to slide off.”

“Roll over.” House instructs.

“What?”

“Roll over.”

Tinkletoes looks at the edge of the cot. “How about if I just sit up.”

“You’re not going to roll off if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Tinkletoes does a slow roll, he settles himself on the left side of the mattress which is invisible to the naked eye. “I should be on the floor.” He says.

“You aren’t.” House squeals with delight. “I created a luxurious king size bed that looks like a military cot.”

Tinkletoes sits up. The self-proclaimed mercenary steps away from the cot and studies it. He gets down on his hands and knees to study underneath. “Excellent work. Now...where are my hilts?”

“All this and you're still carrying on about the hilts?” House releases a sigh. “Okay, fine. Look in the trunk at the foot of the cot.”

Within seconds Tinkletoes is at the trunk and lifting the lid. He looks inside and tucked at the bottom front are his hilts, they have been extracted from his gear bag and are tucked into their own individual holders. “Finally.”

“I told you they were safe.” House says.

“You did.”

A voice echoes through the room. “Changes will commence in five, four, three, two, one...”

The self-proclaimed mercenary reaches into the trunk to collect his treasures before he finds himself in another room entirely. He pulls his hand out of the trunk seconds before it and the rest of his room disappears around him. When everything around him stops moving he opens his hand. It’s empty. “$%^&!”

“You said a bad word.” Dylan says as he passes Tinkletoes with an empty plate in hand. Dylan returns within seconds.

“You’d say bad words too if you’d had the morning that I’m having.” Tinkletoes countered.

The four year old shakes his head. “You said a bad word. You have to go stand in the time out corner.”

Tinkletoes looks at Dylan. “I’m on a mission I don’t have time to stand in some stupid corner.”

“But you said a bad word.”

“That rule only applies to kids, I’m an adult. There’s no help for me at this point.”

Dylan points to the appropriate corner. “Time out.”

“How about this, you go stand in the corner for me, I’ll give you five dollars, and I’ll never say the word ever again.”

“That’s bribery.” Dylan says.

“How do you know?”

“Paige is my big sister, she knows everything.”

“I need to get my hilts. I’ll stand in the corner later. Okay?”

“Bribery and trying to get out of a time out means no story time.”

Tinkletoes raises an eyebrow and tries to hold back his grin. “No story time huh? I have been a bad boy.” The self-proclaimed mercenary attempts to look remorseful. “I really don’t deserve story time. I’ll have to live with it.”

“But you still have to stand in the corner.”

A crowd has gathered around them. Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. “I don’t have to stand in the corner do I?”

“Tinkletoes has had a rough day.” Writer Lady says.

“He should stand in the corner.” House’s comment echoes throughout the room. “I know that it would make my day.”

“What is it that you always say?” Carp asks. “A good soldier is a good example for everyone around him.”

“Yeah Dude.” Ray agrees. “Be an example. He looks up to you.”

“Fine.” Tinkletoes says as he walks to the appropriate corner. “I’ll stand in the corner. Nobody’s allowed to watch.”

The group makes haste leaving the area.

Dylan stays long enough to hug Tinkletoes’ arm and whisper a quick, “Thank you,” before running from the room.

The self-proclaimed mercenary stares at the corner without uttering a single word.

“You didn’t have to do that.” House whispers.

“It’s for the kid.”

“Not that. You didn’t have to get so angry. Your quarters are enchanted to move on a regular basis for security purposes. Mural Man and I thought that you would like it.”

Tinkletoes’ watch beeps and numbers flash on the display. “What’s this?”

“What does it look like?”

“These are the coordinates of my room and the time...”

“The time it will disappear from those coordinates.” House says. “Or...”

“Or?”

“Mural Man also suggested another enchantment. One in which you could access anything in your quarters by using similar means to all those space movies that you like.”

“Space movies? Sci-fi?”

“I think that’s what Mural Man called it. I wasn’t paying that much attention. He was talking about you.”

“Of course.” Tinkletoes thinks for a moment. He holds out one hand behind him and waits for one of the hilts to make it’s way into his grasp. His hand closes on the hilt and he pulls it to him looking at it joyfully. Hiding his smile quickly, he says. “His way is much easier."

Writer Lady stops in the entry. "Time out is over."

Tinkletoes looks at the ceiling. "Give my regards to Mural Man.”

 The self-proclaimed mercenary makes his way into the kitchen to find some pancakes.

*This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A Night Out--Excerpt "Heather Darling and the Case of the Clockwork Cannibal" HR Apostos

In spite of Heather being fashionably challenged when it comes to attending concerts in pubs and Detective Farina’s intense love for my new dress, we make it to The Three Hounds in plenty of time to get good seats. Okay, Detective Jillian arrived early to see her friends. She had already taken custody of a table close to the stage on our behalf.

But, thanks to me, Heather is more appropriately dressed in skinny jeans (hers) and a Rolling Stones t-shirt (mine). I tried to get her to kick her make-up up a notch. Okay...Alice Cooper eyes. When I showed her what I would be using on her face she announced that if she agreed to it her esthetician would never forgive her and could dump her altogether. Apparently, it has taken her forever to find the right one. They put goop on your face and take it off again. How hard can it be to find someone capable of doing that?

Detective Farina on the other hand, pouted. I’m not kidding. He pouted when he saw that I had replaced my new dress with my favorite well-worn jeans and a t-shirt that reads, “If Ignorance Is Bliss Then You Must Be Ecstatic.” I offered him visitation with the dress, and asked him if he needed me to wear it or if he just wanted to take it to bed with him to cuddle. He did not appreciate my sense of humor. Duuude…seriously, it’s a dress.

“What’s the name of your friend’s band?” I ask Detective Jillian, while we watch the band go through a final sound check.

“There Might Be Bear.” she responds. While she’s talking to me about how long the band has been around, how long she has known the founder, and how they met, I notice that Heather is focused. On the band. She notices that I’m watching her and fidgets a little. Then she becomes an active participant in all of the conversations taking place around our table. None of us, other than Detective Jillian, have been to a performance in some time including Ian. Since he had been to Woodstock, he was the Hall of Famer of the group.

“What is the best concert that you’ve ever seen?” Heather asks Ian.

“I saw The Rolling Stones play Paris in 1967.”

“Not Woodstock?” She asks.

“Sometimes, it’s not just the memory of the concert. It can also be about what is happening in your life at that time. In 1967, I was a young man, just out of school. I had an exciting job at Scotland Yard making good money. The ladies loved me. I had been shot a few weeks before and nearly died. I had caught the bad guys and survived to tell the story. Life was good.” He looks at me. “Not as good as it is now. But it was one of the happier periods of my life.”

One of the bartenders steps out onto the stage and says, “Please give a warm welcome to one of our favorite visitors…There Might Be Bear.”

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.