Apr 15, 2014

Tyler's Book Birthday!

The second full length novel in my Flynn Monroe series is out today. The Reformation fo Tyler Harris picks up shortly after the first book ended, and takes you on his next adventure.

Stuck on a dead space station, dismantling it from within and playing nanny to a host of the Colarium’s delinquents, Flynn Monroe can only think of two things that could make his job worse. He gets both. When his boss’ son shows up on the detail, the smart mouthed kid gives Flynn a bigger headache than the extra pair of hands deserves. Before the workday can even begin, an explosion kills a quarter of his crew, and Flynn realizes there’s more to this assignment than keeping an eye on the Senior Colari’s kid, and getting Beta Five taken apart.

Tyler “Hawk” Harris likes explosions. Just ask any of his last thirteen COs – a record number for a man who’s been in the fleet less than three years. A harmless joke gets him assigned the unenviable job of pulling apart Beta Five and lands him under the supervision of a babysitter with a scar for a necklace. When the station is infiltrated by enemy agents, the explosions are not Hawk’s fault – he swears.

You can read the first full chapter in the previous post and buy it for kindle & apps on amazon!

The Reformation of Tyler Harris - Chapter 1

One -

Jackasses: Evolution’s solution to technological advance.
The galaxy had more than enough of them to begin with, but Flynn Monroe had an ugly suspicion that he was somehow magnetized. If a crewman pinged on the scale of jackassery anywhere within the Colarium, he was bound to get stuck with the idiot. It was the only reasonable explanation for the sheer number he’d been forced to work with on this shit-show assignment.
Pontiac Five, the derelict space station beneath his feet, was coming apart, piece by piece, in as orderly a fashion as he could ensure. None of the men working under him knew he wasn’t technically their superior. His employer, Senior Colari Harris, had seen to it that he’d gotten a military ID and the correct uniforms. Hell, the only difference between his current job and an actual Colarium fleet commission, was that he didn’t have a black box bolted to his skull like the rest of his crew. That, and the small fact that he wasn’t getting paid.
Biting his tongue to keep from grumbling, he tried to ignore that irksome little point. He had no room to complain. Babysitting the fleet’s delinquents was better than the standard solution for Lazarai rebels. Death was a quick and simple answer to a potentially messy question.
An all-but defunct rebellious faction, the Lazarai were still a middling annoyance, popping up with infrequent, but deadly attacks. They’d lost the war, but hadn’t disbanded. Their leader chose to wait at the edges of Colarium-controlled space, as if biding his time.
Flynn was far from sympathetic. He’d retired – most would call it desertion – and put the idiotic quest to overthrow the Colarium behind him. His departure had come on the heels of a very sobering realization.   He’d come to terms with the depressing fact that he was on the worse side of two wrong choices.
Retirement had been good while it lasted. As far as he knew, he was the only ex-Lazarai who’d lived past the first six months. By that benchmark, he’d hoped Archie had forgotten about him. It was unlikely. Archimedes Holzen, the Lazarai leader, had an unfortunately long memory. At least for now, with his indentured servitude, Flynn was further removed from the Lazarai threat than he had been running his less-than-profitable freight hauler.
Sitting in the freezing station’s makeshift mess hall, surrounded by his thirty-man crew and their small support staff, Flynn tightened his grip on the coffee mug in his hand. The incidental protection might not be worth it.
One of his jackasses had nicked the main enviro line two days earlier and while they’d fixed the oxygen circulators, no one on his crew could be spared to repair the thermostat. Even if he could spare someone, and still meet Harris’ quickly approaching deadline, they didn’t have the parts, and he couldn’t requisition them. This was a tear-down, bug-out operation. He supposed freezing to death was better than a vindictive Lazarai agent with a knife to his soft bits.
Overhead, the ventilation shafts thrummed and rattled, blowing out their cold, stale air. Idly cataloguing the remaining detritus on the stripped-down upper levels, he wondered if there was anything left he could salvage to put a little warmth in the air.  A fire was out of the question, and he knew he’d find no help in the crates of tear down tools stacked in the corner.
The supplies in those few boxes were all they’d get. Flynn hadn’t even had the opportunity to look at those requisition lists before he’d stepped on the station a month ago. By the time he realized they were going to have to get creative, there was no opportunity to call Harris and give him an earful.
With the station’s civilian population evacuated, and the original comm antennas dismantled, all communications were bounced through a patrol boat. It ran a circular route around the station, checking for possible shipping lane violations. A patrol boat manned by a crew of obnoxious, loud-mouthed men he had no intention of providing gossip.
When Flynn had his own ship, those were the sort of boats he avoided – and not just because he’d been running illegal cargo. He could pass a patrol inspection in his sleep, even sitting on a hold half full of stolen goods. They’d been costly timewasters then; now… now they were so much worse.
He tried to see the irony in the idea that the patrol boat was a lifeline now. The thought failed to amuse him.
Shivering, he wrapped his hands more tightly around the mug. Looking at the pathetic excuse for a demolition crew huddled around their warm meals, Flynn tried to find humor in something… anything.
At three hundred hours station time, the final five of his crew had arrived with the last of their supplies. Food stock and emergency rations for the crew. Nothing else. Beside his elbow was a checklist of the full complement of his crew. He hadn’t gone through it. He remembered faces better than pixilated letters on a tablet screen.
His “missing men” counter at the top was down to two, and he sincerely hoped he was not going to have to search for an AWOL junk jockey this early in the morning.
In the far corner of the space they’d repurposed as a mess hall, Buck – a man he’d met before he’d found himself indentured to the Colarium – whistled a jaunty tune. None of the other men echoed, in melody or expression. Flynn couldn’t blame them.
Closing his eyes, Flynn tensed his muscles to stave off another shiver as he brought the coffee cup to his lips. Right now, he hated everyone and everything that had brought him back to this damned, defunct station.
“Ensign Croft reporting for duty, sir!”
The chipper, barked words grated against Flynn like metal particulate between his teeth. Opening his eyes, Flynn looked at two men – boys really – standing in front of him.
One stood at full attention, hand still to his forehead in salute.  The position had his hardhat skewed and Flynn wondered if the boy would wet himself if Flynn stood and knocked it off in one movement. He was tall, blond and reminded Flynn of an old beer add he’d seen on Meridian. It was probably just his coloring.
The cup still at his lips, Flynn let his eyes slide to the boy a step behind the first. Slouched, and looking bored as anything, his head bobbed as he slapped out a rhythm against his thighs. The two soldiers were like night and day, and not just because of their skin color.
“Ensign… Croft.” The boy’s name was near the top of the list, and Flynn found it quickly. He’d programmed the tablet to divide the work crews for him, and when he tapped the boy’s name a full dossier came up with his strengths and weaknesses as determined by previous commanding officers in reviews and through his aptitude testing. “You’re in the Delta squad. Join the rest of your group over by the door marked E7.”
The boy turned on his heels punched the other in the shoulder and started away. “Catch you later, Tyler.”
“That’s not my name!” The other boy shouted after him.
Flynn looked between the two men, the inflection on Croft’s last word certainly made it seem as though he’d been razzing the other boy. But when he looked at the tablet, the only name left on the list was “Lt. Tyler Egon Harris.”
Though Ensign Croft was half way across the compartment, Flynn couldn’t help but compare them. Flynn would have wagered there were no two individuals less alike in all of the Colarium. Short, dark and with a mischievous glint in his eyes, Tyler Harris continued his hand drum solo as though Flynn wasn’t even there. Checking the lieutenant’s name off his list,  Flynn made a mental note to have his squad leader keep an eye on the boy. The last thing he needed was an insubordinate prankster in their midst.
He read the name once more, and turned a scrutinizing glare on him. The resemblance was faint, but it was there. “Lieutenant Harris—”
“Call me Hawk. Everyone does and has since I joined up.”
Flynn leveled a glance at the short mohawk visible without the man’s hardhat where it should be – on his inevitably soon-to-be bashed in head.
“Oh! No. It’s Hawk ‘cause I can fly anything like she’s a bird of prey. The hair is in homage to the name. Not the other way around.”
“Sure.” Flynn said. “If you’re such a crack pilot, why are you on this bucket, doing manual labor?”
 “Listen, you look like a cool guy, so I’m going to be straight with you. My family is fleet. Every single one of us has gone to fleet and either died in service, or made their way up through the ranks of the political strata. It’s just a thing. I can’t help that I was born into it, and while I would like to go back in time and punch my great-granddaddy in the face for being the one to leave the comfortable life of litigation and court dates on his home world, I’m here because my dad took me to the recruiter’s office on my seventeenth birthday, and there was no way out of it. So what if I happened to be suspected of switching out the CSS Urumi’s cafeteria sugar with crystallized helium? I’m not going to be too heartbroken about this reassignment to keep from laughing about all the chipmunk voices they went through before they figured out what the problem was.”
Flynn forced himself to frown. It was funny, he would have loved to see something as ridiculous as that little scenario play out. But he couldn’t encourage that sort of behavior. And the kid had confirmed his own suspicions. Somehow, Flynn hadn’t guessed his posting on the station would be a ruse to stick him on babysitting duty for Senior Colari Harris’ kid. He should have known the Colari could find any old schlub among the ranks to deal with this particular assignment – if he hadn’t needed to slap a “baby on board” sticker on the station.
“I don’t care about past infractions,” Flynn said. “Everyone here is on equal footing. But pranks in this environment could cost lives. If I find out you’ve endangered anyone because you were having a laugh, I will lock you in one of the gutted sections and keep you alive on limited oxygen until we’re done, or until such a time as you can’t be a danger to anyone else. Are we clear?”
“As a holoviz.” Tyler said with a quick salute.
“Good. You’re in Beta squad. They’re meeting up at G7.” He made a gesture toward the far door and closed up the tablet.
When Flynn turned back to his coffee, he hoped the boy would leave. It was not shaping up to be a pleasant morning.
Pulling out the chair across from Flynn, Tyler sat heavily, leaning his arms on the cold metal table and scooched forward. The chair legs scraped across the deck plating. “What did you do to get the shit position as the monkey warden?”
Flynn clenched his teeth, taking a deep breath before responding in as level of tones as he could manage. “I’m atoning for the sins of another.”
“Well, you’re the boss, right? If someone screws up you’re on the line for it, even if it wasn’t technically your fault.”
“It’s not a matter of technicality. When you’re in charge, you’re responsible for the actions of others. If you fuck up, that’s on me. I should have caught the situation before it got out of hand.”
Snorting, Hawk said, “You’re starting to sound like my dad.”
Flynn had a feeling he and the senior colari had a lot more in common than either of them wanted to admit. “Get to your station.”
“You leading the Alpha group?”
“That was an order, Lieutenant. I’d suggest you learn that where I’m in charge, I expect orders to be followed the first time.”
Tyler stood, nodding. “Right, right. I remember, just enough air to keep me alive.”
Flynn watched the arrogant little imp walk away, high-fiving random people in the groups finishing their morning meal. He wondered if the delinquents under his supervision all knew each other from previous punishment assignments. He hoped, if they did, it wouldn’t be an issue. He wanted to serve his time and move on to whatever irritating assignment was next in line for him.
If that boy turned out to be as annoying as Gelgabarian lung worm, Flynn was going to have to enforce his threatened punishment. He might have never had lung worm himself, but his closest friend was a doctor who’d told him more stories about the parasite than he’d ever wanted to hear. And while he had no intention of pissing off his employer by cutting off his son’s air supply, he’d do what he had to to ensure the station came apart with as few glitches as possible.
The clocks above the doors all clicked over to o-six hundred hours and his squad leaders came to his table as he drained the last of his coffee.
“No changes since last night. You know your sections, we’ve got nonstandard lighting hooked up and running off magnetic generators, so you won’t be cutting into anything live. The hull barge is slated for arrival in twelve days. We get this done in ten, and I’ll buy you all a round of whatever the hell you want the minute we get back to a ship, station or world that actually has a bar.”
The four of them laughed, their breath coming out in barely visible puffs of mist.
“If we get it done quicker than that, we might not freeze to death.” He looked toward the groups of men gathered by their doors. “Let’s get this over with. I’ll be making the rounds, helping where needed. If something comes up, call me on the chatterbox.”
The shouting started almost at once, squad leaders wrangling their crews and heading out from the mess hall in the four cardinal directions.
Flynn tossed his cup into the bucket of dirty dishes as the small man assigned to cook and care for the mess shuffled from behind the kitchen’s door wearing a parka that made him look as round as a miniature planet. “We good, boss man?”
“I hope so, Pug.” Flynn said as he dropped his hard hat on his head and adjusted it. He wished the damn thing had flaps to cover his freezing ears.
Following the long circuit of the station, Flynn came across the Alpha team first. The seven men were already at work, unbolting the superficial plating that made the station look like it had once been lived in. They wore hard hats, work boots, gloves, safety goggles and face masks. All designed to deal with the metal and dust that was destined for a scrap barge. What use the dilapidated metal sheeting would have in another part of the Colarium’s fleet, Flynn didn’t know and wouldn’t ask.
In two days time, Alpha team’s gear would be replaced by hard suits for external demolition. Working their way from the spires toward the middle levels of the section, they’d leave her as nothing more than a skeletal spool to be dropped into the high density atmosphere of a hydrogen burner planet. Then, after this form of punishment was over, Senior Colari Harris would find some other task for them to undertake.
With the monotony of this assignment, Flynn couldn’t help but wonder if the Colari wasn’t testing his patience.
He stepped into place, catching a panel just before it fell from the sheared off bolt in its top corner.
“This station is old and falling apart. Never assume something’s attached just because it looks like it is.” Flynn smacked his fist against the next panel in line, and the bottom left corner wobbled away from its place. “I don’t want anyone dying because this station got the better of them.” 
The crewman nodded and went back to work.
Flynn looked about him, Alpha squad seemed to have everything else well in hand. The Alpha leader was an old MP according to his Colarium file, and he’d volunteered for the posting. If anyone could knock a group of delinquents into shape, Flynn figured it was one who’d been doing it his entire career.
He headed around the station’s inner ring, walking quickly to keep his blood moving. The station’s deck plating squeeked under his boots as he made his way toward Delta Squad. The eight man crews had bigger jobs, but Flynn didn’t doubt they’d be done as quickly and efficiently as the seven man Alpha and Beta squads. He’d had enough time with the leaders to know there was no chance of any of them letting their men slack off.
Which was why the underlying feeling something was about to go terribly wrong worried him so much.
Beta squad was a joke. Hawk determined that the moment he saw the space they were about to demolish. Seven men could do it, sure. But the Colarium would have been better off setting charges, falling back to a safe distance and blowing the place to smithereens before using a drag net to scoop up the remaining debris. He was pretty sure they were just going to melt the bulkhead paneling down anyway.
“Where’s a good slag when you need one?” Hawk grumbled into his itchy face mask.
On the opposite side of the hatch, Ensign Mitchell laughed as he continued to ratchet away at an unyielding bolt – Hawk had been on three “punishment details” with the Ensign in the past, and while the man was an utter slob at the dinner table, Hawk was convinced he was good people.
The rest of the crew worked their way from the left of the hatch, around the room. Which was precisely why Hawk elected to take the right side of the hatch and work his way around to meet them, he didn’t like bumping shoulders with fleet delinquents any more than he liked being labeled one.
The first panel came down without a hitch, as did the one slanting from the bulkhead to the ceiling. Behind the paneling, a hollow cavity lined with the skeletal ribcage-like struts and support beams laced through with conduits, ventilation shafts, and plumbing. Nothing inside between him and the thick hull plating of the station exterior should have been doing its job. The outer ring of the station’s support systems had been taken off line – if the sup could be believed. So why could Hawk hear the distinct thrum of a power pulse?
He’d spent plenty of time in deep-space haulers – another of the many mind-numbing punishments his father had come up for him – and when you’re out in the black, running on momentum drives, the only sound on a dark night shift is the power pulse.
Spend enough time with it and you start to hear it in your sleep, no matter where you are. After an hour in the throbbing silence of the pulse, your own begins to match it, slowing your heart rate and putting you in a state of utter relaxation. It was why every dark shift started with a heavy dose of stims. 
He’d spent three months on that damned ship, doing nothing but the dark shift…. He knew a power pulse almost as well as he knew his own.
Hawk slid his hand over the panel next in line to be removed. There was a thrum beneath his hand, heavy and oscillating.
“You like being alone, boy?”
Hawk turned to see the squad leader grinning at him.
He shrugged and looked to the others crowded around their side. “I subscribe to the idea of too many cooks in a kitchen.”
“Well, don’t think this is going to get you any bonus points. We’re all here to do the same job, no one is better than the rest.”
“That wasn’t my intention, sir. But—”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me. I can’t stand that.”
Hawk spoke as clearly as he could, obviously this guy needed small words. “Okay, but I think the power is still on.”
The sup looked at him with a tired glare. “It’s not. Don’t try to get out of work. You’re here for the duration just like the rest of us, and the sooner we get this done, the better.”
“I’m not trying to get out of work. I’m telling you. There is a definite hum in that panel and I’m pretty sure it’s a live power conduit.”
“I told you to stop causing trouble, Harris. If I have to call the commander down here you’ll be in a world of pain.”
“Yeah, I know, he’s got a patch of vacuum reserved just for me. But if I cut into this panel, I might not ever live to see that piece of black.”
“Then don’t cut into it. Take it off the hard way if you’re such a little chicken shit.”
Hawk clenched his jaw and his fists. He didn’t honestly know which would put him in the airless section sooner, a snide remark, or a left jab to his supervisor’s pocked nose. He was not a chicken shit, but he wasn’t some idiot ready to throw his life away because one stupid supervisor decided it was okay if he got barbequed.
With a tight smile, Hawk turned away from the belligerent man and pulled a ratchet driver from his tool belt. Hawk ignored the sup’s muttering curses as he walked away.
The panel was held in place by a series of rivets and bolts. Tyler left the four primary bolts alone as he quickly used the rivet puller, dropping the mangled pieces of metal into the bucket beside his work station.
A sliver of brilliant light spewed from the seams in the paneling, and Hawk moved carefully as he ratcheted out the final four bolts and pulled the plating away.
As the bio-optic cable adjusted to the station interior’s light level, it dimmed from the blinding blue it had been and Hawk stared at it. He didn’t need a voltage meter to tell him the cables in the conduit were live, but he grabbed the diagnostic device anyway. His idiot of a sup was not going to believe him without proof.
A quick swipe of the tester gave him a heady burst of self-righteous indignation, but he tamped that down. His ego was not worth his life. And he didn’t want the sup to cite hubris as a reason to ignore him.
The sup was in the corner helping to tear down a particularly tricky panel when Hawk came to add another set of hands to the tugging. The thick sheet of metal clattered to the deck plating with a horrendous crash, and Hawk hopped out of the way before it could smash his toes.
Smiling before he’d seen Hawk, the sup’s face shifted to a frown, and he pulled off his thick gloves, slapping them into his left hand. “What do you want now?”
“I’ve got proof.” He held out the tester and watched as the man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Did you run that up against the generator just to try my patience?”
“The generators don’t put out that much power. I’m not trying to pull your leg on this. We need to get it shut down before we do anymore work.”
“It was shut down. Monroe saw to the power-down himself.”
“Then look at it for me and tell me I’m crazy. But don’t dismiss it out of hand. What if there’s something wrong in the power grid. Do you want to be the one who ignored a warning and wound up with men dead?”
A sour look crossed his supervisor’s face and the man snatched the tester from his hand. “If this is some sort of wild goose chase, I’ll have you working slop crew for the rest of your contract.”
“I thought I was already there.”
The sup didn’t hear his mutterings as he ambled up to the panel. Hawk waited for the man to realize the faint blue glow was not residual voltage decay, but the real deal.
Fumbling with the tester leads, the sup waved them over the accused wiring. His hand stopped midway through his sweep. “What in the… these wires are live!”
“That’s what I said.” Hawk kept his jaw clenched to keep from yelling the words, and to keep the exasperated tone from his voice.
Turning away from the panel, the sup pushed Hawk aside and yelled to the rest of the Beta squad. “Everyone stop what you’re doing… we need to—”
An explosion rocked Hawk right off the deck plating. As he hit the hard, cold metal, he saw the sup stumble backward, live bio-optic cables connecting with his skin, he vibrated and his eyes bulged as his mouth wrenched open in a silent scream.
Hawk stared up at him, frozen in disbelief.
The panel overheated with the added organic components, the cabling blackened, and the compartment filled with the noxious smell of burnt flesh and hair. The supervisor’s scorched body hit the deck plating as a second concussion rocked the station.
The shudder rocked the station.  Ensign Croft and the other members of Delta squad had lost their footing when the deckplating shifted. The only thing that kept Flynn on his feet was his steady grip on an accessway ladder rung as he talked to the squad leader.
Orienting to the sound of the explosion, Flynn left the scattered Delta squad where they lay on the deck plating and scrambled toward Gamma. Blood pumping in his ears heavy as a drumbeat, he rounded the corner as a second crash echoed through the station and grabbed onto a run of conduit to keep himself upright. Beyond an open hatch, flames licked at the darkness and Flynn rushed toward those he could see trying to put them out.
“Get out!” he shouted waving at them to move, though they made no indication they heard him. “We’ll vent the air to douse the flames.  Get out now!”
He reached the hatchway as a third spasm shimmied the ship beneath his feet and he kept himself upright with a white-knuckle grip on the hatch’s locking mechanism. Two men on the floor in front of him pulled themselves to their feet, hands scrambling for the fire system hose coiled to his right.
With an irritated shout, he grabbed one by the collar of his shirt and threw him bodily out of the compartment. He latched onto the next as the blazing panel ignited and Flynn saw the canister wedged in the bulkhead above as the flames licked at it.
Wrenching the man away from the fire, he fell backward with him as the canister ignited and the station’s blast door slammed shut like the dropping blade of a guillotine and the too slow demolition tech’s leg was severed at the ankle.
Flynn shot to his feet as the two men on the floor, one groaning, one screaming, rolled away from him, coughing, as the tendrils of the fire’s smoke entered their lungs.
Pulling his heavy coat off, he tore the uniform jacket from himself, barely pausing to undo the buttons, and quickly wrapped the tech’s stump to stem the bleeding.
“I need you to hold pressure here for me.” The other tech did as ordered, still gagging and coughing.
Shivering, Flynn pulled his coat back on over the thin turtleneck undershirt he’d been issued, and turned back to the metal grave marker that was once a safety hatch.
With the cold metal of the door pressed against his palms. Flynn felt a different shiver slide down his back as he looked through the small porthole. Beyond lay the dark, empty compartment half torn apart, with a gaping wound in its bulkhead. The glittering stars beyond showed no signs of the six men he’d lost in the space of a millisecond.
Footsteps clattered behind him, but he didn’t turn to see men arriving from both Delta and Beta squads. Things weren’t supposed to go this badly…. Not this close to the end.
Tyler stood behind him with a group from Beta squad, Christoph Croft and the other Deltas were busy helping the two men he’d managed to pull from the room.
Slamming a fist into the bulkhead by the door, Flynn let out a cry of frustration. What the hell just happened?  He’d spent three days while civilians found their way off the ship – and two full days with his crew – making sure the demolition would proceed in a safe environment before they’d gotten started. He wasn’t supposed to be facing a death toll. 
He’d done the final walk through himself; making sure everything was ready after the last of the civvies had shipped out. There shouldn’t have been any live wires in these sections. Emergency systems were on, sure, but their fail safes wouldn’t have caused this. And that canister… it could have been left by anyone who lived on station. But Flynn couldn’t help but wonder if it was there for a purpose.
Turning his focus to the reflections of the men behind him, he wondered if their shock was genuine.
“We’ve lost six of the crew.” Flynn felt as deflated as a three week dry water bilge sack.
“Seven,” Tyler grimaced as he looked over his shoulder, back the way they’d come. “Our squad leader lost his footing in the shakes and fell into an open panel full of live bio-optic cable. He’s crispier than Earth-fried chicken.”
Flynn felt like dropping to his knees, sitting down on the deck plating and letting the next hours slip past. How could things have gone so terribly wrong so quickly?
But he couldn’t do that. He was in charge, and being in charge meant you didn’t get time off in a crisis.
“Get these two up to the mess.”
“Where’s the medic?” Croft asked.
“He’s out there.” Flynn turned to look through the viewport again. “Everyone, pack it in and go to the mess. Pug won’t have the midday meal ready, but we need to keep to the secure sectors until I figure out what’s going on.”
When no one moved, he turned to glare at them. “That’s an order.”
Tyler was the first to galvanize and he began pushing people toward the mess. “You heard him, move out. Unless you want the next faulty system to suck you out too, you’d best be heading for the exits.”
It was not the best way of managing troops, but it worked.
When Flynn was alone, he glanced once more to the darkness beyond the hatch and then moved quickly toward the compartment Beta squad was assigned. He needed to see what had happened to his ex-MP for himself.

Apr 11, 2014

First Update of April

Words Written: 10,311
Since I didn't have any words scheduled this week (I'm working on a revision and I gave myself the week to get back into the swing of things), I'd say that's a pretty fantastic count.

For the most part, those words were added to the manuscript I'm revising, to the 3rd novel in the Flynn series or to what I've deemed "brain wash" writing. The stuff I use to wash my brain out when it gets muddy from working on the same thing for too long. 

But the best news is, I might have a surprise for you all on Tuesday (and no, it has nothing to do with my taxes.)

Books Read: 3
Paperback copy of Saga Vol. 3 by Brian K. Vaughn and Fiona Staples
Paperback copy of Fair Game (Book 3 Alpha & Omega) by Patricia Briggs
ebook of The Backworlds by M. Pax
I'm getting distracted with reading, but hopefully I'll be able to ditch the random things that are pulling me away and get back on a reading schedule that's more in tune with my goodreads challenge for this year.

Apr 10, 2014

Sometimes I Forget

Sometimes, I forget. 

It's an easy thing to do, and so I often find myself having to take a step back and reevaluate things from other people's perspective. Sometimes, they just can't do things on my schedule.

It's not because they're slow, or anything like that. It's because they have different priorities. Writing is almost a compulsive behavior for me anymore. I carry a pen and paper with me every where I go. I also, usually have my iPad and a blutooth keyboard on hand as well. When it's revision time, I have a manuscript and extra colored pens stuffed in that bag as well. (I have a big purse - because it still has to accomodate my phone, chargers, wallet, chapstick, and whatever book I'm reading at the time)

Sometimes I forget that isn't the case for the people who help me with the crazy journey that each book holds.

They might need an extra week or two because they just bought a house and are doing renovations before they move in. Their husband may have wisked them away on some fantastic adventure into the California Wine Country. They have jobs that are not so conducive to editing as mine is. They have families and friends who are more deserving of their time and attention.

And sometimes i forget. 

So, to anyone who's helped me in this journey that I've given a deadline that couldn't be met. Don't ever feel like I'm mad at you or blame you.

Because sometimes, I remember.