Photos from July 31 book signing

My friend Jennifer took these photos at my book signing on July 31. I only got the digital files a couple of days ago.

Me looking all authorly.


Kyra, Eric, and me.


Having to twist Jennifer's arm to get a photo of her.


Kyra, me, and Ally.


A good day!

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Sunday

My house is a pit. I haven't felt able to clean it for two weeks. I wonder if I could just gather a few belongings and move somewhere else. Surely the new owners would dig out the clutter.

Still not well, but much better. I'm looking forward to work tomorrow -- not because I've fallen back in love with my job, but because I will be out in the world instead of huddled in this house.

Will spring ever come? I'm ready for sun and lots of it.

I sure appreciated everyone's prayers and comments of concern. They lifted my spirits during some particularly uncomfortable days. Thank you.

I added a new blog to the Blogs of Interest: Kristen's Now Or Never. Kristen is into yoga, tofu, libraries, Sudoku, marching bands, and many, many other nifty things. In other words, she's very cool. Check out her blog.

And now I'm going to go to bed. But here is an excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma.

From Darkness, Oklahoma

What August Wicker hadn't told the others was that the man had said that the vampire would kill the Bone Queen. The man had said that Substance had Chosen August Wicker. Chosen?! A vampire?!

Even as injured as he had been, August had tried to argue. But the man insisted. "Substance Chose you for this task, and you will accomplish it," the man said before giving August other bag of healing blood. The man left soon after, leaving August with only a blurred impression of a tall man and the scent of a human.

But this was one time that Substance would be disappointed, August vowed silently. The Queen was a major power. She was stronger, faster, and more powerful than a vampire could ever be. In the ancient battle, she had been one of Void's mightiest warriors. She would crush August easily.

August sighed and shook his head. He would miss Darkness. This small Oklahoma town had given him a good life, but all things end. Nothing lasts forever.

And perhaps that also applied to vampires? August paused in his packing. How long did he intend to live? When would the years hang so heavy on his shoulders that he would be crushed? If he still believed he was young, why had he chosen the persona of August Wicker, an elderly librarian? He had told himself that he would attract less attention, but was that real reason?

In his long life, he had killed and tortured men and women. As a sup to his conscience, he had never killed children, but hadn't he left many as orphans? And in centuries past, that was often a death sentence. He could claim no great mercies in his life. He was what he was. He had chosen this life when confronted by death and passed over beyond death's domain. As long as he was wise.

So now he would run. Run into the shadows of another city or a new country. Carve a new territory, perhaps by displacing another vampire in a bloody war. He didn't want to do it, but he wasn't going to die. He would not pass into judgment. Darkness, Oklahoma was doomed, its inhabitants already dead. What did he care? In a hundred years, he would not remember their names.

Yet he sat on his bed for a long time, watching the shadows lengthen as regret curled around his bitter heart.

Copyright 2008 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.

Zzzzzzzzz....

      So basically I came home from work, thought I'd take a quick nap -- no more than 30 minutes -- before starting my plans for my night, and instead, I slept until now. Got up to eat a snack, get ready for bed, blog and then back to bed. Yeah, I'm a fireball of energy.
      I've mentioned before that I dislike cold weather, but it's worth mentioning again. We had snow early this morning! Snow! It didn't stick because it's too warm, but there's definite something creepy about snow in April. Or there is here in southern Oklahoma. Perhaps where you live, snow is April and even May is a normal thing. To which, I can only ask, why are you still living there?! Move!
      What else? Crystal -- who has a cruel streak -- asked me today how Darkness, Oklahoma was going. I confess that I haven't written on it for a week. I ran into a problem with my vampire. I couldn't figure out why he didn't cut and run when the battle begins. I had set him up as a creature who loved his own life beyond all other things. Why else would he bargain his soul to darkness for eternal life? So why would he stay in a conflict that could cost him his precious life? Finally I worked it out, but it took a while. So I hope to start putting those words down on paper in a major way over the next few days.
      My back continues to give me problems. As do my legs, particularly my right ankle, which has never been right since I fell a couple of months ago. I'm particularly tired of being feeble and hope that this summer will show a marked improvement.
      I restarted Weight Watchers today. Didn't do that well, but it always takes a couple of days to get back into the groove. I've got to lose this weight before I get too much older or it may keep me from getting too much older. I'm obese, and it's time I faced that rather than excusing myself as having "big bones" or using that phrase "pleasantly plump." Look, I passed "pleasantly plump" a long time ago. I'm at "hysterically huge." Lord only knows what's past that. Probably a piano box as a coffin.
      Frenzied Feline and I had this thing going about blogging every day, but she hasn't for the past two days. She won't get into heaven with that kind of attitude. I suggest you go by her blog and say, "Hey, FF, don't you want to walk those streets of gold?" Perhaps that will cause her to reflect and change her slothful ways.
      I think we will have another excerpt from Murder by Dewey Decimal tomorrow. Things are heating up in the story, and our murderer soon has another target. There's something deadly about that library. Have any idea what? I've been thinking about self-publishing Murder by Dewey Decimal. I won't be able to excerpt the entire book here -- it would take a good year to do so. By self-publishing, the people who would like to see how it ends wouldn't have to wait a year to do so. I'm pobably going to use Lulu.com or Cafepress.com. Both services are free, and both seem to produce a decent paperback. I want to hang on to the copyright in case some publisher ever wants a look at it -- although I don't know who else to send it to. We'll see how it goes.
      You still have two days enter the April 2007 Giveaway. It's open to everyone. The spoils this month consist of a script for "The Vigil," the play that I've droned about these past two months and two plays co-authored by me: "Hogwild" and "There's A Body In The Closet." Both of my one-act plays were published by Dramatic Publishing and are now out-of-print. To enter, just answer one of the questions in the comments for the April 3rd post. (The answers are found in the posts featuring Murder by Dewey Decimal excerpts.) The catch: you can only answer one question and you can't answer the same one as any other commenter. You can only enter once. I'll put all the qualifying entries in a hat and draw a name. The winner will email me his/her name and address, and just a few short days later, he/she will receive his/her prize by regular mail. I'll be drawing the winner this Wednesday evening, April 11. We currently have nine entries so you have a good chance to win.
      Congrats go out to my friend TL who was baptized into the Catholic church Saturday night. Someday we'll have to get him to write a guest post telling of his journey from Baptist to Catholic. I don't know the whole story myself, but it promises to be interesting. I'll ask him to do that, but probably after his wedding in June to the lovely and talented Miss M.
      Well, it's past 11:30 here so I think I will head to bed -- again. Hope you have a wonderful day tomorrow. Have a good night.

Today and an excerpt

      I just got off the phone with Crystal. She's flying out early tomorrow morning to be with her father. (He lives several states away.) He's still with us, but the doctors aren't holding out much hope at the moment. When I hear something, I'll let you know. I know she would appreciate your continued prayers for her and her family.
      And in prayer requests, continue to pray for ER and his family as they adjust to life without their precious mother. It's doing to be a difficult time.
      Play practice is going well. The play is difficult, but the actors are growing into their parts. I have a couple that continue to concern me, but I have faith that they will be rise to the part. Everyone seems committed, and that makes a big difference.
      I've been doing housework and working on Darkness, Oklahoma today. This is excerpt where we meet Darcy. She has a destiny that she will do her best to avoid. I hope you enjoy it.

Except from Darkness, Oklahoma

      Registered Nurse Darcy Trutell hung up the phone and swore softly.
      "What's up?" Lisa Dixon asked, dropping a chart into the receiving tray at the nurses' station.
      Darcy looked over at the other nurse. "That was Delores. She's going to be late. She wants me to cover for a couple of hours."
      Lisa shook her head. "You should have told her that you wouldn't. What was her excuse this time?"
      "She said her daughter forgot a paper that's due today," Darcy said. "She has to take it to the school, and then she needs to pay her insurance."
      "If you keep letting her get away with it, she's going to keep taking advantage of you," Lisa said. "It would piss me off, that's for sure."
      Particularly since I know she was lying, Darcy thought. Like she knew that Lisa wouldn't volunteer to help and that Lisa didn't care much about Darcy one way or the other. Once, that unconcern would have hurt or angered Darcy. Now, it just made her tired.
      "Well, I'm off," Lisa said. "At least Margaret won't be late." She and Darcy exchanged a look at the mention of the day aide.
      "Have a good day," Darcy said, wishing that Margaret wasn't so lazy. In the month Darcy had worked at the Eliza Rhiden Memorial Hospital, she hadn't seen Margaret do much of anything, and what little she did do, she did grudgingly. Any other hospital would have fired Margaret, but her father was on the board. Besides, ERMH had the same staffing problems that other small hospitals had. Why work in Darkness when an RN could make triple the money in Oklahoma City?
      That's what Darcy would have done if things had been different. As it was, she was grateful for the job. At least she wasn't in North Carolina any longer, and if she could build up a good record again, she might be able to make the move to the city in a year or two. For that, she could work a couple of hours extra. If only she wasn't so tired. She hadn't been sleeping well; this was the first time in her career that she had to work the night shift.
      She picked up the report she'd prepared for the day shift and put it in the flow tray. Then she checked for new orders and began her rounds. Thankfully the patient census was low. She only had three patients.
      She shivered in a sudden cold draft. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. She looked over her shoulder to see the ghost.
      "No," she said. "Not again. Go away."
      She walked into her first patient's room. As she did the morning assessment, she was conscious of the dead man standing in the door. Her mouth tightened. She wouldn't let this happen again. She wouldn't.
      "You must help him," the dead man said.
      "I'll be back in a few minutes, Mrs. Simpson," Darcy said, brightly. The elderly woman smiled and turned her attention back to the television.
      Darcy made the rest of her rounds with the ghost stalking her. After she checked the vital signs of her patients, she went to the pharmacy and pulled the meds. She pushed the meds cart to the nurses' station. Margaret sat at the nurses' station, leafing through a magazine.
      "Margaret, Mrs. Fields in 212 needs to be turned," Darcy snapped. Margaret nodded, never looking up from her magazine. Darcy felt her face tighten. "Now."
      Margaret looked startled, dropped her magazine, and hurried to the room.
      "You must help him."
      Darcy glared at the ghost. She looked up and down the hall, and then said in a furious whisper, "Get out of here. I don't want you here. I'm not going to listen! I'm not going to help you. I'm done with that." She turned back to the cart, double-checking the meds.
      "I am beyond help," the dead man said. "I am damned by my own actions. I was misled, but it was my choice. I took her Mark willingly. It was my sin, and now I will pay for it."
      Darcy paused. This didn't sound like the run-of-the-mill haunting. None of that "Tell her I love her even though I was sleeping with her sister" or "You must take a message to my estranged son whom I haven't seen since I kicked his sorry hide out of my home years ago." She shook her head. No, she wasn't interested. It was none of her concern. She had enough to deal with. She had learned that if she ignored a ghost, eventually they went away. But any attention fed them. She should have never spoken to him.
      "I am doomed, but you must help him," the ghost said. "You both have been called to a Purpose. You will know him by his eyes. He has the eyes of a hunter. You must save him so that he can save you. The Bone Queen has awakened and even now seeks the Sword of Silence. You must not allow her to wield it or all is lost."
      "What?" Darcy stared at the ghost. "What are you talking about?"
      "She will do to all what she has done to me." The dead man reached his hands inside his shirt and pulled open his chest to reveal a black void that spun out toward Darcy. She didn't even have time to scream before the cold blackness closed around her and crushed her into oblivion.

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      Y'all have a good evening. Take care. Night!
 

More of the usual

      I cannot tell you how much I've been looking forward to today. (To today? Does that make sense?) This has been a grinding week, all things considered. Work's been tough, I've been feeling achy and out of sorts all week, the weather has been cold, wet and dreary, the writing has been going slow, etc. I'm off this afternoon because I have a couple of appointments. After just four hours of work, my life is mine for the weekend.
      And what grand plans do I have for this weekend? Housework, writing, working on the February issue of the family newsletter, naps, the usual in other words. The only unusual activity is that I will be preparing to direct The Vigil. I do that by reading it five or six times and making lots of notes. I highlight scenes I want to emphasize, ideas on blocking, needed items and effects, and so on. I've already read the play several times now, but now I get to the nitty-gritty.
      It's going to be a different play for me. It has almost no lighting and sound effects, simple costumes and simple set. While there are moments of humor in it, the emphasis is on drama. I haven't directed a pure drama since I left college. I'm both looking forward to it and a bit intimidated by it. I've always found humor easier to direct. My mind just works that way.
      I hope I have enough people try out. The play calls for eight men and eight women with two additional non-speaking parts. I can and will cut the non-speaking parts, and I can have one woman and one man come in as different characters, so I could do it with 12 men and women if I had to, but I'm hoping to fully cast it. We'll see how it goes and who shows up Monday and Tuesday night.
      I struggled with the writing on Darkness, Oklahoma this week. I had to rearrange several scenes to fix a timeline problem, then I had to write new scenes for a minor character who turns out to be not-so-minor after all. It's like constructing a puzzle, and I'm having to go carefully to make sure all the pieces fit. The book builds -- or I hope it does -- and it has to have to a good foundation. These new scenes and the reorganization are strengthening the foundation and enriching the story. It has to be done to maintain a book of 100,000 words and I'm learning a lot from doing it, but it's slo-o-o-o-w. I'm not getting as many words as I hoped, but every day a few more join the total. Eventually it will speed up again.
      I'd better get ready for work. Have a great day. I'll talk to you later.

Update & another excerpt

      I promised Crystal I'd blog tonight, but I wish I hadn't because I don't have anything to say. All I've been doing is writing on Darkness and working on the family newsletters. That and work make up my life lately. So I'll just hum a bit.
      Oh, there is this. Blogger moved this blog to the new system today. So far it seems to working other than some minor annoyances. I had attempted to change over a couple of times before, but Blogger couldn't do large blogs like this one yet. Now they have. We'll see how it works. It's not like I had a choice, anyway.
      As for the newsletters, I'm at a standstill. I'm waiting for columns from my older sister and my older brother. There are these huge empty white spaces on the pages where their writing is supposed to be. I have some minor editing to do and some formatting on the pages that are completed, and then they can be printed, but I need my sibs material to complete the issue.
      Tomorrow I'm going to write and do housework. What a jet-setter I am! It's an exciting life. Anyway, so that Crystal will have something to read, here's another excerpt. It's getting near the end of the book, and some of our heroes are trapped by revenants. Kate and Blanche are the elderly Blyman sisters. Arizona Tate and Muriel Merryman are members of their coven. Bridge is a young witch, part of another coven that raised the Bone Queen. That, of course, hasn't worked out for them. (Note: This excerpt is fairly raw and unedited. It hasn't had a polishing yet, but I thought you might enjoy it, anyway.)

Excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma

      Kate looked at Muriel. "What was that commotion outdoors?"
      "Some people were running down the street," Muriel said. "I couldn't see anything."
      She heard Bridget scream.
      "What?"
      The four rushed out on the porch.
      "No!" Muriel gasped.
      "God have mercy," Arizona said.
      Horrors marched toward them. Twisted bodies walked up the street, leaving a trail of tattered clothes and rotting flesh. Skulls shone in the streetlights. A few newly killed people walked among them. Kate recognized their mailman, and wasn't that the new florist? She closed her eyes briefly, trying to find more courage in her tired heart.
      "The Bone Queen," Blanche said flatly. "Behold her power."
      "She raised the dead!" Bridget gasped. Her eyes shone greedily.
      "Don't be stupid, Bridget," Kate snapped. "She's not God. She can't raise the dead. But she can raise revenants. Re-animate their bones and put evil spirits into them."
      The revenants turned toward the Blyman house.
      "They've seen us!" Muriel said.
      "They already knew we were here," Kate said. "They can sense life. And they hate it." She felt faint, her heart hammering in her chest.
      "Do you have a gun?" Arizona asked urgently.
      "There's daddy's shotgun in the front closet," Blanche said. "The shells are on the shelf above them." Blanche looked at Kate. "We have to try to stop her, sister."
      Kate nodded, knowing how weak they still were. Kate reached out her right hand and took Blanche's left hand.
      Muriel shoved Bridget out of the way.
      The sisters stepped off the porch, hand in hand, and for a moment, Kate remembered them as children skipping hand in hand down the sidewalk.
      The revenants advanced on the house, moving slowly with terrible purpose.
      The sisters threw out their free hands. Fire answered their call, a sweep of flame that ignited rotting clothes and seared bone. The trees and shrubs burst into flames. But the revenants kept coming.
      Kate pushed herself until she began to feel herself tear inside. Blanche dropped to her knees. Kate couldn't sustain the flames by herself. The revenants came toward them, moving faster.
      "Sister, we're not enough," Kate said.
      Arizona stepped forward and started shooting.
      Muriel helped Blanche up.
      "In the house!" Kate yelled, clutching her side.
      "Help her!" Muriel snapped at Bridget. "They'll kill you, too!"
      Bridget helped Kate into the house.
      Arizona locked the front door. "That's not going to hold them."
      "The attic," Blanche said, still clinging to Muriel. "We can hold them off there."
      The five hurried up the stairs, Arizona bringing up the rear. The front door broke open as the revenants pressed against it. Arizona shot the first one, but the shotgun blast did nothing but knock it back. Silently the revenants began to climb the stairs.
      "In here!" Blanche opened the attic door.
      Muriel darted inside, followed by Blanche.
      Arizona shot again.
      "Come on," Kate said. "That's not stopping them."
      "I need explosive shells," he grunted. "That'd stop them."
      "I'll pick some up, dear, first chance I get," she said.
      She dashed into the attic, followed by the Cherokee. She locked the door behind them. "That door's solid oak, but it's not going to hold them long."
      "Help us!" Blanche said as she and Muriel pushed an old dresser toward the door.
      They all pushed it against the door.
      Kate began to pick up boxes and pass them to Arizona who put his shotgun aside to pile them onto the dresser.
      The door shook as something heavy hit it.
      Bridget screamed hysterically.
      Muriel grabbed the young witch and slapped her hard. Bridget stumbled back.
      "I wanted to do that," Kate said.
      "You can slap her next time," Muriel promised.
      "More!" Blanche said, pushing another box onto the barricade.
      The four grabbed items and piled them up.
      "Aren't you glad we don't throw anything away?" Blanche panted.
      Kate managed a short laugh.
      The door shuddered and creaked.
      The five backed further into the attic. Arizona pumped the shotgun, jacking another shell in the firing chamber. Muriel picked up a croquet mallet. Bridget ran to the far corner of the attic and pressed herself against a rafter. Blanche and Kate grasped hands. They exchanged a glance. Kate knew if they called fire again, the strain would kill them, and she knew Blanche knew that, too.
      She realized then that they could die. Would die unless some miracle took place. And there was still so much that she needed to do. Not enough time in this world, she thought. Not enough time.
      The door split open.

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      And I guess that will be it for tonight. I'll be back tomorrow. Y'all have a good night.

Untitled

      I don't know what to blog. Not speechless. Just tired, I guess. I've not been sleeping well. My back won't let me. I can't remember when I've slept more than three or four hours at a time. That wears you down after a while. So I'm feeling wore down.
      Maybe a bit worn down by life, too. Too many crazy and rude customers at work. Too many bills. Too many struggles with the diet. Blah, blah, blah. Enough of that.
      Hey, I should be able to pay off another credit card in May, assuming everytbing goes as planned. Then I start on the huge card. It will take me approximately 15 months to pay that one off, and then I'll be left with only my second mortgage and first mortgage. It should take a year to play off the second mortgage. That's as far as I've gone with it, but rough calcuations show that the home will be paid off in two years after that. And finally I'm out of debt. Of course, that's planning nearly five years in the future. Who knows what will happen in that time? But it's a good plan.
      Hey, I know what I'll do. I'll share a bit of Darkness, Oklahoma. Then you can rain me with praise! Yes, it's a plan.
      Okay, this is when our hero and his lady end up at her house together after dispatching a zombie in the morning and having a romantic dinner that night. Yeah, it's that kind of day for them.

Excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma.

      Darcy couldn't really decide how they ended up in her bedroom. The dinner had been nice at The Tex-Mex Kitchen restaurant. They had talked of nothing important, carefully avoiding what had happened in the morgue. She learned that he graduated from Oklahoma State with a degree in business administration. He was forty. He had been married once nearly twenty years ago, but his wife had passed away. He didn't say how. They had no children. Darcy felt a peculiar stillness in him when he spoke of his wife.
      To change the subject, she told of her time at the University of Oklahoma Medical Sciences Center and how she followed a man to North Carolina only to break up with him when she realized that he had no intention of ever marrying her. She glossed over her departure and return to Oklahoma.
      During the meal, their eyes would meet and hold each other for a moment longer. Once Darcy reached over and patted the side of his mouth with her napkin to remove a speck of salsa. A part of her had been aghast at her presumption, but it felt natural. Her hand lingered for a moment near his lips. Her skin tingled from his warm breath.
      Back at her apartment, she asked him in for coffee. He followed her into the kitchen. She turned from the coffee maker to ask him if he wanted sugar and milk, and he stood only inches away.
      She reached up and touched the side of his face, marveling at the strength and pain she felt in him. He took her hand and looked at it intently and then kissed her palm. She shivered, then sighed.
      He pulled her to him gently, his strong arms pressing her body against his. She realized that they fit together as if they were two pieces of the same whole. She raised her face to his. Then he kissed her. She felt the room circle slowly around them. Her gifts surged, expanding out.
      He pulled back.
      "Am I going too fast?" he asked softly.
      She nodded, then shook her head. Her heart pounded, and she felt the tide of her pulse.
      "It's like I've known you forever," he said. "I --"
      She put her finger to his lips. This was the part that she couldn't remember. Did she lead him to her bedroom or did he carry her? She didn't know; yet she lived completely in the moment as it happened. They stood at the foot of her bed. She wasted a moment regretting that she hadn't made it up that evening when she crawled out of it and then forgot about it.
      She unbuttoned his shirt slowly as his hands massaged her shoulders and down her sides. His hands moved slowly and surely. She reached out and felt the slight curl of hair at the center of his chest. She slowly ran her hand down, exploring the hard muscles of his stomach, the ridges of his ribs. He shuddered. She slid her palm past his navel and found the top button of his jeans. His hand covered hers and gripped hers gently.
      He stepped back.
      "No," he said. He took a ragged breath.
      She looked at him, not understanding. His face was pale, his eyes wide. She realized he was panicked.
      "I don't understand," she said.
      "I can't," he said, gasping like he was running a race. "I didn't realize that it would be like this. I didn't realize you would be like this. So … precious." He shook his head. "I can't take the chance."
      "Chance?" she asked. She reached out with her gifts, straining to understand the pain that tormented him. Beneath his sorrow, further down, something lurked, something hidden, something repressed, but strong. Strong and wild. Powerful. Savage. She pressed further, down into the depths until she began to see the shape of that lurker. She strained. Then glowing eyes looked up and saw her!
      She gave a small cry and backed away, her hand to her mouth. "What are you?" she asked, but she already knew. She had seen the Beast -- and it had seen her.

Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      And on that cliffhanger, good night!

Darkness update

      You may have noticed that I haven't been blogging about Darkness, Oklahoma much. That's because I'm in trouble with it and haven't written my way out. I do know one thing that will become a rule for me: DON'T CREATE A CHARACTER TO FIX A PROBLEM.
      Here's what happened. I have a lot of people in the book who all have pieces of the puzzle. These people need to get together so that they can exchange information. The problem is that many of these people have never even met. I need, in a sense, a town meeting where our heroes can talk to each other.
      So … to fix this, I created a character. A sort of wise man. A player to move all the game pieces. My heroes would all get together because he would get them all together. I wanted him to be quirky and interesting. Wise and funny. Something out of the ordinary run-of-the-mill sages that seem to populate various fantasy books.
      However, this new character created a whole bunch of problems. Why was he withholding information? Why not gather everybody together at first and send them off to do what has to be done? Why play games when so much is at stake?
      Oh, okay, I'll fix that. There'll be a prophecy so that things have to be done in a particular order. But who will give the prophecy? Oh, I know, I'll create an ancient prophet and an ancient, powerful society. But if they were so powerful, why aren't they still around? Okay, there was a war or maybe the gods stuck them down for their pride. Ahem. Recognize the plot yet? If you read much fantasy, you do. And all of this came about just so I could get my heroes together. Which, by the way, still hasn't happened.
      I knew then what I had to do. The wise man had to go. I'd lose nearly 7,000 words, but he had to go. The prophecy stayed but in a much reduced and mysterious form. The ancient prophet and the ancient society, gone.
      I felt ill as I removed the wordage. I still feel a bit queasy. I saved the character in a different file. He had some cool quirks. Maybe I can use him in some other story someday.
      Anyway, that didn't fix the original problem, but at least I don't have all the new problems. Somehow these folks are going to share info. I don't know how yet, but it's going to happen one way or another. I hope you'll be reading the solution soon.

Excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma

      Excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma where an evil little man discovers exactly how small he is. Copyright 2005. All rights reserved. You may not copy it in any form. Otherwise you will be cursed with a really terrible curse. Something involving your armpit hair and angry fire ants.

      Inside a circle drawn with animal blood, Troy Bing waited in the old barn at his parents' vacant farmhouse. His parents had lived in the Hintz Senior Village for the past three years. Troy wanted them to sell the old place, but they weren't willing yet. Eventually Troy would have to force the issue, but for now, it provided a secluded place for his ... activities.
      He was nervous. He had Summoned what the coven had unknowingly birthed last night. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, but he knew it was powerful. The old book that he had found in a pile of trash outside his office gave few details. He often wondered where the book came from. Most of its pages were gone, but the ones remained carried true power.
      He had tried a small one, a spell to increase his ability to influence other people. Its effects were immediate and impressive. He became the top car salesman at the lot. Soon after, the owner decided to retire and sell the business at a huge discount to Troy. The spell benefited him in other ways. The women he had bedded numbered in the dozens now. Any woman he hadn't had, he believed it was because he hadn't tried to get her. And it allowed him to completely control his wife Holly. She raised their three children and made few demands on him. She totally supported his run for mayor just as she supported everything he did.
      But there were people who seemed immune. His parents, for instance. And some of the people he worked with. In fact, some people seemed to have an instinctive dislike for him now. Not only did were they able to overcome the spell, they seemed capable of freeing others. Troy couldn't have that.
      Troy wanted to be mayor and then state representative. Then state senator. After that, governor or senator. He wasn't sure if his ambitions included the White House; that seemed too far to dream. But he knew he needed an edge. He was certain that other politicians used magic. After all, look at some of the losers who got elected.
      He saw the coven as necessary evil. He discovered that he needed a group to cast the stronger spells. Without sufficient people, backlash could kill a caster. But a coven was dangerous. The more people who knew that he was a pagan, the more chance that the wrong person would hear. Let the media found out that he dabbled in the Art and his career would be finished. But if he could gain the power he wanted, the coven could be taken care of. Plenty of politicians built their careers on convenient automobile accidents and suicides.
      The strongest spell in the book called a Power into existence. A Power that would be beholden to him. The coven hadn't realized that it would kill the Marked man. He knew that David White's life was forfeit from the moment he agreed to the Mark, but when no Power manifested itself immediately, Troy had been as panicked as the others. Only later after the body was dumped and Troy had a time to think did he realize what some of the more obscure passages of the spell could mean. By that time, the police had arrived, and Troy didn't dare make his interest known.
      So he taken the book and found a Summoning spell. Now he waited in the decaying barn, feeling sweat trickle down his back and bead up on his forehead as the day warmed. Perhaps the spell had failed. Or they had cast it wrong. He didn't think he could convince the coven to cast it again.
      "What have we here?" A woman's voice broke the silence.
      Troy turned, his heart pounding. A tall woman stood in the barn door.
      She walked toward him, her hips moving on a slow, seductive motion. Her shoulder-length black hair fell in lush cascades. And any movie star would envy her full breasts, narrow waist, and rounded hips. Could she be the Power?
      She stopped in front of him outside the circle.
      "I seek the Summoner," she said, her voice low and throaty reaching all the way to the bones of his body.
      Troy licked dry lips. "Yes." He remembered the phrase from the book. "I have called you by life, I have called you by death, I have called in you by blood, now give your will to my Purpose!" He threw up his arms.
      She cocked her head and then stepped toward him. She smiled, revealing too many gleaming teeth. Troy had the impression of something huge, something twisted around her body, as if heat radiated from her.
      Troy panicked. "You cannot cross the circle! I am protected!"
      She looked down at the circle and then back at him. She began to pace around the circle like a huge cat stalking its prey.
      "You found a book," she said. "You used the book. You used others. You thought to Summon a Power to turn to your uses. But I cannot be bent. You sought a slave. But I cannot be mastered."
      This was going all wrong! Tory thought frantically. He had to end this, stop this madness. He had been a fool. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of pure salt. "Begone!" he shouted. "Begone!" He flung the salt in the air.
      She stopped. The salt fell around her. Then she stepped forward, crossing the circle.
      "Fool," she said. "Fool. From where did you think your spells drew their strength? They are the language of the Void, and I am the Void's Chosen Vessel."
      Troy backed away.
      He turned and ran.
      About three paces before he was grabbed and thrown across the barn to land against a stall. The old wood collapsed beneath his weight. He looked up to see her stride toward him. Her mouth split further open to reveal rows of gleaming teeth.
      "No!" he screamed. "No!"
      Easily she picked him up with one hand and held him in the air.
      "Such a stupid creature," she said. "To summon one as vast as the universe when you are tiny. Such is the lot of man."
      She pulled him close. Her tongue reached out and licked the side of his face, not sexual, but tasting. His bladder let go.
      She laughed.
      "I have the Mark!" he babbled. "I have the Mark! I have the Mark!"
      She paused.
      "I'll do anything," he wept. "Anything! Don't kill me! Please don't kill me! Please." He sobbed.
      Closing her eyes as if she heard beautiful music, her hold loosened. She dropped him into his urine. He started to scramble away, but a gesture from her stopped him.
      "Show me," she said. "Show me your Mark."
      He fumbled with his shirt buttons, his fingers clumsy with fear. He opened his shirt to reveal the design he had copied from the book onto his stomach using a black marker.
      "You chose the Mark freely?" she asked as if astonished and amused.
      "Yes, yes," he said, hardly daring to hope. "I thought ... I didn't know ..."
      "Yes, it's clear to me now," she said. "I see it in your mind. You tricked others into birthing me. You thought you could control me. But you doubted. You were afraid of the spell. You are a true coward and only care for yourself. And your soul is so empty. You have no faith, not even in yourself. So you Marked yourself as one of my creatures. But why should I allow one such as you to serve me?"
      "I can help," he said urgently. "I have contacts. I can help you do whatever you want."
      "Unlikely since I seek something that has been hidden for eons," she said. "But you might have other uses."
      "Anything," he said. "Just tell me what to do."
      "Address me as your Queen," she said. "And you can serve me until I have no further need of you. You may thank me."
      "Thank you, my Queen," he said, tears running down his cheeks. "Thank you."
      She reached down and picked him up. "But we must do one thing." She smiled slowly. "My Mark is given in fire."
      She drank his screams like poisoned nectar.

Copyright 2005. All rights reserved.