Month: November 2024

2024 Holiday Pep Talk

It’s the day after Thanksgiving as you’re reading this. It’s the Monday before Thanksgiving as I’m writing this. And it’s time, finally, to start celebrating the most wonderful time of the year.

In theory.

I have never felt less holiday spirit than I do this year, you guys. I cannot begin to tell you. I feel like Charlie Brown. There must be something wrong with me. I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel.

Of fucking course I don’t. It’s November 25th and the high for today is 51 degrees. No fault divorce is under attack in America, safe and legal abortions are in jeopardy. It’s about to cost more to buy literally everything and a wrestling promoter is about to be in charge of our country’s education. So yeah, deck those halls or whatever.

Frankly, I don’t think it’s fair to say things are about to get bad. Things have been bad, my friends. They’re about to get worse.

Now, as far as I see it, we have two choices going into the holiday season. We can say fuck it, drink our way through the holidays, and half-ass everything. Or, we can do whatever we can to bring ourselves and the people we care for joy.

Despite my bitching and (more than usual) swearing in this post, I plan to do the latter. Because this is not the first hard holiday season I have faced. And I have learned a crucial lesson from the losses and crises that I’ve survived.

Multiple things can be true at once. I can be sad and thankful. I can be scared and hopeful.

I’m worried about the future of my library. And I’m excited about all the events they have planned for the holidays. I’m afraid our grocery bill is going to balloon, and thankful that we have food in our house. I’m afraid for all of my friends in the LGBTQ+ community, and thankful to have them in my life. I’m worried about my husband and grandmother’s health, and happy I get to share the holidays with them.

This has been a hard year, personally and globally. But it hasn’t been all bad. I have lots of things to be grateful for.

My husband went to the hospital several times and we had some scary moments. But he is still here with me.

I relaunched Woven and published book five of Station 86.

I’ve experienced growth in my faith and have a better relationship with God than I ever have.

I have had a hundred beautiful, wonderful, wildly unexpected moments of joy this year. People have been kind to me, or I’ve had the opportunity to be kind to them in a way that enriched my soul.

My little hometown is becoming vibrant and alive. Rather than stores closing down, stores are opening up.

My witchy community is growing, and I am meeting sisters and brothers to share magic with.

We can hold both of these things at the same time, our sorrow and our joy. It is the only way any people have ever survived dark times. Being happy for the holidays doesn’t mean we don’t care about people suffering or that we aren’t suffering ourselves. Being sad about the state of things doesn’t mean we don’t feel gratitude for the good things and beloved people in our lives.

Be kind to each other, but more than that be kind to yourself. And don’t waste a second of your time on anyone who is trying to take your joy away from you.

Merry and Blessed and Happy everything. Find joy and solace in all the good things you can and all the good people around you.

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The power of finishing

As we near the start of 2025, I’m coming to two major endings in my writing career. I’m about to relaunch the prequel and final book in my Woven series (On December 7th). And, I’m working on the very last Station 86 book.

It’s going to be a while before I finish it. I’m still rough drafting it, and will probably be until at least January. But when it’s done, the series is done. And I’ve been writing this series for close to a decade.

Finishing a project this large is something else. I’m not even sure what kind of writer I am if I’m not writing Station 86. I’m not sure what I’ll do.

Actually, that’s a lie. I have another novel I’ve been working on for a few years and an idea for at least one other book. Don’t worry, I’m not shutting up or shutting down anytime soon.

As much as I’ll be sad to finish Station 86, it’s really for the best. Not just because the story has come to a satisfactory ending. But because it’s best for me, as a writer, to finish it.

Here’s why.

The endorphins

When I get to the point where I’m hitting publish on the presale for the current book, I cannot tell you what that’s going to feel like. The endorphin rush is always good, this one is going to be amazing! Why do I know that? It was amazing when I got to the first launch day for Falling From Grace, and it was amazing when I set up the presale this time too.

Finishing a project is the best. It feels so good. I feel so proud of myself. I kind of just want to run around and show everyone who even kind of knows me. The satisfaction, and even the relief that I made it this far. It is unsurpassed.

You prove you can do it

This speaks to the relief aspect I was talking about in the last paragraph. I’m not talking about proving that you can finish a project to anyone else. Not your mom, your eighth-grade English teacher, your judgemental coworker, or weird friend who loves to point out when you’ve failed. Stop being friends with them.

No, you need to prove to yourself that you can finish a project. And I speak from experience. When I wrote Broken Patterns, it was after years and years of starting novels and never finishing them. Getting distracted, getting too busy, getting bored with the story, getting discouraged. Basically, getting to a point where I didn’t believe I could do it, so I didn’t. This was a barrier that I needed desperately to break before I was going anywhere.

You’ve learned about every stage of writing

Writing a rough draft will not teach you how to rewrite. Only rewriting will teach you that. Rewriting a novel will not teach you how to do line edits or polishes. Only doing line edits and polishes will teach you that.

Spoiler, reading about doing those things won’t teach you much either. I mean, if you have no idea where to begin then reading about it will give you a starting point. But, like with most things, you learn by doing.

Getting a project from rough draft to completion will teach you every point of writing. More importantly, it will teach you how you process every point of writing. Writing is an art, not a science. How I revise my books will look different than how any other author does it. How you do it will look different too. You need to learn how your brain works during these different steps in the novel writing process. And you only learn that by, you guessed it, doing it.

You get to write something else

Please don’t get me wrong. I loved writing Woven. And I love writing Station 86. But I want to write other things. I have other stories within me. And I have faith that other stories will come to me.

Art is ever-evolving. If artists don’t try new things, they become stagnate. There’s a reason why series that run too long start getting dull. We stop becoming artists and start becoming producers. All the passion goes out.

I don’t ever want to lose the passion I have for writing. I am an artist, I want to make art. I can’t do that if I don’t finish the art I’m currently making.

You evolve

Every new project will teach you new things. You’ll learn new ways to tell stories, new povs, and new techniques. You will become a better writer, or at least a different writer, just by the practice of telling new stories.

This is what you want, as an artist. You don’t want to hit a certain level of competency and plateau. You want to keep learning new things and growing. You want your art to evolve.

At least, I hope you do.

I know we’re still in November, but I have a suggestion for a 2025 New Year’s Goal. If you’ve never done it before, finish a project. It doesn’t need to be a whole series or a novel. It can be a short story or even a poem. But get one project either submission or publication ready. You will not believe how much that will help you grow. Because it wasn’t Broken Patterns that proved to me I could finish a project. It was writing blog posts here, on a schedule. That’s how I proved to myself that I could do what I said I was going to do. And that is the real power of finishing a project.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, please consider supporting us on Ko-fi.

Falling From Grace is available now for preorder! You can get it now on Amazon.

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What dragons say about us

We are obsessed with dragons. And by we, I mean all of humanity. As we discussed when I talked about Beowulf a few weeks ago when I still had hope and joy in my life, we have been telling stories about dragons for most of humanity and certainly for as long as we have written stories down. Some of my favorite fantasy books revolve around dragons, like Dragonriders of Pern. When I wrote my own fantasy series, I knew I had to include dragons. Hell, it’s even part of my tagline.

I write speculative fiction. That means I write about dragons, ghosts and spaceships. Sometimes I write about the ghosts of dragons on spaceships.

Dragons are unique when compared to other cryptozoological creatures. We tell different kinds of stories about them. Compare this to something like a unicorn. We all love unicorns, too. But they almost always have the same sort of tales told. They’re majestic, magical, pure. Trolls are almost always stupid and at best a nuisance. Giants are almost always evil and eat humans. But dragons run the spectrum from brainless beast to diety. So let’s look at some examples, and then discuss why this might be.

The monster

This is easily my least favorite way to write dragons, as evil and terrifying beasts that devour people and destroy livestock. They hoard gold they have no actual use for and light up anyone close to their dark and dreary caves.

We see this mostly in older fiction, but in some modern tellings as well. Though, thankfully, this depiction has fallen out of fashion. Dragons that are nothing more than gold-hoarding bottomless eating machines just aren’t much fun.

The ally

The next depiction of dragons we often see is more of an ally animal. Like a horse, dog, rat, or any other animal that we’ve formed a partnership with. Think of Lockheed in X-Men. We also see this in Dragon Riders of Pern, where even when the riders are psychically linked with their dragons, they are still treated the same as deeply loved animal allies. Clever, for sure, but not really on our level.

The Equal

Finally, we get to the sort of dragon I prefer, and the one I wrote in Woven. The dragon is just as intelligent, if not more so, than humanity. We see this a lot in modern fiction. Or, at least fiction that’s come out in my lifetime. Dragon Heart is a great example, as are most D&D dragons. I love this sort because it seems to take humanity down a peg. It reminds us that maybe we aren’t as clever as we tend to think we are.

The god

Finally, we see dragons as diety. As above humanity, with superhuman abilities. My favorite example of this is in Avatar The Last Airbender, where fire bending is taught to humanity by the dragons.

Why?

Now, this is just my opinion. But, since I have been reading the genre for my entire life and writing in it for over ten years professionally, I happen to consider this at least an educated opinion.

I think how we write dragons is a reflection of how we view nature.

Consider some of the dragon types we talked about. The monstrous dragons lived deep underground, protecting treasures. Living in coal country as I do, that feels like an apt analogy for mining. The ally dragons are likely written by people who have close and loving relationships with their pets, or who admire support animals. Those who see dragons as having at least humanlike intelligence, if not more, probably have a deep respect for nature and don’t necessarily think we’re the smartest creatures on this planet. And of course, those who are a bit more pagan leaning would likely see God in the face of a dragon.

Overall, I think it’s a theory that works. We write dragons and how we see nature. We read about dragons that remind us of how we see nature. And I think that’s pretty awesome. Fiction is essentially using lies to tell the truth. We can’t always put into words what scares us, what makes us furious, or what brings us joy. We can’t always write about the mines, our connections with animals, or our fear of the natural world in a way that others can understand. But we can write about dragons, and that seems like something that we can always get behind.

But I want to know what you think. Do you agree with my theory? Do you think it’s ridiculous? Let me know in the comments.

Paper Beats World is a labor of love. If you love what we do here, please consider supporting us on Ko-fi.

Falling From Grace is available now for preorder! You can get it now on Amazon.

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Falling From Grace is coming in December

Once upon a time, I wrote a story about a boy who wove visions and a girl who spun light. About how, together, they changed their world for the better.

I love that story. But it had a few problems. Problems I only saw after writing three whole books about Devon, Lenore, Sultiana and Victor. All of my main characters but one were born into nobility and wealth. All of them were mages.

Now, that is all well and good. But it’s also a narrow view of the world. Most of us aren’t wealthy. I’m sure as hell not. Most of us are not gifted with such inherent talent that it cannot be denied, which I feel is the closest equivalent to mages in our world.

Some of us have to get by on working hard, saving money and learning skills.

So I wanted to write a story in the world of Woven about a regular woman. Maybe someone not gifted, or destined to do great things. A woman who chose to do great things instead, and shape the world around her through determination and courage.

This brought me to Grace.

You might remember Grace as the angry woman Victor left behind when he moved to Septa. And if you didn’t like her, I’m sorry. I never meant for her to be even a temporary antagonist. She had every damn reason to be angry. Wouldn’t you be if your boyfriend vanished and ended up dating some rich girl?

I needed to give Grace a chance to tell her own story. And in doing so, I told a little of mine as well. Because while I was writing this book, I was also discovering modern witchcraft.

Falling From Grace was first published in 2020. It was a terrible year for most of us, but at least Trump lost his election bid that year. But this time he won, and I think we need Grace again.

I think we need as many women and men as possible who are ready to fight against a mad king. We need witches, advocates and activists. And we need stories about them. So here is mine.

Preorder Falling From Grace here.

I loved writing this book. And I hope that you love reading it. It’s fun, sweary, irreverent and optimistic. I hope it inspires you to see some light in a dark time.

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It’s Missing Stitches launch day

I hate launching a book this week. I hate this week. This is what happens when you make a launch plan months in advance. Sometimes you have to launch a book when you’re fucking furious. When everyone you know and care about is furious and scared and unsure of what’s going to happen next.

But here we are.

And in a way, I’m kind of glad I’ve been relaunching Woven during these times. For one thing, it’s nice to have a project to take my mind off things. Also, I kind of think we need more stories like this one.

Missing Stitches, which you can officially get right here, is the story of a country ripped apart by a religious sect that would rather kill a woman than see her on the throne. It is the story of a jealous nobleman who is willing to lie, threaten, and make deals with monsters to keep a woman off the throne. Not because she’s a cruel or incompetent leader. But because she’s a woman.

Lenore has to fight a theocratic terrorist group to save her city. And that feels like it’s sort of relevant right now, doesn’t it?

So here it is. The Woven Trilogy is once again out in the world. It’s a wonderful story of people who don’t fit into the world making the world change for the better. I hope that you all get a chance to read it. And I hope that it helps at least entertain you as we try to get through the next four years.

Stay tuned, there’s more to come.

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Missing Stitches, Chapter Three

Victor looked down at his breakfast plate. There sat three soft-boiled eggs, sausage, toast with honey and butter. There was a hot cup of rich tea steaming next to his plate. There had been a time, when he was a poor boy growing up in Montelair, that a meal like this would have seemed an incredible feast.

He dug into his food with relish, ignoring the tutting sounds from his mother-in-law.

“I’m surprised that Stella isn’t with you, Sultiana,” Lenore said.

“She’s gone back to Coveline to visit her family,” Sultiana said, glancing up from her plate. “It was long overdue, I think.”

“Lenore,” Devon said, leaning across the table. “Can I ask you something strange?”

“What kind of strange?” Lenore asked, scratching something out on her date book vindictively.

“Well, Sultiana and I have been feeling something since we arrived,” Devon said, “something familiar.”

“You remember that we had a strange black substance attacking our border with Kussier,” Sultiana said.

“Hard thing to forget,” Lenore said.

“Well, whenever we would stand near that Black, we’d feel something,”

“It made me feel, cold. It reminded me of the feeling you get when you wake up from a nightmare that you don’t remember,” Devon said.

Victor sat his fork down. “Almost like you’ve lost someone, but you’re not sure who, and you can’t find them?” he asked.

“Like that, yes,” Devon said.

“I’ve had that feeling,” Victor said. “Usually at night, when I’m preparing for bed, or waking in the morning.”

“I’ve felt that way, too,” Lenore said. “But it’s always gone by the time I dress. I thought it was just the stress of everything going on.”

“It is probably just this whole mess,” Victor said, taking another bite of his eggs. “It’s hard to feel right about anything.”

But Sultiana shook her head. “It’s not that. This is too familiar to discount. I think we should all keep track of when we’re feeling this darkness. Look for patterns.”

“We can do that,” Lenore said.

The dining room door opened and a palace runner slipped in. “Prince Victor,” he said, setting a tightly rolled scroll next to his plate.

“Thank you, Lad,” Victor said, opening it.

Come to my office, soon as you can, it read.

Victor crumpled the paper, shoving it into his pocket.

“Is something wrong?” Lenore asked.

“Nothing,” Victor said, getting to his feet. “Just a note from the gardener. Slugs are getting into the olive trees in the garden, and he needs me to approve something or other to kill them.”

“And you’ve got to run off from breakfast to deal with slugs?” Lorna asked.

“Well, the head gardener is out sick, it’s just his assistant right now,” Victor said. “Anyway, killing slugs sounds like a fun gamethis morning.”

Lenore arched her eyebrow. The code word game was often used between the two of them. He hoped that it implied that he’d tell her what was going on in truth later. “Oh, go on, Love. The last thing we need is slugs getting into the orchard.”

Victor plucked her hand from the table to kiss her knuckles before leaving.

He made his way to the lower levels of the palace. He hadn’t gone far, though, when he heard raised voices down a hallway that led to servant dormitories. Hoping that whatever the spymaster had for him could wait, he turned to head in the direction of the disturbance.

Much to his surprise, he found Butrus face-to-face with a palace servant, shouting at each other.

“Hey!” Victor bellowed, hoping just to be heard over the men. “What in the view of the Sky do you think you’re doing?”

“Prince, this man just started shoving me!” the guard said. “He’s gabbling away in that foreign language, and I can’t understand a word of it!”

“Prince Victor, this man was screaming at his wife,” Butrus said in Calistarian. “Am I permitted to discipline him, or do you wish to handle it yourself?”

“Do you speak Septan, Butrus?” Victor asked, also speaking in Calistarian.

“A little,” Butrus said.

“And what led you to believe that he was yelling at his wife?” Victor asked.

“I, well I heard shouting, and he was with––”

“So you just barged in on who knows what? Where is this woman, anyway?” he looked past the men, into the room. There was a woman sitting on the bed, someone he recognized.

“Daisy,” Victor said.

The woman was pulling a cotton dress over her petticoats. Once she was dressed, she smiled at him. “How are you? You haven’t come to see me in a long while, Victor.”

“Well, my lady might frown on it,” Victor replied. “Everything all right? My friend seems to think you were in some trouble.”

“No,” Daisy said, “I had a nice time. All that happened was that Jimmy couldn’t find his boots, and he was scared of being late. We stayed up a little late last night. He was being loud, but not at me.”

She came to the doorway and fluttered her eyelashes. “You know none of Lulu’s girls let ourselves get treated wrong,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said, “Sorry your morning was disturbed. Give Lulu and her old man my best, will you?”

“If she won’t spit it back at me,” Daisy replied.

“James, find your damned boots. And let’s have no more scenes on work mornings, all right?”

“Yes, Prince,” James replied before hurrying back into his room, presumably to continue the search for his boots.

“Butrus, come with me,” Victor said. “Right now.”

Butrus followed after Victor as they headed toward the noble visitor’s wing. “You don’t speak Septan, and you thought it all right to barge into a man’s room and start making a fuss,” Victor said.

“The woman seems to be a friend of yours, did you want her ill-treated?” Butrus asked.

“You did not hear her explain that he was not even yelling at her, because you don’t speak Septan!” Victor said. “Butrus, I cannot imagine that Sultiana needed extra muscle, so why did she bring you along?”

“I am to be the new ambassador,” Butrus said, looking defiant.

“Because you are so levelheaded and diplomatic,” Victor snapped. “I will not tell Sultiana and Devon about this, and you will never let it happen again. If you think that a man in my palace is mistreating a girl, get a guard.”

Without another word, he walked away.

***

Talmadge Grace was sitting at her desk, sipping tea while she read over a stack of parchment. The office was barely recognizable since she’d taken it over. The desk was smaller than the old one, painted over with lacquer that made it glow red. The seats were plain but comfortable. The floor was swept clean around a blue rug that lay underfoot. A good lamp lit the room as there were no windows.

Talmadge herself was different. Her hair, which had been held back before in a messy braid had been cut. It was held away from her face with a steel clip in the shape of a bird. She wore breeches and a tunic with a cream vest, and good boots.

The most surprising change, Victor only saw when she looked up from her papers and stood to curtsy to him. After her bow, she stood straight and looked him in the eye.

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting,” Victor said.

“No need to apologize, Prince,” Talmadge said, “This is nothing crucial. I just haven’t had a chance to sit down and talk to you since you’ve returned.”

“My fault as much as anybody’s,” Victor said.

“Well, it’s good that you’re back,” Talmadge said. “Both you and the princess.”

“I have gotten some idea of that, yes,” Victor said. He took a seat at the desk. “What is going on with this noble uprising?”

Talmadge shook her head. “Prince Joseph is the trouble, not anyone else. I know that Lord David is angry about his bastard brother’s lordship, but James has been a lord for quite some time.”

“Since King Lyonal’s days, from what I understand,” Victor said, naming his grandfather-in-law.

“Yes,” Talmadge said. “Lord Constantine siding with the prince is easier to understand. He’s always been one too fond of power, and if his daughter is married to Hank, he’ll have power aplenty. But still, it seems strange that so many of the common people have sided with them.”

“When I hear that someone has gained influence so quickly, I hear the sound of gold clicking,” Victor said.

“Generally I agree,” Talmadge said, “and it’s a possibility. I know that the head of the merchant’s guild is unhappy about the changes Princess Lenore’s been pushing for. The last thing he wants is foreign merchants flooding his markets. He’s not too happy about the women inheriting businesses either. I wouldn’t put it past him to throw some gold at the problem.”

Just then, what had appeared to be a solid wall behind Talmadge opened in the center, revealing a small door. A young boy, a chimney sweep judging by the soot in his hair, popped into the room. He froze when he saw Victor.

“It’s all right, Lad,” Victor said.

The boy hesitated for only another second before saying, “Miss, Prince Joseph’s at the front steps of the palace. He’s wanting an audience with Princess Lenore.”

“Lenore?” Talmadge asked, getting to her feet, “What does he want with her?”

“Perhaps he is going to apologize and swear his fealty,” Victor said, causing Talmadge to release a mirthless laugh.

“You’d better get up there and keep an eye on the princess. She’s bound to be too trusting of her uncle,” she said.

“But, Miss, that’s the other thing,” the boy said, “Princess Lenore and Queen Sultiana left. They went into the city.”

“They did what?” Talmadge cried. “Bobby, why didn’t you tell me?”

“That’s what I’m doing now, Miss,” the boy said, giving her an incredulous look. “I only heard that the other prince was here when I was already on my way.”

“Send someone to tail her,” Talmadge muttered. She was reaching for her cloak.

“I will go meet with Joseph,” Victor said. “I grow tired of this family squabbling.”

He hurried to find the king.

Samuel and Devon were in the family sitting room. “Does anyone know where those girls ran off to?” he asked.

“Lenore got an urgent message from the temple just after you left,” Devon said. “Sultiana went with her.”

“I find myself missing Anthony, just now,” Victor said.

“What do we think Uncle Joe’s here for?” Devon asked.

Samuel laughed. “You know your uncle. He’s probably going to come right in as though nothing was ever wrong.”

A guard came to the door. “Prince Joseph Mestonie,” he said, holding the door open for Victor’s uncle-in-law.

Like his older brothers, Joseph was a big man, with a small goatee and mustache, well-trimmed. He wore his dark hair to his shoulders and was dressed entirely in Mestonie blue, save his boots.

He also wore a sword on his belt. Victor wore no weapons, neither did Samuel. The only blade in the room, aside from Joseph’s, was on Devon’s belt.

“Joe,” Samuel said. “Get in here next to the fire, Man.”

Joseph stayed by the door, with two of his own guards flanking him. They both wore the same red owl on their breasts that Victor had noticed through the city. “Samuel,” Joseph said. “I came to see Lenore, not you.”

“Lenore’s indisposed,” Samuel said.

“You mean you’ve hidden her away,” Joseph replied. “What have you done to that girl, Sam?”

“What in The Creator’s name are you talking about?” Samuel asked. “Come in and say hello to your nephews. Lenore will be here when she can.”

Joseph cast a dark look at Victor and Devon. “These men are not my nephews. If you don’t release her, I’ll turn this palace upside down.”

Victor took a step toward him. “I do not think we have met. I am Victor Mestonie, Lenore is my wife.”

“My niece is not your wife, Peasant,” Joseph spat. “Samuel, I am at the end of my patience. You stand there, with your wife’s bastard son as though he’s yours. You allow this Montelarian commoner to hurt our Lenore. You allowed your true son to die, and for what? Did Octavian find out something you didn’t want him to know? Samuel, what are you hiding?”

Devon was on his feet. “What did you just say about me?” he growled. Victor was surprised. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing Devon stirred to anger.

“I said that you are a bastard, the son of some commoner your whore mother entertained,” Joseph said, “Now you’re sitting on the Calistar throne. You’re nothing but a farce. And you,” he turned to Victor. “You animal. I’ll see you gutted for what you’ve done to my niece.”

“You should be glad Lenore is not here,” Victor said. “The things you are saying about her brother may make her forget that she is a noblewoman. Let alone your insinuations about me.”

“You are speaking like a madman,” Samuel said. “Joe, have you been drinking?”

Joseph smirked. Victor felt cold. There was something wrong about Joseph, even more than his actions suggested. There seemed to be a coldness coming from him. Korhzik must have felt it as well, because he clung to Victor’s shoulder, crouched down with his ears laid back.

“If you’ve nothing to hide, let me speak to Lenore. Alone, so that she may speak freely to me.”

“I’m sure Lenore will be happy to speak with you when she is available,” Samuel said.

“No,” Joseph said. He turned from them, his guards hurrying to open the door. “Search the palace,” he said to them, “Everything from the tower to the cellars. I will find her, Samuel. And if you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you where you stand!”

Victor stormed after them, praying that Lenore was safe at the temple.

Want to read the rest of the story? Missing Stitches goes live on Friday! You can preorder it now on Amazon.

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After the election

If you’ve come here for answers, I don’t have them. Wiser people than me will have them.

I’m writing this on a dark rainy morning with too little sleep. I am depressed, sad, defeated. So please forgive me if this post isn’t as peppy as usual. I don’t need to tell you what it’s about. People all over the world are mourning with us.

I can’t believe we’re here again. We’re facing four years of a Trump presidency. Four years of fighting against a tide of hatred.

First of all, I want to say that if you’re not okay right now, that makes perfect sense. I will not be the one to tell you to buck up and get ready for a fight. I will not tell you that we can’t take our foot off the gas, that we have to act and act now. Because today, that’s too hard for some of us. Today I’m not leaving the house. Today I’m not pushing my book. Today I’m not doing anything except caring for me and the people around me.

If you need to sit in it, that’s alright. Sit in it. Come to terms with it. Go through all the stages of grief. Take the time you need.

Because eventually, we are going to have to fight.

We have to fight to protect our planet, trans people, drag queens, women, school children, libraries, education, the CDC, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, Muslims, Jewish people, Pagan people, educated people, the post office, books and literacy, the incarcerated, the homeless, veterans, unions and the fucking National Weather Service. I am sure I’ve forgotten some, so please feel free to let me know in the comments. I don’t forget because I don’t care, but because there are just so many things that are now in danger. My God, we aren’t all going to make it through the next four years.

I have limited power. I am not a politician. I am not a thought leader. I’m not even an influencer. I am a writer. I write my little stories about ghosts, dragons and spaceships. Sometimes I write about the horrors of the world. I imagine that’s going to become a little more common.

But let me tell you something I’ve noticed today. A trend on social media that you might have noticed as well. Maybe it’s just because I follow a lot of writers and speculative fiction fans. But over and over, I see the same comments.

We are the resistance. We are District 13. We are the Handmaids who rebel. We are the VFD. We are the kids in Hogwarts during Deathly Hollows. We are the rebellion.

In our darkest hours, we reach for stories for comfort. So I’m going to write my little stories and read my little stories. I am going to let them inspire me.

I’m going to light a candle for protection and say spells for those who are now in danger. I’m going to continue to do this for as long as I can. I’m also going to write more, both for myself and to help others in the best way I know how. I’m going to wear my PRIDE gear and my pentagram. I’m going to speak up every time I can and show up to protect the people in my community who need me. I am going to use my privilege as a white woman in a straight-appearing relationship to help who I can. I’m going to donate to food pantries because people need to eat. I’m going to do what I can to lighten others’ burdens. I’m going to write to the politicians who might still listen to us. I’m going to pray. I’m going to show up to protests. I’m going to show up to vote every time I have the opportunity to do so. I’m going to listen to marginalized people and do what I can to help them based on what they tell me they need.

And my God, I am going to make fun of Trump every time I can. Because I can’t do much, but I know it pisses him off when people, especially women, laugh at him.

I’m going to close this with some witchcraft book recommendations. Please feel free to add your favorite in the comments.

Lazy Witchcraft for Crazy, Shitty Days, by Andrea Samayoa if you need some help existing.

Light Magic for Dark Times, by Lisa Marie Basile if you need spells and rituals for healing.

Witchcraft Activism, by David Salisbury for when you’re ready to fight back.

Utterly Wicked, by Dorothy Morrison if you’re not opposed to hexing people.

Finally, let me leave you with some quotes from people smarter than me.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

– Mr. Rogers

“Right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.”

-Martin Luther King Jr.

Leave something nice in the comments. I think we all need it.

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Missing Stitches, Chapter Two

Devon leaned over the railing of his ship, the StarS Cobra, watching as the afternoon sun and the Great Gate of Septa drew closer. The wind blew through his dark curly hair, chilling his face. He’d forgotten how cold it could be outside of the desert. The skies were cloudy, and the waters of the Dragon Tears River were choppy.

It had been raining when he’d left Septa, too.

In Calistar, where everything was still new and foreign, it had been easier to set aside his grief for his older brother, Octavian. It hadn’t gone away, not by any means. But there hadn’t been painful memories waiting around every corner.

He and Octavian had come out to the bay to fish when the weather was good. Sometimes they’d caught enough for the whole family to eat dinner. Or, if they didn’t, the servants had slipped a few extra in.

He was relieved when his wife, Sultiana, joined him. She put her arms around him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. She was only a bit shorter than him, with dark brown skin and a thick black braid that she coiled around her head like a crown. They both wore white silk, the mark of Calistar nobility.

“You look weary, Honored Husband,” she said. “I thought you’d be happy. We’re going to see your family, our new nieces.”

“I am happy, for the most part,” Devon said. “I’m excited to see my mother and Lenore. Even Victor.”

“And your father?” she asked.

Devon grimaced. “That’s another matter. How did you know?”

“It’s my job to know such things. I’ve never understood your relationship with your father,” Sultiana said.

“Of course not,” Devon said. “Your father was perfect. He accepted my weaving, taught me everything he could. His life obviously revolved around you and your sisters. My own father, well. He’s always been a nobleman first.”

“Your father loves you,” Sultiana said.

“I know he does,” Devon said. He turned around to pull Sultiana against him. Around them, sailors and soldiers from each of the five tribes grinned at their king and queen’s obvious affection for each other.

“What about you, though?” he asked, “You look like you’ve been crying.”

She gave him a sad smile. “My courses came,” she said.

“Oh,” Devon said. “Well, I mean, you couldn’t have been pregnant again.”

“No, I know,” she said, nodding. “It’s just a reminder. I’d have been showing by now.”

“We’ll get a baby,” Devon said. He set his forehead on hers and smiled. “I imagine it’ll be lots of fun trying, too.”

“Lots, yes,” Sultiana said, chuckling. She looked toward the gate. “Do you think Chrissie will be all right back home?”

“She’ll do great,” Devon said, thinking of his assertive and strong-minded sister-in-law. “She’s got Kadar, Gia, Shilom, and Sabre to help her.”

Thinking of the people they’d left behind brought his thoughts to the friends that had come with them.

Saja, Sultiana’s chief adviser, was coaxing her falcon down from a piece of the rigging. She was dressed in Smith Tribe red with newly cropped hair, holding a bit of flatbread for him.

Devon couldn’t see Butrus, the bulking Farmers Tribesman who was to be their new ambassador to Septa. But this wasn’t uncommon. Butrus had spent most of the trip keeping to himself.

Sultiana’s assistant, Mergin, was talking with an uncomfortable looking sailor. She wore Smith red as well, a long skirt and tunic. Her skin was honey colored, her eyes heavy with kohl.

“Will you change into Septan clothing while we’re here?” Sultiana asked.

Devon considered his clothes. He wore a pair of white silk pants and a loose-fitting tunic with a vest over it. A cloth belt wrapped around his waist, into which, he’d tucked his ornate dagger. His leather boots were laced over his pants, reaching halfway to his knees. “I don’t know,” he said. “It might be a little cold, wearing this.”

Mergin, apparently done with the sailor, came to join them. “Sire, I wonder if I could ask you some questions about Septa. I’ve never been there. Actually, I’ve never been outside of Calistar.”

Devon almost laughed. It had taken fighting in a war together for Mergin to feel comfortable talking to him. Even so, she did so only when she thought it necessary.

“I wish our people would travel more,” Devon said. “Not just the Scholars and Traders Tribes. Everyone should see more of the world.”

“Do Septans travel often?” Mergin asked.

“No, as a matter of fact, they don’t,” Devon said. “I wish they did, too. I think we’d all be a lot better off if we saw more of the world than where we were born.”

Trumpets started to blare at the Great Gate, announcing their arrival.

The ship pulled into the dock. Waiting for them were the Lords Monroe and James. They were accompanied by a handful of guards, who were keeping a close eye on the crowds on the boardwalk.

Sultiana shivered. “Something feels strange,” she said, looking up at Devon.

“What in The Creator’s name is this?” Devon whispered, looking around the surrounding docks. They were crowded with people shouting at the Calistarians as they left the ship.

“Prince,” Monroe called, waving for him. Devon walked down the plank to meet him. “No,” he corrected himself. “You’re a king now.”

“It’s still just Devon, please,” he replied, reaching out to shake his hand. He and Monroe had faced the Dragon Plague together. He couldn’t bear such formality from him.

“Of course,” Monroe said, grinning. “My friend, I am so happy to see you.”

“Gladder than the city might be,” James said, clapping Devon on the shoulder. “Keep your bow close, Devon. Ah, Queen Sultiana. It is good to see you again, Your Majesty.”

James bowed to her, and she inclined her head politely. “Where is my Honored Father-in-law? Is he unwell?” she asked.

James grimaced. “I’m afraid he is dealing with a situation that couldn’t wait. He asked me to escort you to the palace.”

“What was so important that he couldn’t come himself?” Devon asked.

“We should talk at the palace,” Monroe said, glancing around.

Two gondolas were waiting for them. Devon, Sultiana and Mergin joined James in the first, while the others climbed aboard the second with Monroe.

“I was only making a suggestion,” Devon heard Butrus say to Saja. “You don’t need to scratch my eyes out, Woman.”

“You are not my father, brother, uncle, or even a member of my tribe,” Saja snapped. “You’ve got no right to speak to me about my veil, Herdsman.”

Devon turned back, intending to chide them. As he did, someone in the crowd threw something at Saja. She jumped sideways into the gondola just in time to avoid a rotten egg. “Go home, sand whore!” the thrower yelled.

Devon was on his feet, his bow in his hand. He shot toward the man, catching his jacket sleeve and pinning him to the wall behind. He looked back at the other gondola in time to see Butrus raise an eyebrow at Saja.

“Oh don’t say a word. They’d have thrown that whether I’d had my veil on or not,” Saja snapped.

Devon remained standing as the gondola starting moving, his bow in his hand. James did the same. People along the boardwalks shouted obscenities at the Calistarians. He heard a few Sapphic slurs as well, causing him to glance toward Monroe when their gondolas pulled next to each other.

“My secret’s out, yes,” Monroe said. “My dear mother let it slip before she left the court.”

“Your mother?” Devon asked.

“Yes,” Monroe said with a sigh. “I suppose now that Larissa has made such a fine marriage, she no longer saw a reason to hide me away. It’s made getting around town problematic.”

“Honored Husband,” Sultiana said, “I don’t understand this welcome. It’s dishonorable of your father not to meet us himself. And even more so to greet us with a city in such uproar.”

“I agree,” Devon said.

“You haven’t seen the worst of it,” James said, softly. When Devon gave him a questioning look, he added, “You’ll see when we arrive. But Devon, I think Lenore is going to need your help.”

Suddenly a crossbow bolt shot across the front of the gondola, nearly cutting Sultiana’s face. James turned, bow in hand, but Sultiana was already on her feet. She pulled a throwing knife from her sleeve and, with a flick of her wrist, buried it into the forehead of the shooter. “Can a guard retrieve that for me?” she asked. “It was a gift from a friend.”

***

Devon was thankful that they reached the palace with no more incidents. The public lawn was sparsely populated with minor nobility and palace guards.

At the foot of the stairs waited Lady Hannah and Devon’s brother-in-law, Victor. Hannah was dressed all in black. The sight of her was a knife in Devon’s heart. She should have been his sister-in-law. Octavian should be there, meeting them at the dock and furious at the angry crowds.

“Devon,” Victor said. “I am glad to see you. And, um, is it permitted that I speak with the Calistar queen now?”

“It is,” Sultiana said. “We’re working to change our laws back home. Even if we weren’t, you’re family now.”

“Then I am happy to see you as well, Sister,” Victor said. “It is good for Lenore that you are here, I think.” His Montelarian accent was thicker since his visit.

“Victor, what’s happening here?” Devon asked.

“I only know what Lenore tells me,” Victor said, as they headed up the stairs into the palace. “I have been spending much of my time with Queen Lorna, learning how to keep the palace. It is a lot more work than I realized, keeping house. Lenore is with the king right now. We’ll take you to your rooms so that you can settle in. Then, would you like to see the girls?”

Devon realized with a jolt that he wasn’t heading toward the suit of rooms that he’d grown up in. They were going, instead, to the rooms designed for Calistar dignitaries. He was also surprised the first time a guard bowed to Victor in the hall. It was just another reminder that he wasn’t a Septa prince anymore, Victor was. It was a strange thing, he thought, being a guest in what had been his home.

The Calistar rooms were designed to be as close to their own palace as possible. The carpets were made of red, green, orange, yellow, and blue for the five tribes. An altar to the gods and goddesses was tucked into one corner. When Devon went into the bedroom, he found a mattress on the floor, rather than one that was propped up on a stand as was customary in Septa.

“I will let you settle yourselves in,” Victor said.

“Thanks,” Devon said, looking around.

Victor turned to leave but stopped. “Devon,” he said, “are you all right?”

“I feel strange,” he said.

Victor nodded. “I think I may understand. When I went home to Montelair, I felt as though everything I had known, everything I remembered, was different. Places I’d known my whole childhood were alien to me.”

“That sounds just like how I feel,” Devon said.

***

Once Devon and Sultiana had gotten their things put away and changed, they left the others to settle into their rooms and headed to the family sitting room.

“I didn’t realize this would be so hard on you,” Sultiana said.

“I don’t think it’s just coming home, and everything being strange the way Victor was describing,” Devon said. “There’s something strange here, something wrong. I feel like there’s a shadow over everything.”

“You feel it, too?” Sultiana asked, “I thought I was imagining it. Devon, I feel the same as I did when I stood next to the Black.”

“It does feel that way, now that you mention it,” Devon said.

They entered the sitting room to find Victor sitting with Queen Lorna. An air of uncomfortable silence permeated the air.

“Oh, Devon!” Lorna cried. She stood, rustling her great silk gown. She looked just as she ever had, her thick hair coiled in a neat bun, her clothes impeccable.

“And, Sultiana. I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the dock to meet you.”

“Yes, why weren’t you there?” Sultiana asked, coolly. “It almost felt like a snub. I understand that my brother-in-law is a prince and a great noble, but even he only met us at the door.”

“I am sorry, Dear, but there was quite a lot of activity in the streets today,” Lorna said.

“We did notice that. Someone took a shot at us on the way here,” Sultiana said, “It seems that, if my honored father-in-law knew that this was going on, he should have warned us. We still would have come.”

Lorna looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, Sultiana, dear. You’ll have to speak to Samuel about that. He and Lenore are in a meeting right now with the city guards.”

At that moment, the sound of porcelain shattering came from the room next to them. It was followed almost instantly by Lenore’s screaming.

“Oh, already?” Devon cried. He hurried next door, Sultiana right behind him.

When they entered the meeting hall, they saw Robert Carr, the general of army recruiting, was holding his hands up to protect himself. A puddle of porcelain and tea was on the floor next to him. Lenore was on her feet, facing him.

“I have had it to the top with your condescending tone, Sir! I’m not some girl in two tails who’s never seen a battle before. And if you don’t watch yourself, I’ll show you some things I learned in Montelair!”

Samuel sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s best that we leave it there for now. In fact, I think a good rule should be that once cups start flying the meeting is over. Can I trust you to stop by tomorrow, General?”

“Of…of course,” Robert said, giving Lenore a wary look. Carr, a man who had been involved in every altercation Septa had taken part in since he’d come of age, nearly ran from the room in his haste to get away from Lenore. From the look on her face, Devon didn’t blame him.

“Devon,” Samuel said, getting to his feet and coming to greet them. “It’s so good to see you, Son.”

“It’s good to see you too, Papa,” Devon said. “Seems like things are a little tense.”

“A temporary nonsense,” Samuel said.

“Bosh,” Lenore said. “We can’t get through the damned streets without someone spitting on my children. Devon, Sultiana, I’m happy to see you. I’ve missed you horribly. Go home tomorrow.”

“Why?” Sultiana asked.

“Because Septa is one misstep away from being a war zone,” she replied. “And the last thing we need right now is more noble targets.”

“It isn’t as bad as all that, Bug,” Samuel said.

Victor snorted. “Sire, I am well aware what an angry populace looks like. In Montelair, they were just hungry. These people think that you’re endangering their immortal souls.”

“Let’s go into the sitting room, and have something to eat,” Samuel said, “Devon and Sultiana just got here. They don’t need to hear all of this now.”

“I’m all right,” Sultiana said. “I’m feeling very alert, actually. Someone tried to kill me on the way here, after all.”

“Which is why I want you to go home,” Lenore said.

“Nonsense,” Sultiana said. She pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

“Sultiana, please understand that it’s highly improper for us to discuss matters of state with a foreign noblewoman,” Samuel said. “Even if you are my daughter-in-law.”

“Bullshit,” Lenore muttered. “Sultiana, our noblemen are in near open rebellion.”

The king gave Lenore a stern look that she either didn’t notice or ignored. “Lords Constantine and David left for Uncle Joseph’s country estate. Since then, we believe that they’ve been encouraging rebellion within the city.”

“They didn’t leave quietly, either,” Victor said, “David tried to force Hannah to come with him. She scratched up his face.”

“Hannah is David’s daughter?” Sultiana asked.

“Yes, and Daniel is his son,” Samuel said, apparently giving up. “They’ve stayed to serve the court. But they, Lewis, Howard, and Harper are all that we have left.”

“And Joan,” Lenore said. “Which surprised me, to tell you the truth.”

“Our cousin, Joan?” Devon asked, “Joseph’s own daughter stayed?”

“Yes, but Hank and Larissa left,” Samuel said.

Victor took a seat at the table, sighing. “If it were only some nobles in a huff, this would not be a bad situation. But it is more than that. The people are angry, as I’m sure you saw.”

“What are they so angry about?” Devon asked.

“Sapphic’s rights,” Lenore said, glaring at her father. “Most of the city seems to think that being Sapphic is a sin. Of course, it didn’t help that Papa made it illegal for them to be married.”

“They’re mad about more than just Sapphics,” Samuel said. “They’re mad about the way the war ended. They’re mad about the inheritance laws changing.”

“They’re mad about me,” Lenore said.

Want to read the rest of the story? Missing Stitches goes live on Friday! You can preorder it now on Amazon.

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Missing Stitches, Chapter One

If you live in America, go vote! If you’ve already voted, get a nice coffee.

Prologue

Since, the moment that these creeping things started to crawl upon their earth, I have hated them. Slow, stupid, bumbling things. Always at war with each other, always hating their own kind for the shallowest of reasons. Even the ones directly touched by their Creator are gray, drab things.

My own children would have shined, would have dominated the universe.

But, as they’re already bent on self-destruction, I’ll make use of them.

Possessing these creatures turned out to be a far simpler task than I ever anticipated, which opened my mind to all sorts of new possibilities. If I can possess one, perhaps I can gift one, the way their Creator does.

I’ve watched this one for a while. The third brother, not gifted like the two that came before him. His pride has been hurt, and he’s angry. He’s angry that his brother died, angry that his country was invaded. There are more selfish angers. And, of course, there is fear. I can always rely on fear. And so, when I began to whisper to him, he was ready to listen.

“If Samuel had no male heir, you should have been the one to inherit. Instead, he snubbed you and chose his daughter. What right does Samuel have to pass you up? It’s only because she is a mage. She and her common born, Montelarian husband, are more worthy in Samuel’s eyes than you. And now, they’re going to outrank you. That filth, the brother of the man who killed Issac, will be your king. You’ll be expected to bow to him, and his daughters.”

“This is the way of things,” I told him, “in a world run by mages.”

He’s been good enough to remove himself from his family. He’s gone to his country estate on his own lands. This is where I want him, sitting by the fire, sipping brandy, and going over financial records for his lands. Brooding, telling himself what a good landlord he is.

I slipped inside of him. It caused him some pain, I suppose, enough that he dropped his glass and cried out.

“Hush,” I whispered, “you’ll be glad I’m here.”

“What?” he cried.

“I’m going to help you. All of your life you’ve been neglected. Your brothers have always been favored because they were mages.”

“What’s happening?” he screamed.

“I’m helping you,” I said. “They were gifted, not because they’re better, or more worthy than you, but because the one you call your Creator is cruel. Picking and choosing people to bless at random, setting them above His other creations. You’re going to help me fix all of that. And in return, you’ll have power above all, more than you could possibly imagine.”

“Power,” he whispered. He was calm, then. He rose to his feet and nodded. Like a good little puppet.

“Yes,” I answered him. “We must start by killing your brother, and his daughter.”

Chapter One

Lenore Mestonie stood at the prow of her Uncle Lewis’s ship, the SOS Albatross. It was the flagship of her country, made of dark stained wood with billowing blue sails. It was a fantastic ship, the pride of her uncle. But she wasn’t interested in it.

She was looking for the silver gate, the Great Gate. The gate that led to her city, Septa. She felt as though she was starving, so desperate was she for the sight of it.

In her arms was her firstborn daughter, Eleanor. They shared the same blue eyes and cream-colored skin. But while Lenore had the dark curly hair that was a recognizable Mestonie trait, Eleanor had the light blonde hair of her father.

“Keep looking, little princess,” Lenore said, pointing toward the horizon. “We’ll be home soon. Not soon enough, but soon.”

A chorus of yipping alerted her to the arrival of her hound, Shepard, and her puppies. The baby dogs had inherited much from their wolf father and bore no resemblance to their mother’s brown fur and floppy ears. Instead, their gray coat was darker but not by much. Their ears would likely perk up over time, but for now, they flopped down comically as they bounced around in play with each other.

Shepard came to her master’s side and leaned against her. “Oh, are the babies tiring you out?” Lenore asked, scratching her ear.

“They are certainly tiring me out,” said her husband, Victor, as he joined her. “Worse than our two, these dogs.” He was holding Eleanor’s twin sister, Loralie, upside down to make her giggle. She looked even smaller than she was when her father held her. He was a large man, taller than any other on the ship. He’d allowed his blond hair to grow while they’d visited Montelair, and even now it flopped over his face. Loralie more closely resembled Lenore, with the same curly hair and button nose.

On Victor’s shoulder was a brown rat they called Korzhik. He had recently suffered a bath from Ramona, the family nurse. He looked much fluffier but seemed obsessed with washing the scent of soap out of his fur.

“You have been standing here all morning,” Victor chuckled. “You know you can’t get us there any faster by staring.”

“I know,” Lenore replied, “I’m just eager to be home.” She set a hand on her belly. She hadn’t yet started showing, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. “I can’t wait to tell everyone that we’re expecting another baby.”

Victor grinned. He pulled her and Eleanor close with one arm and kissed her. “And we won’t be on the run, with this pregnancy. We have peace with Montelair, and we will be home. I won’t have to worry every second that you’re in danger, for once.” He glanced around the deck, and added, “I do notice, however, that Anthony seems to have abandoned you.”

“I sent him below deck to pack,” Lenore replied. “I can’t imagine I need to be guarded while aboard the ship.”

A flash of silver caught her attention in the distance. “There it is,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. In the crow’s nest, a sailor was shouting the news. Soon Captain Lewis and his daughter, Lady Harper, were on the deck.

Lewis, Lenore’s uncle on her mother’s side, was a barrel-chested man who looked more like an old sea captain than a nobleman. His beard was trimmed but longer than Septan fashion. He wore cotton to keep him warm at sea. His face showed the wear of years in the ocean winds. His daughter, Harper, was taller than him by a hand, with a messy bun and a thick wool coat over her shoulders. She wore breeches, unlike any of the other women aboard. She seemed to be in the process of scolding her father.

“No, I don’t think it was warranted at all,” she said. “That woman devoted her life to The Creator, and you bloody well made her cry.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if she’d listened when I asked her to stop fussing over me,” Lewis said. “Daughter Coriander looked over me, and she didn’t fuss.”

“That’s Elder Sister Coriander now. I’m sure she’s going to have something to say to you when she finds out about your behavior. In fact, I imagine she’s going to kick your bum up beside your ears.”

“I am your papa!” Lewis said, “And you’ll not be telling the Elder anything. Unless you want your mama to hear about your pants wearing ways.”

“Uncle,” Lenore said, “we’re nearly home. Are you excited?”

“Not particularly,” Lewis said. “I’ve come home to the Great Gate hundreds of times, Niece. Mostly what I do when I get there is find a new reason to get back on my ship.”

“He’s not allowed fatty meat anymore,” Harper said. “He’s replacing it with being a prat at everyone.”

Lenore stifled a laugh. “I’m going to go check on Tabitha and Lucy,” she said. Leaving Eleanor with Harper, she headed below deck.

Her room on the ship was small, but space on board was always at a premium. The bed was made already, with a thick blue comforter and white satin pillows. Tabitha and Lucy were packing Victor and Lenore’s belongings from the built-in drawers into a trunk.

Tabitha quick eyes darted over to Lenore when she entered the room, not bothering to bow. Years of friendship had put an end to such things. Her wife, Lucy, was a good head taller than her, with a sharp nose. She as well didn’t bow but gave Lenore a quick nod.

Sitting with them was the Montelarian Princess, Victor’s niece, Anna. Several weeks of good meals and good care had been enough to put some weight on the child. It hadn’t yet taken away the haunted look in her eyes. After the childhood the girl had, Lenore wasn’t sure it would ever go away.

From the open doorway, leading into the next room, Lenore could see Anthony, her bodyguard. His long, curly hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving his scarred neck exposed. He was going over his bags and gave her a brief nod when he saw her.

“I didn’t think we had that much to pack,” Lenore said. “Didn’t most of our things burn up in the explosion?”

“We’ve only just started,” Tabitha said.

“I’m packed,” Anna said.

“Good,” Lenore said. “Thank you, Anna.”

Ramona, the royal nurse, came bustling in just then. She was a portly woman, dressed plainly in a cotton gown and simple shoes. “Where are the babies?” she asked.

“On deck with Victor,” Lenore said.

Ramona threw her hands up. “I’ve got to get them dressed!” she cried. “Does no one think to tell me these things?”

She hurried out of the room again.

“We’re about to go through the Great Gate,” Lenore said. “Anna, would you like to come see?”

“Are we?” Lucy asked, getting to her feet. “Great, I can’t wait to get off this ship.”

“Oh no, you’re staying here,” Lenore said, “Anna’s already packed.”

Lenore took Anna’s hand and led her upstairs, leaving Tabitha and Lucy to mutter over the packing.

Back on deck, Ramona was fussing over the cotton dresses the girls were wearing. “I can’t believe this is how we’re presenting them to their grandparents,” she said. “Lenore, you and your brothers never wore cotton.”

“We were in a war in Montelair,” Lenore said. “I think Mama and Papa will understand.”

“Well, maybe the king will,” Victor said, “Her Grace might not be as understanding when she sees her granddaughters in common cotton.”

Anna looked startled. “Is cotton not all right? What about wool?” She was dressed in a dark red wool gown, with silver buttons down the front. Her boots were Montelarian leather with fur lining. She wore a rabbit furred hat now that they were out on the deck.

“You look perfect, Dear,” Lenore said, putting a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. “You’re a princess. Anything you do is noble.”

Monroe, the chief of Septa’s ambassadors, joined them on deck. He looked flustered, which turned to irritation when he caught sight of Anna. “Princess,” Monroe said. “Your brother and uncle tasked me with looking after you. How am I to do that if you don’t stay where you tell me you’re going to be?”

Anna put her hands behind her back. “But I was with Mistress Tabitha,” she said.

“Yes, but I didn’t know that, did I,” Monroe stated. He sighed and looked up at Lenore. “How will you ever look after three of these?”

Victor, who was wiping dirt from Eleanor’s nose, said, “We employ a nursemaid. We also live in a palace full of servants, with my in-laws. I am sure we will manage as many babies as Lenore and I can have.”

As they pulled into Septan waters, the naval fleet came into view. Uncle Lewis, as commander of the navy, moved to the prow of the ship to greet them. Lenore stood beside him after setting Eleanor on her hip.

Lewis gave her a proud smile. “Look at you. The first female heir to the throne, coming home to the city that loves her.”

“I don’t know if my city loves me,” Lenore said, “but I sure love her.”

“I have missed Septa as well,” Victor said, pulling her close.

“Really? You didn’t want to stay in Montelair?” Lenore asked.

“No,” Victor replied, “It was good to visit my motherland, but this is my home.”

The ship pulled into the dock. Sailors hurried to set up a plank for them to disembark. Lenore’s father, King Samuel Mestonie, waited for them. He was a tall man, with no more than a dusting of gray in his dark hair. He was dressed plainly, in black breeches and a blue jacket with embroidery at the hems. But for the silver crown on his head, he might have been any Septan man.

Lenore wanted desperately to run to her father and throw her arms around his shoulders. Since the last time she’d seen him, she’d fought in a war, commanded a military hospital and nearly been blown to pieces several times. She wanted to be a child again, with her father there to watch after her.

Too much time had passed since she was a little girl though. Too many things had been said, and not said between them, for her to run to him like that again.

Instead, she walked to the end of the plank and bowed to him.

“What’s this?” Samuel asked, “Bug, I haven’t seen you in months! Come here.” He reached out for her and pulled her into a tight hug. “I was starting to get worried I wasn’t ever going to see you again,” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” Lenore said, a little stiffer than she meant to. “I’ve missed you too, Papa.”

Eleanor, caught between the two of them, started fussing. This caught Samuel’s attention. “I have missed you as well, my tiny darling,” he said, taking her.

Victor came to the end of the plank with Loralie. “There’s little Lori,” Samuel said, reaching out for her. “Victor, you look well, son. Come, let’s get home so that we can catch up.”

They boarded the waiting gondola. Lord James, the founder of the Dead Eye archers, stood next to the poler. His broad shoulders fit strangely over an otherwise narrow frame. He gave Lenore and Victor a nod, but then returned to scanning the crowd with wary eyes.

It was common practice for commoners to collect to see members of the royal family return home. Lenore had expected it.

What she hadn’t expected was for the people to be angry to see her.

All along the boardwalks, people jostled to see the gondolas and shouted insults. Some people waved greetings, but this seemed to infuriate the others. Several fights broke out as Lenore watched.

“What is this?” Lenore asked.

“There’s been a bit of trouble,” Samuel said. “We’ll talk at the palace.”

“I thought you said things had calmed down,” Victor said. Someone threw something at the gondola. Victor clenched his fist, bringing up a magical shield. A rotten egg hit it, breaking and falling into the canal waters.

“This is calmer,” Samuel said, grimacing.

Their gondola pulled up to the front of the palace. Anthony stepped onto the dock to assist Lenore. Just then, a young man ran from the crowd toward him. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were stained and rumpled as though he’d been wearing them for days. A guard grabbed his arm, but Anthony yelled, “Let him go, I know him.”

The boy stumbled toward him. Lenore had hopped from the gondola herself. “Anthony, who is this?” she asked.

“Princess, this is Heath. He is my son’s lover,” Anthony said.

“I tried to get a letter to you,” Heath sobbed, “but I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Anthony, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Boy?” Anthony asked. “Stand up straight and stop babbling in front of the nobility. What’s going on?”

“It’s Adam,” Heath sobbed. “The Underground Path got him!” He broke into sobs and fell to his knees in front of them. “They tore out his guts in the middle of the square!”

Want to read the rest of the story? Missing Stitches goes live on Friday! You can preorder it now on Amazon.

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We have always loved fantasy

The fantasy genre, like most genre fiction, is sometimes looked down upon. People who enjoy fantasy are often seen as childlike.

A lot of fiction is seen that way. Certainly, science fiction and horror get the same treatment. People who like to consider themselves real adults, older generations mostly, behave as though reading genre fiction is something to be left behind when one reaches a certain age. It’s better to read adult books. Nonfiction, historical, biographical. Things about serious topics.

I don’t know why this should be, except that some people are bound and determined to remove joy from everyone’s life.

Now, I read far and wide. I love a good historical fiction moment. I have devoured biographies, especially ones written by female comedians. I read many nonfiction books about witchcraft and would run out in traffic for a good true crime novel. I only really dislike romance novels, and even then I’m not going to sit here and yuck somebody’s yum. If romance is what brings you joy, go for it.

But my heart will always truly belong to the speculative fiction genre. The horror, the science fiction, and the fantasy. And I will never allow someone to tell me that this is childish, or juvenile. I will not allow people to use this as one more example of how Millenials are still clinging to their childhoods even as we turn forty. Those sorts of arguments are often used by people who still wear their college football shirts, and I don’t think I need to explain the hypocrisy there.

While modern generations might look down their noses at fantasy fans, calling us childish or nerds, this does more to show their own ignorance of history than anything else. Because for as long as people have written stories down, even for as long as we have told stories, we told fantasy stories. Some of the oldest stories we know of are, in fact, fantasy. Starting all the way back with Beowulf.

The startling thing about Beowulf is that we can see similar motifs as we do in modern fantasy. You have your hero, Beowulf, who defeats the monster Grendel. Grendal’s mother attempts to seek vengeance but dies by his hand as well. I would argue that Grendal’s mother was perfectly justified in trying to light Beowulf’s ass up after he killed her son, but that’s an argument that has been beaten to death in too many college and high school essays, including my own. But it’s the same hero’s journey that we see, have seen, and will continue to see. A young person faces a terrible challenge, and against all odds, overcomes it.

We love this story. We tell it over and over again through time, across generations, and in every culture. We do this because it is our story. The story of the human condition. We will all face our grendels. Poverty, war, abuse, loneliness. We will all face those, and some of us will not win. Some of us will die to our grendels.

But some of us will live to be old men and women, and find that dragons are waiting for us in that time as well. Losing loved ones, poverty again, illnesses. The body breaking down, and possibly the mind as well. We will all, eventually fall to those dragons as Beowulf does.

We love fantasy because it is the genre that most perfectly portrays the challenges we face in life. And when we see Beowulf, Luke Skywalker, Captain America, and even Harry Potter fight their monsters and win, we feel like we can win against our monsters too.

So if you have ever been made to feel bad about reading fantasy, don’t. Reading and enjoying fantasy is as human as can be. We have always done it, we will always do it. And I believe we are stronger for it.

Now it’s your turn. What is your favorite current fantasy read? Let us know about it in the comments.

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