• Writing

    Mnemosyne

    I see her from a distance, through blurry water and misty skies. The curve of her arm, the arch of a delicately pointed foot, and the ankle-length sweep of hair the color of the deepest sea. I see her in the endless mirrors that cover the walls, ceaseless reflections leading me back, back, back to a place I know only for pain and desolation. Eyes of a sunlit, shimmering sea stare at me through time and space, her gaze full of empty space and broken promises. Broken wings trail from her shoulders, bent as the rest of me is. Unsalvageable, as I am. Hard to imagine those wings once carried…

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  • Writing

    More in the urban fantasy wuxia (rock??) story

    Dante looks up at the Dragon and his mouth compresses for a moment before he shakes his head and smiles. “So one of the positions is filled already. No matter.” Unfurling a reed mat on the ground, he settles on it cross-legged, smoothing the skirts of his robe out around him, hands trembling. The fabric is soft from years of washing, so threadbare it’s more gauze than cloth, but without patches or tears. He balances his qin across his thighs and exhales slowly. In a perfect world he would have incense to burn, but since it wasn’t, the light fragrance of the sweet-grass used in his mat will have to…

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  • Writing

    POC characters and foodstuff descriptions

    So, it has recently come to my attention that some POCs really hate the use of foodstuff in the use of descriptions of POCs. I didn’t know this before and to be honest, it kind of surprised me. Eunice has this incredible post about troubling tropes regarding Asians and Asian-Americans in YA. I’d suggest reading it in its entirety, but the main thing that caught my eyes was this part on food stuffs and almond eyes: Another general role of thumb if that you’re describing POC characters, particularly in terms of skin color and eyes and they sound like a tasty Starbucks beverage or cafe pastry (caramel, mocha, coffee, etc.)…

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  • Writing

    Conflagration of Phoenixes version …what comes after zeta?

    So I heard back from readers who beta-ed Conflagration for me. One of them has no problem with how the romance angle unfolds. Two of them have serious how the hell did we get here issues. At least one of them has what the fuck is going on syndrome at the end of the book. Not good. Not gonna lie. I was hoping that I would be able to finish the edits by the end of March and send it out to be professionally edited so I could self-publish in May.  Suffice to say that I don’t think that’s going to happen now. Which is really disappointing since I really, really,…

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  • Goddess in Waiting

    Goddess in Waiting Ch. 9

    I paused in front of the coffee shop and looked at the guys. “I’m going to talk to Gaia. You lot can do whatever you like. I’ll meet you back at my place.” Mikhail cocked his head. “Shouldn’t we go with you?” “I think that would be ill-advised. Gaia doesn’t like visitors and she especially doesn’t like guests she doesn’t know.” I made a wry face. “In fact, I’m not certain she wouldn’t throw me out as well.” “You’re going to see if she’s willing to let you bend the rules of the Pact, aren’t you?” I nodded at Raphael. “Yes. I was one of the original contractors, so she…

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  • Goddess in Waiting

    Goddess in Waiting ch. 8

    We stood in downtown Taipei, across the street from the Taipei 101 building. I looked up at the skyscraper and smiled. Why was I not surprised Chang’e chose to live at the top of a skyscraper? Thanatos tipped his head back. “So this is the Taipei one-oh-one.” Mikhail followed suit, raising his hand to shield his eyes. “How do we get in? I’ve heard rumors of the VIP club at the top, but it’s never been substantiated.” A melodious voice came from behind us. “You don’t.” I turned. “Chang’e. Or shall I call you Grace?” A girl walked toward us, her hip length ponytail swaying in counterpoint to her hips.…

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  • Goddess in Waiting

    Goddess in Waiting ch. 7

    I lifted the bronze ring and let it fall with a crash against the door to Dawn’s cave. “C’mon Dawn. You better be home, or else.” I tapped my foot against the stone ground and resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. If he had wanted to follow me, he would have caught up with me by the time I’d arrived at Dawn’s dwelling. His continued absence probably meant he was willing to honor my wishes. The heavy stone door swung open and Dawn peered out. “Amarantha. Come in.” I breathed out a sigh of relief when the door slid shut behind us. Even Death couldn’t come into another…

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  • Writing

    Power differences in romance

    I read a book by an author I usually enjoy a couple of days ago. As you might have guessed from the title and the “usually”, I didn’t enjoy it. There was a significant power difference between the heroine and the hero. The sort of power difference where it was like watching a ten year old beat on a three year old. It wasn’t just age, or knowledge, resources, physical capability, mental capacity, and sexual prowess — it was that he trumped her soundly in all of those areas. It was painful to read, because he’d do something terrible and then he’d put his hands on her and she’d just…

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  • Goddess in Waiting

    Goddess in Waiting ch. 6

    Mikhail lifted the cup of tea to his lips, sooty eyelashes sweeping down to hide those piercing silver eyes. Dressed in a soft blue cambric shirt and worn jeans, he looked more the part of a too-pretty cowboy in one of those denim ads rather than the archangel he was. Strangely enough, he’d insisted on moving somewhere else for the discussion. Somewhere without a dead man and a pool of congealing blood. It was somehow decided that my home was the place to go, over my objections. I looked around the table and swallowed a sigh. I had my estranged husband, my leash-holder and an archangel in my garden drinking…

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  • Goddess in Waiting

    Goddess in Waiting ch. 5

    The scent of Death hit me as we crossed the threshold of the church. The richness of roses with just enough of chrysanthemum’s bite to undercut lilies’ cloying sweetness. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, skittering away from the brilliant sunshine flooding in from the stained glass windows. I froze and raised an arm to block Raphael. “Amarantha. So long apart and you hesitate to greet me?” I sighed and walked forward. A cloaked form rose from a crouching position beside the body.  He turned to face us, uncaring that his movements trailed the hem of his cloak through the pool of blood. His hair blazed against the starkness…

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