Happy Friday! Happy August!
As promised, Fridays on the blog are writing days. I’ve been plugging away at the rewrite of Into Thin Air, the very first Pendragon Casefiles novella. Since I do a pretty extensive rewrite, it’s slow going. Also, I’m exhausted this week, since my schedule has been all out of whack. I’m hoping to get some major work done this weekend, but we’ll see.
I’m also working on the first draft of my new novel series, which has the working title of Baker. The series title is Butcher, Baker, Candlestick Maker and it’s paranormal romance. Lots of fun. Witches in New Hampshire!
What’s coming up? Well, once I finish the rewrite of Air, I need to start working on the next Schrodinger story. Christmas is coming, you know! I also need to start working on some outlines, I think – there are a few stories that are niggling at my brain, and I want to at least start planning them out. Even if I don’t get beyond worldspinning on them, that’s more than I have now.
And I have to decide what next year’s plan is. I’m continuing to write every day, and I will need some new projects! (As my bunny brain goes “Yay!” and starts offering things. Not yet, bunny, not yet!) I have a bunch of ideas, and I’m toying with doing a series of short stories and self-publishing them next year. We’ll see. I need to decide soon, but not that soon.
And, since I haven’t given you much yet, I think you all deserve some actual writing. So here’s a bit from Air. This is the first in the series that I want to write, and it’s my ghost hunters. Because ghost hunters rock, you know.
Sapph Pendragon is not a ghost hunter, exactly. She’s a psychomorph, which is a very specialized type of psychic. Literally, she turns into a ghost. Which is damn cool, I think. Lance and Amari are ghost hunters, and very skeptical of psychics. Which is a good thing in the real world, but in my world? Not so much. Scottie is Sapph’s bodyguard.
Enjoy!
Lance looked over at her and Scottie, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into. This was NOT what he’d expected.
“I don’t know how to say this any way but outright,” he said finally. “Uncle Malcolm didn’t specify what kind of psychic you were, just that you were reliable. We don’t usually work with psychics…” His voice petered out as she grinned at him.
Sapph removed her glasses; her hazel eyes were bright with mischief, which worried him. “Malcolm told me it was a special case. Luckily for you, he sent a very special psychic.”
“Oh?” Lance couldn’t help it; he raised his eyebrows at her. “What kind of special?”
“Do you know what a psychomorph is?”
His jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
Sapph nodded, her eyes sparkling. “I am serious.”
“What’s a psychomorph?” Amari demanded, looking back and forth between Lance and Sapph.
“A myth,” Lance said flatly, recovering. “A legend. There are no such thing as psychomorphs.”
“I hate to correct you when we just met, but they are not myths,” Sapph said. She turned to Scottie. “I like legend, though. Remind me to add that to my business cards.”
Scottie snorted softly. “As if your ego needed feeding.”
“Hey!” Sapph turned back to Lance and Amari. To Lance’s surprise, she squinted at the small dog still snuggled up under Amari’s chin. “I think it’s okay,” she said. “Bear hasn’t alerted, so that means that it’s quiet around here, parapsychologically-speaking.” She looked back over her shoulder at Scottie. “Do you sense anything?”
“No,” he said. “And Bear’s far more sensitive than I am. I think you’re safe for a short demonstration. But keep your jacket on, and keep it short.”
“Yes, MOM,” she said, wrinkling her nose. And then…she vanished.
“Holy shit!” The words exploded out of Lance’s mouth as he looked in awe at the spot where Sapph had just been standing – probably was still standing, he corrected himself. “She really is a psychomorph. They really exist.”
“What is a psychomorph?” Amari demanded again. “And where did she go? How did she do that?”
“She moved into the Ghostland,” Scottie said calmly, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “That is her talent. She can physically move herself into the world of the dead.” He raised his voice a little. “And she needs to come back, as she’s not really dressed for ghostwalking right now.”
Lance forced himself to stare at the spot she’d stood in, and this time, he saw the ripple in the air, almost like the shimmer of heat rising from the asphalt on a summer’s day, right before she reappeared. Instead of heat, though, he felt an icy chill surround her, and her cheeks were bright red, as if she’d been somewhere very, very cold.
“How did you do that?” Amari asked, staring in awe at Sapph, her hazel eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” Sapph admitted, rubbing her hands together. “I just can. I’ve been able to do it since I was about ten or so.”
Lance was still staring at her, unable to look away. It was real. “It’s really real,” he said finally. “The Ghostlands. It exists.”
“Yes.” Sapph wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. “It’s very real.”
Originally published at The words of Valerie Griswold-Ford. You can comment here or there.
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