Sixteen-year-old Sean stood in the queue, waiting his turn to compete with the saber. He looked up at the bleachers. He had no problem locating his dad; his parents sat in the same place every time. His dad was talking to their flat mate, Gordon. His mom couldn’t make it this time – she had to work. Every year since Sean’s first tournament, his parents gave him a choice. Since the tournament and his birthday were generally only a few days apart, Sean got to pick which event his parents would attend, since it was impossible for them to get both days off from work. Sean thought of a compromise. He really wanted them to watch him compete, so, as a birthday present of sorts, they could take him out for a special dinner afterward.
When Sean, Gordon, and his father returned home that evening, they were greeted by a squad car waiting in front of their apartment building.
“Sorry sir,” the officer said as he met them at their taxi. Sean’s father was a sergeant with the mounted police. The officer looked uncomfortable talking in front of Sean and Gordon.
“Go ahead, officer. We’re family,” said Elias.
“Sorry sir,” the man repeated. He hastily took off his hat and gripped it in his fists. “Sir, you need to come down to the station. It’s your wife, sir. She…she’s dead. You need…”
Sean didn’t hear anything else. The monotone voices of his father and the officer no longer translated into words. He found the hood of the police car and leaned on it, his sword case hitting the pavement with an audible thump.
Gordon wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you inside.”
~~~~~
Opening paragraphs - Tell me what you think.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Impossible Task
Yeah, that seems to be my tag in writing. My poor characters are leading the impossible life AND I'm having such fun torturing them to boot. haha
I've started going through some of my shorter stories. I'm thinking of getting them into eBooks one of these days - maybe not this summer - I go back to work Sunday and my days are fairly full until September. Maybe I'll get one or two out there - we'll see. Here's a sample. Tell me what you think. Would you buy them? What would you like to read?
THE FORCES OF DARKNESS
This is a tale about a young man doomed to feed on the sin and sadness in the people around him, but to survive the darkness, he needs purity and innocence too. And to complicate things, he can only go out at night. Any light, even the light of a candle, is painful. How can he lead this kind of life? Where does he find the innocence so vital to his survival - the sadness is certainly easy enough to find? What happens when he runs out of darkness and sadness? He must move on. But love isn't going to be left behind so easily, after all he's going to be a father.
ARTHUR
What would life be like if the customs and traditions of Camelot and King Arthur stayed the same into the twentieth century? King Uther sends a patrol of mec-knights out to test the strength of the barbarians outside the wall. His son, Jake and his unit happen to be the next patrol on the roster, but things go badly and the king denies reinforcements. Jake doesn't want to be the last survivor, but he is forced to heal, and the magic takes a terrible toll. When awakened, he makes it out of the hospital, out of the high city, and nearly to the wall before he runs out of energy, little that he had. His subconscious wants to live, but the only way that can happen is if he forgets all the sorrow and disappointment. Jake becomes Arthur, oblivious to his past, he starts his life as a peasant and house champion. He buys a building, and with his winnings he fixes it up and begins to carve a name for himself as an owner of a building and a businessman. His life is very different, very happy, until he runs into his past.
SECRETS OF THE MIND
Agent Todd Dunn is captured, and with drugs, the enemy tries to learn his secrets. But he has been trained for this. No secrets, not to anyone, not until he can be sure the person he's talking to is the right person to talk to. But how do you tell if the world you see and the people you talk to is the real thing or a drug-induced figment of your imagination? Follow Todd as he desperately tries to hack his own brain and escape from the nightmare.
SYSTEM NAUTILUS
(Just in case you want to take a trip into outer space) Ride along on the Nautilus. As space travel became more common-place the systems for running the ships became more complex and complex systems took up massive amounts of space. There was one system capable of the task that took up very little space - the brain. Cat brains made an excellent system for a fighter. Dog brains were good for larger ships like freighters. But more complex brains were needed for the larger luxury liners and the massive warships. Chimp brains simply weren't complex enough, and using two or more created problems. The next logical step was, of course, the human brain, but there were volunteers aplenty. Paraplegics and war veterans, the old and the very poor would volunteer in return for wages being sent to family members or at the very least, their own preservation. Systems were rumored to live many times longer than normal. Eventually, volunteers weren't enough so systems were grown. Knowing nothing but the ship they were grown into, they grew and learned as their ship was built. System Nautilus was one such system, and he was happy with his existence, but then one day he met a girl. And then his ship was struck by an asteroid. The girl saved his life, but what was life without his ship?
I've started going through some of my shorter stories. I'm thinking of getting them into eBooks one of these days - maybe not this summer - I go back to work Sunday and my days are fairly full until September. Maybe I'll get one or two out there - we'll see. Here's a sample. Tell me what you think. Would you buy them? What would you like to read?
THE FORCES OF DARKNESS
This is a tale about a young man doomed to feed on the sin and sadness in the people around him, but to survive the darkness, he needs purity and innocence too. And to complicate things, he can only go out at night. Any light, even the light of a candle, is painful. How can he lead this kind of life? Where does he find the innocence so vital to his survival - the sadness is certainly easy enough to find? What happens when he runs out of darkness and sadness? He must move on. But love isn't going to be left behind so easily, after all he's going to be a father.
ARTHUR
What would life be like if the customs and traditions of Camelot and King Arthur stayed the same into the twentieth century? King Uther sends a patrol of mec-knights out to test the strength of the barbarians outside the wall. His son, Jake and his unit happen to be the next patrol on the roster, but things go badly and the king denies reinforcements. Jake doesn't want to be the last survivor, but he is forced to heal, and the magic takes a terrible toll. When awakened, he makes it out of the hospital, out of the high city, and nearly to the wall before he runs out of energy, little that he had. His subconscious wants to live, but the only way that can happen is if he forgets all the sorrow and disappointment. Jake becomes Arthur, oblivious to his past, he starts his life as a peasant and house champion. He buys a building, and with his winnings he fixes it up and begins to carve a name for himself as an owner of a building and a businessman. His life is very different, very happy, until he runs into his past.
SECRETS OF THE MIND
Agent Todd Dunn is captured, and with drugs, the enemy tries to learn his secrets. But he has been trained for this. No secrets, not to anyone, not until he can be sure the person he's talking to is the right person to talk to. But how do you tell if the world you see and the people you talk to is the real thing or a drug-induced figment of your imagination? Follow Todd as he desperately tries to hack his own brain and escape from the nightmare.
SYSTEM NAUTILUS
(Just in case you want to take a trip into outer space) Ride along on the Nautilus. As space travel became more common-place the systems for running the ships became more complex and complex systems took up massive amounts of space. There was one system capable of the task that took up very little space - the brain. Cat brains made an excellent system for a fighter. Dog brains were good for larger ships like freighters. But more complex brains were needed for the larger luxury liners and the massive warships. Chimp brains simply weren't complex enough, and using two or more created problems. The next logical step was, of course, the human brain, but there were volunteers aplenty. Paraplegics and war veterans, the old and the very poor would volunteer in return for wages being sent to family members or at the very least, their own preservation. Systems were rumored to live many times longer than normal. Eventually, volunteers weren't enough so systems were grown. Knowing nothing but the ship they were grown into, they grew and learned as their ship was built. System Nautilus was one such system, and he was happy with his existence, but then one day he met a girl. And then his ship was struck by an asteroid. The girl saved his life, but what was life without his ship?
Friday, May 13, 2011
Guest Post by Sharon Casley
I made a friend on Goodreads not too long ago, and she had a wonderful idea for a blog post. Sharon Casley is soon to be a first-time author. Be sure to keep an eye out for The Thin Blue Line, coming out soon.
Here it is:
Inspiration
I once read a quote that writing was 70% inspiration and 30% perspiration! Where they get that from I have no idea, I don’t remember ever breaking into a sweat in creativity mode!
So where do we writers find our inspiration?
I for one get a great many of my ideas in my sleep! Do I dream in colour? It would appear so, and sometimes these dreams are so vivid I wake up screaming! Some of them are outrageously ridiculous going from the sublime to the extreme.
I remember one dream where I was with an ex boyfriend from my teenage years on an exercise bike, please don’t ask what we were up to, you’ll just have to use your imagination on that one. Okay wipe the smile of your face, lets just say it’s a good job the bike was stationary or we could have done ourselves an injury. The funniest thing was I was never intimate with this guy; I was only 13 when we were dating and he was 18! My older man phase, he was a hunk though! He laughed when I told him about the dream which took place some 15 years after we dated; he said maybe if I had been older it would have been me he married, a shotgun wedding as it happened. I shook my head and told him I would never have been that stupid, with me he would have waited, no is no. He said he wished he had stayed with me because he was now stuck in a loveless marriage and he asked if there was any chance we could maybe get together and test drive the bike! My answer after an awful lot of soul searching was still no.
So far I haven’t used this episode in a book but one day I might bring out the notes I made at the time. Notes you say, how, why? The how is easy; I always have a pen and paper with me, even on my night table, together with the usual girlie stuff of lotions and potions, my bottle of sparkling mineral water and so on.
Why easy? Because people do and say the strangest things, and I have an amazing memory for detail, but I don’t want to miss a single quote, hence the paper and pen.
The novel I have almost finished writing was the product of a contest between myself and a writer/illustrator friend, we both started with the same phrase: ‘Who was it that said old biker’s never die, they just smell that way?’ Some 74,000 words later I am on the home stretch and have already run it by a small, but well known publishers in Cambridge, England: Elliot Mackenzie under their Pegasus label and they have requested the completed manuscript. And my friend I hear you ask, she struggled for a few days and then shoved it in the drawer and got on with designing the cover for my book!
Books and ideas are forming an orderly queue inside my head as I type and as each idea pops in I write down a brief synopsis before it pops out again and I return to mundane things, like washing and cooking.
Newspapers are another source, and I have an idea forming from a story that surfaced here in France in April this year. An entire family in Nantes disappeared without a trace, until they dug up the patio that is and found five bodies buried in hessian sacks filled with quick lime, and an obscure leg not belonging to any of the family members and the family’s two dogs. They had been assassinated the mother and her four children and the dogs, the husband had disappeared last seen in the Var where he stupidly used his bank card in a cash dispenser. Today they have released details of a letter received by his sister in early April stating that they had moved to the USA in emergency conditions and were no longer French citizens, but are unsure of it’s authenticity!
He left behind a legacy of lies; they now have Interpol and probably the FBI looking for the husband and father of four, Xavier Dupont de Ligonnes, who assassinated his entire family in their sleep.
A chilling story, maybe it isn’t the first time he has killed, and to look at him you wouldn’t suspect him of hurting a fly!
They still have no idea who the leg belongs too! Or if they do they aren’t saying.
People watching is one of the funniest ways of collecting ideas, because people do and say the strangest things, from the bizarre to the extreme. I once watched a very large lady hitting her poor husband who was about half her size; she was giving him hell and all because he had forgotten the shopping list!
I felt so sorry for him, but I didn’t intervene, she was bigger than me and I am a pacifist, and like the hippies of the sixties/seventies I prefer peace and love.
I hope you enjoyed looking inside my world and remember writing should be fun not a chore, and inspiration can, and invariably does, hit you when you are least expecting it.
So be like the motto of the scouts ‘Be prepared’, and the next time you see a woman at your Gym on an exercise bike perspiring somewhat, with a silly grin on her face you’ll know she has read Anna’s Blog too!
So tell Sharon and me, where does your inspiration come from?
Here it is:
Inspiration
I once read a quote that writing was 70% inspiration and 30% perspiration! Where they get that from I have no idea, I don’t remember ever breaking into a sweat in creativity mode!
So where do we writers find our inspiration?
I for one get a great many of my ideas in my sleep! Do I dream in colour? It would appear so, and sometimes these dreams are so vivid I wake up screaming! Some of them are outrageously ridiculous going from the sublime to the extreme.
I remember one dream where I was with an ex boyfriend from my teenage years on an exercise bike, please don’t ask what we were up to, you’ll just have to use your imagination on that one. Okay wipe the smile of your face, lets just say it’s a good job the bike was stationary or we could have done ourselves an injury. The funniest thing was I was never intimate with this guy; I was only 13 when we were dating and he was 18! My older man phase, he was a hunk though! He laughed when I told him about the dream which took place some 15 years after we dated; he said maybe if I had been older it would have been me he married, a shotgun wedding as it happened. I shook my head and told him I would never have been that stupid, with me he would have waited, no is no. He said he wished he had stayed with me because he was now stuck in a loveless marriage and he asked if there was any chance we could maybe get together and test drive the bike! My answer after an awful lot of soul searching was still no.
So far I haven’t used this episode in a book but one day I might bring out the notes I made at the time. Notes you say, how, why? The how is easy; I always have a pen and paper with me, even on my night table, together with the usual girlie stuff of lotions and potions, my bottle of sparkling mineral water and so on.
Why easy? Because people do and say the strangest things, and I have an amazing memory for detail, but I don’t want to miss a single quote, hence the paper and pen.
The novel I have almost finished writing was the product of a contest between myself and a writer/illustrator friend, we both started with the same phrase: ‘Who was it that said old biker’s never die, they just smell that way?’ Some 74,000 words later I am on the home stretch and have already run it by a small, but well known publishers in Cambridge, England: Elliot Mackenzie under their Pegasus label and they have requested the completed manuscript. And my friend I hear you ask, she struggled for a few days and then shoved it in the drawer and got on with designing the cover for my book!
Books and ideas are forming an orderly queue inside my head as I type and as each idea pops in I write down a brief synopsis before it pops out again and I return to mundane things, like washing and cooking.
Newspapers are another source, and I have an idea forming from a story that surfaced here in France in April this year. An entire family in Nantes disappeared without a trace, until they dug up the patio that is and found five bodies buried in hessian sacks filled with quick lime, and an obscure leg not belonging to any of the family members and the family’s two dogs. They had been assassinated the mother and her four children and the dogs, the husband had disappeared last seen in the Var where he stupidly used his bank card in a cash dispenser. Today they have released details of a letter received by his sister in early April stating that they had moved to the USA in emergency conditions and were no longer French citizens, but are unsure of it’s authenticity!
He left behind a legacy of lies; they now have Interpol and probably the FBI looking for the husband and father of four, Xavier Dupont de Ligonnes, who assassinated his entire family in their sleep.
A chilling story, maybe it isn’t the first time he has killed, and to look at him you wouldn’t suspect him of hurting a fly!
They still have no idea who the leg belongs too! Or if they do they aren’t saying.
People watching is one of the funniest ways of collecting ideas, because people do and say the strangest things, from the bizarre to the extreme. I once watched a very large lady hitting her poor husband who was about half her size; she was giving him hell and all because he had forgotten the shopping list!
I felt so sorry for him, but I didn’t intervene, she was bigger than me and I am a pacifist, and like the hippies of the sixties/seventies I prefer peace and love.
I hope you enjoyed looking inside my world and remember writing should be fun not a chore, and inspiration can, and invariably does, hit you when you are least expecting it.
So be like the motto of the scouts ‘Be prepared’, and the next time you see a woman at your Gym on an exercise bike perspiring somewhat, with a silly grin on her face you’ll know she has read Anna’s Blog too!
So tell Sharon and me, where does your inspiration come from?
Friday, May 6, 2011
Prince in Hiding - Soon to be Published
Yep, that's true. I sent the final polish off to the publisher this evening. Already I await anxiously for the planned release date, sometime in October.
Here are a few things I learned from my editor, Crystal Clear Proofing.
The biggest thing was that thoughts were italicized rather than set in single quotes. I really didn't know that.
The ellipse is three periods. My writing book specified they be spaced apart but what it didn't clarify was that there is a difference between the use of ellipse in non-fiction and fiction. In fiction the ellipse is three periods only. The only exception is if the phrase would have been an exclamation or a question. At those times an exclamation or question mark are added to the three periods. Now I did find one problem with this little punctuation. Word will nicely convert your three periods into a single punctuation, it also glues the words on either side into a single word as far as Word is concerned. That means that if you are unlucky enough to have two large words welded together by an ellipse near the end of a line, Word will happily place the whole thing on the next line, stretching whatever else was on the original line out to take up the space left behind. In this case, a space is needed after the ellipse. Keep in mind, the ellipse needs to be attached to the first word, not the second one. If this doesn't work, consider rewording your sentence.
Another little punctuation is the dash. A dash is the same as a hyphen only with spaces on either side. Once again, Word will make the conversion for you. It is however, very important that the conversion is made because they have very different meanings. When I first started writing, I didn't know that and my computer didn't convert the little bugger every time so I turned the conversion off. I really do prefer consistency even in such little things.
As I went through all the rest of the edits, these are some of the other things I discovered.
Swordbelt is in fact two words
Lord is not capitalized unless it is attached to a name. In such phrases as, "Yes, my lord." 'lord' is not capitalized.
The 'T' in T-shirt is capitalized - I suppose I should have looked it up, but in truth I didn't think of it.
I also confused 'farther' with 'further' - farther is a term indicating distance. Further is an abstract term --> "The king couldn't bring himself to punish his son any further for his crimes." is an example.
I also used 'aught' instead of 'ought' - though the two words are interchangeable, aught is an archaic version.
I was just a mite inconsistent with whether 'packsaddle' was one word or two - it is one word.
'Guild master' is two words.
Many of you have already read about my views on names. "Don't confuse your reader with names that are too similar." I had one character named Soran and another named Searron. It reminded me of JRR Tolkein's two main antagonists Sauron and Saruman. Confusing. Soran is my main character's first ancestor and haunts the book off an on throughout. Searron is my main character's grandfather and is only mentioned a few times, but it was still confusing, therefore I changed Searron's name to Lardeain, giving him some connection to the names of his two eldest sons, and allowing Soran to take center stage of the ghostly variety.
I also caught that Aunt Marinda had two names, something I fixed. Whew - that was a close one since the misname was Miranda.
In case you didn't guess, I took notes. I have two more books in this series to make sure of such little details.
Here is the first couple pages of my book - I hope you like a teaser.
First Magics
Sixteen-year-old Sean stood in the queue, waiting his turn to compete with the saber. He looked up at the bleachers. He had no problem locating his dad; his parents sat in the same place every time. His dad was talking to their flat mate, Gordon. His mom couldn’t make it this time – she had to work. Every year since Sean’s first tournament, his parents gave him a choice. Since the tournament and his birthday were generally only a few days apart, Sean got to pick which event his parents would attend, since it was impossible for them to get both days off from work. Sean thought of a compromise. He really wanted them to watch him compete, so, as a birthday present of sorts, they could take him out for a special dinner afterward.
When Sean, Gordon, and his father returned home that evening, they were greeted by a squad car waiting in front of their apartment building.
“Sorry sir,” the officer said as he met them at their taxi. Sean’s father was a sergeant with the mounted police. The officer looked uncomfortable talking in front of Sean and Gordon.
“Go ahead, officer. We’re family,” said Elias.
“Sorry sir,” the man repeated. He hastily took off his hat and gripped it in his fists. “Sir, you need to come down to the station. It’s your wife, sir. She…she’s dead. You need…”
Sean didn’t hear anything else. The monotone voices of his father and the officer no longer translated into words. He found the hood of the police car and leaned on it, his sword case hitting the pavement with an audible thump.
Gordon wrapped an arms around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you inside.”
When school started two weeks later, Sean didn’t go; he still wallowed in a fog, aimless and lost. Elias was no better, though perhaps more animated. He went from brooding in his chair for hours, to pacing the floor furiously. If he spoke, it was generally one version or another of the same thing. “Analeace was found dead at the door to the tower where she worked, and no cause could be found. They say it was as if she had simply stopped living. People here don’t simply stop living. They’re not looking hard enough.”
After Elias was allowed to go back to work, Gordon took Sean to school and then spent hours helping him catch up on what he’d missed. He was also there to keep him going – quite a difficult task at first.
Between relentless lessons with Gordon and those with the sword, Sean slowly started functioning again. When Master Mushovic decided to include the claymore in his sword lessons, he discovered it to have a very satisfying weight with which to work out his emotions.
For an entire year, Sean struggled at every turn. The vacancy left by his mother’s death haunted him. His grades slipped, but Gordon made sure they didn’t slip too far. He wanted to quit his lessons with the sword, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. It helped that every class left him feeling like he’d won something, though he couldn’t identify what.
On the anniversary of his mother’s death, Sean and his father visited her grave. They stood there, not speaking, with their hands in their pockets, wishing it wasn’t raining.
Ten days later, Sean found himself back at the cemetery, this time standing over his father’s grave. Killed in the line of duty was all he knew. The particulars of the incident had not been released, nor had the results of the investigation – Sean was still a minor and Gordon wasn’t family.
With the first anniversary of his mother’s death only a few days old, Sean felt so lost; he just wanted to stay in his room. He stopped going to school and even skipped his sword lessons. Not even the Sword Master’s heavy claymore could ease this pain. The fact that he suddenly didn’t have time was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.
Here are a few things I learned from my editor, Crystal Clear Proofing.
The biggest thing was that thoughts were italicized rather than set in single quotes. I really didn't know that.
The ellipse is three periods. My writing book specified they be spaced apart but what it didn't clarify was that there is a difference between the use of ellipse in non-fiction and fiction. In fiction the ellipse is three periods only. The only exception is if the phrase would have been an exclamation or a question. At those times an exclamation or question mark are added to the three periods. Now I did find one problem with this little punctuation. Word will nicely convert your three periods into a single punctuation, it also glues the words on either side into a single word as far as Word is concerned. That means that if you are unlucky enough to have two large words welded together by an ellipse near the end of a line, Word will happily place the whole thing on the next line, stretching whatever else was on the original line out to take up the space left behind. In this case, a space is needed after the ellipse. Keep in mind, the ellipse needs to be attached to the first word, not the second one. If this doesn't work, consider rewording your sentence.
Another little punctuation is the dash. A dash is the same as a hyphen only with spaces on either side. Once again, Word will make the conversion for you. It is however, very important that the conversion is made because they have very different meanings. When I first started writing, I didn't know that and my computer didn't convert the little bugger every time so I turned the conversion off. I really do prefer consistency even in such little things.
As I went through all the rest of the edits, these are some of the other things I discovered.
Swordbelt is in fact two words
Lord is not capitalized unless it is attached to a name. In such phrases as, "Yes, my lord." 'lord' is not capitalized.
The 'T' in T-shirt is capitalized - I suppose I should have looked it up, but in truth I didn't think of it.
I also confused 'farther' with 'further' - farther is a term indicating distance. Further is an abstract term --> "The king couldn't bring himself to punish his son any further for his crimes." is an example.
I also used 'aught' instead of 'ought' - though the two words are interchangeable, aught is an archaic version.
I was just a mite inconsistent with whether 'packsaddle' was one word or two - it is one word.
'Guild master' is two words.
Many of you have already read about my views on names. "Don't confuse your reader with names that are too similar." I had one character named Soran and another named Searron. It reminded me of JRR Tolkein's two main antagonists Sauron and Saruman. Confusing. Soran is my main character's first ancestor and haunts the book off an on throughout. Searron is my main character's grandfather and is only mentioned a few times, but it was still confusing, therefore I changed Searron's name to Lardeain, giving him some connection to the names of his two eldest sons, and allowing Soran to take center stage of the ghostly variety.
I also caught that Aunt Marinda had two names, something I fixed. Whew - that was a close one since the misname was Miranda.
In case you didn't guess, I took notes. I have two more books in this series to make sure of such little details.
Here is the first couple pages of my book - I hope you like a teaser.
First Magics
Sixteen-year-old Sean stood in the queue, waiting his turn to compete with the saber. He looked up at the bleachers. He had no problem locating his dad; his parents sat in the same place every time. His dad was talking to their flat mate, Gordon. His mom couldn’t make it this time – she had to work. Every year since Sean’s first tournament, his parents gave him a choice. Since the tournament and his birthday were generally only a few days apart, Sean got to pick which event his parents would attend, since it was impossible for them to get both days off from work. Sean thought of a compromise. He really wanted them to watch him compete, so, as a birthday present of sorts, they could take him out for a special dinner afterward.
When Sean, Gordon, and his father returned home that evening, they were greeted by a squad car waiting in front of their apartment building.
“Sorry sir,” the officer said as he met them at their taxi. Sean’s father was a sergeant with the mounted police. The officer looked uncomfortable talking in front of Sean and Gordon.
“Go ahead, officer. We’re family,” said Elias.
“Sorry sir,” the man repeated. He hastily took off his hat and gripped it in his fists. “Sir, you need to come down to the station. It’s your wife, sir. She…she’s dead. You need…”
Sean didn’t hear anything else. The monotone voices of his father and the officer no longer translated into words. He found the hood of the police car and leaned on it, his sword case hitting the pavement with an audible thump.
Gordon wrapped an arms around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll get you inside.”
When school started two weeks later, Sean didn’t go; he still wallowed in a fog, aimless and lost. Elias was no better, though perhaps more animated. He went from brooding in his chair for hours, to pacing the floor furiously. If he spoke, it was generally one version or another of the same thing. “Analeace was found dead at the door to the tower where she worked, and no cause could be found. They say it was as if she had simply stopped living. People here don’t simply stop living. They’re not looking hard enough.”
After Elias was allowed to go back to work, Gordon took Sean to school and then spent hours helping him catch up on what he’d missed. He was also there to keep him going – quite a difficult task at first.
Between relentless lessons with Gordon and those with the sword, Sean slowly started functioning again. When Master Mushovic decided to include the claymore in his sword lessons, he discovered it to have a very satisfying weight with which to work out his emotions.
For an entire year, Sean struggled at every turn. The vacancy left by his mother’s death haunted him. His grades slipped, but Gordon made sure they didn’t slip too far. He wanted to quit his lessons with the sword, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. It helped that every class left him feeling like he’d won something, though he couldn’t identify what.
On the anniversary of his mother’s death, Sean and his father visited her grave. They stood there, not speaking, with their hands in their pockets, wishing it wasn’t raining.
Ten days later, Sean found himself back at the cemetery, this time standing over his father’s grave. Killed in the line of duty was all he knew. The particulars of the incident had not been released, nor had the results of the investigation – Sean was still a minor and Gordon wasn’t family.
With the first anniversary of his mother’s death only a few days old, Sean felt so lost; he just wanted to stay in his room. He stopped going to school and even skipped his sword lessons. Not even the Sword Master’s heavy claymore could ease this pain. The fact that he suddenly didn’t have time was the only thing that kept him from falling apart completely.
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