November 30th.

The Final Stretch. End of the line for NaNo faithful.

The odds were against me.

I’d gone to bed the night before with a massive headache and the first dead-sure signs that my monthly curse was upon me. Muscle cramps in both my stomach and back, a general feeling of self-loathing, and fierce craving for chocolate. For the headache, I took a Panadol. That sucker knocked all the pain, hatred and hunger right out of me and I slept blissfully. Considering my Beloved Steelers lost their game against the Ravens. But I digress.

Morning came much too quickly for my liking.

I got up and fell right back into bed.

The Panadol was still doing its thing. My brain was lost in a fog, and every time I stood up I felt like I was going to faint. And the pain was so much worse. I stayed in bed for another hour, trying to decide if I could make it to the kitchen and fix breakfast. Surely that would make me feel better? I’d thought so. So I decided it was worth the risk of falling face first on the floor.

I made it to the kitchen, made breakfast and scarfed it down with a vigor. By the time I got back to my room, my head was spinning again.

I don’t remember much of what happened. I think i fell in and out of sleep for most of the day and when I finally felt human enough to drag myself out of bed to the computer through sheer force of will to complete NaNo even though I was some 4,000 words behind, it was 3 in the afternoon.

I opened Word, and pulled up my file- ingeniously titled, “NANO”- and got to work. And by ‘got to work’, I mean I slogged, not through mud but through wet cement, my brain still fighting its way through the fog.

Every single word felt like teeth being pulled one-by-bloody-one out with a set of pliers.

When 10pm rolled around, and I had only 49,000 words to show for, I was certian I wouldn’t win NaNo. Maybe on a good day, I could knock out 1,000 words in under 3 hours. But the 30th had shown no indication of being a good day.

I didn’t help that, for the last week and a half, I’d begun to doubt myself. I’d reached the 45k mark and there was still no middle in sight. Surely, I had to be doing something wrong. But I couldn’t see a scene that didn’t somehow, for one reason or another, NEED to be there.

Was I too close to the WIP to see what could be cut? What if I was dragging the beginning out too long without realizing? What if I WAS in the middle? I can’t be, there’s still too much that needs to happen! What if it sucks? What if *I* suck?

And why are you even bothering? You know if it gets published it’ll just be compared to Twilight.

[insert scream of horror here]

Sufficed to say I felt pretty damn useless.

God really does have a sense of humor. 10:30pm  and I’m biting my nails when my sister walks in, devastated.

My Sister while nearly perfect at every thing she does, is obscenely under-confident. A straight A student since high-school. Woman’s got brains that I can’t even fathom the depths of. For all this, she makes herself MISERABLE when she’s not achieving the extremely high bar she sets for herself. She stresses herself out over exams, then comes home and makes light of herself acing it. Like its no big deal. Do you know how excited I was every time I even got a B in Math? Pretty damn elated, ok?

So she’s upset. She recently had to enroll in a Speech Course for her final semester and has been hating it with every fiber of her being.

‘Its missing something. I’m just not proud of it. It’s boring! My last speech didn’t get any feedback from the teacher. What if it sucks?’

Sound familiar?

I really wasn’t in the mood to be a cheerleader but I tried anyway. I listened patiently while she read her speech, and gave noncommittal sounds of praise. That didn’t work, so I tried to tell her there was nothing wrong with it. And trust me, if I had thought there was something wrong with it, I would have said it just to get her out of my hair until I could finish NaNo.

Then, the tears came.

Any time a man ever told me when his girlfriend or wife or daughter cries that its emotional blackmail, I never believed them. Until now. My family is pretty good about giving me my space to write, and my sis had no idea that my deadline was only an hour away. How could I take that out on her? I had to decide which was more important, winning NaNo or helping her.

I decided I wouldn’t be winning NaNo this year. 49k+ words is nothing to sneer at. It’s a hell of a lot more words than I’d had before, and I know in order to be a serious writer, you have to put the writing first but sometimes-

Some things are more important.

I put my head on the desk, disgusted with my own inability to offer her anything useful. “I’m not a good speaker,” I said, calmly. “But I’m one hell of a re-writer. I can’t tell you whats right or wrong with it from just listenning. I need to see it.”

It sounds weird, since I’m technically a great listener when it comes to my friends. I am, in fact, the one most people come to when they need to rant. While I can take in information by hearing, I get tired of it.  I am by nature more of a visual and kinsthetic learner. I hated lectures in school, I hated reading out loud in front of the class, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do math in my head.

So she gave me the papers, and just glimpsing the first page, I saw her problem. “You’re using too much passive voice. There’s a lot of ‘was’ and ‘to be’ words here.”

She smiled for the first time that night. “I can be extremely passive.”

And didn’t that just say it all? I offered some tips to make the sentences more active, crossing out redundant phrases and suggesting more elaborate description to build on some pretty good one’s she’d already planted for herself. She admitted she hadn’t had the time to really devote herself to it, and she’d expected to just sit down and write a perfect speech.

“Sorry hun, not gonna happen. I don’t know anybody, professional writers included who writes a perfect first draft. I know people who write GOOD first drafts, but even those need to be polished over. That’s what NaNo’s all about.”

I stopped suddenly.

Thats what NaNo is all about!!

Um, duh? We knew this before, right? Did we forget it somehow? Who cares if this draft sucks? Why do you keep going over this scene to make sure its perfect? You could have reached the middle and gone over your NaNo count with the time you took out to worry and doubt, and fret needlessly.

Dumbass.

Oddly, I didn’t feel dejected. I didn’t feel like a failure. Looking over her work, seeing the things I’d knocked off, the suggestions I’d made in the margins, I felt useful again. Sure, in my head I was berating myself but even then I was doing so in an amused fashion. I’d worried about the same things she’d been worrying about.There were gems in my WIP, I remember, because I’d been so excited writing them, but I’d gotten to a point where I felt the “in between bits” had buried the gems deep in the sand.

But I could see the potential, the gems, (and some of her sentences and descriptions were pure gold!) in my sister’s work but she couldn’t. She’d gotten stuck in her own fears and doubts the way I had been for the last few weeks.

And we helped pull each other out of it. She made me feel useful and I made sure she knew every single gem she’d hidden from herself. Made sure she understood that my suggestions were merely suggestions and that she should use what works and discard what doesn’t, rewording anything as she saw fit.

When she left, at 11:30pm with a smile on her face, I turned around and knocked out 500 words with a minute to spare. “Winning” NaNo.

But even if I hadn’t “won”, I’d still have felt like a winner. Do feel like a winner.  I’m not sure I’d have had the motivation to win if my sister hadn’t came in to “bug” me. Or if I hadn’t taken the time to call my best friend and psuedo-father afterward to tell him I didn’t think I’d make it, and asked him if he’d still be proud of me. Who, with no hesitation even though he’d had a bad day, and was extremely tired, replied, “I’m always proud of you.”

The next mornning, he’d been the first to congratulate me, and when my sister came home from work, she’d given me a big hug. I haven’t stopped smiling since.

No offense to anyone who says you have to put the writing first, but some things, to me at least, have to be more important, because they contribute to my well being and can thus help to enrich the writing.

Total and Final NaNo count: 50,332

Dirge Total: 55,940

I’m horrible at updating my progress. To make up for it, I’m giving you guys a nice long full-scene snippet. Part of which I already shared, but now you get the full scope of the scene.

EDIT: DAMN. Forgot to change the numbers before I published. My bad!!

Today’s Total: 4,565 2288

NaNoWriMo Total: 27,009 42906

Snippet!: (Note: Had to switch POV half way through from Darnel to Althea, I’m sorry if this is confusing. Mind you, this scene might not make it to the final draft, but its important for me to know.)

“We should have brought Chaska,” Darnel said, not for the first time that night as they trudged through Labrythine, following the scent that burned their throats and nasal passages. The Forest hummed, eerie and beckoning, the night air sinking into their thick skins and deep into their bones. Darnel rubbed his shoulders as a shiver-that he wasn’t entirely convinced had to do with the cold- overtook him.

“You’re stupider than a house pet,” Than said, keeping pace with him. “She’d have chewed our ears off as soon as she heard what we was up to.”

Darnel bristled. “You’re the house pet. I never said we had to clue her in.”

“And I suppose you wanted us to just lead her to Dead Volk’s Clearing unawares?” Althea laughed, and the sound was that of a harsh bark than a sign of amusement. She looked back at him, and did not hide her intent as she gave him a brief look at her canines. “She’s certainly not house pet material.”

“Just severely lacking in ambition,” murmured Spence from up ahead of them.

Althea closed her lips over her grin, ignoring Darnel and Than’s heated glares. “That’s why, when we’re made pack, you’ll be Alpha and not her.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Darnel said, then flinched as he glimpsed the muscle of Spence’s shoulder tensing.

Althea and Than both rounded on him.

“I mean no disrespect, Comrade Red,” he said, addressing Spence as he took two steps back, distancing himself from their seething glares as he lowered his own to the dusty trail. “When we are Pack, I will be subordinate, and will be so with pride.” Darnel’s shoulders drooped, and he kept his hands behind him. “But she is Matthias’ daughter, and sister to Andrei, whom I’m sure we can all agree, has become the highly favored candidate to take over Matthias’ position.” He did not raise his eyes to theirs, but sought to implore and pacify them with his docile tone, barely above a whisper now. “It would take a house pet not to think that they might elevate her status to further their own ambitions, and you are no house pet Comrade.”

Spence’s shoulders eased, but he too turned and stared at Darnel, whose shoulders drooped even more. “Power has swayed to their lineage for too long. I could endure a life cycle under Andrei’s rule, could tolerate Chaska as Pack Alpha, though I am by far more deserving of the title.”

The skin around Spence’s grew tight, and his lips quivered, his tone tipping dangerously low into guttural waves. “But I refuse to suffer alongside our brethren the shame of subordination to Pavel’s little bitch of a skin-born.  “We are Volk, a proud noble race until Pavel’s debauchery, and I will not stand by while our leaders toss caution to the wind and further tarnish our heritage with this absurd notion. That they would even entertain the idea is an insult to our existence. It is why we are out here freezing our hinds off when we could be safely snuggled in our dens. Do not forget that.”

Darnel closed his eyes and lowered his head, willing his body language to sing only of submission. “I do not, and feel much the same as you, Comrade Red.” Then, he raised his head, and looked, not at Spence, but at the path ahead. “But to risk Dead Volk’s Meadow without a Forest Wife?”

“Chaska would not have championed our cause and you know it,” Althea said, a delicate sneeze overtaking her last word. “Besides, I’m sure the Old Forest Wives tale is a fabrication and nothing more. Something to keep bad little pups in check.”

Than snickered. “I’m sure you’d know all about being a bad little pup.”

“I took tips from your mother,” Althea said, giving him a sweet smile.

Than growled then whimpered as Spence cuffed him on the neck. “You present your hand to the flame and expect it not to burn you?” Spence huffed, and then looked to Darnel. “Do you know of another Meadow with an abundance of Wolfsbane?”

“Well-.” Darnel started then sighed. “No.”

“I was put to bed with stories just as Althea was,” Spence said, placing a hand on Darnel’s shoulder in comfort. “That if I did not do as my mother, or father, or Pack Alpha asked, that I would be dragged kicking and screaming to Dead Volk’s Meadow and have my face rubbed into the toxic leaves.”

“That’s the problem Comrade, we know they are toxic.” Darnel said.

The Forest Wives warned pups every year that even being in a ten mile radius of the plan could provoke severe headaches, dizziness, and fainting spells. Inhaling its whisky sour scent led to wheezing and tightness in the chest and, if one dared to spend too long in the area, it eventually slowed and quieted the heart beat. Eventually, if luck were on the Volk’s side, he would fall faint to the heady smell, and enter a coma-like state until his Pack or those responsible for him could collect him. If they were well prepared, and the rescue did not endanger the entire pack.

If a Volk were unlucky enough to have made physical contact with the plant, he could expect anything for a light rash to burns, minor bruising, open sores, and bleeding from the ears, eyes and mouth.

With the aid of gloves, and a handkerchief to cover their mouths, Spence expected them to come away from this feat with no more than a bout of nausea and a searing headache. He’d deemed the reward well worth the risk.

But Dead Volk’s Meadow?

None had made it through and lived to speak of it, at least, none amongst their own.

Darnel shivered, remembering tales told round the campfire late at night when he had been no more than a pup himself.  In the days of old, when a pack mate went missing-or heaven forbid, a pup-the first place the Ja’ur’a’ur Scouting Pack looked through was the immediate area surrounding Dead Volk’s Meadow. The Ja’ura’ur, coming across the unconscious Volk, and not having a Forest Wife on hand to tell them otherwise, presumed him dead and carried his body back to be prepped and offered up in proper tribute to Labrythine.

If it weren’t for the fact that such duties fell on the Forest Wives, they might have offered a still useful soul to Labrythine.

And Labrythine did not take kindly to wastes.

Labrythine did not take kindly to much at all.

“We have been misdirected thrice now. You see how the Forest protects her own? Maybe we forget this and go back,” Darnel said, overly conscious now of the gnarled branches that looked as though they might reach for him at any moment, the lashing wind, and the tickle in his throat that made him cough. “Let us give the news a chance to trickle through the packs. You know they won’t stand for this, especially the really old buggers. We’ll riot as a united front, and the Pack of Five will have to concede. They cannot afford to have anything weakening their hold, not after the food and clothing shortages.”

“If Labrythine will side with a filthy inbreed over one of her own then it shall be her down fall. I will not allow her to fail herself. Not while I still breathe.” Spence said, turning his back on Darnel and began down the path once more, seemingly uncaring whether they would follow after him or not.

And how could they not admire such bravado?

“The Northern Packs are beginning to look to the New Age every since they erected that bloody Council in Skin City.” Spence shook his head, but his feet neither halted nor faltered in their forward motion. “If he will champion her cause, no one will stand against Matthias. Food shortage or not. Our people have long memories, they will not have forgotten how he settled the East and West’s border dispute without either side coming to a single blow in his first year as Alpha of the Pack of Five. They will fall in line.”

Than spoke up. “There’s no reason why you couldn’t issue a formal challenge once she’s taken on the position though. Even now, if you bested her, she would lose face.”

Darnel winced as Spence’s shoulders bunched again, his hands clenching at his side as he kept up his stride. He had the distinct feeling their self-proclaimed leader was fighting the urge to Shift and rip them apart for their cowardice. “Svetlanna’s yippering goody-two paws of a son has thwarted all my previous attempts. Even Tamara, who should damned well know better, would stand by the little skin-born if it meant keeping the title in their precious bloodlines.” Spence huffed. “Now there’s an ambitious female.”

“Can’t keep her mouth shut though,” Althea said in a huff. At Darnel’s bewildered expression she smiled haughtily. “How else do you suppose I found out about their little ploy to gain favor during the Hunt?”

Than chuckled. “A little too ambitious. I heard she could beat out Andrei in a pissing contest.”

“There has been enough talk about their inappropriate fraternization,” Darnel tried one last time, switching his tactic. “Even those who might sympathize with Helena would see that as a large failing in the dynamic of their pack.”

“I leave nothing to chance,” Spence said as he rounded on them, eyes boring holes into Darnel’s skull in particular as he stepped into his personal space. “If the Skin-born-and I will trust that from now on you will refer to her as Skin Born and nothing else-if she has a chance to garner support from the other pack then all will be for naught! We will lose the essence of who we are as a people, don’t you understand?” He snorted and his breath came out as hot steam, blowing into Darnel’s face and warming his cheeks. “We may not yet be Pack but I thought I might be able to count on you as though we were. If I am mistaken, and any of you are more concerned with your own hides than the reputation of our entire race, then turn tail and run back to the dens like good little pups. So long as you keep your head down and your muzzles shut, I won’t begrudge you.”

“None of us are going anywhere,” Althea said decidedly, stepping forward as Darnel and Than shared a look and swallowed. She shouldn’t have the right to choose for them, but if they bowed out now they would never hear the end of it. “Lead and we will follow, Alpha to be!”

“Thank you Althea,” Spence said offhandedly, not even bothering to acknowledge her as he craned his neck, left and right. It gave a brief crack, and a hint of relief flickered into the Red’s eyes.

“Tamara’s not the only ambitious female,” Althea said, keeping her eyes low, but allowing them to light on Spence’s cheeks briefly, but no higher. “And I fully expect to be rewarded in a better place.”

Than snorted and elbowed Darnel, “Why doesn’t she just roll on her back and slobber all over his feet?”

“Sorry, I don’t speak ass. Would you kindly take your head out of yours?” She barely had time to turn around before Than charged at her, knocking her off balance.

Spence grit his teeth and ran a hand through his auburn hair, his nails digging into his scalp. “Would you mutts knock it off? If I do not find Dead Volk’s Meadow before dusk, it will be on your hides!”

Althea and Than tumbled to the ground, wrestling for dominance. They rolled long past where Althea had known there to be a tree, but they never came into contact with it, instead they descended down a hill and into a heavily shaded thicket.

Althea coughed raggedly, coming out on top just in time to notice what they had stumbled upon. She leapt away, hoping her skin had not touched the offending plant. She coughed again, eyes watering as she pulled out her handkerchief and placed it over her mouth. “Look what you’ve done!”

Spence slid down the hill, and came to a halt behind her. “He found the Wolfsbane,” the Red said, his teeth on full display as he watched Than struggle to get out of the thick weeds. “I guess that settles that. Than, when we are Pack, you will serve as my Beta.”

Althea whimpered from behind the cloth. “But I-“

“Oh stop pouting,” Spence said, with a pitying look that made Althea bristle inside, though she dare not show it. “You can fight Darnel for the last position.”

“Yes!” Darnel said, pumping a fist into the air. He caught himself suddenly, and whined. “Wait what? what about Chaska?”

“Chaska would have shown more spine then you did. And she would have caught on to that little barb a lot quicker,” Spence said, grin firmly in place. “Now don’t go all tucking your tail between your legs. I’ll be a merciful dictator, so long as you learn to heel and grovel at the right places. Get to work, we have to collect enough before the dizzy spells kick in.”

“Already there,” said Than as he staggered from the bush, despite the lopsided smile on his face.

“All the more reason to hurry along then.”

Althea crossed her arms and turned her nose up. “Fine,” she said, ensuring that her gloves covered every inch of her arms before picking through the bush in front of her. Next in line, eh? She thought. Like hell she was going to take orders from that Tawny pea-sized brain of a mutt Than, or from that sniveling Gray Chaska. If showing initiative wasn’t enough, she’d have to upstage them somehow to gain Spence’s favor. She nodded to herself as she furiously collected twigs, yanking them from their resting places and bunching them together in one hand.

Soon the bush was nearly fleeced, and her throat grew sore. She thought to move away for a time, to take a quick break in the hopes of staving off the inevitable dizzy spell soon to follow when something caught her eye. Lodged in the bush, obscured by its leaves, appeared to be a rather large twig.  Althea beamed in delight, placing her twigs on the ground and kneeling to fetch the larger twig. Size mattered a great deal to her people, after all. “If this doesn’t get her!” She reached through the leaves, hoping that Nikkal granted her mercy and did not let the toxins seep into any bare part of her skin. Rationalizing that even if it had, that she might only suffer minor bruising from such brief contact.

At least, she sincerely hoped that to be the case.

Than slinked over to her, a renewed swagger in his step that made Althea want to gut him. “And just what are you going on about?” he asked, just as she got both hands around the twig-which suddenly didn’t feel much like a twig at all. In fact it felt like-

Fur.

Althea felt her eyes widening, the motion pulling the skin beneath them tight. Gently, she glided her fingers along the length of the object, and froze when they came across something wet and slick, the scent of blood suddenly heady in her nose beneath the sour smell of Wolfsbane.

“Hey, your Beta-to-be asked you a question.” He huffed. “Oh all right, spoiled sport, just pull it out already,” Than hovered, breathing down her neck impatiently before he caught the look on her face and backed off. “Althea? Oh shit. Did a Spirit get you? Speak to me ‘Thea!”

“Shut up, would you?” Althea said, in a voice much too small for her usual gusto. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and prayed to the same Spirits that Than feared had whisked her away that her overactive imagination was playing tricks on her poor befuddled mind.

The object gave her some resistance, so she gave it one final hard yank, brought it into clear view just as something cold and wet fell onto her bare feet and a rustle sounded from above. She looked down at them first, and whimpered as red speckled over her toes, hands shaking as she brought her gaze back to what she hoped was just a twig and nothing more.

Something large and heavy sang through the air behind her, knocking Than over and straight into the Wolfsbane bush.

Althea paid no mind to it, held captive by the dislodged front leg of a wolf- a Volk- clutched in her hands, its brown fur matted with blood, the wet end dripping to pool over her feet and batches of Wolfsbane she’d collected. She barely registered the thin, shiny string attached to its wrist through her blurry vision before she dropped it, a scream tearing through before she’d even opened her mouth.

Althea turned, and ran right into the tough bulky thing that had knocked Than over. She was still screaming when she hit the floor, eyes wide as she saw the corpse dangling by its once fluffy tail before her. Its eyes had been gorged out leaving only hollow sockets. Its jaw unhinged, sagging to reveal hundreds of thousands of Wolfsbane leaves stuffed into the length of its body making it stiff and heavy.

Her mind shut down, and she didn’t remember being hauled up and led away by her two littermates, had no way of knowing if they had managed to pull Than from the Wolfsbane.

All could think of in her howling and hysteria was that both Than, and her throat, would burn tomorrow.

Full disclosure: Once again, I do this-reviewing- for love, not money. Sometimes, I get the book free (as was the case with Defiance). I have so far been lucky, in that I generally enjoyed the books that I have received.

I am a horrible liar and incapable of raving about a book that left me feeling ‘MEH’, thus if I didn’t enjoy the book, I’m undoubtedly sure you fine people would be able to tell.

Onto the review!

Defiance

Laura Anne Gilman, Joely Sue Burkhart, and Angela Korra’ti take us back to the days of the Civil War with ministering angels, magical creatures, and death. Each of the women in these stories refuses to take on the role she’s been assigned by birth, race, or circumstance. Each woman demonstrates life changing defiance.

Drollerie Press’s anthologies have thus far been top notch. I’m always awed by the turn out by their authors both new and old, and the rich spins with which the take the general idea of it. Of course, there are undoubtedly some stories you won’t take to simply because -for whatever reason-it’s not not your cup of tea.  It happens, it’s the nature of Anthologies.

I didn’t have that problem with Defiance. Shocking, you’d think? Except, as you can see by the cover art, there are only three authors listed which means, yep, you guess it, three stories.

Three well crafted, engaging and heart warming tales about three women of different backgrounds, under different circumstances, with different gifts, but with one thing in common. They are all, essentially, renegades in their societies, and they do not back down.

Ok, so that’s two things. It’s been a long day people, bare with me.

I am fascinated by war, the military, and people put under extreme situations. Also, being a woman, I adore strong, gutsy heroines. (yep, biased. Not ashamed.) So this Anthology worked for me on numerous levels. Let’s have a look at them individually shall we?

Finder’s Keeper by Laura Anne Gilman

Davida Sandersen comes from a long line of gifted women. Gifted women who put their talents aside to be devoted wives, or were otherwise chained down by their society. Davida would rather die than suffer the same consequences. She moves from Boston to a nice secluded town where she finds her own sanctuary, even if she is sometimes called to duty by the people of the town for her Gift. Davida is a Finder, with just a few short descriptions, she can call forth impressions to find a lost item or person.  Except, its never come on its own, but when the impressions come in the form of dreams that won’t bloody well give her peace the Finder realizes it is she who has lost something. She sets out for adventure to recover it and comes back with much more than she bargained for.

I really loved the poetic style Gilman used for the “impression/dream” narrative. I also appreciated Davida’s practicality in the face of adversity. Without giving away spoilers, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the ending. But having thought about it more, I’ve decided that I liked it. Davida remains true to her character, a woman who knows what she wants out of life and refuses to compromise for it, even when it may have been easier to do so. And, on another note, (something I quite liked) Gilman left her readers with enough elbow room that, if you are so inclined, you might imagine other events occurring down the road, just beyond the story book margins.

The Blood of the Land by Angela Korra’Ti

This is set in the world of Angela’s previous book “Faerie Blood”. A book I read and enjoyed. I have to say though, I actually liked this story more. For a few reasons.

Dorcas is a slave on the run, with her lover Caleb, from her former master, Josiah McCreary a man who not only lusts after her but fears her for her Power. Called a “Witch” by the white men, Dorcas is gifted with the Power to heal. She does not know where the power comes from, but she has stopped trying to rationalize it.  Certainly not, however, from the white man’s Christian God whose words they twist to remove fault from their actions, while punishing the slaves for doing anything they consider blasphemous.

In their efforts to escape, they come across an injured white man, a Warder-unbeknowest to them- and his Power calls to Dorcas. When she heals him, he reveals himself to be a Slave sympathizer and takes an active part in helping their escape. It doesn’t take long for McCreary to catch on that she’s gone missing however, and the epic battle ensues. To earn her freedom with Caleb’s life in tact, Dorcas must rely on more than one white man, the Warder of a bloodied land, her own Power, and a Specter with an epic gripe.

I really really like Angela’s use of ethnic characters. And not just ‘ethnic’ characters but smart black female characters. Their not ghetto fabulous (or, in Bahamianese, “jungaless”). I’m also really happy she didn’t shy away from the slave angle, and that she made Dorcas and Caleb both strong, capable and intelligent individuals despite their tragic circumstances. I took a vast amount of glee in the final scene, the showdown for Dorcas and Caleb’s freedom, and really liked Elias Sutherland (the Warder) and his wife Jenny. Found myself oddly fascinated by the character of Harriman Tucker for reasons that I will leave you to sort for yourself. You’ll just have to buy the book!

Storms as She Walks by Joely Sue Burkhart

Thunderer, or more appropriately, Meli “Storms as She Walks”, is an Injun “squaw” in a white man’s world. Wary of government handouts and her people’s defeated mentality, Meli enlists in the US Army, hiding her curves in loose fitting wears, beading her hair, bandaging her breasts, and adopting a gruff tone to go with her guff persona “Thunderer”.

Meli’s got the courage of ten men, but if her regiment discovers her secret, her dream of earning a place for herself in the world will be for naught.

Luckily, some of the men aren’t as stupid or bigoted as she might have first guessed. Especially her partners in crime, Lying Abe and Big John. Having been abandoned by her shamed mother, Meli has never known kinship. But as any soldier can attest to, once you’ve eat, slept, toiled and bled with the best of ‘em, they become blood brothers for life. And then there’s Captain Steadman, fast becoming a complication in her already complicated life.

When Colonel Pamby, none-too-affectionately referred to as Namby Pamby, turns on Thunderer’s regiment and sets a trap for their fearless leader Captain Steadman, Thunderer must use her cunning to rally reinforcements and orchestrate a rescue mission. Captain Steadman has three rules, He’ll never ask you to do what he is not willing to do himself, never leave a man behind, and he’ll always keep his promises. Except, Thunderer’s not sure she’d just upholding her Captain’s rules so much as following her heart, and she’s disobeying the Colonel’s direct orders to do so.

Told ya she had guts.

Meli will have to fight tooth and nail to get her Captain back, bring justice to her wronged people, and to earn her happily ever after.

Um, another note about full disclosure. I have developed a (dare I presume) friendship with Joely after reading and reviewing her first novel The Rose of Shanhasson.While I understand that might make me appear biased in my gushing, I assure you my love for her work is genuine. She writes my particular brand of crack. I “get” and “dig” her work, connecting with it on a profound, emotional level. Storms As She Walks being no different.

Someone had to do it. You can’t produce an Anthology about strong defiant women in the time of the Civil War without at least one story involving a woman soldier. It would be blasphemous. Joely came through in spades, something I’ve come to expect in a Burkhart read.

This is the most Romance-oriented story out of the lot, but there is so much more too. Joely has a knack for building bonds between her characters, both romantic and platonic. What really brought this story home to me was the dynamic of Thunderer’s regiment. The military-style banter had me in stitches and the battle scenes were beautifully executed.  The romance was a bit tame-for a Burkhart read, which usually scorches off the page- but not in an unsatisfying way. Sweet and fulfilling, it fit perfectly within the confines of its tale.

And I know we were supposed to dig the Captain (and I totally did), but  I must say, I developed quite a soft spot for Lying Abe. Big John ranked pretty high up there too, coming third only to Meli, our gutsy heroine.

Hands down my favorite Anthology from Drollerie Press thus far. Probably the best Anthology I’ve read. Ever.

Since I love being implementary in helping fellow readers get hooked on the “good stuff,” I do hope I’ve persuaded you to go and pick yourself up a copy.

I’ve been a very bad girl.

I took Saturday and Sunday off even as I vowed I wouldn’t. But come on…It was my birthday. And I made up for it today in spades, even as I’m not terribly pleased with the quality of it. Nature of the first draft though.

Thursday’s Total: 0

Friday’s Total: 1,857

Saturday’s Total: 0

Sunday’s Total: 0

Today’s Total: 4,565

NaNoWriMo Total: 27,009

And no snippet today, because I am loathe to share even one sentence. I’m not being too hard on myself either, I just don’t think I was in the ‘zone’ today, despite the big word count.

Before I begin, a word regarding full disclosure. I don’t really think I have a wide enough audience to worry about this, but well, you never know.

I am not a professional reviewer. What I mean, of course, is that I don’t get paid for this. Some might say that I am compensated by free books, and yes, I did not pay to receive this ARC. However, while that might be enough to make me feel guilty should I dislike said book, it’s not enough to make me lie about my feelings towards it. I say how I feel, and while I might try to be nice about it, because I know how hard authors toil over every little word they put to page, I am unable to rave about something I didn’t enjoy.

Now, allow me to rave about a book I DID enjoy. Unfortunately I don’t have a .jpg file of the drool-worthy coverart but I do have a blurb from Liz Maverick’s site. (Where you can see the pretty for yourself!)

As if peace might be achieved so easily…

Darkness is rising: a mysterious plot shall force every inhabitant of Crimson City to take sides. Deliverance exists, but first must come a tale of impossible passion and discovery, of Marius and Jill in a race against time leading back to the city’s paranormal beginnings, to Victorian London, to an era of invention and a world of *CRIMSON & STEAM*

By Chapter One, I was hooked.

By Chapter two, I was bawling.

By Chapter Three, I suspected this might very well be one of my favorite books of the year, never mind the fact that it hasn’t yet been released.

By Chapter Four, my suspicions were confirmed.

Marius, head of the House of Dumont, has always been about doing the right thing and not allowing himself to indulge in his own desires, no matter how strong. He seeks to form an alliance in the form of a marriage to Tatiana Asprey of the Asprey Werewolves to symbolize a strong united front and peace for all, even as he cannot deny the constant pull he feels towards one Jillian Cooper, a human reporter, his soulmate.

All Jillian wants is one night with Marius. One night to last her a life time, and really would that be so much to ask? But she knows Marius, knows the kind of man he is. Can you blame a girl for trying? I didn’t. She was ballsy about it too. Definitely liked her character, but then, I found it hard to dislike any of them.

Even Tatiana Asprey. Especially Tatiana Asprey. Thank GOD, Maverick didn’t make her a bitch (um, you know, in the un-literal sense, since she’s a werewolf and all). I think that route is taken far too often, though I know it is sometimes necessary.

I don’t think Liz Maverick is one to take the easy route though, and she makes you feel for every one of her characters. (even the ones who make terrible horrible mistakes) I felt and wept for Tatiana, even as I wanted Jill to have Marius. She’s a great character, caught between duty and unshakable desire for freedom, having to hide herself away during the Full Moon, believing herself to be a monster.

I’m afraid I must stifle myself before I give away any spoilers, specifically where Tatiana is concerned.

But, but-! You lucky devils, you’re getting two love stories for the price of one! I’m not sure which enthralled me more, the whole affair in Crimson City, or, the one going on back in Victorian London, where I found myself quite charmed by Maverick’s subtly. The scenes with Charlotte Paxton and Edward Vaughn were some of my very favorites. I’ve always been a firm believer that love should transcend all things: Color, Race, Social Status, Gender. While I can’t speak for the former, or latter, taking place in this story, the bitter struggle against Social Status (and race) dictating your every move and whim played a huge role in both stories. Ms. Maverick weaved them both seamlessly and I really hope she goes through with her intentions of dabbling more into the more steampunky world of her Victorian London, post Blood-Taint.

Even if I wasn’t such a hopeless romantic, there would still be enough here to satisfy me. I think that’s what garbed me from the beginning and refused to let me go. Liz Maverick tells a great story about a building war between four-count ‘em-FOUR factions, two (although, depending on your interpretation, there could certainly be more) pairs of star crossed lovers, with a dash of steampunk and a whole lot of flair. I’m really big on shades of gray, the changing of alliances, the proverbial line to be crossed. While Jillian, Marius, Tatiana, Charlotte and Edward and certainly enough to draw you in, it would be a disservice to not mention the support cast. Kata Marakova stole every scene she was in. So did Hayden Wilks, who both repelled and fascinated everyone around him, myself included. I became quite fond of Leyton and the Librarian, and I’m secretly hoping Folie, Tatiana’s sister, might one day get her own tale.

I can barely, just barely contain my excitement, but I must, I don’t want to give everything away.

You’ll get a Story. A very GOOD Story wrapped inside another very GOOD story.

Also, and please do forgive me for just a moment in my bias, but this book hit me in some very personal places. I’m the sort of person who revels in the emotional journey of a tale. I’d much prefer to bawl over a book than to come away from it having felt nothing. Crimson & Steam will pull at your heartstrings, I can guarantee that. I’m so delighted to have had the opportunity to sample Liz Maverick’s work and plan to look into her earlier Crimson City books. Crimson & Steam kept me on the edge of my seat (and totally distracted me from NaNo more often than I care to admit) with a kleenex box near by.

Not out as of yet, Crimson & Steam will be available (according to Amazon.com , where, if you click the link I provided, you will most certianly be able to pre-order it) December 29th, 2009. (Please do correct me if I’m mistaken!) I wholly recommend giving it a read or two.

Eleven days in and I had my first “crisis”.

I wholly admit to over-exaggerating. It wasn’t so much a “crisis” as an extreme case of NOTE!FAIL. I had just finished a scene and was a sentence away from completing another when I realized I had been reading over the wrong notes for both of them. This story is at least two years in the making. Two years of actual work too, not just letting it simmer around the ol’ boiling pot. I have tons of notes, some outdated, as was the case yesterday. I had changed the particular scene I was on to “up the ante’”, showing more things at stake, building up the tension, while also building up to the first “unofficial” meeting of the female protagonist and her male counterpart.

But that’s tomorrow’s scene.

Today’s Total: 2,196

NaNoWriMo Total: 20, 587

Snippet!:

She could hear them. Spence and his two accomplices. They had picked up speed and were gaining on her, laughing. Two of them, on either side of her, but far out. They meant to block her off up a head and leave her with no where to turn but around, where Spence would be lying in wait for her. She tried to think, concentrating on not tripping over her own two feet, paying attention to the wayward twigs in her path that might mean to do it for her, all the while pushing her legs forward. Harder, faster.

She just had to make it to the path ahead and-

Helena’s skin tingled, the hairs on her arms standing straight, on edge from the pull of magic in the air. The forest had shifted. She watched with wide eyes as the path in front of her thinned and forked up ahead.  She had planned to follow through, due east, there would have been a clearing. She meant to pick up speed and double back, zigzagging to make Spence’s lot work for her, and lead them back to her littermates. To safety.

Her littermates would protect her.

Wouldn’t they?

Made great progress both days and hoping to make even better progress on the 11th.

Monday’s Total: 3,101

Tuesday’s Total: 1,675

NaNoWriMo Total: 18,391

Snippet!:

Sloane shook his head, listening as Crispin tried to compose himself.

“Bruno suspects some sinister plot on the Volk’s part, but I don’t see them making it through the gates unless it was a Rogue already in the city. I didn’t smell them either. Mind you it was hard to smell anything over the-“ he swallowed. “Stench. But a pack? We’d have smelled them coming before they even hit the gate. I don’t like it, Sloane. It’s not adding up. But-“

Ah yes, but. Sloane knew where this was going and couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. Geneva’s pleased look fell and she stared at him, puzzled.

“I have already notified Maxim, he wants you to oversee the cleaning crew and be in Labrythine to run surveillance by night fall. Alone.” Sloane kept his eyes on Geneva, watching her with satisfaction as her eyes hardened at Crispin’s light broken-hearted chuckle filtering through the static. “What do you know? Looks like I could deliver some good news to you after all.”

Complete busts. Saturday was a work day and I was a complete zombie when I got home. Then Sunday I had a lovely day out with a friend, got home and unfortunately suffered a massive headache.

Saturday’s Total: 429

Sunday’s Total: 572

NaNoWriMo Total: 13,615

Snippet!:

Static hissed in his overly sensitive ears and he squinted against the headache that had once been nothing but a dull annoyance and now throbbed painfully at the forefront of his skull. He quickly typed in his password and waited.

For all of ten seconds, nothing came through, and Sloane had enough grace to second guess himself. Perhaps he’d fumbled too much with the top panel, or too less with the bottom. It was a tricky business, but he was usually adept with tricky things. Maybe if he-

Crispin’s voice rang out clear as a bell through the static. “Greetings to my favorite anal-retentive stick in the mud. I do hope this message finds you well, but considering I heard that Geneva would be with you, I sincerely doubt that is the case.”

“Cheeky bastard.” Geneva scoffed.

“Be quiet,” Sloane said, listening intently. Crispin’s tone was deceptively cheerful, a slight tremor in the undercurrent giving him away. “Something’s wrong.”

I would have liked to have been at 13k now, but I truly can’t complain. I did better than I had any right to expect of myself. I’ve come to see that our own expectations can be such dangerous things and that even though I should push myself to do better, I also have to learn to be kind to myself. Too much pressure burns me out. I’m not there yet, but it came pretty close to doing so today.

Here’s my count for the night.

Today’s Total: 2,613

NaNoWriMo Total: 12,614

Pages: 37 (8 today)

Time: 24 hours. (4-spent ACTUALLY writing and not just staring into space wondering what the next word should be- today)

Snippet!:

In the dead of night, four adolescent Volk scrounged through Labrythine, following the scent that made their throats burn and their noses itch. They’d been misdirected twice and turned around nearly a half a dozen. Labrythine was evidently feeling quite mischievous.

“We should have brought Cheska,” Darryl said, rubbing his shoulders against the bite of the cold.

Taku scoffed. “You’re stupider than a house pet. She’d have chewed our ears off as soon as she heard what it was we was up to.”

“You’re the house pet. I never said we had to clue her in on the plan.”

Althea spoke up. “As soon as the word ‘Wolfsbane’ came into the conversation, she’d have figured it out. She’s certainly not house pet material. She smirked, and glanced back at the other two who glared back her for the insinuation.

Spence, up front, the obvious leader of their group, nodded. “Just severely lacking in ambition.”

I’m very please with the progress I made today. Very happy that I managed to push myself to 10k, creating a much needed buffer for the days when I will not be near a computer. But, consequently, I am now very tired and going to call it a night.

Today’s Total: 3021

NaNoWriMo Total: 10,001

Scenes finished: 9 (expanded on yesterday’s scenes today)

Pages: 29 (8 today)

Time: 19 hours. (6-spent ACTUALLY writing and not just staring into space wondering what the next word should be- today)

Snippet!:

“One day I will not be here,” Sevtlanna said, plainly. “We Volk live long, but are not ageless. One day my bones will wither like Breynal’s and be returned to the earth like dust to be carried by the winds of time for all eternity.” She sighed, and peered down at her own feet. “I can’t help but wonder what will you do then, child. Cower and submit? Relinquishing control over everything your father and I have worked so hard to ensure for you?”

Helena swallowed, and regarded her own feet as they shuffled past Elders, who had reached their breaking point, and pups who had not yet even experienced the intensity of First Shift, cot-ridden and fevered. The weak and useless. Even as an apprentice, it was her sworn duty to defend and care for them, for no one else would. As she looked around the room, not allowing her gaze to rest on anyone in particular as to avoid an unintended challenge, she couldn’t help but draw strength from their misfortune, feeding the fierce urge to protect each and every one of them.

But how could she when she wouldn’t even defend herself?