Wow! Two updates from me in two days! I’m feeling rather productive!
I just sent Recon Mission: Bee (Amplifier 5.5) aka Zans’ novella off to the sensitivity reader, Natasha Lane. And I’ll forward her notes along with the manuscript to SFG (the editor) once she turns around on her read. Yay!
I’ve also started a search for a Black female narrator for the audiobook. Tia Rider will continue to narrate the main Amplifier series books – double yay!
And! Gene Mollica Studios has all the particulars for the book cover, so hopefully, I’ll start to see art soon as well. I’m excited!!
This is all a long-winded way of saying, I’m most definitely avoiding doing my taxes. Ugh. And now, I really don’t have any excuses. Sigh. Though I am going to play around with one of my Space Opera ideas, and brainstorm/outline Amplifier 6 over the next couple of weeks as well.
Oh! [I announced this on social media already] The sticker sets have all been mailed (as of late last night). Still waiting for the next round to be delivered to me, then I’ll relist.
How about a Zans snippet to celebrate? [I absolutely adore all the Fish/Zans interaction in the novella!]
Fish stood, crossing past me and into the tiny bathroom. He flicked on the light.
“I checked in there,” I said pissily.
He ignored me.
Like always.
I considered pulling out my phone and playing a game.
Fish stepped out of the bathroom, glowering. “Clean.”
“We grab our stuff from the motel and leave,” I said.
“We reach out to my contact,” Fish said, his tone dark. “And when we confirm he sold us out, we hunt him down.”
I sighed, heavily.
“Got something better to do?” Fish asked caustically.
I smirked. “Well, Emma might want some help with the wedding.”
I’m pleased to announce that I just dropped Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5) into the editor’s inbox for story editing (the first stage of editing, also called developmental editing). To celebrate I thought I’d share a tiny snippet that Michael highlighted with a laughing face when he beta read the book last week.
Aiden flashed me a knowing grin. He couldn’t read my mind, of course, but apparently my magic beckoned whenever I was thinking of him in a certain way.
So … pretty much whenever I laid eyes on him.
– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), third draft
My Friday started off exactly as planned. Pilates, hot chocolate, and then into the office to write the final chapter of Amplifier 5 – the denouement I’ve had in my head for over a year.
I climbed on my treadmill, put on my computer glasses, and started reading through a section of text that I’d highlighted to rewrite at the end of my day yesterday.
Then I reached for my hot chocolate.
And knocked it across the room.
Yes.
500 ml of dark, hot chocolate in perfectly frothed skim milk, flung … in an instant …
All …
Over…
My …
Tiny office.
White painted walls and baseboards (flat white paint, which is great for touching up but not so great for wiping off), a pilates reformer, hand-stained pine flooring, a portable heater (which was on and instantly dried all the liquid splattered across it), and a ten-foot-long wall of white cabinets (seeping through the seams into the cupboards themselves).
Molly Millions was delighted at this sudden explosion of tastiness dripping off practically every surface of the room. It was a miracle that she wasn’t in her doggy bed right beside me at the time, because it also got soaked.
I didn’t scream.
How? I have no idea. Except I had a puppy to grab and leash.
Long story short, hot chocolate gets EVERYWHERE. I had to dismantle my pilates reformer, and the parts of it that can be, are currently in the wash. Did you know that even well-finished plywood (such as the interior structure of my pilates ‘box’) can’t be cleaned of soaked-in liquid? Not even with a liberal application of hot soapy water? Ditto with the slightly perforated padding (for traction, I assume) on the jump board.
So … an hour later the floors, walls, cabinets, desk, heater, and pilates reformer were scrubbed and dried – and I’d managed not to cry about any of it. I made myself a second hot chocolate and treated myself to the latest installment of the Innkeeper novel that Ilona Andrews is currently serializing on their blog …
Then I wrote the final chapter of Amplifier 5.
MCD’s notebook for Amplifier 5. Brainstorming commenced in July 2020, but it took until May 2022 to complete the first draft.
It took me almost two years, but I now have a complete first draft of Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5). Along with a Zans novelette (Amplifier 5.5) (which will be included with Amplifier 5).
The curse is broken, but not before it tried to break me.
I know some of you just wish I would write faster instead of sharing work-in-progress snippets. But I have to celebrate the little things that hit me in the moment! Like a sort of reverse fuel, you know?
Sometimes … it’s not just the sad stuff that makes me blubber while writing …
I slid off the couch, kneeling before the dream walker and taking her hands. “You are not evil. You are not inherently dark. You aren’t even half and half. You are whole and amazing. You are everything that has happened to you, yes, but you are also everything you are going to do in this world, including being a family with me and Aiden. And Christopher and Paisley.”
“And Samantha,” she added.
I pretended to internally debate it. “Yes, all right. And Samantha.”
– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), chapter five, first draft
Lani grunted noncommittedly. “Mercury herself is something pretty to look at though. Miles and miles of creamy skin and those white blue wolf eyes.” She flashed me a grin. “I might grab some tea first.”
I shook my head at her, but she sauntered off toward the treats with her hands still stuffed in her back pockets. Far more confident among unknown magic users than I was, even though I was the biggest predator in the room. In the entire area, perhaps.
The silver-haired witch — Pearl Godfrey — was watching me. Her indigo gaze was piercing, but neutral. I couldn’t feel even a hint of power from her. Yet.
It was possible I was wrong about being the biggest, baddest Adept in the library.
– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), first draft
So … who do you think would win in a one-on-one fight? Pearl or Emma?
… page one rewrite. After talking my issue(s!!) (see my last blog post) with writing the next Amplifier book over with Michael ad nauseam, I finally came to the conclusion earlier this morning that I was forcing Amplifier 5 to be something it was never meant to be – a full-length novel. I was trying to combine the next two Amplifier stories (aka not necessarily novels) into one book, gearing up for capping the series at book 6 (technically a seven-book arc, plus shorts, counting the prequel).
And now that I’ve come to that conclusion the only thing I can do about it is … a page one rewrite.
*cue silent weeping*
On rare occasions, even a detailed plot and well-utilized notebook aren’t a solid enough structure on which to build a great novel.
It’s been a long, long time since I’ve gone so far off track (with an outlined book!!) that I needed to scrap everything and reimagine the story I wanted to tell. I actually can’t remember the last time I had to start with a blank page, and in this case, a new blank notebook.
Thank goodness I have a habit of overbuying notebooks! LOL
Here we go!
New notebook + redraft = a fresh start for Amplifier 5.
To clarify, Amplifier 5 will (likely) will now consist of an Emma novella and a Zans novella. And the projected release date will definitely shift further into 2022. Though, thankfully, I have a draft of the Zans story already done.
What I should be doing: writing Amplifier 5. You know, the book I’ve been working on since 2020.
What I’m actually doing: writing a prequel short for a new (urban fantasy, portal fantasy?) universe.
I really don’t know what is wrong with me. Aka why can’t I focus on what I’m supposed to be writing? Other than being in constant pain, of course.
Michael says I should be happy that I feel like writing anything at all while recovering from major surgery. Unfortunately for me, logic rarely counters fretful anxiety aka the shoulds that I allow to build up in my beleaguered brain. But … I must admit, there is always truth in the ‘focus on new words’ idea … writing is a balm for just about anything, so … maybe I should listen to Michael (this one time only). LOL
Yes, it takes multiple notebooks when brainstorming/worldbuilding a new series/universe.
Have no idea what I’m talking about? I shared the ‘first words’ I wrote for Waypoint 42 in the Muse is Not Monogamous in April 2021. Also, there is a huge hint about this upcoming project in Burgundy’s Moments of the Adept Universe 1 novelette. Did you catch it?
Here is a great example of how I completely fail at marketing. I should be sharing pretty memes and quotes or reviews from either of my two newest releases, Compelling Infinity (Archivist 2) or Moments of the Adept Universe 1, but instead, I’m sharing half-baked new words because they amused me (and my attention span is just that insanely short). 😆
“Witches,” Aiden sneered. “Nosy and self-righteous. I believe I shall come to dinner with you.” He returned his attention to his book, ignoring the pointed look I gave him.
Paisley pressed her shoulder to my knee.
“Sorry,” I said. “The sorcerer I’ll be able to pass off as an overprotective, controlling asshole, but the witches aren’t going to believe that my pit bull needs to come to a buffet.”
Aiden snorted, amused.
Paisley narrowed her eyes — at the offending sorcerer, not me.
– Instincts and Imposters (Amplifier 5), first draft
Excerpt. Anchored in the Moment is the first-ever Audrey prequel story. Set between Dowser 1 and Dowser 2 in the Adept Universe timeline, the short is available in Moments of the Adept Universe 1. In her illustration (below and in the eBook), Memo has captured the moment right before the pack princess claims the position she wants … in more than one way. 😉
Audrey. Illustration by Memo, inspired by the short story, Anchored in the Moment.
Anchored in the Moment
Moments of the Adept Universe 0.5
(Aka Audrey 0.5 )
June 2014.
Portland pack house.
Desmond Charles Llewelyn — Alpha of the West Coast North American Pack, and a cat shifter — was making me wait. Granted, I didn’t exactly have an appointment. But neither could he actually refuse to see me.
I was equal to Desmond in birth rank. But I’d also passed a letter of introduction to him via his enforcer Lara, who had greeted me upon my arrival. The letter was from his father. Lord Charles Llewelyn. And technically unnecessary by virtue of the fact that Desmond and I had grown up in the same circles, though I was on the East Coast and he on the West. When our parents intermingled at official Assembly gatherings and whatnot, so had we. Though I doubted whether we’d ever actually had a single one-on-one conversation.
I paced the living room section of the house’s central great room for the umpteenth time. Like most alphas, including my own father, Desmond conducted business out of his residence. As such, the current pack house for the West Coast North American Pack was a sprawling, austerely furnished mansion perched over Portland, with a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the wide river and its multiple bridges below. Wood dominated throughout, from the flooring to numerous built-ins, including the kitchen cupboards. Gray granite tile and countertops were the only contrast, with nary a casing or baseboard in sight.
The furniture was all oversized, including a thick-planked fir trestle dining room table situated between the kitchen area and the large leather couches and glass coffee table that I was currently pacing between. It all felt very male. And all very new. Completely contrary to the centuries of history contained in my family home.
Centuries of history that had been smothering me since my younger brother Justin had been killed.
The intent behind his murder had never been resolved. Not to my satisfaction, at least. And even as all that unfolded, my mother had been forced to choose between the pack’s beta position and her seat in the Assembly, in line with the Assembly’s recently changed rules. She had stepped down as beta.
My father had refused, as he had each year since, to let me step up.
I had just turned twenty-eight.
I was an adored, sheltered, pampered pack princess.
And I’d never felt so ungrounded, so unneeded, in my life.
Excerpt below. In But a Moment, a prequel novelette set in the Adept Universe, was originally sent to my newsletter in an unedited state in early 2021. Now edited, it is the first of the stories collected into Moments of the Adept Universe 1 along with an insanely gorgeous, perfectly evocative illustration by Memo.
Dedra. Illustrated by Memo. Inspired by the story, In But a Moment.
In But A Moment
Moments of the Adept Universe 0.1
(Kandy 0.25)
January 2007.
At Rothhouse Estate in Manchester, New Hampshire.
Beer in hand, I grabbed the arm of the beat-up recliner and dragged it closer to the sliding doors on the far side of the living room, angling it so I had a view of the back patio — and more specifically, the full moon. Curling my legs under me, I lounged back, taking in the cool, dark night along with a sip of the beer. It was still too warm. And bitter. Which was fine, because the bottle was really only cover. If I didn’t have it in hand, I’d be asked incessantly if I needed a drink by the other werewolves slowly filtering into the lakeside cabin from our evening hunt. Some of them still wearing their fur, incapable of changing back to human form with the moon so high in the sky.
I’d arrived early, hanging out in the woods that occupied the bulk of the acreage surrounding the estate of the current alpha of the East Coast pack just long enough to witness the deer slaughter, but feeling no need to participate myself. Not that I was antiviolence when it was called for — which honestly was almost perpetually in a pack as large as ours. But I wasn’t big on tearing the throat out of an innocent creature that never had a chance against me. In wolf or human form.
I wiggled my bare toes under the overly plush arm of the recliner, catching the sound of another car winding along the long drive to the little-used lake house. Little-used by everyone except the younger set of the pack, at least. Yeah, we were supposed to be sleeping off the hunt in fluffy, adorable piles of teeth and claws and ridiculously loud snoring, but our alpha would turn a blind eye to us breaking that tradition as long as we didn’t seriously maim or kill anyone.
And even then, as long as the injured soul wasn’t a pack member, our alpha would probably just clean up our mess and give us a tap on the nose. Arthur was like that. Except he’d then assign some sort of horribly boring duty for a month or two, like rebuilding the estate fence or volunteering at a local charity. Being around mundanes — people without magic — for longer than a few hours was a surefire way to make a werewolf beg for forgiveness.
I, fortunately, was currently slightly out of reach of the pack’s smothering tendencies, thanks to suffering through my first year of college on the path to a physiotherapist specialty. I didn’t have the attention span to become a full medical doctor, but werewolves were impervious to most magic and healed quickly, making a physio degree both pragmatic and a somewhat interesting way to waste my time.
Limiting the messes we got into — and therefore the need for the intervention of any sort of medical professional — was why the entire pack was forced up to New Hampshire for the first full moon of the year. Every damn year. A smaller number of unlucky pack wolves were forced to attend every full moon run. And an even smaller, more dangerous subset of wolves were forbidden from living more than an hour from Rothhouse Estate and Arthur’s calming influence.
I’d been able to control my changes from a precociously young age, though. I’d been transforming multiple times a day since my early teens without exhausting myself. Only the alpha’s eldest progeny, Justin and Audrey, could boast the same.
Not that I boasted about it. Because who really cared? My position in the pack was already firmly set. It had been since before I’d been born. Sure, if I’d been a weak-ass whelp, it would have confused and possibly upset the pack elders. But I wasn’t.
In fact, I was so powerful, so … not intelligent, exactly, but perceptive, that I was a threat. Or I would be, if I were interested in climbing the ranks any higher than I was already positioned.
I wasn’t, though.
I was just seriously bored.
All. Of. The. Time.
College helped a bit. Screwing around with Justin occasionally filled the darkest hours of the night — both in and out of clothing. I’d gotten happily lost among the California pack for a couple of months last fall.
I took another swig of beer, instantly regretting it. “Who bought this garbage?” I howled, not speaking to anyone in particular.
All movement in the tiny house … paused. For just a moment.
“Sorry, Kandy!” Allie squeaked from the region of the kitchen. “It gets better chilled. Promise.”
