Tag Archives: creative writing

What Have I Done?


Omg. Just signed up for NaNoWriMo. I’ve tried for two years and never made it. But I’m going really try to write every day during my lunch break this month. The novel I started is going to be WAY longer than the target 50k but since I plan on breaking it up into three sections anyway, I’m aiming to finish Book One by the end of the month.

And yes, I know I signed up four days late. But I’m going to try.


LAIDES THERE IS HOPE!!!!


Men who look like this:

do exist in real life. I swear they’re not all just on tv. I saw one driving home from work the other day. He was real.

I think I feel a story coming on …


Major Changes and a Big-Ass Book


So I  know my last few posts have not necessarily concerned writing per se, and the reason for that being, I have not written much in the past week. I’m working on that, but I’ve been stuck in a bit of a dry spell which is ironic since New York decided to honor all its residents of Irish decent and rain like freaking hell for two weeks straight. Now don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the green becoming greener since it really is my best color, however all the Yankee games have been messed up resulting in a 4 hour rain delay on the ONE DAY ALL SEASON I GOT TICKETS FOR MY WHOLE FAMILY!

Sorry, this event occurred a few days ago, but I’m still a bit bitter if you couldn’t tell.

Moving on the Relevant Topics, I believe I have discovered the Reason behind the Writing Rut: I’m sick of my story.

GASP! What did you say, Miss Rosemary? You are tired of Laura’s Letters, the one novel that has been with you the longest and features the imaginary man with whom you are passionately in love?

I am actually in love with this Real Man, but it brings back Horrid Memories of Embarrassment and I don't want to talk about it. Dear Friend Megan understands. Oh nights in Piccadilly ...

Well, yes quite frankly, I am. I’ve been focused on trying to finish this damn novel for so long that it’s all coming out forced. I’m forcing the story out, not letting it  force me to stay awake until four in the morning because it so desperately wants to be written. My slight affliction with OCD doesn’t help; it prevents me from skipping little not so exciting scenes in the middle and jumping to the very exciting scenes in the end which is turning all scenes into forced scenes. This thing would be finished if I wrote what popped into my head when it popped into my head. I also think my plots would not change as much if I just wrote them down already instead of waiting for them to come chronologically in the story. But no, I cannot allow myself to do that, that would make sense.

So, due to this … let’s call it a Predicament … I have decided that Major Changes must be implemented.

The First Change

Laura’s Letters is being put aside for the Time Being. This Time Being may last one day, it may last one month, it may last one year. The conclusion is, I have to stop thinking about it and let other characters steer me for a while. I have three novels complete which are in desperate need of Revision.

As soon as I get home from work today, I will take up the task of finishing typing Damn Brits (a title which I hate but cannot think of a replacement for at the moment). This novel I began exactly two years ago, started revising and never finished. It is set in London, a place I do love despite their Snow Inadequacies (I’m sorry British readers. I will never be over it. Never) but I had only visited for three days when I wrote the original manuscript. Two years later I have lived  in London. I know the great places. I know specific streets. I know the Underground lines. I’ve walked around the dodgy areas at night both completely clueless and completely pissed (both meanings of the term apply). What seems fake in the novel now, I can alter and authenticate.

The Second Change

When I do return to Laura’s Letters, I’m tackling it with a different approach. One of the other reasons this thing is not complete is that I have so much going on within it: two (possibly three) romances, brotherly tensions, mother-in-law problems, WWII, court intrigue, wealth vs. poverty, religious conflict, father/daughter struggles (for five different characters), kidnappings, maybe a death, 20th Century royalty, villains, heroes and ex-girlfriends to name a few. I’ve come to realize that this is going to be a Big-Ass Book. Like Margaret Mitchell or Diana Gabaldon big. I can’t decide if I want to cut it in pieces or leave it. The problem with breaking it up is, there’s no good place to cut it. The plots are very continuous and build too much to be fragmented. Big-Ass Book it is.

See? Big-Ass Book

This means that I have to keep my storylines straight. Since I don’t write first drafts on the computer, but rather in journals, this presents a problem when one storyline is progressing more than another. Fortunately, in addition to OCD, I am afflicted also with a disease known as Impulse Buying. Many of you may suffer from it as well, and you will know that once you see THE pair of shoes you just HAVE to have them. For me, it’s not shoes. It’s journals. I believe I bought over ten journals in three and a half months while traipsing around Europe. I had to ship them home so my bags would not be overweight (they were overweight anyway, but that fact is irrelevant).

So I have plenty of journals. The New Plan is to devote one journal to a specific storyline and combine them all later, rather than attempt to write the whole thing as it will appear in novel form. Thomas and Laura’s romance is the crux of it all, hence I will write their story first. This also includes her conflicting emotions about the family who abandoned her, trying to live peaceably with Thomas’s mother, adjusting to his wealthy circle and recovering from abuse she suffered as a child. That could possibly be enough for two journals of itself so Nathan’s struggle to best his brother and eventual romance with Gemma will be a separate one. Lance’s battle to stay alive on the battlefield and battle his as of yet unnamed ex for custody of their daughter gets one too. And the bad guys just get thrown in everywhere.

There you have it. Major Changes and a Big-Ass Book.

What do you do when you want to finish a story but just can’t? How do you keep your intertwining storylines straight?


The Ever (Not) Growing Platform


My good friend Ollin Morales has inspired me (again). He has recently mentioned the importance of freelancing and how he will begin focusing more and more on his freelancing services. And I thought to myself:  that’s a great idea.

Building platform is critical for aspiring writers, particularly nowadays. Publishers are extremely reluctant to even glance at your manuscript (which is OBVIOUSLY outstanding) if you have never previously been published elsewhere. They want to know that others like your work. They want to know if you have readership. They want to know you can do what you say you do: write.

Now I know freelancing doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing as actually being published, but it for sure counts as something. Becoming a successful freelancer means that someone hired you. They liked your samples, they enjoyed your style and they want to put your material to good use. Do you write on their terms? Duh, they’ve hired you. Do you sign away your rights to the articles? Most of the time. But one thing freelancing can do for you and you alone is build  that platform you need to step up into the publishing world.

I used to view freelancers as mediocre writers who couldn’t make it in the real writing world. I have since matured and come to the realization that freelancers are not mediocre. They are struggling. And when have any of us ever not struggled? Starting out is a royal pain in the rear. You have to make connections. You have to throw yourself out there. You have to do things like freelance.

Putting freelance work on your resume shows you have what it takes.  It’s that one step forward you need. It’s that one bit that puts you over the edge. It’s that something that shoves you forward and gets you a byline.

Since my maturing I have edited and written a few commercials for a friend of mine who is starting up a business. She’s also hired me to write and edit the material for her website. I’m going to look into freelancing postings online. Why not? It’s something. Plus, once my internship ends next month and I don’t have full-time employment (more on that in another post) it’ll be something to do. I could even make a little money off it. It’s an all around great plan and I encourage others to do the same. Just in different regions so we’re not in competition.

In creative writing news, I’m completely stuck on Laura’s Letters. I’ve tried to force myself to just power through it, but it simply won’t come. I’m going to take a break and possibly re-edit The Golden Spoon (formerly Ensnared) or Wounded Soldier. Maybe the break will be what I need to just write.


I Could Give You A Long Involved Excuse, But I Won’t


Yeah, yeah, I know. I haven’t posted in a while. There is a Long Story as to Why this is, but I won’t bore you. Be satisfied with Things Happened including but not limited to School and Employment, and I haven’t had as much time to blog as I normally would like.

So, since I’m here now, I will deliver as promised, my aforementioned Screenplay. It’s quite short, but it’s me and I enjoy it. I hope You do as well. Please CLICK HERE to read.

I also would like to let you all know that I am working on an Extremely Exciting Project that has the potential to Benefit my dear friends who categorize themselves as Writers and Artists, so do continue to visit me if you are Intrigued.

(I’m in the middle of The Three Musketeers which accounts for my Seventeenth Century style of Capitalization).

That’s all I’ve got for now. Be back soon.


Mine, Mine, Mine!


Thank you for that indulgence..

This idea for this post came to me last night when HBO was being annoying and not letting me finish watching Game of Thrones online. That part of the idea was actually an old idea I had when I encountered the same problem with True Blood.

I’ve got to stop watching TV.

Anyway, the ideas morphed into one and are presented to you as such:

How do authors feel about relinquishing their characters to TV and screenwriters?

For any of you who follow True Blood or Game of Thrones you will know that both series are based off Books (I respect Books so much that the word now warrants a capital letter), ie the Sookie Stackhouse novels and  A Song of Ice and Fire. I had never heard of the Books before I watched either of the shows, and now I own both (I’m half way through the first Sookie and have just purchased Ice and Fire  the other day). What I realized is that, though the central plot contains the same skeleton factors, there is so much that is completely off track. Since I’m not finished with the book I have not seen Tara (Sookie’s best friend) and at this point having her show up would be stupid. No one give me any spoilers but I’m wondering if Tara even deserves to make an appearance. Did HBO invent her? Did Harris want her? I’m confused.

And it made me wonder, what does Charlaine Harris think about all this? She is an author just like you and I. She poured over her characters for hours. She loves them. She planned out the plot and researched Southern life to make her story and setting leap off the page. How does she feel when producers take her babies and run in directions she did not want to go? HBO owns all the development rights for anything related to Sookie. Um… WHAT? How does she stand it?

I’m sure she loves the publicity and the royalties she’s cashing in from the books and the show, but what does she really feel inside? What does she think that she can’t tell the presses? I don’t know about you, but if and when I ever get published and if my book is considered for TV/the movies, you can bet your ass I’m enlisting every lawyer I know to help me draw up a contract that won’t let the producers and writers kill the Laura and Thomas I know and love,  altering them into people I won’t even recognize anymore. I think I would rather retain the rights and forgo the movie than have them change too much. The point of writing them is to tell their story, my story. If my story won’t be told, then what’s the point?


Does it Count?


girl, writing

Image via Wikipedia

Does what count you may ask? Well blogging of course. Journaling. Making lists. Any kind of writing that has nothing whatsoever to do with your current project. Does this writing count as writing?

I say yes.

I often struggle with this idea, having many things to blog about or a ton of issues I want to record in my journal (which is a very rare occasion and when that does happen, I drop everything and just write the rant in my head, not really caring about the literary merit of the piece) but nothing to say in my novel. Why do you think Laura’s Letters has taken me almost eleven years to write? You might say my over active imagination, my inability to commit to one story line and emotional and psychological growth from a child to teenager to adult. I say all those are factors but not quite the reason. The reason is, there are often many, many other things  to write about when I am stuck in the writers’ block muck. Why stress about a chapter that is not working and stare at blank pages when you could write a mock-interview with one of your characters from another story? Why stress over the description you hate because every time you take a pass at it it’s absolutely horrid when you could instead record the drama of work in your diary? Why stress over a scene you can’t craft properly when you could blog about what counts as writing or not?

Funny how I bring myself back on topic. Any kind of writing counts as writing. Even if it’s bad writing. It may not be the kind of writing you want to produce for that day/week/month/whathaveyou, but you’re still vocalizing your thoughts in the form of the written word. In one way or another, your are honing your craft.

Is this an excuse to make myself feel beeter for having written nothing creative lately? Maybe, but I’m sticking to my guns. This is writing. I’m keeping the pistons in my writer’s brain well-oiled (are pistons oiled?). I’m keeping my engine running, if not at 65 mph like I do down the Taconic State Parkway, then at 30 like I do when I’m almost home. 30 doesn’t get you there fast, but it gets you there.

I’m going to start with the goals again, so goal of the week is to have the miscarriage sequence complete.  Force me to do this, friends!


Kristen Requested I Blog …


So here I go. I apologize for not but I’ve had a lot on my plate lately with graduation coming up, group members withdrawing from school and pulling all -nighters, plus emotional roller coasters which I haven’t told Kristen about yet so guess what I’m doing after this post? lolzzzz

My writing’s been rocky lately. I wrote more of Laura’s Letters which made me happy but that was about a week ago and I wrote a story I hate though it has potential …

What I have been doing is basking in the glory that is Colin Firth and his Oscar Triumph.

Just love.

And I’m on an Oscar High so Gabs and I decided to make it a life goal to watch each of the 83 movies that have won Best Motion Picture. They are as follows:

Best Picture Winners

2010: “The King’s Speech”

2009 – “The Hurt Locker”

2008 – “Slumdog Millionaire”

2007 – “No Country for Old Men”

2006 – “The Departed”

2005 – “Crash”

2004 – “Million Dollar Baby”

2003 – “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King”

2002 – “Chicago”

2001 – “A Beautiful Mind”

2000 – “Gladiator”

1999 – “American Beauty”

1998 – “Shakespeare in Love”

1997 – “Titanic”

1996 – “The English Patient”

1995 – “Braveheart”

1994 – “Forrest Gump”

1993 – “Schindler’s List”

1992 – “Unforgiven”

1991 – “The Silence of the Lambs”

1990 – “Dances with Wolves”

1989 – “Driving Miss Daisy”

1988 – “Rain Man”

1987 – “The Last Emperor”

1986 – “Platoon”

1985 – “Out of Africa”

1984 – “Amadeus”

1983 – “Terms of Endearment”

1982 – “Gandhi”

1981 – “Chariots of Fire”

1980 – “Ordinary People”

1979 – “Kramer vs. Kramer”

1978 – “The Deer Hunter”

1977 – “Annie Hall”

1976 – “Rocky”

1975 – “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest”

1974 – “The Godfather Part II”

1973 – “The Sting”

1972 – “The Godfather”

1971 – “The French Connection”

1970 – “Patton”

1969 – “Midnight Cowboy”

1968 – “Oliver!”

1967 – “In the Heat of the Night”

1966 – “A Man for All Seasons”

1965 – “The Sound of Music”

1964 – “My Fair Lady”

1963 – “Tom Jones”

1962 – “Lawrence of Arabia”

1961 – “West Side Story”

1960 – “The Apartment”

1959 – “Ben-Hur”

1958 – “Gigi”

1957 – “The Bridge on the River Kwai”

1956 – “Around the World in 80 Days”

1955 – “Marty”

1954 – “On the Waterfront”

1953 – “From Here to Eternity”

1952 – “The Greatest Show on Earth”

1951 – “An American in Paris”

1950 – “All about Eve”

1949 – “All the Kings Men”

1948 – “Hamlet”

1947 – “Gentleman’s Agreement”

1946 – “The Best Years of Our Lives”

1945 – “The Lost Weekend”

1944 – “Going My Way”

1943 – “Casablanca”

1942 – “Mrs. Miniver”

1941 – “How Green Was My Valley”

1940 – “Rebecca”

1939 – “Gone with the Wind”

1938 – “You Can’t Take It with You”

1937 – “The Life of Emile Zola”

1936 – “The Great Ziegfeld”

1935 – “Mutiny on the Bounty”

1934 – “It Happened One Night”

1932/1933 – “Cavalcade”

1931/1932 – “Grand Hotel”

1930/1931 – “Cimarron”

1929/1930 – “All Quiet on the Western Front”

1928/1929 – “The Broadway Melody”

1927/1928 – “Wings”

Green = seen

Red = favorite

Purple = absolute favorite

I’ve decided the oscars fit in my writing blog because you cannot have a best picture winner without superb writing. Since I’ve started taking a screenwriting class I’ve been more in-tune and appreciative of what it takes to write a film/tv episode. You go screenwriters!

So that’s what I’ll be doing for a while.



Another Chapter!


Today the weather looks like this (yes, it’s over a foot and still coming. SNOW DAY TOMORROW ARE YOU LISTENING GOD?!?!?!!):

So I’m staying inside like this (because yes, Sam, it’s -7 degrees):

While hopefully writing in this (since, well, I’m a writer):

Following lunch with my London roomie and some homework of course.

Root for me, fellow bloggers/readers/writers! I haven’t written much more of Laura’s Letters since my departure to London LAST SEPTEMBER and that atrocity must be rectified! Posting chapters of it has gotten me back into the swing of things though. I’m excited about it again, brewing new ideas for edits thanks to your lovely comments and pumped because many of the comments were so lovely. Thank you :)

Speaking of, I present to you Chapter Five! It’s a long one, so I hope you’ve got your reading caps on!

Yes, I know I skipped around, and not that the intervening Chapters Two-Four are boring, I just think Chapter Five is more exciting. What has happened in them is: Laura’s life as servant to her town’s religious leader, The Shepherd, is shown and quite frankly, it’s terrible. Thomas reluctantly agrees to remain in the storage room since he very much wishes to stay alive and avoid capture. He’s not pleased with this situation, being accustomed to life’s every luxury. He is however, quite pleased with the servant girl ;) They plan his escape but before they can, the Shepherd’s daughter Karissa discovers him …

Chapter Five

Blood poured in rivers down her face, in her eyes, her mouth. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. Pain exploded everywhere, clogged her throat, choked her.
“A strange man! In my stable! How dare you!
Laura had made the Shepherd angry over the years, but nothing like this. He raised his belt over his head and heaved it down on her back. A strangled cry escaped her. She darted behind his recliner. Crouched on her trembling hands and knees, she managed only a few short breaths before he grabbed her hair and flung her against the stone fireplace. Her spine contorted.
Where could she hide? The living room offered no shelter: the Shepherd’s recliner, the sofa, one other chair. Nothing could shield her and keep him from reaching her.
More voices joined his shouting. Had the Shepherd’s three sons come to assist him pummeling her? They’d dragged Thomas off somewhere. Had they finished him and come to finish her? The Shepherd’s shoe collided with her stomach. She threw her arms over her head, the little protection she had.
“Get out of my way!” The Shepherd hollered. “I will not leave a harlot unpunished!”
“If you want her, you’ll have to go through me first. And I guarantee I can take all of you.”
Her head cleared some. The stars flitting around before her receded enough for her to make out a tall, dark shape wielding the fire poker, crouched and read for combat. Who … ? Her stomach lurched and she retched in the fireplace.
“I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but you have no right to hinder me disciplining my servants,” growled the Shepherd at her savior.
The man replied, his deep, regal voice filled the house, commanding all to bow to his authority. “I am a soldier of Taneia. And it is my duty to protect my people. Do not – any of you – touch Laura again.”
Thomas. Thomas came to her rescue, even though he was grossly outnumbered. He’d come for her. He’d come back. He hadn’t left her.
After a coughing spasm, when she could once again breathe and focus, she lifted her head and saw two of the Shepherd’s sons moaning on the floor, the other completely out cold. On Thomas, she saw nary a scratch.
“I said don’t touch her.”
Laura rested her pounding head against the cool flagstone hearth. There would be no more beatings.
“Explain yourself, young man,” the Shepherd’s snakelike voice demanded.
“Yes, do explain. I am extremely intrigued.”
Laura’s empty stomach heaved at the sight of Karissa in the doorway, flanked by a squadron of Schelt soldiers.
***
Shit, shit, shit, fuck! That little blonde chit turned him in. Damn, now what? He couldn’t leave Laura alone with the creeps, but if the Schelts hauled him off …
The leader of the Schelt pack stepped forward. This wiry captain would be the downfall of the Crown Prince. He’d be receiving a promotion and a hefty raise. If only Nathan was here, they could take this twit.
The reminder of his brother planted hope in him. He and Nathan had sweet-talked themselves out of a score of jams throughout their childhood. And the High King of Taneia was a hard man to hoodwink. Thomas could handle this Schelt puppy.
“Who are you, sir?” the captain inquired in broken Taneian.
“This man is an intruder!” the Shepherd bellowed before Thomas even opened his mouth. “He has been hiding in my stable waiting for the opportune moment to assault my family. See what he has done to my sons!”
Damn. Thomas could handle this Schelt puppy if the Shepherd and his family would keep their traps shut. At present all were yammering against him, crying for his immediate arrest. Fantastic. Now what? A little help here, Nathan. Or God. Whichever.
“H-he’s my fiance.”
All incredulous eyes turned their stares to Laura. She struggled to her feet and stood swaying with one hand against the wall. Nearly her entire body was some shade of black and blue, yet she still boldly met the captain’s gaze.
“What?” he, the Shepherd and Thomas said simultaneously.
“Thomas is my fiance,” she asserted. She took a small step but her knees failed her. Thomas surged forward and caught her before she crashed to the floor.
“Fiance?” he hissed in her ear. What synapse in her brain sprang that plan? What made her believe entangling herself more would assist the situation?
“Would you rather be dead?” she hissed back.
“We’ll both be dead if this -”
“Shh!” She righted herself, leaning heavily on Thomas. He kept an arm securely tucked around her waist. She needed to eat something, she would benefit from a little fat on her frame.
“I’m sure you don’t know this, major,” she began with a smile.
“Captain, ma’am,” he corrected, but puffed his chest, pleased with her promotional misconception.
She waved her hand at her own silliness. “Well, I was not born here in this town, but came later as a child after being separated from my family. Thomas here was my childhood b-best fr-fr-friend -” she broke off to cough. Thomas glared at the Shepherd.
Laura regained her composure. “Excuse me. Thomas was not only my dear friend, but our parents also arranged our marriage. He never stopped looking for me, and he just found me when the fighting broke out last month.”
Hell, but the woman spun a good yarn! She explained how Thomas had been injured (wounded, he mentally amended) after being caught in the battle and how she offered him shelter and nursed him in the barn. Now that they’d found each other again, they were ready to take their marriage vows.
“So of course, he would rough up these goons a bit,” she concluded. “Look at me. He was only protecting me.”
Indecision warred on the captain’s face. Laura’s tale made sense, but he – being Schelt – was disinclined to trust any Taneian by nature.
The Shepherd took a threatening step towards Laura. Thomas instinctively placed his body between them.
“Is any of that true?” the repulsive man asked her.
Her body shook beneath Thomas’s arm, but she did not falter when she answered, “Every word.”
“You have no memory of your life before you came to us,” he insisted, eyes narrowing into slits.
“Seeing Thomas brought it all back. My mother’s name was Cecelia, my father, Alan. They died in a car crash which is what drove my memory away -”
“Prove yourselves.” This from the captain.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Prove yourselves. You claim you’re ready to now take your marriage vows. And how convenient to have the town’s religious leader right here in this very room. Get married.”

Copyright Rosemary O’Connor. All rights reserved.


Behold, Chapter One


First let me rant on the fact that even though I am not yet published I know for a fact that I write better than a Number One UK bestseller. I just finished Stolen by Lesley Pearse, and honestly wouldn’t have if I hadn’t paid nine pounds equals fourteen dollars for it.

Plot = decent. Intriguing at parts but predictable all the way through. No surprises.

Characters = awful. Completely flat with nothing interesting about them. Readers know what kind of people they are from the first page which I HATE. People change, make characters change a little, jeeze Louise. And on top of that, they weren’t even likable. Protagonist, way to sappy. Protagonist’s best friend, total bitch, right down to no sympathy for 9/11 victims. Oh and by the way, Lesley, gay best friends are more than people who care about girls and want to take them shopping and fix their hair and say “honey.” The main man also, when trying to be sincere, told the protag something along the lines of “it’s all about you, babe.” How insincere is that!?!?! It’s just a line!!!! Guys use it to pick up chicks and it gets thrown in trashy romance novels you read as a guilty pleasure!!!!! It doesn’t belong in a work of literature about a woman trying to rebuild her life after an abduction!!!!! I literally rolled my eyes when I read it.

Dialogue = good when it wasn’t being preachy, which was 73% of the time.

Writing in general = I’m livid. All telling and no showing. Like at all. Every crucial bit of information was exposed by characters remembering what happened. “And then she recalled being chased by a shark and feeling terribly scared. It was a horrifying thing to go through. She felt he wasn’t being sincere and was completely put off by his nature. She just felt he wasn’t really a good person.” – Disclaimer, not a real quote, I’m angrily paraphrasing.

GARAADFHSGHASJDJSFGH!

If you want a good book about a woman rebuilding her life after an abduction, check out Chevy Steven’s Still Missing. And no, I’m not a weirdo obssessed with abductions, I’m doing a little research for a story of my own.

Speaking of stories of my own, how about the excerpt I promised?

Well, here you are dear readers. Thank you for giving me over 10,000 hits. Remember I’m still trying to get on freshly pressed and gain a few more subscribers, so please pass me on!

Behold, a portion Chapter One of my favorite novel.

Taneia, 1943

He had a knife at her throat.
“Not a sound,” he hissed in her ear.
Laura clenched her jaw and nodded, heart hammering. She couldn’t see him. He stood behind her, one arm wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides, the other pressing the cool, sharp blade to her neck.
Shouting – Schelt shouting – replaced the awful gunfire outside. Moonlight peeked through the cracks in the wooden barn walls, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Voices and heavy footfalls approached. Her captor swore.
It was that profanity that triggered something in her brain. She understood him. He spoke Taneian, her language, not Schelt, the enemy’s tongue. He was a Taneian soldier left behind during the retreat.
He’d be killed if the Schelts found him.
“Trap door,” she rasped.
“I said be quiet!” His grip on her tightened.
“There’s a trap door under Bessie.”
“What?”
“The cow on the left. There’s a trap door under her stall. Opens to an extra storage room. You can hide.”
The barn doors creaked. A sliver of light spilled in and grew. Laura’s stomach plummeted. She had no desire to meet an armed Schelt soldier face to face.
Neither did her captor. He darted into Bessie’s stall, dragging her with him and groped around on the floor for the door. The prickly animal complied with people for once and shifted over. Before Laura had a chance to clamber down, he tossed her into the pitch darkness, leapt after her and closed them in. Bessie stomped above them. Her clunking almost drowned out the Schelts. Almost.
Barely able to see anything, Laura scooted back into a corner and hugged her knees to her chest. How had she gotten tangled into this mess? She’d been trudging home from the butcher’s when the fighting broke out. The Taneians – people who called the small island nation off the southwest coast of Ireland home – evidently unsuccessfully attempted to overthrow chuck the Schelts out of her small town, Titusville. Terrified a stray bullet would make her its target, she sprinted into the barn only to be grabbed from behind and threatened with a knife. Could she not have one moment of peace?
“Oh damn,” the man breathed.
“What?”
“They saw you come in.”
“So? I’m nothing to them, did they see you?”
“I don’t think so, but they’re looking for …” His sentence hung incomplete, straining the little room with whatever he refrained from saying.
“Looking for what?”
She heard him swallow his discomfort. “Female … companionship.”
He blood iced. She dug her fingernails into her elbows, willing herself to relax. They wouldn’t find her here. They wouldn’t.
“I will not let them touch you.”
The intense sincerity in his voice surprised her. What was she to him? Nothing. They did not know each other. For all she knew, he could be after the same thing the Schelts were. Yet the way he promised to protect her … the fervor in his voice made it sound like he’d known her all his life and would die before he allowed anyone near her.
That one sentence wholly comforted her. She knew she was safe with him. Now that he had dropped the knife of course.
***
“I think they’re gone,” Thomas told the girl a few minutes later. He could hardly see the slip of a thing, but he heard her breathing in the corner. Even breaths now, not ragged and sporadic ones like before.
“Good,” she replied. “Is it safe to come out, do you think?”
“No. They could be just outside.” He’d be staying in this blessed secret sanctuary for as long as possible to avoid capture. If the Schelts found him, the heir to the Taneian throne, cowering like the cornered rabbit he was they’d have a field day.
Then they’d kill him.
He leaned against the wall, heat from the woman warming his chilled body even though she sat as far away from him as the tiny space allowed. He closed his eyes, despair crashing over him like waves at his favorite ocean-side summer palace. He’d failed. His meticulously planned mission to liberate the occupied southern tip of his nation failed. He’d lost men. Too many good men had died for nothing; and now he, the embodiment of their hope, huddled in a spare storage room, abandoned on his own order to save more lives, only alive himself because of … of … he didn’t know her name.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to risk this for me.”
“I hardly had a choice with a knife pressed to my throat.”
“Touché. I’m Thomas.” Best omit the Crown Prince of Taneia that customarily accompanied his name. The less conspicuous he remained the better.
Besides, people in this town probably wouldn’t recognize him as the prince anyway. They isolated themselves, following many of their own laws, none of which contradicted royal law naturally, under their religious leader, the Shepherd. They paid their taxes and preferred to be left alone. No reports of abuse reached Rhocent, the capital city, save for Thomas’s mother’s accounts. All in all, they caused no trouble, content in their separateness.
But they were still his people. They were just as Taneian as he. That was what spurred his botched mission. He had a duty to protect all his citizens, especially from bloodthirsty Schelts who had thrown in their lot with that psychopath Hitler and his maniacal Germans …
“I’m Laura.”
“Thank you, Laura.”
“You’re on our side.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I’m on your side.”
They lapsed into uncomfortable silence. What else could he say? They’d be down here for at least another ten minutes; he refused to lift the trap door before then. He’d never realized how awkward it was to get to know someone in the dark.
As if she’d been thinking the same thing, he heard her shuffling around, hay swishing across the dirt floor and finally a metallic clank.
“Do you have a match? I found the oil lamp the Shepherd keeps down here.”
“I think so.” He fumbled in his pockets. No, the matchbook was in his pack. He shrugged it off and cried out, surprised at the searing pain in his side.
“Are you all right?”
Ears ringing and side burning, he grunted some kind of response. The pain brought back memory of a hand-to-hand combat. He’d won but not before the bastard got a good swipe at him with his bayonet. He grimaced. That’s why he was so cold. It had nothing to do with the chill in the air; he’d probably lost a great deal of blood by now. As if on cue, stars danced before his eyes like the ballerina he’d secretly been seeing after he found out about Maureen and the sailor. He leaned back against the wall, praying he wouldn’t pass out.
Warm hands cupped his face and guided him to the ground. “Relax,” a silky voice soothed. “You’ll be all right. Tell me where the matches are.”
Laura. That’s right, he was with the new woman Laura. And she needed matches for the lamp.
“Front pocket. First aid on … top in … the large one.”
In a few seconds she had the lamp lit. Thomas shut his eyes against the headache it triggered.
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “You need a doctor!”
“No doctor. They’ll find me. Stitch me.”
“But I can’t –”
“You have to.”
“I’m not a nurse.”
“You’re all I’ve got.”
“You need stitches.”
“There’s … sewing stuff for uniforms. It has to do.”
“Thomas –”
“Please, Laura.”
She hesitated, strangely quiet. Thomas almost thought something had happened to her until he heard her rustling in his pack.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s going to hurt.”
“I’m a big boy.”

More next week!


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