Weekend Writing Warriors: Southampton Quarrels

Hi there and welcome back to my blog, warriors! Today I'm looking forward to making the rounds and sharing another part of my recently published fantasy novel Anoethau. Critique and comments are always welcome, and I hope you enjoy today's snippet. :-)

After fleeing his parole, Artie, the protagonist, finds himself at a place called Southampton, England. Most commonly known for the Titanic commencing its first and final voyage from the Port of Southampton, it is also a place of pubs and heavy drinking. This is what happens, when Artie finds himself in the midst of it...

The next thing he knew; there was a large object flying right by his face. 

It landed behind him on the road and from the sound of shattering glass, he recognized it as a beer bottle. People yelled at each other in front of another bar only a few feet ahead and there were three or four men in a drunken fight out in the street. The loudest of them wasn’t involved in the actual fighting, but shouted from the sidelines to the ones pummeling on one another with their fists.

“Get on with it you sissy,” the agitator yelled, laughing.“If I lose the money, I’ll start beating on you too,” he shouted, slouching at the corner to the open bar door.

Artie didn’t want to get involved in their quarrelling, but he knew, if he passed the group, they would make him get involved. From his experience with fights in prison, he figured that his best bet was the offensive mode, but he was a little too drunk to spin the plot all too clearly. 

“Hey Dickhead,” he slurred at the agitator from a distance, “how much money did they bet on your stupid face?” 

Dumb, I am dumb, he thought, but it was too late.

Synopsis

A play on the famous Arthurian legend, Anoethau tells the story of Artie Kendrick, an ex-convict, who has spent the better half of his life in prison, and now prefers the solitude of his house to being in the company of people. Backyard gardening is a newfound and most welcome hobby of his, until, after days of heavy rainfall, he discovers a strange artifact in the puddles of his vegetable patch - a sword. It's not just any sword, since it was given to him by a mysterious woman named Viviana, who introduces herself as a deity of another world. The gift comes at a tremendous price: with it, Viviana wants him to kill her arch enemy and save her world from destruction.

Anoethau on Amazon 

First Page Review - Anoethau

I can't remember how often I rewrote that passage to introduce Arthur, the main character of my soon-to-be-published fantasy novel Anoethau. I can see him clearly in front of my mind's eye - a Gene Hackman type person, but a bit younger than the actor is now, severely disconnected from the world by his past and through his own volition, unsociable, selfish. But as Mr. Cohen once sung, those cracks are how the light gets in. So in addition to all that, he's quite resourceful and pensive to the point of insecurity with a concealed sense of comradery. As the story unfolds, things will happen to challenge those qualities. Dear First Page Review reader, after reading the first ~ 900 words - would you continue reading this story? Is this character interesting? 

Thanks so much for taking the time to read and review. :-)

Please click to enlarge the picture.

I'm off!

I guess the time has come to admit it, so I'll finally admit to it: I'm off. I'm blank. I'm vacant. Being creative, making time for other things besides maintenance of life (hah, gotta love the specifics): it's all gone. Off the map. Me, the person who wrote each and every day and blogged half-regularly: was it just a fluke? Or a placeholder? Am I being overly dramatic? Well, I guess it's a little bit of all of the above.

I'd like to cling to the hopes of having a tiny little residue of energy left to go on - creatively speaking. Some day. I haven't given up the idea of a writerly career. But to get there, I have to write. Every day. Stay in shape. Honestly, it wouldn't be hard to make time if I really wanted to do it now, but the truth is, these days I'm burning on a low flame. And I prefer sleep over writing.

With a second kid, I somehow feel ridiculous talking about the importance of art and leisure. It has little meaning to me. I'm not saying that I found it elsewhere, because there's no infinite wisdom buried beneath baby poop and vomit, but these are the pressing issues in my life right now. Life upkeep. Hey, by the way, here's the test to find out if you are a real writer: If you have the choice between writing a story and cleaning up a spilled drink that drips down to the floor, what would you do first? If you choose writing over cleaning up, congrats, you are a writer! If you are like me, and you can't do anything else, knowing that something is dripping, you are not. Or maybe you have OCD.

There are a couple of other options, for those of us who want to combine the everyday life with writing. I thought about it. Writing about the everyday life. Unfortunately I can't mash up these things. I'm not a baby blogger. I just don't have it in me. And I rarely find other baby blogs to be insightful or original, least of all entertaining - except for the Baby Bible, which I've come to enjoy quite a lot.

Me, I don't want to talk regularly about the ups and downs of being a nurse, janitor, baby feeder. Unless those babies have magical powers hidden beneath their diapers that is, then I could write about it and call it a fantasy story. And in regards to writing about being a parent, there's not much to go on either. My quintessential parental insight basically comes down to one rule, namely "try not to kill kids". Well, there could be a funny angle to this, but it's more like a pun: "Today: tried not to kill kids, and barely succeeded." But that's about it.


Why didn't I jump in while I had more time? It's easy. I'm afraid. I'm afraid no one will care about the story I labored over, and worse, that it's an utter failure, and no one will care,  which is basically worse than having a million bad reviews. Having a sucky story and no reviews. Annoyed people still are an audience. If no one is annoyed, is it like the proverbial tree in the forest? Does my writing even exist? Seems like at the moment, I can't answer these questions.

Right, I do care a little too much for someone who doesn't put any effort in having their story published, don't I! Hah, maybe there is a grain of hope. A little one.

Weekend Writing Warriors: The House Guest

Hey everyone, and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors and my NaNo story Aned! Last time - a little long while ago, Eloise entered a grove searching for the white shepherd dog that seems to be following her everywhere she goes. I'll move forward this week, to where Eloise finds the mysterious dog hiding in the backyard, in her own dog's hut...




Eloise approached Aethelia's dog house, where the grumbling noise grew into a clarion growl.
"So what is the deal with you anyways, dog?"
She slowly knelt down by the hut, facing away from the entrance, with her heart hammering against her chest.
"It's not very polite to growl at the host, but I guess you must have your reasons to distrust humans."
She reached for Aethelia's red rubber ball and tossed it from one hand into the other. Moments went by. The growling turned into a soft gurgling, before it stopped. Startled, she felt something touching her arm; in the corner of her eye, the dog's nose quickly withdrew from her elbow, back into the darkness of the hut.

Aned - character drawing

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Into the Dark

Hello everyone and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. Wow - it has been one year since we started this nice little Sunday tradition and I'm glad be a part of it and to have met such a talented bunch of writers! Today, I'm diving deeper into my story. Eloise, being haunted by the sight of the white shepherd dog that appears to be stalking her on her daily walks, curiously follows him into a grove...

Eloise plunged into darkness. Like crossing a line, the tree trunks, broad and mighty, swallowed the light of day, and with it all evidence of the outside world. 
It was a strange place, unfamiliar, and foreign to her senses and
without a flashlight, she’d soon be lost. 
Eloise moved forward regardless, and the air lay still and cold against her quickening breaths. 

“Come here, dog, I won’t hurt you.”  

Two small lights lit up between trees like pale blue crystals.




Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

#8sunday Into the Dark http://t.co/gEU3JgXVxl
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) February 1, 2014

Weekend Writing Warriors: Proud Little Lion

Hey there, warriors and welcome to another edition of 8sunday. I'll gladly share the next snippet from Aned, my most recent work of fantasy fiction. Let me set up the moment for you: Eloise Walsh more than brashly imposes her dog Cabby on Artie, a traveler she just met. He is less than thrilled but agrees to dogsit for a day, for Eloise clearly has no one else, and the arrangement strikes him as an opportunity to make some coin. A day goes by and she still hasn't returned to pick up her dog. Another day until he receives a letter.

I knew my time had come, as it was inextricably linked with your arrival.
Let me tell you that I used to dread imagining the moment you’d be standing at my doorstep, coming to claim your right.
I think I'm ready now.
Know that he is yours, he always has been, even when you didn’t know he existed. And although I was just watching him for you in your absence, I did everything in my power to guide him and give rise to his true nature, and I loved him, and boundlessly so, like a mother loves her child.
I trust you will too some day, and I’m fairly certain that once he strides by your side, my boy, the proud little lion, you won’t be able to close your mind against his.
You will see the world anew through his eyes, the imprints of the Gods, the strength to protect and to foresee; all his talents now will be yours to uphold. And once you understand this truth in all its bearings, it may very well be that even you, Arthur, will bow down before him and call him king.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Oblivious

Hi there writers and readers, and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors. Like so many of you I have been busy during November, working away on a new story. Well, the idea for it wasn't exactly "new", since I first thought about a back story for Anoethau during last year's NaNoWriMo. Anyways, this excerpt is taken from the beginning of Aned. I always appreciate your comments, and feedback, so don't hold back, kay? :)

Eloise only had to take one look at her husband to know that everything wasn’t alright.

“Tell me, what did he say?”

George uttered one barely audible grunt when he sat down and took off his shoes. A French bulldog made leaps around his feet, as usual, happy to see him - and oblivious to George's grim face.

“Aethelia, stop it,” Eloise demanded, and the dog backed away instantly. The pair of black and white eyes followed Eloise as she approached her husband.

“Won’t you tell me now what the doctor said?”

George folded his hands between his knees. 
“Nothing we didn't already know.”

Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

Weekend Writing Warriors: All Alone

Hey fellow warriors, I'm back! This week, I'll share another excerpt from Imposter, a short story I wrote a little while ago. See here what happened the last time you met Paul, professional marriage imposter. This week he has his eye on a new lady.. 
Click on the cover the read the whole story on Google Drive. I've edited some of the excerpts to infuse them with a little bit of dramatic polish. :)


His most recent project was a woman named Augustine Cooper. The name initially triggered images of old gooses, but after watching her from his car, Paul had to acknowledge that Augustine looked incredibly young for a woman her age. She wore makeup, and tastefully so, and her hair, albeit neat and long, was taken in to a sleek bun. Observing how she treated herself, he immediately pegged her as someone with serious demands and expectations regarding men. 
Augustine lived a closed off life compared to the other seniors in town and Paul wondered why a woman who put that much effort into her appearance didn't follow a social calendar, or was at least part of a weekly Bridge Club. The realization that there were absolutely no elderly gentlemen sniffing around, no one lined up to escort her to cultural events, it baffled him. She appeared to be all alone.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ally with Time

Hello and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors! Today I'll continue with my short story Imposter, and this is what happened the last time. Click on the cover to read the entire story. Just in case you're wondering, I'm giving these snippets a bit of a dramatic polish as I move forward in the story. :)




Paul was used to sitting around, since most of the time, his job entailed waiting, watching and carefully planning his steps. He had long outgrown the phase of tackling his target like a bull to the gate. That kind of mistake had been part of his novice years. Just like that one time, when he pushed himself on an old lady to get at least some kind of result before she went on her vacation and she got suspicious and called the police. Marriage imposter was the ugly word she had used; and it stung. Paul had to leave the city in a hurry, get new ID, and all for wanting too much too soon. Eventually he accepted that he would have to move at a different pace, learning that time, as he knew he had plenty of, was his ally.

Weekend Writing Warriors: July 3, 1995

Hey gang, and welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors. Let's jump right back into the story. I edited this part quite a bit for today. Read up here what happened last week, or click on the cover for the whole short story. Thanks for stopping by. :)



Paul was in his twenties and just barely a man when his grandmother passed away. He remembered the date with great clarity, the broiling day in July under a cloudless sky; a mockery to how he had felt on the inside. Seeing all the people on his way back from her house, living their lives as if this was just any other day. He observed them from the shade, powerless, shivering. There was no caesura, no change in the world, and it sickened him to think that the universe responded by brushing him off with a flawless summer day.
Later on, the media would still talk about July 3 for being the hottest day of 1995 — yet never a word about the other great event of the day.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Mother Figure

Hey guys, and welcome to today's Weekend Writing Warriors. I want to continue with my short story The Imposter roughly about where I left off the last time. There are only two or three sentences in between the snippets. You can read the whole story if you want - just click on the book cover. Oh, and don't forget to say hello to the other wonderful 8sunday authors here. :)



Paul had his wits, his greatest asset, and the women he married in several states across the country loved that about him. His charms, his looks, and the way he carried himself; it was a small piece of the persona he had imagined himself to be ever since early adulthood.
The time before that was a blur of unhappy memories of parents who weren’t altogether suited to take care of their children. They did their art thing with no regard for him or his brother, and as a result they were shipped off to grandparents on many occasions. It wasn’t exactly bad times. Paul had always liked his grandmother. In many respects she had been the only real mother figure he’d ever known.

Weekend Writing Warriors: A Poor Man's Car

Hey warriors, and welcome to another wonderful Sunday with Weekend Writing Warriors. I have been quite busy with editing, and sweating bullets over trying to get out some new stuff: I have so many stories, so many beginnings, but it's challenging to not only start, but finish them. Imposter is one of those short stories that I finished, and these are the first 8 sentences. Click on the cover to read the whole story. :)

The credit cards and some of the passports were next to him on the car seat. He drove an old Volvo, a 500 Dollar beat-up car, fully aware of the impression it conveyed to the outside world; metallic silver with a few spots of partly peeled off colour, bruises and bumps along the left side. It was a poor man’s car and he knew from experience, that because it was somewhat obvious for a poor man to also drive a poor man’s car, in many ways it was less suspicious than going the opposite route. No one ever suspected an imposter to actually drive a beat-up car. Imposter. He hated that word. It didn’t even come close to how he saw himself in the world. He was a good person, a likeable guy, someone who easily made friends with people; preferably women.

Weekend Writing Warriors: To Catch a Thief

Hey warriors, and welcome! First let me set up this next scene from Anoethau for you. It's from Chapter one, so we're moving back to the beginning of the story. MC Artie is an ex-con and a man of simple needs, and I guess to call the way he lives hermit-like would be a serious understatement. Gardening and growing fruit and vegetables in his backyard are his hobby, but much to his dislike, the neighbor's girl Melanie has had her eyes on the mouth-watering fruit of his raspberry bushes for quite some time. One day, as Artie comes out of the tool shed, he sees her bursting away from them.. 



"Hello Melanie," Artie said calmly, bending over towards the vines where the girl hid. The leaves rustled, and the bush seemed to stiffen as soon as he said the name out aloud. The girl couldn’t be much older than seven or eight, but he wasn’t exactly sure.

"Hope you enjoyed the raspberries."
 
After a while she came crawling out from behind the bushes and Artie noticed her face and hands being smeared with red stuff.
 
"You know, if you ask me, you can have some of my berries, and you won’t even have to hide while eating them."
 
"Ummmm," she said, and her face turned a much more intense shade of red. "Just don’t let me catch you stealing again…" he said, putting emphasis on the unspoken -or else… part.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Easy Confidence

Hey and welcome, warriors, this week I'm finally back with a snippet from Anoethau. Wheew! For plot reasons, I have to skip ahead a little. Last time, the mysterious woman Artie met in Southampton asked him to take her dog with him on his journey to Wales. For understandable reasons Artie declined, but out of compassion he now agrees upon watching her dog Cabby for a little while, in order for Eloise to run some errands...



“Let me give you some money for the day, so Cabby doesn’t eat you out of house and home.” She digged deep inside her handbag for coin, but Artie waved his hand at her, “you can pay me later if you want to, after I have done my job.” 
“I live over there in the house by the corner,” Eloise said, pointing past the busy street café. 
Artie immediately knew it when he saw it; the quaint, lilac house with the white balustrades and overgrown iron gate strangely met his expectations of this woman. 
“Well then, at least, let me give you this,” she said, holding a door key out to him.  
“You can take a bath or a shower, and wash your clothes instead of having to go back to your seedy motel. The fridge is well-stocked, and there are cans of Cabby's favorite food in the pantry; he likes to eat from his bowl, you know.” 
The dog regarded each of them with easy confidence, a sentiment that Artie himself did not share.

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Quick Story Update

While revising I have started to outline the plot for a new story, which will be a prequel to Anoethau. The story focuses on Eloise, one of the supporting characters. As I was writing Anoethau, an idea for Eloise's back story took shape, and with each day it got more extensive and detailed. Those of you who read my Weekend Writing Warriors snippets have briefly met Eloise - she's the woman who tries to convince Artie to take her dog along on his journey. In the new story, working title Aned and Aethelia, I'll focus on young Eloise and her adventure. Just as in Anoethau, there will be a lot of references to Arthurian legend and Welsh mythology. I'm very excited about this story! And of course, as the story progresses, there will be more of my sketches of characters and locations.

Aned

Weekend Writing Warriors: Dog In Tow

Hey there, warriors, and welcome to this week's wewriwa. Let's just jump right back in where we left off last Sunday. Artie has just met a woman, who asks him to take her dog Cabby with him on his journey to Wales. He has good reasons to say no....

He didn't want or need any of that. With a dog in tow, every part of his journey would become more difficult. "What's wrong with your dog? Why would you want to get rid of it?" The dog gave a whimper, as if taking offense at the implication. The woman's eyes were hidden behind dark shades, but Artie could feel her glare. "I don’t want to part with him" she said, breathing heavily, "but this is what I am supposed to do."

Cabby the dog, as sketched by me

www.wewriwa.com

Weekend Writing Warriors: Do you want him?

 
Hi and welcome my brave warriors, to another round of wewriwa! This week, I'll continue with the fantasy adventure I've written for last year's NaNoWriMo, called Anoethau. 

Artie has finally arrived at Southampton, and is stretching his legs by the fountain at the town square, when an elderly woman and her French Bulldog come on the scene. The dog eyes Artie with open curiosity. All of a sudden, the woman makes a rather strange suggestion...

“Do you want him?” 

It took Artie a long second before he realized what she meant by that,

“You mean...your dog?!!” 

He waited for the old woman to indicate that she was kidding, but she didn't. When she gave him no sign other than a wholehearted nod, Artie frenetically waved his hand at her in refusal.

 

“No...no..." he stammered, "I’m just passing through to Wales.." 

“Well, that’s exactly what my Cabby likes,” she said tenderly, “a bit of an adventure.”

 

She persisted on holding the leash out to him, which made him think she wouldn't take no for an answer; and his pulse leapt.

“I don’t get around much these days - so, what do you say?”

 

@8sunday_writers Idiots and Earthquakes for #8sunday: Do you want him? idiotsearthquakes.blogspot.de/2013/04/weeken…
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) April 6, 2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 2

Hello there, you! Welcome to the Wewriwa Easter edition. Does it have to rain all the time, I'm asking, naggingly? Is that really necessary? It makes for a good underwater egg hunt this year. :) Anywho, back to the story in 8, my attempt to tell a whole story in only 8 sentences. Actually, this snippet is from a short story I wrote this year called The Impostor. I thought it had the bold potential to withstand being cut and edited into 8 sentences. Now I'm not sure. Is it? 

These were all lonely women, every one of them, lonely and very very rich, especially this one, Augustine, the name of an old duck. She was a hard nut to crack. For weeks, Paul had made several attempts to meet her, but as withdrawn as she was, she hardly even made eye contact with the world.

He had to resort to drastic measures; and deliberately running into her shopping cart with his was indeed drastic. It wasn't exactly cute, the way she almost tipped over and against the shelf with stacks of canned fruit, but it put a chink in her armor.

The next part was easy, as it fell in line with his natural talent. He spent the rest of the day paying court, pampering, and spoon-feeding her the usual repertoire of lies. She was just like any other woman he ever had deceived; gullible, desperate and starved for male attention.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 1

The ringing of the phone took her by surprise, the person calling, however, didn't.
"You still there?" he snorted.
She looked across the room, the black handbag was yet to be zipped.
Like a signal from above, the ceiling light cast a spotlight on it, and the item she had put in last.
She would need both her hands to use it.
"Will you ever leave me?" he slurred, when the tavern row in the background died down for a moment, "or is it like that last time, when I had to come pick you up from the station,
remember that?"
Her hand choked the phone.
"Honey," she said, "I could never leave you."

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Welcome to another Sunday with WeWriWa and beautiful 8 sentence snippets. This week, I want to try something entirely different, it's an experiment. This is an attempt at telling a whole story in 8 sentences. Did I succeed? Please don't hold back, hit me with your comments and feedback! Happy Sunday everyone! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ebony Eyes

 

Hey there, writers, and welcome to another beautiful Sunday with wewriwa! I want to continue this week's snippet where I left off the last time - Artie's relaxing at the Town Square in Southampton, when a woman and her dog show up at the fountain. First, doggy gets a lift on top of the brim to quench his thirst, then walks over to inspect Artie...

On top of the brim, the dog edged his way towards Artie.

The woman smiled and lengthened the leash, 
“Ah, he likes you." 
He sniffed around the edges, then shook, and thick drops of water landed on Artie's bare arm; water and dog drool. 
His face spasmed in disgust,
“Well, what’s not to like…”

The woman laughed a hoarse laugh that quickly grew into a dry rale cough. The dog's ebony eyes were glued to his as he sat down in front of him.  
Artie reluctantly moved his hand to pet the dog’s head. 
A coat of firm bristles met his palm.