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 

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: 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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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

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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.

Weekend Writing Warriors: At the Town Square

Hello and huzzah to another fun-filled Weekend Writing Warrior extravaganza! I'm jumping ahead in my story. Artie has crossed an ocean and finds himself in a place called Southampton, Hampshire...


Artie slid his arms through the leather straps and dropped the backpack on the stair in front of the fountain. The street café across the town square was jam-packed with sun worshippers and children, spooning ice cream from bowls with the most luscious formations. He closed his eyes to the noise, the clinking of glasses and the sound of their banter.

As he re-opened them, an elderly woman with black sun glasses and a heavy fur coat made her way towards the fountain. A brawny dog padded besides her on a leash. She dragged herself up the steps towards the brim, and for a brief moment, Artie noticed the dog frowning at him in passing.

The woman groaned with exertion as she lifted the dog up on the edge of the fountain. Once he was at the top, he craned his white neck towards the surface and began drinking the water.

Thank you for stopping by and have a wonderful Sunday! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Forever Gone

Hey there, Warriors, I'm glad you could make it!! This week, I'll continue with Anoethau right where we left off the last time. Artie is in hiding on board a transatlantic freighter. He tries to stay under the radar, but is soon discovered by the ship's cook Francis. Francis offers him work in the kitchen as payment for the passage...



Pedro gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When the laughter died down, they both picked up peeling carrots, and potatoes after that. The kitchen soon fell silent except for Francis’ occasional whistles and the sound of water boiling vigorously inside pots.

When Artie went outside the galley, the sky had put on a darkening coat. He leaned against the railing and looked at the sea. It was calm and even but for the icy wind nipping at his ears. The ship had long departed New York Harbor, and he regretted not having seen it take off. His last chance to say good bye; he had missed it.

Weekend Writing Warriors: In Disguise

 

Hey Warriors, and welcome to another fun-filled Sunday with wewriwa! Soooo, what do we have here today, another scene from Anoethau! Main character Artie is the guy I have been following around during NaNoWriMo. Ever since he found a magical weapon in his vegetable patch, things haven't been going so well for him. At this point in the story, having violated his parole, he needs to keep a low profile for a little while..luckily he finds a job in a cookhouse, run by a guy named Francis...the people working there think his name is Richie..



“Richie, where did you work before Francis hired you?” Pedro asked, as they each grabbed a carrot from the large pile in front of them, “a kitchen in New York?” 
Francis stopped stirring and looked up from the pot; the both of them seemed awfully curious about the new crew member. 
Although Artie had worked at a breakfast diner in Oakley, he didn't consider himself a full-fledged cook. People at Timm's had rarely ordered anything besides the typical breakfast meals, a small number of dishes including eggs and bacon.
“A small diner in Idaho,” he replied, which, for once, wasn't a lie. 
“So, did you learn how to peel carrots there?” Francis asked, the irony spread thick in his voice. Artie looked down, the guy next to him was bursting with laughter. 
The carrot in his hand was peeled down to a tiny shred. 

Weekend Writing Warriors: Stalwart

Yay, it's WeWriWa, week #2. I'm glad you could join us. What I have here, is another excerpt from Anoethau, fast forwarding from where we left off last week, to introduce one of the other major players, and yes, before you ask, this all goes down in a public toilet. So please, have a ball today, writers, readers, and don't forget to visit us on our website every now and again, for there might be interesting stuff happening besides sign-up..like this week's prize..I mean, have you seen the size of it??! :)

Cabby moved forward towards the grime-stained urinal. Another small step, and another. He snarled. The little bell at his collar rang in that same high-pitched frequency Artie had heard once before. He drew the sword. The shadows crept closer and closer, but Cabby held his ground. He anchored his paws into the floor. As a warrior would do, Artie realized, and mirrored the dog's stance on his own two feet as best he could.

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Little White Hilt

Welcome writers, for today is the first Sunday of Weekend Writing Warriors! Squee!! I'm so thrilled and excited to making the rounds, being a happy blog-hopping bee and all! So, for the first WeWriWa, what could be more appropriate than a story about a man who found an ancient and magical weapon in his vegetable patch? Since he's out on parole, he tries to get rid of it quickly, but of course, with magical weapons, it's not as easy as throwing away gum wrapper: this is Artie Kendrick, and the Little White Hilt, sword of myth & legends.

 

He turned it within his palm, and the moon cast his light on the upper part of the blade. Artie's gaze fell upon an engraving on the steel.

He felt the roughness between his fingers, cold and sharp – when the letters came alive in front of his mind’s eye; a message, reflecting from the surface of the river, a voice, murmured from the far side of the reed.

“Take....me....up...”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What kind of trick was this? 

A stir went through the river bank. Someone - or something - came tearing through the reeds.

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