State of the CW+Book stuff and SAMPLE!!!

The war of attrition with Chloe continues. She has not made another foray into the house today, but I think she's decided that victory needs time to settle. She did, however, spend a great deal of time on my lap earlier. You know it's hard to make decisive choices when your opponent purrs.

Thomas has not gone toad licking lately. I think because the rats have reproduced, Chloe has eaten all his real food, and it hasn't rained in three weeks, so the frogs are not coming out to be eaten. And my own baby-doll, Abbot, is sleeping on my face every night. Cat politics are fun.

Also, my goal of late has been to update this thing every day. So far, it's worked pretty well. :D

Summer is winding down. The summer people are going home. It feels rather nice to start getting our town back. And I am about one third of the way through a second draft of the next short. Though it's a really long short. More novellette, really. I have several potential titles, finally, and I'll shoot for release in the first week in September, though if something comes up it may get pushed back to the second. I'll post the title when things are a little more firm. Until then, it is The Sci Fi Novelette of Mystery. SFNM.


Now, because these things require a little priming, I am going to give you all a little taste of the SFNM. Not properly edited, of course, but one of the better passages so far. Consider what's after the cut your mid-month bonus:

“How long has the Overseer been following us?” She asked, twisting around to face the control chair. Captain Robert Harris was tall and blond. Stars and distant sunlight glared through the stubble of his buzz cut. He was pale as a ghost. Starbleached, she thought.

            “No way to know.” His fingers moved cat quick over the transport controls. The console design was bulky and drab olive, so unlike the smooth cream-and-chrome of civilian transports. But the Marel Sanders was designed for war, and Bob Harris couldn’t have gotten his answers half as fast in a Honda Sailor or Vacuro Sandman. He hit another few dials, then flicked through a touch screen until their alien follower was dead center. “It must have been coasting on ballistic atmospherics. It’s a Fang class, no shielding, no backup…Come on Morgan, line us up one good shot.”

            “No can do, sir. It’s in the hole.”

See ya'll soon!