I’m thrilled to introduce you to fellow local author and Virginia City Writing Retreat regular, Jacci Turner.
Not only did I get to know Jacci at this year’s retreat and get a signed copy of her wonderful book, Tree Singer, but I reaped the benefits of her awesome class on character development.
We’ll be diving into her writer’s life and wisdom, so sit back and soak it all up while you enjoy your Sunday morning coffee.
Let’s Meet the Author
Jacci lives with her husband in Nevada’s high desert. They spend their mornings hiking through the sagebrush with their dog, Rosie.
Jacci loves chocolate, babies, and coffee with friends. She’s worn many hats in her lifetime: therapist, school counselor, campus minister, spiritual director, and mother. Her favorite hats are her writer and grandmother hats, which come in wild colors and don’t fit too tightly.
Jacci’s first fantasy series for young adults is the Tree Singer Series. It has three things she loves: trees, a good quest story, and a young girl who has to find her voice to bring her gifts to the world! Tree Singer was a Wishing Shelf Book Award finalist and has a fantastic Kirkus review. It is available on Audible with the incomparable Barbara Bond narrating.
Jacci’s middle grade fiction, Bending Willow, is about Riley and Mia searching for a father who doesn’t know they exist. It is the first book in The Finding Home Series. Bending Willow represented Nevada at the National Book Festival in Washington D.C and was a finalist for the Wishing Shelf Contest. All of Jacci’s books have spent time on the best-selling Amazon lists.
Her YA book, Snapped, is about Snapchat gone wrong and how to stand up to cyberbullying, and her YA book, Cracker, is an alternative history and helps us understand what it is like to be a marginalized person. Both of these books were finalists in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards.
All of Jacci’s books were gifted by a patron to the Washoe County School libraries!
Let’s Get Started
Thank you so much for chatting with us, Jacci. Can you share how you got started on your writing journey, and who or what was your biggest inspiration?
Thanks for having me!
I was a reluctant reader until my best friend introduced me to horse books! But from the time I was little, I loved theater. I used to charge the neighborhood kids a nickel to come see the plays I created. This love followed me through high school, college, and into the community where I did plays with my kids. Then, when life got too busy, I realized theater took a lot of hours and looked for another outlet for my creative storytelling and started writing. But it took until I was fifty to have the patience to do the rewriting and editing.
I’m inspired by a good found family story. I loved books about orphans when I was young, like The Box Car Children, Anne of Green Gables, Annie, and Pippi Longstocking, where there were no parents to interfere and the kids could have adventures. That idea is where my Finding Home Series came from.
I love this origin story–nickel plays Awesome!As was brought out in your wonderful bio above, you explore multiple genres, age groups, and themes in your writing. Where do you find ideas for your stories? What inspires you most?
So many things inspire me, but it usually starts with a “what if” question. Once I was at a retreat center staring at a redwood tree and thought, “What if a girl could sing to the tree and help it grow?” That’s where the Tree SingerSeries was born.
Things I read also inspire me. I read an article about how boys were using Snapchat to get girls to send them pictures of their breasts. If the girl said no, the boy would post a picture of someone else’s and say it was hers. If she said yes, he’d post hers. Either way, she got slut shamed. It was so unfair it drove me crazy. That is where Snapped came from.
What have you found to be your favorite settings in which to explore your themes? What elements in the various genres have you had the most fun with while you write?
I loved writing my fantasy series because you get to create an entire world and your own magic system. I am passionately in love with nature and grew up near Santa Cruz, so writing about trees and the ocean was a lot of fun for me.
My soon-to-be-released book, Railroad Women, is my first Historical Fiction, and I thought it would be hard to do the research, but I had a blast. For one thing, it takes place in Virginia City, and as you know, I go there often, so it was a great place to find out about the history. For another, the internet makes googling questions so easy! It was fun.
I’m so inspired by your involvement in the local writing community, giving talks, teaching classes. You have expanded that to the wider online writing communities as well. Is public outreach something you’ve been active with from the beginning, or how did it evolve?
When I turned fifty, my daughter gave me a membership to a local writer’s group. I went with my finished manuscript and sat down next to a guy who got me involved in a critique group for finished work, where I learned SO MUCH. I found the monthly meetings inspired me to keep writing, and I met people who became my support system.
Ever since then, I’ve tried to give back to the local writing community. I have a Facebook page called Northern Nevada Writers so we can share information and encourage each other. I helped start the Sierra Arts Literary Community and am involved with a few others. Whenever a new writer asks me for advice, I tell them, “Join a writer’s group.” IMO it’s the most important thing a writer can do.
I love being part of the Northern Nevada Writers group on Facebook. So much happening!What advice can you share about outreach, either in person or online? What are the benefits? Where/what platforms have you found to be the best places to spend your time and energy?
Everyone needs to find where they fit. If you write romance, find a supportive romance writers’ group. For me, the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (“SCBWI”) has been a fantastic organization to be a part of. This is where I found my critique group and some of my closest friends. They have free online training, in-person conferences, and mentor programs. I got to be a mentor in the last series and really enjoyed it.
My favorite social media platform is TikTok. They have fantastic support for book lovers under #booktok and #authortok hashtags. I’ve built a great community there. People read and review my books, invite me to live interviews, and I’ve found an editor and three narrators there.
Wonderful. Thanks for the fantastic resources, and speaking of mentoring, I enjoyed your class on character development at the Virginia City Writing Retreat this May. I’d love it if you could share your top tip with us here.
I’m a character-driven writer and as you know, a therapist. People are fascinating to me. The best advice I can give is to read the book GMC:Goals, Motivation & Conflict, The Building Blocks of Good Fiction by Debra Dixon. You have to know what is motivating your character, and it has to be BIG enough to make them take risks and make stupid decisions.
Ooh, I might have to add this one to my resource library…Where can we expect to see you give a presentation next?
I’ve got no presentations lined up at the moment although I do plan to be a mentor again next year with SCBWI. They will be taking applications soon for next year. You need to have a completed manuscript. You can check out their offerings and find your region at https://www.scbwi.org/.
On the technical side, what are your best resources for publishing, marketing, and artwork, and where or how do you go about finding them?
I have found most of my editors through Lucky Bat Books, a local publishing company where you pay for what you need – they offer editing, formatting, marketing, and cover designs. Since I’ve started, I’ve learned to do my own formatting using Atticus. It’s a great program with a pay one time and have it for life philosophy. They have good tech support. I found my cover designer on 99 Designs and absolutely love her. Her business is called Merc Studios. If you’re in a writer’s group, you can ask your friends. Everyone has favorites.
Thanks again! I have Atticus and need to explore it. I keep hearing good things, but it’s hard to switch from how you first learned to make your manuscripts, even if it isn’t the most efficient process. I’m glad for the reminder.Now a little more on your writer’s life. What is your writing schedule like, and do you have a favorite writing spot or routine? What techniques/practices help you stay creative and productive?
It always bothered me when I went to writer’s conferences and heard, “You must get up at four and write for two hours before your children get up.” That is foolish and damaging advice. I say, find out what works for you. When I was working full time, I wrote on Wednesdays because I had that day off. I’d go to the library for two to three hours and write. That was all I had in me. And I wrote my first ten books that way. Now that I’m mostly retired, I can write when I want. I’m very internally motivated, but if you need accountability, you can get some folks together to have a write-in, or go to a writing retreat, or set a timer for a writing sprint. Find what works for you.
What’s your best advice on balancing your creative time with day-to-day life?
Living life is the most important thing. I’m always telling writers, who tend to be introverted and isolated people, to get out of the house! Go for a walk, have coffee with a friend, jump out of a plane. Anything to keep the creative juices flowing. Otherwise, you’ll get burned out, and I think that’s where writer’s block comes from.
Great advice, although coffee and walking are more my pace, and in that order.😁How many books have you published to date, and can you share what’s in the works?
I have sixteen books out now, two more in the wings. The last book in the Tree Singer Series is Heart Talker and the historical fiction Railroad Women. It’s about four young people who meet at the joining of the transcontinental railroad in 1869 and end up starting new lives in Virginia City.
I also have two audiobooks in the works: the second book in the Tree Singer Series, Wind Catcher, and one for Railroad Women. I adore audiobooks and can’t wait to hear them. Last year I released the audio for Snapped and Love Virus. Love Virus is adult fiction about three women, ages 16, 35, and 75, who help each other through the pandemic. It was read by three women of those ages. So fun!
What a fantastic body of work, and congratulations on your upcoming releases!Where can we follow you to stay updated?
You can find me at https://www.jacciturner.com/ or on most social media @jacciturner my email is Jacciturnerauthor@gmail.com
Thanks again for visiting my Spotlight, Jacci. It’s been a blast. What parting advice do you have for aspiring writers?
Thanks for having me. If you’ve read this far you know what I’d say. So, just have fun. Writing should be fun. Editing, not so much, but writing yes!
Enjoy a Three-Part Supernatural Horror Story – Exactly 100 Words Each
One: Brother’s Maker
Thick rivulets of blood moved down the wall like snakes slithering into Hell. Lucius thought going there himself would be better than mucking out this foul slaughter. Hiding his brother’s crimes from Prince Remus. Death by fire, their punishment if caught.
Linus, too far gone to understand the danger, had killed another valuable hunter. Lucius labored to obliterate the evidence while Linus crouched over an arm sucking out the blood and marrow like a human sucking meat from a crab leg.
Lucius had turned his brother. Watching him deteriorate was penance. Figuring out how to stop it, his only purpose.
Two: Brother’s Keeper
Tearing his gaze from the bloody woman, Lucius grabbed crumpled newspaper from the trash bin and covered the crime. Blood soaked through, turning print to pulp. He added more. Didn’t help. Blood spouted like a geyser from her coveted jugular.
Yanking his brother, who’d pounced on her again, away from her neck, he hissed, “You couldn’t have gone another block?” Linus whipped his head around and Lucius gasped. The nerdy, giraffe-legged brother was there… briefly, then his eyes were soulless again, reflecting the red pooling in the gutter… and Linus’s stark hunger. Pain stabbed Lucius where his heart once beat
Three: Brother’s Killer
Lucius cradled the precious head he’d been commanded to remove. Pulling his blurry gaze from the body crumpled in a muddy hole, he examined their fateful surroundings—the crumbling tombstones, the sodden grass, the ancient cypress bent sideways in the wind. Despite the stinging rain, none of it felt real. They’d been vampires for countless decades, inseparable until Linus’s control deserted him. Too many laws broken, making one brother a fugitive, one a hunter. He looked into Linus’s staring eyes, “You never believed you could be ended. Didn’t you once think it would be me they sent to destroy you?”
Had to add this. I love making book covers, even for tiny fiction.
First drafts rejected. But I Keep Trying.
I was happy with my first attempt to do a 100-word story. The publisher, not so much. But that’s okay because I learned a lot in the process. These bits about vampire brothers were inspired by a minor character in my Starlight Chronicles series. I admit, writing pure horror is a challenge for me, though I love reading and watching it, the darker the better. I read Bram Stoker in my youth, along with Mary Shelly, which means those sweeping, tantalizing, horrific impressions are there, deep down, and now that I’m writing fantasy, I’m compelled to draw from their brilliance.
Vlad the Impaler has been an endlessly fascinating figure in history and fiction for me, no matter how many ways his story has been told. And today’s supernatural fantasy authors are finding entertaining ways to retell the tales. Many of them inspired me.
Luke Evans portrayed an excellent fictional Vlad. Dracula Untold sparked my imagination and gave a feel for the period and setting. I was disappointed with its box office failure, which ended hopes of a sequel. In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the trailer.
Please take a moment to read the drabbles above and let me know if I’m on the right track for a story told in exactly 100 words. Better yet, share your own 100-word story in the comments. [Update Note: Each story gone over and amended for fun August 2026.]
I love getting to know fellow writers every quarter during the Romance Book Blast as we help each other promote our books. We’re having a Blast event this month! Hundreds of romance books for free, and I thought you might enjoy meeting one of the amazing participating authors as we dive with her into a writer’s life and learn about her novels of “dark worlds and tender romances.”
Let’s Meet the Author
Morgan lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, son, and two needy cats. She’s been writing since she first learned how to hold a pencil and string words together. When not day dreaming of fantasy worlds, she can be found reading or wandering among the wildflowers.
Let’s Get Started
Thank you so much for visiting my Spotlight, Morgan.
Thanks for including me in this spotlight! I’m excited to participate.
Can you share who or what was your biggest inspiration and how you got started?
This is such a tough question. I’ve loved storytelling as long as I can remember, but I think the first author who inspired me to write fantasy was Gail Carson Levine. I especially adored The Two Princesses of Bamarre. Between her, Lord of the Rings, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and The Princess Bride, I was doomed (fated?) to write paranormal romance and romantasy.
How did you decide on your genre, and what other genres or subgenres do you want to explore?
Similar to my answer above, I think my genres came naturally to me thanks to the movies, books, and shows I was exposed to as a child. Something about the fantastical always intrigued me. I tend to write pretty dark worlds, and I think someday I’d like to experiment with cozy fantasy as a mental palette cleanser.
Oh, I like how you phrase that. Cozy and dark both work for me when it comes to romance. It’s just a matter of adjusting the atmosphere in my reading nook. As for fantasy, your books are right up my alley, vampires, gods, dark magical forests. Can you tell us a bit aboutThe Dust of the Earth TrilogyandThe Withering Wood?
The Dust of the Earth follows a reluctant born vampire (Nikki) as she navigates her transition from her human to vampiric traits. When she meets a sunshine human at her university, evil voices start whispering to her through the trees. She has to figure out what it is, what it wants, and if there’s any hope of surviving it. I have a new twist on vampires (factoring in a genetic component), and the story is full of mysteries, secrets, and friendships that are just as important as the romantic relationships.
The Withering Wood is my first dive into romantasy. It takes place in a kingdom cursed by the bones of a dead God, which traps the land in eternal winter. Our FMC, Cerise, is a retired warrior who lives in the dying woods with her sister. A mysterious stranger appears at her door, turning her quiet life upside down. She finds herself on a quest to stop the dead God from rising while also resisting the charm of a flirty prince named Oberon.
I do love a good fairytale retelling, and I’m happy the genre has taken off. What inspired you to write one and what do you love most about it?
I love fairytale retellings too! My retelling is part of a collaboration with the Portland Romance Writers, where we’re releasing a different retelling every week for 8 weeks starting August 18th. I wanted to retell a tale less frequently retold and while reading a compilation of 5 minute fairytales to my toddler (who was closer to an infant at the time) I was reminded of the story of Snow White and Rose Red. My retelling sort of spiralled out of my head from there.
I feel like I’m betraying the main characters in Dust of the Earth by saying this, but the FMC and MMC in The Withering Wood are my favorite characters I’ve ever written. Cerise is a cold-hearted warrior archetype and Oberon is ridiculously flirty so writing their banter was too much fun. I also loved creating a new world and leaning heavily into the winter vibes.
I have a writing friend who writes paranormal romance and lives in the Pacific Northwest, a region rife with fantasy vibes–all those dense, mossy forests… She attends so many wonderful markets or fairs where artists and authors can dress up as fantasy characters and share their wares, like theFae Ball EventsorThe Court of Shadow & Starlight Fantasy BallI just saw scheduled for next year. What is your favorite way to connect with readers, and what are your recommendations regarding virtual or physical engagement and why?
We really do have so many wonderful events here in the PNW. From organizers, to authors, to readers, each one I’ve been to has been a blast. These in-person events are my favorite way to connect with readers. Which surprised me at first since I’m terribly introverted. But it fits better with my communication style than over social media, which I struggle with. I see virtual and/or physical engagement work differently for different authors, so my recommendation to new authors is to experiment and see what works best for you. If you don’t vibe with social media like me, find what your boundary is with it. For example, I don’t have a face-forward account, and I tend to post more about updates or reveals. Then my social energy goes into in-person events. But others may not like in-person events and love content creation! What is successful for one person may not work for another, so don’t sweat it too much and do what works best for you. You don’t need to burn yourself out. You will find your readers.
What are your top tips on marketing and publishing?
Join a local author group if you can. Being in the Portland Romance Writers has been an amazing experience. Writing a story is a solitary endeavor, but marketing and publishing doesn’t have to be. Having a support group and people you can workshop blurbs, hooks, graphics with, or even just vent when you’re feeling down about your career can be helpful. They can also give recommendations for editors and cover designers who are effective, affordable, and trustworthy.
I love it! Thanks for that advice. I see that you offer signed copies of your books on your website. I would love to offer that option for my books. How easy is it to set up a store and can you share a few tips?
I am not a tech savvy person and have had a few people help me tweak my store. I’ve had to watch a lot of videos on how to use WordPress and the add-ons to navigate it. I use Square for in-person events and was able to attach it to my website; so, I’d recommend looking into if a platform you already use for sales can be connected to help keep sales in one place.
Awesome, thanks! Besides your website, where are the best place(s) to find you and your books?
My books are available on Amazon and KU: The first book in my trilogy also recently released on audible and the second is coming soon!
Congratulations on the Audible! Your cover art is amazing. Can you tell us about it?
Thank you! I was originally published through a small press and they designed the covers for Dust of the Earth. Each silhouette is a different main character (Nikki, Gwen, and Xander) and each book has the cover character’s POV added. The image within their silhouette represents a key aspect or influence in their journey.
Can you give us a sneak peek at what’s coming next?
I sure can! Speaking of covers, there may be a few special editions on the horizon … besides that I can say there will be more infrequently retold fairytales. While I’ll stay in the romantasy genre, I will be taking a “dive” into a new world.
Fantastic. Now, for more on your writer’s life. Do you write full time? What is your writing schedule like and what are your favorite methods or tools to balance writing with day-to-day life and keep you productive and those creative juices flowing? Do you have a favorite writing spot?
I wish I wrote full time and my goal is to do so someday. I currently have a day job where I work remote from home while also taking care of my toddler. I generally have to get my writing done early in the morning before my kid wakes up and before I start my day job, because once those two things are going all creative juices are sapped. Though there’s a part of me that’s still brainstorming and I jot down notes here and there as I can. It can be really tough to keep the motivation going with so much going on, but reminding myself that writing is the most rejuvenating, fulfilling activity for me helps. I have to take life as it ebbs and flows and remember that someday I’ll be able to be more consistent with writing again.
My favorite writing spot is my office. I love having my own space which is surrounded by my favorite books and bookish art. I just get to soak in the lovely, literary vibes. I also like writing in our backyard when the weather is nice.
Wonderful. I could get into having a home library writing nook for sure and give me any yard with all that greenery in the PNW, and I can see the inspiration flowing. Thanks again for dropping by, Morgan, and good luck with the Romance Book Blast. Any parting advice for aspiring writers?
Thanks so much for inviting me! I hope the RBB goes well for you too. My parting advice for aspiring writers is to not give up. Find your people. Aspiring can be daunting. Debuting can be discouraging. But find your support group and keep plugging along. You’ll get there!
This story is a single journal entry in Book One, Ursus Borealis, in The Starlight Chronicles series. I found it rather fun to write a story within a story within a story. It nestles in a chapter featuring Kuliana Hada, a character that appears throughout the series, who is an Anurashin Captain of the Guard. Cynthia is her ancestress.
Cynthia’s story is incorporated into an actual historical account about the White Ship that sailed in 1120 as described. Its sinking changed history.
This sounds impossible, I know. You will just have to take my word for it. That is, if you’re from a realm apart from this hidden place beneath a volcano, and if this message manages to reach you, as I hope.
My life began on a farm in the County of Anjou. It was forever changed when I met a bear from Normandy.
After immersing myself in the astonishing world of my mate and the kingdoms of the shifters, learning there was life beyond this Earth before reaching the heavens took only a few extra pints to swallow down. That, and meeting Zigan. It turns out that Zigan and I are old souls who have danced through this journey before in many previous lifetimes.
How my soul was chosen for this repeated Earth-bound destiny remains a mystery, but my magus spent many hours over wine in our chateau, sharing what he knew of our history, or rather, the history of the prophecy of the marked maidens.
As for Zigan, up until we met—in this time—he had spent his life training with the Order, which included studying the records in the extensive archives and all forms of alchemy. He had also been honed into a fierce warrior. Even more astonishing, he could transform into a stunning feline, which I learned was called a tiger.
For eight years, I experienced what it was to be part of the Pack, to be soulmates with its alpha, to be one part of a wondrous whole. We were successful in our purpose, keeping the princes’ machinations from the human population and mitigating the damage.
This is the part at the end of our story. Writing it down is agony because it chronicles the event that halted our purpose violently, tore me from those I loved, and marked the beginning of my slow and lonely death. Still, it must be told.
It takes place starting mid-morning on the 25th day of November in the year 1120. We arrived at Barfleur near the coast of Normandy after confirming the location of the current plot of Aviel Enair, the oldest and most formidable of the three sibling princes.
We lacked the details, but we knew his scheme would involve the sailing vessel known as the White Ship, renowned for its speed and beauty, now carrying the only legitimate heir to King Henry I across the English Channel.
###
Frustration gripped me as I wrapped my arm around myself, trying to catch my breath after running the length of the docks. I called out to my mate, who was approaching behind me.
“It is just as we feared, Aldric. The ship has almost reached the Quilleboeuf!”
As I spoke, three hundred souls sailed away, including other nobles and the heir, and the loss would be catastrophic to the burgeoning English monarchy.
When we learned that the king’s seventeen-year-old son, William Adelin, desired to sail on this elegant vessel while his father sailed ahead of him, and that Aviel had set his sights on it, we considered the hazards the Anurashin prince might exploit. The ship had a good reputation and so did its captain, Thomas FitzStephen, whose father had taken the prince’s grandfather, William the Conqueror, across the same sea.
The only evident risk was sailing past Gatteville, where hidden rocks such as the Quilleboeuf lay waiting for careless sailors. But FitzStephen was surely used to navigating such hazards.
I breathed in the salty air to sharpen my mind while I considered our options. The raucous calls of seagulls ebbed overhead as they congregated, fought, and flew off with morsels of fish as their prize. Despite the size and piercing eyes of the warrior next to me, we stood unnoticed among the throng of bodies rushing toward their duties on the bustling docks.
“You must call Zigan, my love,” Aldric said, drawing me to his side and offering his warmth as I shivered from the urgency of our task and the breeze cooling the sweat of my exertion.
Although we were French, our purpose as part of this prophetic trio was to maintain the balance of power fated for this world in our time. According to Zigan’s archives, when the princes interfered, it fared badly for the human populations.
That meant we were trained to take risks, and we discovered this scheme by becoming captives of the princes at their temporary encampment while each enjoyed inflicting painful retribution on us for our past successes. But Aviel allowed his brothers’ torment to go only so far, which we’d learned to count on, though we didn’t understand it.
Our plan included an escape.
It went perfectly until we ran into a trap and had to leave our pack behind to fight, which also delayed our arrival. A worry was taking hold in me that the last eight years of joy and strife might culminate on these docks. Still, I pushed on.
After placing the insides of my wrists together, my tiger appeared, first as an image on my skin, then as a man stepping out of a gray mist, calmly taking us in with fathomless dark eyes. His markings glowed bright gold against his bronze arms, and his silky black hair waved in the breeze.
“We need to get aboard that ship, Zigan.” I pointed to the sails disappearing north along the coast to Gatteville. “Can you haze us there?”
“Yes, precious one. But I may not have the ability to get you back.”
“Let me go with him,” Aldric said. “If the ship were to sink, and Zigan cannot return us both…” He let that thought trail off as he looked at me in that fierce way that melted my heart.
The powerful love I had for this man, this larger-than-life Norman-born warrior who shared the spirit of a mighty brown bear, still overwhelmed me after all these years. We had not taken one moment of our time for granted, knowing the dangers inherent in my destiny.
“But I must be the one on that ship, Aldric,” I said as I clutched his hand. “We have no idea what is planned, and we need my instincts as a marked maiden.”
“Vous serez remarquée, ma bien-aimée. I can blend in and discern the situation. We must go now, as they quickly approach the rocks.”
I stood on my toes and brought his face close to mine, gazing into his brown eyes to see his bear gleaming at me, a magnificent creature he could transform into at will. Our lips met for an exquisite moment before I stepped back.
“I will bring him back safely,” Zigan said, taking hold of my mate.
They disappeared. I took shelter and waited. They returned in Zigan’s mist in less than thirty minutes.
Aldric and I moved together without thinking, as we did after every parting. Satisfied with the reunion, he gave his report. “Nearly everyone on board was drunk on wine and betting on a race to beat the king to England. The ship sailed fast, pushing its limits. Not more than ten minutes after we arrived, it hit the rocks and foundered.” I gasped in dismay, but he assured me the king’s son had made it to a lifeboat.
Without warning, warriors in the garb of another time appeared in a heavy mist that seemed to roll in from the sea. We assumed battle stances as they surrounded us, Zigan and Aldric drawing their swords. I shouted the cry of the Pack and raised my own blade. The clash of steel rang out across the harbor as bystanders rushed to get out of the way.
We held our own against a dozen until my sword was knocked from my hand. Vice-like arms grabbed me from behind, and Aldric’s roar shook the planks beneath our feet. But the Anurashin warrior kept me from my mate’s reach, letting the others leap in between us, forcing Aldric to slice his way to me.
“The prince has his sights on you, maiden,” the warrior said in my ear. “Did you not think he would succeed?”
“No matter that he tries, I will never be his!”
Springing my knife from my sleeve, I lunged back, shoved it between the ribs of my tormentor, and twisted. The warrior grunted in pain, but his grip did not loosen. Aldric dodged blades, slammed his fists into faces, and rammed bodies while I struggled to pull free.
Zigan moved so fast that arcs of blood hovered in the air where he last appeared. But when he got close enough to reach for me, the warrior jerked us back, and two others lunged for him.
To my utter horror, dual strikes took Zigan’s head.
My knees buckled from the agony tearing through my heart and then through my whole being, as Zigan’s soul was ripped from mine with brutal force. I never imagined our bond could be so viciously severed or that the warrior magus was anything but invincible.
A sickening realization sank like a stone in my belly. This had been Aviel’s plan all along—why he let us escape. He had engineered the entire scheme to kill my magus, seize me, and destroy the Pack de Normande.
What was left of my heart was shattered when Aldric stepped into the path of a blade to reach for me, ignoring the pain, desperate to save me as he felt the agony of my loss and our loss to come.
The mist I dreaded grew thick, and I felt as if I were breaking into tiny pieces. None of this could be happening!
The devastated face of my mate told me he had come to the same incomprehensible conclusion while he watched me fade into bits, so close to him our fingers nearly touched.
I poured my heart and soul into my words. “I will love you forever!”
The sound that followed was the fierce roar of a wounded bear.
I dare you to ride along with the masked passengers on this journey through a swamp with a destination perfectly designed for serial killers on a retreat.
The Ferryman guided the gondola along a watery path, only he knew the secrets to, as it transported a half-dozen specially chosen masked passengers to an exclusive event. Though each eyed him with suspicion, they appeared confident he would get them to their destination. They had to believe that because he was their only means of travel.
This sort would never admit they were at his mercy. They would talk instead as if the opposite were true, but he saw the questions in their eyes. The Ferryman always saw the questions mirrored in each set of eyes exactly thirty minutes in. That was when the narrow boat passed the last shack squatting in the shadows of the densely wooded shore, casting its grudging light from tiny windows.
The rickety dwelling belonged to Old Maeve, and even if one of his passengers suddenly had a revelation and begged to be let off here, they would find no help, only the same hospitality that waited for them at the end of the line. But no passenger ever had a clue this early, which was why the Ferryman’s job never ceased to be entertaining.
It was the moment when Maeve’s lights winked out, obscured by the dense canopy of moss-laden cypress, the vegetation also serving to shroud the stars like a falling curtain, that the nervous chatter started. He waited now for the dawning realization that a lantern full of lightning bugs hanging from the bow and a sketchy crescent moon were all that remained to show them the way.
He could see the worry lines etched across their foreheads, but none of them ever admitted to being scared any more than they would own up to the fact they needed him. After all, they were in the business of causing terror.
The Ferryman could guess with precision who would be the first to speak, and on cue, it was the chubby face under a fox mask who aimed a question at the skinny Humpty Dumpty.
“I heard we had to have no less than twenty victims dead and buried in well-hidden places to get an invitation to this shindig. I’ve surpassed that. How about you?”
The mask mix-up was a typical prank his employer played on a random passenger during each trip. It added to the fun and, more importantly, broke the monotony for the Ferryman—an employment perk, you might say.
Instead of answering, Humpty Dumpty, whose mask was too big for his pointy face, lifted his bony butt from the seat and swung around to sit on the other side of the gondola. Exactly the response the Ferryman had predicted. He was satisfied with his perks, but it would be nice if his passengers would occasionally surprise him.
“I’ve heard lots of things about these parties,” said the lone female with a cat mask who answered the fat fox. “The final feast is said to be unsurpassed for its sumptuousness. But that’s not why I came. There’s a rumor that one of you is the famous Crescent Moon Vampire. I wonder if you will be able to control your urges this weekend.” She parted her collar and stretched her pale neck like an offering.
No one took her up on it or even flinched a muscle.
After a brief silence, the fox let out a nervous snort, and the narrow mask that exposed more of the doughy face than anyone needed to see fluttered so that he had to grab it and adjust the strings.
“I don’t know about a vampire,” rumbled the passenger in the snake mask who’d been keeping to the shadows. “But you’re a brave one to travel with men who, if they’re like me, love to hate women in creative and painful ways. Still, you must have doled out your own hate to be here. Sticking your neck out is a bit risky, don’t you think?”
“You pretty reptile,” Cat Woman drawled, “there’s no hate involved. I love to love men. It’s not my fault when they fail to survive it.”
“If she is who we think she is, gentlemen, watch your backs, or more to the point, your willies,” said one of the two identical gray-haired demons.
Her eyes shone through the mask, just like a cat’s should.
The Ferryman was also pleased to have twins aboard. Passengers who murdered together were, at the very least, uncommon.
The fox snorted again before he could stop himself, a nervous mannerism the Ferryman always enjoyed and expected from at least one of them. “What’s with the Ferryman?” the fox said, shrugging to play down his worry. “That crow mask looks like he stuck a dead bird on his face. And how about those robes? Doesn’t he know it’s sweltering in this bog? And where is his sickle?”
Timing it perfectly so that the crescent moon peeked through the canopy and glinted off the curved blade, the Ferryman produced the required prop with a swoosh of his robes and the ringing of steel. He settled the staff at his feet and grinned beneath his mask as stifled gasps rippled along the gondola—another perk, eliciting the maximum effect with his masterful reveal.
“We’re all overdressed. It’s a requirement, is it not?” The twin demon said, ignoring the dire implications and returning to the party discussion. He held up a piece of embossed paper to the feeble light.
“It says, ‘To be allowed onto Isla la Sombra, you must be in possession of your invitation. You should be dressed in proper attire, wearing the masks provided to you, and prepared to be filled with fine foods and wine. You will also be wowed by the tricks of the trade and the experts in your field. Should you succeed through every challenge, you will partake in a special feast.’ It is a strange mix of formality and mystery, to be sure,” he concluded.
“The words on their own would not cause concern,” his brother chimed in. “But now that we’re deep into this watery maze, traveling in a gondola that seems out of place and time and operated by a silent, robed figure who should be plying the River Styx, I’m looking at the invitation with new eyes.”
“Like any good party,” Cat Woman said, “it is merely the host tantalizing us with the amenities. After all, types like us go to great lengths to avoid exposure. But I, for one, could not turn down the offer to immerse myself in the ‘tricks of the trade’ or meet the most notorious guest speakers from our ranks. Isn’t the underground chatter why you all ventured out of your nests?”
A bumpy outline rippled through the duckweed, and the Ferryman waited. Sure enough, the bleats of fear that followed could have been cues in a movie script as each passenger spotted Douglas.
“Shit! Look at the size of that alligator! Um… Ferryman, may I call you Ferryman? I’ll take your silence as a sign we won’t be attacked. I’m sure our hosts don’t want us to be eaten.”
That misguided assumption came from the pudgy fox. He voiced another concern that often arises during these journeys… Leave it to the nerve-ridden chatterbox.
“I wonder how far our mysterious destination is. For all we know, we could circle these murky waters forever if our pilot is as immortal as he looks.”
That comment had all eyes turning to the Ferryman.
Each passenger flinched when he spoke in his best sepulchral voice, “Arrival is in thirty minutes. And Douglas will leave you intact, so long as you keep your limbs in the boat.”
“Got it,” the fox said after a snort, even as his eyes widened behind the mask. Under his breath, he added, “A lot can happen in thirty minutes.” He lightened things up. “I’m sure it’s no surprise I came for the promise of the excellent food. They say the finale will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven, not that I have any expectation of going there.”
“Hmmm. That makes me wonder whether you might be the Cafeteria Killer,” the snake said, squinting an eye at the fox. “The one who likes to add special ingredients to the school menu. They say he’s rotund with the guileless face of a child. It’s astonishing how many kids disappear before the killer moves on. I bet the littlest tots were a tender addition to the tuna casserole.” He paused. “So, what foods do you think might be offered at a banquet in honor of the best in the business?”
“We’re not supposed to guess which legends we’re traveling with,” the fox said petulantly, tapping his mask. “It says so in the fine print. Didn’t you read it? And how would I know what an island at the ass end of nowhere has to offer? But it will be spectacular if our host lives up to his promise because, as you said, we’re the best.”
“I wouldn’t think too highly of yourself, fox boy,” said a twin in his cultured voice. “The host might have special plans for you. Didn’t you notice the fun being poked at you with that mask meant for the wiry Humpty Dumpty? Still, I wonder. Perhaps it was assigned to you intentionally. Foxes are treed by dogs every day. Your plump body would make a great main course. Fitting for the Cafeteria Killer.”
“You all are making a lot of assumptions,” the fox retorted. “If my mask means something, so do yours.”
“The details about these masked balls never have a source,” Cat Woman burst out, sounding worried for the first time. “They appear on the message boards, but I’ve never seen anything other than generic usernames linked to them.”
“What do you mean?” Snake Man asked.
“There’s nothing to prove they came from attendees. I wonder why that never occurred to me before?”
A twin offered a reasonable explanation. “It could simply mean the authors of the chats want to be anonymous. That’s not unusual for criminals of the most wanted variety.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “This creepy journey is making me paranoid. But what if it’s all a trick? Where does that leave us?” She sighed and then fixed a suddenly heated gaze on the twins. Her voice turned sultry. “I think I know who you are. There aren’t many twins who murder together. I’ve never had twins.”
The Ferryman appreciated her skill in switching gears so quickly. This cat woman was turning out to be an extra delight.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “You both have fine mouths below those intriguing, fiery red masks and lovely grey hair.”
“We’re flattered,” the second twin purred in kind, flashing his teeth in a grin, “but you couldn’t handle even one of us, my dear, and we like our willies right where they are.”
The nervous fox must have spent this time mulling over the idea that he might be prey for a hunt, and he piped back in. “What if we were all invited to be nothing more than the main course? Who would ever know we went missing?”
The aloof Humpty Dumpty spoke for the first time, his gravelly voice ominous. “The messenger who sent my invitation went by Jeffrey Hannibal.”
“So did mine. So what?” said the snake.
Cat Woman’s forehead creased, then her eyebrows leaped above her mask. “Mine was Lector Dahmer,” she squeaked.
Each of them sat straighter, and the Ferryman could almost see light bulbs turning on above their heads. This inevitable perk was his favorite before completing another successful charter, and he savored it.
The twin who’d read the invitation held the embossed paper to the light again. “This is signed, ‘Cordially, your host, Lector Dahmer.’”
They all jumped up so quickly that the boat rocked, causing them to lurch back into their seats.
In a voice full of doom, the Ferryman urged, “Settle down, passengers. You don’t want to fall in. Have you forgotten Douglas?”
They each went still, then carefully settled back in their seat just as the gondola glided into a lagoon. Off in the thick vegetation, a steady drumbeat sounded, and savory smells wafted to them through the ghostly trunks of cypress. Tall, shadowy forms emerged dressed in loincloths, and a closer look at the smiling faces revealed teeth filed to razor-sharp points.
The fox leaped up faster than anyone might imagine a pudgy serial killer could move and shoved the Ferryman over the side.
His fellow passengers cried out in shocked dismay. Then, grins widened under each mask when a ripple that could only be Douglas closed in on the dark robes sinking beneath the duckweed. As the drums beat in rhythm with the rocking gondola, now devoid of a pilot, and more of their ghoulish hosts lined up on the water’s edge to greet them, each passenger rose again to face the others, sure one of them would have the next brainy idea.
I hope you enjoyed this story I was delighted to write under a tough challenge. The requirements were a 2000-word maximum (I’ve expanded this version), a new for me genre, Cannibal Comedy, a ferryman as the character, and the subject, Masked Party.
It all happened in the Writing Battle Autumn 2022 Short Story Contest. I recommend participating for the fabulous feedback from peers, and the professionals… if you make it through the duels.
Artwork by me using the Photoleap and Canva.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story and supporting an indie author. Comments welcome.
If you would like to make a contribution, you can purchase this story along with twelve others in my short story collection, Priss Starwillow & the Wolf, a Starlight Chronicles Short Story, and other stories. Also available on Audible.
Yes, this is about murder mysteries that make us feel good—a paradoxical genre, if there ever was one. Stories that have us curling up with a hot cup of cocoa on a chilly day to solve a crime alongside our favorite quirky, clever, and often reluctant hero. Someone sort of like ourselves—but not quite—who lives in a sleepy seaside town (with an inexplicably high crime rate), owns a charming shop, or runs a cozy home business that puts them in the path of murder, prompting them to develop a heretofore unknown knack for solving crimes. Or maybe, they come with a background perfect for the job.
For all those feels we crave, there’s usually a bestie or group of besties, a clever or goofy pet, or a sexy detective on the way to becoming a lover—either helping things along or making life more complicated, or both—and a backdrop involving something we’ve wanted to try but never found the time for. Okay, so we make the time to read. Why not kill two birds with one stone?
Here are some of my favorites: knitting, crocheting, needlework, antiquing, baking, catering, bed-and-breakfast hospitality, a witch hosting a secret vampire book club in an attic above her shop, K-9 search and rescue, dog shows, dog sledding, and even a sentient cat and corgi detective duo who adore their clever human and life on a farm. Then there are the historical periods, and more exotic pursuits like Egyptology or archaeology. Have I intrigued you enough yet?
If you happen to be a person who hasn’t read a cozy mystery, here’s a list to get you started including many of those I alluded to above. You might also enjoy this brief blog on the history of the cozy genre and how it filled a niche.
Richie Billing covers the cozy genres in a conversation with authors Jami Albright and Sara Rosett, where they also talk about marketing a series, author branding, and book launches on The Fantasy Writer’s Toolshed. I hope you find it as enjoyable and informative as I did.
Thank you for visiting and supporting an indie author. For more cozy reading, check out my paranormal romance novels at bydllewellyn.com.
I am so excited to have my dear friend and author, Lucky Noma, back on my Spotlight! And, wow, does he have an awesome new release to share!
Lucky was one of my first guests several years ago. Since then, we have regularly chatted, worked together on projects, and provided feedback on each other’s work. So, when I was recently blown away by his latest book, CHROMATIC CONCORDAT: Gray Rising, I jumped at the chance to feature it and visit with my friend for a fun Q&A.
Let’s Meet The Author
Lucky Noma is a writer who blends fantasy and horror to create immersive, multi-layered stories. His works, including Fractured Soul, Sand Scriptures, and African Horror Story, explore deep narratives with unique perspectives. Through novels and short stories, he continues to craft worlds that captivate and challenge readers.
Not the gray of clouds, or ash, or dusk, but the kind that eats at the edges of everything. Born silent in a Dominion where colors sing, burn, heal, and kill, the world called her a void. Her village called her cursed. And Havayah? She called herself no one, a hollow.
But a hollow is a dangerous thing to underestimate.
When the Ma’or Council brands her a threat for lacking Chromatic attunement—the sacred bond to color that defines life — an empathic investigator named Nefesh makes a choice: to protect her instead of condemning her. Together, they uncover the Council’s devastating plan — to use the shattered Prismatic Nexus, remnants of the world’s raw luminance, to achieve absolute control over the color spectrums while casting out those they deem “colorless.” The rebels fighting against them promise liberation, but their revolution holds its own darkness.
What no one realizes is that the girl they dismissed—the one born without a single thread of color—has no intention of playing savior. Through underwater cities and skies stained with power, Havayah will forge her own path. Because when the world gave her nothing, she learned to take everything.
This is not a story of saving the world—
Let’s Get Started
Thank you very much for joining us today, Lucky. First, I must say that this description is absolutely captivating! Makes me want to crack that beautiful cover and dive in. Which is what I did.Let’s begin by reflecting on the past. What inspired you to write fiction, and how long have you been writing?
LN: Thank you, Darci! Always great to be here—though if I make too many typos, let’s just call it creative spelling. That sounds like something Nefesh would say, but eh, well—where do I even begin?
I would say my journey into fiction started with falling in love with stories as a reader first. When I discovered City of Stairs by Robert Jackson Bennett, I was captivated by the world-building and how it blended fantasy with deeper themes. Then came A Dance with Dragons by George R.R. Martin and The Axe and the Throne by M.D. Ireman—both masterclasses in character development and moral complexity. Those books showed me that stories could be both entertaining and profound.
What drove me to write was an itch to create a unique world system—with diverse characters appearing in my mind, demanding to be put on paper. So I did what was necessary. As with most of my fantasy novels, I started by building the map, then gave the characters room to roam free. Sometimes, I see myself as nothing more than a scribe, just recording their deeds
—And, remarkably, this year marks a decade since I first sat down and started writing. It’s been quite the journey, filled with late nights, countless revisions, burnt manuscripts, and the realization that it would take two lifetimes to write all I intend to. My first novel, ‘A Kingdom Bleeds,’ is still unpublished—and it was the project that started everything for me. Sometimes, I think of it as my training ground, where I learned what writing demands of you. Perhaps one day it will see the light, but it holds a special place, though I fear my writing has changed, and I’d need to rework everything about it. That might take another year or two. Hmm.
DLL:I can hear Nefesh saying that, and I’ll be sharing a few of my favorite Nefesh quips later so we can enjoy his singular wit. Thank you for the fabulous book recs. The Axe and the Throne grabbed my attention, especially. I confess, I haven’t made it far through the Game of Thrones series. I haven’t had that sort of time for marathon reads, but they’re all loaded on my Audible app.
I love your “map first” inspiration technique! The world fleshed out before your characters begin to navigate it. Awesome. One of the things I enjoy most about interviewing writers is discovering all their unique processes, and this one really struck my imagination. I’m glad you found your training ground because we can benefit from your excellent progression with each amazing story and culminate our journey inside the captivating world of Chromatic Concordat.
Where do you find your mind bending story ideas?
LN: I’m drawn to the void, where I fight my existential demons and where everything feels surreal. My ideas often emerge from mundane life moments that can change in a heartbeat. Of course, this didn’t happen overnight. I was always drawn to thought-provoking stories that mess with your perception. Shows like Legion completely rewired my brain—or let’s look at Mononoke, not the Ghibli film, but the anime series—and just last December, a movie—have you seen it? The way it used abstract visuals and psychological horror to tell stories about human nature blew my mind open.
These stories taught me to look for the uncanny in everyday life. The natural world is already bizarre if you pay attention. Have you ever really looked at how trees communicate underground through fungal networks or considered what consciousness might feel like to a creature that lives only for a day? I collect these oddities like others might collect stamps.
And, to be honest, my best ideas come when I’m least expecting them. Sometimes, it’s when I’m stressed and need to press pause on reality by dreaming up sequences. Other times, and like with almost every other author or writer, it’s when I’m half awake, between sleep and needing to pee.
What’s wild is the feeling when you catch one of these ideas—There’s this rush of ‘wait, what was that?’ and then this compulsion to chase it down. Half the time, I’m terrified of what I might find, but that’s how I know it’s good. If it makes me uncomfortable to write it, chances are it’ll stick with readers, too.
DLL: Ooh, I love that about chasing it down and being afraid of finding it. This explains so much about your writing, Lucky, and makes me glad you didn’t give up the search. I could use a little rewiring, too.
Your earlier books focus on dark fantasy-horror. Your latest, Fractured Soul, SandScriptures, and CHROMATIC CONCORDAT: Gray Rising, explore the human condition through thoroughly multidimensional, abstract, yet relatable representations of life. Your storytelling is captivating in all your books. Can you discuss your evolution in storytelling from dark to esoteric fantasy, comparing the genres you’ve explored and sharing what you prefer?
LN: Evolution. Hmm. Well, let’s retrace my steps and see how that happened. Err, with African Horror Story, I was drawn to primal fears and survival instincts. I wanted to explore horror through a cultural lens, examining how fear manifests within specific traditions and beliefs. The story follows Onam’s desperate struggle against both human monsters and supernatural forces, creating tension through immediate physical and spiritual danger.
Fractured Soul marked my transition toward more conceptual storytelling. While still retaining dark elements, I explored more abstract concepts—the commodification of identity, the fragmentation of self, and the price of wholeness in a world where everything, even one’s soul, can be bought and sold. The surrealistic elements allowed me to build a world that serves as both setting and metaphor.
With Sand Scriptures, my work became even more metaphysical. I challenged myself to create a protagonist who begins as literally nothing—a grain of sand—and follows a journey of becoming. Sand Scriptures did represent my deepest dive into philosophical themes, using fantasy as a vehicle to explore existential questions about consciousness, purpose, and the nature of stories.
Chromatic Concordat represents my current ‘evolution’ like you said, blending the psychological depth of my earlier works with the abstract conceptualism of my later ones while making sure fantasy served as its backbone. Through Havayah’s story of a world where colors have power, I examined marginalization (as in Havayah’s case as she’s born without color attunement), power structures, and self-determination. The world-building is both concrete and symbolic, allowing readers to engage with the story on multiple levels.
While I love high fantasy and horror with psychological themes and great world-building, I also try to blend all three together. To choose my absolute favorite would be difficult, as I love writing across multiple genres. Each approach offers unique tools for storytelling—horror provides visceral impact, high fantasy allows for expansive world-building, and more abstract fantasy lets me explore complex themes through metaphor.
What drives me isn’t necessarily the genre, but finding the right narrative framework to explore the questions that fascinate me about human existence, identity, power, and the realization that even the damned can be great, as seen with all my characters.
DLL: Awesome! Thank you for sharing this insight into your talent for blending those three genres into something unique and compelling.
In Chromatic Concordat, your main characters, Nefesh and Hayayah, are incredibly compelling. They truly drew me into this intricate world, enticed me to follow their journey, and assisted me in navigating the fantastical realm you’ve crafted with such vivid detail while entertaining me. Can you share what inspired their creation and how it came to be?
LN: Havayah’s character came from exploring what it means to be defined by absence rather than presence. In a land where color determines everything about your place in society, your abilities, and even your worth. I wanted to create a protagonist who had to define herself without any of those external markers. Her journey isn’t about discovering some hidden power, but rather about recognizing that existing outside the system gives her a unique perspective and advantages that no one else can see.
Nefesh (Hebrew name for soul or breath — PS: Don’t check out the Hebrew meaning of Havayah) — was developed as someone deeply embedded in the color system developed by the Ma’or Council who begins to question it. His empathic abilities made him uniquely positioned to see beyond society’s prejudices. While most see Havayah as a void or a threat, he sees her as a person first. His character explores how privilege can either blind us or, if we’re willing, help us become allies to those without it.
The relationship between these two characters allowed me to explore themes of belonging, systemic oppression, and the false dichotomy between revolution and conformity. Neither character fits neatly into the roles their world has assigned them, which is precisely what makes them capable of challenging it.
DLL: And exactly why your story is hard to put down.So, of course, I looked up Nefesh. But I won’t add any spoilers!
I know I’m captured by the writing when I mark so many passages, and with your permission, Lucky, I would like to quote a few of my favorite lines.
“Hmm,” Nefesh said, tilting his head further until his ear touched his shoulder. “Tell me, do you believe coffee has political aspirations? This cup, for instance, harbors anarchist sympathies. Note the way it refuses to acknowledge established thermal conventions.
…
“[W]hen you heard about this case, did you feel like all the colors in the world took a single step to the left?”
“I… what?”
“Never mind. It’s not important. What’s important is that my coffee cup was right.” He turned to the cup, bowing. “I apologize for doubting your revolutionary insights. Clearly, the established order of things is more fragile than we thought.”
“Your anxiety, it resonates with salted caramel mixed with a hint of urgent telegram. You have a case for me. Something that made you skip breakfast – no, wait.” He leaned forward, sniffing the emotional residue around her. “Something that made you forget you skipped breakfast. Interesting.”
Havayah’s perspective:
Dr. Kerah approached with a reassuring smile, but the expression sat badly on her face like borrowed clothing that didn’t quite fit.
“Tell us about the first time you realized you were different,” Dr. Kerah said, her voice taking on the soft edge of a blade wrapped in silk.
Nefesh’s grip was firm. He pulled her from the tumult of her thoughts and into the razor’s edge of action.
“Why, indeed?” [Nefesh] said, his fingers brushing over his beard. “Perhaps I was lured by the irresistible charm of chaos. Or perhaps I thought someone needed to remind you that you’re not alone.
He approached the submersible like someone greeting an old acquaintance, his fingers brushing against its surface. “She’ll hold. Stubborn things like this always do.”
And here’s a bit of that amazing world-building that is easier to share than me trying to put words to it:
From the Seder Ha’Gev Codex,
“Reflections on the Edge”
Circa 890 CD (CHROMATIC DIVERGENCE)
The Spectral Frontier can’t be called just a place–oh no, I refuse to accept that, but it is a conversation between the colors that only those who dare abandon their attunement can hear…
It is said that to venture into the Frontier is to risk the Blanking. But Blanking is not death. It is becoming unmoored from the Prism, stepping beyond the comfort of color into the void where light breaks forever. To some, it is freedom; to others, damnation.
So, I have the same question, Lucky, regarding this highly imaginative yet strangely believable color-attuned futuristic society. Was it a dream? Where did this amazing place spring from?
LN: Thanks for sharing those quotes, Darci… Means a lot.
Well, Chromatic Concordat and its world, The Spectrum Dominion, came from a fascinating convergence of inspirations rather than a single source. It wasn’t exactly a dream, though I do keep a dream journal that occasionally feeds into my creative process.
However, the initial spark came during a period when I was interested in synesthesia—the neurological phenomenon where stimulation of one sensory pathway leads to experiences in another, like ‘seeing’ sounds or ‘tasting’ colors. I became fascinated by how differently people can perceive the same world based on their sensory processing.
This interest collided with my observations about social hierarchies and how arbitrary differences become the basis for systems of power and exclusion. I began wondering what a society might look like if color perception wasn’t just a personal experience but a tangible force that determined one’s place and power.
The Chromatic attunement system grew from there. The idea that colors had life became both a literal magic system and a metaphor for how societies categorize people. Havayah’s character emerged as the ultimate outsider—someone who exists outside this fundamental system of classification as she’s born gray.
I also drew inspiration from my tiny background in art theory and the emotional and cultural associations we have with different colors across cultures. The underwater cities as we have in the Azure Depths where Nefesh is from or Ruboria, the Sea of Fire, the Dead Deep, came from wanting to create environments where color wasn’t just visual but immersive and essential to survival according to its inhabitant’s attunements.
What I find most interesting about creating this world is how a fantastical premise—a society structured around color attunement—allows me to explore very real questions about belonging.
The world may be ‘strangely believable,’ as you put it, because beneath the fantastical color magic, the emotional and social dynamics are drawn from real human experiences of being classified, marginalized, or fighting to define oneself outside the categories others impose.
DLL: “This interest collided with my observations about social hierarchies and how arbitrary differences become the basis for systems of power and exclusion.” Yes! And how intriguing to use color. My love of art and color must be why this society speaks to me so strongly. Header art like these samples contributed to my immersion and enjoyment of the story.
I know that this complex story flew from your fingers in a relatively short time. How long did you live with it before you began writing it? What was it like to have something like this take off and grow such expansive wings? How did you go about developing the history?
LN: For a few weeks, just before I lost my KDP account (around late October), the core concept lived in my head. I kept returning to the Spectrum Dominion, adding layers and complexities during quiet moments and commutes.
I had to answer some questions, too—how would this society function? What would its history be? Who would be marginalized, and how would they resist?
And when I decided to commit my ideas to paper—or rather, to Google Docs—I spent about a week arranging the five color provinces and establishing the fundamental rules of this universe. Creating the map (which took about another week) was crucial. Seeing the physical layout of Ruboria, the Viridian Expanse, Azure Depths, Aureus Fields, and Violetia helped me understand how these societies would interact, where tensions would arise, and how my characters would navigate this world.
NaNoWriMo provided the perfect opportunity to dive in headfirst. I wrote about 40,000 words in November and solidified the story’s backbone. Next, I watched as Nefesh and Havayah built their relationship, uncovering their motives and ultimate goals.
Between December and early January, the world took on a more definitive turn, with Havayah and Nefesh realizing what they had to do to survive—and maybe even change things. What started as a narrative about a colorless child and her protector first evolved into an adventure. Then, I watched as it delved into action and noticed how attached Havayah was to Nefesh.
In Chapters Twelve and Thirteen, she proved this in ways that kind of left me stupefied. Alongside working on the plot, the history of the Spectrum Dominion also expanded during this phase, growing from a basic framework into a comprehensive timeline spanning 10,000 years—that is, from Before the Chromatic Divergence (BCD) through 1,000 years after, known simply as Chromatic Divergence (CD).
Notable time periods are: The Colorless Era (10,000 BCD – 0 CD) and it’s Early Civilizations (10,000 BCD – 5,000 BCD); The Golden Age of Philosophy (5,000 BCD – 3,000 BCD); The Age of Strife (3,000 BCD – 1,500 BCD); The Great Recovery (1,500 BCD – 500 BCD); The Dawn of the Luminary Collective (500 BCD – 0 CD); and The Chromatic Divergence and Its Aftermath (0 CD – 100 CD).
Developing the history was both methodical and intuitive. I started with the pivotal moment—the Chromatic Divergence—a time when the Luminary Collective, led by Iris, activated the Prismatic Nexus, a device that gave the world color and worked outward in both directions. What kind of world existed before colors became abilities? What immediate chaos would follow such a fundamental change to human perception? How would society eventually stabilize and structure itself around these new abilities?
I found myself creating key historical figures and events—the Luminary Collective, the Spectrum Wars, the formation of the Ma’or Council—and each development suggested others. When I created the Blanking Rebellion (450–455 CD), I had to explore its causes and consequences.
After that, I took a crucial two-week break in late January, stepping away so I could return with fresh eyes for February’s editing, spotting gaps and connections I had missed during the writing rush.
DLL: An astounding body of work in three months! I’m blown away. Do you want to share the strange journey called KDP? It might be something those getting started there should be aware of.
LN: Yeah Darci, I think The KDP journey can be unpredictable—one day you’re publishing, the next you’re navigating policies you didn’t even know existed! If you’re starting out, always keep backups of your work, explore multiple platforms, and remember: every setback is just a plot twist in your author journey. Stay creative, stay resilient, & post on substack!
Can you give us a rundown on your works and what’s coming?
I think I’ve talked about A Kingdom Bleeds, African Horror Story, Fractured Soul, and Sand Scriptures earlier. With that said, I’m excited to introduce my newest project, Bonewave Broadcast: Aural Inferno.
This one follows 17-year-old music producer Raya, who “borrows” her grandfather’s skull for a music video, only to witness it levitating and creating rhythms to her beats. Instead of panicking, she and her friend Tunde record these supernatural sounds, creating a track that’s compelling.
When Raya uploads the remixed track online, it triggers widespread hallucinations and physical transformations among listeners. The village becomes ground zero for horrifying metamorphoses—extra ears growing from necks, mouths forming on palms—as music industry representatives arrive with sinister, inhuman intentions.
They—Raya and Tunde–discover their recording has opened a channel to a dimension called The Aural Inferno, with an entity known as The Station Master using their track to cross over. Guided by her grandfather’s skull (which had been blocking these transmissions for decades), Raya and Tunde race across a changing landscape to find the frequency that will close this portal.
Bonewave Broadcast blends techno-body horror with cosmic terror, drawing from traditional folklore while updating it for the digital streaming era. It explores the dangers of broadcasting what we don’t understand and the terrifying consequences of hitting “upload” without considering what might be listening on the other side.
As I like to warn potential readers: WHATEVER YOU DO—DO NOT TOUCH THAT DIAL.
DLL: I adore it! From color to music. I can’t wait to explore more of your artfully shattering perspectives of the human condition. And what a fantastic genre blend. Someone said recently that creating and blending sub-genres is one of the biggest pros of being an independent author and publisher. You have definitely taken that to the next level.
Let’s explore more of the additional passions you’ve integrated into your writing journey: music and graphic art. The artwork, map, and cover in Chromatic Concordat are stunning. Now, you’re writing books in fantasy worlds inspired by color and music, respectively. You’ve even created a music album for Chromatic. Can you share a little about your exploration with these elements and how they influenced your process and final product?
LN: The intersection of different artistic mediums has always been the wellspring of my creative process. Writing never existed in isolation for me—it’s part of a broader artistic conversation where music, visual art, and narrative all inform each other.
With Chromatic Concordat specifically, I found myself creating musical pieces that captured the emotional tenor of certain chapters before I’d even finished writing them. This approach helped me maintain consistent emotional tones throughout related scenes. The album became a sort of emotional blueprint for the narrative arc, with specific leitmotifs representing character journeys and thematic elements.
The artwork evolved similarly, with scenes and landscapes helping me visualize the geography more concretely than words alone could achieve. There were several instances where a visual composition revealed narrative possibilities I hadn’t considered.
What I’ve discovered through this multimedia approach is that different art forms access different parts of my creative consciousness. When I’m blocked in one medium, changing to another often unlocks solutions. A melody might capture an emotional quality I’m struggling to express in prose, or a quick work using Krita or Procreate might resolve a spatial relationship between characters that wasn’t working on the page.
The final product benefits from this cross-pollination, I believe.
DLL: Your brain reminds me of the original Tron. Eeek. Dating myself here, but that just popped into my head.Those totally cool Light Cycles and those tricky grids.
Your video shorts are stories unto themselves, and I always enjoy your visual worlds on YouTube and Substack. And that is just a drop in the bucket for your content (which disappears to make way for new content, so you’d better follow Lucky to get the latest and greatest). Can you discuss how important these art and music endeavors are to your process and how they relate to your writing?
LN: Thanks for your nice words, Darci.
The video shorts have become an unexpected but vital extension of my storytelling practice. Often, they are experimental side-projects—visual haikus that distill ideas or rather just a little something extra.
I find there’s something liberating about the nature of having extra content. I can test concepts, styles, and emotional tones, all without pressure.
The relationship between these multimedia pieces and my writing works in both directions. Sometimes, a video can emerge from narrative fragments that don’t quite fit into my current manuscript but deserve their own expression.
Music functions similarly, as it’s both input and output. Creating soundscapes that help me access emotional states I need to inhabit for certain characters or scenes.
What I’ve come to understand is that these aren’t separate creative endeavors but different dialects of the same artistic language. They form a pact where ideas migrate between mediums, strengthening each in turn. The novel might be the most visible outcome, but these other expressions are essential to how I process and understand the stories I’m trying to tell.
DLL: Okay, you’re blowing me away again. “[D]ifferent dialects of the same artistic language… a pact where ideas migrate between mediums.” Wow!
When it comes to writing, art, and music, what techniques, tools, or methods have you found most helpful and enjoyable? Do you have any favorite tips to share?
LN: My creative toolkit has evolved through lots of trial and error, and I’ve found that having the right tools makes all the difference in translating imagination into tangible work.
For visual art, I’ve largely abandoned the Adobe ecosystem in favor of more specialized options. Krita has become my driver—it’s not only free and open-source, but its brush engine rivals premium software for concept art and illustration work. When I need to replicate traditional media effects with digital precision, Corel Painter’s realistic brush textures are unmatched. On the go, Procreate has revolutionized my workflow; its gesture controls and portability mean I have more to work with.
Music production has been transformed by some fascinating tools. RVC (Retrieval-Based Voice Conversion) has been a game-changer for creating character voices or exploring different vocal styles without needing multiple singers. I’ve started using Humtap on mobile to quickly translate melodic ideas. I can hum a tune while walking and have it transformed into a full instrumental sketch. Final production usually happens in BandLab for mastering and spatial effects, with WavePad as my mobile audio editing solution when I’m away.
As for writing, the mechanical process benefits from good analytical tools. ProWritingAid has become an indispensable revision partner—not just for catching errors but for identifying patterns in my prose I might not notice otherwise. AutoCrit is also excellent for genre-specific feedback that helps maintain the right tone and pacing.
The most valuable technique across all mediums has been learning to toggle between creation and editing modes—never trying to perfect while still generating. I’ll draft music or prose in complete free flow, then switch to a more analytical mindset for refinement. This separation prevents the inner critic from blocking initial creativity while still ensuring the final product meets my standards.
DLL: Have you considered teaching or inspirational speaking? I’ve expanded my knowledge not just a few times from our many discussions, and now I’m realizing we hardly scratched the surface of your experience.
You’ve mentioned how demanding the work is for all these creative pursuits, but I understand how that creativity motivates you, as you so articulately expressed. What would you say are the rewards for all the labor? What would you like to do better? Are there other things you want to try?
LN: The rewards of creative work go far beyond external recognition or success. For me, the most significant rewards include:
1. The deep satisfaction of bringing something new into the world that didn’t exist before
2. The flow state that comes during moments of pure creation
3. The continuous learning and growth that happens with each project
As for what I’d like to improve, I’m working on balancing perfectionism with productivity. It’s easy to get caught in endless revisions rather than completing and sharing work. I’d also like to better integrate different creative disciplines —
There are areas I want to explore further, like collaborative projects with other creators, experimenting with new mediums, and taking on challenges that push me outside my comfort zone.
DLL: I agree with focusing on finishing and sharing rather than revising to perfection, which we know is likely an unreachable state. We are always our own worst critics. It’s something I need to work on as well if I want to finish my novel by my goal. As you know, when I share a draft for feedback, I end up sending revised versions ad nauseam. It’s the strangest phenomenon. As soon as I hit send, I’m seeing things that I want to fix. Vexing!
I’ll take the opportunity to reveal that we’ve been sharing a fun collaboration, which I’m honored to take part in. I won’t give it away here, but I am so excited to add my writer’s voice in contrast with your mind-bending conceptual fantasy tales and see where it takes us, maybe by the end of the year. So, readers, stay tuned.
Can you share where we can find your stories, art, and music?
LN: Thanks, Darci! You’re awesome. If I had a dollar for every cool thing you’ve done, I’d be rich—but still not as rich as the experience of checking out your work.
Enjoy this gorgeous track from Chromatic Concordat.
Thanks so much for your kind words and for visiting today, Lucky! What parting advice do you have for aspiring writers and creators?
The truth is, I’m in no position to give definitive advice, but I think Edward Bloom from Big Fish offers some wisdom worth sharing:
“There’s a time when a man needs to fight, and a time when he needs to accept that his destiny is lost… the ship has sailed, and only a fool would continue. Truth is, I’ve always been a fool.”
“A man tells his stories so many times that he becomes the stories. They live on after him, and in that way he becomes immortal.”
“The biggest fish in the river gets that way by never being caught.”
DLL: Awesome! A favorite Tim Burton movie of mine, as you know, and so apt! Thanks for sharing. Congratulations on your latest release, and all the best to you.
Reached 46 of 50 in my annual reading challenge. It was easy this month with four great reads. Lovin’ another fabulous urban fantasy series from Lindsay Buroker. Death Before Dragons. No one does page-turning, urban fantasy set in the PNW, featuring witty banter and fascinating, relatable MMFs better!
Tried a new author, Dianna Love. I really enjoyed this no-nonsense, direct writing style with great action and compelling characters. Glad I tried this book out on a deal. I’ll be going on to the next book in this Wild Wolf Pack series set in the urban fantasy world of the powerful Gallize shifters—Corbin.
Check out my September Spotlight interview with Jade Griffin if you haven’t already—lots of great insights and behind-the-scenes glimpses into the life of a TTRPG writer.
Looking forward to more fun books in October, a lively interview with northern Nevada YA author Sue C. Dugan, and at least two short story writing challenges. Oh, and my last two chemotherapy treatments! I should say, I’m looking forward to the end of my treatments. Until radiation that is.
If you were a giant god sentenced to eternal torture, how would you entertain yourself during a reprieve?
You may know the story of Prometheus, the lover of mankind who gave us fire and endured a similar punishment exacted on him by Zeus, but here is the lesser known story of Tityus. Tortured for being a cad.
In the lull between new moons and the vulture’s next meal, only one thing eases this giant god’s torment—inflicting torment of his own.
###
Tityus gave only half a thought to punching the giant birds in their wrinkled bald faces because doing so was futile. He knew this because he’d done it a million times over thousands of years, and it hadn’t yet stopped the beastly vultures from chewing out his liver every twenty-eighth day, starting precisely at six p.m., Eastern European Time.
It was now seven.
The voracious creatures will finish digging into his side in exactly one hour, after which Tityus will endure more agonizing pain with the regrowth of his immortal organ, only to have the endless punishment repeated at the next new moon.
In the lulls between, the giant often wondered who suffered worse torment: the birds who were sent to Hell to eat the same meal every month for eternity or Tityus, who had to provide it.
He decided that punching the bobbing heads would make him feel better. Caving in half their ugly faces was immensely satisfying, as was their distressed flapping of wings and distorted screeching through shattered beaks.
Yes. It was well worth the pain of extra flesh tearing away from his body by the force of his blow. It got better when the vile birds flew off to find a ledge and repair themselves.
A sound between a moan and a sigh seeped from Tityus, echoing through his stone and moss-covered grotto deep below the base of Mount Parnassus. Zeus might be liberal in handing out sentences to his dozens of offspring when they went astray, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping track of every single one, always watching, always ready to condemn.
The giant dared to hope his father had witnessed his act of bored defiance.
Since he’d been given a bonus reprieve, he took the opportunity to recline more comfortably on his loamy pallet, which stretched beneath him across his nine-acre earthen home.
Tityus picked up the remote and flipped through the programs his sister had selected for him to view on an eighty-foot screen hanging on his southern limestone wall. Only recently had Persephone produced the ingenious device to give him a diversion between bouts of torture.
Thinking of his sister made the giant god smile. Sephie was the only one who believed he’d been goaded into his crime of passion by Hera and pleaded his case every chance she got. Even the goddess who bore him and the one who raised him hadn’t taken his side, though both had reasons to blame Hera for their problems. It seemed everyone stuck together when it came to condemning him, but not Persephone. His sister’s loyalty and affection never wavered.
She also understood how critical viewing a pair of humans suffering misguided love was in sustaining him between bouts of torture. The entertainment distracted him from the looming specter of gnashing vulture beaks and the indescribable agony when his tormenters slurped up strips of his flesh like so many earthworms wriggling beneath his home.
###
It took the better part of the first week growing back his liver to make his choice. Tityus was lost in the pleasure of planning his victim’s torment when a leafy vine began winding its way up his leg.
Since his limb was the length of a stadium, it took time for the greenery to get close to his face, but Tityus was patient as always while he waited for Persephone to make her appearance.
The vine stopped its horizontal travels at his hip, then shot straight up as it thickened into shapely limbs that stretched into a torso. A lovely neck and face appeared next, and soon the dulcet tones of the Queen of the Underworld chimed through his grotto.
“Hello, Brother. That gleam in your eye must mean you’ve made your selection.”
He dialed back his voice to keep from blasting his sister off his hip. “I have, though each couple was as tempting as the other. Thank you for that. Choosing was half the fun.”
She clasped her hands together and grinned. “That is what I hoped for. It has been too long since you’ve enjoyed a good vacation. I’ve been pleading your case again, brother. Father thanked me for the reminder that retribution against his children harms humans, too. But then, he got that look.”
“Ever my champion, dear sister. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Well, your horrid eternal torment does not fit the crime you were tricked into and didn’t even complete.” Tityus shined his affection on his sister with his moon-sized green eyes and nudged her into his palm with a forefinger.
She made herself comfortable before finishing her outburst. “It is agony each time your groans shake the Underworld.”
“You are too good to me, Sephie, a balm to my soul. Won’t you stay a while?”
“That is why I’m here.” She reached out and patted his thumb. “I will convince Father soon. Meanwhile, you deserve a reprieve from toying with your humans.” She sank into his palm, propping on her elbow and resting her head in her hand, her vines twining into a canopy and anchoring themselves around Tityus’s fingers. “Now, who did you pick?”
“If I only have time for one show, this pair has the potential to give us a top-rated performance.” Tityus clicked the remote, and the giant screen came to life.
The sibling gods peered down at the two people crouched in a square pit at the center of an archeological site near the west bank of the Nile.
###
Sarah had no clue what she did to Nathan’s insides when that earnest concentration scrunched up her pretty brow. Parts of him clenched enough to be uncomfortable when she pushed her glasses higher on her pert nose, smudged with red dust. Not only did his heart thump erratically, but he almost groaned out loud.
That embarrassing prospect broke the spell. He cursed under his breath. If she could read his foolish thoughts, she would for sure request his replacement. He took heart that his dig partner had given him a few hopeful signs.
Nathan returned his attention to the pottery shard they were carefully easing out of the three-and-a-half-thousand-year-old soil. This newest section had turned up an amazing cache of tools, human bones, two delicate cat skulls, and three nearly intact clay jars.
He peered closer at the shard, brushed away a few more flecks, and hiked a brow. He nudged Sarah.
“What does this say to you?”
“I saw it too, Nathan,” she said in her sweet, yet husky voice, which got him going again, “and I’m thinking what you’re thinking.”
Her excitement washed over him.
“We could be confirming our theory,” she said. “Do you agree?” He was struck by her glittering aqua eyes and gave himself a mental shake before answering.
“It’s harder to deny when we add this to the rest. But Sarah, we’ve been breathing the dirt in this six-foot square hole for eight hours. Let’s secure our finds and get out of here. It’s time to celebrate with a night out in Luxor.”
“You want to finish the day’s work without cataloging these beauties—without even deciphering these symbols first?” She cocked her head. “Have I worked you that hard?” He laughed.
“I just need to get clean, then go sweat at a club with dancing and liquor. Morning will be soon enough to inspect our treasure.”
“I suppose getting sweaty for a different reason would be a nice change of pace. You’re on.”
But those words passing through full pink lips and the vision of Sarah writhing on a dance floor forced him to stay crouched for a minute longer as he battled waves of yearning.
Maybe torturing himself with a carefree evening in her company wasn’t such a grand idea… On the other hand, it could be his long-awaited opportunity.
###
Tityus paused the video. Small boulders slid down the embankment behind them when he spoke. “You can see he’s got it bad and has no idea she’s been exploring her sexuality. I’ve got a few maneuvers planned to help her decide things.”
“Can I assume her choices won’t include Nathan?” Persephone’s amber eyes gleamed.
“That’s the plan… after we squeeze more entertainment from them first. You did well, Sister. I can smell his pathos.” Tityus closed his eyes and inhaled the moist, earthy air. It caused a cyclone to whirl a path around them and rattle Persephony’s flowering vines.
“Abundant suffering is in store for poor Nathan,” Tityus continued. “That, and the chaos of their confusion, will go a long way in helping me endure my next round of torment. I’ve already conjured hours of lush images for my dreams.” He cracked an eye open. “We might even enjoy collateral damage. We’ve got a third party involved.”
The silence that followed the giant’s cessation of speaking left a vacuum in the subterranean chamber. Crickets sounded in the recesses. Frogs croaked near the waterfall, and a shiny beetle whirred by on heavy wings.
The walls shook again when a thought made Tityus chuckle. “Is our uncle aware of your new penchant for misguiding love-struck humans?” The Queen of the Underworld let out an undignified snort.
“Hades does not care how I occupy my time, only that he can call me to him whenever he wants. Speaking of the demanding one, I feel his pull. I promise to be back for another installment. But don’t wait. You can catch me up.”
Tityus was used to Persephone’s spontaneous appearances and abrupt departures and didn’t mind when the forest of greenery disappeared with his sister in a wispy puff. He clicked his remote to open the next scene.
###
Nathan was sweaty just as planned, but he’d never had so much fun getting into this state of bodily dampness.
Sarah arranged for several friends from the university to meet them at the discotheque. For the past two hours, the girls made it their mission to keep him jerking and grinding on the strobe-lit dance floor. He’d finally pleaded for a break to cool down and freshen up.
Revived and happy with the results—he looked damned fine if he said so himself—Nathan pushed his way through the crush of dancers and back to the bar where he’d left his charming companions with another round of drinks. When he was close enough to spot them through the crowd, he came to a dead stop, his heart plummeting like a stone.
Sarah sat on a stool close to her friend, whose lips were pressed against Sarah’s ear. At first, it looked like Eman was just trying to be heard in the din. Then, he noticed their clasped hands. Eman’s tongue darted into Sarah’s ear, and Sarah laughed, pulling back, her eyes glittering with excitement—and something else.
How could I have had things so wrong?
The shock wore off in the next instant, but that only let a whole slew of other confusing emotions overwhelm him as he stood there gaping until the thought of what he must look like penetrated the fog.
Before Nathan could move, Sarah caught him acting like a statue, and her smile turned into a frown. Eman followed her gaze, held up the drink she had waiting for him, and grinned, clearly having no idea his world had just collapsed.
Nathan’s arm went up in a halfhearted answer, and he somehow got his legs moving again.
An hour later, hunched over his third whiskey, crushed between the chattering girls at the table Eman snagged for them, Nathan wondered how he was surviving his bitter disappointment and the suffocating nightclub. On the upside, he no longer doubted how deep his feelings went for Sarah.
The alcohol had at least numbed the sharpest jabs to his heart, but despair continued buzzing nauseatingly in his ears. Nathan would have no clue how to answer if anyone asked him what the girls had talked about for the last hour, and he didn’t think he was even nodding at the right places anymore.
He had to get out of here.
“Will you be good getting Sarah back to the site, Eman?” he said, breaking out of his stupor. They each turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call it a night and head back.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah said as she laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe you should have a coffee first.”
That was sound advice, but the thought of watching Sarah and Eman whispering together another minute made him want to throw up.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow. Don’t be late.” Nathan attempted to smile at his lame humor, but judging by Sarah’s furrowed brow, his face must have looked as wan as he felt.
He slapped a few bills on the table, mostly to ensure Sarah had enough to get back if Eman couldn’t drive her.
“Enjoy the rest of the night. It was a pleasure meeting all of you.”
Sarah looked like she might say something, but nodded and turned to her friends without another glance his way.
Nathan barely managed to keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat as he headed to the exit.
###
This time, the flowering vines trailed down the side of the cavern before finding purchase on the giant arm sticking out of the earth. The writhing greenery tickled, waking Tityus from a satisfying dream about Nathan’s puny human heart being crushed to a pulp.
He cracked open a giant green orb and waited for Persephone to materialize on a dirt mound covering his shoulder.
The more Tityus buried himself in the earth, the better he dreamed. He didn’t dwell too much on the reasons for that, though Zeus would be the first to say he had a mother complex. Tityus wouldn’t deny it. He was born of Gaia, after all, his giant newborn self nearly breaking his mother in two on the way out.
Persephone, wearing her favorite skull crown, leaned on her beautifully turned mahogany staff to peer into his eyes. “Well? Was it as entertaining as you hoped?”
“Better.” The rumbling word rippled the damp soil covering him and tossed up handfuls of pebbles.
“What do you think Nathan will do now?” Persephone said as she steadied herself. “Can he endure working with Sarah? Keep his job? Wait! Do you think he’ll give up his precious career?”
“You made it in time for the next installment,” Tityus said. “When Nathan left the club around two in the morning, he was in a state of mind perfect for the rare Luxor mugger to take advantage of. The thief robbed him and beat him senseless. That event alone will get me through the next liver donation. Sarah is about to discover he never made it back.”
Persephone raised her cupped hand, and a bloodred mist swirled in her fingers. When it dissipated, she was holding several bunches of purple grapes, the size of which no human had ever seen. She plucked half the fruit off one and tossed it into Tityus’s mouth before asking him a question.
“Is he alive?” Tityus nodded as he chewed. “You realize having him harmed could make your plans go the wrong direction,” she pointed out. Another enthusiastic nod jolted her off her feet.
“Gambling on humans finding their way despite our interference is what makes this hobby so satisfying,” he said after swallowing his second bunch of grapes.
His sister picked herself up and smiled. “Then, let’s get comfortable and watch.”
Tityus clicked his remote, and the shadowy, moss-covered grotto walls brightened from the desert scene as if a portal had opened over ancient Thebes.
###
The morning sun lit up the endless waves of sand and gleamed off an enormous pyramid. The archaeological encampment was tiny in its shadow.
A lone figure crouched in the pit under an umbrella, working meticulously at an eye-level spot in the strata. Part of her attention was clearly reserved for listening because the anxious archaeologist kept bobbing up her ladder at the slightest sound to scan the dirt track meandering toward Luxor.
“Hey, Charles,” Sarah called out, her voice overly loud. “Have you heard from Nathan?”
A man crouching in the adjacent pit answered her. “Not since you asked me fifteen minutes ago. But I’m concerned, too. I sent Jack to hunt for him. I’m sure he must have holed up in a hotel room to sleep off the whiskey. You know what a lightweight he is. We should quit worrying.”
As soon as that last word drifted over the sand between them, the crunch of tires had them both springing up their ladders and peering over the edges of their pits.
Back in the grotto, Persephone, nestled in the dip of Tityus’s shoulder, voiced an observation. “That must be Jack with Nathan. If I’m wrong, I’ll find you eight victims for next month’s programming.”
Tityus stopped chuckling when he spotted a golden eagle much too large to be natural, swooping over the dig site. It wheeled between the tents and landed delicately on a clothesline strung with camp blankets.
“Uh… Sephie, dear. Do you think…”
“Yes,” she drawled. “It’s Father. Hell’s Gate! How does he always know?” She barked out a laugh. “Never mind. Stupid question. We’re better off working on plausible deniability.”
They looked over the scene again to find the car had arrived at the encampment and parked under a cover. A burly, bearded man stepped out of the driver’s side, opened the door to the backseat, and helped out a slighter man clearly in pain and struggling to move.
“Nathan!” Sarah shouted. Swift and surefooted, she scrambled up her ladder and ran to the car.
The eagle made another pass over the scene. Tityus and Persephone eyed each other when a screech that could only belong to the powerful Olympian who was their sire sounded all the way to the grotto. The humans carried on, oblivious to the mythical winged creature in their midst.
Sweat beading his brow, Nathan straightened and faced Sarah as she came to an abrupt halt and gasped. She slapped a hand over her mouth but dropped it in the next instant.
“Oh my god,” she bit out. “What happened?”
Embarrassment emphasized the damage on Nathan’s face, but his voice was dignified. “I had a run-in on the way to the taxi stand and woke up in an alley with my pockets inside out. Thankfully, Jack thought to check the police station.”
This time, the humans looked up when a screech rent the air. They each watched, eyes wide, as the majestic bird of prey disappeared over the horizon.
“You scared me to death, Nathan,” Sarah said with a hitch as she turned back to her colleague.
A pale Nathan was growing wobblier by the second.
She stepped closer and softened her words. “I know what I did to you last night. I’ve been confused about… things. I’m really sorry. Today… Somehow… Well, everything is clearer. Will you forgive me?”
Hope bloomed on Nathan’s face, though his distorted lips and a puffy black eye turned the expression ghastly. He cocked his head. “What are you saying, Sarah?”
“Eman is off to Cambridge. We said goodbye last night, for good. You’re the one I want to be with. Can I hope for the same?”
The burly Jack cleared his throat, effectively returning the couple to their surroundings. “While it’s clear this exchange is doing Nathan good, he’s about to drop where he stands. Are you ready to have a lie-down, kid?”
Sarah raised her shining face to Nathan, wrapped her arm around his waist, and guided him to the med tent.
The warmth in her eyes was the final death knell for the giant’s precious hiatus. Tityus punched the button on the remote violently enough to crush the entire thing, and the desert view went dark, throwing his grotto into shadow.
Persephone was already turning wispy with her disappearing vines. “I am sorry, Brother. But you understand that I must return to Hades. I promise to do what I can to cool our father’s wrath.”
Tityus wanted to cringe at the bitter irony and miserable resignation creeping into his rumbling laughter as it trailed after her.
“You will do better for me by staying clear of Zeus for now, and away from here, dear sister. But don’t wait long for another visit.”
In the lull left by the departing Queen of the Dead and her greenery, Tityus settled his ginormous body beneath the earth where he clung to his last comfort—his dreams of unrequited love suffered by miserable humans—as he waited for the next new moon and the vultures to circle… The End… Until the next new moon…
The End… Until the next new moon…
I wrote this for a contest. I absolutely adore this premise. My friend, Lucky Noma, was inspired to write his version of the tortured giant and how he might wreak havoc on mankind for the sole purpose of providing a diversion. Stay tuned, because Lucky and I are planning a Tityus anthology.
What story would you come up with for this bored giant’s entertainment? Let me know in the comments.
If you would like to support an independent author who loves to share her stories, this story along with an eclectic anthology of more fun tales is available for $1.99 at your favorite bookstore. Thank you!