Lauren’s happiness is shattered when the compulsive need to retrieve her comb lets her overhear a conversation between the two most important people in her life.
###
If Lauren hadn’t gone back for her comb, her world would still be vertical, not slanting horribly sideways.
She clutched at the door of the stall with a shaky hand and held her stomach with the other, hoping to keep down the bile trying to explode to the surface. The only thing stopping her from giving in to the tilt and collapsing on the public toilet floor was the public toilet. Someone had neglected to flush it. Lovely.
Desperate to gulp in air from somewhere other than the fetid space shrinking around her, she used every ounce of her willpower to get the door open and stumble out of the bathroom.
She pulled herself together enough to sweep past the lockers without drawing attention and slipped through the back door of the cycling studio. There, she leaned against the wall under the pink-tinged blue sky and focused all her energy on breathing. How can the day be so bright when my world has gone dark?
As her heart settled its erratic pounding, she became aware of something digging into her hand, and she stared at the purple object she’d clutched through the whole awful episode. Her favorite comb. A bubble of hysteria escaped her lips. Hot tears threatened next, and that’s when she got angry. Was everything a lie? Could I be that blind?
The act of shoving the comb in her bag brought forth a bitter irony. She would still be blissfully ignorant if not for her compulsion to rescue such a trivial possession. She let out another embarrassing squeak of hysteria and glanced around the parking lot to make sure she was alone. Alone.
That hated word rang in her head and brought tears to the surface again. She let a few drops slip out and straightened, smoothing her Lycra shirt over her bike shorts.
Then, Lauren walked purposefully to her car. The private conversation that had precipitated the nauseating tilt to her universe played through her head as she climbed in.
It was a cool day, so she sealed herself inside, clicked on the power, blasted her favorite XM station, and let herself belabor the truth she could not unhear. James and Danika were passionately in love, with no reservations, in a way that left Lauren with no reason to believe it was a passing thing. When did it happen?
That didn’t matter because it was clear she had just lost the love of her life and her best friend in one moment of fateful eavesdropping. The devastating truth had been revealed because her comb had slipped from her bag and landed near a vent, which turned out to be the perfect sound conductor to the door of the men’s locker room.
Her thoughts took her again to the horrid moments when she crouched in that dingy spot under the sink, which capsule of time was now burned into her memory.
As she reached for the wayward piece of plastic, familiar honeyed tones floated to her.
“Please… James.”
In the loaded pause that followed, the first cracks had formed in Lauren’s illusion of happiness because she could hear lips traveling over soft skin, so clear the pair might as well be standing right in front of her. She could even feel those lips—because she knew them.
The voice repeated the words as if the speaker were trying to get Lauren’s attention.
“Please, James… She’s just down the hall. We need to be careful until we can figure out a way to break this to her. It’s going to crush her.”
“She’ll see the truth of it, Danika. We’ve been hiding this for too long, and it’s unhealthy—for all three of us. It’s time.”
“But James. We’re all she has. How can we do this? I love you, and I want to spend my time with you openly, but I love her, too.”
There was regret in his sigh and the words that followed.
“If she cares about us, and you know she does, she won’t be selfish. We didn’t ask for this to happen and even tried to stop it.”
More sounds of passion punctuated his angst while they drove nails into Lauren’s heart.
“It will hurt at first,” James continued, “but she’s a reasonable human being. We can’t continue living a lie and wasting our lives trapped in the wrong combination.”
Danika’s breathless voice rose slightly. “You’re delusional if you believe this won’t ruin the friendships we’ve treasured since high school. You’ve known her the longest. Do you really think she’ll stick around after our betrayal?”
That was when Lauren reached her threshold of pain, when the bile started its molten rise to her throat, choking her, and her first reaction was to head to a toilet. At least she was past that first ugly moment.
The music blasting from her car speakers helped her think. She became aware that the clear skies had turned to rain. It seemed appropriate to be surrounded by rivulets of water—like tears. Lauren’s skin was clammy, and she touched her stiff face with icy fingers. Is this what shock feels like?
The only positive thing she could glom onto was that she’d made it to her car without being noticed. She sank deeper into her leather seat to make her presence less obvious and rubbed at her sore heart. How was she going to face them again?Should she confront them? She didn’t see that going well. She would make a fool out of herself and accomplish nothing.
The unreality kept reverberating. James had been her best friend since kindergarten. He understood her better than anyone, even Danika. They were aware of their importance in her life. The three of them had been inseparable for the last five years, working, partying, traveling together, and cycling twice a week at this studio she would never be able to return to.
Her resentment flared. They were the ones who hid behind their lies. It should have been them facing her and suffering through a confession. But her heart wouldn’t hold onto the anger, filling instead with hollow devastation, even as she attempted to contemplate a different future. Could I leave this place? Could I start over somewhere else?
None of them had lived anywhere but this small town. She doubted she even had the skills to make new friends or find a new lover because she had only ever needed the two people she left whispering together in the studio.
She texted Danika with trembling fingers. The screen of her phone blurred through the stubborn tears she could no longer stem. It took her a few minutes to reread her message before she sent it. It was important to get it right because she did care deeply for them and always would. “I’m not feeling well, my love. I’ll see you at home later. Enjoy dinner out with James—for both of us.”
This drama came from a NYC Midnight writing challenge where I needed to incorporate a comb and a cycling studio. Keep in mind that these short story platforms are challenging not only because of the random prompts and genres but also because they must be written in a short format in a short period. I was pretty happy about my little love triangle and the impact on Lauren’s life just from dropping her comb.
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!
What happens when a pair of hungry fish keep getting their feeding time interrupted by a stranger lurking in the house wielding a butcher knife?
The day had been exceedingly long, but soon, the family would appear one by one from wherever they went outside of the Oscarsons’ frame of reference, which encompassed a large portion of the living space from their well-appointed fifty-gallon aquarium in the foyer.
The last of the evening sun bathed the entire front of the house but left the back in shadows.
For the fifth time, Mr. Oscarson swam to the glass facing the front door and grumbled, “I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving, dear,” said Mrs. Oscarson in a tone that suggested she often placated her insatiable husband.
“It’s worse today, and you know this because once again, Lily forgot our breakfast. You might think Hank would make sure his daughter followed through with her chores since he constantly talks to anyone who will listen about his prized Oscars.”
Mrs. Oscarson snorted. Bubbles burst from her lips. “You seem to believe we’re not mere decoration.”
Mr. Oscarson was about to expound on his favorite topic when his wife’s tail twitched. “Did you hear that?”
“What? My stomach growling.”
“Hush. It’s coming from the kitchen.”
He did hear something then, like glass falling to the floor, followed by a quiet thud.
From their spot, they could just see the kitchen entry. An object moved in the shadows, made its way through the dining room, and emerged near the foyer as a large, hooded figure.
“Hmmm. That can’t be good,” Mr. Oscarson said.
The man gripped a butcher knife in a gloved hand.
“Oh my,” said Mrs. Oscarson.
He passed their home on his way to the living room and headed up the stairs, his footsteps as quiet as a cat’s. Soon, they heard faint sounds like closets and drawers opening and closing.
When a key jiggled in the front door, Mr. Oscarson, being a fish, completely forgot about the stranger in the house as the pains in his stomach took over all thought. “Finally!” he trumpeted, sending sound waves to ricochet off the glass.
The aquarium was the first thing the family saw when they came through the front door, which was beneficial to the Oscarsons. The impressive fish were clever at drawing attention to their antics.
Sure enough, the head of the house set his briefcase down and stepped briskly to the glass. “Lily forgot to feed you this morning, didn’t she, my beauties? Let’s take care of that right now.”
Hank picked up the food shaker and was about to sprinkle the flakes over the Oscarsons’ waiting mouths when something flashed on the dining room floor that caught his eye. He frowned and set their food on the table.
“Dammit! So close!”
“Settle down, Mr. Oscarson. Hank has more important things to do. Like avoiding a very sharp weapon wielded by a very big stranger.”
“Couldn’t he have given us one shake first?”
The pair watched as Hank inspected the small pieces of glass left behind by the stranger’s boot, then followed a trail to the kitchen. They heard muttered curses. When he headed their way again, he had his phone to his ear, and a voice coming from the device said, “This is 911. What is your emergency?”
“I came home to find evidence of a break-in,” Hank said quietly as he stooped to pick up another piece of glass. “I think someone is in my house.”
The Oscarsons were shocked when he continued up the stairs. “Shouldn’t he at least arm himself? Who does he think he is? Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
Mr. Oscarson was a huge fan. The couple had a full view of the television from the south end of their watery home and enjoyed action-hero binge nights with Hank.
Next, they heard Hank hollering, followed by gasps, grunts, and thuds. Then, then utter quiet.
“I certainly hope not all those ominous sounds were Hank’s,” said a worried Mrs. Oscarson. But it was the stranger who came down the stairs, his knife dripping blood on the carpet.
The big man ducked into the living room when the front door opened to reveal Hank’s better half. Lisa smiled at the fish and stepped right up to the aquarium. She always gave them her smile, no matter how her day went.
Mr. Oscarsons’ empty stomach prompted him to draw her attention despite the danger, and very likely, a dead husband waiting for her upstairs. She answered the big colorful fish’s call, picking up the food shaker just as he hoped.
The Oscarsons once again poked their mouths through the surface in anticipation, but nothing came because the stranger sneaked up on Lisa and shoved the ten-inch blade into her abdomen.
“Oh dear. We should have found a way to warn her,” Mrs. Oscarson said, sounding beside herself as they watched Lisa slump into the stranger’s arms.
He hugged her to him like a lover and carried her up the stairs.
The fish darted around their home in agitation, and Mr. Oscarson finally displayed a sense of horror. “It’s much too quiet up there. What could he be doing?”
The front door opened again, and it was Lily who rushed to the aquarium.
“I am so sorry, you two! I can’t believe I forgot to feed you again.”
She paused when she noticed the overturned shaker but picked it up and was aiming it their way when she spotted the blood at her feet. She froze.
Terror spread over her young face.
The hand holding the shaker began to tremble, but no flakes escaped, much to Mr. Oscarsons’ frustration, which had returned in full force with another tantalizing view of food hovering so close.
Lily’s eyes followed the trail of blood up the stairs. “Oh my god,” she said with a trembling breath. The shaker dropped to the floor.
“Really? Why is this turning out to be the worst day ever?” said Mr. Oscarson as he sank gloomily away from the surface.
Sirens blared outside, and red lights flashed through the windows. The sound of breaking glass came from upstairs, followed by moans and faint calls for help. “My dear husband, it is going to get worse because I doubt any of these busy people will think to feed us,” said the wise Mrs. Oscarson as the first responders burst through the door and Lily cried out for her parents before fainting in a heap—right on top of their food.
Thank you for reading my story. I would love comments if you have a minute to let me know what you think.
This story and others I have assembled into an eBook for 99 pennies at your favorite store.
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Past drafts gone in a puff! Or, with the magic delete button. If I were an angsty writer of a past century, the pages would have been burned. I know an author who actually did burn his first draft, but that’s his story to tell, and it’s a good one.
I’ve been doing a lot of purging this month, getting ready for a big disruption in my life, so why not purge my drafts and give you my latest…
Enjoy meeting Onyx, who has the honor of opening my story… his story.
March 27, 2025
The Dragon
Onyx – Deep Inside Ben Shiel, Western Scottish Highlands, UK – Late June
In the mountain’s dim recesses, a dragon lay coiled in slumber on a granite shelf, snorting smoke rings at invisible foes. His fiery exhales turned to steam in the damp air, sending ashy tendrils writhing around his fearsome spikes before dissipating like miniature storm clouds.
His eyelids fluttered, one popping open to reveal a midnight blue iris flashing off a bank of dazzling quartz crystals before shutting again. His nostrils flared as if scenting danger.
It wasn’t just his face in motion. The dragon’s great wing jerked before his hind leg pumped the air. The vigorous movements sent scree tumbling off the edge and clattering into icy pools far below, inciting twittering protests from the deeper, more secretive inhabitants.
These disturbances did not trouble Ben Shiel. Upheavals were a constant in the mountain’s life, caused by forces more relentless than his winged friend. On the contrary, the dragon’s visits were comforting and far too rare. It was unusual for Michael Elliott, the mountain’s steward, to shift into dragon form and withdraw, allowing the beast an independent physical existence.
And so Onyx, the mighty dragon, as black as his name implied, slept in the cradle of the mountain and dreamed…
###
Michael, watch out!
“Onyx?” Michael inquired mildly through our bond as he straightened from his inspection.
My human should have been alarmed by my voice and ready when the silent missile, whizzing out of the trees, burrowed into his neck. The charge tore agonizingly through every nerve in his body. I knew this—remembered it. But I didn’t feel it. Why?
The rift. We were in Alaska during the Anurashin conflict. Another dream?
Panic gripped my heart, but the vision would not release me. I was inside Michael, watching as he went from stooping over the dead caribou he was examining to planting face-first in the bloody snow without the slightest awareness to stop his fall. Not a single muscle on the powerful shifter even had time to twitch.
The carcass must have distracted me, the blood and exposed flesh stirring my hunger—a foolish mistake when Michael’s physical body was in control.
A Great Horned Owl toppled out of a spruce tree, landing beside us—shot by another bolt before he could take flight. Michael would be frantic if he knew his friend had fallen, worrying more for Ozzy than himself.
My voice sounded feeble even to me as I called out to my human host. My frustration turned to icy horror when a barely perceptible pop signaled the worst thing imaginable, and the tether binding our souls began to unravel. This time, the pain felt real as I shattered into a thousand pieces and began swirling inside a vortex, like a barrow full of leaves picked up and carried by the wind. Once again, death by separation threatened us both.
I reassembled in a place devoid of substance. Yet, I hadn’t vanished completely, and my senses remained intact, as evidenced by the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow.
“What do we do with the owl?” said a woman, her voice tight with apprehension. “I acted on orders without thinking.”
A man replied in a tone no less grim. “We’ll claim we killed the spy. Hopefully, the owl will recover from the human dose and find his way back to the pack.”
“If Airzoih…”
“Welcome to the deadly game I’ve been playing, little sister.”
The siblings lifted my human, propping him between them as a cool misty force coalesced around us. A single step into the charged haze transported us from the Alaskan wilderness to a damp, echoing space that smelled of the sea. After stripping Michael of his clothes and securing him to a rough-hewn bench, the pair retreated into their mist. A day passed in silent darkness, Michael unconscious for most of it.
Before he came to, the brother returned, but not in human form. I recognized his scent and something more. Snorting breaths, shuffling wings, and a massive, spiny tail scraping against stone. The scent picture was complete. This was the dragon who’d been spying on us for weeks, the reason we were investigating the caribou. His shallow breathing sounded from the recesses as he settled in to wait.
Michael came awake, heart pounding, his agony raging as his body fought to heal. Without our bond, he wasn’t repairing as he should. But he was an alpha. It would take more than debilitating pain to keep him from assessing his situation. Just as he spotted the ruby-red dragon in the shadows, the beast transformed in a shower of crackling energy, the bolts illuminating the cavern in strobe-like flashes before the shadows fell back into place.
A man stepped into the thin light provided by a small crevice, struck a flint against the wall by the cell doors, and lit a torch. The shadows receded, and we got our first look at the enemy. Dark blonde hair swept back from a face like that in a Greek fresco. His lavender eyes were shadowed with weary conflict. A man forced too long to act against his nature.
Your dragon was stolen, Michael Elliott, by Prince Airzoih’s illegal magic. I can only imagine the pain you’re in. He means to kill you after toying with you. You need to convince me to stop him.”
“And who are you?” Michael rasped between parched lips.
“There’s water above you.” The man said, gesturing to a dripping straw-sized bamboo shoot jutting from a larger bamboo pipe near Michael’s head. Michael drank—and drank some more—until his stomach heaved, and he spewed half of the water back out.
“It’s mostly desalinated. You’ll be fine. To answer your question. I’m the only reasonable offspring Airzoih spawned.”
“Where are we?”
“Far from your pack, Alpha.”
“You’re the dragon spy.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to the owl?”
“I’m afraid he got zapped too. I don’t think he fared well.”
Michael swallowed down the news, tucking it away for later.
“How does the prince benefit from targeting me?”
“Airzoih wants us to eliminate dragon shifters so that his hybrid army reigns supreme,” the man replied, glibly divulging his sire’s plans. “You’re our initiation.” Derision entered his relaxed tone. “Degrading a powerful alpha will prove we’re a success—one he can glorify while he weakens the opposition.”
“How does he have children who can summon a dragon?”
“Our mother is Fiona McIver.” Michael jolted at the news.
“We lost Fiona in the Fae War,” he ground out. “I saw her go down.” He referred to a war long over but never forgotten.
“All part of my father’s plan, and one reason he aligned himself with the opposing coven. It’s the witches’ dark potion that incapacitates you and suppresses your dragon. Fiona’s, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I want your help to save my mother…”
A purple mist came to life in the center of the cavern, interrupting him. When it cleared, four dragons loomed large. The beasts snapped and snarled at each other for space until, one by one, they changed into three men and a woman. They bore a striking resemblance to the one who’d been bargaining with Michael, and they glared their greetings to each other with the same astonishing, lavender eyes. I recognized the woman’s scent from the forest.
When she caught sight of Michael, her expression turned feral, and she sauntered toward his crudely assembled cage. “You don’t look so legendary, Alpha of the Fire Star Pack,” she said, eyes gleaming a deeper violet. She gazed at Michael’s form like a predator, passing her tongue over her lips. Michael’s body reacted, his skin prickling with heat despite his pain receptors still firing like rockets.
“Fiona told us stories about you and Onyx when we were children,” she purred. “Do you miss him? Is it painful? Fiona still cries for Nangelica. It’s hard to imagine such a deep wound in my soul since my dragon is just a façade. Heizan says the separation is tearing our mother apart.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “Fiona can still kick my father’s ass if he fails to take the proper precautions. I wonder how strong you are without your dragon’s spirit
“That’s enough, Halil,” Heizan said under his breath. He didn’t seem interested in drawing the other siblings’ attention, leaving them to their mumbled discussion in a dark corner.
Despite the woman’s practiced posturing, I sensed a battle waging in her. It surprised her. But it was Michael who astonished me when she failed to offend him, not because he was indifferent. He saw beyond her contempt, recognized something in those amethyst windows to her soul that touched a place few had reached. It only made him look closer.
Here are the highlights, and please pardon if I end up teachin’ yer Granny tae suck eggs and you think me bum’s oot the windae. I’ll do my best to point you to the best places to discover the delightful, colorful expressions of people who, as actor Gerard Butler puts it, “are pretty much sarcastic all the time.”
Favorite things I discovered:
Scotland has three languages: Scots, Scottish Gaelic, and English. The Scotsman has several articles linked here, so be sure to check them out.
Gerard Butler’s grin-inducing Scottish slang video shared in The Scottican’s Huv Ye Seen Itblog. I’ve been a huge fan of this hunky Glasgow law school grad-turned-actor since Reign of Fire. If you haven’t seen the movie, do! Nothing better than Gerard Butler and Christian Bale battling together in a riveting, suspenseful post-apocalyptic tale with dragons. Hmmm. I think I’m going to have to go pull out my DVD and make some popcorn.
An older blog from author, Kate MacRitchie on her favorite words to use in her fantasy stories. I love how she includes her personal experiences in her multilingual homeland.
An absolutely astonishing video on the Glaswegian accent.
Thank you for going down another research rabbit hole with an indie author in the middle of writing her latest paranormal romance.
For more on my published books, visit my novels page.
UK fantasy writers, Lydia Baker and Lucy McLaren decided to get together and give indie authors a platform for conversation. Check out their channel to help them share. You will meet amazing authors as they chat with the hosts, and you can enjoy author readings.
Read on to meet the hosts and learn about Introverted Indies’ purpose and goals.
The Hosts
My name’s Lucy and I write fantasy stories that focus on the light of human connection in dark, oppressive societies.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been drawn to the magic of storytelling, whether via books, video games, TV shows, or films.
Fantasy has always been my genre of choice (though I do love a good horror, psychological thriller, or murder mystery). There is something inherently captivating about journeying into another world with a character—though I find myself most drawn to fantasy stories, characters, and worlds that aren’t so different from our own.
I am currently working on a fantasy trilogy called The Commune’s Curse. The first and second books in this series, Awakening, and The Mad Man’s Hope are available now. In addition to this, my gothic fantasy book, EtherStone (working title), will be releasing in 2025 from Owl Talyn Press. I also enjoy writing short stories as they provide the opportunity to dip into new characters and settings without the commitment of a full-length novel.
Hi, I’m Lydia and I live in the UK with my husband and four children. I’m the author of romantasy novel, The Return of the Queen, and scifi-dystopian novel, AVA. I’m currently working on a crime novel. When I’m not writing, I enjoy crocheting, gaming, and being outdoors in the woods.
Let’s Get Started
It has been amazing watching this platform take off since you launched the signup form last September. What brought you two together in this Introverted Indies endeavor? Tell us about the name.
Lydia – Lucy and I first met through our joint experience with small press publishers just over a year ago, and our friendship has blossomed from there. We had been talking for a while, sharing the highs and lows of writing and helping each other out with our WIPs, when I broached the idea of making our own platform to support indie authors.
As I am sure Lucy will tell you, we have both had our fair share of difficulties with getting our books into the world, and we wanted to be able to help other indie authors in the same position as ourselves. It also helps us as authors to get our name known in the authoring world!
As for the name, that was Lucy’s wonderful idea! I’ll let her explain more about that one.
Lucy – Thanks, Lydia! Well, the name Introverted Indies came from the fact that we are both introverts and so many of the other authors I know would label themselves the same. And of course, we’re aiming to support fellow indie authors (self or small press published) like ourselves.
Just to add to what Lydia said as well, our friendship has been really lovely and invaluable in terms of being able to connect with a fellow writer who understands the emotional rollercoaster of writing and querying/publishing a book. So another part of us forming Introverted Indies was about wanting to connect with other authors too, to build a community of sorts.
Have you had a chance to pause and think about what Introverted Indies has achieved so far? The above image lists your goals. Can you tell us more about those?
Lucy – We were actually very surprised with how many authors signed up to be interviewed by us when we first opened up. But it was also very exciting to have so much interest!
Lydia – The other day I was thinking about how many amazing authors Lucy and I have had the opportunity to chat with since we started Introverted Indies in September last year and it’s around 30! Personally, I find chatting with new people makes me feel a little anxious, so for me, it has pushed me out of my comfort zone and made me feel more confident, something that is great for all walks of life.
Lucy – Yes, I agree. I always get a little nervous before the interview recordings, but everyone has been so lovely and it really is fascinating learning about everyone’s creative processes and stories. My TBR pile has grown significantly since we started our chats, and it was already far too long!
Lydia – As far as what II has achieved, I really hope that we have managed to bring readers and authors together and that book sales have been made. But also, I hope that we are adding in a positive way to the indie author community and I am praying that we keep growing and reach more and more people so that indie authors can get their books seen. Our aim has always been to help indie authors and it will continue to be that.
Lucy – Yeah, absolutely. We want to have a positive impact, to help authors find their readers, as we know how tough that can be from personal experience. We have lots of ideas on how to grow Introverted Indies. This is really just the beginning!
Darci – Well it truly is astonishing and it’s great to see you’re meeting your objectives with flying colors and benefiting from widening out in the community.
Do you have any special Introverted Indie events planned for this year?
Lydia – We have just launched our sign-up for Author Discussion Panels and we have had a good amount of interest so far. Our video interview and written interview sign up will be opening soon as well. But Lucy and I are hoping to meet in person again this year to discuss other ways we can give authors a platform and events we can do. However, we both work and have families, as well as our own WIPs, so it’s making sure we have a good balance as it’s so easy to burnout.
Lucy – Yup, what Lydia said. We’re really excited to chat to authors on the panels about various topics, from authoring and parenting, to author mental health. We’ve had lots of interest so far, so those promise to be great. And we know a few people are waiting for the interview waiting list to reopen. We want to do as much as we can to help authors, but of course, like Lydia mentioned, we’re also juggling our own lives. Finding a balance is very important, but I think everyone we’ve interacted with so far understands that.
Darci – I look forward to seeing all the exciting things roll out.
Can you share a few of your favorite Author Top Tips? Do you have other highlights/insights from your interviews that you’d like to share here?
Lucy – Ahh, I’ve heard so many good tips and pieces of advice so far. I’m writing this after a full day of toddler parenting so I’ll let Lydia say hers while I try to pick my brain…
Lydia – I’ve found it so reassuring to know that all of the authors I’ve spoken to are in the same boat when it comes to marketing, imposter syndrome, publishing, drafting, etc. It’s been great to chat about those experiences. What I’ve found useful is some of the technology authors use to draft. One author uses Scrivener which I didn’t know anything about and actually it sounds like it would be really useful to how I like to draft a novel.
The biggest highlight for me is just how lovely everyone I’ve spoken to has been. Every single author has been kind, chatty, and fun to speak with.
Lucy – Yes! Agreed. Having all of those same struggles as authors shows why it’s so important to have an author community. We’re all in this together and can get through it together.
Lydia – The one thing every author keeps saying is to keep writing and keep investing in the author community and I think those two things are very important.
Lucy – Yeah, a lot of the authors I’ve spoken to have said the same thing. Just write, draft your idea, even if it’s complete garbage at first–write it. And having supportive author friends around you can really help to get you through that first draft (and beyond) too.
Darci – Great stuff! Thank you!
I’ve included your bios at the outset but tell us a little more about yourselves and your writing journeys.
Lucy – I always wanted to write and did dabble in it when I was a teenager, though self-doubt/anxiety/general teenage life soon stopped me from trying. I didn’t properly start writing again until I was in my late twenties and training to be a counsellor. I had a lightbulb moment that was like–wait, this is something I’ve always wanted to do… why aren’t I doing it? And so I set myself the goal of writing a book, and I did it! Ahh, to be a student again with so much free time. Anyway, that book turned out to be Awakening (my debut and the first in my dark fantasy series, The Commune’s Curse) which was signed with a small press in 2020 and released in 2022.
I’ve since taken the rights back to my series and self-published the second book, The Mad Man’s Hope, at the end of 2024–which was exciting and scary. I also have a gothic fantasy book coming out sometime in 2025 from Owl Talyn Press. Alongside that, I’m working on the third book in The Commune’s Curse series and two other WIPs.
As for my ‘real job,’ I’m a counsellor, which is where my passion for mental health comes from. I find it incredibly important to explore this in the stories I tell, and will always seek to delve into some darker themes and experiences as part of this.
When I’m not writing or counselling, I’m raising my toddler alongside my husband–which is a challenge of its own.
Lydia – So, I’ve always loved books and writing since I was small, but I penned my first fantasy novel when I was fifteen/sixteen (it was awful!) and forced it upon my English teacher back in the days when we used floppy disks. She was so encouraging that I kept writing.
I decided to venture into self-publishing when my daughter (and 4th child!) was around 6 months old. Probably not the best decision I’ve ever made, and self-publishing felt like a very different thing back in 2017. I know that sometimes people still look down on indie authors now, but when I published it was much more looked down on. I had some success but nothing major.
In 2022 I signed with a small press publisher, however, I made the decision to have the rights to my book returned to me this year so I could have control over my books and release other books in the series. While being with a publisher was an interesting and valuable experience, I felt that overall I could champion my books as well as they did, if not better.
Darci – Ooh, I appreciate that insight about your foray into small press publishing Lydia. We all struggle with the pros and cons. It is so encouraging to get a glimpse into your journeys with your super busy lives.
Tell us about your books, works in progress, and where we can find them.
Lucy – So currently available are Awakening (The Commune’s Curse: Book 1) and The Mad Man’s Hope (The Commune’s Curse: Book 2). The series is a multi-POV, character focused dark fantasy story about a kingdom ruled by an authoritarian government hunting down children born with powers. The blurb for Awakening is:
A desperate young woman, traumatised by her past, seeks to protect two children. A teenage boy comes to terms with the incredible and deadly powers revealed by his young sister. A commander doggedly hunts them down, bound by the orders of the man he loves.
I won’t share the blurb for The Mad Man’s Hope because… spoilers. If you want a character-focused, dark fantasy series with animal companions, chosen one with a twist, found family, mental health rep, and a realistic toxic relationship, do check them out!
As mentioned in my bio and above, I also have a gothic fantasy book (working title EtherStone) coming out in 2025. This book poses the question: What if Jack the Ripper had been controlled by a god? It’s very much inspired by that period of history, too, with a Victorian London kind of vibe. We follow noblewoman Beth and her Lady’s Companion El as they set out to unmask the ruthless killer stalking their city–and soon come to realise that the danger is far closer than they thought. This one’s very different from my other series (which has more of a medieval fantasy vibe), and I’m really excited for it to be out in the world!
Lydia – Currently, I have a romantasy, The Return of the Queen, and a sci-fi-dystopian novel, AVA, out in the world.
The Return of the Queen is a low-spice story of a woman who collapses and wakes up in another world with no memory of who she is. It turns out she is far more important than she ever realised and then there is the man haunting her dreams…
I’m terrible at tropes, but I’d say it includes ones such as a forgotten lover, he had to give her up to save her–royal family, evil rulers.
AVA is different altogether. I wanted to explore the idea of an oppressed society, and that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Ava is trapped under a Barrier that appeared at the same time as strange shapes in the sky when she was a child. The Barrier separates her and the city she lives in from the rest of the world. Oppressed and controlled by MTech, she is desperate to get out and see what has survived outside the Barrier. AVA is book 1 in the series.
Both novels are on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.
Currently, I have a speculative fiction novel that I am trying to find a home for, and I have just sent out my crime novel, Earth and Bones, to my BETA readers so I’m awaiting feedback on that, which I am very excited about.
Lucy – And as one of those beta readers, let me tell you… Earth and Bones is brilliant.
Darci – Wow! Awesome works, and some great stories coming out soon for both of you! Thanks for sharing!
You’re both busy moms with busy lives. What are your best practices to stay creative, productive, and focused on your writing goals?
Lydia – With four kiddies and working four days a week, I have one day a week kid-free to work on writing. I try to keep that day sacred and not book anything in. That doesn’t always happen as I have to socialise sometimes! But most of the time I keep that day for writing. I also make a lot of notes. I use apps on my phone because it is usually nearby and make notes throughout the day about any book ideas, scenes, bits of dialogue I may have. Let’s put it this way, I have a lot of notes!
Lucy – I’m honestly in awe of Lydia and her ability to juggle her writing with her job and having four children. I struggle with one child!! She has been a powerhouse this past year in terms of writing output. My son is at nursery a couple of days a week, so I tend to try and write between counselling clients on those days. I am in the process of trying to re-establish my flow, having been editing for the last chunk of 2024 and early this year. I’ve turned to making hand-written notes for the WIP I’ll be working on next so that I can clear my head a bit and get back into the story, which I set aside quite a while ago at this point.
Generally, I try not to be too hard on myself if I don’t reach a certain word goal or whatever. I’ve found that actually tends to be counterproductive and adds on pressure, which has historically led to block for me. Now I just try to be far more laid back about it, though of course that doesn’t stop the guilt setting in when I feel like I haven’t been productive enough…
Darci – I’m in awe of both of you. I so appreciate your insights on staying organized.
Can you share your top takeaways from your experiences as indie authors, i.e., techniques, tools, and resources?
Lydia – I’ve found being part of the indie author community invaluable. For the most part, it is such a supportive and encouraging place. Other authors want to cheer you on, whether you’ve sold 3 books or 300, they are behind you rooting for you! It’s lovely.
But on the same note, don’t compare yourself to other authors. Everyone is different and on their own journey. Whether you write one book a year or ten, both are okay.
Lucy – Totally agree. That author community is amazing. We met on the FSF Writers Alliance Discord server, which is a free community for fantasy and sci-fi authors to join and is full of wonderful people. Highly recommend joining that if you want to meet other authors, share your work, or take part in story contests. We’re also starting a writer mentorship program this year which is worth checking out! And as much as I have a love/hate relationship with social media, it has been great for connecting with fellow writers. The writing community is generally lovely, I’ve found.
Lydia – I also invested in Grammarly last year and as much as I’d love to use a human editor, I simply can’t afford it, especially when I have multiple books I’d like to get out into the world. Also, Canva for covers; again I wish I could afford to pay one of the talented artists out there, but I can’t so stock images it is! I never use AI though.
I know Lucy has a few useful bits of software that really help when self-publishing too.
Lucy – Yes! I second using Canva, which is affordable and great for creating graphics as well as book covers (if you, like us, are on a budget and can’t afford to pay for a cover–and are staunchly against AI). In terms of other software, I also have Vellum which wasn’t cheap but meant I could format my book ready for self-publishing–and saved a whole load of pain trying to figure out how to do that on Word. Generally, I write my books using Word, which is probably a bit boring of me but it’s worked so far.
Darci – So many ways to share support and find resources. Thanks for sharing! The mentor program sounds fabulous. I adore Canva and I have to say, I also finally splurged on Grammarly Pro. I do all my own editing and it’s a time saver. I just need to learn to reject the suggestions when they obliterate my voice since it’s geared more toward business writers than fiction. But I am so bad with commas. I can’t afford not to use it. Watch for the sales. It was nearly half off over here for Black Friday.
What are your top three favorite books, or in the alternative, favorite authors?
Lucy – My favourite book of all time (which I count as one despite it being a trilogy) is His Dark Materialsby Philip Pullman. It’s just amazing. And then my favourite authors alongside that are Robin Hobb, Joe Abercrombie, Samantha Shannon… The list could go on, so I’ll stop there.
And I will add, I know those are all big-name authors. I am working on reading more indie authors–and running Introverted Indies means I’ll certainly be able to rectify that in the future! Some indie authors whose works you should definitely check out (off the top of my head–there are so many but my brain is depleted right now) are Trudie Skies and Linda Ling.
Lydia – I absolutely love Mitch Albom, his books are so moving, especially The Stranger In the Lifeboat. I’ve recently discovered Kevin Hearne’s Ink and Sigil which was a hilarious mix of wizards, detectives, and magical creatures. The Ruth Galloway series by Elly Griffiths is great, too, easy-to-read crime novels about a detective and an archeologist. Can I add a 4th author? My co-host Lucy’s books are awesome too, and I am so excited about her up-and-coming Jack the Ripper-inspired novel, EtherStone!
Lucy – Right back at you, Lydia–for anyone reading, check out the lovely Lydia’s books if you want compelling, interesting characters and complex worldbuilding.
Darci – A fantastic list, you two. Thanks for sharing. I added a couple to my TBR. I’ve wanted to get the Ink and Sigil series just for its awesome covers, and Ruth Galloway captured my attention. I love that you’re not only friends but fans of each other’s work!
Thank you so much, Lucy and Lydia, for visiting my Guest Spotlight! What parting advice do you have for those who want to pursue writing?
Lydia – Keep writing—there will be ups and downs as with anything, but don’t let it stop you. Writing can be lonely, so make some author friends, join writer’s groups, and come chat with us at Introverted Indies—anything where you are with like-minded people. That support is invaluable. One last thing, draft without editing—just write. Get it down and leave yourself notes if you get stuck and then move on to the next scene. Once you’ve got the bones down, you can go back and add the meat!
Lucy – You took the words right out of my mouth (keyboard?), Lydia. No first draft is going to be perfect. I’m personally a pantser, so I jump into writing without planning. Even if you like to plan, I highly recommend giving it a try—have your idea, open a new document, and start writing. See what comes out. You don’t need to have all the answers immediately, you can come back and fill in any holes later. Just get it out of your head and onto paper.
Lucy was my Spotlight Guest in 2023, and I enjoyed an interview with Lucy on the Introverted Indies channel earlier this month. A written chat will be coming soon.
A pair of UK fantasy writers, Lydia Baker, and Lucy McLaren, decided to get together and give indie authors a platform for conversation. I was Lucy’s guest this week!
You’ll also find authors reading from their books and they do written interviews. Check out their channel to help them share and give fledgling authors a voice. Follow them on Instagram and learn how you can participate.
Lucy and I had technical issues and some of our conversation got lost in the ether. Stay tuned for more in an upcoming Introverted Indies Blog.
I’m looking forward to seeing what another year will bring in this amazing four-year writing, post day-job journey. I’ve set a few fun goals. How about you?
I had fun today looking back at my 2024 highlights. An important takeaway was that I spent the year too bogged down in the numbers. The stats were absolutely amazing and exciting and yes, even a bit validating.
Still, 2025 will be the year to get lost again in my stories.
I like to tell people when I’m being dramatic that I was born under the shadow of Mount Shasta. It’s fitting that my writing passion was fueled by a visit to McCloud, California, which sits at the base of this mythical 14,139-foot-high stratovolcano.
I’ve been chatting with Introverted Indies dark fantasy author Lucy A. McLaren who was a guest on my Spotlight in 2023. Our conversation got me remembering the start of my writing journey in 2020 when I met my folks in McCloud, a small mill town on Highway 89 near Interstate 5, one of many historical mill and mining towns in Siskiyou and Shasta counties. A few miles down the highway, you’ll find Burney Falls. another scenic wonder President Theodore Roosevelt called “the Eight Wonder of the World.”
That first story I was typing away on (in photo below) never got past the first few chapters, but what a perfect setting for a paranormal romance! I’m only just now appreciating how much I was affected by the atmosphere, which I believe was the glue that cemented my writing passion.
An article in Big Think aptly describes Mount Shasta as “[a] mountain [is] associated with so many otherworldly, paranormal, and mythical beings—in addition to long-established Native American traditions—that it’s almost like a who’s who of metaphysics.”
I was super glad I booked a bed and breakfast room at the charming McCloud Hotel. I highly recommend a stay.
Check out Where I Live for more beautiful areas and photographs.
I hope you enjoy these tidbits shared in this month’s email newsletter.
Never once have I failed to find the education I’m looking for on YouTube. I wanted to know more about Norse magic and runes and came across YouTuber and professor Dr. Jackson Crawford who teaches that very subject. Here is the first video I stumbled upon in my search about Seiðr Magic and Gender:
Dr. Crawford has an entire course on runes.
That led me to rune song, which led to compiling a playlist of reinvented primitive music… pulsing, haunting, magical shaman stuff, great for fantasy inspiration. The first is an album by Munknörr. The second is a performance by Heilung.
Heilung’s music is described as “Viking metal,” in this charming article in a New Jersey high school newspaper. Heilung uses traditional instruments from around the world, including a horse skin drum, a Hindu ritual bell, and a buffalo horn rattle. They also sing in multiple languages, primarily Old Norse, Old English, and Old Saxon. This song, Krigsgaldr, translates roughly to battle magic.
I’ll finish this piece with two Chronicle documentaries that are lengthy but well worth watching. The first is the history of the Celts. You might be surprised by their origins and insights into a complex, creative culture built upon salt trading.
The second documentary is a history of the Dark Ages told through the art left behind. One major takeaway from both documentaries is the skewed writings of the historians, namely the Romans, who had no compunction about spinning history in their favor.
Art tells a different truth.
So, if you got this far, you might still be wondering about the real meaning of barbarian. It’s covered quite well in the video above, and you probably already know it refers to uncivilized people. Simply, it means other; those who don’t speak like us (according to the “civilized” Romans, it was everyone who lived outside of the Roman Empire).
I’ll link you to the Oxford Classical Dictionary, which goes into the definition at length. and says in part: The term was a social designation rather than a legal status, but could inform institutions and actions and, within certain contexts, the differential treatment of groups, in which case it can be appropriately described as racial thinking.
By D. L. Lewellyn 