The Broken Laptop

My laptop is broken so I'm going a little crazy. I can only handle hand-writing for short periods of time so I started sketching out cover ideas for the work-in-progress trilogy. I like the minimalist look right now. I hate typing on a tablet, bit that is all I have to post with right now. This is the first time I've posted via mobile device and it's a huge pain.

I also sewed a couple of dresses for my daughter. I'm most amused by this one...

Snippet Sunday: Mayfly Requiem

Do you still remember that spring we found the nest of baby birds blown down by the wind? They died in our hands, naked, vulnerable, infinitely fragile. I cried for days. Such precious life, created and snuffed out in hardly an instant. When we were children, time ran by too fast, but now we are ancient and every day is a slow crawl toward an indeterminate finish line. Our neighbors, our friends, our lovers have become those baby birds. Their lives are fleeting, but that does not make them any less precious. They are meaningful and beautiful. We used to be, but now I am the living damned and you are a breathing, clouded myth. We have nearly faded from all memory, but here we are, alive and forgotten. I like it better that way. It is quiet, tranquil except for my remorse and the ticking, the constant reminder I have of my servitude. The quiescence gives us the opportunity to be... well, be a little bit human. I wouldn't exchange it for anything at all. Except, of course, the opportunity to undo my final mistake as a Time Child. What have I done? What horrors have I brought upon myself and the world? Dia, I'm just as terrified and bleak as those dying baby birds, and as fleetingly fragile.

-from Mayfly Requiem

Six-Sentence Sunday

Bethel was universally respected even as his sons were reduced to nightmares suffered by wayward children. It was the same for us everywhere and I never became acclimated to the automatic assumption that I was to be feared. I certainly was a fearful creature, but when you tell your children to stay away from the spindly little boy from the forest, you are working a little too hard at inciting the rage within that spindly little boy. I was just a kid, after all, no more mature or developed than a Drey or a human ten-year-old. I learned early I was something to be feared and those early whispers and rumors have clung to me through the years. People create their own monsters, and it's hard not to become what everyone wants you to be when they push your inner nature to overtake your mind.

- from Sand into Glass, Book 1 of the Emergence Trilogy (Book 6 of the Malora Series)