Howdy. Another week, another lesson for me: I'm still learning that I'm doing these emails all wrong. 😔 Or, at least, not so right. So, I'm changing things around, and I'll keep you posted in case it inclines you to opt out. Namely, what I'm changing first is my content - I plan to have personal content, followed by short pieces written by characters in The Guardian League (until that series finishes). But I reserve the right to change that, and with every email, you have the opportunity to opt out.

Halloween

I enjoy Halloween... costumes, scary movies, kids daring each other to ring the doorbell on THAT house. This year I started decorating mid-September, amidst a Facebook neighborhood bedlam of dares. My kids range from almost-11 to 15 years old, but I still have mostly the little-kid decorations. Not finished yet; I have an inflatable pumpkin and ghost to put out (smiling, friendly pumpkin and ghost), and more lights. My wife told me my Berks were too far gone, so I put them on Skelly - if it were up to me, clothes would never get thrown out, and I bridge that chasm in our marriage by repurposing clothes as best I can. I built that pillory/stock contraption out of a shipping crate. (more reuse!) Skelly isn't quite bendy enough to fit in it properly, but at least his feet are warm.

What do you do for Halloween? All out scare-fest? Duck and cover? I'd love to hear your Halloween stories.

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Grundle's Hope

[SPOILER ALERT - While the scene is from Book 2, it slips in info from Books 3&4]

Humans, and elves, and probably dwarves, thought that because my rocky exterior deflected most blades, that I couldn’t be hurt. And I didn’t mean the pain of losing my family, losing my species, losing my planet.

Losing everything.

No, the irony of my pain made me chuckle, causing the soft human to shift in her sleep. Being a pile of rocks did not, apparently, prevent me from getting pains from sitting awkwardly for extended durations! Ha!

The lovely Agent Smith curled up against me, her little device from which she’d read aloud The Lord of the Rings lying by her open hand. It’s tiny words, created from light, had dimmed and then disappeared long before. Yet it remained a marvel to me, as did the enormous transport we rode in, flying high over her world. The humans had done such incredible things with no magic. I wondered what the long-vanquished progenitor of my species would have made of it.

From what I’d read, I believed the Father of Stones would still have destroyed them. But the ancient texts that spoke of him were suspect, having been written by his enemies.

Regardless, the idea that made me chuckle, the idea of enduring pain from an uncomfortable position just for someone else to sleep, needed some attention.

Being a Warlord, I learned early that I would never have a mate, never experience that mental and physical bond between two living beings. I would never find an intellectual equal among my own species, and I could never have a physical bond with anyone, troll or otherwise.

Something of the same echoed from the human slumbering against me. I hadn’t learned her whole story, but I knew she had single-mindedly pursued her career after some devastating experience. No parents or siblings, no mate… and then her career had blown up in her face. Almost literally.

While it hadn’t exactly been my fault, it certainly would never have happened if I had not entered the picture. Of course, her whole world might have been destroyed if I hadn’t entered the picture, so, “prepare for floods when you summon rain,” as the elves used to say. When her world, her lonely life, cratered, I’d called her to a new purpose, given her a new hope.

The odd thing was, in giving her hope, I’d had to create that which I had lost. You can’t give what you don’t have. I didn’t know from where it came. Had I dug it up from nothing? Is hope so easily kindled?

My own experience suggested otherwise. That hope grew or dwindled amidst community. It fed, like a disease, on others. And I suspected, in the case of the lovely Agent Smith, that I’d fed her hope sparked from something in her. Something I’d seen in the similarities of our stories that made me want her to hope. So that I could hope too.

I didn’t like the thought of how easily, if tied to people, hope could be extinguished. Smith’s pale, soft body, so like the elves, had little natural defense against the rigors of life. But I did like the idea that hope so easily flamed. I truly felt comfort with the pain from my unwieldy position, in that it brought the human some sleep. I found I undeniably enjoyed our time together. I wondered if she felt the same.

I hoped so.

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Writing Updates: I stumbled on The Rebel Author's Podcast this week. They interviewed the narrator for Book 1 of The Guardian League, and I chanced to notice the post on IG. That Podcast series has a ton of meat to it... great stuff that I think will help my writing, and change the way I connect the dots for books, covers, and blurbs. It might also push me to try and set up a virtual meeting with readers one day. Interested? Send me a note if you are.

ARC readers of Book 3 — I’m checking in. I’m planning to release Book 3 in December. It's in next-to-last edit now. (This round of edits is probably my slowest… takes more than a month in total). I’ve spotted a couple of loose ends that I’ll have to tie off. If you haven’t started reading yet, please target getting me any feedback by mid-Oct. I outsource my last round of editing, which I hope to do at the end of Oct. My long pole right now is pictures. They haven’t gone as smoothly for this book as they did for book 2.

To Do list for writing this week:

• Get this email out!
• Edit three chapters a day in Book 3.
• Fix the auto-emails on signup for mailing list. (least likely to get done!)
• Submit specs for remaining pics.
• Write the Calyx Sister email for next week.
• Write the Elliah in Bata short story.

Whew! That's too much, considering what I expect from my day job, and carting kids to and fro (and to again).

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