Nasty weather’s heading this way and plans to stick around a while, so I’ll keep this brief. One thing I do like in a setting, especially anime but any setting, is attention to details. Two things that really show those off are… heh. Weather, and glasses. Continue reading
Swift as her snakes, Stheno pounced.
Kirito trembled in her arms. Resistance to poison wasn’t immunity. He knew what her cobras could do. Continue reading
I’ll be upfront about it: I have a sucker button for fantasy biology.
“I left the clearers. I couldn’t look at them…. The Black Cats didn’t know what I’d done. They just needed another swordsman.”
“Another – they didn’t know you were a sorcerer?” Stheno demanded, aghast. “Why? How could you even hide it?” Continue reading
One of the interesting things about folktales is that there are plenty of contests that aren’t physical fights. Which is, in fact, part of what I’m working on in the latest trouble spot in Seeds of Blood. Continue reading
“Aunt Stheno.” A bare whisper. “It’s a – it feels like-”
“Shh.” Stheno crouched to block the youth from Yui’s sight. Continue reading
And sometimes the bunnies get ambitious.
“It’s just that you act like-” smell like “-you expected something to happen. And it didn’t, and you’re… disappointed.” Which was scary. Sachi fought because her guild fought, but if they ever decided to stay in town, she’d never go looking for monsters on her own! Continue reading
Sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know. Which is one reason having a beta reader – or three, or as many as you can lasso and bribe with chocolate – is critical. More eyes = more chances for someone to say, “Wait, that doesn’t seem right….”
Sometimes what you don’t know is that you’re actually missing a whole scene the reader really, really needs to place what the heck is going on, who are those guys, Continue reading
Sachi let herself breathe again, and took another cautious glance around the edge of the woodland pond. Dragonflies, cicadas; a violet-spotted frog hopping off a Sawtoothed Lily pad into dark water. Otherwise their little swampy clearing was as quiet as the black-clad swordsman perched on a cypress branch somewhere over her head. Continue reading