FORCE OF HABIT

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I am lovin’ on Polyvore, spending a little time every day indulging myself by putting together Pretty Lady Outfits. Shoes that would break my ankles. Dresses that would make me look like a cow in the all-barnyard production of Auntie Mame. It is most enjoyable.

One of my sisters-in-law mentioned ‘ten’ like, which I had forgotten. I remembered play like, but ‘ten’ like is what we called it most of the time, short for pretend like, meaning let’s pretend. ‘Ten’ like you’re a bandit and I’m the Lone Ranger. ‘Ten’ like we’re lost in the jungle and Tarzan jumps out of the tree — ‘ten’ like the swing set is the tree.

Real life

That’s why I like Polyvore: I can ‘ten’ like. I mean, here is how I dress in real life: Jeans from Goodwill, shirt a gift, jacket a gift, shoes (not shown) ten years old and a gift. Total cost of outfit: $0.00.

'Ten' like

And here is how I ‘ten’ like I dress on Polyvore. Total cost of outfit: over $2,000.00. Total cost to me: $0.00.

So what is the sadness? I was hoping to use Polyvore to show what my characters are wearing. That would work for some characters, but I wanted to show the dress Freldt was wearing and swapped to Bel, so that Bel was kidnapped in Freldt’s place. (FORCE OF HABIT) Maybe I’d better dress my characters before I write them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a lilac double-breasted jumpsuit with a plaid peplum? Even on the internet?

On the plus side, doing a Google search for lilac double-breasted jumpsuit plaid peplum totally brings up my book, so….

WRITING PROMPT: A character knows exactly what he or she wants to buy, but can’t find it.

MA

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That’s world-i-ness, not world-li-ness.

I posted yesterday (supposed to be today, but I zigged when I shoulda zagged) at Echelon Explorations on the topic of making differences count.

In that post, I referenced other people’s work. This is my dang blog, and Imma use my own novels as examples, taking one example from each.

EEL’S REVERENCE
This takes place on an alternate Earth-type planet, and most of the natural world is the same. The only difference in the natural world, in fact, is that merfolk are an evolved sentient species. With the use of gillbands, they can function on land, balancing on their very long tails and moving like erect cobras. I didn’t just stick that in because I thought it would be cool. One of the central conflicts in the book is whether or not merfolk are people within the landfolk’s definition of the term and, if they aren’t, how they can and should be treated.

The first of the merfolk we meet is beaten, stripped of his gillband, given a cheap and inefficient one, and exiled into the desert. This is not the same level of danger to him as it is to the landfolk exiled with him.

Merfolk mature at a faster rate than landfolk, so Loach, a young adult from the sea, is much younger, experientially, than he appears. It makes him more foolhardy, more vulnerable and more resilient than expected.

FORCE OF HABIT
The people of the planet Llannonn look exactly like Earth people. This isn’t laziness on my part — Whaddya mean “isn’t just laziness”? Shut up! — IT’S VITAL TO THE PLOT, which is one of mistaken identity.

An important cultural difference is the centrality of courtesy to the Llannonninns. People from other planets mistake the courtesy for gentleness, and are … let us say surprised … by the swiftness and harshness of Llannonninn justice. It isn’t pleasant to contemplate being placed, naked, into a nail-studded barrel drawn through the street by maddened beasts, even if the sentence is proposed over a nice cup of tea.

How do cultural differences play a part in your work or in your favorite books set in other places and/or times from your own?

WRITING PROMPT: There used to be a show on TV in which women were dominant and men were subservient. I found it sickening, because it was exactly like a stereotyped version of the real world at the time, with the genders reversed. How might the world be different in a matriarchy?

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My sf/cop/farce FORCE OF HABIT is up at the Critters.org P&E poll for best sf/fantasy novel and for best mystery, I thought I’d give you another sample from it. So I will.

In this excerpt, amphibious siblings from the planet Gilhoo are on their way to question a woman from the planet Llannonn who has been mistakenly transported to the spaceship in place of Bel, who is missing on the planet. Tetra never uses contractions, because she’s found that humans tend to believe everything said by people who don’t use contractions.

“But, Tetra,” said Quatro Petrie. “Don’t you think you should have cleared it with the Captain before you told me all this? Sensitive, highly classified information–”

Ordinarily, Tetra refrained from interrupting Quatro’s speeches, preferring to let him drone on while she employed the time with thoughts of her own. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and she interrupted him now.

“Do you know what the students call you, Quatro? What everyone calls you, since someone came up with it in the corridor one day?”

“I’m not interested in the feeble jests of the semiliterate.”

After a step or two, Quatro asked, “What do they call me?”

“Pete the Clam,” said Tetra. “Because of your reticence. It is legendary. The Captain would not object to my telling you something she does not want spread around. And your assistance is required, not to say essential. Now, just do as I instructed you, and then you can get back to your cross-sectioning.”

The Gilhoolies were in sick bay. Tetra had dragooned Quatro immediately after leaving Captain Fazzaria in Clubroom locus B15.

“Dragooned” was the appropriate word: Tetra had taken Quatro to sick bay by way of the commissary. There, she had picked up two yards of gold bric-a-brac and a tube of quick-dry glue. Behind the closed doors of Dr. Vlador Frazni’s office, she had cut the bric-a-brac into strips of various lengths and glued the lengths to Quatro’s clothing.

“Remember,” she said. “Very soft-spoken. Very gentle. Restrained.”

“Should I smile?”

Quatro had a smile, which he practiced in front of a mirror, and used in the classroom when pointing out pupils’ deficiencies and flaws. He labored under the delusion that it put the students at ease.

Tetra had seen this smile, and had seen young persons whom it had stricken. “By all means,” she said.

Now she led Quatro to the quarantine rooms. She gave Batista his lines and had him change places with Antonioni.

Inside Freldt’s quarantine room, Batista pretended to wipe a dew of fear from his brow.

“I pity you,” he said.

Freldt looked up from her discviewer. She put the show on pause and took the translation plug out of her ear. She needed a break just now: Bambi stood at the edge the Big Meadow for the first time and the tension was nearly unbearable.

“The Captain has some questions and she wants some answers for them,” Batista said.

“No response,” Freldt said. “Don’t ask.”

“I’m not asking. It isn’t my job to ask. Asking is somebody else’s job.”

The door opened, and Quatro came in dressed in khaki trousers, now with gold bric-a-brac down the outside seams,  and a red turtleneck, now with gold trim around the neck and cuffs. He wore his favorite off-duty wig, one of short curls the color of weak apple-cinnamon tea. It set off the blue-green of his eyes, though he would have eaten worms before admitting such a thought ever occurred to him.

Batista shrank from him. “Quatro!”

“Leave the room,” said Quatro, very soft-spoken, very gentle, restrained.

“My orders–”

“Your orders are to leave the room, Ven,” said Quatro.

“Now leave, before I take the trouble to remember your name.” Quatro was no actor, and he spoke without inflection. The effect was chilling.

“She isn’t to be left alone.”

“But she won’t be alone, will she? I’ll be here to keep her company. I’m sure we’ll find something to occupy our time.”

And he smiled.

Batista left the room.

“No response,” said Freldt, with considerably less emphasis than before. “Don’t ask.”

Quatro only looked at her.

Freldt felt cold sweat popping out in places no sweat of any temperature had ever popped before.

“The Captain thinks you don’t answer our questions because you don’t understand Allesesperanto,” Quatro said. “Do you understand Allesesperanto?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good. I hate it when I get impatient with someone, and lose my temper, and then find out they simply didn’t understand the question. Especially when it’s too late for me to apologize.”

He crossed the room to Freldt and took the discviewer control out of her hand. She gave it up to him, avoiding his touch and scrunching away from him into the corner of her bed. He pressed a button, and the viewscreen went dark.

“A sad show,” Quatro said. “They kill his Mother.”

WRITING PROMPT: An innocuous character has to intimidate someone.

MA

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Not to live in, to watch. I already posted this one for eBooks for Christmas, and now I’ve made two more, one for EEL’S REVERENCE and one for FORCE OF HABIT, each only 30 seconds long:

I made the Christmas one through Animoto, and the other two with Windows Live Movie Maker. Is fun! :)

So I ask you: Do trailers intrigue you enough to want to find out more about a book, maybe even buy it? If I made a trailer of myself talking about something, would you watch it?

WRITING PROMPT: If you had to pare down your book/story/product to a 30-second spot, what would you say or show about it?

Posting today at Fatal Foodies with a recipe for almost-instant guacamole.

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Holly Jahangiri, the real one, has interviewed Holly Jahangiri, the character in my FREE story, “By the Book” (link below)! Read it and weep (from laughter).

I felt some trepidation about doing this interview, and the occasional creaking and banging from the underbelly of the space vessel St Gregory the Wonderworker – more commonly referred to by its young crew as the Uncle Gus – did nothing to calm my nerves. It is very disorienting to travel between alternative universes, and I could not shake the old Terran terror at the idea of causing some paradoxical calamity upon meeting myself in this one. Author Marian Allen assured me that the fiber of the universal matrix would not collapse and bring us some sort of cosmic-level mash-up, but having grown up with such urban legends and pulpy, hyperbolic sci-fi novels, I could not shake the feeling of impending doom and possible implosion.

“They are ready for you, Ven Jahangiri,” said the Gilhoolie woman, Tetra. She reached out to help me off the contraption known as a Floatachair, where I had curled up in a near fetal position without even realizing it.

“Yes, well, this ought to be fun,” I said, mustering a wan smile.

“Yes. It ought to be,” she agreed. Together, we made our way to the Transfer Dock. I balked at my first sight of the Transfer Module, wondering if this would be like the transporter in Star Trek or that horrid invention from The Fly. I didn’t want to end up with eight eyes, able only to eat and digest food I’d chewed and regurgitated first. “Come, stand over here,” said Tetra. “Everyone is a little nervous the first time. It will most likely be fine,” she added reassuringly. I turned to the nearest trash can and practiced the regurgitating part while the technicians pretended to fiddle with the nobs and pointedly did not notice my disgrace.

A few seconds later, I was standing in the parlor of a Llannonninn Living Library furnished, oddly enough, like an English boarding house, circa 1901. Anachronistic knick-knacks were scattered about on shelves, which were curiously devoid of books. A little woman whom I assumed to be the parlormaid held out her hand. Surely she did not expect a tip, having just wordlessly arrived and having done nothing to alleviate the disorientation I felt upon having just slid my particles through a wormhole. The least she could have done was to offer stiff drink.

“Your card?” she prompted.

“Oh! Yes, of course.” I fished about in my pockets and retrieved a slightly crumpled business card. Parlormaid Tambar Miznalia took it with a sniff and disappeared. A moment later, I came quickly down the staircase in front of myself. If I hadn’t felt disoriented a moment ago, I would be thoroughly gobsmacked by now.

“Me?” I gasped.

“No, me!” she exclaimed with an impish grin. “I have been so looking forward to meeting myself!” She motioned me over to a thickly stuffed armchair upholstered in a very flowery floral pattern.

I tugged a copper filigree recording locket from under my shirt and asked, “Do you mind? It’s much easier than taking notes the old fashioned way…”

“Oh, Self-from-a-Distant-Planet,” said Assistant Librarian Holly Jahangiri, “all this is just a setting, as you’d find in any good book! We do have computer technology here. And sometimes, I even wear slacks – I just enjoy dressing to fit my surroundings.”

Now I felt as if I’d stepped back into a Terran RenFaire, or a community theatre, and I had a sudden urge to examine the walls and search for blocking tape. From the chair next to myself, I smiled knowingly and almost blurted, “Stop that!”

Best to begin the interview, I thought, and pressed the button on my recording locket. “So, tell me, Holly, what is a ‘Living Library’?”

Assistant Librarian Holly Jahangiri nodded, expecting the question, and called to the kitchen, “Er, Three Men in a Boat, could you come here a second?”

My jaw dropped as a proper English gent wearing a ruffled pink cook’s apron emerged. “I say!” he exclaimed, upon seeing me there. “Do we have guests for lunch?”

“Only if Montmorency can refrain from adding freshly-killed water rat to the stew,” warned Holly. Her—the Llannonninn one, not me.

“Montmorency?” I asked.

“This, Terran Holly, is ‘Three Men and a Boat, To Say Nothing of the Dog.’ He is what we call a Living Book. Practically reads himself,” she added. “Montmorency is the dog we don’t speak of. Right, then, a guest for lunch – thank you, Three Men in a Boat.” The man returned to the kitchen, where much banging of pots ensued.

“I see,” I said, seeing nothing at all.

“I think she needs cake,” said Assistant Librarian Holly. When Parlormaid Tambar Miznalia reappeared with cake and tea, wearing the ruffled pink apron and blushing madly, I finally did see – quite clearly.

“Thank you,” I said.

“So, Assistant Librarian Holly Jahangiri, I understand that you are originally from the Meadow of Flowers?”

“How on Terra did you guess?”

“I didn’t guess, exactly. I mean, I did read Marian Allen’s excellent accounts of life on Llannonn – “By the Book,” and Force of Habit – but if I’d had to guess, I’d say the spikeflower behind your ear, and the purple feather boa draped over the divan, would be clues.”

I—she—applauded with apparent delight. “You read, too!?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or sniff haughtily at the implied insult.

“I’m sorry,” said Assistant Librarian Holly. “It’s just…so many writers don’t, these days.” A small crowd of people in various period costumes had gathered at the sound of her applause and now stood nodding solemnly at me. “I think they would like to read themselves to you,” said Assistant Librarian Holly Jahangiri. The people continued to nod until they reminded me of bobble-heads on the dashboard of a ‘57 Chevy.

“I see. We’re never going to get this interview done, are we?”

“Probably not. Best you just recommend to your readers that they check out Marian’s story – ‘By the Book’ – and then, if that’s piqued their curiosity at all, they ought to read her seminal work on Llannonninn culture, Force of Habit. I highly recommend it.”

“Wait, you said ‘Buy the book,’ but isn’t it free?”

“No, silly Self, ‘By the Book’ is free. Force of Habit is THREE – as in three Terran dollars.”

“Actually, it’s only $2.99,” I said, double-checking the holographic stacks on my sat phone.

“A bargain!” I exclaimed. “And now, it’s time for lunch…”

 


Holly Jahangiri is a technical communicator, social media analyticator, children’s book author with 4RV Publishing (Trockle, and A Puppy, Not a Guppy), blogger, happy wife and mom living in Houston, Texas. She would really appreciate it if you would read her post, Good Goals Gone Bad on TheNextGoal.com.

WRITING PROMPT: Interview your main character. Now have your main character interview you. What would you want that character to know about you? What would you like to fudge or hide?

MA

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First, I want to point you to my wacky interview with the wonderful Jen Wylie. She’s a fan of FORCE OF HABIT, so she couldn’t ask me regular questions, could she? Guess not. ;)

Okay, here is an excerpt from FORCE OF HABIT. In this one, District Criminal Investigator Pel Darzin of the planet Llannonn goes undercover to track a villain to his boss’ lair.

Darzin slipped into an alley and turned his fuchsia uniform tunic inside out. Now, it was the sort of cheesy green material a Rural might wear to the city. His black shirt and trousers would pass for city-bought finery. A few seconds with his comb, and his hair was parted in the middle and plastered down over his ears, as if he wanted it obvious he intended to let it grow long enough to plait.

Darzin swaggered to the entrance of The Jipp Joint, like a hick who wanted the city to think he measured up to it, and went in.

He was in luck. The Stokk Gord Pron loitered in the entrance hall, talking to a Stokk Female. Darzin knew she was female because of the several grommets in the rims of her ears; this one’s grommets glittered with jewel chips and were threaded with fine gold chain. Pretty expensive ear job for a woman wearing a plain, loose-fitting suit, tight at the ankles and wrists. Darzin pegged her as one of the club’s bouncers.

Darzin stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the decor like a man who incorrectly assumed he had a right to pass judgment on it. But he kept an eye on Pron.

Pron spotted the “hick” and pointed him out to the bouncer. They both spread their lipless mouths in derision. “Gotta go,” Pron said. “Take care.”

Pron and the female punched each other on the shoulders and Pron headed for the rear of the entrance hall while the bouncer headed for Darzin.

“May I see your membership card, please?” The female clearly didn’t expect to see one.

“Membership card? What might that ‘ere be?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in the club without a membership card.”

“Reckon money’ll do,” said Darzin.

“Please forgive me, but I’ll have to ask you to leave. I may not make any exceptions.”

The woman’s courtesy was flawless. She’d been well trained. She’d probably been well-trained in more than courtesy. Darzin hoped he didn’t have to find out.

He didn’t have to. Just as she reached for his arm, the Stokk Gord Pron rapped on a door at the end of the wall to Darzin’s left, entered, and closed the door behind him.

That was all Darzin needed to know.

“I’ll go, I’ll go,” he said. “‘E don’t have to get grumpity. E meant no harm. ‘S just looking.”

“Of course,” said the woman. “Think nothing of it.”

“Money’s good most places in this ‘ere town,” Darzin said, as if determined to save some face. “Reckon I’ll spend it where it’s wanted.”

The woman walked Darzin to the door. She took a slip of paper from a filigree holder on the wall.

“Please accept this from the management,” she said. “It’s a coupon good for one free meal at the Council City restaurant of your choice. And, if you know any members of our club, please ask to be nominated for membership. Your business would be most welcome. Have a nice day.”

The doors of The Jipp Joint closed behind the District Criminal Investigator. Innkeeper Boktu Jippir knew how to keep the forms, Darzin certainly had to give him that. He tucked his coupon into a pants pocket and went looking for a window into the room Pron had entered.

Don’t forget to enter the contest to win a free e-copy of FORCE OF HABIT or one of my other eBooks, a Sweet Little Baby Angels pin or your name in a short story.

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That sounds like an old cartoon strip, doesn’t it? Anybody remember the Katzenjammer kids?

I’m not talking about that, though, I’m talking about two other things. First, I’m guesting at Amy Corwin’s blog, Fiction Writing and Other Oddities (whaddya mean, “perfect for you”? Shut up!) on the subject of FORCE OF HABIT and aliens and alley jammers. Hop on over and read about my turning a Star Trek fanfic short story into an original novel. If you like, please drop a comment.

The other thing I’m talking about is yesterday’s ordeal. Yes, it’s been a year already since we last took Mom’s cats to the vet. It wasn’t any better this time.

Ozzie, the boy who looks like a dreamsicle, was easy to take. Mom put the cat carrier out the day before to get him used to it, and put cat treats inside so he’d go in on his own. On the day, the big chump the sweet little guy walked right in and we closed the door and that was that. Once he was there, though, he hissed and growled and generally acted ugly until they let him get back in the carrier. He won the prize for cleanest ears of the week, so Mom was very proud, all in all.

Sweetie Pie, the girl who looks like a Snickers bar, was totally the opposite. Mom got the harness on her and the leash, making it relatively easy to drag her (Sweetie Pie, not Mom) across the floor and porch, down the stairs and into the car. She cried the whole way (still Sweetie Pie) and shed mass amounts of fur and distributed drifts of hysterical dandruff all over the car.

When we got to the vet’s, she (just assume I’m talking about the cat unless I say differently, okay?) wouldn’t get out of the car. She dug her claws into the carpet and I had to unhook them one by one. I got her out, and she tried to crawl up into the car’s undercarriage. Then she whizzed on the asphalt and rolled in it. One of the vet’s assistants finally had to come out and help me.

Sweetie Pie has not lost weight since last year: she weighs 22 pounds now. “Passive resistance” really means something, when it comes at that weight and with slippery fur, claws and teeth. We could have used her in the Seventies. She didn’t protest anything in the office except by meowing piteously, and she had to be carried back out to the car. On the way home, she barfed on one side of the floor and pooped on the other side.

A fun time was had by all. A year sure passes quickly.

WRITING PROMPT: Have a character take an animal somewhere the animal does not want to go.

MA

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It’s the first of the month, so I have a new Hot Flash.

The contest is still running to promote FORCE OF HABIT. If you want to see an example of “your name in a story”, click on the “By the Book” link to see last year’s prize.

What are the prizes?

  • a copy of EEL’S REVERENCE (eBook)
  • a copy of FORCE OF HABIT (eBook)
  • a copy of LONNIE, ME AND THE HOUND OF HELL (eBook)
  • a copy of THE KING OF CHEROKEE CREEK (eBook)
  • a copy of MA’S MONTHLY HOT FLASHES: 2002-2007 (eBook)
  • a MomGoth’s Sweet Little Baby Angels pin
  • the name of your choice in the story I write to promote my next eBook release, SIDESHOW IN THE CENTER RING. Holly Jahangiri, who won this in the last contest, called her appearance in “By the Book“, “Best. Prize. Ever.”

How do you win?

  • leave a comment on this or any other blog on which I post, saying you’re entering the contest. One entry for each post on which you comment.
  • If you’ve already bought and read one or more of my books, write a review (or reviews) and leave a comment on this blog linking to the review(s). One entry for each review.
  • Mention the contest on your blog and your social media networks (Twitter, Facebook, Google+, whatever) and leave a comment on this blog saying so. One entry for every place you spread the word.

Entries will be numbered and winners chosen by Random Number Selector. First entry drawn gets first choice of prizes and so on.

How long does it run?

Until midnight EST October 31.

Quite a few entries already, so get your name into the pot!

WRITING PROMPT: What would induce your main character to enter a contest? What kind of contest?

MA

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Here is another bitty bit from my new release, a cop/sf/farce. In this scene, Bel wakes to find her kidnapper sending away someone Bel had hoped to use to send a message to her friends. “Ven” is a gender-neutral replacement for Mr., Mrs., Miss and Ms.

He bolted the door and leaned against it, listening to the woman’s heavy footsteps easing down the stairs. A ribbon several shades darker than his sky-blue eyes dangled from his hand.

When the woman had gone, he turned to Bel and sketched a bow.

“Connell Morgan,” he said. “At your service.”

Bel frowned what she hoped was a terrible frown and said, “You’ll regret this!”

Morgan smiled and went to one knee next to Bel’s divan. “No, I won’t,” he assured her. “How’s the head?”

“It hurts.”

“Thirsty?”

“Among other things.”

Morgan lifted Bel into a sitting position. He fetched a glass of buff-colored liquid from the table.

“Drink some of this.”

“What is it?”

“A local concoction. Relieves pain, promotes healing. The Wandering Tribes use it, and it seems to work.”

Morgan put the glass into Bel’s bound hands. She considered dashing the liquid in his face but, although such an action would be dramatic, and would make a stirring illustration in an action comic, she realized it would also be extremely stupid.

So she drank it, instead. It tasted like a vanilla malted with a kick to it.

“Now, just lean back and let it take effect,” Morgan said. He took the glass back to the table, out of the reach of someone who might possibly want to use it as a weapon.

He looked down at the blue ribbon he still held. “This is yours, isn’t it?” He tied it in Bel’s hair. “It becomes you. Brings out the gold in your eyes.”

He sat next to Bel on the divan. Very next.

Bel absent-mindedly dug an elbow into his ribs until he moved away.

“Was I crowding you? Do forgive me.”

The pain in Bel’s head subsided. “What’s your name again?”

“Connell Morgan. My friends call me Connell. I want you to call me Connell, because I want you to be my friend.” He turned on the smile. “And you? I mean, I know who you are, but what is your name?”

“My name is Isobel Enid Schuster. My friends call me Bel. I want you to call me Ven Schuster, because I want you to untie me, unlock the door, and drop dead.”

“I sense a certain amount of hostility,” said Morgan, as if this were an insight.

“That’s coming from me, that hostility you sense,” said Bel. “People slamming my head upside a wall tend to bring out the worst in me.”

“Now, now, my dear young woman,” Connell protested, growing somewhat defensive. “An accident, I assure you. I only wanted to prevent your bashing my head in with a club. You should have let go of it. It was more your fault than mine you were hurt, you know. I never meant for you to hit the wall; it was purely an unhappy chance. You can hardly hold me responsible for the vagaries of Fate, can you?”

Bel didn’t answer.

“Well, can you?” Morgan’s eyes opened wide with boyish innocence.

Bel knew that look well from the classroom. It was the sure sign of a scoundrel.

“Tell me why,” Bel said at last. “Why? A woman who’s just had her money belt snatched is a poor prospect for robbery. And, if you planned to commit a crime against my person, you wouldn’t have carried me off to tend my wounds.”

“I had no intention of committing a crime against your person,” said Connell. “Not my style of thing at all. Good God, what do you take me for?”

“Untie me and give me back my club and I’ll tell you.”

FORCE OF HABIT is available for a mere $2.99 at Amazon for Kindle, at Barnes & Noble for Nook, and in many fine electronic formats at Smashwords and OmniLit. Your patronage is much appreciated. Don’t forget to enter the contest to win this or another of my eBooks, a MomGoth’s Sweet Little Baby Angels pin or your name in a short story.

WRITING PROMPT: What crime would your villain NEVER commit?

MA

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The short story I wrote to go along with FORCE OF HABIT will be available soon. “By the Book” is set on Llannonn, the planet where most of the action in FOH takes place, and features Pel Darzin, one of the main characters in FOH. It also contains a character named Holly Jahangiri, Holly being the commenter who won the right to have her name in the story in my last contest, a character named Kurt Maxxon, the choice of Karen Overturf, who commented on every single appearance I made on my EEL’S REVERENCE blog book tour, and a character named Devra Langsam, named after the fanfic maven in whose fanzine, Masiform D, the Star Trek story upon which FOH is loosely based, appeared.

You can find a link to my current contest in the sidebar over there or on the links up there just under the blog banner.

Meanwhile, I’m posting today at Fatal Foodies, on the topic of miso.

WRITING PROMPT: Open a phone book or the newspaper or hit a web site at random and pick a random name. What kind of character would you create, beginning with the name alone (or, if your source includes the person’s profession, the name and business)?

MA

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