Yes, I know, I've been slacker than usual!
Time ... it disappears like one of my kids fleeing from a spider. (Screaming and hysterical.)
This week I've been busy (imagine that?), I'm also sick, and that's pissing me off. Not laryngitis this time though, I suspect I've contracted Man Flu.
I'm sure eventually I'll get over it.
Meanwhile, I've been wading through old files on my old flash drives. I can't remember why I went looking at old files to start with, but I had a reason. I was looking for something in particular. What? No clue.
What I found was fascinating.
Scenes I'd pulled from various novels.
Four novels that no one but my closest friends have ever seen. FOUR. Ya see, I thought I'd written THREE prior to KILLERBYTE.
Bit surprised to find it was four.
Even more surprised when I started reading that fourth manuscript. It's just over 77k so I imagine it's complete.
Also ... at the end the main character dies. Or at least it appears as though she dies.
Which begs the question, who is Cait O'Hare? Because she is the main character in those early books and she dies (I think) at the end of the fourth. Yet she's the Director in the Byte Series.
Third person gems at that.
Because when I first started writing I wrote third person not like now. I'm most comfortable writing first for the Byte Series - my voice is strongest in first.
But in saying that .... four books in third, and they're none too shabby.
Found something else on my searching too.
Excerpt ... raw words!
Life is a very strange place, or is that my life that is a very strange place? A sigh escaped as I pondered the question. Two contractors arrived to board the house up as the police and SWAT finally left. They spent some time unloading sheets of plywood onto the driveway.
“You okay?” Rowan asked from across the living room. He was sitting in an armchair watching out a gaping hole that used to be a window. Twinkling glass covered the coffee table, couch, and floor. The carpet crunched like cereal as I walked over across the room.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “What are you watching?”
I joined him. Damn, a gopher! I really didn’t want the back yard dug up. “Where? You sure it’s not a squirrel?”
Rowan pointed toward the shed. “Over there. How many squirrels do you know that burrow?”
Just the ground variety, gophers.
Ten miles from Washington DC and yet I contended with white tail deer raiding the garden, Raccoons staging well planned coups against my garbage bins, and now a gopher digging up the yard. Not to mention stalkers and armed men conducting a home invasion.
“I give up!” My hands flapped in the air. “The deer and gophers can have the yard. The raccoons can have the garbage.”
The yard, such as it was – a patch of grass edged in eroded gardens comprising of a few clumps of Hostas that struggled valiantly for survival. More and more of the woods crept back, every season there seemed to be another collection of straggly Dogwood trees and less grass. Mac was the gardener, without his watchful eye and ever-expanding plantings there really was no garden. It was his yard; I merely borrowed it and destroyed it with inattention.
“You don’t mean that,” Rowan said. “There he is.” He pointed to a small furry head that bobbed up and down by the tool shed. “You could trap it.”
I could shoot it.
Rowan grinned up at me. “You can’t shoot it.”
“I said nothing of the sort!” I pulled out all the stops, and went for full on indignation.
“You thought it.”
The furry little head popped back up. Target practice? If it didn’t want shooting, why would it pop up and down like that? I turned away from the window. Rowan probably wouldn’t like it if my impulses took over and I shot the furry little fucker in front of him.
His fingers closed around my wrist. Rowan stood up but didn’t let me go.
“You going to tell me what’s bugging you?”
I shook my head. “Nothing is bugging me, nothing at all.”
My walls were full of bullets. I had no windows left in the back of my home. People had touched my stuff. Touched it. Strangers have no business touching my stuff. A stalker sent me pictures trying to upset me, and it worked. I don’t have a house to live in. Shards of glass covered everything downstairs and I couldn’t find Mac’s cat.
A pretty average day.
On the plus side, it was a long hot summer and there was no sign of rain, the lack of rain is important when you have no windows.
- That is from a book that never saw the light of day, and obviously was when Ellie and Rowan were still a thing!
Right back to my searching. You never know, I might remember what it is I'm looking for!