This is the last chapter in my proposal. This is where the steam punk elements come in. It was a blast coming up with the inventions. I did not plan on Von Swaim being OCD, it just kind of happened. I worked with someone who had the condition and it was not fun, believe me.
Chapter Four
The big clock in the foyer chimed seven times as Dr. Edmond Von Swaim, who also held the title of Baron, walked into his breakfast room. The room was located on the second floor of his manse and overlooked the street. He preferred to eat in the smaller room instead of using the expansive table located in the formal dining room on the first floor.
There were those who would say it made more work for his servants, as they would have to carry things from the first floor kitchen located on the back of the house, to the second floor. Those who would say such things did not know of the steam powered lift that was installed off the kitchen just for this very purpose. His servants merely had to enter the small room; turn the wheel and they were carried up to the floors above. It worked in warehouses and hotels, why not put the same technology to use in homes? It made for less waste and more efficiency upon the part of his servants.
Von Swaim had his breakfast in the room upstairs because it was smaller and therefore less wasteful. If there was anything the Doctor could not tolerate it was waste of anything. Time, money, resources and inventions; all were things that should be used to their utmost potential. Even his title was carefully chosen. He much preferred to be called Doctor, since it was something he had earned, than Baron, which was something that had been passed down generation after generation, because of something one of his ancestors had done. Just as the Queen was Queen because of something her ancestors had done. She was Queen because the royal blood ran in her veins. The same royal blood that was in Von Swaim's
A maid wearing white gloves placed his meal on the table as he waited by the window. The street below was just springing to life. The vendor carts were in place along the way and young boys held up newspapers on the corner, their cries of headlines lost against the panes of glass.
Von Swaim noticed a bright array of flowers at the cart on the corner. Roses, lilies, carnations and daisies swirled in a kaleidoscope of color against the grays and browns of the cobblestones. They would have to be from a greenhouse since spring was just upon them. The snow from a few days past was gone now and there was a definite feel of warmth to the air. Perhaps he should invest in a bouquet and have it sent around to the girl. It would not hurt to extend some sort of token to Pemberton after the near disaster of their visit.
Von Swaim turned when he heard the teapot placed and examined the table as the maid curtseyed her way from the room. Everything was placed to his exact specifications; still his practiced eyes scanned the table, just to make sure. His utensils were placed exactly one inch apart, his glass containing his special health mixture was precisely five inches above his spoon and at the correct angle from his plate. His meal, which was the same meal that he had every morning, was arranged exactly as he desired it on the plate and cooked to his taste. The teapot emitted enough steam to let him know that it would be the appropriate temperature when he poured his first cup. The only thing left was the morning newspaper and it lay beside his plate, folded once in the middle.
His staff worked hard to please him. They had learned what happened when he was not pleased. Heinz, his butler, was an excellent and demanding instructor and Mrs. Shultz, his head housekeeper, had a sharp eye. Their ways produced results, one of which was a secure position in the Von Swaim household. For the most part, his staff was grateful to be employed during these trying times. While life was pleasant for the titled and rich, it was not so for the common folk. Whitechapel was full of people who would give anything to have steady employment, even if it meant dealing with the strange idiosyncrasies of Dr. Von Swaim.
Satisfied that all was at is should be, Von Swaim sat down and ate his meal, cutting each morsel into the same size and eating it in the same order. Eggs, sausage, toast. Eggs, sausage, toast. He treated himself to a spoonful of orange marmalade on his last bite of toast and then quickly drank his special mixture in one long steady gulp. He poured his tea, added lemon and a half-teaspoon of sugar and stirred it five times, counting as he stirred. He took one sip and picked up the paper.
As was his custom, he started on page one and read each article, working his way from left to right across and down the page. If an article was continued on another page he did not turn to it, instead, he finished page one, then went on to page two and so on until he had read everything worthy of his notice. Despite the ineptitude of Parliament and the Queen's frustrating retreat from society, it wasn't until he got to the social pages and read about the reception for the entertainers from the Wild West show that his temper flared.
The girl had been there. Merritt Chadwyke. Lord Pemberton's daughter. He assumed that after the incident in his study that they would go into hiding or at least spirit her away to a sanatorium. He never expected them to take her to a party or that she would be a willing participant in part of the exhibition. Or course he must take into account the columnist's need to embellish things. He had been the subject of such embellishments himself after performing some of his “party tricks” for English society. The buffoons did not realize that most of what he did with hypnotism was trickery. It was easy to lead the willing down such a path. But the girl…Merritt…she was the real thing.
Unlike other mornings, Von Swaim dropped the paper onto the table and walked to the window. He'd been strangely unsettled since the incident. She had surprised him. It was not often than he was surprised.
The canary's release had been most bewildering. He knew the mind was a powerful instrument but in his studies the most he'd ever seen done was spoon bending and a saucer moved across a table. His pet's cage was utterly destroyed and it wasn't even the center of her concentration. What could she do if she really focused on something? What was she capable of? It was a question that he desperately needed the answer too.
He studied the sky as he stood at the window, hoping that perchance he would see a flash of yellow against the pale cloudless blue of the morning. Von Swaim was quite annoyed at the canary's escape. It seemed ungrateful to him. It appeared disrespectful and that was something else he had no patience for. Did he not care for it? Feed it? Give it plenty of water and a safe secure place to live along with a view of the sky from its gilded cage? The creature should have been grateful to him instead of flying away in haste.
“Your loss my little friend. I am certain you missed your warm cage the past few nights when you were out in the cold air.” He drew some satisfaction from thinking of the tiny bird, shivering upon a barren tree branch or perhaps becoming the breakfast of a cat or a hawk. It was nothing more than the traitorous bird deserved.
He would think upon it no more. The girl however, deserved more thought. If she thought she could prance about London and go to parties as if nothing had happened then she was wrong. Something had happened. Something strange and wonderful. Something that was totally unexpected.
She was the one. She was something that he'd hoped to find but wasn't sure of its existence. Logic dictated that she could exist and that she should exist but his hopes of finding it…her…
Von Swaim turned from the window. Merritt Chadwyke did not know it yet, but she was the culmination of his life's work. She was the instrument that would lead to his greatest victory. She was the embodiment of a powerful weapon that he intended to use.
He would be the next King of England and she was the means by which he would achieve it.
His breakfast was over. The maid, who always waited in the hallway just in case something was amiss, nearly fell in her haste to curtsey when he burst from the room.
“Sir? Should I keep your tea warm?” she asked. Her fear of making a mistake was greater than her fear of speaking to her employer directly.
Von Swaim stopped and looked the young woman over as if seeing her for the first time. “No. I am done.” He went to the back staircase instead of his office. “See that I am not disturbed.”
“Did he say anything about the noonday meal?” the cook asked when the maid carried in the tray and told the cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Shultz, about the strange happenings of the morning.
“He did not,” she confessed. They both looked in confusion at Mrs. Shultz. She, along with Heinz and Simon, the mysterious Englishman with the strange hands were the only ones on the staff who had come to England with Von Swaim. The cook, maids, and footmen had all been hired on as staff after he purchased the houses that backed up to each other.
“Proceed as you would normally,” she instructed in her strange accent and left them to figure out the mysterious ways of the Doctor on their own. She went to the window that faced the courtyard behind the house and watched as Von Swaim went into the building behind. Something was troubling him and she was certain it had something to do with the visit from the English Lord and his daughter. He had offered no explanation beyond asking her to dispose of the twisted and ruined remnants of the cage and procure another one for the tiny yellow canary's return. The new cage still sat empty on the balcony outside his office with its door open and food and water inside. Was it just the missing bird that upset him or did it have something to do with the Lord's daughter and the tests he'd performed on her?
She felt his strange disquiet as if it were eddies beneath the surface of the river. To everyone else he appeared calm and serene as always, but to one who knew him as she did…Mrs. Shultz turned from the window and went back to her work. She needed to make sure nothing disturbed the Doctor when he was troubled or they would all suffer for it.
The door was locked from the inside as he knew it would be. No trouble there. He possessed a key. He found Simon coming toward him in the dim light of the long hallway.
“Sir?” It was obvious that his man was surprised to see him here at this strange hour. He usually did not make his rounds until the late afternoon. “Is something amiss?”
He held his hands behind his back as if he were afraid to show them.
Von Swaim looked pointedly at Simon's arms and raised an eyebrow. “Why don't you tell me,” he said. “Is something amiss?”
Simon brought his hands around and held the clenched fists before Von Swaim.
“They have locked up sir,” he said. “Dr. Macmillan was examining them when we saw your approach.”
“Have you been keeping them lubricated as I instructed?” Von Swaim held his hand out to indicate Simon should precede him down the hallway to the Doctor's Office.
“Yes sir.” Simon said. “Macmillan seems to think it is the dampness that is having an affect on them.”
Von Swaim saw the strain around Simon's eyes and mouth, still he voiced no complaint. Simon had lost his hands with the swing of a blade in the Boer War. If not for Von Swaim's generosity he would be dead, or worse, a beggar. Fortunately Von Swaim had discovered him during his travels in South Africa before it was too late to help him. He'd recognized the brilliance and desperation in his pain filled eyes, but something more, he'd seen a man who would do anything to be made whole again. The trip had been most satisfactory. He'd returned with the diamonds he needed and as a bonus he was able to enlist Simon into his cause.
Macmillan barely looked up when the two men entered. He simply motioned for Simon to sit upon a stool and place his two fists upon the table beneath a powerful magnifying class.
The hands were larger than normal but that was to be expected since they were made of brass with each finger joint made up of intricate gears. The wrists were hinged so that they moved up and down and rotated side to side. Both appendages were attached by heavy cuffs that were screwed into the actual bone of the arm. It was quite painful, of course, since the bones had to be drilled and the gears attached to the muscles and tendons of the forearms with thick strands of catgut. In addition, Simon's upper arms and shoulders were thick with muscle because of the weight of the brass hands. He functioned quite well and kept the pain at bay with small doses of opium that was carefully doled out by Macmillan.
Von Swaim watched patiently as Macmillan carefully lubricated each joint with small drops of oil after taking out the miniature screws and reinserting them. It would be quite painful to remove the bands that attached the hands to Simon's body so both men endured the tedious nature of the intricate work.
Macmillan was another discovery that he'd come across quite be accident. The man was a genius and had studied extensively the anatomy of the human body. Unfortunately his quest for knowledge had led him to engage in the crime of grave robbing, and that, in addition to his great love of whiskey led to him barely escaping the shores of England with his life. Both men were great admirers of DaVinci and thus a partnership was born in the Lourve when they realized that between the two of them it was quite possible to bring some of DaVinci's ideas into existence.
“Release the fist,” Macmillan instructed.
Simon looked intently at his hand. For it to function, he had to move the muscles in his forearms. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he concentrated upon the task. Finally, the fingers relaxed and the hand lay, palm up upon the table.
“Keep moving it.”
Simon flexed the fingers, back and forth, fisting his hand, and then relaxing it until he was able to do so with ease. There was a distinct release of tension as all three men realized that the problem was now solved.
“I suggest two more treatments with oil each day,” Macmillan said. “I will see if I can concoct a lighter mixture since this damp weather seems to be leading to coagulation.” He went to work on the other fist while Simon exercised the first.
“That sounds like a responsible explanation and treatment,” Von Swaim agreed.
“What brings you to visit this hour of the day?” Macmillan asked. Unlike the rest of his staff, Macmillan held no fear of Von Swaim. Both men were geniuses in their own fields and both had no problems with using any means possible to come to the end they desired. Von Swaim had no doubt in his mind that Macmillan stayed with him because Von Swaim turned a blind eye to his experiments and had an unlimited source of funds and a well stocked bar. In return Von Swaim kept him on because the man did not hesitate, no matter how outlandish his requests.
“It appears that things may be happening quicker than I anticipated.”
Both men stopped what they were doing and looked intently at Von Swaim. It pleased him to see that they were waiting for his next words.
“I believe I have found what we were hoping for.”
“You found the Prism?” Simon's voice held a hint of disbelief.
“Further testing will be required,” Von Swaim said. “But I have high hopes that I have indeed found her.”
“Her?” Macmillan asked. A sly grin spread over his face. “That's a bonus we did not plan on.”
The man's tastes were perverse, another reason why he'd been run out of England. His crimes, besides grave robbing and desecrating the dead also included several acts of sexual perversion and whether or not the participant was agreeable or breathing did not matter to him in the least.
Simon looked nervously between the two men.
“As I said, further testing is required.” Von Swaim looked around the laboratory. In one corner a completed suit of armor stood, made completely of brass and steel with hinges and joints. Various weapons were scattered about on tables along with a collection of large gems cut to exact specifications. Another table held several large sheets of paper, all covered with detailed drawings. Von Swaim lifted the top sheet to look at a sketch beneath it.
“Should we step up the manufacturing?” Simon asked.
“Yes.” Von Swaim's finger trailed over the notes made on the page. “The warehouse is secure?”
“Yes sir,” Simon replied. “The adaptations you asked for have been put into place and are ready for your inspection.”
“We can have the weapons ready,” Macmillan said. “But the army. That's another thing entirely. The men you have are not ready and Whitechapel has been picked over for viable candidates.”
Von Swaim looked at Simon. “Go to Ireland,” he said. “I am certain you can find several worthy recruits there.”
“Shall I take the airship?”
“Yes. Take it. I want things in place as soon as possible.” He walked to the window that overlooked the courtyard. Bars covered it as it did all the windows. The recruits needed to know that compliance was their only recourse. That there was no chance of escape. Unless they turn into a canary…His eyes darted back and forth, hoping to see the flash of yellow that would say his pet had come home.
“The Wild West show has come to town gentlemen. I believe it might be just the thing to get the queen out of hiding. We must be ready when and if the time comes.”
He left without another word.
Showing posts with label Cindy Holby Colby Hodge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cindy Holby Colby Hodge. Show all posts
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Saturday, August 08, 2009
When at story doesn't work
This is where I started to have fun. While researching I found out that Buffalo Bill's Wild West show was in England in 1887. These were some of my heroes from my youth. And I really enjoy writing Cowboys. Dax's character seemed to take off and I was envisioning his back story in my mind.
Chapter Three
David Alexander Cochran opened his eyes with some difficulty and looked at the three feathers that swung back and forth in front of his face. He lay on his side in the dormitory facing a long row of empty bunks. Empty bunks meant that he had overslept. Great. His first day in England and it was already half wasted.
“Great Dax,” he mumbled to himself. “Not only did you sleep in but apparently you’re seeing things.”
He rolled over on his back and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The feathers were attached to a twisted circle of willow branch that was intricately woven with brightly color threads. The circle hung from the bunk above him. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been there when he fell asleep the night before. How in the heck did it get up there during the night without him knowing it?
He heard a chirp and realized that he was not alone. Two people stood at the end of his bunk. He sat up and his head pounded in protest. It felt like he’d been on a three-day drunk. If only he had. That could be fixed with a concoction he’d picked up from the Arapaho.
“Dream catcher for Dax.” Red Shirt said in his broken English from the end of his bunk. The Indian’s Chippewa wife, Little Deer, stood beside him smiling broadly. She didn’t speak a word of English but she nodded in agreement as if she understood what they were talking about.
Maybe she did. Dax sure as hell didn’t.
What was she holding in her hands? Was it a bird? Was he still dreaming?
As if she read his mind Little Deer opened her hands a bit. Sure enough a bright yellow bird sat nestled in her palms. She brought her hands up to her face and said something to the bird and it broke into song. Red Shirt nodded his approval and the two walked off, leaving Dax scratching his head in confusion.
“They were worried about you,” Buck said. Buck Taylor dubbed King of the Cowboys by Will Cody was just a few years older that Dax. Buck had a way with horses and could do things with a rope that seemed impossible. They’d become friends since Dax joined the show last winter, more so in the two weeks they’d spent on the ship since there’d been plenty of time for talk.
“Was it the Comanche?” Buck asked.
“What?”
“In your dreams,” Buck said. “I figured from the way you were hollering that you must have been dreaming about the Comanche.”
“I was hollering?” Dax asked. He tried to remember what he’d dreamed about but all he could recall was a sense of fear and a lot of running from something or someone. The rest of it was pretty much a mystery. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and looked sideways at Buck.
“Like you were being skinned alive,” Buck said.
Dax ran a hand down his bare chest just to make sure his skin was still attached. He’d come close to losing it one time and that was enough.
“I don’t remember what I dreamed about,” Dax confessed. “Maybe it was the Comanche.” He looked at Buck as if he held the answers. “Was I really that loud?”
“Loud enough that they heard you out in the Indian Camp. Loud enough that Little Deer made you that dream catcher. She said it would catch the bad spirits that caused nightmares and let the good spirits through so you’ll only have sweet dreams from now on.”
“That loud,” Dax groaned. It was humiliating to think that every one on the twenty-three acre exhibition grounds had heard him carrying on.
“Jasper kicked the end of your bunk and you stopped,” Buck explained. “But yeah, it was loud. Everyone jumped up and grabbed their guns because they thought we were under attack.”
“Dang it,” Dax moaned. “Now everyone probably thinks I’m some namby pamby momma’s boy who’s afraid to be away from home.
“Nobody thinks that,” Buck said. “We all know what you’ve been through in the past. It would be enough to give anyone of us nightmares, Cody included. Still you better hope that thing does its job or you’ll be sleeping out in the cold next time.”
Dax dubiously eyed the dream catcher. His experiences with the Indians, especially Geronimo, had taught him not to doubt the things that were in the spiritual realm. It seemed like a mighty big job for a bunch of thread and feathers to pull off. Still there was nothing to lose by leaving it be.
“Are you planning on lollygagging all day?” Buck asked.
“I’m up,” Dax kicked the blankets off and reached for his pants. “Is there anyplace around where we can take the horses for a good run?”
“There’s a park,” Buck said dryly.
“A park?” He was supposed to run Katie through a park? Sounded kind of sissified for a horse that was used to the wide-open spaces. He needed to get her out where he could let her have her head and run the kinks out from being on the ship. Dang it. He needed to run his own kinks out too. There was nothing like riding flat out with the wind in your face to settle a man’s mind and get rid of the cobwebs. That was probably why he’d had the nightmares. There had been too much time spent closed in. There were those who would argue that being in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean didn’t count as being closed in. However being on a boat could give one a feeling of claustrophobia since there was no place on it where you could run. Plus the smells tended to get to him. Unwashed bodies, all the animals below deck, and the scent of the ocean were not smells he enjoyed. He would much rather fill his lungs with the smells of prairie grass and the wind. Flowers weren’t bad either. The girl he’d talked to yesterday, the one called Merritt. She smelled like flowers. Like real pretty flowers. Pretty like she was. I wonder if she will come to the show…
“Welcome to the mother country,” Buck said with a wide grin. “Whatever you plan on doing, just make sure you’re back here in time to get ready for the reception tonight. Major Burke has got all the promoters coming. They want to get things going right away and get the public excited about the show.”
“Great,” Dax sighed. “Guess I better get my suit pressed too.”
“You got it,” Buck said. “And a shave wouldn’t hurt either.”
Dax ran his hand over the three day growth of beard. “Maybe I’ll just grow one of them lip squirrels like you got.”
Buck’s lips quirked beneath his impressive handlebar mustache. “You always were jealous of my good looks,” he said. “Maybe if you try hard enough you’ll grow enough hair to have one of these.”
“I’m not sure if it’s worth the trouble,” Dax said. “From what I can tell it hasn’t impressed the ladies.”
“And that scruff you’ve got on your face has?”
“I’m not giving away any of my secrets,” Dax replied as he opened the trunk sitting at the end of his bunk and rummaged through it for his suit. “But I had one leaning out of her carriage yesterday so she could talk to me.”
“Most likely she was trying to get away from the buffalo.” Buck laughed.
“Think what you will,” Dax said. “She said she was coming to the show.”
“Try not to scare her too bad if and when she shows up,” Buck laughed as he left. “Maybe we’ll let Cody sweet-talk her into staying.”
“Go ahead. Laugh it up,” Dax mumbled as he pulled his rolled up formal suit from the trunk. The sea voyage had not been kind to it. It was a mass of wrinkles. He found the shirt and tie that went with it and threw it on his bunk. Thankfully, Cody employed a laundress with the show so he wouldn’t have to deal with it himself. He’d have to use his own brand of sweet-talking to get it done on time but the prospect didn’t bother him too much. He’d never had any trouble charming the ladies when he needed too.
Dax pulled on his shirt and boots. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he strapped on his double action colt and checked the cylinder for bullets. It was so much a part of him that some of the members of the show had ribbed him about wearing it that first day on the ship. He did leave it off after that and felt naked the entire time. It wasn’t as if he was planning on shooting at fish, although it had been tempting to give it a try when some skimmed over the waves as they steamed along. Flying fish they were called, or so one of the sailors said. He wasn’t one to shoot an innocent animal, or fish as the case may be but it did seem like a challenge at the time. Still he resisted the temptation with the knowledge that there would be plenty of opportunity for trick shooting once they reached England.
His first task of the day was taking care of Katie. So after charming the laundress and grabbing a bite in the ground floor dining hall set up for the performers he made his way out of the dormitory that had been built especially for their stay on the American Exhibition grounds.
The amphitheater seated over 20,000 people with room for another 10,000 in standing room only. The arena, which was part of the amphitheater, was a third of a mile in circumference, which gave room for a lot of whooping and hollering when the time came for the show to begin. Dax had a feeling the British had no idea what was about to hit them.
The Indians with the show created their own village on the grounds. Their teepee’s looked just a bit out of place with the buildings of London looming in the distance. However there was already a sense of community among the different groups represented. Cook pots bubbled over open fires and children scampered about, glad to be free after two weeks aboard ship. There was close to a hundred Indians of various tribes with the show along with a hundred white men and women who served as performers, wranglers, musicians and staff. Then there were the various animals: horses, buffalo, deer, elk and a great brown bear that looked mean enough to kill the Queen herself but was as harmless as a kitten.
The people of London best be forewarned. The American Wild West had just hit town.
“Quit messing with it,” Dax said to Buck later that evening.
“I hate these dang things,” Buck said as he stuck his finger in the neck of his formal shirt. “I feel like there’s a noose around my neck and the hangman is waiting to drop the trap.”
“If Cody catches you fingering it one more time he’ll be stringing you up himself,” Dax replied. “Eat one of them bitty sandwiches so you’ll quit thinking about it.”
“I can’t,” Buck said. “It chafes my neck when I swallow.”
Dax shook his head. Buck might dazzle the eye on horseback but in the middle of a formal affair he was lost. And this was one heck of a formal affair. He’d been introduced to more Lords and Ladies than he could shake a stick at. It was so crowded at the reception that it near to impossible to move without several excuse me’s and I beg your pardons. He tried to keep an eye out for the pretty girl he’d talked to the day before but it close to impossible to find anyone in the mass of people, especially someone he didn’t really know. He was certain he’d recognize her if he saw her again. There was something about her blue eyes…
“Do you think everyone in the entire city of London is here tonight?” Buck groaned.
“Only the important ones,” Dax said.
“Makes it darn near impossible for a man to breath,” Buck grumbled, then quickly recovered as a dandy approached them and asked Buck a question.
Dax hid a grin behind his cup of punch. Even though he talked like a cowboy he could hold his own in polite conversation when needed. It was one of the reason’s Cody hired him on. He was adaptable. He had grown up in Boston’s polite society with his stern grandmother before heading west to find his father. She had taught him about the finer things in life. He knew how to dress for a party and hold a teacup. He could even dance a waltz if the situation called for it. From the looks of the company gathered in the ballroom of the fine house on Park Lane there wouldn’t be any waltzing tonight unless it was two-stepping one of the tunes the Cowboy band played. Tonight it was all about the Wild West show.
Red Shirt and a few of the other Chiefs stood in the corner of the parlor decked out in all their feathered finery. Occasionally one or more would nod in agreement at the group of men and women gathered around them. Mostly they talked about the Indians as if they were an exhibit in a museum but every now and then someone would ask a question and Red Shirt would try to answer in his broken English. One gent clearly thought that Red Shirt was deaf as he kept shouting questions at him as if it would help him to understand. Dax felt sorry for the man. Just when he was getting used to using the white man’s language he was suddenly bombarded with the British accent.
Annie Oakley and her husband Frank Butler were doing much better than Red Shirt. Even though Annie was barely five feet tall she was still a commanding presence, even in her self made costume that was a bit out of place among the satins and silks of the ladies but still suited Annie herself. Frank, who was a fair shot himself, doted on wife and made sure all attention was on Annie. Cody was with them and the two men entertained a group in the center of the room with tails of Annie’s shooting feats.
“I’ve heard rumors that she can shoot the ash off a cigar while you hold it in your mouth,” one gentleman said to Frank.
“Actually it’s the ash off a cigarette.” Frank’s pride was evident.
Dax moved closer while the crowd murmured their disbelief. He knew where the conversation was headed and needed to be available for Cody.
“Not only can she shoot the ash off a cigarette,” Cody said. “She can shoot a dime at 90 feet.”
The murmurs grew to a rumbling. Dax managed to hide his smile as he heard the remarks.
“And she can split a playing card from the side.”
“Impossible.”
“Hard enough for a man to do so, but a woman?”
“I simply do not believe it.”
Dax watched as Cody smiled and sipped his drink until the words the showman had been waiting on reached his ears.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Cody lifted his arms wide and addressed the crowd as if he were treading the boards of a stage play. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
The rumbling of disbelief changed to a chorus of ascent.
“Of course we will need a gun,” Cody added and one appeared as if by magic. Dax grinned at Cody’s plan. It was Annie’s very own smooth bore Winchester that had been made specifically for her and secretly carried in to the party beneath one of the blankets worn by an Indian. Dax’s own double action colt sat beneath his right arm in a shoulder holster, just in case he needed it. It was there strictly for demonstration purposes, or so he reminded himself. Years of living on the edge had definitely left a mark upon his soul.
Annie smiled humbly as she took the rifle and Frank beamed with pride. Their host, who was one of the American Exhibition sponsors, guided them to the balcony that overlooked the garden behind the house. The party guests poured from the house, some into the garden, some onto the balcony while others gathered at the row of tall windows that stretched across the back of the house.
“How can she see?” Someone in the crowd asked. “Isn’t it too dark?”
Cody talked to the host while the crowd once more murmured their disbelief. In just a short while a line of servants appeared in the garden, each one carrying a torch. Another servant made his way through the crowd with a tray of glassware.
“I hope none of this is important to you,” Cody remarked loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“Something from my wife’s side of the family,” the host said jokingly. “I’m quite sure I can live without it.”
The crowd laughed at the joke as the tray was flourished to the crowd before being placed upon a small table that had also appeared by magic.
“Stand back please,” Cody addressed the crowd below. “It would pain me to see any of you injured by broken glass.”
The anticipation grew as the people below backed away from the balcony to make room for a clear area in the center of the torches. Dax noticed that the before mentioned wife and owner of the glassware winced when she saw the damage being done to her carefully tended plants below. Not a good night for their hostess. He was sure Bill would make it up to her with ringside tickets or a personal tour. He was good that way. Dax made his way down a staircase to the garden to help out on the remote possibility that Annie missed a shot. She never missed a shot.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Cody intoned in his best showman style. “Allow me to present to you the most impressive display of sharp shooting ever seen on this fair ground.” He swung an arm toward Annie, who stood with her rifle in her hand, poised and ready. “I give you Annie Oakley!”
Frank pitched a glass in the air as soon as Cody’s words faded away. The light from the many torches caught it and the reflection of the firelight made the glass glitter in the darkness as it tumbled through the night sky. In the blink of an eye Annie raised her rifle and shot the glass. Dax ducked as he reached the bottom step and quickly stepped away to avoid the flying shards. Another glass quickly flew into the air followed by another. The applause grew louder with each successive shot as Frank kept on throwing and Annie kept on hitting her targets. Cheers erupted when Frank held up the empty tray along with cries of encore.
“Now folks,” Cody said. “We don’t want to show off too much. Just come on out and see the show for a taste of what life is really like in the Wild West.”
“I want to see that young man shoot,” a voice said from the end of the balcony.
Dax looked up and saw a man pointing a finger right at his chest. Torch light bounced off gold hair shot with silver and he recognized him as the gentleman he’d talked to on the street. The gentleman with the very pretty daughter. Was she here too? His eyes quickly scanned the crowd on the balcony but there was no young faces above, no one with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Just older types, mostly gentlemen with a few ladies scattered among them, all looking at him with bright interest since it appeared he was to be the second act.
“He is Kid Cochran, is he not?” the man asked. “The fastest gun alive, or so the advertisements say.”
“Why yes he is,” Cody said. Kid Cochran, celebrated scout to the United States
Cavalry, friend of the Sioux and the dreaded enemy of Geronimo himself.” He arched an eyebrow in Dax’s direction. “And the fastest gun alive,” he added with his showman's flourish.
“Have him shoot,” the gentleman said. He held up his glass. “I will throw it in the air.”
Dang…He wasn't Annie. Sharp Shooting wasn't his game. There was a difference between what Annie did and what he did. But he couldn't back down and he sure couldn't let Cody down. Dax looked at Cody who just barely tilted his head as if he disapproved of the notion. Dax knew he didn't, that it was all part of the show. It would get people talking. It was exactly the reason why he was here. They had not planned on someone from the crowd calling him out. That just made it that much better. The fact that it was Merritt's father was an added bonus. Maybe there was hope that he would see her again.
“I'm not sure if our hostess can spare any more of her fine glassware,” Dax said. “You got something else I can shoot at?”
The gentleman grinned in delight. “What do you suggest?”
Dax scratched his chin and twisted up his face as if he had to think on it for a bit. It was all staged of course; he knew Frank had him covered. Still it would be a delight to have the English gent dig up the coins.
“How bout a few of those shillings? Isn't that what you call money in these parts?”
“It is,” the gentleman replied. “However I do not customarily carry shillings upon my person.” There was subdued laughter from the crowd at this remark. “Can anyone spare a few? I promise to pay you back of course.” The laughter was louder this time, jovial, with several men adding agreement or disagreement to the gentleman's promise of compensation.
“I have some coins Father,” a feminine voice said.
Dax's heart suddenly jumped into his throat. She was here. The girl from the street. Merritt. The crowd parted and she appeared by her father's side with her hand in her reticule as she dug for coins. She wore a dress of blue satin, with her hair pinned up. A few tendrils caressed her cheek and long graceful neck. A desire to kiss that neck suddenly overcame him. She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes as she placed the coins in her father's palm and Dax felt it like a punch in the gut. It had been a very long time since he'd reacted with such intensity to a woman. It wasn't as if he hadn't been around any, he'd had plenty of women in his lifetime. It was just that none had stirred him. Not since Rebekkah…
“Will this do?” The gentleman held up a coin between his forefinger and thumb. Merritt stood beside him with her hands gripping the rail. She looked as if she regretted stepping forward. As if she wished to remain in the background. A girl with chestnut hair dressed in gold joined her at the rail and they linked arms. She relaxed somewhat, as if she drew courage from her companion. What was she afraid of?
“Only if you have five more.” Dax reminded himself that he was here for the show, not to chase pretty girls. That would come later, he hoped.
“I do,” he said. “Do you have need of a weapon?”
Dax grinned, shook his head and drew his colt from the holster beneath his arm. Those closest to him gasped in shock or admiration, he could not tell. He simply shrugged as if it were perfectly normal to carry a double action colt to fancy parties and checked the chamber. “You best give me some room.” Those around him backed away with an undercurrent of anticipation.
“Your name sir?” Cody asked the gentleman.
“Thomas Chadwyke, Earl of Pemberton.”
Cody shook his head. “I don't think I'll ever get used to all these fancy titles.”
“You may call me Pemberton,” the Earl said.
“Pemberton,” Cody smiled broadly. “When I say go I want you to throw all six coins in the air.”
“All six at once?”
“All six at once.” Cody said. “Make sure you throw them into the circle of light where Kid Cochran can see them.”
“Very well,” Pemberton shook his head as if he were dealing with an indulgent child. Dax backed away until he was next to one of the torches. He scanned the balcony and the night sky to make sure there was nothing in his line of sight to distract him. And to make sure no one would be injured in case a bullet just happened to stray off course. That wouldn't help the show a bit.
“Are you ready?” Cody asked the both of them.
Dax took a deep breath, expelled it and nodded. Pemberton held his hand over the garden with the coins in his fist and nodded also.
“One. Two. Three. Go!” Cody shouted the last word. As soon as he heard it Dax dove, rolled and came up firing. Before the crowd could even gasp he heard the ping of six coins as they were deflected by six successive shots. One landed on the ground before him and he picked it up, examined the hole in the middle and flipped it up to Lord Pemberton. He kept his eyes on Merritt, who stood beside him, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement.
“Here's one,” someone shouted, holding up a coin.
“And another!”
Three more voices joined in and the five remaining coins were held up for inspection, all of them showing evidence of his bullets hitting the mark.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Kid Cochran,” Cody shouted and the crowd burst into applause.
Dax bowed for the crowd but kept his eyes on Merritt who applauded also, her face showing her amazement of his feat.
“Good Show!” Pemberton shouted. Then he, his daughter, and her friend disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Three
David Alexander Cochran opened his eyes with some difficulty and looked at the three feathers that swung back and forth in front of his face. He lay on his side in the dormitory facing a long row of empty bunks. Empty bunks meant that he had overslept. Great. His first day in England and it was already half wasted.
“Great Dax,” he mumbled to himself. “Not only did you sleep in but apparently you’re seeing things.”
He rolled over on his back and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The feathers were attached to a twisted circle of willow branch that was intricately woven with brightly color threads. The circle hung from the bunk above him. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been there when he fell asleep the night before. How in the heck did it get up there during the night without him knowing it?
He heard a chirp and realized that he was not alone. Two people stood at the end of his bunk. He sat up and his head pounded in protest. It felt like he’d been on a three-day drunk. If only he had. That could be fixed with a concoction he’d picked up from the Arapaho.
“Dream catcher for Dax.” Red Shirt said in his broken English from the end of his bunk. The Indian’s Chippewa wife, Little Deer, stood beside him smiling broadly. She didn’t speak a word of English but she nodded in agreement as if she understood what they were talking about.
Maybe she did. Dax sure as hell didn’t.
What was she holding in her hands? Was it a bird? Was he still dreaming?
As if she read his mind Little Deer opened her hands a bit. Sure enough a bright yellow bird sat nestled in her palms. She brought her hands up to her face and said something to the bird and it broke into song. Red Shirt nodded his approval and the two walked off, leaving Dax scratching his head in confusion.
“They were worried about you,” Buck said. Buck Taylor dubbed King of the Cowboys by Will Cody was just a few years older that Dax. Buck had a way with horses and could do things with a rope that seemed impossible. They’d become friends since Dax joined the show last winter, more so in the two weeks they’d spent on the ship since there’d been plenty of time for talk.
“Was it the Comanche?” Buck asked.
“What?”
“In your dreams,” Buck said. “I figured from the way you were hollering that you must have been dreaming about the Comanche.”
“I was hollering?” Dax asked. He tried to remember what he’d dreamed about but all he could recall was a sense of fear and a lot of running from something or someone. The rest of it was pretty much a mystery. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and looked sideways at Buck.
“Like you were being skinned alive,” Buck said.
Dax ran a hand down his bare chest just to make sure his skin was still attached. He’d come close to losing it one time and that was enough.
“I don’t remember what I dreamed about,” Dax confessed. “Maybe it was the Comanche.” He looked at Buck as if he held the answers. “Was I really that loud?”
“Loud enough that they heard you out in the Indian Camp. Loud enough that Little Deer made you that dream catcher. She said it would catch the bad spirits that caused nightmares and let the good spirits through so you’ll only have sweet dreams from now on.”
“That loud,” Dax groaned. It was humiliating to think that every one on the twenty-three acre exhibition grounds had heard him carrying on.
“Jasper kicked the end of your bunk and you stopped,” Buck explained. “But yeah, it was loud. Everyone jumped up and grabbed their guns because they thought we were under attack.”
“Dang it,” Dax moaned. “Now everyone probably thinks I’m some namby pamby momma’s boy who’s afraid to be away from home.
“Nobody thinks that,” Buck said. “We all know what you’ve been through in the past. It would be enough to give anyone of us nightmares, Cody included. Still you better hope that thing does its job or you’ll be sleeping out in the cold next time.”
Dax dubiously eyed the dream catcher. His experiences with the Indians, especially Geronimo, had taught him not to doubt the things that were in the spiritual realm. It seemed like a mighty big job for a bunch of thread and feathers to pull off. Still there was nothing to lose by leaving it be.
“Are you planning on lollygagging all day?” Buck asked.
“I’m up,” Dax kicked the blankets off and reached for his pants. “Is there anyplace around where we can take the horses for a good run?”
“There’s a park,” Buck said dryly.
“A park?” He was supposed to run Katie through a park? Sounded kind of sissified for a horse that was used to the wide-open spaces. He needed to get her out where he could let her have her head and run the kinks out from being on the ship. Dang it. He needed to run his own kinks out too. There was nothing like riding flat out with the wind in your face to settle a man’s mind and get rid of the cobwebs. That was probably why he’d had the nightmares. There had been too much time spent closed in. There were those who would argue that being in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean didn’t count as being closed in. However being on a boat could give one a feeling of claustrophobia since there was no place on it where you could run. Plus the smells tended to get to him. Unwashed bodies, all the animals below deck, and the scent of the ocean were not smells he enjoyed. He would much rather fill his lungs with the smells of prairie grass and the wind. Flowers weren’t bad either. The girl he’d talked to yesterday, the one called Merritt. She smelled like flowers. Like real pretty flowers. Pretty like she was. I wonder if she will come to the show…
“Welcome to the mother country,” Buck said with a wide grin. “Whatever you plan on doing, just make sure you’re back here in time to get ready for the reception tonight. Major Burke has got all the promoters coming. They want to get things going right away and get the public excited about the show.”
“Great,” Dax sighed. “Guess I better get my suit pressed too.”
“You got it,” Buck said. “And a shave wouldn’t hurt either.”
Dax ran his hand over the three day growth of beard. “Maybe I’ll just grow one of them lip squirrels like you got.”
Buck’s lips quirked beneath his impressive handlebar mustache. “You always were jealous of my good looks,” he said. “Maybe if you try hard enough you’ll grow enough hair to have one of these.”
“I’m not sure if it’s worth the trouble,” Dax said. “From what I can tell it hasn’t impressed the ladies.”
“And that scruff you’ve got on your face has?”
“I’m not giving away any of my secrets,” Dax replied as he opened the trunk sitting at the end of his bunk and rummaged through it for his suit. “But I had one leaning out of her carriage yesterday so she could talk to me.”
“Most likely she was trying to get away from the buffalo.” Buck laughed.
“Think what you will,” Dax said. “She said she was coming to the show.”
“Try not to scare her too bad if and when she shows up,” Buck laughed as he left. “Maybe we’ll let Cody sweet-talk her into staying.”
“Go ahead. Laugh it up,” Dax mumbled as he pulled his rolled up formal suit from the trunk. The sea voyage had not been kind to it. It was a mass of wrinkles. He found the shirt and tie that went with it and threw it on his bunk. Thankfully, Cody employed a laundress with the show so he wouldn’t have to deal with it himself. He’d have to use his own brand of sweet-talking to get it done on time but the prospect didn’t bother him too much. He’d never had any trouble charming the ladies when he needed too.
Dax pulled on his shirt and boots. Without even thinking about what he was doing, he strapped on his double action colt and checked the cylinder for bullets. It was so much a part of him that some of the members of the show had ribbed him about wearing it that first day on the ship. He did leave it off after that and felt naked the entire time. It wasn’t as if he was planning on shooting at fish, although it had been tempting to give it a try when some skimmed over the waves as they steamed along. Flying fish they were called, or so one of the sailors said. He wasn’t one to shoot an innocent animal, or fish as the case may be but it did seem like a challenge at the time. Still he resisted the temptation with the knowledge that there would be plenty of opportunity for trick shooting once they reached England.
His first task of the day was taking care of Katie. So after charming the laundress and grabbing a bite in the ground floor dining hall set up for the performers he made his way out of the dormitory that had been built especially for their stay on the American Exhibition grounds.
The amphitheater seated over 20,000 people with room for another 10,000 in standing room only. The arena, which was part of the amphitheater, was a third of a mile in circumference, which gave room for a lot of whooping and hollering when the time came for the show to begin. Dax had a feeling the British had no idea what was about to hit them.
The Indians with the show created their own village on the grounds. Their teepee’s looked just a bit out of place with the buildings of London looming in the distance. However there was already a sense of community among the different groups represented. Cook pots bubbled over open fires and children scampered about, glad to be free after two weeks aboard ship. There was close to a hundred Indians of various tribes with the show along with a hundred white men and women who served as performers, wranglers, musicians and staff. Then there were the various animals: horses, buffalo, deer, elk and a great brown bear that looked mean enough to kill the Queen herself but was as harmless as a kitten.
The people of London best be forewarned. The American Wild West had just hit town.
“Quit messing with it,” Dax said to Buck later that evening.
“I hate these dang things,” Buck said as he stuck his finger in the neck of his formal shirt. “I feel like there’s a noose around my neck and the hangman is waiting to drop the trap.”
“If Cody catches you fingering it one more time he’ll be stringing you up himself,” Dax replied. “Eat one of them bitty sandwiches so you’ll quit thinking about it.”
“I can’t,” Buck said. “It chafes my neck when I swallow.”
Dax shook his head. Buck might dazzle the eye on horseback but in the middle of a formal affair he was lost. And this was one heck of a formal affair. He’d been introduced to more Lords and Ladies than he could shake a stick at. It was so crowded at the reception that it near to impossible to move without several excuse me’s and I beg your pardons. He tried to keep an eye out for the pretty girl he’d talked to the day before but it close to impossible to find anyone in the mass of people, especially someone he didn’t really know. He was certain he’d recognize her if he saw her again. There was something about her blue eyes…
“Do you think everyone in the entire city of London is here tonight?” Buck groaned.
“Only the important ones,” Dax said.
“Makes it darn near impossible for a man to breath,” Buck grumbled, then quickly recovered as a dandy approached them and asked Buck a question.
Dax hid a grin behind his cup of punch. Even though he talked like a cowboy he could hold his own in polite conversation when needed. It was one of the reason’s Cody hired him on. He was adaptable. He had grown up in Boston’s polite society with his stern grandmother before heading west to find his father. She had taught him about the finer things in life. He knew how to dress for a party and hold a teacup. He could even dance a waltz if the situation called for it. From the looks of the company gathered in the ballroom of the fine house on Park Lane there wouldn’t be any waltzing tonight unless it was two-stepping one of the tunes the Cowboy band played. Tonight it was all about the Wild West show.
Red Shirt and a few of the other Chiefs stood in the corner of the parlor decked out in all their feathered finery. Occasionally one or more would nod in agreement at the group of men and women gathered around them. Mostly they talked about the Indians as if they were an exhibit in a museum but every now and then someone would ask a question and Red Shirt would try to answer in his broken English. One gent clearly thought that Red Shirt was deaf as he kept shouting questions at him as if it would help him to understand. Dax felt sorry for the man. Just when he was getting used to using the white man’s language he was suddenly bombarded with the British accent.
Annie Oakley and her husband Frank Butler were doing much better than Red Shirt. Even though Annie was barely five feet tall she was still a commanding presence, even in her self made costume that was a bit out of place among the satins and silks of the ladies but still suited Annie herself. Frank, who was a fair shot himself, doted on wife and made sure all attention was on Annie. Cody was with them and the two men entertained a group in the center of the room with tails of Annie’s shooting feats.
“I’ve heard rumors that she can shoot the ash off a cigar while you hold it in your mouth,” one gentleman said to Frank.
“Actually it’s the ash off a cigarette.” Frank’s pride was evident.
Dax moved closer while the crowd murmured their disbelief. He knew where the conversation was headed and needed to be available for Cody.
“Not only can she shoot the ash off a cigarette,” Cody said. “She can shoot a dime at 90 feet.”
The murmurs grew to a rumbling. Dax managed to hide his smile as he heard the remarks.
“And she can split a playing card from the side.”
“Impossible.”
“Hard enough for a man to do so, but a woman?”
“I simply do not believe it.”
Dax watched as Cody smiled and sipped his drink until the words the showman had been waiting on reached his ears.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Cody lifted his arms wide and addressed the crowd as if he were treading the boards of a stage play. “Would you care for a demonstration?”
The rumbling of disbelief changed to a chorus of ascent.
“Of course we will need a gun,” Cody added and one appeared as if by magic. Dax grinned at Cody’s plan. It was Annie’s very own smooth bore Winchester that had been made specifically for her and secretly carried in to the party beneath one of the blankets worn by an Indian. Dax’s own double action colt sat beneath his right arm in a shoulder holster, just in case he needed it. It was there strictly for demonstration purposes, or so he reminded himself. Years of living on the edge had definitely left a mark upon his soul.
Annie smiled humbly as she took the rifle and Frank beamed with pride. Their host, who was one of the American Exhibition sponsors, guided them to the balcony that overlooked the garden behind the house. The party guests poured from the house, some into the garden, some onto the balcony while others gathered at the row of tall windows that stretched across the back of the house.
“How can she see?” Someone in the crowd asked. “Isn’t it too dark?”
Cody talked to the host while the crowd once more murmured their disbelief. In just a short while a line of servants appeared in the garden, each one carrying a torch. Another servant made his way through the crowd with a tray of glassware.
“I hope none of this is important to you,” Cody remarked loud enough for the crowd to hear.
“Something from my wife’s side of the family,” the host said jokingly. “I’m quite sure I can live without it.”
The crowd laughed at the joke as the tray was flourished to the crowd before being placed upon a small table that had also appeared by magic.
“Stand back please,” Cody addressed the crowd below. “It would pain me to see any of you injured by broken glass.”
The anticipation grew as the people below backed away from the balcony to make room for a clear area in the center of the torches. Dax noticed that the before mentioned wife and owner of the glassware winced when she saw the damage being done to her carefully tended plants below. Not a good night for their hostess. He was sure Bill would make it up to her with ringside tickets or a personal tour. He was good that way. Dax made his way down a staircase to the garden to help out on the remote possibility that Annie missed a shot. She never missed a shot.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Cody intoned in his best showman style. “Allow me to present to you the most impressive display of sharp shooting ever seen on this fair ground.” He swung an arm toward Annie, who stood with her rifle in her hand, poised and ready. “I give you Annie Oakley!”
Frank pitched a glass in the air as soon as Cody’s words faded away. The light from the many torches caught it and the reflection of the firelight made the glass glitter in the darkness as it tumbled through the night sky. In the blink of an eye Annie raised her rifle and shot the glass. Dax ducked as he reached the bottom step and quickly stepped away to avoid the flying shards. Another glass quickly flew into the air followed by another. The applause grew louder with each successive shot as Frank kept on throwing and Annie kept on hitting her targets. Cheers erupted when Frank held up the empty tray along with cries of encore.
“Now folks,” Cody said. “We don’t want to show off too much. Just come on out and see the show for a taste of what life is really like in the Wild West.”
“I want to see that young man shoot,” a voice said from the end of the balcony.
Dax looked up and saw a man pointing a finger right at his chest. Torch light bounced off gold hair shot with silver and he recognized him as the gentleman he’d talked to on the street. The gentleman with the very pretty daughter. Was she here too? His eyes quickly scanned the crowd on the balcony but there was no young faces above, no one with golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Just older types, mostly gentlemen with a few ladies scattered among them, all looking at him with bright interest since it appeared he was to be the second act.
“He is Kid Cochran, is he not?” the man asked. “The fastest gun alive, or so the advertisements say.”
“Why yes he is,” Cody said. Kid Cochran, celebrated scout to the United States
Cavalry, friend of the Sioux and the dreaded enemy of Geronimo himself.” He arched an eyebrow in Dax’s direction. “And the fastest gun alive,” he added with his showman's flourish.
“Have him shoot,” the gentleman said. He held up his glass. “I will throw it in the air.”
Dang…He wasn't Annie. Sharp Shooting wasn't his game. There was a difference between what Annie did and what he did. But he couldn't back down and he sure couldn't let Cody down. Dax looked at Cody who just barely tilted his head as if he disapproved of the notion. Dax knew he didn't, that it was all part of the show. It would get people talking. It was exactly the reason why he was here. They had not planned on someone from the crowd calling him out. That just made it that much better. The fact that it was Merritt's father was an added bonus. Maybe there was hope that he would see her again.
“I'm not sure if our hostess can spare any more of her fine glassware,” Dax said. “You got something else I can shoot at?”
The gentleman grinned in delight. “What do you suggest?”
Dax scratched his chin and twisted up his face as if he had to think on it for a bit. It was all staged of course; he knew Frank had him covered. Still it would be a delight to have the English gent dig up the coins.
“How bout a few of those shillings? Isn't that what you call money in these parts?”
“It is,” the gentleman replied. “However I do not customarily carry shillings upon my person.” There was subdued laughter from the crowd at this remark. “Can anyone spare a few? I promise to pay you back of course.” The laughter was louder this time, jovial, with several men adding agreement or disagreement to the gentleman's promise of compensation.
“I have some coins Father,” a feminine voice said.
Dax's heart suddenly jumped into his throat. She was here. The girl from the street. Merritt. The crowd parted and she appeared by her father's side with her hand in her reticule as she dug for coins. She wore a dress of blue satin, with her hair pinned up. A few tendrils caressed her cheek and long graceful neck. A desire to kiss that neck suddenly overcame him. She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes as she placed the coins in her father's palm and Dax felt it like a punch in the gut. It had been a very long time since he'd reacted with such intensity to a woman. It wasn't as if he hadn't been around any, he'd had plenty of women in his lifetime. It was just that none had stirred him. Not since Rebekkah…
“Will this do?” The gentleman held up a coin between his forefinger and thumb. Merritt stood beside him with her hands gripping the rail. She looked as if she regretted stepping forward. As if she wished to remain in the background. A girl with chestnut hair dressed in gold joined her at the rail and they linked arms. She relaxed somewhat, as if she drew courage from her companion. What was she afraid of?
“Only if you have five more.” Dax reminded himself that he was here for the show, not to chase pretty girls. That would come later, he hoped.
“I do,” he said. “Do you have need of a weapon?”
Dax grinned, shook his head and drew his colt from the holster beneath his arm. Those closest to him gasped in shock or admiration, he could not tell. He simply shrugged as if it were perfectly normal to carry a double action colt to fancy parties and checked the chamber. “You best give me some room.” Those around him backed away with an undercurrent of anticipation.
“Your name sir?” Cody asked the gentleman.
“Thomas Chadwyke, Earl of Pemberton.”
Cody shook his head. “I don't think I'll ever get used to all these fancy titles.”
“You may call me Pemberton,” the Earl said.
“Pemberton,” Cody smiled broadly. “When I say go I want you to throw all six coins in the air.”
“All six at once?”
“All six at once.” Cody said. “Make sure you throw them into the circle of light where Kid Cochran can see them.”
“Very well,” Pemberton shook his head as if he were dealing with an indulgent child. Dax backed away until he was next to one of the torches. He scanned the balcony and the night sky to make sure there was nothing in his line of sight to distract him. And to make sure no one would be injured in case a bullet just happened to stray off course. That wouldn't help the show a bit.
“Are you ready?” Cody asked the both of them.
Dax took a deep breath, expelled it and nodded. Pemberton held his hand over the garden with the coins in his fist and nodded also.
“One. Two. Three. Go!” Cody shouted the last word. As soon as he heard it Dax dove, rolled and came up firing. Before the crowd could even gasp he heard the ping of six coins as they were deflected by six successive shots. One landed on the ground before him and he picked it up, examined the hole in the middle and flipped it up to Lord Pemberton. He kept his eyes on Merritt, who stood beside him, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement.
“Here's one,” someone shouted, holding up a coin.
“And another!”
Three more voices joined in and the five remaining coins were held up for inspection, all of them showing evidence of his bullets hitting the mark.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Kid Cochran,” Cody shouted and the crowd burst into applause.
Dax bowed for the crowd but kept his eyes on Merritt who applauded also, her face showing her amazement of his feat.
“Good Show!” Pemberton shouted. Then he, his daughter, and her friend disappeared into the crowd.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
When a story doesn't work, part five
For the past few weeks I've posted the synopsis and first three chapters of my post apocotlypic romance that I shopped around to some different houses the end of 2008. One editor called it a MadMax/Matrix mix. I liked that reference. Still no one bit. No one even came close. They just could not identify with the characters.
So what was I to do? I had a concept that I thought was a good one. The greatest power is the mind. My overall story arc was pretty much typical. Guy meets girl, guy falls for girl, bad guy wants girl, bad guy takes girl, guy rescues girl and they live happily ever after. My world, as I envisioned it was complex and would need at least three books to tell, maybe four. Most important, I had two characters and names that I loved. Dax and Merritt.
I think one thing that went against me was the time of year. I sent out a dark, desperate and depressing world at Christmas time. That really should not influence it but deep down I think it did. Christmas is a happy time as it should be. But mostly I think the market was to blame. sci/fi romance is a very narrow niche and its hard to take a risk on something that does not have the potential for making a lot of $$$.
Publishers had taken a hit along with everyone else in 2008. A major book distributor went under. Returns were up, book stores were not buying as many titles as before but buying more of sure things. It was a hard time to sell period.
I took a long hard look at the market. I needed to come up with something new and fresh. Something that did not have vampires since I feel the fur and fangs market is way over done. I also felt as if urban fantasy might be overdone as well. Something well written in a new market sells, it becomes popular and suddenly every publisher in the world wants the same thing. They buy it up in hopes that they can cash in on the sudden craze and the reader gets tired of it. I am a firm believer that the reader wants a well written book in any genre instead of mediocre books in their favorite genre.
So thinking, new and different. Something that I could do well. Something in my writers wheelhouse. Somthing with strong characters, and great world buildling. I'm known for writing historicals and scifi. What blends those two genre's together?
Steampunk.
It wasn't as if I had a lightbulb moment. I'd read a few articles, thought about it, watched some movies with some elements of it, then a friend called me up and said. "I think you should try writing Steampunk. Its' perfect for you."
But I still had this proposal with elements that I liked and characters that I adored. Could I turn it into a steampunk story?
Here's the synopsis. You tell me.
Prism by Cindy Holby
A Steampunk Romance
Cindy Holby, award-winning author of historical and scifi romance, blends both genres together with Prism, a steampunk romance featuring a cowboy, a psychic heroine and a diabolical plot to take over the world using imaginative technology in Victorian England. What’s a proper British lady to do when a mad scientist is after her brain and an American cowboy is after her heart?
London, England 1887
David Alexander Conrad, AKA Dax, is a cowboy. But he's not just any ordinary cowboy—he's one of the famed performers with the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show who, in the summer of 1887, travels to England in order to give those stuffy Victorians a jolt of good old American showmanship. He is a renowned sharp shooter and trick rider with skills honed when he worked as a scout for the US Cavalry in the American Southwest during the Apache Wars with Geronimo. At twenty-seven, he’s the youngest star of the show and something of a celebrity in a London unaccustomed to his type. It is while Dax is on the party circuit that he meets a woman unlike any he has ever known.
Merritt Elizabeth Chadwyke is the daughter of Member of Parliament, Lord Pemberton She lives in a society bubble because she is subject to spells and needs the constant monitoring of a nurse. During her “spells” Merritt has been known to make outlandish comments about things of which she should have no knowledge. There is also evidence that during these spells, objects appear to move on their own. Merritt’s parents are very protective of her since they have already lost a son to a tragic accident. What her parents do not know is that at ten years of age, Merritt had a vision of her brother’s death but was afraid to say anything because of her parents reactions to her visions. She did try to warn her brother, who was fourteen when he died, but he ignored her. He realized he should have paid attention to her and said so as he died in his father’s arms. At their wits’ end over her strange illness, her parents send her to the Paranormal Research Institute run by Baron Edmond Von Swaim, who has become a society darling himself by using his powers of hypnotism to charm the upper crust. As Von Swaim performs test upon test on Merritt, he comes to the conclusion that she is something so unique and rare, he wasn't even certain it existed. Merritt is a Prism. And more importantly, she is exactly what he needs to complete his plot to overthrow the British Monarchy and take what he feels is his claim to the throne.
Von Swaim does everything to encourage Merritt’s family to turn her over to his care to cure her “spells.” His research into the study of the human mind has led him to believe that it is the greatest power upon earth. Through the use of his brilliant inventions and the enhancement of crystal prisms he plans to harness Merritt’s mind. Merritt, true to the nature of her spells, has a bad feeling about Von Swaim and refuses to go with him, despite her parents’ belief that it is the perfect solution to her strange illness. It is also during this time that Dax and Merritt have met each other and find that they are unable to stop thinking about each other. He finds it’s a bit more difficult to track a young woman through Victorian London than it is to fight Indians in the American west. Still he manages to find her, at parties, at the park, even in an exclusive tea shop. The feelings they share grow stronger with each passing moment and they go to great lengths to spend time together when they realize there is something special between them. As they pursue their romance Dax finds Merritt’s strange sense of things more of a gift than an illness and Merritt knows that Dax truly loves her for who she is, not what society or her parents expect her to be.
Frustrated with the constraints her family and society have put upon her, and unable to escape from Von Swaim’s constant presence, Merritt sneaks out to see a final performance of the Wild West show. Dax is happy to see her in the crowd and pulls her out to do some trick shooting. Meanwhile, Von Swaim, who has had Merritt watched ever since he’s treated her, is told of her escape from her home. Von Swaim sees this as the perfect opportunity to take her and sends his men, who wear armor and carry weapons that shoot lasers and electrical currents after her. Dax and Merritt manage to escape and spend a romantic night together in hiding. The following morning Von Swaim’s army finds their hiding place and chase Dax and Merritt through the streets of London. Dax is well armed but his trick shooting has no effect upon the special armor Von Swaim’s soldiers wear. Dax and Merritt are finally captured when Von Swaim uses a zeppelin to run them down in Hyde Park. He takes both of them prisoner, Merritt to be his weapon, and Dax, who is wounded in the leg to be brain washed and become a soldier in his army. They are taken by zeppelin to Von Swaim’s hidden castle in the Swiss Alps.
Dax finds there is no torture or brainwashing powerful enough to erase Merritt and his feelings for her from his memory. He manages to befriend a doctor in Von Swaim’s employ who has repaired Dax’s wound using Von Swaim’s invention of brass fittings and joints. After some time in which his injury heals and with the doctor’s help Dax manages to escape, only to find himself alone in a country where he knows no one and does not speak the language. To makes matters worse, Merritt is now under Von Swaim’s control and he has taken her to away for “treatment” with her parents’ permission. Fortunately for Dax, the Wild West Show is now touring Europe and he is able to find his friends who welcome him back with open arms. Dax is desperate to find Merritt but has no idea where to look.
Merritt, who is under Von Swaim’s control, cannot forget Dax either. Even though her memories of him are supposedly erased by Von Swaim’s hypnotism, her Prism abilities guide her back to Dax at one of the performances of the Wild West Show. Dax knows that he may never have this chance with Merritt again. With the help of his friends from the Wild West Show he is ready to use Von Swaim’s weapons against him. Dax and Von Swaim enter into a battle for her mind, but Von Swaim does not realize that Dax is also fighting for Merritt’s heart and soul. Dax will stop at nothing to free her from Von Swaim so that Merritt may make her own choices for her own life. Dax can only hope that once he frees her from Von Swaim that Merritt will choose him because he loves her just the way she is. Neither technology nor mind control, no matter how powerful, are any match for the strength of their love.
So what was I to do? I had a concept that I thought was a good one. The greatest power is the mind. My overall story arc was pretty much typical. Guy meets girl, guy falls for girl, bad guy wants girl, bad guy takes girl, guy rescues girl and they live happily ever after. My world, as I envisioned it was complex and would need at least three books to tell, maybe four. Most important, I had two characters and names that I loved. Dax and Merritt.
I think one thing that went against me was the time of year. I sent out a dark, desperate and depressing world at Christmas time. That really should not influence it but deep down I think it did. Christmas is a happy time as it should be. But mostly I think the market was to blame. sci/fi romance is a very narrow niche and its hard to take a risk on something that does not have the potential for making a lot of $$$.
Publishers had taken a hit along with everyone else in 2008. A major book distributor went under. Returns were up, book stores were not buying as many titles as before but buying more of sure things. It was a hard time to sell period.
I took a long hard look at the market. I needed to come up with something new and fresh. Something that did not have vampires since I feel the fur and fangs market is way over done. I also felt as if urban fantasy might be overdone as well. Something well written in a new market sells, it becomes popular and suddenly every publisher in the world wants the same thing. They buy it up in hopes that they can cash in on the sudden craze and the reader gets tired of it. I am a firm believer that the reader wants a well written book in any genre instead of mediocre books in their favorite genre.
So thinking, new and different. Something that I could do well. Something in my writers wheelhouse. Somthing with strong characters, and great world buildling. I'm known for writing historicals and scifi. What blends those two genre's together?
Steampunk.
It wasn't as if I had a lightbulb moment. I'd read a few articles, thought about it, watched some movies with some elements of it, then a friend called me up and said. "I think you should try writing Steampunk. Its' perfect for you."
But I still had this proposal with elements that I liked and characters that I adored. Could I turn it into a steampunk story?
Here's the synopsis. You tell me.
Prism by Cindy Holby
A Steampunk Romance
Cindy Holby, award-winning author of historical and scifi romance, blends both genres together with Prism, a steampunk romance featuring a cowboy, a psychic heroine and a diabolical plot to take over the world using imaginative technology in Victorian England. What’s a proper British lady to do when a mad scientist is after her brain and an American cowboy is after her heart?
London, England 1887
David Alexander Conrad, AKA Dax, is a cowboy. But he's not just any ordinary cowboy—he's one of the famed performers with the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show who, in the summer of 1887, travels to England in order to give those stuffy Victorians a jolt of good old American showmanship. He is a renowned sharp shooter and trick rider with skills honed when he worked as a scout for the US Cavalry in the American Southwest during the Apache Wars with Geronimo. At twenty-seven, he’s the youngest star of the show and something of a celebrity in a London unaccustomed to his type. It is while Dax is on the party circuit that he meets a woman unlike any he has ever known.
Merritt Elizabeth Chadwyke is the daughter of Member of Parliament, Lord Pemberton She lives in a society bubble because she is subject to spells and needs the constant monitoring of a nurse. During her “spells” Merritt has been known to make outlandish comments about things of which she should have no knowledge. There is also evidence that during these spells, objects appear to move on their own. Merritt’s parents are very protective of her since they have already lost a son to a tragic accident. What her parents do not know is that at ten years of age, Merritt had a vision of her brother’s death but was afraid to say anything because of her parents reactions to her visions. She did try to warn her brother, who was fourteen when he died, but he ignored her. He realized he should have paid attention to her and said so as he died in his father’s arms. At their wits’ end over her strange illness, her parents send her to the Paranormal Research Institute run by Baron Edmond Von Swaim, who has become a society darling himself by using his powers of hypnotism to charm the upper crust. As Von Swaim performs test upon test on Merritt, he comes to the conclusion that she is something so unique and rare, he wasn't even certain it existed. Merritt is a Prism. And more importantly, she is exactly what he needs to complete his plot to overthrow the British Monarchy and take what he feels is his claim to the throne.
Von Swaim does everything to encourage Merritt’s family to turn her over to his care to cure her “spells.” His research into the study of the human mind has led him to believe that it is the greatest power upon earth. Through the use of his brilliant inventions and the enhancement of crystal prisms he plans to harness Merritt’s mind. Merritt, true to the nature of her spells, has a bad feeling about Von Swaim and refuses to go with him, despite her parents’ belief that it is the perfect solution to her strange illness. It is also during this time that Dax and Merritt have met each other and find that they are unable to stop thinking about each other. He finds it’s a bit more difficult to track a young woman through Victorian London than it is to fight Indians in the American west. Still he manages to find her, at parties, at the park, even in an exclusive tea shop. The feelings they share grow stronger with each passing moment and they go to great lengths to spend time together when they realize there is something special between them. As they pursue their romance Dax finds Merritt’s strange sense of things more of a gift than an illness and Merritt knows that Dax truly loves her for who she is, not what society or her parents expect her to be.
Frustrated with the constraints her family and society have put upon her, and unable to escape from Von Swaim’s constant presence, Merritt sneaks out to see a final performance of the Wild West show. Dax is happy to see her in the crowd and pulls her out to do some trick shooting. Meanwhile, Von Swaim, who has had Merritt watched ever since he’s treated her, is told of her escape from her home. Von Swaim sees this as the perfect opportunity to take her and sends his men, who wear armor and carry weapons that shoot lasers and electrical currents after her. Dax and Merritt manage to escape and spend a romantic night together in hiding. The following morning Von Swaim’s army finds their hiding place and chase Dax and Merritt through the streets of London. Dax is well armed but his trick shooting has no effect upon the special armor Von Swaim’s soldiers wear. Dax and Merritt are finally captured when Von Swaim uses a zeppelin to run them down in Hyde Park. He takes both of them prisoner, Merritt to be his weapon, and Dax, who is wounded in the leg to be brain washed and become a soldier in his army. They are taken by zeppelin to Von Swaim’s hidden castle in the Swiss Alps.
Dax finds there is no torture or brainwashing powerful enough to erase Merritt and his feelings for her from his memory. He manages to befriend a doctor in Von Swaim’s employ who has repaired Dax’s wound using Von Swaim’s invention of brass fittings and joints. After some time in which his injury heals and with the doctor’s help Dax manages to escape, only to find himself alone in a country where he knows no one and does not speak the language. To makes matters worse, Merritt is now under Von Swaim’s control and he has taken her to away for “treatment” with her parents’ permission. Fortunately for Dax, the Wild West Show is now touring Europe and he is able to find his friends who welcome him back with open arms. Dax is desperate to find Merritt but has no idea where to look.
Merritt, who is under Von Swaim’s control, cannot forget Dax either. Even though her memories of him are supposedly erased by Von Swaim’s hypnotism, her Prism abilities guide her back to Dax at one of the performances of the Wild West Show. Dax knows that he may never have this chance with Merritt again. With the help of his friends from the Wild West Show he is ready to use Von Swaim’s weapons against him. Dax and Von Swaim enter into a battle for her mind, but Von Swaim does not realize that Dax is also fighting for Merritt’s heart and soul. Dax will stop at nothing to free her from Von Swaim so that Merritt may make her own choices for her own life. Dax can only hope that once he frees her from Von Swaim that Merritt will choose him because he loves her just the way she is. Neither technology nor mind control, no matter how powerful, are any match for the strength of their love.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
RT recap
Wow, so much happened it eight days that it is hard to even remember what the beginning was like. So I’ll just have to do it a day at a time.
I arrived in Pittsburgh on Sunday after driving six hours with the back of my car filled to the ceiling with promo stuff for the Intergalactic Bar and Grille Party. I met Linnea Sinclair and Stacey Klemstein at the airport and we left for the hotel after having a great laugh when we saw an exit for Moon Beaver PA. From that point on Isobo Kelly’s baby was referred to as Moon Beaver. I shortened it to Moon Beam. I like that better. The four of us had a fabulous dinner at a restaurant called the Palomino and had a great time catching up on things.
Monday I was privileged to have the chance to speak at Bobbi Smith’s advanced writers course. I talked about creating internal conflict and research in two different workshops. I loved seeing the excitement of these writers and especially loved catching up with them during the rest of the week. Good luck to all of you that were in those workshops.
Monday night my friend Chris Winters who was participating in the Mr. Romance pageant arrived and we talked for a long time. I really enjoyed having the hotel to a small group because I knew in twenty four hours all hell was going to break loose. I warned my favorite Bellhop Val what he was in for. I’m not sure he really believed me.
Tuesday taught another class and then got to go out on three photo shoots with Annette Batista of Between Your Sheets. I had walked around downtown Pittsburgh a bit that morning and have to say it is the most beautiful city. My room had a view of the two rivers, the Steelers stadium (I love NFL Football) and the ridge opposite with the most beautiful old church and houses. Wish I would have taken pics but kept forgetting too everyday.
Went on totally enjoyable photo shoot with Chris Winters. I told everyone I was his personal assistant since I was keeping track of all his stuff. It was a blast and I learned a lot. Photography has always been a hobby of mine and it was amazing to watch Annette to her magic. Plus Chris just lights up a camera.
Came back and had lunch with the amazing women of Between Your Sheets. Then got invited to do more shoots. Went out with John Fish of the amazing humongous muscles. We even got him to unbutton his shirt out on the street. Have to say women were tripping. Then went out for photos with the adorable Christopher Howell who is beyond sweet. I hope next year he shares some of his dance moves with us. He teased us a bit at the pageant. I want more more more!
The amazing and totally priceless J.C. Wilder arrived and a group of us went to Max and Irma’s for dinner. Have to say we closed the place down. J.C. decided it was her project to make me yeep. And she succeeded. I also spewed. Needless to say there was much laughter. The hotel was filling up fast and Val the bellhop gave me a ride on his amazing cart. He also made an amazing amount of money in tips. I saw Mark Johnson arrive and he gave me the sweetest hug. He truly is a great guy. So sweet. Also saw the totally vivacious Jade Lee whom I adore. A bunch of us went up to Linnea’s room to pack goodie bags for the Intergalactic Bar and Grille party. Came down to my room and ran into fellow Shadow Booty Clan member Liz Maverick where we proceeded to have the best reunion ever not caught on video tape. At some point we will reenact it for the public. Caught up with the last third of our terrible trio, Marianne. The two of them make up the Rebels of Romance. I just kind of hang around and terrorize them.
By Wednesday I was surviving on no sleep. I was practically staggering. That afternoon we had the Intergalactic Bar and Grille which was an absolute blast. We gave out lots of prizes. By the time it was over I was so desperate for sleep and so tired that I fell flat on my face in a packed elevator. (Luke Walsh has his own version of what happened. Don’t listen to him. It’s all lies.) Luckily for me there was a hero on board and I was rescued by a very gallant Mr. Romance contestant who saw me safely back to my room.
Wednesday night was the EC Hollywood Glam party. Since I didn’t pack a ballgown I wore my jeans and sneakers and had a blast dancing and making new friends. Finally got some sleep that night. Thursday morning I participated in a writing sci-fi panel and then my RT responsibilities were done. From then on I could just hang out and catch up and talk to people. Thursday night was the fairy ball which I love dressing up for and Lifetime TV interviewed me in my fairy costume. After that we went to Christine Feehan’s speakeasy. I adore Christine, she is truly amazing. Her entire family is wonderful.
Friday I went to club RT and talked to lots of fans of my Colby Hodge books. Caught up with my old friend Bill Freda and John DeSalvo who graced the cover of Stargazer. Then went to a workshop with my new friend Natalie Stenzel. Friday night was more dancing and talking with my wonderful editor Chris Keeslar and the rest of the Dorchester gang, Diane Stacey, Erin Galloway and Renee Yewdaev. Saturday was the wonderful book fair where I signed in between Cheryl Holt and Sandra Hill. Wow was I in good company. I also got to meet Roberta Gellis, who wrote the first romance novel I ever read, Alinor.
Then the Mr. Romance pageant where Jade Lee and I made a spectacle or ourselves on stage and my friend Chris Winters, who played the part of Zander from Star Shadows in the pageant won. Then there was an awesome bookseller mixer put on by the amazing Dorchester Staff and I met Christina Tanuadji and Veronika Kahrmadji from Australia and Sara Loftus from Huntington WV, which is where a lot of my Wind books take place. Then there was nothing left but the totally awesome Dorchester party where the Impalers, who were sponsored by my good friend Kathy Love and Erin McCarthy totally rocked the house.
I made so many new friends this week. Jennifer St. Giles and the gang at Between The Sheets. There there was Rose, Anthony and Lisa from Crossing Realms. The incredibly sweet and gallant cover guys, Brian, Steve, my boy Luke Walsh, Ryan, Jimi, and of course Fred and Christopher along with my dear friend Mr. Romance Chris Winters. It was great getting to know J.C. Wilder, and Isobo Kelly better and chowing down in J.C.’s room when the restaurants couldn’t serve us and laughing at stories. I adore my new friends, Leanna, Morgan and Stacey, the most amazing bookseller from Grand Central in NYC and I am coming up to NYC for a visit soon. Also have to mention Sue from Troy and yes Sue I am coming for a visit and bringing Luke with me. So many people it’s impossible to remember them all.
All in all it was the most awesome, busy and mind blowing week of my life. I can’t wait until next year.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Characters come to life
A lot of times we are asked who we would cast if our books ever became movies. I think for most of us writers it usually goes beyond that. A lot of us have someone in mind when we first create our characters. Since I'm a visual type person I enjoy having that image fully formed in my mind when I sit down to write.
For Stargazer I had Tom Welling in mind for the role of Shaun. He plays a young Clark Kent on Smallville and I think he's much better when he's bad. Plus I would love to see him in a more grown up type role. John DeSalvo go the cover. In my mind he was a bit too mature in the face to be Shaun and I'm not a fan of all the skin but the cover sold a lot of books. I saw Tom Selleck as the Soverign Alexander and George Clooney as Michael. The women usually are not as distinct. Usually because I'm playing out my own foolish fantasies through them. But occasionally one comes to me.
In Shooting Star my inspiration for Tess was Evangeline Lilly from Lost. David Beckham was Ruben. I saw a picture of him on the cover of GC and he just clicked in my mind. Star Shadows had Ian Summerholder as Boone. Although Adam Levine from Maroon Five showed up occasionally after I watched the Makes Me Wonder video about a thousand times. In Twist Paul Walker became the Avatar for Shane after the guy on the cover came out with blonde hair. What can I say, I like dark hair on my heroes but I was more than happy to go with Paul. And it worked.
But now I actually get to see one of my heroes come to life. At the upcoming Romantic Times conference in Pittsburgh the Mr. Romance pageant is featuring my book, Star Shadows and Chris Winters, is playing the role of Zander. Chris is also a most awesome actor so he's reading the book to learn the dark side of Zander who is one of my most tortured heroes. To learn more about Chris go here.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Craft, Torturing your characters or developing inner conflcit
It has been pointed out to me in several recent talks I've given that I have built a reputaion for torturing my characters. When someone comments upon it I pause and think. "Well I did skin Zane alive in Whirlwind. And he deserved it too. He's been nothing but a trouble maker for six books." When writing that I had to think long and hard about acutally doing it. I knew it was graphic and would be a horrible experience for anyone to go through. Then I decided yep, just go for it. You can do it. He's your character. You can do what ever you want.
My editor said that I gave her nightmares while she was reading Rising Wind. There were some graphic examples of torture used by the Shawnee in the book taken straight from acutal accounts. My hero, Connor, in Rising Wind did not get tortured. I even had a chance to give him a lashing and I rescinded it. I figured Connor was torturing himself enough. Or I was torturing him.
The method of torture I used on Connor was self doubt. Through out the entire story his biggest fear was he would be captured and tortured. And when it happen he would show fear. I also set the story up so that in the prologue (see last weeks post) it showed Connor's father dying bravely at Culloden. In the first chapter he talks about his mother also dying bravely when hung by English soldiers for wearing the plaid. Thus I've set up Connor's internal conflict. His own form of self torture.
Star Shadows is the story of Elle and Boone but it also introduces Zander who loses his memory in the first half of the book and then becomes an assasin. He has no recall of learned boundaries from his youth so therefore he does not know why or how he has become a killer. All he knows is kill or be killed. He knows he hates what he is but it is also impossible for him to die. Plenty of self loathing and internal conflict going on in his mind. I also added a torture scene where he is tied down and raped by a woman that he later kills. Zander is set up to torture himself with all he has done when he finally regains his memory. I know this is why every one who has read Star Shadows is asking for Zander's book.
Its not about the torture. Its not about the internal conflict. Its about experiencing the journey as the characters examine themselves as they come up against their greatest fears and how they conquer those fears.
Character is what rises to the top when put under extreme pressure. We all would like to think that we would react "heroically" when we are put into life or death situations. But until we acutally experience it we do not know how we will act.
I guess you can say that is our own form of self toture. Our own self doubt.
Linnea? I loved to hear what you have to say about Kel-Patten and his interal conflict.
My editor said that I gave her nightmares while she was reading Rising Wind. There were some graphic examples of torture used by the Shawnee in the book taken straight from acutal accounts. My hero, Connor, in Rising Wind did not get tortured. I even had a chance to give him a lashing and I rescinded it. I figured Connor was torturing himself enough. Or I was torturing him.
The method of torture I used on Connor was self doubt. Through out the entire story his biggest fear was he would be captured and tortured. And when it happen he would show fear. I also set the story up so that in the prologue (see last weeks post) it showed Connor's father dying bravely at Culloden. In the first chapter he talks about his mother also dying bravely when hung by English soldiers for wearing the plaid. Thus I've set up Connor's internal conflict. His own form of self torture.
Star Shadows is the story of Elle and Boone but it also introduces Zander who loses his memory in the first half of the book and then becomes an assasin. He has no recall of learned boundaries from his youth so therefore he does not know why or how he has become a killer. All he knows is kill or be killed. He knows he hates what he is but it is also impossible for him to die. Plenty of self loathing and internal conflict going on in his mind. I also added a torture scene where he is tied down and raped by a woman that he later kills. Zander is set up to torture himself with all he has done when he finally regains his memory. I know this is why every one who has read Star Shadows is asking for Zander's book.
Its not about the torture. Its not about the internal conflict. Its about experiencing the journey as the characters examine themselves as they come up against their greatest fears and how they conquer those fears.
Character is what rises to the top when put under extreme pressure. We all would like to think that we would react "heroically" when we are put into life or death situations. But until we acutally experience it we do not know how we will act.
I guess you can say that is our own form of self toture. Our own self doubt.
Linnea? I loved to hear what you have to say about Kel-Patten and his interal conflict.
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