Panic Brain and Other Fun Things (Patreon)

And no, I have no idea why he was talking about Isaac Newton and his weird quest to destroy Robert Hooke. (It's kind of interesting though. You should look into it if you've never heard of it, especially the work of Rita Greer, the portrait artist that tried to recreate his likeness and get it out into the world.)

My plan for today was to get up, write some new words for Lena, and then go back into my revisions of Curses. Instead, my insomnia kicked in hard for a second day in a row. Thanks to my panic brain, I couldn't sleep, because it decided it was necessary to plan out my syllabus for my upcoming YA Writing Workshop through Hugo House. Despite my logical arguments like, "I'll do it tomorrow when the people I need to talk to are actually AWAKE," my brain spun out until four in the morning. And this was on TOP of me taking medication to help me sleep. Sometimes my insomnia will not be stopped. It's my super power, apparently.

For those interested, I'm going to be teaching online via the dreaded Zoom at Hugo House this Summer/Fall. The upside of Zoom means you don't need to live in Seattle to take the classes. I will be teaching a short class on writing Banter as part of their Write-O-Rama fundraiser in July, along with a Young Adult writing class, which is apparently full already. In the fall I'll be teaching a fantasy writing workshop and the young adult one again.

Which means I lost a lot of today to figuring out my syllabus, making a list of what I need to do next, being interrupted by my family 8,000 times, and helping Man Friend build my mom's new bunk bed.

Yes, my mom bought a bunk bed. She's currently sharing a room with my five year old, because we only have three bedrooms and five people in the house. We've offered to bunk up Bigs and Smalls, but she said no. Smalls has been asking to get bunk beds (he has been sleeping on a fort bed thing that his dad built) and my mom found a set that had a full size mattress on the bottom. 

Now it's 6 PM. I haven't even worked on my revision yet. I want to burn things. I have so much more work tomorrow, too. Which means I have no idea when I'll get to Lena. Maybe tomorrow? I hope so? As penance, I'm going to give you a snippet of Curses. Right now, this draft has a prologue. Who knows if it will stay there, or if the scene will be moved. But here it is. (Any questions? Hit me up in the comments!)

Prologue

House of Cravan Country Seat, 1883

Merit Cravan, only heir to the barony of Cravan, and current absentee from her own betrothal ball, locked herself in her room. Then pushed a dresser in front of it just in case. The dresser was heavy, her dress askew and dust-smudged when she was done. Her carefully curled and pinned updo a tangled mess.

“You come out this instant, young lady.” Lady Zarla punctuated her demand with a moment of discreet pounding on the stout wooden door.

“No, mother.” Merit started yanking out the hairpins one by one, massaging her scalp. Her hair had a natural wave to it, but the maid had spent time heating it and curling it until she no longer recognized the texture of her own hair.

“Stop being such a child!” Her mother’s voice through door was fierce but low, because fairy born aristocracy wouldn’t be so uncouth as to yell. 

“Either I’m a child or I’m old enough to be betrothed. Make up your mind.” Merit’s words were calm, but the pins in her fist shook. She didn’t love him, though that puny fact would not signify with her mother. “I told you to cancel it. He’s old enough to be my father.” If her betrothed were a few years older, he’d be old enough to be Lady Zarla’s father.

“He said he’d wait until you were eighteen, and his lineage is spotless. Honestly, Merit. Fairy born gentlemen of his ilk don’t grow on trees.”

“He can wait forever!” Merit yelled, throwing her pins at the door. Her mother gasped at the slip in Merit’s decorum and she did not care. No, she did not. And if she kept saying she didn’t care, eventually it would be true, wouldn’t it?

“Godling Verity, we are graced with your presence.” Lady Zarla’s voice had completely altered, her tone now reverent and careful.

Merit put a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound that wanted to come out. In the mess of things, she’d completely forgotten—her mother had hired a fairy godling to gift the union. Godling Verity was temperamental, even for kind—any perceived slight would be blown completely out of proportion. Merit slid down the wall, pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. What had she done?

“Is there a problem?” Her words had the crisp bite of authority to them. Merit didn’t think anyone had argued with Godling Verity in her entire life. No one sane would.

“Lady Merit is indisposed.” Even through the door Merit could tell that Lady Zarla was holding on to her composure by her fingernails. “She’ll no doubt be out in a moment.”

Fear spiked through Merit, but so did determination. She had already chosen the boy she would someday marry, and he was most certainly not the gray-haired and paunchy baron waiting for her in the ballroom. “I won’t,” Merit yelled without thinking. “I’m not coming out!”

It was the last straw. Her mother’s composure must have snapped, because Merit heard her smack the door with her hand. “You want to wait for your fortune hunter, you beastly girl? Want him to come back to you and profess his love? He’s not coming for you. Not tonight, not ever. You will grow up and do as I say! Merit!” She banged on the door some more. “Get out here right this minute!”

“He will come back for me,” Merit insisted. 

A beat of silence then, a hesitation that told her that her mother struggling with herself. “Fine. Wonderful. If he comes back for you—for you, not your money, or your title, you’re welcome to him. You’ll have my blessings. But he won’t come back, Merit.”

Her capitulation surprised Merit. It was too easy. “How are you so sure? You don’t even know him.”

“Because I gave him an offer and he took it. Took the coin and ran. That’s all he wanted—a hand out. Not you.”

Merit choked back a sob. The dull blade of betrayal sliced through her. Her mother was wrong, she had to be wrong. Jasper loved her. He loved her. He’d promised.

Lady Zarla smacked the door again. “Merit! You are the heir to one of the oldest and most respected baronies in this land and you will act like it! Now come out here before the guests start talking!”

Merit’s entire body trembled, but she made no move to the door. Her mother was lying. She had to be. He would never—only it didn’t sound like her mother was lying, did it? Oh, she wanted to crumble to the floor and die.

Merit heard a new sound then, the faint buzzing of wings. Her pulse sped up.

“You refuse to honor your mother’s choice?” Godling Verity crooned oddly, like she was excited by Merit’s disobedience.

Merit swallowed her fear. Her doubt. Even if her mom was right, she couldn’t marry her betrothed. The thought of his hands on her made her want to curl up until she disappeared. “I do.” The words rasped out of her throat, but the Godling heard. There was no doubt about that.

Something tapped against the door—Merit would realize later it was Godling Verity’s wand. “Beastly girl is right. You will get your gift from me this night.” The hum of wings grew louder. “I will even be generous—as you are still young, I will give you a chance to learn from your folly.” Merit could almost see the cold smile on her face. “Of course if love appears, we will bow to your will. But if it doesn’t, it will be as your mother says. You will marry someone of her choosing by your eighteenth birthday.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you will become a beast in truth.”

There was a flash then, a whoosh, and Merit felt like her world tipped sideways, split in half, and crumbled in on itself. She didn’t remember anything else until one of her mother’s footmen removed the door at it’s hinges. When she opened her eyes it was to see the footmen faint dead away, the heavy door in their hands clattering to the floor.

Then her mother screamed.