Monday, August 21, 2017

Excerpt from Book Two

I am pushing my way through the first draft of Book Two of The Unicorn Hunter. Somedays it's like gliding on a canoe through a mirrored lake, other days it's like scrambling up a steep mountain trail full of loose gravel.

Today feels like more of the latter.

But I wanted to share with you an excerpt from Book Two, (1) because I love you and (2) just to prove that it exists. There will be more to come! Thanks for reading!

When the king finished his speech and everyone toasted Jessalyn’s safe return, the feast began. While her goblet was being filled Jessalyn turned to her father. “You didn’t mention Erik.”
“Erik. The fortune-seeker you had accompany Sir Connor to find me.”
The queen, listening quietly across the table, added, “The one who was stabbed by a unicorn and lived to tell about it.”
Of course her mother would bring up unicorns. “Yes, him. You didn’t mention him in your speech.”
King Gillam shook his head. “I didn’t think it was necessary, seeing as he’s received his pardon and moved on. Sir Connor deserves the accolades. There’s no reason why he needs to share his glory with a thief. No one knows Erik was involved. It’s better we keep it that way.”
“Why? Because he’s a thief? He saved my life, Father. Multiple times.”
“Then I’m glad my trust in him was justified.” The king forced a small smile and patted Jessalyn’s hand. “Sharadel would have wanted Erik’s blood for what he did. It’s better that he didn’t stay.”
Her head agreed but her heart felt strangely tight. “Do you know where he went?”
The king shook his head as he took a bite of steamed fish. “Does it matter?”
Jessalyn cut her gaze to her plate, afraid her mother would be able to read the feelings hidden there. “No.”

After the feast a group of minstrels played the piping tunes Jessalyn always loved to dance to, and a steady stream of courtiers wound their way to her side, anxious for every detail of her adventure. Since the moment the carriage left Gontir, Jessalyn had daydreamed about this, the words she would say and the expressions she would use to convey her exciting and terrifying ordeal. Yet now that the courtiers were beside her, attempting to pry her open like one of those clamshells the fishermen catch by the dock, she found herself wanting to stay shut. The details were hers—the good and the bad—and, much like the string of pearls her father had given her when she was six, she didn’t want to share them with anyone.

The Brown-Eyed Girl

Thursday, August 10, 2017


I know I just restarted Writing Prompt Wednesday, but I am going to take a short break. I made a goal to get my first draft of The Unicorn Hunter sequel finished by the end of August, so that means all my spare time--every precious second--needs to be devoted to writing.

But I won't forget about you! I will come back and post snippets of what I'm working on. If I get my butt in gear and actually write instead of just staring at my computer screen.

Happy August!
The Brown-Eyed Girl

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Writing Prompt Wednesday: First Day of School

My oldest child starts his first day of second grade tomorrow. Yes, school starts insanely early in Arizona. And I am not ready. Well, his school supplies are purchased and his lunch is made. But I'm not ready to trade in our long, lazy summer days for carpools and homework.

In honor of school starting, today's writing prompt is: Write down your memories of your very first day of school.

As a little kindergartner on my first day of school, the school bus flew. I remember looking out the window at the farm fields flashing by and thinking I had never been in such a fast-moving vehicle. I guess buses are pretty fast when you're five years old and your mother always drives the speed limit.

Despite having attended Meet the Teacher night the day before, I must have listened only half-heartedly to my mother's careful instructions on how to find my classroom, As soon as the bus pulled up to the school and spit us out, I was baffled. I looked around at the low brick buildings and the steady stream of students and had no idea which way to go.

So, like the follower I am, I fell into step behind a group of older kids (second or third graders, but they were huge to my five year-old self), but quickly realized that the classrooms they were so confidently strolling toward were not mine.

I retreated to the front of the school and stood there. A lost little kindergartner waiting for rescue. Maybe I thought someone would take pity on me. Maybe I thought I would just wait for the next bus and try school again tomorrow. Whatever I was thinking, it worked because a few minutes later my teacher (an unhappy woman with frizzy brown hair) happened by, saw my pathetic self, and led me to my classroom.

It was the first of many awkward days in my school career.

Happy (I guess) Back to School,
The Brown-Eyed Girl