I wrote my NaNo novel in September/October (I couldn’t wait).  I finished it on October 23rd, 79.000 words in 37 days, but then what was I going to do in November?  Well, I thought since Katie (Harper) and Boston (Mary Riley, but everyone calls her Boston) make guest appearances in the The Chosen: The Young & The Strong, I thought I better get them back to where they belong:  Avalon.

Season one of the Avalon series is currently being presented here for free as a regular Monday/Friday post.  We are up to episode 7 (1.6 =7, trust me).  It is by no means too late to pick it up.

Avalon is the story of a group of people, three “men in black” including Boston, two marines including Katie, an elf and a half-elf who are sent into the deep past to save one man’s wife.  They succeed in the pilot, but lose their quick ticket home.  They are forced to get home the long way, by way of the time gates and across the time zones that surround the many lives of the Kairos, the Watcher over History, the Traveler in Time.  But that won’t be easy.

The first problem is the Kairos never lives a quiet life.  There is no telling from lifetime to lifetime what they may have to confront.  The second problem is they are not the only ones stuck in the past where they don’t belong.  Others have picked up their trail.  Some are content to follow them through the time gates, but some are hunting them.

Now working:

The first episode of season two finds the travelers in the Andes in the midst of a war.  The alien Agdaline and their fleet of 10 ships landed there, unable to elude pursuit by the Balok.  The Balok are reptilian, serpent-like creatures who believe they should be the only intelligent life in the universe.  They are attempting to wipe out every other intelligent species to make their vision into reality, and the poor Neolithic human race is caught in between.

That is 6619 words.

At the same time, I am continuing the story of the Storyteller – the one who was supposed to be their quick ticket home.  I am currently presenting it, again for free, on my Word & Spirit blog on Mondays only.  Plans are to present it on this blog at a future date since it connects to the Avalon events in a real way, but for now it is over there.  Why?  Because for all of its fiction, it is a parallel to my life and memoir-like.  You would not know it by reading it, but…

So, the Village II is 2766 words and Psalm 23 is 3855 words.  That is another 6621 words and that makes my total for the first week plus: 13, 240 words. 

Yes, both season two and Anatomy of a Storyteller will be book length, so in my mind they both count, even if the whole exercise is unofficial. 

            Korah recognized the sound and ran toward the cry.  The sheep parted to let her through, and her future husband was right behind her.  The young boys in the field stood over their mother but did not know what to do.  She was crying over a dead sheep, and there was no comforting her.

            The dogs only killed one, but the woman’s herd was down to six.  Herds that once sported forty or fifty sheep were in a death spiral in that harsh and inhospitable environment. 

            “Godus, dear.”  Dallah turned again to her husband.  “Give her one of ours.  Make it a good one.”

            “But then we will have just six.” 

            “As she will.  Give it to Korah for her new family,” Dallah decided.  Godus raised an eyebrow.  That was not really playing fair.

            “Pardon, lady.”  Itchy stepped forward.  “Might Stonecrusher have the dead one?  That would certainly be a relief for everyone.”

            “No,” Dallah said.  “Roland, you take the dead sheep for tomorrow and the next day if necessary since you likely won’t find anything between here and the gate.  Stonecrusher.”  She waited until she had the ogre’s complete attention before she spoke.  “You can have the dogs.”

            “Mother!”  Reneus objected.  There was a lot of good meat on those animals that would sustain them for some time.  But Dallah was not finished speaking.

            “Take only the dead dogs and be content.  Share one with your impy cousins and go with them to Lord Varuna.  He may have new work for you.  You are released from your obligation to Dayus.”

            “Yes, Lady.  Thank you Lady.”  The ogre picked up the dogs one by one and carried all four back into the wilderness without any strain at all.

            “Strong sucker,” Captain Decker noted.

            “And you imps.”  They looked up at Dallah with big eyes.  She smiled.  “Skat,” she said.  “Shoo.”  They ran off, happy.

            Godus sidled up to his wife and spoke softly.  “Any more surprises?”

            “A few, but mostly you are looking at them.”  She took his hand introduced the travelers.  She remembered to say “Her name is Mary Riley but everyone calls her Boston.”  Then they all went to a wedding.

            Dallah cried.  Boston cried with her.  Alexis only got teary eyed so Lincoln cried for her.  Captain Decker said, “Women.”  Captain or not, Katie Harper slapped him in the arm.

            The third family in the camp was the family that performed the actual ceremony.  They were also witnesses to the union.  It was a lovely ceremony and surprisingly not unlike modern ceremonies in most parts.  But then there was the sacrifice of a sheep.  And several moderns looked away then the old man who performed the sacrifice soaked his hands in the sheep’s blood and sprinkled it liberally all over the couple.

            Boston kept her mouth shut be she thought “Ewww,” really loud.

            After the wedding, the couple had a place not far from the camp.  They had their own fire and sweets and got the prime portion of the sheep for their supper.  The families, meanwhile, settled in for a party of their own.  Korah’s new mother sat beside Dallah for a time, though it made Dallah uncomfortable.  Dallah only had one word of advice for the woman.

            “Korah has a big, sensitive heart full of love.  If you treat her gently and with kindness and encourage her in what she does she will love you forever.”  The woman responded in a way which should not have been too surprising given the events of the day.

            “Yes, Lady.  I will do that very thing.”

            By evening, Doctor Procter appeared to be much better.  He sat up and ate, but thought it best not to go join the celebration.  He claimed to be too tired. 

            Later, when the sun was set and most of the camp was asleep, Alexis stayed up a bit to watch the Doctor.  She was looking out beneath a nearly full moon when her eye caught something glisten in the moonlight.  She had no idea what it might be until she heard the sound of a horse snort a big gust of breath.  The knight came close to the camp, but it did not come into the camp.  Alexis stood.  Doctor Procter appeared to be asleep, but he began to shiver.  Alexis held her breath while the knight reared up, turned and galloped off into the dark.  She immediately woke her father and told him.

            “It was a knight of the lance.  I am sure.  It had to be.”

            Mingus shook his head.  “There haven’t been any knights of the lance around for centuries.”

            “No,” Alexis argued.  “I heard there was one a few years ago when Ashteroth came up into the castle of the Kairos and the Kairos got so sick.”

            Mingus nodded.  “I heard that, too, but there was never any proof.  It was just a rumor.”

            “But father –“

            “Go to bed and sleep.  We will be leaving in the morning.”

            Alexis looked down and nodded.  Maybe she had not seen it.  Maybe it was like a waking dream.  Maybe she was not sure.

            Later in the night, Doctor Procter woke as a lizard crawled across his belly.  His hand reached out and grabbed the creature.  It was a harmless little thing that the Doctor held and bent backwards until there was a snap!  It was not that Doctor Procter had a reason for doing that.  He felt the urge to kill and wanted the pleasure of watching the beast die.

            There were more tears in the morning as everyone said good-bye.  The witness family was the first to leave.  They took their sheep and headed off to the southeast.  Then it was time for Korah and her mother to be parted.  “Always respect your husband,” Dallah whispered between the hugs and tears.  “And he will love you without ceasing.”

            Korah nodded, and shortly they headed off into the north.  They said they were going to go as far as the mountains to escape the dead lands.  Dallah truly wished them well.

            Last of all the travelers headed into the west and Andor waved until they were out of sight.  After they were gone, he pointed his fingers at Mya and said, “Bang!  Bang!”  She just had to chase him.  They were staying where they were for the present.  They had the stream and some grass that was worth eating for their few sheep, but how long they might hold out was anyone’s guess. 

            Boston was the last to say anything under that blazing sun.  “Doesn’t the Kairos ever get born anywhere off the equator?  I mean, a little rain might be nice, at least.”  Naturally, as they stepped through the gate they found themselves in a torrent.

People have been talking to me lately about publishing.  People have been talking a lot.  Some have offered articles and insights.  Some ask, what all is involved?  Isn’t it hard?  I feel qualified at this point to catalogue how difficult it is these day to get anything in print, and I probably don’t know the half of it.

The shorthand of it all would be what one well heeled author told me.  These days, the odds of finding a good agent, connecting with a good house (publisher) and obtaining a good contract would take lottery level luck.  (And some wonder why so many have turned to e-publishing).

But then I thought:

How many NOs did King get before he got his first Yes!  Everyone knows Rowling sent  Harry Potter to Scholastic as a last gasp.  Legend says the only reason Twilight got in print is because an editorial assistant put it on the wrong pile.  And then there is my favorite story:

Young Mister Toole wrote A Confederacy of Dunces and got turned down by absolutely everyone.  He committed suicide (for complex reasons, I am sure).  Eleven years later, legend says his mother was instrumental in finally getting it published, and don’t you know?  It won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction.

So, is it difficult?  (I respond with glib and sarcastic laughter).  But then I thought of another little story.

There once was a man who  was a better war correspondent than a soldier.  He served in the military for a time, but finally concluded that the only thing he might be really good for was public service (no comment).  He ran for office, got elected and served for a time.  The people threw him out in the 30s. He started to sound too harsh, almost war-like.  Then the war came and they begged him to come back and in the end he spit in Hitler’s eye.  He had something to say about that journey, and it rang a little bell in my publishing head when I read it.

A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.   -Winston Churchill 

Is it difficult these days to get anything in print?  Absolutely.  It is nearly impossible.  But did you ever think the challenge of it is precisely what makes it so much fun?

            Dwizzle immediately jumped into the water and began to use his two hands like water shovels.  Poor Andor did not stand a chance.  Surprisingly, Mya was the first to come to his assistance.  Then Crusty joined in, but he splashed Dwizzle by accident.  So they splashed each other a few times, and that brought Itchy and Reneus into the fray.

            “Wait!”  Dallah shouted.  Everyone stopped and looked in her direction.  “Have your fun as long as no one gets hurt, but leave me out of it.”  She spoke sternly, and at least Crusty gave a little bow.  Dwizzle just opened his jaw and Andor took advantage by splashing Dwizzle in the face to make him swallow some water.

            Then it was a free-for-all, and the water went everywhere.  It was inevitable when Itchy and Crusty teamed up to make a big four-handed wave aimed at Reneus, and Reneus ducked.  Dallah got soaked, and again everyone stopped.

            “I would say that is enough,” she said.  “Imps, come here.”  Dwizzle and Crusty came right away, but she had to sternly add, “You too Itchy.”  The imp came whether he wanted to or not.

            “Now, who are you working for?” 

            Crusty took off his hat which no one realized he was wearing, and so Dwizzle followed that example.  Itchy chose to be stubborn, and he was the one who answered.

            “Dayus, the King of the gods himself.”

            “Oh?  He got sober enough to give you instructions.”  The imps, even Itchy grinned at that, but Reneus and Mya reacted at her near blasphemy.

            “Mother!”

            “Please!”  Dallah sighed.  “It is a wonder he gets up in the morning and can follow a straight line across the sky.”

            “Automatic pilot,” Itchy whispered with a grin.

            Dallah nodded.  “Now what is your job?”

            “To dry the land and make it sand,” Crusty recited.  Dwizzle nodded.  Itchy had a thought.

            “What’s it to you?”

            “I think you have done enough of that.  The die is cast, as they say.  There is no stopping it now.”  She paused to examine the three imp faces one at a time before she spoke again.  “I release you from your duty to Dayus.  I think you should go see Lord Varuna.  He may have work for you.”

            “Wait a minute.  Who are you –?”

            “Mother,” Reneus interrupted.  The travelers were on the horizon.

            “Quick, now’s our chance.”  Itchy pulled the other imps to the side and they melted back into the landscape and made for the party.

            “Lockhart!  Boston!”  Dallah groaned to her feet and waved.

            “Mother?”  Mya spoke.

            “These are the ones I told you might come one day.”

            “I had forgotten.”  Reneus said as the travelers came to the water.  Dallah had to hug Boston and Alexis.

            “It is so good to see you.  I am so glad you are here.”

            “Where can we set down Doctor Procter?”  Lockhart asked.  He looked exhausted.  He and Mingus were taking a turn and the elder elf in particular looked unable to go much further.

            “Of course,”  Dallah stepped close to the half-breed but knew better than to touch him.  “How long has he been like this?”  She asked.

            “This is the second day,” Captain Decker said.  He shouldered his rifle and took Mingus’ place.

            “Well, come.  We must get him to the camp.”

            “Mother.”  Andor got her attention.  “Your imps went ahead of us.”

            “Oh dear.”  She hurried and everyone hurried to follow.  Fortunately, the imps were just arriving since they stopped first for an argument.

            “We are free now,” Crusty said.

            “We’re supposed to go see Lord Varuna,” Dwizzle said.

            “Wait a minute!”  Itchy was buying none of it.  “Since when does a thicky bean tell us what to do, especially when our orders come from the King of the gods himself?”

            “But I feel free,”  Crusty said.  “I don’t feel like doing the work of Dayus any more.”

            Dwizzle nodded, but Itchy responded.  “That don’t mean anything.  Crusty, you don’t ever feel like doing any work.”  Dwizzle laughed.

            “I’m thinking we could ask Lord Varuna when we find him.  He always tells the truth.”  Itchy hit him.  “Ooowww.”

            “You don’t do the thinking, you’ll only hurt yourself worse than before.”  Dwizzle put his hand back in his mouth and pouted.

            “I think that is a good idea,” Crusty said.  Itchy stomped on his foot.  “Ooowww.”

            “Right now we got to find Stonecrusher some meat before we become meat.”  They could agree on that.  With their glamours on, they came right up to the edge of the camp.  It was not much to speak of, the huts being barely more than lean-tos with skins on the open side.  They were snuggled between some stick trees, and there were only five of them altogether.  There could not have been more than twenty people in that camp and barely more than twenty sheep altogether.

            The sheep were all presently in a pen where Dallah’s husband, Godus and two men were separating the sacrifice from the others.  When they were done, the groom had two younger brothers who drove the rest to the stream.

            “Not much selection,” Crusty said.  The sheep were all scrawny, stunted and underfed.

            “Yeah, but it will do,” Itchy responded.

            “Hey, look.  Sweets”  Dwizzle pointed to a table by the alter.  It was full of dried fruits and cooked roots and tubers of various kinds.

            “Oh, boy!”  Crusty shouted, and before Itchy could stop them, they were on the table, they had let their glamours drop and people were screaming, some running away and some not sure what to do.

            “Hold it right there!”  Dallah shouted between breaths.  The imps froze in place because Dallah had that in mind.  “This is my daughter’s wedding and you will not mess it up.”  She yelled a little, but mostly walked more slowly to the table so she could regain her breath.  When she arrived to stare at the imps, she pushed an escaped gray hair back toward the bun on her head before she spoke.  “Your hands, empty.”  Dwizzle and Crusty put out their hands and she slapped them.  The imps made no sound, but both squinted from the sharp, if temporary pain.  “Itchy.”

            The imp had his hands behind his back.  “No.”  He shook his head for emphasis.

            “You should have been named stubborn,” Dallah said.  “Your hand.”  She did not ask and Itchy whipped out his hands, empty despite what his mind was telling him and despite his better judgment.  She slapped them both, and Itchy had a hard time putting both in his mouth at once.

            “Hey!  How do you know our names?”  Crusty was the one who asked, like the truth of that suddenly caught up to him.

            “I know all about you,” Dallah said.  “More than I would like to know.  Now get off the table and behave, I have to see to my daughter.”  Korah was already running into her mother’s arms.  She cried, but Dallah smoothed her hair and said, “Hush, everything will be alright.”

            “Mother.”  Andor tried to get her attention as Godus came up from the sheep pen. 

            “Who are you?”  Itchy finally removed his hands to ask, and then decided to take turns soaking one hand at a time.

            “She is your goddess,” Boston said.  “Or she will be one day.”

            “What?  Don’t we have enough gods and goddesses already?”

            “No, no.”  Alexis spoke to clarify.  “She will not be another goddess of humans that you have to work for.  She will be your goddess.  Goddess of all the little spirits of the earth.”

            “There is no such thing.”  Itchy understood.

            “There will be,” Alexis responded with a smile toward her brother who was frowning.  The law said they were not supposed to reveal the future like that.

            “Mother.”  Andor tried again.  Reneus, Lockhart and some of the others looked where Andor was looking, but hardly knew what to say.

            “But she is old and will die soon,” Crusty protested.

            “But she will be reborn,” Mingus stepped up.  “And sometimes she will be a god and sometimes a goddess for us all.”  He turned to Itchy.  “Whether we like it or not.”

            “Mother.”

            “But lady,”  Dwizzle tugged on Dallah’s dress and pointed  “Stonecrusher is hungry.

            The ogre was coming down the path from the stream.  He was hard to look at because he was so ugly.  But it was not simply a disgusting ugly.  He looked mean and mad and hungry and now the people had something they could really scream about. 

            “I’m gonna eat me some people,” Stonecrusher said.