Legions 2 beginning

I admit, it has been a very long time since I've written anything, and it's something that I miss doing so much. The snippet below is a part of what I started to write for my 2nd Legions of Fate book, though it's something I wrote quite a while ago, so I've only recently edited it a bit. I hope you enjoy!

Jared couldn’t believe he was actually looking at her. After all this time, Kate Bennett was less than a foot away from him. And not just any Kate Bennett…Kate Madison Bennett. A woman who’d proved difficult to not only pinpoint from genealogical reports, but also to find in real life. It was bad enough that she’d gone off the grid for the last year, but the fact that it was his fault made his life with the Legions a living hell for the last 365 days. But, as he’d expected, she had come out of whatever hole she’d stashed herself in and had finally deigned to join the land of the living.

Not that she looked all that lively at the moment. She was downing, what…her eighth drink already? She had already drawn snickers and whispered comments from the restaurant’s waiters and waitresses, who currently had a bet going on what time she’d hurl all over their floor.

Jared shifted in his bar stool, glancing at Kate from the corner of his eye as she huddled over her plate, sniffling at the picture she gripped tightly between her thumb and forefinger.

“Kate,” her dad berated quietly, awkwardly trying to avoid more attention. “I know its tough, but you’ve got to get a hold of yourself. You’ve already had too much to drink tonight, and that’s no way to work through your grief.”

“What do you know?” She drew the back of her hand across her face, wiping away her tears. “I tried, you know. I really tried. I just don’t think I can do this anymore.” Her forehead dropped onto her crossed arms, her hair barely missing the mashed potatoes and gravy. Kate lifted her head once more, wiping her tears away again before she turned her head toward her father on the left side of her. “You still have Mom, and you still have me. You don’t know how this feels.”

Jared winced at the pure torment in her voice and in her very demeanor. He’d seen the pictures of the car when it had been pulled from Forestport Reservoir. The car had not only driven off the bridge into the water, but the reservoir’s bed had done insurmountable damage during the crash.

“Besides,” Kate continued with a shrug, “it’s worked pretty well for me for the last twelve months.”

“That’s no way to live, Kate. Drinking yourself into a stupor, while you’re hiding away at the cabin? What happened to running? You love to run.”

The cabin? Jared thought. That’s where she’d been? He hadn’t even known her family owned a cabin. Had he and the Legions known, he could have reached her months ago instead of wallowing in his own failed attempt; watching other Legions shake their heads at him in mock sympathy. Those who’d never lost a charge.

He was no idiot. Even now there were others nearby, watching and waiting for him to screw up again. Waiting for him to miss his chance at sending Kate back in time.

Just then, waiters and waitresses shuffled from the kitchen doorway, the leading waitress balancing a plate with a slice of cake on her palm. The employees following her had already started clapping as they made their way through the bar and around the corner to a large table of customers, who had started clapping in rhythm as a birthday song was sung.

Kate’s father excused himself then as he made his way toward the bathroom. The poor guy had tried probably a thirty times to get Kate out of the restaurant; out of view of other people as she experienced a complete meltdown. And yet, all Jared could think was: Here it is. The best chance I’ve had for a year.

He nudged the pocket watch on the bar slowly toward her as he leaned in, slowly so that she might not notice, and offered her a smile. “Sounds like you could use another drink. Mind if I buy you one?”

Kate’s eyes bugged momentarily as she looked in Jared’s direction, almost as though she’d been surprised there was someone there. “I’ll take one if you’re offering,” she slurred before tossing back the last of her drink. “Just know it’s not going to lead to anything. I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but—”

Jared lifted a hand and shook his head. “It’s not like that. I can just tell you need another one.” He looked at the bartender. “Another one of whatever she’s having, and can I get my bill?”

“You got it,” the bartender said, immediately grabbing a new glass and pouring Kate’s drink. After setting it on a coaster, he shuffled off to the computer to print off his bill.

She wasted no time in bringing the glass to her lips. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Jared threw some cash down on the bar after seeing his total due. Standing up, he slid his bar stool back under the counter. “Don’t worry ma’am. I have a feeling things will be looking up for you soon.” He gave her a smile and strode away.

“It can’t get any worse,” she muttered, almost imperceptibly.

He reached the first set of doors and walked through as the hostess held one open for him. Please pick it up, please pick it up.

“Hey!” Kate yelled.

Bingo.

Jared rushed through the other door and turned left as he reached the sidewalk.

Kate’s voice called out from behind him. “Hey, uh…sir. You forgot this.”

He turned, meeting her eyes as she more or less stumbled toward him. She would have caught up to him easily under normal circumstances. Then again, under normal circumstances her mind would have already picked up on the fact that something was wrong.

Kate’s progress slowed and her brows furrowed as she peered down at her hand.

Come on, come on…hurry. There was no one on the sidewalk that could see anything; but that didn’t mean a million things couldn’t go wrong: a customer could look out the window, or Kate’s dad could waltz out of the door, a driver could pass by on the street, or for the love of God, a customer could head toward the restaurant seeking a bite to eat—any of which could witness the inexplicable phenomenon of someone disappearing into thin air. None of it mattered to him at the moment; it was a chance he had to take. Not that he had any choice now.

“Hey…wha…ow! What the hell!” She tried to fling the watch from her hand, but it had already latched onto her skin. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to crumple to the ground. Just before her body hit the ground, she completely disappeared. He knew she hit the ground somewhere though, just way, way in the past.

The Taken - Part 4

Below is the fourth installment of my story, The Taken. If you haven't read the first three installments, please click here for Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” I mumbled as I walked out of our classroom. As promised, Billy was standing just outside the room, leaning up against the cave wall.

“Hello beautiful,” he said, flashing me another grin.

“Don’t call me that,” I hissed.

“You’d rather me call you ugly?”

“I’d rather you not call me anything.”

“Ouch, Em. Ouch.” He gestured down the hallway with his chin and I followed him after a moment’s hesitation.

Billy rambled on and on about his day and we soon found ourselves in the commons. It was abuzz as people scurried around. Some were on their way to do evening chores while others were meeting up with friends to just hang out. I spotted the hallway that led to my room and nearly made a break for it, but Billy turned down the hallway too. On and on he talked, as if I cared about everything “Billy”. When we reached my room, he stood to the side of the doorway and waited for me to go inside.

“Was that our date?” I asked hopefully, still standing in the hallway. Please, oh please let that be Billy’s idea of a date. I could handle listening to him yammer about himself if it just lasted a few minutes.

That hope died as he narrowed his eyes on me. “No, I’m letting you drop off your things.”

I looked down, noticing that I was still holding my books. I stepped inside my room and set them down on my bed. Billy stepped inside as well, not caring that he wasn’t invited.

“Nice,” he said with appreciation. “I see that you still have some things that I brought back from our supply runs.”

I faced him, not trusting him for one second. Number one: I didn’t like him in my room; Number two: I didn’t like the two of us being so close to a bed. Knowing Billy as the upstanding gentleman he was (Riiight), I shouldn’t worry about him attacking me.

“Are you going to change?” he asked after looking dubiously at my clothes.

“No.” Like I would change for him. Like I would change for any of them.

“Pity,” he said, flashing a half-smile. “I would have offered to help.”

Oh I was sure he would have. I rolled my eyes. “What are we doing Billy? I thought you said you didn’t want to waste one minute?”

“You’re right,” he replied. He reached out and grabbed my hand and held it so tight that I couldn’t wiggle free. We were out into the winding hallway the next second and Billy had resumed the one-sided conversation about his entire life up to this very minute. I tuned out and let him lead me, nervous about where he was taking me and what his plans were.

“Football?” I asked a minute later, my mouth gaping open. “We’re playing football?”

Billy laughed and finally released my hand as he made his way over to his buddies. “Yeah, see? You won’t find a better date,” he said. His chest puffed out and he appeared every bit as cocky as he could get. Travis, Blake, Clay, and James looked over at me, and if I had to guess, they were a lot happier to see me than I was them. Travis, Blake, and Clay were Billy’s age. The three of them had been nearly inseparable since I could remember. James was a few years younger, but his larger build gave him the perfect “in” for what I liked to refer to as the Brute Squad. I never did understand why he hung out with them, he seemed a lot nicer than the others.

“You better mean that you guys are playing football. I’m not getting in there with you,” I said, glaring at Billy as he fist bumped the others.

“Oh, you most certainly are, Davenport,” he said. His tone was anything but joking. “You’re mine tonight.”

My teeth gnashed together. “I’m no one’s,” I growled.

This only seemed to make him laugh.

They more or less ignored me while they decided on teams. Billy, of course, wanted to be on the team opposite me. Being that I’d never played football, it was a certainty that my team would lose. My “date” chose his team mates, which consisted of Blake, Clay, and of course Billy. I was on Travis and James’ team. Each team split up for a quick huddle, so the other guys went to the far end of room, near where the cows and chickens were safely tucked away in their corral. Travis and James stood by me.

“You ever played?” James asked quickly.

“No.” I shook my head.

“Okay,” he said, as though he though that had been the case. “I think we all know what game Billy is playing, and it only partially has to do with the ball.” He said this pointedly at me.

I know my eyes widened, but it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

He looked over his shoulder and I followed his gaze, seeing that the others were already breaking from their huddle. He faced us again and gave me what must have been the fastest rundown of the game ever.

I pretty much nodded along, trying to remember the rules and terms, and just before we split up, he added, “Em, you’ll play football just like I explained. Trav and I will be playing too, but we’re also going to try to keep them away from you. You ready?”

I nodded, but my uncertainty was plain on my face. He stepped in closer and put his hand on my shoulder, eyes burrowing into mine. “Don’t be afraid to let me know if you get hurt, okay?”

“Kay,” I said lamely, giving him an answering smile.

He broke his hold and stepped away. The three of us met the other three in the middle of the room. Someone had already drawn lines in the sand for where the goals were. I knew I could catch a ball—not that I’d ever tried to catch a football—so I hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. If I caught the ball, I knew I’d have to run like hell.

Copyright © 2014 Katalyn Sage

Blaze is talking to me again

As some of you may know, I've had a pretty hard time writing one of my current WIPs. Not only did I lose a massive amount of the story that I'd written, but I found that after starting another series, I had a hard time refocusing on my delectable Guardians again. Throughout this week, I've felt that spark of life in my Guardians again. Where there backs have been turned to me for not making backups of my backups of my backups, they're at least starting to peer at me from over those shoulders, and my main hero in this novel has finally started talking to me again. So, below is a section of Blaze's story. For anyone who has read the story so far, the end of this section may sound familiar...only from a different view. I hope you enjoy, and no I haven't paid much attention to editing, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

No flippin’ way. There was a body. She walked right up to it and snapped a few pictures from different angles, narrowing her eyes at the strange elongation of the guy’s face, and the dark bluish-black liquid that ran off his body and pooled in the snow. What the heck was that, oil?

“Campbell.”

Sophie cringed at the familiar, gruff voice and turned, seeing Detective Harris stalk toward her. “Harris,” she greeted. Dammit, she’d thought she’d be here longer than a few minutes before the jerk saw her.

“What are you doing here? You know you can’t get this close.” He lifted his hands up as though he was going to herd her like some sort of cow back to the police line.

“Freedom of the press.” She shrugged, lifting her chin a degree. She refused to back up a single step. She was not a heffer, thank you very much.

“Freedom, my ass—” 

“I’ll handle it from here,” another officer said. 

She turned toward the newcomer and smiled as Harris’s partner strolled up to them with a shake of his head that was directed at her. 

“Detective Larkin. Nice to see you.” She lifted her camera again and snapped a picture at Elongo-Face without even looking through the viewfinder. No need. She was pretty sure she nailed it.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, though she knew damn well he found her charming. Why wouldn’t he? “Right. Listen, you’re disrupting a crime scene and we’re pushing everyone back anyway.”

“Disrupting? Me? Nuh uh, I’m just minding my own business. I promise, I haven’t even approached any dead bodies that have cops around them. Just this guy so far, and he was all alone over here.”

Larkin shook his head warningly. “Sophie. I’ve known you a long time. Your Dad and I—”

“Nuh uh, not tonight, Larkin.” She shook her head, not wanting to hear about how close he and her dad had been when her dad was still alive. They’d been partners in crime, keeping the good city of Newark safe behind their shiny badges. She reached into her bag and extracted her voice recorder. “Can you give me a report on what’s going on here?”

“No more than what I’m sure you heard on your radio. Put that thing away.” He reached for it and pushed it down as Detective Harris sauntered off to speak with other police officers, all of which were tense as they kept guns trained on the house. Even Larkin kept his hand on his gun, even though it was still holstered. It was then that she noticed that he kept himself between her and the house. “Listen. This isn’t some quick story that I can help you out with. This is serious, Sophie. And if I let you get in harm’s way I wouldn’t be living up to the promise I made on your dad’s headstone.”

Sighing, she clicked off the recorder and dropped it into her purse again. “I’m just really trying, you know? I’m up for a promotion.”

“I know,” he smiled kindly, but with an air that he was still keeping an eye-and-a-half on the house. “I heard you were up for it. Put in a good recommendation for you too.”

That was a surprise. “What’s going on? Off the record.”

He eyed her silently for a minute before he released a slow breath. “I can’t say.”

“Come on. Don’t make me sit here all night.”

“Stubborn as your old man.” A sympathetic smile appeared. “Off the record, we haven’t gone in yet, but we have a team on the way. There were…violent sounds inside. It’s gone silent since then, but we have no idea if it could be a hostage situation.”

“Another one?” Jack-freaking-pot.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t nearly as enthused. Not that she was enthused. She hated violence. But this could be just what she needed for a certain promotion and, even better, raise. 

“Have you gotten out the xylophone—”

“Megaphone.”

Yep, as soon as she’d said it, she knew she’d called it the wrong thing. Damn, she needed another shot of Buzz-Be-Gone. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“No, we haven’t. We’re working on getting a visual. If you’ll just go back to the street and stay on the other side of the tape, I’ll get statements together and I promise I will talk to you if I get clearance. I just need you to go where it’s safe.”

Larkin looked exhausted. No doubt this new development was nerve-wracking, especially after what happened at the Children's Hospital in Newark. The police had been cautious then as well, and an even bigger disaster had struck, which had rocked the entire state of New Jersey. Investigations were still going on, and a lot of families mourned those lost, hoping and waiting for some kind of answer. 

“Deal. Just give me two minutes.” Sophie stepped around him, heading toward the house. She couldn’t help but take a few more pictures of another body that was in front of the home, despite the detective’s attempt to stop her. From this view she had a nice angle of the house as well, with two windows behind the body—one of which was broken. Holding the viewfinder to her eye, she snapped one picture, then another. 

Something moved in the background as her camera snapped a picture. She quickly zoomed in for a better look, focusing on the windows. She snapped another pic without even realizing she’d moved her finger. Sophie lowered the camera, unable to rip her gaze from the unbroken window. 

There'd been a man peering through a gap in the curtains. In that split second of seeing him as her flash went off, she'd noted black and blue, spiked hair, and wide frame. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen blood on his face before he’d dodged out of her view.

Detective Larkin stood next her, so close that her shoulder brushed his arm. “What’s wrong?” 

Her eyes never left the window, even though she couldn’t see that deadly apparition anymore. “There are definitely people inside. Or, at least one person.”

“You saw someone? Where?”

“In that window. He’s gone now.” Hitting the view button on her camera, she pulled up the last picture she’d taken, holding it for Larkin to see. Yep, right there. The man’s eyes reflected back at her in the picture. Coupled with his large build, spiky hair, and blood streaked face, he looked a good deal more than merely frightening.

Detective Larkin cursed under his breath and gripped the radio at his shoulder. Speaking into it, he informed the station that there was confirmation on people inside. The crunch of snow under his boots alerted her that he’d hustled over to other cops, where he told them to watch for movement in the windows. 

Sophie pulled the memory card out of her camera. There was no way in hell was she giving that up if they seized her camera. She removed the card and stuck it in her pocket, all while keeping her eyes trained on that window. 

She willed the man to return to the window so she could catch another peek. It hadn’t been his hair or the blood that smeared his face that had captivated her. There was something in his eyes that took her breath away, that made her feel as though she’d never forget the way they looked. His eyes hadn’t just reflected back at her in that picture. They’d been that way when she’d seen him in the window, when there’d been no flash at all.

It was almost as if they glowed.

© Copyright Katalyn Sage

The Taken- Part 2

I apologize in advance for posting this so late. We have decided to continue our short stories, and even though The Taken isn't planned to be a short story, I have decided to add another section of the book.
For the beginning of this story, please click here. Below is the 2nd installment of The Taken.

One by one, each guy wrote their name on a piece of paper and dropped it into a hat that was held studiously in George’s meaty hands. His smug look grew bigger with each name submitted. His idea for a dating raffle was received surprisingly well among the boys I’d be forced to date, and it was only because of a late-night meeting between my parents and George that I even found out what to expect today. And it was only because of my parents’ insistence that the age-range for my dating pool was limited so I wouldn’t be forced to go out with anyone’s dads, or any boys much younger than me.

And since George, Mom, Dad, and I were the only ones “in the know” on the old man’s conniving plan, my nervousness over what was coming put me even more on edge as understanding dawned on everyone’s faces. This business of utmost importance had delayed everyone’s chores for the day, and even today’s classes were even being put off until this little matter could be decided.

Each and every name had been dropped into the hat, and Mr. Matthews called me to stand beside him in the center of the commons. As the raffle prize each day, I was expected to draw today’s lucky first winner. Mom and Dad stood by my side, each of them rested a hand on my shoulder in support. We were a family unit, the strongest in our Haven, and as long as we were together, nothing could rattle us too much.

“Is everyone’s name in?” George asked, though it was obvious that every name was entered. “Very good,” he continued. “As I said earlier, Emalee will choose a name every day and spend time with that man that day. Outside of classes and chores, of course.”

That had been yet another stipulation Mom had opted for in hopes that it would get me out of this mess. And even though it didn’t get me out of anything, I’d never been so grateful for school and work until now.

“Whoever is drawn will have their name immediately placed back in the hat so that he has an equal chance as the rest of you each day,” George continued, not allowing me time for my internal rambling.

That hadn’t seemed fair to any of the boys because it meant that some could spend time with me more than once, while some may not get the chance for a while—if at all. But, there was no use arguing with George, especially after he’d been forced to give in on some of his ideas.

George shook the hat in his hands. “Emalee?”

Giving a mental sigh, I reached over and stirred my hand around in all the folded papers before drawing one out. Unfolding it, I looked down at the name as my stomach lurched.

“Well?” Mr. Matthews asked, setting the hat down on the boulder beside him.

“Can I draw another one?” I asked. “This one is blank.”

“No, it isn’t,” he replied monotonously. “I thought you’d be a better sport than this.” He snatched the paper out of my hand. Grinning widely, he looked up into the crowd of boys and men who were watching in rapt anticipation. “Well well,” he said.

Please don’t say it. Please let me draw another name.

Any other name.

“Billy Matthews.”

Of all the freaking luck. Seriously? Billy Matthews. George’s oldest son.

Once his name was read, he flashed that half grin that I hated more than anything else in this world. Billy was a cocky son of a gun that had gone out of his way to make my life a living hell for as long as I could remember. More than any of the others, he’d teased me and pulled my hair, spilled water on me, and, and… the list just goes on and on!

I hated Billy Matthews!

George seemed more than pleased with the outcome of his drawing, and I briefly wondered if he’d rigged it. Not that I’d put it past him. I wasn’t the only one angered by the results. Other guys started muttering things under their breath, and even my mom had gasped at my first would-be date.

“No, not him,” she warned the old man beside me. “Em can’t stand him.”

“That was not a requirement, last I checked,” George replied with that stupid wide grin. “And you failed to make that a stipulation in this drawing.”

“Because no one can make any restrictions when it’s something you want,” Mom hissed.

“Well,” he huffed. “I can see where Emalee’s lack of sportsmanship comes from.”

Mom took a step closer to him and I reached out, stopping her. “Don’t,” I said, not wanting to make this situation any worse than it already was. “It’s okay Mom. I can handle one date with him.”

It was easy to tell she was unconvinced, but she nodded anyway. George, still donning that ridiculous grin, refolded the paper and dropped it in the hat.

“Enjoy,” he said, in a singsong voice. Then he walked away, hat in hand.

Everyone dispersed then, the commons area clearing out except for a few people who lingered along with my parents and me. I guess George’s acceptance of the date was enough to call our little meeting to an end.

Mom pulled me in for a hug. “We’ll talk later, honey. Go on and get to class.”

Dad once again put his hand on my shoulder, letting me know in his own way that he was 100% behind me. I turned on my heels and followed the winding hallway until I reached my room. I’d already laid my books on my bed, and I quickly grabbed them before heading back in the direction I’d come from. Crossing through the commons, I followed another pathway and slipped into the classroom. Every eye was on me as I took my seat.

If you would like to continue reading, click here for Part 3.
Copyright © 2014 Katalyn Sage
Also available on WattPad.

The Taken

Below is my submission for this month's short story theme. I doubt this will end up being a short story in the long run, so here is the very beginning of what will likely be a full-length YA novel. Enjoy!

Our entire community was witnessing the argument going on in the middle of the commons. Just like everyone else in the room, my eyes shot back and forth between my mom and George Matthews. The room was dark, only the fire creating any sort of light, the warm glow of it bouncing off the rocky walls. They stood near the fire pit in the center of the space, yelling at each other, debating their sides. Again. Everyone in Safe Haven hoped that the outcome was different than it had been every other time this disagreement had surfaced. Well, that is, everyone except for me.

“Absolutely not,” Mom spat. “It is out of the question.”

What were they arguing about? Me.

My dad, with his short brown hair and wire-frame glasses, stood next to Mom in his trademark faded plaid button-up shirt and khakis. Arms folded and eyes narrowed on George, he’d managed to bite his tongue so far, but I could see how hard it was for him to rein in his temper. Each time this argument had broken out, I’d felt sick to my stomach. Thankfully my parents always won.

George, with his graying hair and his round, burly figure, copied my dad’s stance. Only instead of looking at my dad, he was staring angrily at my mom. She had a small frame, the only bit of fat on her was in her cheeks, and by the looks of her you wouldn’t think she’d pack much of a punch. But out of my parents, she was the force to be reckoned with. “MaryAnn, you’ve got to think of us as a whole, not just that she’s your daughter,” George said.

“I don’t care.” Mom shook her head, her brown curls bouncing around her face. She kept her arms folded, practically shooting daggers at George even though she was only five foot four. My parents and Mr. Matthews had never seen eye to eye, and I could see in her expression that she didn’t want to hear another word out of his mouth. Though I got the feeling that was the general consensus. “I won’t force her into this.”

“We need our numbers replenished. She’s old enough.” George tightened his folded arms. As if that would prove his point.

“She’s sixteen,” Mom gaped.

“Only for a few more days,” George argued. “She’d be nearly eighteen by the time any children were born, and that’s even if she becomes pregnant right away.”

I could actually feel everyone’s eyes fall on me. Mr. Matthews and my parents weren’t the center of attention anymore.

George, and a few of our other leaders, had been pushing for me to start ‘breeding’ for the last six months. Like I was some sort of horse. Sometimes I felt like one. Being the only girl that was of a fertile age, I was a precious commodity. Mom had birthed child after child, but with the harsh living conditions of the caves, I was the only one to make it. There was one other girl. One. And she was six years old. Her mom, Lilly, had passed away after giving birth to her younger brother, Nathan.

I was actually grateful my mom couldn’t get pregnant anymore. I didn’t want her to die like all the other women had. The men in Safe Haven’s society had been adamant that they keep breeding to regenerate our numbers. But a woman can only take so much, and comforts that they’d used to have like pain medicine had run out a long time ago. For me, it was a relief that Mom couldn’t have any more children. It meant that she’d stay alive. What did scare me, though, is that that duty now fell to me. Our leaders had been pushing harder and harder over the last six months, hinting that I was of age to begin bearing children. And with any hope, daughters. That was what everyone wanted more than anything. More women meant bearing more children which meant a bigger increase in our ranks.

“I’m not suggesting that she… lay with any of the older men,” George said, and then he cleared his throat at a few of the boys who snickered. He eyed my parents. “We have young men, closer to her age. That would do just as well.”

“Oh, and that should make her feel better about it?” Mom asked. Her face had started turning red. I could see the look in her eye, the one I’d seen plenty of times while growing up. It usually accompanied me being grounded or even spanked. It was terrifying. And right now it was focused on George. “You know damn well I’d never let someone older even think about touching her. The fact that you’re trying to force my daughter to have sex with every guy here is the problem.”

A few more male snickers sounded around the room, most of which came from the teenage boys I had classes with, and a few that were a few years older. I blushed and tried to ignore them.

“We need daughters,” George insisted.

“And you think that forcing my daughter to bear child after child just to die from exhaustion is the answer?”

“It’s better than your suggestion,” he growled.

I personally liked my mom’s suggestion of looking for other people, other survivors. Close to eighteen years ago, the human race was attacked by forces no one had seen coming. Somehow the sadistic monsters that had raided us did so without anyone knowing—at least until it was too late. None of us knew if the attacks happened all over the world, or if it was just on our continent. There was really know way to know. My parents, along with the elders in our community narrowly escaped the monsters’ grasps. Especially my mom. She’d been taken by one, but my dad refused to let her go. He’d hunted down the monster that had snatched her and rescued my mom before it’d had a chance to kill her. They’d gone on the run, seeking shelter anywhere they could. My dad had known they’d need to get far away from the cities since they were the most targeted, and they’d driven until their car ran out of gas. And that was when George found them. He and a few other survivors had brought them to the caves, which has served as our hideout ever since.

“Why are you so certain that we’re the only ones?” Mom asked, turning to an argument they’d had on more than one occasion with the elders. Neither of my parents agreed with the others that so few humans survived the raid. As for me, I had no idea. We’d never seen anyone else, and we’d sent men out plenty of times. Of course, they hadn’t gone out looking for other people, they went out scavenging for supplies: clothes, school books, food, and anything else we needed.

Mark Bellows rose from his seat in response to my mom’s question and stood next to George, squaring off against my parents. “Because we’d have seen someone by now. MaryAnn, you know as well as any of us that we need more people if we want the human race to survive. We need more numbers, which means we need more children.”

“Are you so willing to give up your daughter in ten years?” Mom asked him, her eyes focused on his.

Mark’s face fell. He looked quickly at little Natalie who was sitting next to Nathan. They were watching the argument like everyone else, though they were probably still too young to understand what it was all about. Looking back at my parents, he nodded. “I would convince Natalie that it would be the right thing.”

“And you wouldn’t mind her being raped by every man here?”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He said nothing more.

Mom knew she’d gotten him. I could see it in her smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

“It wouldn’t be rape,” George said, jumping back into the conversation.

My dad’s eyes burned with anger this time. “What else would you call it?”

George rolled his eyes. It was something he did when he thought people were being unreasonable. It didn’t matter what anyone thought of his ideas, since apparently he was always ‘right.’ His eyes landed on me.

“Don’t even think about talking to her,” Dad growled. “You won’t force her into anything.”

“You know we’ll leave if you try,” Mom added.

“And where would you go!” George yelled, facing them again. My parents had hit a nerve. They always did when they mentioned leaving the sanctuary of the caves. “Oh right,” he continued. “You’d find other survivors. Except there aren’t any!” His face was red as he pointed at Mom. “And you’d take the only possible way for us to procreate just to save her from something she probably wants.”

Now he said it. I felt all eyes on me again. The looks were heated, begging me to say that I wanted to sleep with every guy in the caves. I wanted to stand up and punch George in his fat face, but instead I avoided their stares by averting my eyes and focusing on the ground. It only lasted a few seconds before my gaze was drawn back to my parents and Mr. Matthews.

If looks could kill, George would have been incinerated from the glare he received from my mom. As it was, he brushed it off the way he did everything else, and Mom stepped away from him. She sat next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “See? You’re doing it now. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“These are facts, MaryAnn,” George said, slightly calmer than before. He focused on me then, his anger draining. “Right Emalee? We can’t let our race die off, can we? Don’t you want to help save us all?”

He thought he had the facts? Here was a fact: I didn’t have any feelings towards the guys at Safe Haven. I’d been the odd one out growing up. Every boy my age had teased me beyond belief. Anytime I looked at any of them, I saw brothers instead of…well, boyfriends. It felt wrong to want anything with any of them. I could see the same feelings reflecting back at me in some of their eyes. Others, I could tell they wanted more. That was teenage hormones at work for you, and apparently some of the guys had an extra dose. It was those guys that made this all the worse.

“Emalee?” George asked again.

I shook my head and focused on him once more. “I…I don’t know,” I said quietly.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know?” He hadn’t phrased it like a question, and that scared me even more. George’s gaze danced around the common area, his eyes barely glancing at each person. After a few seconds of silent calculation, his voice boomed throughout the room. “Everyone return here after dinner tomorrow. Anyone not seated in this room by 7:00 forfeits their rights.” His gaze landed on me as fear coursed through my body.

Their rights to what?

If you would like to continue reading, please click here for Part 2.

Copyright © 2014 Katalyn Sage
Also available on WattPad.

Find motivation - wherever you can get it

As you may have gleaned from the posts in November, our main theme is "How to improve your writing." The other three Chics have written incredible posts on practicing your craft, using real life experiences to influence your writing, and finding your (and your characters) voice. I'm rounding out the month talking about motivation.

We've all been there: You want to write, your characters keep you up (or wake you up) in the middle of the night showing you awesome scenes that you're desperate to type up. But, oh crap, you've got to get up for work in three hours, so you better not stumble out of bed unless you're pretty much awesome at pretending you're not groggy while at work. So how in the crap can you get writing done when life gets in the way?

Find motivation, wherever you can get it...and I can't stress this enough: At the times it will help you most.

If you can squeeze in 30 minutes of writing time when you get home from work, make sure you do something that will help you get in the mood. Whether its driving home in an eerily quiet car as you think of your characters and picture a scene you've been wanting to write but haven't figured out the details yet; or maybe you want to blast the crap out of your sub-woofers and sing at the top of your lungs to a song that helps you visualize your characters/book. Just do it. That way, when you get home, you're feeling that undeniable pull toward your computer/laptop to put those fingers to the keys.

Here are some things I do to help me get motivated (obviously depending on the story I'm writing at the time):
Listening to music
Listening to an audio book
Reading a book
Watching TV

In my experience, finding the right kind of motivation can be one of the most beneficial things to improving your writing craft. If it helps draw you into your story (whether you're writing or editing it), how can it hurt? In fact, it could enhance you're emotions so much that you actually improve what you've previously written.

Don't spread yourself too thin

I'll admit, I've had a tough time coming up with what I wanted to write about this month. I usually have a pretty good idea what I'll touch on weeks before it's my turn to post, but no matter how much I've tried to decide on a subject, I've come up with a big ol' blank. And you're about to find out why.

As you may know from previous posts, I gave myself a strict deadline for when I wanted to publish my most recent novel, The Highlander's Curse. I'm one of those crazies who, once I have a goal in mind, I'll do practically anything to achieve it. That piece of my soul that dies along with a failed goal is a lot more than I like to deal with, so I'm pretty adamant about finishing what I started. This brings me to my point (and as you may gave guessed, folks, the subject of this post).

Don't spread yourself too thin.

Having goals is a good thing. A great thing, in fact. But you should be smart about it. If you just started writing a book, and you're planning on it being close to 100K when it's done, don't set your goal to have the sucker finished in one month. Unless you're some kind of rock star who can crank out a crap ton of words every day and you don't need to edit it, then yeah, shoot for it. But I'm warning you, you're going to be in recovery-mode for a heck of a lot longer than you might think. Yes, I wore myself out. I'm currently in that dreaded funk authors call writer's block, only it isn't just affecting my writing. It's affecting everything. I have...mental-function block. I can't write, I don't want to read, heck, most of the time I don't even watch TV, I just stare at the pretty pictures flashing on the screen as my mind wanders over...well, nothing. It just wants rest!

So, what do I suggest?

I knew you'd ask. I'm psychic like that. And before you say "Ah-ha!" because I had enough mental know-how function to write this post, please note that this has taken weeks to formulate. ;)

Okay, on with my advice...

Please, just please, don't push yourself as hard as I did. Don't commit to that end goal without thinking through and planning out your smaller goals. Look at your normal productivity and factor in the fact that you can't (and seriously don't want to) shut out the entire world so you can write your book. Do you write 1,000 words a day? Awesome, your maximum goal for a week should be 7,000 words, and that's if you're planning to spend some time with your novel every single day. More than likely you won't be able to give that much love to your characters story, so give yourself some cushion. Maybe you could write 14,000 words in two weeks, but why not make a more manageable goal of 10,000 words in two weeks. If you surpass that 10,000 or even 14,000 words in that two weeks, then you have my permission to consider yourself a rock star until it's time to kick it in gear for your next goal. Alright, two week goal set? What's your month goal? Or, if you want to make smaller goals, why not set weekly ones? All I'm saying is, come up with your smaller goals and hold yourself to them. If you slack some days, you'll know what you need to make up later to keep yourself on track. And if you keep on track with your smaller goals, then nothing should keep you from reaching that long-term goal and completing your novel.


That was the end of my post, I just thought I'd add my funniest typo for this post: I kept typing "goat" in instead of "goal." If any sneak through, you get the gist.

Lessons from a first-time self-publisher

First off, I'll just apologize for the lengthiness of this sucker. I didn't mean for it to go so long, but felt that I should give the info I could on the subject...

For the longest time, I've wondered why publishers keep such a high percentage of an author's royalty, well, I'm starting to get it. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the publisher I've worked with so far. They're on the ball, have an incredible designer, and their editors are easy to work with. All in all, I love them. But that didn't stop me from wanting to try self-publishing.

Even before I signed my contract on my first novel, I've wanted to try self-pubbing. Getting a higher percentage of your sales and having the freedom to do what you want with your book (like setting promotional prices, etc) is really tempting. Would I change how I went through a publisher for my Primordial Guardians series? Nope. Not at all. I'm happy with the team I have at Evernight.

But, I mean really, how much does the publisher actually do? They pay someone to edit the book and pay for the cover, and that's it, right? Umm...no. That's not it.

So, how has self-publishing gone so far you ask? Well, I'll tell you some of the things I've learned on this journey, and how it has differed from my experience working with a publisher.

Editing
No matter if you're going the traditional publishing route or doing it on your own, editing is an integral part of producing a great book. Here is how, in my experience, the processes have differed.

• Publisher: Your publisher will take care of not only paying for this, but they've also got editors on-hand that they know and trust to do a good job.
• Self-publishing: You have options. You can decide if you want to pay for an editor (they charge a certain amount per word), which means, unless you know someone will do a good job, it's kind of a shot in the dark. If you don't want to pay someone? Just hope that you have some incredible critique partners to let you know what you need to improve on. Also, you'll want to edit, edit, edit yourself. Just to give you an idea of what it might cost to pay for an editor, let's just say that the average for one of my books would be around $500.00. We'll tally up these costs at the end and see where we're at.

Cover Art
Everyone knows that you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover, but let's face it...we all do. The cover can make or break a book in those first precious few seconds that a reader is trying to decide what book to buy next.

• If you use a publisher, this is also something they pay for. Again, they work with designers they know will do a good job, and they strive to make it the way you want. They'll generally send you a cover art worksheet that you fill out with character details and the main theme of the story so that the cover artist has a good starting point. Some publishers allow you to reject a cover if you're not happy with it. With others, you're stuck with what they made, even if it doesn't really work with your book.
• If you self-pub, you can pretty much do whatever you want. There are sites out there that offer completed covers, and when you order them, they'll fill in the Author Name, Title Name, Series Name, etc. for you and email you a high res copy of your cover. On the flip side, if you're a master at editing graphics, you can search through stock photos and piece together your own - just make sure you read the policies on what can/can't be done with the photos. In many cases, your cover/stock photos can only be used a certain number of times, so if you sell that many books (and let's hope you do!) you have to buy them again in order to continue using them. As far as costs go, you're probably looking at at least $20.00 for stock photos you put together yourself, vs. up to $150.00 (if not more) for completed covers. For our little tally, let's split the difference and go with $85.00.

ISBN
What's that you say? Yeah, this one snuck up on me in the wee hours of the morning while I was getting ready to upload my file. An ISBN is a unique number that's sortof like a book's social security number. Each version of your book has it's own. So, if you're going to print your book, there's one ISBN, if you're going to do one for Kindle, there's another. Want to do one for Nook, well, there's another...you get my point. In my research, some authors do not assign an ISBN for their eBooks. I'm not sure how they get around it, but it appears publishers do assign one for eBooks, so I followed suit. I also found that some print-on-demand companies offer a free ISBN for your print book. I did not go with that option though, as I found some cons I just didn't want to deal with down the road. Do your due diligence and see what's best for you. Here are the differences between publishers and doing it on your own:

• Publisher: They pay for your ISBNs. The great thing for publishers is that they can order hundreds or thousands of these at a time, so they can get the numbers a lot cheaper than self-publishing authors (unless your well off).
• Self-publishing: You're covering this cost yourself. When you go to the website (for those in the U.S. it's Bowker, or you'll want to check your local ISBN agency), you'll see options to buy your ISBN. You can buy one for $125.00 (I would not recommend this unless you are planning to publish your book in one version and one version ONLY), or it goes up from there, so you can get 10 for $250.00. For our tally, let's go with the $250.00 option.

Formatting
This might not seem like that big of a task, but it adds up with all the different versions. Things I was able to get away with in the print book (fancy text), I couldn't do in the eBook. Not to mention that you might as well start over with formatting between each version because, so far, none of them are even remotely the same.

• Publisher: They take care of this. Whether they do it themselves or they pay someone, it's not on your time, or on your dime (except for a percentage of your royalty).
• Self-publishing: It's all on you, babe. If you're like me and you're trying to save money, you'll probably attempt this yourself. You might pull your hair out, you might not. Either way, you'll either pay someone to do it (I've seen sites that offer it starting at $50.00 for each version), or you'll spend hours figuring it out on your own. For this one, we'll just assume that you do it on your own for our tally, so it costs $0.00, just a lot of time.

Print-book cover art
Wha-wha-what? Yeah, this isn't included in the normal cover (unless you had the forethought to worry about it from the get-go and found a website or stock images that took care of it all in one swoop).

• Publisher: They take care of the costs and design of this.
• Self-publishing: Here again, it's on you. Based on the costs tallying so far, you might just do a plain cover with some fun fonts or even a gradient (like me), or maybe you'll get some more stock images and do a fancy one. Either way, you're going to need good graphic design software (can we say something along the lines of PhotoShop?) because of the requirements on dpi/ppi, sizing, etc. Don't do what I did and assume that you can get away with making one in Paint or PowerPoint, because that was just hours wasted. For the tally, let's go with the $0.00 route and assume that you found a good, free software that can export to print-quality PDF for your cover.

Marketing
No matter which way you publish, you'll be doing your own marketing. Yes, publishers have a good following of people, as well as other authors that support you, but that doesn't mean you can sit back and wait for the money to (hopefully) roll in. Social Media, swag, conferences, book signings, blog tours, etc...you're doing it all. I won't break down the differences between self- and regular publishing since I just listed how similar the two are.


Now, that I've listed the points (I apologize if I've missed anything) let's tally up our totals.
Right now we're at $835.00 on costs to self-pub. To re-coup those costs, here is a fun little breakdown of how many books it could potentially take to earn your money back based on a 70% royalty (this excludes other distribution fees you may incur, and just acts as an example):

Sell price         # of books
$2.99              400
$3.99              299
$4.99              239
$5.99              199
$6.99              171
$7.99              149
$8.99              133
$9.99              119

So, hopefully this little (cough, cough) list of differences will help you decide which route is best for you.

Killed it? Resurrect it!

To go along with this month's theme of "Killing your Babies," I've decided to do a post on resurrection. It's difficult to cut scenes (or characters) from your novel, after spending weeks, months, or even years of outlining, writing and polishing your manuscript. One thing I've learned is that you've got to be true to your story, and true to your characters. This is the only way you'll know what to do with your baby.

While writing Dark Seduction, I had a few more Guardians in the mix than what made it into the final cut. Even though I love every one of those characters, I had to face facts and make some cuts. There were just too many for readers to get to know, and I didn't have to throw every single immortal warrior at them from the get-go. So I took some of them out and modified my story using the Guardians that were left. My point is that just because you kill something or someone off, it doesn't mean you can't resurrect them. I've introduced some of those characters in subsequent books, and plan to add even more later on. Did it suck to have to make those cuts? Yup. Do I think the book (and the overall series) is better off with those changes? Abso-freakin'-lutely!

No one really wants to kill off scenes and/or characters, sometimes it's a necessary evil (or blessing depending on how you look at it).

So go ahead and cut scenes or characters, and save a new draft of your manuscript. If it flows well, then you've made the right move. If you're just not sure, then get a critique partner.

If you killed it, resurrect it.