Anxiety and Affection

Some people don’t like new technology–some don’t like it, period.  Last night I was going to do something with my new video camera, and technology decided to bite me in the butt.  Hard.

"Don't worry:  I totally got the shot.  No problems, right?"

“Don’t worry: I totally got the shot. No problems, right?”

Getting the shot isn’t the problem, though, is it?

"It's an eight minute video--why are you going to hell on me?  Why?"

“It’s an eight minute video–why are you going to hell on me, you demon computer? Why?”

That was me last night.  Every time I shot a video that lasted more than, say, five minutes, the software I was using to download it to my computer had fits.  Lots of fits.  As in, “I ain’t gonna be your coded slave, bitch.  You figure out another way to get this down.  Bwah, hahaha.”

It was very frustrating to say the least.  But, in the end, I figured out the problem and managed to get the first video up to YouTube.  And . . . I may reshoot it, because it was done in poor light.  Hard to say what I’ll do, because by the time I managed to get it up there, I was pretty frustrated by the whole process.  Then again, it’s new for me, so there’s a learning curve.

What this also did was cut into my writing time.  I managed almost seven hundred words, but I’d wanted more.  Tonight I need to go shopping, so that will cut into time–

Oi.  What’s a girl to do?

My kids went to a bonfire after the dance and walked back to the center of the school, so when finally reach a point where they can rest, it’s late–probably the latest they’ve ever been up.  And this happens . . .

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Rather than take the return portal back to the Great Hall, she asked if they could walk back. Since the temperature was dropping, Kerry asked if she would like to take the tunnels back, but Annie refused; she’d brought the beautiful crocheted shawl her grandmother had made for her earlier in the year and it kept her warm; the path back to The Pentagram was illuminated; and she was wearing flats.  She didn’t see a single problem . . .

She wanted to enjoy the darkness and silence with Kerry by her side, hand in each other’s hand.

Neither broke the silence all the way back to Founder’s Gate. Never once did Kerry even seem as if he were going to speak: to Annie it felt as if he knew she wanted to linger in the quiet night and enjoy the spark between them, and would only speak when Annie was ready to speak. He knows my moods and perhaps my thoughts. Once inside The Pentagram she turned him onto the second left hand garden path instead of entering the Great Hall. She knew it would be cavernous and dark inside; here there was still the abstract indirect light that made walking though the Pentagram Garden at night such an enjoyable and loving experience.

It wasn’t until they were nearly to the opening of the covered walkway leading to their tower than Annie uttered her first words since leaving the bonfire. “Moyata polovinka.” She slowly ran her left finger down the Kerry’s left arm.

He waited until she was finished before responding. “What does that mean?”

“Moyata polovinka—” She stopped the moment they stepped onto the path between Cernunnos Tower and the Great Hall. “My soulmate.” She gently pressed against Kerry and gave him a peck on the cheek. “If you say the last as two words it’s moyata srodna dusha.”

“Moyata polovinka.” Annie thought Kerry’s pronunciation was almost spot on, though the accent needed work. “I like how that rolls off the tongue.”

“You can say it in a much softer, gentler tone, too.” She tugged on Kerry’s arm. “Let’s sit at our bench.”

 

Our bench, our sofa . . . our time together.  It’s starting to get real serious here, and I’m gonna try to get to that tonight, at some point.  But I’m getting there.

If I’ve not pulled what little hair I have left out by then.

Renumbering ‘Tween the Bonfires

Before I get to the writing, I think I should make this official:  I now have a new video camera.  After breakfast I was like, “I gotta break up the routine a little,” and decided a new camera was just the thing to help me out with my multimedia experiences.  I’ve already charged it up, recorded, downloaded to the computer, uploaded to YouTube (sorry, none of the test videos are there), and presented one on Facebook.  I have this so down, trust me, though I might even play with getting things set with an SD card reader, just so I can make things fast.  Maybe.

Oh, and I visited two stores in order to find one pair of shoes I wanted, so also did the totally woman thing with my shoe shopping.  Yes, I rule.

There wasn’t a lot of writing accomplished last night, because it seemed like there were few times when I could write without interruption.  It was one of those moments in time when everyone had something they wanted to say, and they were saying it to me.  Not only that, but my mind wasn’t really focused on the task at hand, either:  I was trying to pulled out the purple prose to describe an event happening to my kids, and it wasn’t happening.  Maybe it was due to the interruptions, or maybe my head was someplace it wasn’t supposed to be.  Either way, I made four hundred and fifty words and called it a night.

Oh, and I also discovered that in the last three weeks I’ve written just over twenty thousand words.  How do I know that?  Shhh–spoilers . . .

But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t hard at work on the story.  You know that, “I’m always thinking about my story,” thing I’ve mentioned from time-to-time?  I was deep in that yesterday, and I began thinking:  I have a big event coming up right after Samhain, but not right away.  However, with this event in Kerry’s life–the one I’m calling his “Four Nights”–it would make sense if the second and third nights were, you know, closer together–

Allow me to explain.

These four nights have a profound effect upon Kerry’s life.  He’s already had the first one, that night in the hospital an week and a half before, story wise.  The Second Night is happening right now in the story:  the events of Samhain.  Now, the third night takes place the night of the attack, and it affects both him and Annie.  (The Second Night does this as well, but not in the same fashion.  First Night was actually initiated by Annie, but she doesn’t know that.)  In keeping with my little nudge at Shakespeare, Fourth Night happens some months off in the future, after the kids come back from Yule holiday and a few other things have taken place.  That one will rock both their worlds–

But we’re not there yet.

I decided that since Second and Third Nights are going to affect both kids, and affect them hard, it would make more sense to place them closer together.  So I pulled out my time lines and moved The Big Time up a week, to 1 November.  Because I can.

See how easy that was?

See how easy that was?

It’ll make for a more interesting time for my kids, particularly for Annie, who’s going to enter some tough times in the next couple of days.  But really, girl, I’m not doing it to be mean.

You want mean?  Here’s my second video.

The Gestation Plus Cycle

First off, I finished my latest scene last night after returning from the local Pride event held on the banks of our river, and which I worked for a few hours because why not?  Someone’s gotta go represent the T, you know?  I actually wrote the scene in three shifts:  one in the morning after my blog post, in a five hundred word sprint when I returned home, and then the last few hundred words after I returned about seven PM.  Total wordage for the day was eighteen hundred and sixty-nine words, which is a pretty good count anyway you look at things.

See where I've been, and see where I'm going . . .

See where I’ve been, and see where I’m going . . .

One more scene finishes Chapter Eighteen and Part Six, and then it’s on to the last two parts and–well, a butt-load of chapters.  I’ll probably pass the seventy thousand word mark for Act Two today, which is leaving me with the feeling that Act Two may just end up with a word count nearly equal to Act One, which would drive this story to three hundred thousand words–

With Act Three to follow.

Doing my time count today, I find I’ve been working on this novel for nine months.  And yes, this is my baby, and sometimes squeezing out the words needed to take it forward are nearly as difficult as squeezing a watermelon out of your lady parts, though no where nearly as painful.  Writing a novel takes time, and writing a big novel like this, with only a few hours every night or afternoon where I can work, is going to take a lot of time.  Particularly since this work has went from being Order of the Phoenix sized and appears to be heading into Infinite Jest territory.

Last night, however, I found myself a bit incensed by a comment that a friend decided to lay on me.  I’m sure she thought she was being humorous and whatnot, but still, there are some things you should be aware of when speaking to writers, and what she said last night one of those of things she should have checked before she wrecked.

And the comment was . . .

“Are you ever going to finish this thing?”

The first thing that came to mind was the now-famous blog post written by Neil Gaiman in response to a fan’s query about whether it was true that George R. R. Martin, the author of a certain large series of books about people, politics, dragons, and boobies, owes it to his fans to get off his ass and spend more time doing the writing thing so he can finish A Song of Ice and Fire Series before he goes the way of a majority of the characters in his books.  Neil’s response was pretty straightforward when it came to what writers really own their fans, but the whole thing can be summed up by the most famous line from the post:  “George R. R. Martin is not your bitch.”

Which is why after I was asked about when I was going to finish my story, the first thing that came to mind was–

Drop a House

I’m a nice person, but there is an emotional investment that goes into writing.  If you’ve never written a story of your own, it’s sometimes difficult to understand just how crazy the writing process can make one.  It’s always on your mind, and if you’re like me with this story, it’s been on your mind for years.  And I’m nowhere near as into this story as some writers were or are with their own series.  I’ve already imagined that if I were to continue writing about these characters after this book, in ten years I could have fans asking me if I’m planing to end the series before I kick this mortal coil.

It’s the implication that you’re not spending enough time writing, or that your story’s too long, or both, that really kinda twists the knife in hard.  The implication that maybe you might not know what you’re doing, and you’re just telling everyone you’re “writing” when the reality is you’re off doing something else.  Or, worse, you’re only writing a few hundred words a day, and a real writer gets down and does like a few thousand, so why aren’t you doing the same?

This is what makes writers drop houses on people.  And not because you’re the most evil movie villain ever–as pointed out by Cracked.com nearly four years ago–but because when you’ve spent nine months gestating a piece of work, and you figure you’re maybe two-thirds finished–or would that be more like five-eights in my case, I’m really afraid to look–having someone who doesn’t write, who isn’t creative, who doesn’t understand what goes into this process . . . when they ask, “You ever gonna finish this masterpiece of yours?”, that’s when the house dropping commences.  That’s when you get out your crown and your wand and you look ever-so-pretty while you commence to letting people know you ain’t their bitch.

You . . . get the house . . . right on the freakin’ noggin.

A story takes as long to finish as it takes to tell.  Sometimes that’s fifty thousand words; sometimes that’s five hundred thousand.  Most stories fall somewhere in between, but were I to really push the envolope o these characters, I could run their story to a coll million words easy.  Since that’s the case, maybe I should sell this first novel and make enough money to write full-time.

Yeah, that’d be great.

It’d give me a lot more time to drop houses.

Running on Sights

Long night–or should I say morning?  Was feeling a little emotionally out of it when I went to bed, and then I wake up at like three in the morning and having trouble getting back to bed because I’ve got a song stuck in my head and my dreams had me chased by the undead.  And as soon as I manged to fall asleep–zombie dreams come after me.  What did I ever do to them, other than have a couple of my students whack the hell out of them?  They should learn to mellow out.

Yesterday I said I’d post the video I made for one of my Facebook groups the other day, and when you get to the end of this post you’ll see it and a bit of my messy, somewhat stark abode.  But that’s at the end:  there are other things in between.

So three instructors arrive, two leave, and Annie is sitting there with Kerry and Professor Arrakis, and then this happens:

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie was going to make a comment about the departing instructors, but Emma chose that moment to hurry over and stand across the coffee table from them. “Hi, um . . .” She turned to Kerry. “Would you like to dance?”

Kerry froze for a few second, his eyes locked upon Emma. “Um, yeah . . .” He cleared his throat twice, casting a sideways glance at Annie before continuing. “Um, I was, uh . . . I wasn’t planing on dancing—”

Annie jumped in to save her nervous boyfriend. “Kerry, go ahead. I don’t mind.”

He quickly turned to Annie as if to make certain she wasn’t playing with him. “You sure?”

She lightly touched his left hand. “Go ahead. I want to speak with Professor Arrakis anyway—” She leaned closer to him as she lowered her voice. “Girl talk, you know?”

He nodded. “Got it.” Kerry quickly rounded the table and joined Emma. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Annie was careful to note as the two walked away that he didn’t touch Emma—he placed his hand close to her back but never made contact—and kept her to his right as they headed for the dance floor. She’s not to his left; I’m the only one who ever walks on his left

 

Emma:  still being a buzzkill.  Though Annie did let he walk away with Kerry and she didn’t throw a spell at her back before she vanished into the crowd.  Because she’s talking “girl talk” with the School Seer–

 

“You were surprised.”

Annie looked straight ahead. “Yes.” She turned her head just enough to see her. “I was.” She finally turned her body enough that she wasn’t uncomfortable looking at the instructor. “I wasn’t expecting to hear him nearly tell Emma that he wasn’t going to dance with her.”

“He was going to say more than that; he was about to tell her that he wasn’t planing on dancing with anyone but you.” Deanna slid around so she was resting between the back and arm. “He’s changed.”

“Yes, he has.” She looked for him on the dance floor, then decided she trusted him enough that it wasn’t necessary to keep an eye on him.

“Quite a lot after his accident a couple of weeks ago.” She looked over her shoulder also searching for Emma and him. “His night in the hospital must have had a profound effect upon him.”

Annie didn’t want to speak of that night in the hospital. She didn’t want to speak of her anger at him, of her after-hours apology, and of the moments she spent in the near dark watching him sleep. Though she wanted to talk . . . “He’s so different tonight. Kerry’s always been attentive, but tonight he’s noticed so many small things . . .” She looked off to her right, towards the exit into the East Hallway. “He’s been so complementary tonight. Telling me I’m lovely, I’m beautiful . . .”

“You’re waiting to hear something else, aren’t you?”

Her eyes flickered over the seer. “Yes.”

Deanna nodded. “Perhaps—” She turned to watch the students dancing. “—he finally feels he’s worthy of giving you love.”

Annie’s attention snapped back to Deanna, her eyes filled with curiosity and interest. She knew it wasn’t an accident that the professor spoke nearly the same words that she’d spoken to Kerry that night in the hospital, telling him he was worthy of her love, and deserved all that she felt for him. “What do you know, Professor?”

 

Forget it, Annie.  you aren’t getting anything out of her.  That’s what it means to be a seer:  you have all these secrets you have to keep . . . and Deanna Arrakis is very good at keeping them.  This is going to cause a little back and forth between the instructor and Annie, but if you think Annie is going to learn her future while sitting at the Samhain dance, guess again.

I’m going to work on this scene right after this post goes out (at the moment it’s 7:10 AM, so figure before 7:20), because my afternoon is going to be way busy and I need to get my writing in where I can.  And I want to finish this scene and get then next going because there is fun coming, I tell you, fun!

The next chapter is nothing but laughs!

The next chapter is nothing but laughs!

Since a lot of you asked for it, here’s my video.  I’ve been asked in my Facebook group to do readings of my work, and there’s a very good possibility that’s going to happen.  For now, however, enjoy this.

 

The Calm Before the Seeing

First off, let’s move this out of the way:  after mentioning yesterday that I made a video for the first time, I had, shall we say, a few requests to see me speak.  Oh sure, I’ve presented pictures of myself, but never have I gone and made a fool of myself before one of those talky camera things.  So, today, I’ll upload the video to my YouTube account and present it here for you amusement.  You Have Been Warned.

And I had a session with my therapist, the first since starting my hormone treatment.  She was happy to see me, happy to see I appear happy, happy to hear how I’m moving forward in my life.  She also pointed out a few things she noticed about me, and this is where I do a Law & Order trope and invoke doctor/patient privilege so that I don’t have to go into just what it was she noticed.  While I’m open to a lot of things in my life, that isn’t one of them.

Which brings us to writing.  It must have been a good night, because I ended up just short of twelve hundred words for the evening, setting up a new scene at the Samhain Dance.  I also mentioned yesterday that I’d written six hundred and sixty-six words to finish the last scene, so imagine my surprised when I checked my word count this morning . . .

I believe I've moved into the Condo of the Beast.

I believe I’ve moved into the Condo of the Beast.

I love seeing number like that:  Ms. Rutherford would probably tell me that the Numerologists of the Foundation would find that an auspicious sign.  Given what I know is coming next in the scene, and the following scene, and the following chapter, they’re probably correct.

Onward to the party!

 

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

“Hope we’re not disturbing.”

Annie looked up along with Kerry and found Professors Sladen and Arrakis standing on the other side of the coffee table. Sladen’s costume was a simple affair: A rather plain halter top and matching brown wrap around skirt that feel to her knees, brown boots, and a braided gold and brown headband used to tie back her hair. She also carried a large fighting stick, maybe a jō, outfitted with leather bands to allow the user better control.

Professor Arrakis was far more elaborate and beautiful. She wore a bright green outfit that looked like a silk dress with a high collar and long sleeves, but Annie also saw what looked like the end of leggings just above her ankles. She also wore a helmet adorned with a feathered headband, and each wrist was covered with large gold wrist bands.

Annie shook her head. “No, Professor Sladen. We’re just sitting here enjoying the dance.” She was glad she didn’t need to raise her voice; there were enchantments in place to keep sound at a lower volume outside the dance floor, so people could enjoy the music and still carry on a conversation. “Please sit with us.”

“Thank you.” Erywin chose the chair to Annie’s left.

Deanna pointed to the empty spot on the soft to Annie’s left. “Would you mind if I sit next to you?”

She shook her head. “No, go right ahead, Professor.”

“Thank you.”

Kerry waited for both women to get comfortable before addressing Professor Sladen. “I recognize your costume—”

The right side of Erywin’s mouth curled up into a smile. “You do?”

“Yeah—where’s your Xena?” He looked around, grinning wildly.

Erywin laughed. “Either in the loo or preventing Armageddon from breaking out. She should be along shortly.”

“But your costume . . .” He looked around Annie at Professor Arrakis. “I have no idea.”

Deanna flashed Kerry a sweet smile. “You mean I’ve stumped you? I thought you knew everything.”

He shook his head. “Not everything. Not since coming here.”

“You have an honest boy there, Annie.” She smoothed down her skirt. “Razia Sultain, first female Muslim ruler in South Asia. She was the fifth Sultan of Delhi for four years, until 1240.”

 

See?  I not only give you a costume party, but a little history lesson.  And you discover that Kerry doesn’t know everything.

It’s not all fun an games at the dance, though.  As you can see when, as Kerry calls her, Erywin’s “Warrior Princess”, shows up to the party.

 

Professor Lovecraft walked up, greeted everyone with a hello, then sat in the open chair to Kerry’s right without asking. She leaned back and loudly exhaled her last breath before looking across the coffee table at both instructors. “I’m about to round up all your shieldmaidens and Celtic warriors and dump their asses somewhere north of the Observatory so they can beat the hell out of each other until no one is left standing.”

“Are they getting a big anxious for their annual skirmish?” Each Samhain the girls from the Åsgårdsreia fight team challenged the girls of the Mórrígan fight team to an “Ancestral Battle” fought with mock swords and shields. This had gone on for almost two hundred and sixty years, but in the last five years the lead up to the battle had begun to turn a lot more acrimonious, and it wasn’t unusual for the students to use the “Safe Space” status of the dance—meaning no one could be “called out” to settle their grievance with a real challenge fight inside Gwydion Manor—to start throwing a few non-magical punches back and forth.

“Coraline’s already fixed one broken nose—” She pointed at Erywin. “—that one of your girls threw, Honey.”

Erywin didn’t seem that concerned. She turned to Deanna. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Deanna nodded as she he’d heard her fellow coven leader, but didn’t quite believe her. “Perhaps you could discuss protocol once again with them before they are unable to participate in the evening’s encounter?”

Helena nodded then stood. “That might not be a bad idea. I’ll help.” She turned to Annie and Kerry as Erywin rose from her seat. “You look lovely Annie. You’re . . .” She smiled slyly. “Good too, Kerry.”

Kerry almost laughed. “Thanks . . . Xena.”

Helena snorted. “I’m from New Zealand: who the hell else am I gonna come as?”

He pointed at her legs. “Your skirt’s a little long, though.”

Erywin stopped next to Helena as the later gave the skirt, which ended just above her knees, a tug. “Forgive me: I’m modest.” She turned and both teachers made their way through the crowd.

 

Helena?  Modest?  As with everything here, there’s probably a reason for that . . .

Also, you see the semi-informal school event that I actually blogged about way back on January 13 of this year, something I said I was going to write.  That post also included an excerpt from the first time Annie and Kerry attended Sorcery Class with Professor Lovecraft.  And here she is again, seven and a half months later, breaking up fights between the two groups of energetic fighting witches.  Just like Annie, I keep my promises.

Besides, these girls have been waiting months to kick each other’s butts.

"I'll break more than your nose, bitch."

“I’m gonna break a lot more than your nose.”

"You just screwed with the wrong Sheildmaiden."

“You just screwed with the wrong sheildmaiden.”

Let the Real Dance Begin

The strangest thing happened yesterday:  I made a video.  Really.  Not very long, just under four minutes, but it’s me, dressed pretty casually–like sweater over my pajamas casually–and I’m saying hi to a lot of women I know in a certain Facebook group to which I belong, and I’m talking about me and a little about my writing.  There was a time, even before my transition, that I’d never show my face anywhere:  I didn’t like taking pictures, and I never did video.  Now I’m sort of like:  eh, let’s just do this thing.  Actually I’m sorta like:  hey, I should do more.

Just one more thing to add to my multimedia empire.

I don’t know if this is a portent of something good or bad, but I wrote six hundred and sixty-six words lasts night.  Well, it is a Samhain dance, so you can excuse me if that number comes up and people are bothered.  Am I bovveed?  Do I look bovvered to you?  Actually, I’m at 668, so that makes me the Neighbor of the Beast, and they’re coming over tomorrow night for cocktails.

But seriously.  I managed to get out my video, get out my writing, watch a little television–which is probably why my word count was down–and even chat with people.  All in a night’s dealings.

But what about Annie?  Let’s see that gown.

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

Her gown was satin, the color of soft, creamy gold. It was sleeveless with keyhole shoulder pads, and she wore matching fingerless lace gloves on each hand. The gown pulled in slightly at the waist and spread away in a modified semi-tight A line. The original design of the gown has a plunging V line in the front and a scoop back; the back on this gown was normal, which the front dropped only low enough to allow her heart pendant to rest against bare skin. “Thank you, Nadine. I . . .” She leaned against Kerry. “It was all his idea, really.”

Kerry looked down as he grinned. “But you’re the one that makes the gown look good.” He brushed the back of Annie’s right hand. “I just thought about what would be nice.”

“Either way, you’re both killer.” Nadine continued to admire Annie. “I like the changes you made with the outfit, too.”

“I wanted something a bit more modest.” She touched her necklace. “I wouldn’t be comfortable wearing the original design.”

 

By original design she means wherever Kerry saw the outfit and got the idea.  She lets Mr. Geeky find the outfits, and she just does the alterations.

But there’s something else going on here:

 

“It looks better this way.” Kerry took Annie’s hand, raised it to his lips, and brushed a kiss against the back of her fingers.

Annie’s blush began spreading beyond her cheeks to her entire face. Kerry was his normal self throughout the day, but from the moment he saw her in this gown, his demeanor changed completely: he was attentive to her every need, he seemed to become more protective—and far more loving. Like now; Kerry wouldn’t have kissed me that way a few weeks ago

 

Ah, yes:  maybe Mr. Geeky is starting to get his feelings together  We might find out except for . ..

 

“Hey, guys. Hey, Kerry.”

Annie felt her stomach drop just a little as Emma walked up and spoiled the moment. There were many things she wanted to say, but as most of them were mean, she kept them in her thoughts. Though Kerry didn’t appear disappointed, he appeared to deflated slightly. Annie felt something float away from him—from them both, actually. It was the first time she’d felt this between them and wondered if it had something to do with the heightened magic permeating the grounds.

Kerry was polite to Emma, though. “Wow.” He didn’t move from Annie’s side, but did turn and twist his head as if he were taking her in from several different angles. “You decided to go all in on this, didn’t you?”

 

Emma:  buzzkilling relationships since two weeks before.  One day she’ll do that to the wrong witch–the wrong Dark Witch, I’m thinking–and she’s gonna have to watch her butt closely.

Here’s what I have:

Hey, looks different, doesn't it?

Hey, looks different, doesn’t it?

I’ve finished the entry into the dance, renamed the bonfire section, and altered the last part that I’d added.  The times are more in sync with what’s going to happen, too.  I’m doing this because, in my mind, I know how I want this chapter to now play out, and this is it.  Three little scenes, but I now know how they go.

Now for the magic to continue.

Magically Distracting

First off:  thanks to everyone who commented on yesterday’s picture, which, if you weren’t aware, was from the movie The Craft, which brought to life the notion that if you wanted to do magic, you needed to be an emo-goth girl and learn how to do the sexy walk in slo-mo.  Most of the comments were to remind me that there was a show with witches on television called Charmed and that I could have showed them some love as well.  Guess what?  I am.  Here they are.

Though it took me a while to find a picture that didn't have them magically keeping their breasts inside their silky tops.  I kid.

Though it took me a while to find a picture that didn’t have them magically keeping their breasts inside their silky tops. I kid.

Actually, I’m pretty sure there are a few witches like these ladies at my fictional school.  You know:  driven women who won’t take crap from anyone once they discover their powers.  And since my school is pretty much a school for young girl run by the Matriarchy, they grow up fully in charge of their lives, ready to not only take on the world, but to reshape it to become a better place.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to write as much as I would have liked last night.  There was a friend who was having a problem, and I was there lending as much of a hand as I could, while I was also conversing with a couple of other people at the same time.  This kept my word count to just under five hundred words, most of which I present to you below:

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

In many ways the hall didn’t look much different from a normal Saturday night leading into the Midnight Madness. There was sofas, love seats, chairs, and tables everywhere, though the beds were away for the night. The instructor’s area was, for the most part, missing, and the podium before the fireplace supported a table with a mixer and three computers feeding music to unseen speakers. The center portion of the floor in front of the music podium—an area maybe twelve meters by fifteen—acted as the dance floor, where currently maybe forty students moving to a song Annie didn’t recognize.

Everyone visible was in costume, even the instructor. Annie saw Professor Semplen, wearing some kind of older military uniform complete tall hat and sword, chatting with professor Salomon, who was dressed in something hard and futuristic that Kerry pointed out looked like powered armor. Headmistress Laventure was decked out like a cross between a Victorian lady and a person with mechanical parts. Wednesday and Isis Mossman were dressed casually, almost like high school girls, though Isis—who was now blond instead of her normal brunette—wore a pouch with sharpened stakes around her waist, and Wednesday’s hair was auburn, her top had long, flowing sleeves, and she wore a pentacle necklace. Kerry whispered that he thought they were Buffy and Willow, which meant nothing to Annie, but she thought they did look nice.

They had managed to walk to the far end of the dance floor when they were approached by Nadine, who was wearing a dark pink bodysuit, lighter pink leggings, dark pink boots and gloves, and what looked to Annie to be an incredibly uncomfortable head band. They stopped before each other and spend a few moments looking each other over—though it seemed most of the looking was occurring between Kerry and Nadine.

He was the first to break the silent stalemate. “Having a good time, Wanda?”

Nadine nodded. “As best I can, Captain Tight Pants.” She turned to Annie, a big smile on her face. “Annie, I love that gown. You are simply gorgeous.”

She blushed, because even though she knew she might receive complements, she wasn’t used to hearing them. Even though she knew they were true . . .

Her gown was satin, the color of soft, creamy gold. It was sleeveless with keyhole shoulder pads, and she wore matching fingerless lace gloves on each hand. The gown pulled in slightly at the waist and spread away in a modified semi-tight A line. The original design of the gown has a plunging V line in the front and a scoop back; the back on this gown was normal, which the front dropped only low enough to allow her heart pendant to rest against bare skin. “Thank you, Nadine. I . . .” She leaned against Kerry. “It was all his idea, really.”

 

Yes, she is.  And I hope you picked up on the clues for their costumes.  I’m sneaky that was.  Extra points if you can figure out the Headmistress’ costume.

I’m hoping to get re-energized tonight, to get into the dance an rip off a thousand words.  Then again, I did write up a two thousand word blog post yesterday–that you can find here–so I suppose I can’t be blamed for only getting down five hundred words in my novel.

Dammit, though:  I need to do better there.