Sneak Peek: Heir to Time: Book 3 in the Timekeeper Series

Listen, I’m coming off of AWP, with notes to still type up, meetings to catch up on, emails waiting, a submission not yet done, new edits, word counts, laundry that’s been through about four dryer cycles (IYKYK) and had to come back in straight away to give a presentation on “Burnout” (*maniacal laughter*) for a lovely little local conference Founded in Fort Collins. So when I sat down to a blog post, blank screen and cursor blinking, I literally had nothing. But I do have my latest work. If you read Book One (Time to Byrne) and Book Two (Courting the Lion) then you are a beautiful human and I would thank you for a review.

Book Three takes a little turn, and a lot more adventure, bringing together both of the couples and an ancient Sapphic mystery in need of solving. Instead of the cool, green fields of Britain, our team of adventurers find themselves in 1920’s Egypt (camel milk lattes?) and the tomb of an unknown physician who started the whole bloody mess. So, I thought I’d share an excerpt from the book for this post. I’m currently in my third round of edits, with probably one more to go. I had hoped for March, but it might be more like early May.

Enjoy!

(oh! And if you read Courting the Lion, I would seriously love a review on it. If it’s not your type–i.e. Heated Rivalry but Regency and without the Hockey–pass it along to someone who might like it. It truly is a lovely story)

Heir to Time: An Excerpt

“What are you even doing here?”
Matthew staggered back a few steps before coming back to stand straight in front of her. He gestured back at her. “What am I doing here? You are my wife, you disappeared! Did you not think I wouldn’t come and find you? Did you think I would just leave you to time?”
“It isn’t safe for—”
“We talked about this and I thought we’d agreed. This mission was too dangerous for both of us! We said that we would not go! Despite the very reasonable and rational things we discussed, and seemingly in agreement, you loved me into oblivion only to leave me the next morning.”
Lillian stopped for a moment, her eyes went soft, remembering that night. Her body responded with such a force that she had to step away. “We did not agree! You had your reasons and your rationalizations and once settled in your own head, you stopped listening to me. You would not come with me, so had to do it on my own.”
“And in your efforts to prove me wrong, something happened to you. You did not return!”
Lillian’s face turned white. “Matthew,” she whispered.
“I was imprisoned for your death, Lillian.”
“But that’s impossible—”
“I wish it were. I spent a month in a cell. All the while knowing that you were probably dead. Or lost to time,” he paused to frown. “Or that you simply did not want to come back to me.”
She threw her hands up into her hair in frustration. “Why would you even say such a thing. Of course I want to be with you.”
“Then why did you leave?”
Lillian turned silent. She had left to find adventure. To prove herself. To flaunt her independence in the face of Matthew’s desire to settle down. “I,” she stuttered. “Because I thought it was the right thing to do.”
Matthew stalked closer to her. “Did you not think for one moment what leaving would mean to me, to all of us who care for you? When Richard discovered the altered history, that I was accused of your murder and hanged for the crime, he and Thomas used a map to come and rescue me.”
“Matthew, I’m sorry,” she paused but he continued on.
“Did you not think what you leaving would do to my heart?” Matthew said, his voice breaking. Lillian’s lips trembled and she looked at him with wide eyes.
“I did not know! How could I have known?”
“Do you think I care for living at all without you? Do you think I would not follow you to the ends of the earth, or to the ends of time? I love you. You are my wife and I will always come for you.”
Lillian crossed the distance between them quickly and silenced Matthew with a kiss. Hard and biting, she knocked him back two steps and pressed her body into his. He returned the kiss just as hungrily, forcing her back and up against the wall, where he held her against his hard and straining muscles. She gasped into his lips, her whole body burning to feel his touch.
“Lily, my angel,” he whispered against her cheek, caressing her curves with hungry and needy hands. The taste of him, his warm breath, the delicious pressure of his fingers against her back, her waist, her bottom, drove her mad with the desire to have every inch of him touching every inch of her. His hot, wet tongue delved into her mouth and she moaned, her breasts heaving against the strong beat of his heart. Lillian’s hands ran up Matthew’s chest and she brought them around his neck even as he lifted her into his arms and her legs spread wide to wrap around his waist. The pressure of him between her legs caused a delicious shiver to run up her spine.
“I missed you,” she cried against his lips as he broke away and bit and licked his way down her neck, causing her body to pulse in waves, closer to his. He paused in their fervent play and shook his head against her collarbone, as if he still had a weight on his mind. “What is it?”
“You did not find solace in Alistair’s arms?” Matthew asked lowly.
At the mere thought of Alistair, her whole body stiffened and she pushed herself away from him. She landed on her feet and shoved him backwards. Matthew backed away with his hands up, lips red and breath panting.
“Lillian, I only—”
“Did you find solace in Amelie’s bed? She implied that you were her boyfriend, and that you were smitten with her. That you were having discussions about your deceased wife in her bedroom. You told her I was dead!”
“She made the inference herself and I did no such thing. It was in her apartment with Natalie as chaperone.”
“Natalie?”
“Richard and Thomas’s daughter.”
“The little girl. In the car?” she said, breathless, and her heart softened. “She’s their daughter?” She had not had time in their hasty retreat to even ask, or meet the girl. The wild ride back to their hotel had not allowed time for introductions.
“She is. And she is incredible, but that’s not what I want to talk about.” Matthew said. “We must work through this. I cannot spend another night without my wife.”
Lillian narrowed her gaze. “Fine, spill it then.”
Matthew took a big breath. “Amelie plucked us out of a market while I was babysitting her so her fathers could… have some intimate time.”
“Matthew Blackwell, doctor turned au pair,” Lillian smiled.
Matthew scowled. “In any case, Amelie had said that she knew Alistair and even hinted that you might be with him. So, I agreed to dinner at the Golden Dial with her to get more information and hopefully see you. Which I did. I did see you. When you kissed Alistair!”
“He kissed me! I was upset and worried and thought I was going mad with missing you because I thought I’d seen you in the arms of that cheeky little harlot. I was confused and he pulled me in before I knew what he was doing. You mean to tell me you did not kiss her?”
Matthew swallowed and backed away. “There can be no lies between us. I am afraid I did indeed use Miss Sheldon to get closer to you. We were at a loss and I needed any information I could get concerning you. She kissed me, yes, under quite some duress on my part. She said it was payment for getting us into The Golden Dial.”
“Under some duress? What does that even—”
“It was not as though I was staying in her hotel room!”
“I’ve been sleeping in a maid’s closet! Every night since we parted, amongst the rats and the dirty laundry! Thinking of nothing but getting back to you. Doing nothing but missing you!” Her eyes filled with tears and she rushed past him into the bedroom and slammed the door. Matthew watched with his heart breaking and wondering how they would ever survive this mess.
Richard and Thomas came through the door of the suite. Thomas poured both himself and his daughter water from the pitcher and took Natalie out to the patio to watch the procession of merchants packing up their wares below. When they were outside, Richard stared at Matthew who was breathing heavily and staring at the closed door.
“We both heard the last of that. You idiot,” Richard said.
“Yes, quite.”
“Well?”
“What am I supposed to do? She left me, to find adventure.”
“Upon the faulty assumption that she would be back before you even noticed.”
“But I was right! It was too dangerous, something did happen to her, and she should at least admit to that!”
“What did the Timekeeper promise you two, exactly?” Richard asked.
Matthew paused as his brain went through the verbal contract of their ‘supposed’ last assignment. “That we would be able to choose the time we lived in. And,” he swallowed and stopped. Richard lowered his gaze.
“And?”
“That we would be safe. That you and Thomas would be safe to live your lives as you pleased. With no further intervention from the Timekeepers. She promised that…that they would find her father and return him safely to her.”
“So she saw a future for all of the people she loved, safe and happy?”
Matthew was quiet at first. “Yes.”
“And you are angry that she wanted to risk that? For you? For her own father who risked so much to keep her from dying? For Thomas and I, and our child? You are angry that she would secure a future for all of us?” he motioned out the door to the laughing girl and his beloved husband. Matthew’s face blanched.
“I—”
“I’ve only known Lillian for a short while,” Richard’s voice was thick with emotion. “But I have loved her in every moment. She is bumbling and often crass. She is misguided, yes, at times. But when she came to me, crying in the library of Oxford, so heartbroken over losing you, she made me, a hardened and cynical lion, believe that a love strong enough to survive any fire could exist. She would not give up. She would not give in. She threw herself into the ether, risking death, just to find you again. And she was right,” Richard wiped a tear away and looked back to his beloved Thomas. “Love is all there really is.” Natalie’s laughter filled the space of their rooms and the distant sound of Lillian, still sobbing in the bedroom, filtered in.
“What do I do?” Matthew said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“What indeed?” Richard scowled. “Surely nothing out here in the hall will help.”
Matthew took a deep breath in. There was nothing he loved more in this world than Lillian. They had been through the worst of things. Danger, forced parting, murder, fire and unfair propriety. She had stayed by his side, protected him and kept him safe. She had done it all for him. For the people she loved. He had only selfishly thought what his life would be without her. If he had gone with her, if he had only agreed to do this together, they would not be suffering so.
What would her beautiful heart be, if not filled and committed to the ones she loved? It was all his fault. He let out the breath and stepped quietly into the bedroom. She had not locked it. He hoped that meant she wanted him to follow her. He closed it quietly and locked the door behind him.

Well, there you have it. The novel that has been a bit of a Moby Dick to my Ishmel. Really though. If I survive this one, I may just call myself a writer. Stay tuned, next week, for my ever-popular, always appreciate (she said, rolling her eyes) newsletter.

Xoxo, Happy Reading.

Survival of The Writer: And What National Novel Writing Month Teaches Us

I’m going to keep it brief and give you a little excerpt at the end of this blog to tie up another great year of NANOWRIMO. I hope that your month was successful and that it taught you something about your ability to persevere, in the face of ominous word counts, writer’s block doldrums, and persnickety characters that don’t do as they’re told.

I, for one, am proud of you. The winner of the goodie bag will be chosen this week and I’ll announce the name on the blog this week. Think of it as an early Christmas. I’m still curious to know how it went for all of you and if you have any pitfalls or successes you’d like to share, please send them my way. If this was your first or your 25th, I know that you got something out of the process.

If anything, it teaches us how to manage our time better, how to flow with the writing even when its not going how we think it should, and how to keep going even when its hard. I hope the very best for your project. My final piece of advice is this:

When the first day of December rolls around, I ask that you take that hard-earned manuscript you slaved over for a month, save it (Twice) and put it away. For a whole month. Don’t look at it, don’t tweak it. Don’t edit it. (the only exception is that if you’re really close to finishing something or the whole thing, keep extending your daily word count goal until you’re at a good stopping place). Don’t open it again until January 1st at the earliest. Give your brain and your thoughts time to settle and reflect, so you can come at it with fresh eyes and a begin the process of turning that beautiful raw material into a wondrous book.

Here’s a little (unedited) piece of my new project. Enjoy! (and Congratulations)

Photo by Taryn Elliott on Pexels.com

I wish the train would go faster, why do we have to keep stopping for people? I get off, shove my way through the current going down, swimming upwards like a desperate salmon. I keep the soup intact. I climb his stairs two at a time and the ache in my chest is probably equal parts worry and being terribly out of shape.
“Please answer. Please answer,” I whisper as I raise my finger to the antiquated brass button. Charlie rips the door open before I can even ring his bell. He looks wild. Unmoored. His eyes are fighting and strange. Like he’s made…decisions. I don’t know what to say so…Kansas takes over.
“Hey—”
“Get out of my way.”
“Where you going?” I ask and tilt my head to the side like an innocent farm girl, unaccustomed to dark thoughts.
“Out,” he grouches.
“I’ll go with you.” I shrug at this, and the soup and bread shrugs too. He glares at me; I can feel his mouth forming sharp blades of words.
“I’m suicidal.” The admission itself is a lifeline that he throws out. He could have said he had a meeting, or lawyers to talk to, or a walk to think. He hopes I’ll back down if he throws it, head on, into my face. I force myself to smirk and roll my eyes, even while I bully him backwards, my will and the box of warm food herding him.
“You’re hungry.”
“No!” he says, a split second before his stomach rises to greet me with a groan. “Just go, Meg. I’ll see you at the funeral.” His back is pressed to the not yet closed door.
“Who’s? Yours?” I pause, Charlie’s eyes go soft through the anger. “Get in the apartment, Charlie. Before it gets cold.” I force him back, and slam the door closed, putting myself between him and it. I set down the box and take off my coat and hang it up next to where he’s standing. He sighs, takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“Meg,” he whispers.
“Let’s eat,” I say and take off his scarf for him, hanging it with reverence next to my shabby long trench. He gives in and throws his coat over the bright blue. As though he can’t look at it tonight. I take the box into the kitchen and start to unpack the hot soup and warm bread. I have to get the step stool to reach the bowls in the cabinet and Charlie is just standing there watching me, shirt with his cuffs rolled up, untucked and pining for the bridge or busy street that would have ended the pain.
But the pain can fade. I know. It can become livable. It’s been my asshole roommate for some time. I set down the bowls and crack open the top of the container. Charlie leans in, trying to feign disinterest.
“Is that—”
“Chicken and wild rice, from Saul’s private stash.”
Charlie fake glares and his stomach growls again. “You little shit.”
I don’t respond but I pass him a full bowl and a chunk of fresh bread. He holds them both in his hands, warm, soft. Little things to cling to in a world that was so desperate and cold five minutes ago. He doesn’t speak, but he sits at the island and I saddle up next to him.
I talk about work. I talk about an article I’m working on about AI, I talk about the impending writer’s strike. I keep my topics to things easy to let go of. I talk about anything, but leave spaces of silence for him to contribute. He doesn’t, but he presses his long thigh against mine under the counter, and finishes the rest of the soup.
I offer to stay. He says it’s unnecessary. The funeral is tomorrow. We have things to take care of. He shakes his head. He’s changed from the man marching to death. To someone resigned to accept it. But I’m wary, and I don’t want to return to my cold apartment. Not with his knee touching mine.
“I can take the couch.”
“No.”
“Charlie.”
“I’m fine.” He says, and I believe him, but I look at him like I’m not sure. “I’m gonna be fine.” He says, and nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Call For Submissions 2022 Anthology: “A Beautiful Twist”

Good morning, readers and writers. I can’t believe we’re already one trip around the sun from last year’s submissions call! The previous years have resulted in two wonderful poetry anthologies with a variety of contributors across the globe. This year, I’m changing things up.

The theme for this year is “A Beautiful Twist”. I will be looking for work that surprises and delights, causes a reader to pause and do a double take if you will. For instance, some of my own work will be myths retold in modern times (what if Bacchus was a recovering alcoholic, or Snow White was a dominatrix?) For poetry, think about a split between how it begins and how it ends. You start out thinking its about love but turns out to be about laundry. Twist a fairytale, turn over old paradigms and genre expectations, dust off any speculative fiction because that’s a goldmine for twists. Surprise me. Surprise yourself. Give yourself freedom to dabble in the ridiculous.

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Below you’ll find the details for the anthology, submission guidelines, and publishing dates. Please follow the guidelines. They exist for a reason…mostly to make sure I don’t pull my hair out whilst trying to read and format them. You are always more than welcome to contact me via this website with questions (Please use subject line: QUESTION ANTHOLOGY 2022). Some changes this year will include the length and type of content I’m accepting, and a monetary prize for the top three entries, as well as publication. Good skill to all of the writers out there, newbies and old hats.

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES

  • Dates: Submission will open January 28th and will run until September 16th
  • Winners will be notified September 19th 2022
  • Publication Date: TBA Early November
  • Submission guidelines: The Beautiful Stuff will be accepting, short stories (2000-5000 words), Flash Fiction (200-1000 words), Poetry (up to 5 poems allowed per submission), novel excerpts (up to 3000 words), Personal Essays (up to 2000 words) all centered around the theme. I’m pretty lenient as far as genre. I will accept non fiction, fiction, speculative fic, western, sci-fi, fantasy, romance, erotica, historical, hysterical, time jumping primates, talking frogs, brains in jars, and ANY combination thereof. Submissions translated to English are preferred. Contest is open to domestic and international writers but awards will be paid in US dollars. Please submit your work as an attachment to your email which will be a lovely cover letter about you (name, email, job, what you write, what you love to do, your submission’s title, and the secret of life–haha, just kidding we all know its 42). Email subject line should read BEAUTIFUL TWIST SUBMISSION_name (not just ‘name’–use your name). The submission file (please use .doc, .docx, or another Word friendly format) should be the title of your submission and your last name i.e. “Merry Krampus-Reichert”
  • Top 3 submissions will earn prizes as follows: 1st–$30, 2nd–$20, 3rd–$10 paid via PayPal or Venmo (or check if need be). Runners up will be published in the anthology with a chance to compete in the Colorado Book Awards.
  • You may submit in multiple formats, multiple times (ie poems and flash, or novel excerpt and essay) but each submission must be in a separate email. You can copy and paste your cover letter…I’m not going to make you rewrite that thing, they’re a pain in the ass.
  • PLEASE DO NOT submit anything that has been previously published or that you no longer own the rights to. I can’t even begin to process the legalities, so just don’t. Don’t double dip. Simultaneous submissions are absolutely fine but LET ME KNOW if your work gets accepted elsewhere as soon as possible.
  • Prohibited subject matter includes: overtly violent or gruesome content that does not further the story, non consensual sexual acts, racist/homophobic/misogynistic/hate filled writing, violent or hurtful actions against children or animals, and anything that judges, stereotypes, or seeks to harm another human being based on their human being-ness. I’m cool with erotica done tastefully and along the lines of the theme. I’m also cool with expletives if they fit the character and scene and you’re not just using them like a 7th grade boy to look cool. Cool?

Well, that’s it! Start writing! Hopefully this will provide you the experience and drive to get some submitting done. Let me know if you have any questions. I will contact you to let you know your submission has been received and as we get near to September 16th I will keep you in the loop about your submission’s place in the anthology.

I’m so flippin’ excited to read your stuff. Truly. Don’t leave me hanging.

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