Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #4: Glass Hearts

Genre: fantasy romance

Warnings: mild sexual scene, mention of violence

Word Count: 3,051

Summary: Spurned on by diaries from her forgotten youth, Ellie travels far and wide in search of someone who can help restore the memories she took from herself, and help her find her long-lost love.

 

Excerpt is from the start of the book, around chapter 3/4.

‘I found a spell that will reveal my soul mate to me; I’m going to try it tonight.

Oh my Gods…she’s amazing; funny, clever, and absolutely gorgeous. Her name is Angela and she is an angel.’

Ellie shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around herself as the fierce easterly wind dragged sheets of icy rain with it, pelting the side of her face and extinguishing any hope of sustaining a fire; without a flame she had no hope of creating a charm to keep herself warm. She had hoped to try and find a more sheltered place in which to make camp, but the wind and rain were getting worse, signalling an incoming storm. Sighing, Ellie scanned the area around her and managed to spy a small copse where she should be able to set up a shelter for her horse and anchor her caravan. She quickly directed her horse to the copse, and once there, worked as quickly and efficiently as possible to get a shelter up, set Milly up under it with a blanket and a bucket of oats once she’d been rubbed down, and then made her way inside her caravan. By the time she entered her small home she was soaked through; her teeth were chattering and her fingers felt numb and useless as she struggled to light her lantern. She could barely grip the flint properly, and she cursed as she failed to get a single spark. She angrily threw the flint on the table and slumped into the nearest seat, curling up and bringing her fingers to her lips so she could breathe warm air over them while rubbing them together. She started shaking, but eventually the strength returned to her fingers, and she hastily took up the flint again.

This time she was met with success and she soon had her lantern and the stove lit, their flames creating shadows that danced merrily around the caravan walls. Once the flames were strong enough, Ellie shed her wet clothes, closed her eyes and pulled what heat she could towards herself, wrapping it around her body like a blanket. The effect was immediate; her body instantly felt warm and the strength returned to her bones. She revelled in the heat for a while longer, and once her body had fully dried she grabbed a pair of undergarments, britches, and a loose tunic, and quickly dressed. She held the warmth around herself as she cooked and ate her dinner, and it wasn’t until she was buried under several layers of blankets that she finally let it go, extinguishing the fire in the stove and lantern in the process. She sighed and buried herself further under the blankets, closing her eyes in anticipation of a good night’s sleep.

Which was not meant to be.

After what seemed like an eternity of tossing and turning Ellie officially gave up on sleep and gave in to the thoughts and questions banging away in her brain. Luckily there was enough heat left in the embers of the stove to allow her to light the lantern from her bed, and once the caravan was once again basking in the glow of its flame, she reached under her mattress and pulled out the old, leather-bound book that was the cause of her journey. She opened it and read through the entries for what must have been the twentieth time, her heart still pounding at the now-familiar words. She couldn’t believe that it was all true; she’d long thought it all a dream, a fantastical fantasy, that she had experienced a love beyond anything she could have hoped for. But her diary, hidden for so long, told her otherwise, told her that it was true, that Angela was real. And that it was her fault she was gone. Tears welled up in Ellie’s eyes as she read over the last few entries.

“No one believes me when I tell them about Angela. I know it sounds fantastical, that I am in love with and am loved by an ethereal being, but surely it should be obvious, surely there should be some outward sign. I don’t know why it is only I that can see her and hear her and feel her; I wish more than anything that someone else was able to acknowledge her existence so I would be justified in my insistence that I have found the love of my life.”

“My parents think I am going mad. Maybe I am? If everyone else tells me that Angela is not real, then who is really right – I alone, or everyone else together?”

“They want to send me to the sanatorium. I cannot go, I WILL not go. There must be something I can do…”

“It…it is done…Oh Gods what have I done? My love…my Angela…I’m so sorry. I have ripped out my heart in doing what I have done…I cannot bear to remember it, so I will lock those memories away with my love. I pray that my future self never finds this diary. Ellie, if you do, do not go looking for Angela; you will not find her. There is no going back from what I have done.”

“You’re lying,” Ellie whispered into the pages as she pressed them against her face which was wet with tears. “I know she’s out there somewhere; I know I can find her. I just need the right spell.”

“Why don’t you just try summoning me again?” a familiar voice said huskily, and Ellie felt a delicious thrill run through her as an arm slipped around her waist and a body pressed against hers from behind.

“Because it doesn’t work Angela,” she replied, torn between wanting to relax against the other woman and push her away. “The best I can do is summon you, and you are a mere apparition.”

“How do you know I’m not the Angela from your youth?” the apparition purred into her ear, gently licking her neck.

“Because you’re not real,” Ellie said, stubbornly holding in a groan.

“I feel real though, don’t I?” ‘Angela’ ran her hand over Ellie’s body, raking her nails gently against the skin of her belly before cupping her breasts.

Ellie whined, her body instinctively arching into the touch.

“See? Just as good as you had it before.” ‘Angela’ tugged at Ellie until she had turned to face her, and then cupped her face in her hands, stroking her thumbs along her cheeks. “Come on Ellie; be with me. Please?” she whispered, before pulling Ellie in for a kiss.

Ellie whimpered and kissed her back, before suddenly stiffening and pushing ‘Angela’ away.

“No,” she gasped. “No you’re not her, I know you’re not her.”

“How do you know?” ‘Angela’ demanded, her face thunderous with anger as she sat up. “Why can’t you accept that I’m who you’ve been looking for this whole time? Why am I not good enough?”

“Because you are not her,” Ellie said gently, sitting up and facing her. “You’re something my mind created in a moment of desperate loneliness.”

“How do you know that that’s not what you did when you were younger? It would explain why only you could see me.”

“I just know.” Ellie shrugged and pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them lightly. “Reading those diary entries…it brought all these memories back. I remember Angela, I remember her and how real she was. You’re just…a pale imitation of her; an amalgamation of all the wonderful things about her without any of the depth. I want the real Angela, I need her.”

The apparition’s lip wobbled and a few tears rolled down her cheeks before she hastily wiped them away.

“I understand,” she said gruffly. “Then why am I here?”

“Because I’m lonely. Because I miss her, and you’re the closest thing I have right now,” Ellie admitted.

‘Angela’ snorted in derision and lay back down, turning her back on Ellie. Ellie stared at her for a long while, trying to fathom just what was going on with her magic and her mind when she summoned this apparition that seemed to feel so deeply, and wanted so badly to be the real Angela, or at least, to have Ellie accept her as the real Angela. There was a small part of herself that wanted to give in, to accept this version of Angela and scrape together some semblance of happiness, but the larger part of her knew that she would never be at peace until the real Angela was back in her arms again, regardless of the cost.

Continue reading “Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #4: Glass Hearts”

Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #3: Love Is A Strange And Tentacled Thing

Genre: supernatural romance

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1,069

Summary: Jake’s eager to explore their human side, especially the realm of dating and romance. However, their eldritch nature and…tentacles, might not be such a hit with potential partners.

 

Excerpt is from around a quarter of the way into the novel.

“Okay I’m done. What do you think?” Jake asked me with a grin as he leaned back from his laptop.

I placed a hand on his shoulder as I leaned down to read over what he’d written. I grimaced as my eyes scanned over the words. “Ummm….”

“What’s wrong?” Jake asked, the grin immediately falling from his face.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

He stared at me flatly until I sighed and said, “It’s just a bit…much.”

“In what way?”

“Well you’re very…honest.”

“I thought it was good to be honest.”

“Not on your dating profile,” I said grimly. “I mean, it’s good to be honest to an extent but there are some things that are better left to when you get to know the person you’re dating better.”

“Oh.”

Jake stared forlornly at the laptop screen, his pitch-black eyes somehow managing to look emotionless and melancholic at the same time. “Maybe I should just forget about this whole thing,” he sighed. “It was a stupid idea in the first place, I mean, my father always said that when I meet the right person I should just drag them to the underworld and make them my undead spouse, but that just doesn’t feel right you know? I want to try dating and romance, and all the other human stuff…which is a completely ridiculous notion.”

“No it’s not,” I said firmly, squeezing his shoulder. “I think it’s great that you finally want to put yourself out there and date and try to find love in the…conventional way.” I looked back at the laptop and waved my hand at it while adding, “What you’ve got here is great, it just needs a little…editing, that’s all. Here, let me help you.”

Jake brightened up and shot me a grateful smile. I pulled up a chair beside him and turned the laptop towards me. I scrolled back up to the top of the profile and started reading aloud.

“Okay, so first of all you’ve said you’re bisexual and genderfluid. That’s definitely the sort of thing you want to be honest about, though you should be aware that it will make finding someone a bit more difficult – there’s still a lot of biphobia in the community and then gender identity is a whole other ballgame, but if you’re not honest about it from the get-go it’ll only lead to issues further down the line. Right, let’s see…okay here, this part needs to change – ‘I wake in the mornings with an urge to devour mortal souls.’”

“But I do. I mean, I never actually do it, but it is my first thought in the morning.”

“It’s just a little intense you know? Like, if I read that I would be afraid that you would end up trying to devour my soul if I ever slept over. Or I’d think you were some sort of crazy serial killer.”

“I see what you mean. So what should I say instead?”

“How about ‘I’m a bit of a grump in the morning.’ And then you could add a cheeky ‘but that could change depending on who I’m waking up next too 😉’”

Jake laughed and nodded. “That sounds good. Okay what next?”

“…Oh, right here, where it asks about your favourite food. You’ve said ‘I feast on the hearts of the mighty beasts I slay.’ First of all, again, very intense. Secondly, most of the time those ‘mighty beasts’ are mice and rats that we’ve caught in our traps, and thirdly you also eat other food.”

“But hearts are my favourite,” Jake protested.

“How about you just put down that you like rare steak.”

Jake sighed and nodded and I quickly made the changes.

We continued through the rest of his profile, editing the highly intense and revealing passages. These included his favourite childhood memory (being taken to witness and glorify ritual sacrifices with his father, an eldritch god), his hobbies (taking on an animal form in order to glory in the primal wildness of nature), his most embarrassing moment (accidentally causing a tsunami during puberty), and his favourite feature (his tentacles). I tried my best to steer him towards focusing on his more human qualities, like his love of scrapbooking, his volunteer work at the dog shelter, and how he was part of a local rugby team. Whenever we butted heads over an answer (he REALLY wanted to mention his tentacles), I would write something vague and semi-misleading as a compromise.

“Okay done,” I said proudly, turning the laptop back to Jake. “What do you think?”

Jake read over the changes that I’d made, and though he tried to keep his face impassive, I could tell that he wasn’t one hundred percent comfortable with them.

“What do you not like about them?” I asked as he continued to stare at the screen a frown firmly in place, his lips pursed.

“It’s not that I don’t like them…it’s just that they’re a little vague.”

“It’s mysterious,” I said in my most persuasive tone. “People like a bit of mystery, it gives them something to talk about, a reason for them to want to get to know you. You see, when you fill in a dating profile it’s about giving enough information to reel them in without giving too much away.”

“Why is this so difficult?” Jake whined slumping forward onto the desk. “I mastered ritualistic summoning spells and ancient blood curses by the time I was six, but human dating profile etiquette is beyond my capabilities.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said soothingly, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I’m your wing-buddy, your guide to human dating rituals. Whatever it is you need help with just let me know okay?”

“Okay,” Jake replied with a bright smile as he leaned against me. “Thanks Alex.”

“No problem. So, happy to leave the answers as they are?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Just one more thing to do,” I said, pulling out my phone. “You need a profile picture. Up you get.”

Jake grinned and stood up, moving to stand in front of the wall I gestured at. I stood in front of him and held up my phone as he cocked his head to the side and sent me a roguish grin.

“Wait.” I moved forwards and gently rearranged his beard so that his tentacles were hidden from view. “Much better.”

Flight – #writephoto – Dubh agus Bán

I recently discovered Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt Challenge, and was inspired by this week’s photo to produce this piece!

Note: Dubh agus Bán is Irish for Black and White

Thursday Prompt Challenge 5-6-17

Dubh Agus Bán

1,140

“Things were never as black and white as the old stories would have you believe,” Fionnula’s step-mother Aoife told her as they climbed out her bedroom window and up onto the roof. “People are so much more complex than simply being just good or evil, victim or perpetrator, light or dark. Everyone is born with the potential for both, and everyone will make choices that will fall on both sides of the scales, and some that will fall on neither. History is written by those that would see themselves in the best light, those that would have our story twisted so that the truth of it is lost.”

“I see,” Fionnula replied, not really seeing at all.

She perched on top of the roof, leaned back on her arms and tilted her face up to revel in the first warming rays of the dawning sun, all the while ignoring the churning in her gut and the sweat pumping out of her armpits in time with her rapid heartbeat.

“The thing is though, you did turn us into swans,” she pointed out, making sure to keep her voice calm.

Aoife hesitated and then nodded. “Aye, I did. However, t’was not me that cursed you to live all those years –”

“Don’t forget about my brothers,” Fionnula interjected, unable to help the anger seeping into her voice. “They were turned too.”

Aoife sent her a sad, sympathetic smile before she replied, “You know you didn’t have any brothers sweetheart.”

“How do you know?”

“Because while your curse is to remember only the twisted version created by it, my curse is to remember the truth in very painful detail.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Fionnula asked, a petulant look on her face as she crossed her arms.

Aoife shrugged. “I hope that you would trust me enough to know that I would never do that. Not to you.”

Fionnula crossed her arms tighter, hugging herself as she rocked slightly. “I know you wouldn’t. It’s just…the memories in my head are so clear, and they feel so real…”

“I know they do sweetheart,” Aoife said sympathetically. “The closer it gets, the more real they will become to you. Which is why I need you to have faith in me and in what I am telling you because when it gets here, the only way we will be able to defeat it and lift the curse for good is together.”

Fionnula bit her lip as she stared into her step-mother’s eyes. Aoife took her hands and squeezed them as she smiled and waited. Eventually Fionnula nodded, squeezing Aoife’s hands back. Aoife beamed and then stood up, pulling Fionnula to her feet. The two women stood side by side, looking out to the horizon where the sun was starting to peak above the clouds.

There was a sudden shift in the air, and Fionnula felt every hair on her body rise in response to the change in temperature and pressure. It wasn’t just a physical change she could feel, no, but also a…psychic wasn’t the right word but it was the closest thing she could think of. There was a psychic change around them, a change that affected her mind and soul. Her heart grew cold, and visions of her old life flashed through her head; of being forced to fly hundreds and hundreds of miles, of having to drag her aching body around the lakes, of doing her best to keep her brothers warm and dry as they huddled under her wings, of the agony of becoming human after nine hundred years as a swan, and the sweet release of death that swiftly followed. It wasn’t until hands had grasped her face that she realised she was curled up in a ball, screaming. The hands pulled her forwards, and Fionnula instinctively reached out and wrapped her arms around Aoife’s shoulders as she wailed into her chest.

“It’s okay, it’s okay sweetheart,” Aoife said soothingly, rubbing her back. “You’re here with me, you’re not on that lake. Listen to me speak, listen to the birds singing around us, feel the sun on your back and the wind blowing through your hair. Focus on everything around you and not on what’s in your head. Come back to me sweetheart.”

Little by little, the world around her came back into focus, becoming more and more real with every word that Aoife spoke. Eventually the visions faded, and Fionnula found herself back on the roof in her step-mother’s arms, the memories surprisingly less real and more dream-like than they had ever felt. For the first time since those memories of her past life had come back to her she felt clear-headed, ready to take on the beast that was coming.

“It’s here,” she said calmly, and Aoife nodded and looked over her shoulder.

Fionnula turned and saw the clouds twisting and turning, revealing the shape of the great cloud dragon that had plagued the land during her first lifetime, and which had returned once more.

She took a deep breath, and then said, “Promise you won’t leave me?”

“Oh sweetheart,” Aoife sighed sadly. “I never did.”

Aoife stretched her arms up, looked at Fionnula, and when her step-daughter nodded, recited the incantation. Fionnula closed her eyes, feeling instantly at ease at the feeling of her body shifting and stretching; her neck elongating, her bones hollowing, feathers sprouting from her skin. When the feeling faded, she opened her eyes and looked over at the large black swan that was standing where Aoife had been moments ago, knowing that she herself was a perfect copy in white.

A new memory from her first life bloomed in the back of her head, feeling warm and soft and so much more real than any other memory she’d ever had: the curse of the swan had been placed upon her, and she had taken shelter in the reeds of Lough Derravaragh. She’d huddled as the rain beat down on her, shivering in the cold. Only then she wasn’t alone; a large black wing covered her body, and she looked over in surprise at Aoife who was huddled beside her. It seemed that her step-mother had been struck by the curse as well in the cloud dragon’s dying moments. Tears fells from Fionnula’s eyes, and Aoife pulled her close, opened her beak and sang her a comforting lullabye.

There was a roar from above, and Fionnula looked up to see the cloud dragon bearing down on them, steam pouring from its nostrils and its mouth stretched grotesquely. She looked back at Aoife. They shared a look that communicated more than words ever could, and then took to the sky, ready to fight.

***

This is sort of my take on a modern sequel to “The Children of Lir” which you can read here.

Slán!

C.x

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #2: Shift To The Beat Of Your Heart

Genre: horror/slice-of-life/thriller

Warnings: mild gore, mentions of blood

Word Count: 1582

Summary: Chloe’s spent years and years training and learning to control her bloodlust so she could finally join the human world and go to school. Naturally the day that was meant to happen was the day the world went to hell…

Excerpt is from the start of Part II of the novel.

It was meant to be Chloe’s first day of school, not the day the world went to hell.

She’d spent years, YEARS, gaining control of her abilities and taming her bloodlust, learning to control her body’s desire for transformation, to keep her movements smooth and natural, all so that she would finally be able to go out into the world. Her father Richard had done everything to try and dissuade her from the idea of going to school; he had been alive for over 150 years, he had multiple degrees, he could teach her anything she wanted. Chloe had had to patiently remind him again and again that it wasn’t about the learning, it was about the people.

Humans.

Chloe had read about them, had watched them from afar, but had never actually met one. There was something about them that was so fascinating; they were so physically weak and limited, and yet their minds…they were so full of creativity and ingenuity, shaping the world around them so that they could thrive. The books they read, the music and art they created, the technology they made, Chloe had absorbed it all throughout the early years of her life. At first, she had been content with her books, music, and recently, the internet, but now it wasn’t enough. Now she wanted the real deal; she wanted to delve into the world of humans first-hand – talk with them and listen to them, she wanted to get to know them. She loved her father, but since her mother had died when she was a baby it had been just him and her, and the occasional relative that came by to visit, and she was lonely and hungry for contact.

She’d argued and debated with Richard, hashing out the pros and cons of her going to high school, all of which boiled down to:

  • PRO: she would get to make new friends.
  • CON: she might reveal herself to the humans which would lead to either (a) them hurting/killing her, or (b) her hurting/killing/eating them.

Chloe hadn’t let up with her arguments though, and eventually her father had agreed that she could go to school once she’d been fully trained. This had led to ten human years of Chloe pushing her body and its abilities to its limit to ensure she could maintain a human form long-term. Once she had mastered this, they had taken mini-excursions to nearby towns, gradually increasing her proximity to the humans so she could learn to rein in her bloodlust in the face of their scent. There had been a few near-disasters but, for the most part, Chloe and her father were exceptionally proud of how developed her control was.

Continue reading “Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #2: Shift To The Beat Of Your Heart”

Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #1: Even When The World Comes Crashing Down

Genre: Zombie Apocalypse/Horror/LGBT/Fluff

Warnings: mild violence, mild gore, mentions of blood

Word Count: 3,568

Summary: Moira’s been in love with Charlotte forever, so when Charlotte asks her to take her dog for a walk in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, she says yes straight away. Only then Steve the pug is kidnapped by zombies. With the help of her best friend Niamh, Moira needs to find and rescue Steve before it’s too late.

Excerpt is from the start of the novel.

“Okay, okay, breathe, kiddo. It’s not the end of the world – okay, I mean, technically it is, but you can handle this.”

“You are really not helping,” Moira huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And don’t call me kiddo; we’re the same age.”

She could feel a headache coming on, creeping up the back of her neck and settling in her skull. She groaned and curled up tighter, rocking slightly, ignoring the dampness seeping through her jeans and how the mud beneath her shifted slightly with her movements.

“I’m three months older than you,” Niamh replied with a dismissive wave of their hand. “Have you tried praying to Saint Anthony?”

“Saint Anthony is for lost objects; a dog is not an object,” Moira replied tiredly.

“Saint Francis then?”

Moira groaned loudly, a drawn-out sound that started as a deep growl and ended as a high-pitched whine, as she buried her face in her knees and pulled futilely at the short strands of her pixie cut. Niamh squatted beside her and rubbed her back soothingly.

“Okay, clearly having a meltdown in the middle of the park is not faring so well,” they said carefully. “So what do we need to do?”

“I don’t know,” Moira whined, slumping sideways against her best friend. “How am I going to explain to Charlotte that I lost her dog? More specifically, how am I going to explain to her that I lost her dog to zombies?! I mean, what the hell was I thinking? What the hell was she thinking? Who hires a dog-walker in the middle of the apocalypse? Why did I agree to do it?”

“Because you think Charlotte Farrell is the hottest person on the face of the planet,” Niamh stated with a wry grin. “And because everyone needs to keep busy to avoid going bat-shit crazy over the fact that there are now zombies living amongst us, so you decided to keep up your weekend job.”

“I should have done something else; I could have taken up knitting, or, or, read all those books of yours,” Moira said angrily.

“You suck at knitting, and you fall asleep every time you try to read.”

Moira sighed. “That is true.”

She uncurled her legs, wincing as blood started circulating through them properly. She stared at the ground, absent-mindedly tracing shapes in the mud, while mulling over her options. Eventually she sighed and squared her shoulders.

“Okay, we need to go looking for Steve. And pray to whatever Saint is responsible for lost animals that he isn’t dead.”

“I’ve never heard of zombies eating dogs; maybe they just wanted to play with him?”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Moira scoffed, eyes narrowing.

Niamh gasped, placing a hand over their chest dramatically as they stood up. “You wound me! Tell you what, if they’re playing with Steve, you owe me dinner and a High School Musical marathon.”

“Fine, but if they’ve eaten him then you owe me dinner and a Studio Ghibli marathon.”

“Deal.” Niamh grinned, their dark eyes twinkling, and held a hand out to Moira. Moira took it and Niamh hauled her up before they shook hands solemnly. “Let’s get some hurls from the flat just in case.”

The two friends set off towards their shared flat, Moira’s face gloomy as she pondered Steve’s fate; Charlotte would never forgive her if he died, or turned into a zombie dog (was that even possible?), and Moira would never have the chance to ask her out. That is, if she ever worked up the gumption to do it.

“You look irritated and melancholic,” Niamh observed. “Normally you’re one or the other, it’s a bit strange seeing both expressions on your face.”

“I really want Steve to be alive, but on the other hand, High School Musical…ugh,” Moira said, wincing at her feeble attempt at a joke.

Niamh simple stared at her calmly as they left the park and walked along the road towards their flat. Moira tried her best to ignore them, she really did, but Niamh had this knack of looking at her that made her want to tell them all her deep dark secrets. Like the time she “accidentally” burned the chǎo má shi, because while Moira loved everything else about her Chinese heritage, she couldn’t stomach the food, much to her parents disappointment. Thinking about that lead to thoughts about all the other things that disappointed her parents… Moira quickly shrugged it off and focused instead on trying, and failing, to avoid Niamh’s gaze.

Her resolve crumbled far too quickly in the face of her friend’s look. “And I was also thinking about how I’ll never get a chance to ask out Charlotte if her dog dies,” she mumbled, feeling her face heat up.

“You’ve had chances to ask her out for ten years now,” Niamh pointed out, rolling their eyes. “When are you actually going to do it?”

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Moira said defensively.

“There will never be a right moment,” Niamh argued. “First it was because she was new to the school, then it was because you were just getting to know each other and you really wanted to be friends first, then it was because she came out as trans and started transitioning and she needed friendship and support instead of a girlfriend, then it was because you were both going to different universities, then it was because you were getting to know each other all over again and you didn’t want to rush it, then it was because of the apocalypse, and now…well now I have no idea what’s holding you back.”

“Right now, the impending death of her dog is what’s holding me back,” Moira snapped irritably.

Continue reading “Excerpts From Unfinished Novels #1: Even When The World Comes Crashing Down”