Last year: Taos Toolbox
I was perpetually wait listed for Clarion a while back and absolutely treasure the experience I had with the Taos Toolbox Diesel Bears 2011 in Ski Valley. But this year, I'm celebrating the completion of
Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams (and the fact that four, count em four) agents have asked to see the manuscript!
So, in order to whip what was originally a 137K behemoth into shape, I'm signed on to the Clarion Write a Thon and hope to join a critique group. My goal is to edit the whole thing, forty seven chapters, which is going to take a lot of ass kicking.
In a month, I've gotten
Boulevard down to about 110K--much more reasonable but it still needs a deep edits pass and line editing. Thanks to Andrew, Carol and Chelsea, my dedicated Critters.org readers, its almost there. But almost isn't good enough.
So, even if you don't donate anything (our sponsors pledge some amount per unit, in my case per chapter edited), keep track of my progress and kick my ass a bit. I'll be posting excerpts along the way, and crits as well as a few pennies are most welcome. Proceeds benefit the Clarion scholarship fund.
What am I getting out of this? Hopefully, a sale. Which is why I've chosen the Break Out badge for my symbol.
The link to my profile is
here. The excerpt posting area strips formatting, so reading excerpts isn't optimal there. I'll be posting links to selected non fiction and excerpts of Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams on this page.
This weeks nonfiction link is a humorous personal essay published a while back in
Noneuclicdean Cafe entitled "
Concrete."
And here's some of Boulevard of Bad Spells and Broken Dreams
What is it about?
Hmm, well....
Blurb:
Taina
Aponte, sole survivor of the arson that killed her family, was whisked to
Puerto Rico by her grandmother to escape the epidemic of crime and violence in
The Bronx.
Thirty
years later, haunted by her memories, the now grown up witch returns to the
ravaged neighborhood intent on finding the murderers.
Fearful and
inexperienced, Taina seeks help from Arnaldo Arroyo, a cantankerous male witch
with his own style of brujería—and a big secret. An elderly astrologer and
santera who knew her mother gives counsel, and she is befriended by fairies
that shapeshift into pigeons, rats, and red-tailed hawks.
Discouraged
and unsure who she can trust, Taina is ready to give up and go back to Puerto
Rico. She learns that a spell her mother placed on her before tossing her to
safety endowed her as the White Witch, destined to balance the forces of good
and evil and restore order and civility, yet is reluctant to accept the
challenge and face her greatest fear—fire.
Taina
concocts her own combination of magick and Santería to fight the roving gangs
of dhampirs, werewolves, and zombies responsible for her family's murder. But
can she summon the courage to use it?
Excerpt:
Taina
craved the tropical comfort of a piña colada, with a shot of the best rum she
could get to take the edge off the heat—and her nerves. But there wasn't much
time to get to the store and back inside before dark—when the creatures of the
night took over.
A crowd of
men, mundanes, stood outside the liquor store on 149th. Taina immediately
regretted wearing shorts and a tank top. Half naked already, their eyes
undressed her the rest of the way. She pushed past, ignoring the typical lewd
comments.
One guy
pulled her ponytail, then grabbed her ass. Taina whipped around and whacked him
across the face with her forearm. The crack of his nose reverberated up to her
elbow.
He dropped
to his knees, both hands trying in vain to stem the bloody torrent. Taina hoped
it was broken. And more worried about the delay than the unfortunate prankster.
The men
rallied around their fallen comrade, which attracted the attention of the
shop’s owner. He plowed through the crowd encircling the victim. "Ay, señorita, lo siento. Entra."
He escorted
her into the shop and ran back outside, gesticulating wildly. "¡Vete, ya! If you’re not going to buy,
don’t hang around here molestando my
paying customers."
The group
wandered toward Prospect Avenue. Taina selected a bottle of Puerto Rican rum
for authenticity.
Now to the
store to buy sweetened coconut milk and pineapple juice. And something to whip
it up nice and creamy. "Where can I buy a blender?"
The
proprietor had reinstalled himself behind the counter to watch the ball game.
"The Yankees are having a bad night. Here you go." He plunked a tiny
mixer on the counter, just enough to make piña coladas for two—and she was
thirsty enough to drink both.
He rang her
up. "I have everything you need for a party right here. Anything
else?" "No, that’s it for tonight." She paid and stuffed the
change into her pocket for later.
The shop
bell tinkled, but the door slammed and locked behind her. The closest bodega
was on the other side of the park, and she better hurry. Taina ducked inside as
they were closing up for the night, grabbed what she needed, and started home.
The bottle
of rum clinked against the cans. Mountains of black plastic bags sat in front
of stores and apartments. Rusty elevated train tracks shed lead laden paint
chips like poison manna upon nearby housing projects. She picked up her pace
and detoured through the only green space within miles to avoid the dog shit
smeared on the sidewalks.
As she went
up a grassy knoll toward 149th Street her lungs, long ago damaged by smoke
inhalation, fought to expand and contract in the hazy summer air. A pigeon flew
so close Taina expected the poop to plop on her back. It flapped its wings to
challenge a squirrel scavenging through an overflowing pail filled with
remnants of fried chicken, egg rolls, and pizza crusts.
The rodent
was faster though, and it scaled a tree with a crescent shaped remainder of
something in its mouth. As she passed Ritual Rock, a nondescript gray bird, its
wing tips and breast streaked with blue and green bright enough to adorn a
peacock's tail, landed in front of her and blocked the way like it had set up a
force field.
"What
the fuck?" Taina tried to push past, but couldn't. "Humans really
like that word, yet they accuse us of indiscriminate breeding." A
creature, waist high to Taina, with a Cheshire Cat grin, a British accent, two
iridescent blue wings, and a squat, leaf-green body materialized, his choice
parts barely concealed by a brown rag.
"What
the fuck!" A fairy in this human wasteland?
Like a true
New Yorker he ignored the duplicate expletive. "Allow me to introduce
myself. Bridge Rat, minion to Hawkclaw, Fairy King of New Yorke at your
service, Lady Taina. I am in charge of this sector of The Bronx. My liege lord
shall arrive in a moment." He bowed like a praying mantis being eaten by a
bird. "I daresay the foul language you've acquired in such a short time
bodes well for your ability to rise to your duties."
Tonight
couldn’t get more weird. First, she’d broken some punk’s nose. Now she'd
dropped the F bomb on a fairy. Twice. And she didn’t give a shit about either
transgression.
"Knock
it off. The only court around here is on 161st and the Grand Concourse. This
isn't Camelot, and I'm not a lady. I'm a woman and don't rise to do anyone's
duty."
The fairy
rustled its wings. Magick tingled along Taina's spine and soothed the angst
roiling in her gut since she'd gotten off the plane and into that fetid yellow
cab at Kennedy airport two weeks ago.
"Ah, I
beg to differ my lady." Bridge Rat turned his eyes skyward and a silly
grin cracked his face.
A majestic
ruddy hawk, as big as a dog, glided to a landing on top of the immense black
granite slab. Another fae-induced shiver crawled down Taina's back like a
spider.
The haughty
fairy king coalesced out of rusty dust spiral. Red hair hung in wavy tendrils
over his shoulders, obscuring much of a bare chest. Pointed ears, adorned with
cuffs and spikes and jeweled earrings, wiggled. A lime green cape swept the
gum-stained asphalt as he flitted toward her, bare, six-toed feet hovering only
inches above the ground, red and ochre wings beating like a translucent heart.
Bridge Rat
announced him. "Hawkclaw, King of The Fairydom of New Yorke."
Hawkclaw alighted, swept the cape over one shoulder, and bowed. "Hail and
welcome, White Witch. Long have we awaited your return."
Yes, this
night could get even more weird. "I think you must be confusing me with
someone else. I'm brown and barely a witch at all."
"On
the contrary, Lady Taina. You are just beginning to realize your powers. We
trust that Sir Arnaldo will be at your side during the impending battle."
Taina suppressed a giggle at that image.
"I’m
just trying to get to the bottom of a mystery, then get my bottom out of the
Fairydom of New Yorke."
The fairies
in PR were more like fireflies, quiet, yet silly, tricky. Of course, everything
in The Bronx mutated to the most extreme degree possible.
"Fear
not, it has been foreseen and will occur." Hawkclaw pronounced,
expressionless, like one who hasn't had good news in a long time. "Bridge
Rat will summon me and the others when the time comes."
He fluttered his wings, rose into the air and
transformed back into the majestic bird as he flew west over Ritual Rock toward
the Manhattan skyline. Taina shivered despite the hot, humid night.
Streetlights blinked on.
She needed
to get her royal ass inside. "I don’t mean to be rude, Bridge Rat, but my
powers aren’t strong enough to fight off the dhamps and weres. I doubt I’d be
much use in a real battle. It’s getting late, and I need to get going."
The fairy
crinkled his mouth and scratched a fuzzy chin. "Need an amplifier, then,
do you?" He flapped his wings rapid fire and transformed back into a
common pigeon, flying east.
A trace of fae glitter, perhaps some of their
glamour, sparkled on Taina’s arms and hands, and she couldn’t wipe it off. As
she walked, dark shadows surrounded by red auras crept out behind Ritual Rock
and the other smaller boulders scattered about the park. The temperature
dropped. Los Sangueros were coming
out to play, and she’d missed curfew.
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