But lately I'm having to switch to a different gear altogether. I'm writing a historical set in the colonial period for an anthology releasing next year from Berkley. The anthology is called Private Places and I got to admit, writing a historical is different. I stop in the middle of something totally mundane...the heroine's horse through her, she's in pain but she can't exactly pop a tylenol, can she?
Bathing? She needs a bath, but it's a tedious process. Showers are a no-can-do. I get in the rhythm of this story, but then I have to change to a different story and I have to switch gears all over again.
Hopefully I'm not in over my head.
On a different note, Hunter's Salvation releases next Tuesday, although I think it's popping up here and there already. There's an excerpt below... hope you enjoy!
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The moment she saw him, she froze. Only for a second, though. Her eyes narrowed and she started towards him. There was a shadowed bruise on her jaw line. Didn’t look like she’d even bothered to try and cover it
He looked away from it in time to see her fist flying towards his face. He could have moved. She was quick for a mortal, but not quick enough. Vax didn’t bother though. Her fist clipped him on the side of his face and his head snapped to the side with the impact. If he hadn’t his weight braced, he probably would have toppled off the bike.
“Pretty damn strong for such a skinny thing,” he said, turning his head and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. With his tongue, he touched the cut on the inside of his mouth.
“Well, I’d feel better if I’d knocked you unconscious, you son of a bitch.”
“I’m sure you would.”
Her chin went up and Vax wouldn’t have been surprised if she decided to slug him again. Instead, she just curled her lip and sneered at him. “Didn’t I tell you to leave me the hell alone?”
“If I’d left you alone to begin with, you’d be dead.” He said it in a flat, cold voice, but if he expected it to slow her down or cool her fury, he was expecting too much. Most people tended to try to backpedal a little if they heard the word dead.
Not her. She just tossed her head and propped her hands on her hips. “So?”
The way she snapped out the short, simple word sent a cold, chilly finger down his spine. “So. You don’t care if you live or die?”
“Yes, I care. I’d prefer death, thank you. I just want one thing before it happens and you interfered tonight. Don’t do it again.” With the last words, she jabbed her finger into his chest with each one. She spun away on her heel.
Hell. Tough little cookie, aren’t you? He couldn’t help smiling a little. “Miz. Warren…it is Miz Warren, right?”
She didn’t even slow down. Jessica Warren came right on walking across the street, her shoulders back, the shiny blonde locks bouncing up and down with each step.
“What happens if they kill you before you do that one thing?”
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