Monday, April 22, 2013

Happy Birthday to my FAVORITE little hobbit!

Last night I hit some massive mile-markers on my journey as an author. It wasn't in books or stars, it was in followers and finders. People who care about me and what I do. People who look for me. Last night this blog, the one you are looking at RIGHT NOW rolled over 50,000 page views and I hit five thousand followers on Twitter.

I remember when I had eight Twitter followers and two hundred page views but more on that Wednesday; when as promised I shall be putting the first three chapters of PIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION, here. So everyone can read them. FOR FREE. Hopefully early in the morning. This after dinner blogging is for the birds.

Today is big freaking deal, because it's Frodo's birthday. Frodo, one of my favorite book bloggers. Everyone who is human despairs at some point, and it just so happened that he rescued me from a very dark time in my writing career. The pit where I would have gone to die--or at least the pit where I was planning on hiding all my stories away; to never, ever be seen by anyone else.

So if you like my books--you know who to thank, because I'd have given up without him. I wanted to give him something special! It hasn't seen the editor yet it's third in line so no one panic. But this is for you buddy. Chapter One of Barneby Knotts. I can't even post the cover, because that's for a different day, but I hope you like it! I know it's a shorty ;)

P.S.--the husband's birthday is tomorrow. He is going to wonder why he didn't get an EPIC blog post.

I held my breath willing the window not to squeal. If anyone heard me now, I'd never make it out. 

        I'd be a prisoner here for months, the whole summer trapped in this box. I'd go mad. At least, that was what happened last time mom caught me sneaking out the house.

Slowly, painfully slowly, I lifted the dusty frame up a millimeter at a time. My fingers damp with sweat, black grime sticking to them like fingerprinting ink leaving evidence of my crime. My window always jams halfway up, but it had to be enough. I couldn't risk sneaking out the back door again. My sister was on to me. 

When I was sure that was as far as my window was moving, I turned back in facing my bedroom. On my bed lay my  empty black Jansport. I shoved my school books deep under my bed, where I hoped my mother wouldn't dare look for anything. If everything went according to plan, I'd be off seeking treasure, and she'd think I'd gone to school early because I put off my math homework again.

Really the plan was almost flawless. 

Propped against my desk chair was the sword my father had given me for my last birthday. It had belonged to his grandfather, and now it belonged to me. You rarely need such weaponry in these urban gigs, but it felt wrong to leave it behind. 

I was still wearing the same sweat pants and over sized t shirt I always wore to bed, but under that were my favorite pair of jeans, and holiest band tee. I peeled off the top layer, and used it to wipe the black smudges from my window away before tossing them it the corner of my room. Just like I would do any other school morning when I as half awake. If I used the hamper my parents would know something was up. 

I used what little light came into my room from the window to glance into the mirror. My hair was a mess, just like always. Black tips falling into my face still held in place by yesterday's hair gel, the back flat where I'd feigned sleeping for a few hours. It was so dim my brown eyes looked black, pupil-less, but the circles under them stood out above anything else. A small price to pay for the chance of a lifetime, I told myself. Grabbing my bag I slid out my window soundlessly. My feet landed softly on the roof of the back porch. It was a bit of a chore to get the window to slide back down as this side of it was smooth but eventually I managed. 

Flinging my backpack on one shoulder I stopped to listen. No one in the house was awake to catch me escape, and I was one jump closer to getting away with it. I stared over the edge of the roof, wondering which way down would make less noise. Shimmying the column or just dropping?

I sucked in a breath and stepped off. 

The night was warm, it was almost summer in Texas. The wind whooshed in my ears on the way down. I landed on my feet but with a much louder thump than I was hoping. I ran, not looking back to see if anyone had heard me. I thought I heard footsteps echoing on my path, but they were surely mine because the night was dark and empty. 

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