Dear Procrastination,

I’d be a fool to pretend you don’t have your charms. Truth be told, you’ve been a life line through the craziness of relocating (again!) on the other side of the world, fighting for a month and a half to get Internet and stuff of that ilk. You’re like a pair of fluffy slippers; comfortable, reliable, and kept around for way longer than you should be.

It’s not you. It’s me.

Slippers are a phase, not the true path to my sanity and happiness. I know it’s hard to hear, but after all you’ve done for me, I feel I owe you honesty.

I simply can’t stop Tatiana on her quest to change the world. I can’t allow Grace to eternally stress about the second circle of hell, carnal malefactors and playboy bunnies. How could I leave Cherry in Twister over-analyzing their body jumping addiction? Or keep Kaerea in her space prison while the children whose death she predicted –whose life she can save– are breathing their last? Or Sa’athy, pulling lead out of a man while wandering if the human race will turn on what’s left of her people?

It’s cruel!

And besides, Éloi and Dante  won’t shut up when I try to sleep.

And there are other projects on the horizon. Talks/panels at games conferences… maybe some singing…

I’m sorry, Procrastination, but our lifestyles don’t match anymore.

So, in the earworm-al words of Taylor Swift: “We-ee are never ever ever getting back together!”

And like many a teenage girl in 2012, this song will be the anthem of our break up. Every time I consider indulging in your charms, I will belt this song. The very thought of having to do this is a mighty fine deterrent –no offense to the artist and her fans.


WeWriWa – Boys…

wewriwa_button

Hi everyone,

I’m participating in the Weekend Writing Warrior, a weekly blog event during which writers share 8 to 10 sentences of one of their projects. You should check out the others right here: http://www.wewriwa.com/. I share this post with the Snippet Sunday Facebook group, which you can find here.

We’re back with another excerpt from my steampunk novel, Oil and Boiling Water (previous excerpts are compiled here). We pick up right after last week’s snippet. Damian is replying to Éloi’s statement that he only meant to preserve Tatiana’s piece of mind.

“Of course,” Damian said to Éloi and extended a shilling. “Here. For your trouble.”
The shine of metal drew envious looks as Éloi pocketed the money, and I realised that my fear had been justified: we looked a little too proper for the establishment and some tenants had noticed.
“You may have made my fortune.” Éloi nodded to indicate the dice table. “Very generous! And she’s too charming to be any trouble.”
“Right…” Damian chuckled and sat.


WeWriWa – Éloi

wewriwa_button

Hi everyone,

I’m participating in the Weekend Writing Warrior, a weekly blog event during which writers share 8 to 10 sentences of one of their projects. You should check out the others right here: http://www.wewriwa.com/. I share this post with the Snippet Sunday Facebook group, which you can find here.

We’re back with another excerpt from my steampunk novel, Oil and Boiling Water (previous excerpts are compiled here). We’ve jumped a couple of lines of dialogue between Tatiana and Éloi (aka Mister Goldilocks) to where Damian (Tatiana’s brother) returns.

“She’s out of your league.” My brother dropped a bowl full of stew in front of me. “And you’re sitting at my place.”
Milles excuses, monsieur. I only meant to preserve your sister’s peace.” Éloi rose and pulled out the chair for my brother with a theatrical bow. I remembered seeing a similar one done by a servant in a Castilian masked play. Had Éloi seen the play at one of the public shows or was he simply parodying nobles?
Was it usual for sailors to parody nobles?


WeWriWa – Damsel?

wewriwa_button

Hi everyone,

I’m participating in the Weekend Writing Warrior, a weekly blog event during which writers share 8 to 10 sentences of one of their projects. You should check out the others right here: http://www.wewriwa.com/. I share this post with the Snippet Sunday Facebook group, which you can find here.

We’re back with another excerpt from my steampunk novel, Oil and Boiling Water (previous excerpts are compiled here). Picking up where we left off last week, Tatiana has been ambushed by a touchy and sputtering drunk man.

I stifled a shudder long enough to grab one of the man’s fingers and remove his hand from mine.
“I think the lady wants you gone,” Goldilocks intervened. His French accent skewed the ‘th’ towards ‘s’ or ‘z’ and making ‘gone’ sound like ‘gun’, but the depth of his tone compensated for the disgrace in pronunciation.
Mister Slug grunted and wobbled off his chair, attempting to slam into Goldilocks who dodged with a swift step. His knee hit the slug’s behind, sending him back towards his drinking companions on unsteady feet.
With a smile, Goldilocks sat in the newly vacated chair. “I have a penchant for damsels in distress.”
From the corner of my eyes, I saw the heavy man toasting without a hint of intoxication; he must have thought I wasn’t paying attention anymore.
I cocked an eyebrow. “A penchant for setting them up for a rescue, it seems.”


WeWriWa – Social Mechanics

wewriwa_button

Hi everyone,

I’m participating in the Weekend Writing Warrior, a weekly blog event during which writers share 8 sentences of one of their projects. You should check out the others right here: http://www.wewriwa.com/. I share this post with the Snippet Sunday Facebook group, which you can find here.

We’re back with another excerpt from my steampunk novel, Oil and Boiling Water (previous excerpts are compiled here). We’re jumping ahead a bit. The twins are back in the main room of the Loose Cogs tavern for dinner. Damian tried to draw a waitress’ attention, to no avail.

Damian jostled his way to the bar, forgetting to drag me along. A stranger too large for his health commandeered my brother’s empty seat and overflowed its limits. With a slur and a gush of foul breath, the over-sized mammal said, “Whatsa pretthing like you doin a plass like zis?”
“Studying the social mechanics of the port’s ecosystem.” Unfortunately, the tight quarters made it impossible for me to distance myself from my studies.
The man laid a hand over mine, and I jerked.
“You talk pretty’oo.” He managed —by a skill no man should possess— to sputter all over my forearm.


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