The Journal of Michael Merriam

Jack filled out a series of forms, and an orderly wheeled him into one of the many identical rooms upstairs. He was settled on the bed, poked with an IV, and left alone. He had the room to himself and was considering turning on the television hanging from the wall when William Saskey appeared, sitting in the lone chair in the corner of the room.

"Estonko," Will said in his native Creek, asking Jack how he was doing.

"The hell!" Jack sat up.

"Jack, you know that's not what you're supposed to say." Will Saskey laughed; a deep, full laugh that Jack was comfortably familiar with. Will would laugh at any situation, no matter how serious. "You know the ritual greeting. I say Estonko and you say—"

"You're dead," Jack interrupted.

Will's brow furled in mock concentration. "Did the ritual change while I was gone?"

"I'm talking to a dead man," Jack muttered.

"Yeah, so?" Will replied, his brown eyes dancing with unconcealed mirth.

"This isn't right." Jack reached for the call button to the nurse's desk.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Will said, suddenly serious. "What do you plan to tell the nurse when she shows up? Sorry to bother you, but I'm being annoyed by my dead friend, and I wondered if you could ask him to leave?" Will snorted. "You could kiss going home in the morning good-bye. I doubt you really want to stay here any longer than you have to, and I'm sure you don't want to get locked up in the nut ward."

Jack withdrew his hand from the button. He looked at Will, who seemed content to wait for Jack to come to some kind of decision.

"So am I dead?" Jack asked, really wanting to know.

Will's smile returned. "Why would you think you're dead? I mean besides the fact that you're in a hospital after an accident, talking to your friend who died thirteen years ago?" Will paused for effect before continuing the conversation. "You're not dead, Jack. And before you ask, you're not hallucinating either."

"Then what am I?"

"A little lost."
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Old Blood's Fate is available inHardcover, Softcover, and, ebook

Originally posted at michaelmerriam.net. You can comment here or there.

“Now,” Sharisha said with more calm than she felt. “I want Ludmilla to explain why she thought it was a good idea to take my daughter and leave the safety of the condo. Oh, and will someone please tell me why there is a child-vampire in my coffee shop?”

“I thought a nice cappuccino and croissant would be good for dinner. The chicken salad wrap was quite tasty as well. I think perhaps next time I shall try the chai.” Ludmilla kept her eyes on Tilly. “Zeleny, please put the stake away.”

Tilly growled. “That thing—”

“Is Sarah Elana Moravec. My Aunt. The key to everything. You can call her Sari.”


Dead Brew II: Vampires and Werewolves

I’ve finished the rough draft of the synopsis for Dead Brew. It came in too large: five single-spaced pages in Times New Roman 12. I’ve cut it down to two, but really need it to be one. I’ll try to finish that tomorrow. It seems strange, this trying to encapsulate 84,000 words into 250 to 500 words. It is an art with which I struggle. I’ve discovered, at least for me, that writing a synopsis is a lot like writing a novel: you only know how to write the one you are working on at the moment.

I spent part of the evening setting up my author pages at Goodreads and Shelfari. I still need to finish my page at LibraryThing, though I have claimed it. It felt weird. Like I’m all official or something.

I’m not going to put tonight’s snippet behind a cut because it is small. In fact, it is an example of how less can be more.

Snippet #6

Dear Wall,
I killed one of them tonight.

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Last Car to Annwn Station. Releases on June 27th. Pre-Order at Carina Press, Amazon U.S., and Amazon U.K.

Should We Drown in Feathered Sleep. Available in ebook format at Carina Press, Amazon, B&N, and in audio format at Audible.com

The writing has been going slowly the last couple of weeks, swallowed up in computer woes and a new kitten. I’m hoping to get back on track by writing a little this afternoon.

Belyn, aka Temp-to-Perm cat, has been neutered and given a clean bill of health by the veterinarian. He and the Reverend Selena have seen each other through a screen. The Reverend Selena made a sound like an air raid siren before settling down to glare malevolently at Belyn. For his part, Belyn’s noise was something more akin to an agitated teakettle, though he quickly became bored and continued his quest to escape the crafting room.

The release date for Last Car to Annwn Station has been moved back to June 27th (One month! OMG!). I should have postcards to give away at 4th Street Fantasy Convention and CONvergence.

( Snippet #2 Behind the Cut )

Carina Press has moved the release date of Last Car to Annwn Station up a few weeks. The official release date is now 6 June 2011. In celebration of my first novel being released, I thought I’d offer a few snippets from the novel for your pleasure! I’m considering running some kind of contest and giving away a couple of electronic copies to the lucky winners. If I could decide on what kind of contest to run. While I ponder that, here is the first snippet.

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The ringing of a bell startled her. Mae took a step backward at the sight of a big yellow streetcar. She had heard there was a plan to bring back the old streetcars. “Heritage Lines,” Metro Transit called the resurgent machines. They would intersect the modern and highly popular Light Rail Train in downtown Minneapolis. She had not realized the streetcars were running, had not even noticed the tracks when she crossed the street.

Mae looked around. The open doors of the yellow streetcar beckoned. She glanced at her fellow travelers. No one seemed to notice the old streetcar. Mae read the route sign on the side of the car: “Hennepin Avenue Express.” She lived in Uptown, so the streetcar would work as well as a bus.

“The fare is ten cents, miss.”

She hesitated for an instant, starting to protest that she had a pass, but let her curiosity win out. Mae fumbled in her bag. Finding five tarnished pennies and a nickel, she dropped them into the fare box. The sturdy-looking man in an old-fashioned conductor’s suit offered her a slip of paper.

“Your transfer, miss. You’ll be needing that.”

She took the slip and turned toward the interior of the streetcar. Mae froze for an instant, then the car’s bell rang twice before it lurched, making Mae lose her balance. As the car rolled forward with a sharp clack-clack, she gazed in bewilderment at the other occupants.

It was as if Halloween had arrived early, and all the riders of the streetcar except her were on their way to a costume party. Mae grabbed the long overhead rail, more to steady herself from the shock than against the swaying of the streetcar. She locked eyes with a man in a business suit who had the head of a bison. He snorted and nodded solemnly to her. A small woman with fragile-looking wings and electric-blue hair stood near her. Too short to reach the rail, she clung to the support pole. The woman smiled up at Mae and leaned toward her.

“These seats aren’t exactly friendly to someone with wings. Hi, I’m Elliefandi. You can call me Ellie, if you want.”

Mae barely followed the high-pitched and rapid speech. “I’m Mae,” she mumbled, looking out the window.

Hennepin Avenue passed by outside the window, but it was not exactly her Hennepin Avenue. The shops were dark and squat. There was none of the usual hustle and activity as they turned left at the Basilica of St. Mary and started toward Uptown. The Walker Arts Center and Sculpture Garden stood in grayscale and washed-out coldness.

“Don’t worry,” the winged woman said as they crossed Franklin Avenue and began to click along, gathering speed. “It’ll all be there once you go back.”

“Go back?” Mae asked. She could hear the note of panic in her own voice.

Ellie smiled. “Of course!” Her smile faded. “You’ve got your transfer, right?

Mae held up the slip of paper.

“And a return fare?”

“I—I’m pretty sure I’ve got enough loose change.”

“Good, good. Old man Lowry’s cars, they’ll take you where you need to go. Getting back, now that can be a bit of trouble.”

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Last Car to Annwn Station. Releases on June 6th.

Should We Drown in Feathered Sleep. Available in ebook format at Carina Press, Amazon, B&N, and in audio format at Audible.com

Should We Drown in Feathered Sleep is for sale!

It can be purchased at Carina Press, Amazon, and B&N

If I said I was excited, it would be an understatement.

( A Snippet For You )

You can follow the link to The Genre Mall and purchase copies of The Horror At Cold Springs.

( Have A Taste For Free Behind The Cut )

With the barista story done in first draft and cooling before rewrites, and not being quite ready to tackle Dark Water Blues rewrites just yet, I've started poking at other projects. careswen and I have been brainstorming a story featuring the character Arkady Bloom, who appears in my novella The Horror at Cold Springs (due out from Sam's Dot Publishing any time now). Arkady is sort of a Steampunk/Gaslights and Grimoires British freelance Secret Agent, and I'm looking forward to writing the next thing about him (though the concept is already threatening to turn into a novel).

That said, I got side-tracked today and wrote this, which appears to be the start of something:

****

I didn't know the old man was handing me Excalibur. If I had, I would treated the moment with more reverence. Or perhaps I would have turned and fled the restaurant, because honestly, to be given that kind of gift, that is no accident. If you're given Excalibur, it likely means you're going to need Excalibur, and that probably isn't going to end well for anyone.

The old man did not look like the type of fellow who went around handing out magical swords, and the blade seemed little more than a typical pocket-knife: a three inch lock-blade with a wood handle and brass bolsters. When he offered it to me, holding the small knife in his weathered hand and saying a boy should always have a blade, I took it with a smile and a quiet thank you. The other three old-timers let out long breaths and relax back in the booth, satisfied expressions on their aging faces.

I refilled their coffee cups and started around my area with the pot as they began arguing about the '69 World Series for the thousandth time.

****

Huh. I wonder were this is going...

I do these more to keep myself honest and working, but if you enjoy them, great!

Without further ado, ( snippets so rough it's almost painful )

I was planning to work on Dark Water Blues first thing this morning. Instead I wrote a short SF poem and then slapped down this:

( Extremely Rough Snippet )

There I go, writing about broken people again. *grin* And Dear Gods and Little Fishies, it looks like I'm about to actually write science fiction romance.

And then I wrote three pages on the novel as well. It's nice to have a little creative outburst! I followed it up by sending out a couple of submissions.

Now I am off to the Twin Cities Speculative Fiction Network meeting in Uptown. Lois McMaster Bujold is come to talk with us and answer questions over lunch and coffee.