As the time goes by, I'm becoming more and more like Winnie, experimenting with potions and reading old spellbooks. As well as looking like her physically, ha-ha!!!
I've got the striped stockings already, and a scull. And a big pot. All I need now is a black, fluffy cat to keep me a company.
A magical typewriter.
The one that would type my thoughts and ideas as I lie in my bed and plot new stories.
And by the way, I LOVE presents, so if you want to make me happy today, reviewing my books would be a great birthday gift. Here's my page on Amazon, with my books waiting for your reviews:
And what kind of birthday would it be, if I didn't make a present to my readers?
Here's a chapter from the upcoming "Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter" (please keep in mind that it's not edited)
Chapter 6
Eric had been sitting on the
rooftop for two hours when Uncle Colin climbed up, a basket with snacks in his
hand.
“I’ve brought you something to
eat.” He put the basket on the crenellation next to Eric. There was just a
piece of bread and a bit of white cheese in it, and though Eric’s belly was
rumbling, he didn’t take a bite. The last days he never ate anything without
sharing it with Electra.
“No wind,” Colin said, looking
into distance. “It’s always still before the storm.” He turned to Eric. “How’s
your back.”
“Hurting. But I don’t pay much
attention to pain any more. It comes and goes. Only…” Eric leaned his elbows on
the crenellation and stared into the distance. “The scars remain. And sometimes
they tell of things you wished to forget.”
Colin nodded knowingly.
“But I’m not worried about the
scars. And my future wife still loves me, despite the amount of welts on my
body.”
Uncle Colin smiled. “Sometimes I
can’t believe she’s so grown-up. A bride-to-be. It seems like yesterday that I
took that little girl in my arms and swore to protect her.” Colin heaved a
sigh. “I was so close to the square that day. The day they … the night when
they bound Valeria to the log along with Nicolas. Some five minutes. I was late
for some five minutes.”
“You still wouldn’t be able to
save them.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t. And maybe I
would. Valeria,” Colin whispered. “Sweet, beautiful Valeria, with eyes like
moonstones.”
“Uncle Colin, Pickering
showed me a photo recently. It was taken twenty years ago in Hollow, between the
two great oaks, and there were you, your wife, her sisters, Alan, his family, the
Nubbles brothers, and many other people.” Eric fixed his eyes on Colin. “And
there was also Peter McCormack. He was young, but I recognized him; I am sure
it was him sitting behind Valeria and hugging her.”
“Have you told of that photo to
anyone?”
Eric shook his head. “Why was
Dinah and Dickens’s father hugging Electra’s mother? Why was Peter McCormack in
your company?”
Colin raised his eyes at the sky.
The torrent had stopped, and fine raindrops were hitting on his face and the
rooftop. The rains never totally ceased. They were a reminder that the danger
was still close, and intensified whenever something bad happened in the town.
“I think we have a bit of time
for one more story.” He leaned over the crenellation and looked down at their
garden with willows and rose shrubs, then shut his eyes as if reminiscing about
something very old. Then his lips curved into a faint smile, and Eric knew that
some of the things that Colin was remembering now were pleasant memories.
“You know I was born and raised
on the East Bank of the Sirtalion,” Colin began his story. “My family was not as
prejudiced as the rest, and I was allowed to freely pass to the other bank
where most of my friends lived. Alan, Shay, and I have been friends since I
remember myself. I think I was six years old when we met and befriended each
other. But there weren’t three of us, but four. Our fourth friend was Peter
McCormack.” Colin smiled when he saw Eric raise eyebrows and gape at him. “Yes,
Peter McCormack was our fourth friend. Peter the Jester.” Colin laughed. “It
might be hard to imagine, but Peter was a really funny guy and a good friend to
us all.
“My family lived on the Maple Street, and our
neighbors were the Millers.
Mrs. Miller died when her daughter was very young, and my mother developed a
deep affection towards the motherless girl. Her name was Caitlin Miller, and
she became a frequent guest in our house. My mother had been planning our
marriage since we were kids, but I knew I could never marry her for two
reasons: I was totally in love with a girl named Andromeda, and Caitlin Miller
was desperately in love with my friend Peter McCormack. Sometimes I think how
it all would have ended if I didn’t love Meda. Probably differently, but how
could I foresee it? I didn’t possess a crystal ball like my wife does, and
couldn’t look into the future. When Peter learned about me and Meda, he wanted
to meet her. He couldn’t believe I was in love with a witch. Though the enmity
between the East and West Banks wasn’t as great as now, it was still considered
strange for an Easterner to go out with someone from a witch’s family. I took Peter
to the blue castle where he met the woman whom he has been loving for the past
twenty years.”
“Valeria,” Eric whispered, and
Colin nodded.
“Valeria. It was a love at first
sight. Peter couldn’t talk of anything else on our way back home. All he cared
for was her face, and her hair, her slender hands, her lively eyes, her soft voice,
her gentle smile. Her kindness and her tenderness. And I didn’t know what to
say, because I had just broken the heart of a sweet, motherless girl, whose
eyes would brighten up each time Peter was around. As mean as it might sound, I
wished that Valeria would reject Peter. But no, life had other plans. Next day,
Meda told me that Valeria hadn’t stopped talking about Peter since we’d left
their castle. The die had been cast, and there was nothing I could do.”
Eric gaped wider. “Electra’s
mother was in love with Mr. McCormack?”
“Valeria loved Peter, and Peter
would give his life for her. I don’t remember seeing him as happy as he was
with Val. He worshipped her, his sun and stars. But Mr. McCormack wouldn’t
agree to bring a witch into his house. He chided Peter, demanded that he
stopped seeing her. This was leading to constant brawls between father and son.
After each of the arguments Peter would go to the tavern and get drunk. None of
us could reason with him. Once he got so drunk he punched Shay in the face when
we tried to take him home by force. Alan talked to him at least a hundred
times, but Peter was not listening.
“On the Saint Patrick’s Day we
were having a big feast in the Bat Inn. Peter got drunk and in front of
everyone proposed to Valeria. He was so drunk he was hardly standing on his
feet, and Valeria took him to a side and told him that a drunk proposal wasn’t
agreeable to her. Her words angered Peter, and he shouted that he was doing her
a favor, and that she was acting like a witch that she was. He said if she were
normal his father wouldn’t threaten him and leave him penniless. As he was
yelling out insults about Valeria and her family, Shay and I dragged him out
and tried to pacify him. Next morning, Peter went to the blue castle, asking Valeria
to come out and talk to him. I don’t know if Valeria would come out or no, but
after waiting for some time Peter became angry again and broke her window with
a pebble. Then he went to the tavern and again got drunk. At that time Caitlin
was waiting the tables at the Happy
Friend. Her love was not a secret, and Peter couldn’t come up with a better
revenge plan. He was too drunk to understand what he was doing, and enamored
Caitlin did not resist him.”
Eric rubbed his jaw, frowning and
blinking, as if digesting the story he was hearing. He knew all those people,
but could he ever suspect what had passed between them? It was a story too
complicated and couldn’t possibly have a happy ending. “What happened then?” he
asked.
“During those days Nicholas
Ainsley came to Hollow. He was a witch-man and quickly made friends with
Grindewald’s family. He and Valeria became close and spent a lot of time
together. Andromeda and I were happy to see her smiling again; she had been
crying too much since Peter had begun his drunken antics. But she was still
missing him. It’s not easy to forget someone whom you have loved so dearly.
Nicholas, who had fallen in love with Valeria, was doing everything to keep the
sorrow away from her. Then Peter at last realized he was losing her and asked
me to help him meet Val and make up with her. They had a long conversation and
decided to start everything again. Peter talked to his father and announced that
he was going to marry Valeria. Mr. McCormack didn’t agree, and Peter threatened
to leave his family and live in the blue castle with the witches.
“Then happened something that no
one had been expecting. Hearing the news about Peter’s upcoming engagement,
Caitlin appeared at the blue castle and announced that she was carrying his
child. I thought Peter would kill her. Luckily I managed to pull him back and
free Caitlin from his chokehold. Unfortunately, Valeria did not forgive Peter this
time.” Colin became silent. For some time he looked into the East, at the town
shielded with the night and beaten by the torrents. The rain was becoming
stronger, and he pulled the hood over his head “Peter ruined everything
himself,” he said, “but he was blaming others. He started a fight with Nicholas.
Alan and I hardly split them before they managed to kill each other. Later
Peter asked me to leave Andromeda. It was unfriendly that I was still with her,
he said, but I loved her, and we were getting married soon. That was the last
time that Peter and I talked. After my father’s death, my mother had fallen
under the influence of the McCormacks and had begun hating the witches of the
West Bank. She had been asking me to stay away from them; sometimes her pleas
would become so tiresome that I would give her empty promises just to stop
those sickening conversations about an upcoming Witch Hunt. If only I had paid
them more attention. But I was too careless, blinded by happiness. After I
married Meda, Valeria and Nicholas became engaged. A week after their
engagement, Peter married Caitlin. Soon Dickens was born—the child that ruined
his life. Peter doesn’t love him, never did. He blames Dickens for his lost
dreams, and he blames Caitlin for his lost love. He blames Nicholas for
stealing Valeria from him, and he blames me for not standing by his side. He
blames anyone but him. He still can’t let the past go. He lives in that past,
and every day his wife and son remind him of what he lost. He hates Caitlin, he
despises Dickens. When the Hunt began, and Nicholas and Valeria were arrested,
I tried to talk to Peter and ask for help. He could have helped them escape,
but did nothing. I don’t know if he can ever forgive himself for letting them
burn Valeria on the stake.”
“He was there,” Eric said. “He
was there and watched her burn.”
Colin looked at him. “Who? Peter?”
“Yes, Peter McCormack. He was on
the square that day.”
“How do you know?”
“I have read Amelia Wicker’s
diary. He was standing near her, in a black cloak and hood, his face covered with
a black cloth. He was a Hunter.”
“Peter a Hunter?” Colin whispered.
“I never knew. Fifteen years, and I never knew. I
wouldn’t believe it.”
“Believe me, Uncle Colin, Peter
McCormack was a Hunter. He was on the square, and he watched Valeria and her
husband burn. That’s how much he loved her!”
Colin pressed his lips together
and shook his head. “He … couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He was heartbroken,
but he wouldn’t watch them burn her and do nothing.”
“He did. That’s the value of his
love,” Eric said with anger. “He let her burn just to slake his pathetic need for
revenge. Just like his…”
Daughter.
If you want to learn to write in English, read George Martin. It doesn't matter that he writes fantasy and your book is set in the 1900s or 3000s. Trust me, it doesn't. You can learn a lot from him: character development, beautiful prose, smart dialogues, showing instead of telling. You can enrich your vocabulary. Just don't be lazy, get a notepad and write down new words and phrases. I have three thick notepads and am filling the 4th. Well, what did you want? To wake up one day with the Oxford Vocabulary miraculously inserted into your brain? But 10% of that vocabulary is in my notepads that I keep handy and go through them during the editing. OK now, don't be tempted to use big, smart words when there's a shorter, simpler word. Always go for simplicity. Short sentences are better than the long ones. And stop describing every item in the room. The last thing your reader needs to know is the color of the leather boots placed under the mahogany wardrobe that is pushed against the creamy wall. Better tell them about the characters.
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