#fractured states

[extraordinary-heroes]

Project Superpowers: Fractured State #1 (Cover art by Gary Frank)

[iheartmyart]

Fractured States - A Glitter Junkies Mix

A collection of rhymes to reflect the times. In a series of Fractured States of mind.

Listen on: Spotify |  8tracks | Soundcloud | Youtube

Visit GlitterJunkies.ca for the tracklisting.

______ Discover more music on iheartmyart See more music mixes by Glitter Junkies on iheartmyart.

Find us: Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Mail List | Soundcloud

[angreskestrel]

Tamlyn Goodfellow, precious NB baby

“Mrs. Graham?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Your form’s wrong.”

I was sitting in Mom’s lap at the daycare. She was filling out the enrollment forms for me, so I could attend while she looked for a job. Mrs. Graham, the daycare supervisor, had handed Mom a clipboard with the forms and I was reading them while Mom filled them out.

Mrs. Graham was a kindly old forty-something year old human woman, without a drop of fey blood in her. Her daycare was the only one in the city that would take part-fey children, something Mom learned only after trying one after another after another. Finally, we were here and she was sure this would be fine.

“What’s wrong with the form?” Mrs. Graham’s faded brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at me. “Can you tell me what you saw, Tammy?”

I frowned at her. “My name’s Tamlyn,” I said petulantly and I pointed at the section where Mom had put my name and date of birth. “Right there. That’s wrong.”

Mrs. Graham’s smile faded as I tapped the paper right where it said ___ Male ___ Female. Mom had put a check mark next to female. “What’s wrong with it, honey? Do you not understand the words? A male is a boy and a female is a girl.”

“It’s wrong,” I repeated stubbornly. “I’m not a boy or a girl, Mrs. Graham. I’m both. There should be a place for both.”

“Hush, Tam,” Mom said softly. She shot an apologetic smile at Mrs. Graham and continued filling out the forms.

Later that night when I was supposed to be sleeping, I heard the door to our apartment creak open and closed. Mom’s friend, Jean May, was over. Auntie May lived two apartments from ours, and she often babysat me when Mom needed to run errands without distractions. She was the only person other than Mom who knew about my dual nature.

You see, Auntie May was full-blooded Fey, only she’d been exiled from all of Underhill. I don’t know why and she wouldn’t say. She always told me it was a story for grown ups, and that I wouldn’t understand.

I liked Auntie May and I wanted to say hullo, so I slipped out of bed and started for the living room when I heard Mom speak. She sounded snappish and tired. “I thought you said she would grow out of this. You said it was normal for your kind.”

“There aren’t many Gean-Canagh left,” Auntie May said placidly. “Would you like some tea, dear? You look stressed.”

“I am stressed, May. Today she told the daycare supervisor that she’s not a boy or a girl. She’s both. It’s bad enough that she switches between boy and girl when we’re out in public. But now she’s telling people about it!”

May sighed so loudly I could hear her from the hall. “I’ll speak to the poor child. They are still young, aren’t they? Give them time. The Gean-Canagh usually settle on a permanent form, but it is in our nature to be changeable.”

“Time.” I peeked around the hall and watched Mom rub her head. “Yes, you’re right. She’s only four. I’ll tell the daycare she’s just a tomboy and likes to roughhouse with the boys sometimes. But I’ve never seen such a thing before. How can she think she’s both?”

“As I said, it is in the nature of the Gean-Canagh. They are the Love-Talkers, after all. They are not the sort to…close off their options.” Auntie May’s voice was lightly teasing as she pressed a cup of tea into Mom’s hands. “I’ll talk to Tamlyn about using their abilities in public. It would be dangerous for them if someone realized what they are.”

A fey that even other fey fear. The Gean-Canagh were the Love-Talkers, and they secreted a toxin through their touch that would make others fall in love with them. In the old stories, they were always handsome men wooing away lovely maidens. After scandalous affairs, the Gean-Canagh grew bored with their conquest and disappeared to find a new distraction. The maiden grew despondent and wasted away for the want of her lover, whose callousness often killed.

That would have been Mom’s fate, except that she met Auntie May not long after my father had left her. Auntie May, who knew the secret elixir that purged the Gean-Canagh’s toxin from the blood, if not from the heart. She saved Mom and in return when she learned Mom was carrying a half-Gean-Canagh child, she asked only that Mom keep the pregnancy. “A life for a life is only fair.”

I was back in bed by the time Auntie May came down the hall to speak with me. She cracked open the door. “Tamlyn, I know you were eavesdropping.”

I pulled my blankets down and sat up. “I wanted to say hi.”

Auntie May sat on the edge of my bed and smoothed a hand over my unruly hair. “Well. Hi then.” Her eyes were a rich amber that glowed in the shadowed darkness of my room. “Are you excited about daycare?”

“A little. It’ll be fun to be around other kids.” I scrunched back into my blankets and added, “But Mom said I can’t tell people about dad. And my new gloves are itchy.”

Mom had learned the drawback of a Gean-Canagh child early on, when I’d been snatched from the cart at a store. The person who took me was an old human woman who had been babysitting me. When she was arrested she was in tears that she couldn’t be with the baby she loved so very much.

After that, I had to wear long sleeves, long pants, and gloves. Mom wasn’t sure how much skin contact was too much, and so she erred on the side of caution after the attempted kidnapping. Eventually, Auntie May convinced Mom to let me wear fingerless gloves but they still itched.

“You’ll get used to them,” Auntie May reassured me. “Your mother says you’ve been switching back and forth while you’re out and about. I’ve warned you about that.”

She had. Although most fey settled into an uneasy truce with humanity, the Gean-Canagh had not. To be fair, the humans wanted to chemically castrate the Gean-Canagh and render their abilities null. And also to be fair, the humans and fey both feared falling in love with the wrong Gean-Canagh at the wrong time. That their abilities worked on both men and women, fey and human, was enough to make them outlaw even in the most open-minded of circles. After all, the inability to say ‘no’ does not automatically mean ‘yes.’

That was one of Auntie May’s first lessons for me. And the second one?

“No shifting in public,” Auntie May said sternly. She wagged a finger at me. “If the local Fey court finds out a Gean-Canagh is here, they’ll drive you and your mum out of their territory. We’ve already had to move twice this month alone”

“I know.” I scrunched further down into bed. “But I get itchy.”

“I know, baby.” Again, May stroked my hair. “You’ll have to wait until you get home to scratch the itch, alright? It’s safer for us.”

“Okay.” I didn’t like it but I’d do it.

Auntie May smiled, her topaz eyes glowing once more. She kissed my forehead. “Love you lots. Go to sleep, child.”

“Love you more, Auntie! G’night!”

[angreskestrel]

Plot Bunnies (or wtf is up with all this new content, Tab?)

You know, that’s a really good question. And I should have a good answer, shouldn’t I? Tab’s supposed to be writing her book you know, and blogging about the process. Maybe throw in a few anecdotes about cute doggies, or her personal life, but overall, this is supposed to be about Captain & Command. Not about these…Fractured Whosits… And who is Errin Forester anyway? What’s a love-talker? Are you writing… **gasp** romance? Erotica? Smut???

Hold yer horses there. Let’s answer these questions in order.

Captain & Command

The Captain’s story is still in the works. But have I mentioned lately how much I hate editing? Like, royally, truly, and completely detest it. There is nothing more frustrating to me than sitting in front of the computer staring at a sentence and saying to myself, “Yup. That sure says something” and then working to make that something more legible. I have an unholy love of adjectives, unfortunately. Everything is being said quietly, loudly, explicitly… lots of -ly running around. Sentences are approximately three lines longer than absolutely necessary, and wander off topic half-way through them.

In short, editing is hard.

And the problem with being a writer is that there are lots of stories running around in ye ole headspace. Lots and lots and lots. So when I get to the point of “bugger this, I don’t wanna,” there are at least a half dozen other concepts clamoring for my attention. Some of them are relevant to the story, like Childhood Heroes. Which, if you read it, you know is a bit more about the character of the Captain.

Sometimes a break is nice. Sometimes your breaks have an unfortunate side effect of spawning entirely new worlds. Which is how we got the Fractured States.

The Fractured States

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I got distracted. During one of my longer commutes for work I dreamed up the idea that I could do a series of short stories and slap ‘em up on Amazon. I think the thinking was something along the lines of “Well you gotta figure out how to use the software ANYWAY and you can’t exactly afford to hire a cover designer and you need a break so… why not?”

Three weeks later I know the answer to that question. Oh well. Let this be a warning to you writers out there. Even if you see a plot bunny, do not give chase. I don’t care how cute and fuzzy their widdle paws are, or how interesting their shape is when you hold em up to the sun. Do not chase the bunny. If you insist on chasing the bunny, do not catch them. You will wind up with fifty plot bunnies and they will all be going in different directions.

Also, you’ll probably get pooped on. But this brings me to…

Errin Forester

Obviously, this is a pen name. The thought of posting anything even remotely racy to Kindle while using my real name had me way too flustered to follow through on. And what’s the point of a distraction if it can’t be fun to write? I mean, I love my captain and all but he’s rather single minded about things.

So I guess what I’m saying is, yeah I’m writing smut. Adventurous smut starring a queer protag but definitely smut. (This is where the plot bunnies really come in) Unfortunately TamLyn wasn’t satisfied with only half a plot loosely bundled together with lots of steamy scenes. They wanted a different sort of action too! Murder! Mystery! Mayhem!

And there you have it. This is what happens when you chase plot bunnies. You wind up not just with a whole new series but an entire identity to concoct to explain why the series is even up in the first place. This may or may not involve pretending ignorance when people ask you about the Captain. “What?” you (I) might say, feigning ignorance. “Of course I’m working…very…very…hard on my edits. I got five chapters out of thirty-eight edited!”

Okay okay, I’m going back to editing now. Sheesh.

[angreskestrel]

Love-Talkers #2: Looking for Lynnie

Go forth and buy my book guys! Then comment and tell me how it was!

[angreskestrel]

Tam's Tricks Coming to Kindle 3/3/2019

Sneak Peek

I knew there would be trouble when the gang pulled up to the bar. I counted two full-blooded orcs on the biggest motorcycles. They rode old Harley Davidsons, if I recalled the faded magazines I pilfered from Kai's office. Another three or four had smaller iron steeds. They'd no doubt...procured... the steeds from their original owners. They looked to be quarter bloods. The tallest of that group was only an inch taller than regular human height. Their tusks were almost dainty compared to their full-blooded brethren. Unsurprising. The return of Faerie may have upset the balance of things, but orcs were still orcs. They couldn't resist a good raping and pillaging, particularly in the countryside. I'm sure they're more circumspect in the cities. Or at least their victims got good compensation from the orcs' handlers. Either way, those with orcish blood usually found themselves living on the outskirts. Humans and Faerie alike shunned them, fearing their brutal temperament and rapacious appetites. Orcs and their orc-blooded offspring were only welcome in two industries. In the military, they were renowned foot soldiers, terrifying brutes. And in the defense contracting business, they made excellent muscle. Of course, that was for the orcs who were tractable. Most wound up joining the gangs that ranged through the counties. Those gangs were mercs, bounty hunters, or bandits. And they were all too common. This group looked at least somewhat respectable. Their leather armor was cow hide and not human skin, and their weapons were clean and polished. Well kept. Maybe they were one of the bands the government contracted with. I let my gaze linger on their leather-clad thighs and heavy shoulders as the group caroused. Their laughter was harsh and raucous, loud enough to hear through the glass windows of the bar. Even the shortest orc was a foot taller than me. With shoulders like a heavyweight boxer, an orc with a broken tusk threw open the door. He ushered his friends inside. They wouldn't have gotten past the checkpoint if they weren't sanctioned. That was my reasoning as another trio pulled up before the rest got into the building. That brought their numbers to nine. At least one was wearing what looked like a necklace of teeth. Cool. Gross, but cool. I licked my lips as the six crowded around a table on the far side of the bar. Too bad I was here on a date. There's always tomorrow, though. Lynnie wouldn't like it if I went out looking for a good railing from these orcs. She'd insist it was too dangerous and it probably was. Not that it had stopped me before…

Learn more here

Pre-order here

Join Patreon here