The Secret Room, Sequel to House of Shadows

Okay, I figured that among this blog's multi-purpose uses, sort of like one of those enormous Swiss Army knives which we can never quite recall what that tiny implement on the back side does, but which we are certain one day we will discover its function and subsequently marvel at how in the world we ever lived without it . . .

::ahem:: Uh, sorry.

Having begun the second book in The Breed Wars, The Secret Room, I figured I would post the occasional update here. And considering the level of insanity of this project (which is intended to include twelve novels in the paranormal Breed Wars series, three in the heroic fantasy trilogy which will begin with The Caballa, and at the project's end come to a climax with the singular novel The Misbegotten), it will be completely understood if you pause for a moment to shake your head in bemusement at the obviously insane author before reading further.

One element of storytelling which has always intrigued me has been the multi-layered narrative, where we readers are captivated by an ongoing story which not only satisfies us in the present with the tale's climax, but which lays hints like breadcrumbs that there is a much larger story swelling in the background like an oncoming thunderstorm, teasing with the promise that there is more, much more, to come.

That is where I am now. And I wanted to make a promise to my readers that with each coming novel, which by itself will stand alone, that larger hidden tale will be advanced, and you will always at the story's end come away knowing more than you did at its beginning.

At the moment, I am just under 3000 words into The Secret Room. Here is its beginning, which is included at the end of House of Shadows, and I will continue to post occasional snippets as time slogs along.

Hope you enjoy.

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The first coffee of the day sits like hot mercury in my stomach long after I leave The Warming Hut, my head down, my shoulders hunched. It's cold. Or perhaps I should say colder than usual for San Francisco during this time of year.

A stiff wind blows my way from the nearby shoreline as I navigate the length of the Promenade. It whips my skirt against my bare thighs, a familiar sting. I keep walking.

In the distance I spy the length of the Golden Gate Bridge, rising from a sea of fog as it leaps across the bay. Its orange vermillion struts stand out in sharp contrast against the cloud it appears to rest on, as though the sky has fallen to earth. I neither stop nor pause.

Shortly thereafter I continue past the parking lot on my way to the east sidewalk. As I do, I look up into the face of Joseph Strauss's statue, posed atop its white circular pedestal as though the somber gentleman has been waiting for me.

Then, suddenly, I hear them again. Footsteps. Still some distance behind me, but just a bit louder, just a little closer.

My name is Marie Abigail St. Claire, and I have fifteen minutes to live.

The Writer's Toolbox: A Review of Origins of the Specious

There are any number of useful tools which together make up the writer’s toolbox. Recently I came across one, and wanted to give it due credit.

The book is titled Origins of the Specious: Myths and Misconceptions of the English Language, the authors are Patricia T. O’Conner, a former editor at The New York Times Book Review, and Stewart Kellerman. She has written four books on writing other than the above, tomes which I plan soon to add to the room I use upstairs for a book repository (as ‘library’ seems far too sophisticated a term for that multi-purpose junk room).

The essence of this particular book is to confront and vanquish the urban legends surrounding the English language. For example, you’d think that English is related to the Romance languages such as French, Spanish and Italian, what with how liberally we’ve borrowed from them. However, this is not true. According to Wikipedia, the Romance languages are: all the related languages derived from Vulgar Latin and forming a subgroup of the Italic languages within the Indo-European language family. Which English is not. Our mother tongue is a Germanic language, specifically West Germanic.

This has, over time, become a problem due to those Latin scholars not content to leave well enough alone, and who have over time fought to convert English into a Latin-derived tongue with the persistence of a Jehovah’s Witness on one’s doorstep. This ‘square peg into a round hole’ determination has resulted in a multitude of neologisms being pushed on us like credit card applications at the local department store.

The book is subdivided into wonderful chapters, such as Stiff Upper Lip: Why Can’t the British Be More Like Us and Grammar Moses: Forget Those Commandments. Grammatical urban legends are assaulted with a two-handed sword and swiftly laid to rest. Clumsy ‘rules’ are kidney-punched with quotes like this one: “It is better to be understood than to be correct.” And phony foreign words are put down for the count, such as the phrase nom de plume, which is supposed to be French for ‘pen name’ or ‘pseudonym’. (It’s not either, the British made it up) .

This little book from Random House (at just over 200 pages sans notes, acknowledgments, etc.) is a marvel, and should be included on the reference shelf of anyone who writes in the English language. You can also visit the Ms. Connor and Mr. Kellerman’s web site and blog at www.grammarphobia.com.