A Glimpse at my Novels (Literary Works)

Are you curious about what I’ve written?

I casually mention in this blog that I’ve written five novels and am working on getting an agent and getting published. I very seldom talk about what I’ve written. So here’s a list of my novels with synopses.

I will cover the ones that exist in the same universe first, in chronological order.

Gaia’s Hands

The odd couple of Jeanne Beaumont, biologist, and Josh Young, writer, follow a threat to Jeanne’s livelihood and a path of their own awakening talents. After calling forth a miracle at the collective Barn Swallows’ Dance, they must fight the conspirators who would destroy it — and possibly their lives.

Apocalypse

Laurel Smith, a woman without a past, works as a laborer at the ecocollective Barn Swallows’ Dance, unaware of her part in a 6000-year-old myth. Adam Lee is an immortal Archetype who holds the patterns which allow Han Chinese men to survive. He’s been sent on a mission to help Laurel find her legacy and bring her memories back.

An army assembles to kill Laurel to collect on a millennia-long vendetta. Laurel’s memory loss isn’t an accident, though, and three dangerous Archetypes more ancient than even Adam are determined to keep her in the dark. If Adam and Laurel can’t collect enough allies to stop the approaching army, they will build an army to wipe out all women on Earth, and with them, all future generations of humans.

Prodigies

Grace Silverstein, an eighteen-year-old viola prodigy, flies to Poland to participate in an international assembly of prodigies. However, her hosts have hidden their plans to coerce the prodigies under a flimsy mask of hospitality. Grace’s new friend and fellow prodigy Ichirou can influence people’s emotions with his computer graphics, and they figure out that his talent is what their hosts want to capture. Grace smuggles him out of the country with the help of his chaperone and her mysterious accomplice, but their escape has not gone unnoticed.

Back in the US and under pursuit, Grace discovers her own talent of manipulating emotions through her beloved music. The chase continues as both foreign agents and Homeland Security close in on Grace and her compatriots, who uncover a terrorist plot by the prodigy organization. Grace can keep herself and her friends safe if she never reveals her gift but exposing her talent could save many more lives. Making the right decision while avoiding capture may be the hardest thing Grace has ever done—and could have long-lasting effects on the entire world.

Whose Hearts are Mountains

In Whose Hearts are Mountains, Annie Smith escapes the smoking ruins of her university and heals in a remote Canadian town, where she hears stories about a fair folk who help humans and then disappear. These tales resonate with the stories her mother told her as a child, and she seizes the opportunity to research the spread of these tales – until she comes home to find that the United States has crumbled under sectarian turmoil.

Annie chases the stories through a drastically changed landscape, and begins to experience unsettling dreams and strange phenomena. The stories lead to an oasis in the middle of the desert and a people who present mysteries. Pieces click together, and Annie finds out that her identity is tied in with the tales and with a frightening act of terrorism that only they can stop.

This next one is not in the same universe as the others:

Voyageurs

Ian Akimoto, Traveller, jumps through time from the environmental catastrophe called the Chaos to 2015 Kansas City to help Kat Pleskovich, time-jumping daredevil, solve the mystery of who wants to kill her mentor. Soon their own lives are in danger as they piece together clues involving everything from time physics and falsified records to multiple Kats and gruesome deaths in Kat’s daredevil game Voyageurs.

Their search reveals that a rogue time traveller broke the timeline at crucial points with a goal of winning Voyageurs with the greatest stunt of all – destroying humanity. Kat and Ian must decide whether to risk their lives toward setting the future right.

Enjoy and give me feedback!

If you have suggestions for synopses or just want to comment on the storylines, please let me know! My email is lleachie@gmail.com.

I don’t know where I’m going

I know I’ve been writing very boring posts lately, and for that I apologize. My justification (not excuse) is NaNo and projects.

What have I been thinking about lately? NaNo and projects. Ok, that’s not a good start to a blog.

I’ve also been thinking about my relationship with writing. On one hand, I’ve hit some very positive rejections that have 1) given me ideas of how to improve, and 2) have said positive things about my writing.

I might actually be taking my writing more seriously than I have before, and with that I wonder more if I can get my writing to the point where it deserves being published. I don’t know if I’ve gotten there with my stories, and I wonder what it would take to get to that point.

I still have some big things out there — I have Prodigies at DAW, Apocalypse at Tor, Voyageurs in a novella contest, a submission to Pitch Wars, and — well, I don’t think I will win any of these. And I don’t know what to think about this.

Rebel Rebel

I’ve decided to be a rebel for NaNoWriMo.

What that means is that the participant does anything but write a novel in those 30 days*. I have two books I’m editing, the problem child Gaia’s Hands (which may be a novella by the time I’m done with it) and Whose Hearts are Mountains when I get it back from my dev editor.

It feels odd not writing a new novel, but it’s not the best use of my time. I need to get this backlog dealt with and ready for possibilities. When these are done, I will have five completed novels (or four and a novella): Whose Hearts are Mountains, Apocalypse, Voyageurs, Prodigies, Gaia’s Hands. (There’s one more novel, Reclaiming the Balance, but I despair over that particular one, and there’s Gods’ Seeds, the one I’m not finishing for NaNo.

It’s time for me to edit. It’s time for me to write shorter items and try to get those published (I have one short story and one flash item published so far, Flourish and Becky Home-Ecky.) It’s time for me to try something else for NaNo.

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* The way one counts progress when editing in NaNo is 1 hour = 1000 words. Which is about right, except when I get really stuck.

Every which way

I’m sitting on my couch, before the day’s meetings and errands and editing (and no gardening as we’re on a flood warning with rain expected. My mind is going every which way:

So much to do these next couple days — meet students, prep for conference, plant stuff, write, prep for conference …

I am in a holding pattern for Making Things Happen. I don’t want to requery Prodigies until my dev editor has another shot at it (in June), I don’t know if I want to requery (this is now a word) Voyageurs at all (don’t know if it’s viable), can’t get re-written Apocalypse to the dev editor till June … when I send queries out, I get out of my funk because of this concept of possibility. I’m not really looking at any possibilities right now except for one big long shot.

I think I’m going to be rejected by TSA precheck. I don’t know why, unless it was those anti-war protests I participated in during the Gulf War or the guy I dated, equally long ago, whose father was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party. Or the fact that I’m a Quaker, or that I have a metal bar in my left leg that guarantees I’ll be patted down like a terrorist. The website says “Eligibility Determined” but does not give me a code number.

I’m pretty sure my last query out is going to be rejected. As I said, I shot big with that one.

I’m not feeling good about my writing lately. I hear this happens.

It’s just feeling like an unlucky day. My mood needs to be kicked in the butt, I’m sure, but not sure how to do that. The problem with feeling down is that feelings are so vivid that they take on the weight of truth.

The Semester Winds Down

Tomorrow is the last regular day of the semester; then we will go into finals week here at the college. The semester is winding down; the rhythm of my life will change with summer session. I’ll still be busy with an online class and 25 interns and putting fall classes together, but I will have much more flexible time.

I’ll have more time for writing — well, maybe not, but I will be able to devote longer blocks to it, which is a good thing. The summer projects writing-wise are: 1) rewrite Apocalypse; 2) Send Whose Hearts are Mountains to dev edit (if #1 gets to a good place). No new books. Also keep pushing Prodigies and start pushing Voyageurs.

I don’t sound like someone who’s ready to quit, do I ?

Excerpt from Voyageurs

Here’s an excerpt from Voyageurs, the next book I will put through the query process:

(Wanda and Harold met me just outside the soup kitchen, on the cracked sidewalk, negative two years from my natural time —

“What now? I groused. “I was just about to eat lunch at the Mission.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” Harold said loftily, as Wanda looked down her nose at me as if I’d crawled out from under a rock. “We’ve got an experiment we need you to do.”

“Why me? I’m a Junior Birdman. You’re the King.” I knew, deep down, that I would do whatever Harold dared me to.

“You’re faster than I am. I need someone fast to do this. I bet you can’t do it, though.” Harold examined his hands, probably for invisible dirt specks, as I’d never seen him with his hands dirty.

“You bet I can’t do what?” I demanded.

“Change the outcome of that game over there.” Wanda interjected in her haughty voice.

“But that won’t work!” I groused. “The rock principle will keep it from changing. You can’t change time.”

“I’m going with you,” Harold reassured me. “We’re jumping a minute into the past to that shell game over there and you’re going to tip over the right cup so the mooch sees he’s getting conned.”

I protested. “By ‘we’, you mean me. How would I know where the ball landed?”

“You know,” Harold gritted his teeth. “You always know. I’ve seen you run that game.”

“You can’t change time. I try to change time and the cup won’t tip over. It always works that way.” I’d tried it — I could win the game with data I’d gleaned from the future, but I couldn’t change the outcome of the game itself.

“But what if I change one or two other things at the same time?” Harold smiled, and I felt his charm dissolve my reluctance. “How would the timeline know which event to change? With one or two other changes at once, I hope to confuse things so that you can tip the right cup and ruin the game.”

“But what about crossing ourselves?” I demanded. “I only get what — four minutes before crossing myself kills me?”

“You’ll have to do it quickly, I guess,” Harold shrugged. “Unless you don’t think you can — “

“Alright. I’ll do it.” I always knew I would.

We jumped to three minutes before the start of the round, and Wanda came with us as witness. She and Harold stepped back while I walked up to the game, which involved a mooch and a grifter as we called victims and fraudsters on the street.

I needed to reach in and tip the cup with the ball under it at the exact moment that the mooch would guess the whereabouts of the ball — and jump before the grifter caught my wrist and took me behind the nearest building to beat me to a pulp. I wondered why Harold would subject me to that risk, or the risk of crossing myself and being crushed. But he had faith in me …

One exhilarating moment later, I tipped the cup, revealing the ball to be in a different cup than it appeared to the mooch, and I jumped back to my present time without dying. I bent over, gasping and laughing.

“You’re the best,” Harold clapped me on the shoulder. “I knew you could do it. I think we should make a game of this. Call it — Voyageur. Like Traveller, but provocative.”

Then we blinked out of sight before the irate con artist reached us.)

Christmas Eve — a little on the prosaic side

I write this from Ottawa, Illinois, where I am visiting my father and sister and her family for Christmas.

Things I’m thinking about:

1) I wish I could drop Northwest Missouri State (my place of employment) onto Ottawa. This would unite a college town without a college (Ottawa) with a college without a college town (Maryville). I miss the river and the beautiful state parks and the invigorated atmosphere of a town that attracts people from Chicago and the suburbs,.

2) I still have to adjust to being 55. The hardest part is that it’s now unseemly for me to get crushes on younger men (maybe it was before, but I didn’t notice). I’ve gone from being flattering to being an embarassment. This is a major adjustment for me.

3) I can be with my family without talking much. This is a relief.

4) I’m editing Voyageurs, and the big problem is that I have to “fill in” with 34,000 words. I have NO IDEA how to do this. Think good thoughts.

Merry Christmas to all my readers — please keep in touch!

Finals Week

I haven’t been doing any editing lately (apologies to my dev editor) because I’m in the middle of finals week. For those of you who have never been college students, this week is a twice-a-year ritual in which professors torture students by making them demonstrate that they actually know the course material. For those of you who have been college students, this week is a twice-a-year ritual in which professors torture students by — you get the drift.

From a professor’s point of view, it’s a strange week where office hours are empty and professors prowl around the halls to tell stories of the worst requests they’ve gotten from students. Best one yet: the student who demanded an A because his “answers were right”. (Spoiler: No, they weren’t.) It’s a hurry up and wait time, where one waits to give exams and then frantically grades them so that semester grades can be turned in by the following Monday.

It’s a time when the outside world is calling — in December, the delights of Christmas; in May the beautiful weather. But to the professor or instructor, they are at best fleeting until the grades go in.

*****

I am giving my first final today — actually, they are turning it in because it’s an essay final. I will spend the next couple days grading it. I am wearing my ugly Christmas sweater (the reinkitty one — think of Santa’s sleigh with cats) because I need a little Christmas during finals’ week.

I anticipate having grades done by Thursday to turn in, and then I’m done for the semester. I’ll restart editing Voyageurs then, in the hopes that it will be a worthy submission. I will wait for query responses on Prodigies, hoping for a Christmas present.

May your days be merry and bright.

Thanksgiving writing retreat — and a dilemma

I am well on my way through day 2 of my second edit of Whose Hearts are Mountains (while waiting for Thanksgiving buffet at 11) and I’m left with a dilemma.

Do I send Voyageurs to my developmental editor first, or do I send Whose Hearts are Mountains?

The arguments in favor of Voyageurs:

It’s older than Whose Hearts are Mountains
It’s a romance novel, and I think it could get published as such
It really deserves a dev edit

The arguments in favor of Whose Hearts are Mountains:

It’s fresher and might be a better novel because of what I’ve learned
It’s not romance (I think it’s contemporary fantasy) and I don’t become pigeon-holed as a romance writer
It also deserves a dev edit
It’s part of an established series (which hasn’t been published yet)

(*anguished scream*) I hate to decide!

For all of you who celebrate US Thanksgiving, Happy Thanksgiving! For those of you who do not, my best wishes and support to you.

One of those sex scenes (warning: no sex. I’m a wimp.)

At that point I had heard too many horrible things: the deaths of several Travellers, Harold’s motives, Ian’s impending death. I started crying, horrible sobs. Ian gathered me into his arms as he murmured in my ear: “My dear Kat, all we can do is be and find meaning in the moment.”

I hiccuped trying to stop the tears. I wondered what he meant.

“I want to stretch this moment into timelessness. With you,” Ian breathed.

That I understood. It was a Traveller phrase, “stretching time”. There were few ways that Travellers could escape time, and sex was one of them.

“Yes,” I barely managed to speak. “I would like that very much.”

He took my hand and led me to my bedroom, and I remembered that he had been tutored under Berkeley, so he would know the layout of the house. I struggled to determine what year that would be. Then he backed me against the wall and kissed me, and math didn’t seem so urgent.

When we backed off from each other, panting, we stared at each other. “Are you going to back off again? It’s okay if you — “

“No, I want this.” And I dropped to my knees before him and began to undo his pants.

“No,” Ian said, squatting before me. “Not like that.”

“That’s the only way I know how to do it,” I sniffed. “If you don’t want to …”

Ian put his arms around me. “You’re no longer the girl who lived on the street. You have a say in this. You have a right to joy. The only thing is,” he sighed, “I have no idea how to do this.”

“You’re a virgin,” I guessed.

“I haven’t had much time to date,” he shrugged. “But it puts me at a disadvantage. What would you like me to do?”

I thought of what my Johns never did, things I’d only read about. “I want us to take our time and kiss a lot. And touch a lot. I don’t want things to be over right away.

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” Ian smiled. “I have a good imagination…”

As he laid me on the floor and slid on top of me, I had to agree.