A bit of venting on next published event

This is not asking advice just venting a little.

Hmmm, I have one book at an editors-she is probably a bit over a quarter of the way through. So when she does finish it, maybe in three to five weeks I will still have to go back over it. Most probably will take me hours, if I don't have to rewrite anything major. I have done this before so I know that I mean hours and hours of work. I have a cover for it already. It has been sitting around for over a year while I looked for a cover artist and an editor that didn't charge tons of money. So now even though it is finally in the process I still have to wait. and wait some more.

Then I have a second novel that is in almost the same situation. Except no editor yet, and the cover is being worked on even though almost done. But it has sat the same length of time and it is longer so it will take longer and cost more to edit and then to go over. Add hours to the hours and hours. Oh yes, I still need to decide on how I want to the chapters. Just leave the 40 some shorter ones or combine them. I wrote the book as a serial on another site which is why the chapters are like they are. It does need a little revising since I changed my mind some something and even though I think I went over the whole thing a couple times I need double check that. So it might have to wait half a year more before I can publish it. It might be my best novel yet. Or so I had thought when I revised it. And I have to wait and wait and wait some more.

Second excerpt of my novel The Courier

Feb 24 Aaannddd it’s the last weekend of February already.

This is the second excerpt of The Courier even though I split it into three. This whole scene is way too long for SaturdayScenes so I am only showing-off a 2,884 word section from chapter four.

Right now I am aiming for the last week of March for publication. That will depend on different details though. I may be able to say a closer date next week.




Enjoy:


She had been in New Orleans twice before but they had been quick in-and-out runs.
A quick glance out one of the main windows showed her older brick-and-stone buildings that were shorter than the ones in New York. There were some skyscrapers but not in this part of the city. She could see few people as they walked on the sidewalks and the streets here. Many steamcars rolled along. A few buses and trucks too. Of course the city had several districts, and not all were restaurants and night clubs. She did have a list, gotten from other couriers, of what were supposed to be great eating establishments and most were not in the French Quarter. Two would be hard to find but they had great Cajun food while another one had a terrific crayfish, but first she had something to deliver and a response to get. Then she would see how much time she had to go searching for good food. A late-night train ran to New York even though it made one stop where she would have to switch trains.
When one vehicle puffed up to the curb she thought, Good they have cabs here. That would make the trip to the water front easier and faster.
She picked up her gym bag—she already wore her backpack—and headed out the door to fresher air.
Once out, through she coughed. So much for cleaner smelling air. This air contained various types of steam.
More accurately it was what they burned that produced the steam that varied.
Cigar odors joined in with that and, she tilted her head, food smells. There had to be someplace cooking up a storm close by.
Kara decided she could walk a bit to find a driver who might charge her less and who wouldn’t try to take her somewhere else—like a club. So she walked five blocks, and found what appeared to be an empty cab. She looked inside and saw a black man who she assumed was the driver lying on the front seat with his eyes closed. He looked only a little older than herself so he might be a college student, or someone just married who had two jobs. Just like some cabbies in other cities who took naps between fares. Or,… She took a closer look. No blood so probably not a victim of crime or a Mob fight.
She tapped on the driver’s window until the driver’s eyes opened. He looked startled but recovered quickly. He rolled down the window and said,
“You need a cab? And please excuse me I must have fallen asleep while waiting.”
“Yes, I do need a cab; and don’t worry about that, it is early still.”
She got in the back seat and told him the port she needed to get to.
“You taking a small boat out for a run?”
She nodded because he had looked at her in his rearview mirror. The thought came to her that he could be a upcoming jazz musician, who had played late last night but now had to do his day work.
He shifted his eyes to the front, put the car into gear and they lurched forward in a belch of steam she could see out of the back window.
“Sorry about that, but this cab sometimes does that at startup.”
She said, “I understand.”
The cab had looked newer and kept up, but even a steamer in good condition could develop bad reactions.
Over half an hour later he rolled through what could be a small courtyard and pulled up to the parking lot of a certain long one-story building. It looked like it had six storefronts. One other building the same size as the one he parked in front of, graced a side of the courtyard. She paid the driver and gave him an eleven-dollar tip. After she got out he asked if she wanted him to stay around. The day had warmed and she didn’t want to lug her stuff around but she would have to.
Kara said, “You can, but I don’t how long this boat trip will take. Could be three hours or more. So if you get another fare you should take it. But if you’re here I will have you take me back.”
He nodded and she headed for one of the offices in the long building up close to the water. A cool wind like the beginning of a weather front picked up during her walk but it wasn’t bad. The area smelled of the sea and fish as well as the boilers from the cars, trucks and the building itself. It became obvious that some of the fish were rotten even though that odor was faint. She got out some gum with one of the new intense mint flavors. Once she started to chew she almost smiled. Much better. She heard a faint sound that she took to be the ocean, or gulf in this case.
Kara found the correct door and went in.

————————————-

Forty-five minutes later they neared a platform that stuck out of the water on four legs. She made out two cranes, one of which seemed to move. As they neared it she could tell that each leg looked thicker than a steamtaxi. She wondered how they had planted them in the ocean floor. At this point she could now make out structures on the platform. Two tiny fires burned in different parts of the oil derrick. Electric lights lit up other areas.
Mr. Johnson aimed for a metal ladder that looked welded to one leg. A very small platform sat there along with another two up higher. The ladder led to each one and then to the main one. A man on the larger platform saw them and headed down the ladder.
“I wasn’t able to contact them to say we were coming, but they get unexpected visitors almost every day,” Mr. Johnson said.
Kara nodded.
Mr. Johnson tried two ropes to rings set in the leg.
The man coming down the ladder stopped and shouted, “Who are you?”
Kara raised her voice, “A courier with a message for your OIM and a one for a hydraulic mechanic.”
“Good, we were told to expect a courier. Come on up.”
She looked at the ladder, gave herself a little shrug and grabbed a rung. She went up easily even though the rungs were wet from sea water. Mr. Johnson followed. He looked like he had experience climbing these ladders.
Once up on the platform itself she looked around.
WOW!
She could see for miles. It looked like mostly water with a few ships in the distance. But she wanted to stay and look.
Up here she could still smell the sea but an odor of burnt oil invaded her sinuses also. Flashes of light showed where men welded and she could see other men carrying pieces of metal, or wrestling machinery into place. An occasional cuss word could be heard as well as sounds of metal against metal and the unique hiss of welding. And she heard something about boiling a certain part of a certain man in the main boiler. Three men in scuba gear walked by, headed inside, it looked like. The wind ripped over the structure. She felt it through her outfit. Mr. Johnson looked cold too. Most of the men were dressed in warm clothing.
The man that met them led them to one of the higher structures, and up a stairway that clanged with their footsteps. She wanted to spit because oil in the air got in her mouth when she breathed in. But she wasn’t sure how they would take it.
Once inside the man led them down a hallway. Or is that “passageway”? she thought. No wind in here, so it was warmed. Everything was metal even though an attempt had been made to make it look like an office building on land. He continued to what looked like an office: carpet on the floor, cushioned chairs, a clock on a desk, artwork on walls. A man sat behind a desk. It smelled a little of cleaners, cigars and cologne.
“Mr. Dampfgang? A courier has a delivery for you.”
The man in a black turtleneck looked up from a piece of paper. He took them all in at a glance Kara saw.
He said, “Good, I was expecting something today. Thank you for showing them in.”
The man must have taken that as a dismissal for he left. Mr. Dampfgang motioned them in. He greeted Mr. Johnson, looked at Kara and said, “Good, you arrived early. Ms…?”
“Kara. As you probably know, I have something for you to read, and I was told to wait for a response.”
The manager nodded. “In that case let me have what I am to read.”
Kara stepped to the desk. Even through her boots the carpet felt thicker than she expected and it seemed to be warmer than the metal floor. That last had to be just in her mind. She wore her work boots for one reason.
She took off her pouch and placed it on the desk. She found the correct folder and gave it to Mr. Dampfgang.
Kara said, “I have one more delivery here,”—he looked up with surprise on his face, “for a John Kilgood. One of the junior hydraulic mechanics.”
“I know him.” He paused than shouted, “Greg!” A man in coveralls looked in. “Go get John Kilgood. Tell him he has a message.”
The man said, “Yes sir,” and took off.
“I can read this and maybe have a response before he gets here.”
Kara said, “Sounds good.”
She stood there while Mr. Dampfgang read. Mr. Johnson had whispered that he had something to do and would be back in a couple of minutes. After what may have been ten minutes Greg came back with another man. This one wore greasy coveralls. The new guy looked twenty-three and in good shape with short blond hair.
Kara stood and said, “Are you John Kilgood, married to Aurore Kilgood?”
“I am John Kilgood and I am married to Aurore,” he said with a worried frown. He spoke with a Scottish accent which changed the pronunciation of Kilgood.
Kara reached into her pouch and drew out a thick, large brown envelope and handed it to Kilgood.
He took it from her with worry still in his eyes. He opened it and pulled out what looked like a handwritten letter. He read and his expression changed to a different type of worry, and then they lit up and he broke into a large smile.
John looked up and said in an almost shout, “I’m a father! My wife had a baby boy. It was a month early, but she says everyone is fine and healthy.”
He reached into the envelope again and withdraw a bunch of what looked like photographs. John went through them and said, “Here are pictures of my new baby.”
With a proud look, he showed them to Kara. “Here’s the baby, here’s my beautiful wife, the doctor, and others holding my son.”
She thought the wife might be a little embarrassed that he had showed pictures of her breast feeding, but then again maybe not. Kara brought out a form and asked him to sign it, just to say he received the package and that it was in good shape. He did with a thanks to her.
“I only charged your wife the basic price without expenses, since I had another run out here anyway.”
She had thought about giving them a further discount but John made good money even on the lower end of the pay scale here.
He smiled at her in gratitude, but went back to showing the pictures around.
—————————————

A blast of light and sound showed that lighting had struck too close. She hoped that Mr. Johnson knew the way to his dock, as she couldn’t tell where they were. But she decided it would be better to not distract him to by asking.
She spat out more water and breathed in more. Ozone had built enough to smell and taste it, even as the rain washed it away. Her clothes were very uncomfortable since they were soaked and now clammy. At least they were not getting wetter. Kara looked out of the front and saw a light. Not large enough to be a lighthouse—at least she assumed there would be some near here on the Gulf. She looked around. There seemed to be a light over to her right—far to her right. Around Mobile? Kara shook her head she didn’t know enough about this coast to even guess.
One would be very good at this point though. It could show the way into the bay. But Mr. Johnson seemed to know where he headed for so maybe the light was coming from a building or something.
Kara wondered if her new goggles would help her to see through this weather, but more than likely they would be wet and hard to see through in no time. Water splashed up into the front of the boat. She tried to move even closer to the windshield. It offered at least a tiny bit of protection. And she hoped the boat had some form of pumps to make sure they didn’t fill up with water.
A sudden cough made her jerk. It had come from an engine. She spun around and looked at it. Not much she could do if it failed but maybe if it was only the boiler. She slipped and slid to the boiler near that engine and found that its fire had gone out. Too much water in it from the storm?
How to cover the boiler to keep the fire going?
Not too many ways out here.
A new thought and she ran to the compartment with the slickers. She grabbed one and slipped and slid back to the boiler. She tied one arm to a pole that stuck up near the boiler and the other to the other boiler. The back of the slicker top hung down over the burner. She might have to hold it away from it, but first…
Kara brought out a cheap lighter and got a flame going. This older contraption did not have the same burner that Danny used but still they were all similar. She looked up at where they were headed. The boat had slowed but the rain had sped up. From the way the boat bounced, so had the waves. She could smell the oil Mr. Johnson burned. It should easier to light than other materials used. The wind and waves made too much noise for Mr. Johnson to yell any advice or encouragement. But he might be trying anyway, she thought.
She licked her lips and discovered that not all of the moisture on her face had come from the clouds. How could she be sweating in this weather? With a frown she bent back down and tried to light the starter. It wouldn’t. She stood again and looked around. A gust of wind pulled the slicker out of her hand and almost knocked her down.
She tried again but the starter refused to catch fire. Kara bit her lip. She wasn’t going to drown in this storm. There had to be an answer.
More wind. This time she had to retie one of the arms. She made sure the other one stayed tight. A sudden bounce. One foot slipped on the wet deck. Kara moved her feet fast in what could have been a dance under other circumstances. A break dance, she thought.
I hope I don’t land on my head.
Her face twisted into a frown then a snarl. Her head went up to stare at the sky, but she aborted that move. All that would happen once her face was out from under the hat, is that she would get water in her eyes and probably mouth.
One corner of the slicker top pulled out of her hand and slapped her face even as she tried to duck.
Aww, it got my eye.
Not bad enough to injury it but she still had to rub it—gently of course. Once her eye would open again she bent over the starter again. She needed to get it going now.
She looked at the where the fire would start.
What?
Kara reached out and touched it.
Damn, wet.
There was only thing to do about that, so she pulled out one of her knives, trimmed the wick and tried again. This time it started. She pulled back when the burner flared. This time when it died down, the fires kept going.
Good.
Kara thought of something she should have checked already. She looked in the water tank to make sure of the water situation and found it still at a good level.
Better, something worked out.
I am not drowning. That would allow my dad to say he knew I couldn’t do it. He said I would need every bit of training he could give me but that I would still fail myself.


End excerpt

Two Urban Fantasy Flash tales by Me

So Happy Fourth of July for those in the US. A great country to celebrate .

Anyway, I am afraid I do n't have the story I promised for this week. Last week I said I would write one for today's post. But with a strong desire to get my novel ready to go along with losing chapter 8 I didn't get it started. It's barely started. So here are two stories I wrote a while back. I am doing a series of 600 word stories based on a picture which changes every week. At 22 stories I will do an anthology of them. Except they won't be 600 words any longer once I revise them. One of these two are over 1,000 now and the other is close behind. One of the other stories is now over 3,000 words. So I may call the book "Long 600 word tales". They are SF, fantasy, Romance, general fiction, Urban fantasy, steampunk and a couple of odd ones.
A few of you may have read one or both in their 600 word stories but they are slightly different now.
Anyway. These two have the same Main Character, an older dude I still haven't named. I will have to do that. I hope to do two more stories about him to include with the 22. Obviously I did revise them-today in fact-but I will do that again because they still need a wee bit of help.

So enjoy:

Number One
"A Bother"


I strode up to the man inside the little booth, ordered some of the roasted nuts he sold. He worked at a kiosk inside a large mall. I can’t help myself I always get some of that brand when I come here. He handed me the bag of mixed nuts with a receipt, I don’t like to go to. I nodded, turned around. People walked by, or through the doors of the stores. Their scents followed them if they got too close. Some weren’t bad: perfume, aftershaves , etc., but some smelled of cigarettes, sweat or drugs. I shook my head.
The lights and skylights produced enough visibility to get a good look at everyone. Since I was born fifty plus years ago I find it hard to get used to some of the outrageous and skimpy clothes some of them have on. A few of the girls are even worse. The new craze with tattoos was wild too.
With a sigh I backed off, I needed to get away from that cell phone kiosk, ten feet away. If something distracted me enough I would let enough cellular vibrational mystical energy out to blow each of those tiny computers. That was the second reason I hate going to the mall. Electricity and what some call V-nergy does not mix. Which is why I always drive an older car. 
The first reason I have mentioned already. Those nuts can be expensive.
I needed to be here today though. There was a problem. I backed up intill my back hit the wall, hard and smooth at the same time, even though my light blue shirt. I now stood in a wall enclave where I could watch for it for that problem. The designer of this mall thought wall enclaves made the place look more attractive. I liked them because I could hide out in one for a few minutes. A tiny “don’t look in here” Trick, just on the opening, kept me from observation while I looked around. Someone determined could still find me but it wouldn’t be easy and most shoppers are distracted by other concerns. With age and experience I’ve learned to be skimpy with my store of V-nergy.
Two people, who walked too close to me, lost their cell connections and maybe their batteries; I sighed again. At least they didn’t flare up into a fire, this time. Another thing I needed to get used to with age. I hadn’t had to worry about personal electronics when my ability to manipulate those tiny vibrations that make up everything first showed itself.
Ten minutes later a sailor walked through the mall, I hadn’t seen him enter. Not all that unusual for a navy reserve base sat near here. It has been in continual use for generations. This fellow though wore the clothes of a sailor from the 1800s. They were muddy and wet in places. I nodded, it was him. My problem for the day. I could feel the bubble of something-not the usual cellular mystical energy-around him. I studied that bubble. I have a special sight, I can turn off and on, which allows me to see energy a normal person can’t see or sense. I titled my had back and forth to look at it from different angles. I could see lightning like arcs and a greenish tinged transparent field around him. Why Green? I don’t know, maybe God likes that color or it’s symbolic. Green for nature and this energy we use is produced by nature. Or maybe my subconscious is playing a game with me and green has some type of physiological symbology only my subconscious knows. Which makes it hard to guess what it means.
The person who called me had experimented with Time Travel Tricks. Which is very stupid. Not only was Time hard to adjust or manipulate, but it had a tendency to do strange things when you tried to manipulate it. Thomas said he only tried to set up a viewing window, so we could watch what happened in places and times we knew very little about. Something went wrong-I rolled my eyes-as it usually did. Another friend once spent five years repairing the damage done by someone attempting to go back in time to undo some event. We just didn’t understand-maybe we are incapable of understanding-how Time works. It had its own logic, power, and order. I thought if I twisted his Trick right it would send him back. It might hurt him with a backlash but not that badly.
I concentrated decided on a spot in that filed and sent the Trick and used my will to modify the matrix of the Trick. I let it go.
Ouch-that hurt me? Damn, it didn’t work right. Time does have its own rules. I tried to send in a web of lines to see if I could read the field deeper. The fingers of the web fell away. I drew it back in.
Why not? interrupted my own study of that when I spotted something in that bubble. My head tilted to one side as I thought. Somehow Thomas had produced a bubble of time energy-or maybe it produced itself when this guy came forward in time. A protection?
Or as I looked closer at one matrix, it did more. So what would happen if the bubble would burst? Another study-maybe it had meant to but Thomas’ interference stopped that. I reached into it with my energy, soften his Trick, pulled his energy to me than let the bubble pop. It did. The man disappeared, back to his own time I hoped. I turned to go thinking-hoping that Thomas and I had learned some wisdom from this. Or just an excuse to get the nuts.

The end

Number Two
"To relax or not"
I sighed. I had come to watch a football game; to relax, the scent from the pine trees growing around this small town and its small high school was suppose to help with that. Even the smoke from the fireplaces in each house, was natural. I was born over fifty years ago and I knew how to relax. For me a forest can help. This small community sat in the foothills of the Rockies. I liked it for as a user of the cellular vibrational mystical energy I didn’t have to hold it in as much here. There were very few modern convinces and those that were here were very well protected from that cellular vibrational mystical energy, You could see the larger mountains these hills led up to. I came here to visit an old friend who liked living here, with few outside people and neighbors with the same type of “condition” he had.
His son was playing in the high school game that had started over two hours ago. The sun was setting so the lights had just come on.The son was huge and wide, but he was one quarter Troll so it was expected. A nice guy though. That was why my friend lived in a small town in the hill country. Some of those here had their own particular physical characteristics. Like that tall fullback: his shape and slightly pointed ears for instantness. Some of the girls had long pointed noses. No one minded.

The game had just finished-we won, partial thanks to my friend’s son-late; the field lights had come on for the sun had all but disappeared over the mountains I mentioned. The cheerleaders and couches were all on the field waiting to come in. The gym, both teams used, was behind and was a large, grey brick building. They didn’t have money for anything fancy which is why they had just the field with lights, bleachers, football markings and goalposts. I didn’t mind that.

Smoke started to blow over the field. My head turned in the direction it had come from. There had been no fires around earlier but the grass and bush surrounding the school could burn very fast for it was dry from summer. The players and cheerleaders started to look confused. A couch or ref-it was getting hard to see-had turned to stop someone I couldn’t see.

From the exclamations of the parents and other fans, I knew I wasn’t the only one to experience the fading light. The lights on the posts didn’t do much to shine through the smoke.

I sneezed, grabbed my handkerchief. Oh oh, something I was allergic to. My nose dripped, my eyes watered. Only a couple of things would affect me that way. That is why I knew my time for relaxation had come to an abrupt end and thus my sigh.

A moment later I stood and hurried down the bleachers. They trembled under me and clanged with each step, as I stood at an angle, which meant I could only go so fast. Once off and on the grass, I ran down to the field, wiped my nose and upper lip again on the way. I hate it when my mustache gets filled with snot especially when I licked it-yecch. Now I needed to concentrate on my job. As a I hurried out on the field I ran to where the smoke came from. Players were complaining about the rotten egg odor. I could barely smell it now because of my closed nose but that was probably a blessing. The players, couches and cheerleaders were all confused about which direction to go. The visibility was very low down here. The smoke blocked the light like a very thick gauzy burlap bag lay everywhere. I drew in the energy I needed and sent a blast toward the goalposts that now looked reddish. My Trick rebounded; I tripped and almost went down in pain caused by the backlash of my Trick being demolished. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. Even as I debated what to do more heat and smoke came through. I could feel the extreme heat from half a field from it. It had become thick enough to taste the ozone and rotten eggs. 
I decided I needed help and to get the kids off the field. I ran back to where they were grouped. I shook the tall kid-hoped his eyesight came from his heritage-to get his attention. Everyone seemed gob smacked. He looked at me.

“Lead everyone to the bleachers” I pointed, “go now!”

He looked at the bleachers and I knew my guess had been right, he could see them. He yelled for everyone to follow him. I yelled encouragement for them to do it. That he could see where to go. I went to my friend’s son, led him to the right spot, told him he should run and hit that darkness with all he had, he would be a hero.
My surprise, he did. He hit the space between the goalposts three times. The first two didn’t do much but the last time he ran from further back. He had time to build speed. He smacked it hard enough to bounce. It flickered, I sent the Trick I had readied. Cracks appeared in the air, another smaller blast and it shattered. I used what V-nergy I had left and closed the pathway. That took effort and hurt for someone else had made the gateway. I knew what to do though so it closed. I panted and knew I would hurt in the morning but it had worked. The smoke would dissipate now. I would need to find who did it. I suspected it was one of those girls with the long noses. Someone practicing beyond what she knew, or trying of revenge, or maybe just to show off. The town elders would be able to find them and find a suitable punishment for the motivation. It could involve writing out in long hand, something like I will be more careful ten thousand times. 
However, first, I needed a rest and the BBQ they said was after the game. I am getting old for this. 

The end

First writing update '14 with a bit of advice

 Okay my first writing update in 2014.

First of all:

My Indie book is still stalled. I decided to go ahead and politely decline the offer to help from the one party who has the first few chapters of my novel and was supposed to help with the real city setting. They are so busy they didn’t have time during Christmas New Years to send a note saying they would be busy for a while or am almost done with the overtime. So I can try to work on the city stuff-I do have a web site to help with that. But As I sat and thought about the novel I didn’t know what to do next. I would assume check with the guy who said he would edit it and see if he still could for the same price. If so then try kickstarter without a video. The book can use the copy editing but should I go over it one more time? Redo the first ten pages that have been copy edited then try again with people who would look it over for free? Decisions..... 

For Dave's Kicks Right here

Second of all:

Just sent another story to Writers of the Future contest. 

I had this series of thoughts the other day

Hmmm, catching up on some of Dave's Daily Kicks In the Pants-where he advises writers-he’s the first judge on all WotF entries...some very interesting advice (said in the accent of the short guy in the WW11 German helmet peeking around a tree) 

Some questions I asked myself.

Did I do any misdirection? Hmm, a tad maybe??? I mean it might have been just a tad. 

Were the characters the way he likes them? Hmmm? Maybe, 

I was reminded about originality. Again Hmmm(I do seem say that a lot) Yes, no, maybe, sort of. (Yes, all of the above) 

There were more but those are the ones that caught my attention for my Q1 tale. 

I know shouldn't do too much over thinking but we can do some. 

With what I learned with those two crits I've mentioned a time or three, I don't feel much faith in my ability to tell how well I did on any of that. I think my writing was significantly better and I feel like it better be after all the work I put in working on improving it. But I have a poor record of thinking and feeling about the level of my writing. 

As I also say a lot, though, "We shall see."

I worked on two of the larger problems with my last two entries--at least according to two previous winners who were in agreement on certain points. A third problem I worked on too but not so much on purpose, it just kinda of happened as I was working on the story.

Speaking of that for the next quarter, I thought about redoing one of those rejected entries using the two crits but I finally want to write a story that has been in my mind for three quarters.  

Third of all:

 Almost finished with two themed story sets I want to India publish. In this case by theme I mean the stories are about the same person. I think I have mentioned these before but here they are again. One them is about a Lieutenant of a steampunk Special Ops team. I have three stories done and started a fourth that is more about his personal life. Hopefully that one will be short. I want to do a second personal tale too. All of those stories will come out to be 54,000 to 56,000 words. That world is set in an alt universe. Instead of a large US there are six or so countries that take up all of the US, some parts of Canada and maybe a touch of Mexico. I would have to have a special preface that explained it all and probably a map. 

  For the second theme I am almost finished with a sixth, or was it seventh, story about a Modern day Mage. Urban Fantasy in other words. I would like to do one more shorter one with just him and his girl friend and maybe a couple of gnomes or Tinkerbell type of fairies he has to deal without letting her know what he is doing. Could be humorous if I can pull that off. 

Both will be long enough where I thought about joining all the individual stories to make them one novel. That might be a bit short for a novel 50,000 to 60,000 words but it would be okay for Indie.  

And there’s a third theme set about an alchemist I need to finish. Six to eight stories in that set but they might be shorter than the two others.

Fourth of all:

I’ve already said this but I need to start sending out stories on a regular bases again. I was going to start doing one per day but didn’t continue after three. Got too carried away writing and forgot. I need to slap myself or some such to remember. One will go out later tonight for a magazine that had been closed to submissions is now reopen for that. The editor is a fellow who has read most of my stories I want to see if I can impress him now. 

Fifth of all:

I have at least three stories I need to finish--not counting the ones for the theme story sets. And another three that need revising. Not sure when I will get to them though since I’m working on the theme story sets, not to mention two contests. But I need to get to them.

Sixth of all:

For quite a while for some strange unknown reason I kept typing out streampunk for steampunk. After a while I decided why not go for it but I had no idea how. But a basic idea popped into my head so I will be writing a streampunk tale. Hmm, come to think of it streampunk could go in two completely different directions but the second way would be related to cyberpunk which would be fun to write. Maybe I will go both ways. But I will see how it goes with the first way because I may do a story for WotF. Dave likes original settings and plots. 

That’s it for me with this one but as usual there is a warning. I can’t think of anything I’ve forgotten but it’s possible I could do one or three PS-s.  

Happy New Year you all-----Do good writing stuff which includes practice and learning.