Rth Rising – an excerpt

Thought I’d tease you  with a small glimpse into this world –

Davd firmly shut the door behind him and dumped his pack on the bed. It had been a good trip, but he needed to shower and check in before anyone realized how long he’d be gone.

He was good at that now, but he had to remain cautious. It had been a smart move to volunteer for gimp liaison. No one wanted the tedious job; therefore no one was checking on him when he was out of communication for short periods. No one even realized he was gone.

Out of the shower, he checked his pad for any meetings that might have been called while he was gone. No meetings, but a date with Kala tonight. He probably should have gotten out of it, but too late now. She was authorized by Puter to have a son and since her graduation, she’d been set on using his DNA for the job.

Wasn’t going to happen. She was okay in bed, but he had no plans to contract and therefore no plans to procreate. He’d seen what it did to kids. Fratz, he’d lived it. No way would he put some child through that on purpose. Puter wouldn’t miss one male child.

A quick liaison tonight would take the edge off though. Kala was enthusiastic and knowledgeable. She should be with all the practice she got. It didn’t matter to him; she was merely a sex partner, no strings. But sometime it might be nice to feel something for the women he slept with, maybe. At least he knew something was missing. Maybe someday the perfect woman would fall into his arms. He laughed to himself as he hurried out.

He made it to roll call early and caught up on what gossip he missed over the last four days. He did marvel at the thick-headedness of his fellow enforcers. They honestly thought the shirkers they brought in, the petty thieves they caught, were the extent of what was going on. They trusted Puter. Oh well, it made his job easier. Especially now that  Cal was in charge.

Davd took his assignment and made certain his absence had caused no stir. Alone, he headed out to check on a report of a possible shirker making a nest in a seldom-used area on the factory level.

That was what he was trained for, officially, but no longer his real work. He’d been . . . stunned wasn’t a strong enough word for how he’d reacted when Ralt had approached him. Ralt of all people. The man who seemed the epitome of a true rule follower.  Shirkers, real shirkers, were among them.

There were villages on the planet, near each of the arcologies, and an underground existed that kept people in contact and informed. They even helped people escape to outside. That no longer felt like a negative word to him.

The villages were generations old and those people lived in harmony with the land, not ignoring it or taking it for granted like the box dwellers did.

Having been to the village closest to Thirdport on numerous trips now, helping true escapees and taking in occasional supplies from the old stored items – those originally meant for that purpose anyway – he felt at home there. Much more at home than he did here.

A smile grew on this face. He had a home there now. Not big, just for him since he had no plans for a family, regardless of Puter’s edit. This was a house he had worked on each trip outside. Now it was there and ready for him when he decided to remain outside. Carla had presented him with cushions she had made herself from bright fabric scraps for the chair and couch. The homemade quill that covered his bed had been a present from the community, which had truly humbled him.

He knew he had helped out as courier, but to be appreciated like that felt different. It felt like home.

What would you attempt . . .

What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?

Good question. For me – well, I don’t see me climbing Everest or sailing alone across the Atlantic. I have smaller goals. Some of that comes from the EB, but that’s only physical.

Actually what I always wanted to do was write something that someone would want to read. I’ve always written – ask the girls (see Strong Women) but I was much too shy or maybe less than confident that anyone would care to read what I saw.

But I got older and maybe I got better. What the heck, you know? I’ll still eventually turn 60 or 70 or 80 whether or not I do what I really want to do. So I should go for it.

What I write isn’t for everyone. Neither was Shakespeare’s work. Okay, no comparison, but we both started out with a first project. And someone read it and liked it.

Personally I love science fiction. I love the possibilities of it. That works  with romance too, because there are so many possibilities there as well. Two people meeting, getting to know one another, finally connecting on a deeper level – that can happen anywhere and I can explore that.

So tell me, what are your secret fantasies that you never thought to really try? Come on, admit them and maybe, like me, you can make them really happen . . .

 

Strong Women

“The girls” were here the other weekend. That’s my roommates from college. Hard to believe how long we’ve been together, but I can’t imagine my life without them. It’s amazing and wonderful how we can get together (that’s in person and not just email) and pick up the conversation as though we’d talked the day before. It helps a lot that we don’t ever have to go into the backstory. We lived it together.

There are five of us – so different in appearance and passions and beliefs. A redhead, a brunette and a few blondes, probably all helped by chemicals now but who cares. I met them at such a pivotal time in my life. Leaving home for the first time for all of us, we banded together and grew each other up.

We dated together, got married together (all intertwined in each other’s weddings), had babies together and those kids grew up thinking of each other as cousins. I remember my son asking if the kids coming over were friend cousins or cousin cousins, and being happy with either one. The kids are still in touch even without us. One of my favorite pictures of Hubby is him in a hammock completely covered with one-year olds from one of our gatherings. All those kids got a copy of that picture in their high school graduation album. Now the kids are getting married and we’re losing our parents together. But to replace that loss some of us are becoming grandparents ourselves – a much easier thing to contemplate now than when we met.

Is it any wonder with these incredible examples that I write strong, independent, sometimes kick-ass women who might not like what they have to do, but can handle it. Hell, they can handle anything, and rustle up lunch while doing it.

If you haven’t read Rth Rising, give it a try. You’ll see what I mean.  And Learning Trust will be out June 17.

Thanks, Guys!

Hoppy Easter

Don’t you love it when things just pile in on top of each other!! I’m in another blog hop – but it is a special time of year for me, so I’m indulging myself….

Of course I had to participate in this! Easter is my day. Really! I have to lay claim to it because I was born on it and got married on it. The first I had little control over, the second was kind of contrived.

The story of my birth was that Daddy was at the hospital and spotted the Easter Bunny trying to hippity hop down the hall but he had a baby in his basket and it was just too heavy. Daddy offered to take the baby off his hands to help out, but what Daddy really wanted was a chipmunk. Really, that’s the story I grew up with.  I still have a telegram from one of my aunts (who must not have loved me very much) offering the suggestion that they name me Easter and call me Essie. Fortunately that didn’t stick, though I was “James” for a couple of days, since they weren’t expecting a girl.

Now the wedding was different. I’m from a tiny town, maybe 3,000 people on Sunday morning when everyone’s home. So I go to my childhood church to make arrangements and there’s already a wedding that Saturday – who knew there were two women in town that weren’t already married, so I got shifted to Sunday – Easter Sunday. The florist loved that. It was also April 15, Tax Day. At least he’s never forgotten our anniversary.

Even though hubby groans about it, the kids still get Easter baskets – I don’t care that they’re both grown and gone. I got one as long as Momma was alive, so it’s only fair. Us Easter chipmunks have to stick together . . .

Come on and leave a comment – that’s two books I’ll be giving away – one with each hippity hop…

Check  out who else is on the hop    http://thebloghopspot.com/event-page/