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Not Special Enough

I wrote this book recently. It’s called Falling for the Protagonist. I had a great time writing it. The premise is that a woman gets transported into a romance novel and sends the male protagonist spiraling into an existential crisis when he realizes he’s a book character. It’s funny but emotional (Big ups to me for making myself cry at one point during a reread!), satirical of the romance genre but also an homage to it. I’m quite proud of it. I’ll copy and paste the first few paragraphs at the bottom of this post for those who are interested.

I’ve been querying this book. Got a couple rejections. No big. Except for this one that stuck out to me. Short but sweet, it said:

Hello Bex,

Thank you so much for sending your materials for our review. We really enjoyed this and can see the potential in your writing.

Unfortunately, however, despite all that we liked, we didn’t quite fall in love with this as we had hoped, so we will not be offering representation at this time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. A response–any response–from an agency is a good thing. There are many who say that you just have to wait six to eight weeks and if you don’t hear from them, that’s a rejection. The ambiguity and the… I suppose anticlimax of it… can be frustrating. Not that I blame them one bit. Can you imagine taking the time to send out what must be hundreds of rejection emails every week? No thank you. I’m just saying, when I get a negative response, I appreciate it.

But being me, I started to close-read this thing a little. What it boils down to is: Your writing is great. We don’t like it anyway. (Yes, I’m putting words in their mouth. My writing might have come across to them as merely good or adequate, but allow me the paraphrase here for the sake of my ego.)

I’ve contended with this frustration for many years. I’m not saying I think they should have accepted my book. Quite the opposite, actually. There are some people who write back or get angry or try to argue with these agents (I know; I used to intern for one). And all I want to ask them is: Do you really want someone representing your work who feels anything less than enthusiastic about it? How are they going to sell it to others if they can’t even sell it to themselves?

This also ties into the age-old question that agents and editors get asked time and time again: What do you look for in a book? I understand why people ask this question as they’re hoping to get an edge on how to find representation, but it’s unfortunately just not possible to answer as this industry is entirely subjective. The usual answer is something along the lines of, “I need a really strong voice.” This translates to what I see as a universal truth:

Sometimes I pick up a book and I like it. Sometimes I pick up a book and I don’t like it.

Happens to me all the time. I’ll start reading something and the writing will be perfectly sound, but it doesn’t “grab me” as they say. And I can’t always put my finger on why. The truth is, an agent (or editor) has to pick up your book and feel the click. No click, no contract. They can’t say “I didn’t like your book, but I don’t know why” because writers would riot. But that’s the gist.

This all brings me back to the aforementioned frustration I’ve been contending with. I think my writing is good. Some of my books are better than others, and I always have room for growth, but I’ve crafted some solid stories. I believe my writing is special and unique. The problem is, and I’ve just started to wrap my head around this, everyone is special and unique. It’s true! You are unique! But in a world that celebrates only a select few special people, that only works if everyone else fails to be recognized for their specialness. There would be no Many to worship the Few otherwise. There are thousands of good writers out there who will never get a publishing contract, actors worthy of every award in the book who will never see a stage or the front end of a camera, singers with voices like angels who won’t get a recording contract. You get it.

I know there is a very good chance that I will never see my work published (the traditional way). It’s just the way it goes. I’m special. I believe that. But I’m not special enough. LEST YOU THINK I AM GOING TO END THIS POST ON A MAJOR DOWNER…

It’s not my job to be the motivational poster on your wall. I’d suck at it anyway. Although… I did make this one.

But only because I thought it was funny!

The point is, I see no harm in trying again and again. If I lost track of Why (with a capital W) I write (i.e. because I enjoy it), that would be the real downer. As long as I’m writing, and I don’t see myself stopping, why not query? Why not put myself out there? A thousand rejections hurt, but I firmly believe you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. So go for it. If you don’t believe in your own specialness, how can anyone else?

Huh. I guess I became a motivation poster anyway.

Here’s a teaser of Falling for the Protagonist:

Chapter One

The back corner of the bar known as Bonne Nuit echoed with the jovial, slightly manic, titters and squeals that could only belong to a group of women who were two hours into a bachelorette party. Emmy Miura kept smiling as the feminine chaos surrounded her and tried to tamp down on the deep, heartfelt longing she felt for her comfy pants. They were at home all alone, probably missing her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d left them for so long on a Saturday night. Trying not to sulk, she shifted around until the strapless cocktail dress she’d bought for the occasion—at her sister’s subtle insistence—settled a little more comfortably around her.

“Deep breaths,” her best friend of a million years, Sarah, murmured to her.

“I am a bad person for wanting to leave.”

“You are a good sister for staying.”

That was one way to look at it, and Emmy did enjoy seeing May’s happiness, which was flowing more readily than the happy hour specials. Her sister, adorned with a sparkling headband that was coated in curlicues of metallic ribbon, was leaning over to listen to one of her friends. Whatever the friend said lit up May’s face.

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, absolutely. I have to tell the story. I don’t even care if everyone’s already heard it a million times. Emmy, cover your ears.”

Emmy immediately went on alert. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to tell—shh seriously, guys, this is good—I’m going to tell the story of how me and Luis met. Emmy hates this because she is a cynic and a nonbeliever, but I’m telling it anyway because it is my party!”

“Oh Jesus.”

“How did they meet?” Sarah asked.

“She went to a sex psychic,” Emmy muttered under her breath.

“Sorry. Run that by me one more time?”

Emmy gestured to her sister, indicating Sarah should listen to May, and repeated, “She went to a sex psychic.”

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Chapter Six

What’s this?  I’m back??  Yes, dear readers, I am.  I have returned from vacation victorious!  I slayed and conquered and roared my triumph up to the night.

What?  That’s how you do vacations, right?

I’m normal!

All said, it took me a while to get back on track with my life and my writing.  But now I can say that I am…getting there.  I at least managed to get Chapter Six down on paper, though I’m not sure how good it is.  Similarly, I have an idea of where I’m going with Chapter Seven, but I’m not sure how good that will be either.  I believe you are sensing a pattern.  Just have mercy is all I’m saying.  This stuff is all so raw still.

If you missed any previous chapters, here is a link that you can easily navigate from:

Chapter One

And nooowwww…

Chapter-Six

By the time she turned three, Joss’ hands were flying; she had proved to be a very talkative child.

It had started with just a couple signs. Two taps on the top of her head with the flat of her hand meant she was calling for daddy, whom she’d never seen without his brimmed hat.

Touching the lips meant hungry.

Closing her eyes and putting her hand over them meant sleepy, nap, or sleep, depending on the context.

Rath picked up on all of this as quickly as she imagined it. When she created a new word, he always confirmed it with her first before sharing with the group.

Like when she’d discovered she had the ability to fly.

At four years of age, she was in a very inquisitive phase. The concept of hearing fascinated her. Every move she made, every action she took, was followed with the same question.

Two head taps, pointing, hands going from closed to open by the ears, palms placed against each other and rubbed back and forth.

– Daddy, this noise make? –

It didn’t matter what she was doing – eating, lying down in bed, jumping up and down, bothering Molt – she was always asking. And Rath would always patiently reply.

– Yes, sweet. That noise make. –

Then she’d let out her weird little giggle and ran off to do something else.

One morning, when Rath came into the room, she ran up and jumped on him. He lifted her into his arms and allowed her to kiss him on the cheek. Then of course she leaned back and asked – Daddy, this noise make? –

In order to reply, he had to set her down. It took him until he’d made it to the sign for “noise” to realize that her feet had never reached the ground. Following his alarmed look, Joss looked down at the ground, which was several inches beneath her bare feet.

She squealed with delight and plopped to the ground, falling unsteadily onto her rump. Then she jumped up and began floating again, rising up several feet into the air this time.

– Sweet, what you do? – he asked slowly.

She had replied with a new sign. Essentially the word “up” repeated twice in quick succession.

– You up up? – he confirmed.

– Yes yes! – she signed back excitedly as she began floating around the room. Then, still hovering, she turned to look at him. – Daddy! Daddy! This noise make? –

Rath recovered from his surprise as quickly as he could and replied. – No, sweet. That no noise make. –

She let out another delighted squeal and began floating all over the room. It turned out that she could only sustain her flight for short periods of time, but that didn’t stop her from landing and taking off over and over again until she was exhaustedly signing that it was time for a nap.

Now, several years later, Joss awoke in her bed. They had recently moved into an old storehouse of sorts, but only after they had spent months staking out the area to make sure that it was, without a doubt, abandoned.

Joss had her own room, which she’d fashioned for herself out of old sheets and some empty boxes they’d found. Thea had followed suit. Then the twins. Molt had made himself a hammock in the rafters, and Het-Lei tended to fall asleep wherever he pleased.

Rath always slept on a cot by the door, so if trouble was coming he’d be the first to hear it.

As Joss rolled out of bed, her fingers automatically found her bandu pole. It was always within arm’s reach, if it wasn’t already in her grasp. She got hold of it and rolled carefully out of bed, keeping the end of the pole pressed to the floor. The vibrations she caused as she touched the floor were barely noticeable. She was getting better at this.

Keeping one hand rested gently on the center of her neck, she began to move out of her room. The pole let her know that no one but her was moving nearby. Maybe the others were already awake. She couldn’t tell how late it was, though she was sure that Thea would still be asleep, since her friend had a penchant for sleeping in.

Joss continued to sneak toward the main room, where she glimpsed Rath and Kanid conversing by their makeshift kitchen. It must have been earlier than she thought, since they appeared to be the only two awake.

Kanid was facing in her direction, but Rath’s back was to her. She smiled mischievously, keeping the fingers of her free hand on her throat. Rath had taught her to do this so she could feel when she accidentally made sounds, or when she successfully produced some after trying. Now she was trying to make sure that not a single thing would give her away as she snuck up on her father.

She moved her feet gently across the floor, sliding them more than lifting them. Kanid glimpsed her as she moved out into the open, but did her the service of pretending not to see her. He continued nodding along to whatever Rath was saying.

She was almost upon him now, so she allowed herself to hover slightly. Just an inch or two. Just enough to ensure she didn’t make a single sound as she closed the gap between her and Rath.

Then, just as she reached him, she lifted her bandu pole, preparing to strike.

Daddy, does this make noise? she thought, grinning, as she brought the pole down toward his head.

His hand shot up quicker than she could anticipate and caught the pole right before it made contact with the top of his hat.

Pouting, Joss landed and waited while he pirouetted, keeping the pole in his grip as he turned to face her.

His smile was smug.

She pulled her stick out of his hand and rested it against her chest while she used both hands to sign.

– How you always know? –

– I your father. –

– I noise make? –

– No, sweet. No noise. –

– Then what? –

– Felt your breath my neck. –

Joss rolled her eyes. Of course. It was always something. In two years of trying, she’d never once been able to catch him by surprise.

Kanid just shook his head.

Sleep well? he asked, and by the way Rath turned to look back at him, she knew that Kanid had made the question audible to both of them.

She nodded.   – Well enough. –

Kanid’s voice was the only one she could hear. And that had taken some doing. When he’d first tried to communicate with her telepathically – the only way Kanid could – she hadn’t been able to process it. Having never heard sound before, she had no idea what to do with the echo of his voice in her head. It took lots of practice and explanation before she was able to distinguish words. But of course, he heard nothing from her. While she obviously had thoughts, they weren’t audible to him.

Which was interesting.

“What’d we miss?” Click asked, exiting his room. His hair was rumpled, and he was rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

Joss felt his entrance thanks to her bandu, and turned to look at him. He waved and repeated his question in a language she could understand. – What I miss? –

– I again fail surprise Rath. –

– I sad. This time I thought you succeed. –

– Next time. –

Switch emerged behind her brother then. Her hair was neatly combed, but she still looked tired.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Kanid began to hand out the breakfast he’d been preparing. Mashed berries on crackers.

They were all sitting around eating when Molt and Het-Lei made an appearance. Not from their beds, but from the door.

It was the only entrance to the building, which made everyone feel quite safe. Rath had had Switch and Click build a device to prevent intruders. It involved a stolen ID card reader and a few other things. Within a few days, they had a way to lock their front door. Everyone in their little family got a key, and anyone who tried to get in without one would set off an alarm. They would also be treated to a nice little shock, courtesy of Click’s wiring prowess.

When Rath turned toward the door, Joss followed his gaze. She had assumed Het-Lei and Molt were still sleeping, since it was still early, judging by the sun peeking in the tiny windows. At first Rath had considered covering up those windows, but in the end he decided it would be more suspicious to any outsiders if they were. Best to leave the building looking as untouched as possible.

“Well?” Rath asked as the two men entered, closing the door behind them.

Het-Lei was rearranging his body from some large, four-legged beast into his usual humanoid form.

“It’s confirmed,” Molt said.

“When?” Rath asked, still not signing.

Joss was used to reading Molt’s lips. He was the only one in their party who had outright refused to study her sign language.

Rath, however, was a different story. Signing when Joss was around had become second nature to him. If he wasn’t doing it now, it was because he was purposefully trying to keep her out of the loop.

“Tonight, it looks like,” Het-Lei said, signing as he spoke.

Rath shot him a warning look. “How many are we looking at?” He was purposefully moving his lips as little as possible, and using vague language so Joss was left as uninformed as possible.

Scowling, she hit his arm with her pole.

He ignored her.

“Ten to fifteen,” Het-Lei replied, still signing. “We think they might be expecting trouble. Might not be worth going.”

– Where go? – Joss asked.

“We’re going,” Rath said, ignoring her.

Joss pushed herself up to her feet and stood between her father and the other two.

– Where where where go go go? –

Whenever she wanted to emphasize something – usually excitement or anger – she repeated the sign. Three repeats on both words would easily convey to Rath exactly how she felt about his subterfuge; she was pissed.

– Please, Joss. This not for you. –

– It for you you you. It for me me me. –

– This time no, sweet. –

– What what what happening? – she demanded.

Rath sighed. – Raid. Free prisoners. –

– I go. –

– No. –

– Yes yes. –

Rath pinned her with a glare and signed “No” five times in a row. He’d never repeated it that many times before. Joss nearly backed down. But that was before Het-Lei oozed up to them and stood where both Joss and Rath could see his hands.

– Why not? – he signed. – She good fighter. We can use her. –

Joss turned to smile at him.

“Het-Lei,” Rath growled. “Go wake up Thea.”

Het-Lei’s eyes widened. “Rath, come on.”

“Do it. We need her here.”

“Punishing me isn’t going to make you feel any less guilty for keeping Joss in the dark,” he grumbled before squelching off toward Thea’s room, his version of stomping.

Rath sighed and looked at Joss. She glared right back at him.

“We’ll uh…we’ve got some new tech to check on back in our room,” Click said, leading his sister away from the scene.

Kanid didn’t leave the room, but he did cross over to the kitchen where he began to idly sort berries. Molt just grunted, spread his wings, and took off for the rafters.

– I want come. – Joss signed.

– I know. –

– Why you no let me? –

– Because I want you safe. Always always always. –

– I want you safe also. –

Rath sighed and reached out for her. She came closer, allowing him to pull her into his lap even though she had long since outgrown it.

They just sat like that for a while, neither saying anything. Then Rath reached out his left hand – the one that she could see – and signed again.

– Please, sweet. Please do this for me. Please stay safe. –

Joss didn’t respond right away. She wanted more than anything to go with them on their raid. But Rath was looking at her with his big, fathomless eyes. They pled with her, making her buckle.

– One time. – she said. – Next time I go. –

Rath smiled and hugged her tight. She pulled away almost immediately and stared at his left hand pointedly.

He shook his head, still smiling, and signed – Deal. –

Then and only then did she smile back and hug him for real.

An otherworldly screech rent the air as they sat together, and though Joss didn’t hear it, she felt it vibrating through her and the bandu.

Het-Lei had finally worked up the nerve to wake Theabella.

He emerged a moment later with one of Thea’s throwing knives embedded in his chest. Wincing, he reached up to pull it out, the fluidity of his form allowing him to heal almost instantly.

“She’s up,” he informed them, signing halfheartedly with one hand.

“Thank you. I promise I’ll make Molt do it next time.”

“Make Molt do it every day for a week. Then we’ll be even. You know healing takes a lot out of me.”

“Sorry, but you were undermining my parenting skills.”

“Rath, that was not my intention. I was attempting to balance you, not undermine you. As a parent, you are soft. I wanted to offer the perspective of someone who sees Joss as an ally, not a daughter.”

“As a friend, I thank you for that,” Rath said after a moment. “As a father…if you ever try to put my daughter in danger again…”

He didn’t finish the statement; it was unnecessary.

Molt, having sensed it was safe to return, dropped to the floor. Click and Switch soon found their way out of their room, and Kanid wandered back from the kitchen area.

Joss turned to Rath. – I want be here. – she signed.

– You can stay. – he replied.

She thanked him and went to sit across from him, knowing that would give her the best view of everyone’s hands. Click and Switch settled in next to her, smiling and waving. She smiled back. Kanid sat next to Rath.

Molt, his wings folded tightly behind him, snorted impatiently and went to lean against the wall by the door.

“I don’t see what the fuss was about,” he said. “If the girl wants to get herself killed, it’s not our problem.”

Switch helpfully signed everything he was saying for Joss, since he refused to. Joss just shook her head, turned to Molt, and offered him just one sign. He didn’t need to know her language to understand what it meant.

“Filthy trink,” he muttered.

The room went dead silent. Then, almost as quickly as that happened, it began to rumble and shake. Dishes rattled. Crates splintered. Molt had to fly into the air to keep from falling over.

Rath stood slowly, the ground shaking even more violently around him.

“You are required to like neither me nor my kin,” he said, his voice low yet somehow audible over the din he was causing. “However, I will not tolerate disrespect, Morlinz Nebolzer. Let this be your final warning.”

The ground instantly stilled, the silence returning.

Molt dropped to the ground and glared at Rath.

“I was already up!” Thea shouted, walking into the room. “What made you think you needed to…” Her voice trailed off as she looked from Molt to Rath. “Oh.”

She made her way over to the little kitchen and grabbed a plate of breakfast. Then she settled down to eat.

Rath was still staring at Molt. The silence was palpable. To everyone but Joss, who simply smiled and reached over to steal a berry off of Thea’s plate, completely ignorant of the tension in the room.

“Sorry,” Molt said, finally.

Rath smiled. “No problem. Have a seat. We’ve got to discuss tactics.”

Switch waved to get Joss’ attention, then signed – Bird boy say sorry. –

Joss laughed. – Dad accept apology? –

– Yes. –

– Then I do also. –

It took less than five minutes for them all to get situated. Despite the drama between Molt and Rath, when it really counted, Molt was right there offering his suggestions and clarifying when he was asked to. He and Het-Lei were an excellent reconnaissance team. They’d been working together for years, and their information was always good. Joss felt her uneasiness slipping away the more they talked; it was clear that they had done a very thorough job, as usual.

Everything would be fine.

Still…she hated saying good-bye.

Even with Rath’s nearly insurmountable telekinetic abilities. Even with Click and Switch decked out in so much high-tech armor that they had both doubled in size. Even with Het-Lei’s ability to transform and heal at will. Even with Thea’s teleportation, stealth, claws, knives, and speed. Even with Kanid’s ability to hear what an enemy was planning on doing before they managed to do it.

Even with all that, she hated saying good-bye. She felt strange doing it. She felt like maybe everything seemed too perfect. That something had to go wrong.

Molt was the last to leave. He shot her an unreadable look before he stepped out the door. It sent a shiver down Joss’ spine.

Then he was gone and she was alone.

She waited a full hour before going out to explore.

Rath had told her before he left that she could go out to search for food and supplies. As long as she stayed close to camp, kept her bandu pole on her at all times, and was back before dark. She’d heard these rules plenty of times before, of course. He’d made a point of listing them for her every day from the moment she’d developed enough to understand them.

 

One – Never let your guard down.

Two – Always be one step ahead.

Three – Never leave camp without your bandu pole. The bandu pole is your best friend.

Four – Always ask for help if you need it.

Five – If you can’t win a fight, run!

Six – Never go anywhere alone, unless given permission to do otherwise.

Seven – Don’t let on that you can’t hear, if you can help it.

 

The list went on. Most of it was about her safety. Rath had made her practice screaming for help, much to the others’ displeasure. Young Joss had had way too much fun keeping her fingers on her throat and trying to produce the biggest possible sound vibrations.

“Just be safe,” Rath had said before he left.

She had hugged him tight, knowing how hard it was for him to allow her to go out alone without a partner. If he’d had his way, she would’ve stayed locked up the whole time they were gone. She suspected Het-Lei had had some influence on her situation.

So she struck out. Bandu pole tight in her grip, canvas bag hung over her shoulder. She had her hair tied back, but several wavy tendrils had escaped. Still, it was out of the way for the most part.

Kanid had planted some small, edible plants in a clearing in the nearby woods when they had first moved to their new home. She went to check on those first. They were still small, but the leaves were green and healthy looking. She offered them a sprinkle of water from her pouch, hoping they would thrive. So far Switch’s invention was keeping away the various woodland creatures that might be tempted to snack on Kanid’s garden. It was essentially a small, electrified fence. It delivered a small shock to anyone who tried to pass through it. Hartlings and cornils were deterred without being harmed. Insects were fried on the spot.

Joss, meanwhile, knew how to step over the thing. She did so now as she left the garden to soak up the bright sunlight.

There was a stream not too far from their home. She figured she could catch a few fish for her dinner. But as she turned to push her way out of the trees, she felt it. Just the slightest of vibrations in her bandu pole.

Someone was coming.

It was too big to be a Hartling. An Enforcer, perhaps? Or was she just being paranoid?

She kept her bandu pole pressed into the earth, not showing any sign that she had noticed something approaching.

The vibrations were getting stronger. He was behind her now. She took a deep breath. If it was a Goliath, she would employ Rule Number Five (If you can’t win a fight, run!). If it was a Kreech or a Bortol, she would fight. She’d been able to take those guys on since she was seven.

She waited just a moment longer, still feigning ignorance. The vibrations were stronger now. It was time.

She hefted the pole, spun it over her head, and whirled to face her attacker.

He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

Despite the Enforcer armor he wore, Joss paused before attacking. He was limping terribly, his eyes wide and panicked.

Human? she thought.

She’d never seen a human Enforcer before, but there was no doubt that she was looking at one now. His skin and hair were dark, his hands worn and scarred.

Blood was seeping out from between his fingers where he was clutching his side, and he was holding most of his weight on his right leg. She noticed that his left leg was sticking out at a strange angle, as if the bone had been broken once and then set wrong.

As her eyes moved back up to his face, she realized he’d been talking.

When she just cocked her head and looked at him, he repeated himself. This time she was able to read his lips.

“Help me,” he pleaded. “They think I killed the Overseer.”

Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Look out for Chapter Seven over the next couple days!  Hopefully tomorrow, but I can’t promise that.

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Grotesque

I know you’re all dying to read the first chapter of this book, and I will get to it.  I have a couple things to say first.

One, I have to add something to my objective list of why Twilight is bad.  I forgot all about (or blocked from my memory) the scene in the fourth book that occurs after Bella and Edward have sex for the first time.  Because she’s a human and he’s a super strong sexy sparkly ssss…svampire, Edward can’t help hurting Bella during sex.  But of course she doesn’t remember it.  Whatever.  I don’t care about their sex life.  What I do care about is Bella’s reaction when she wakes up the next morning and finds herself covered in bruises.  Edward has his first ever justifiable session of self-loathing, but Bella brushes aside the signs of abuse.  She even has a moment in the bathroom where she thinks about how best to hide the bruises from other people’s sight.  Since I feel like this kind of thing needs evidence to support it, I actually delved back into the world of Twilight and found the passage.  Just for you guys.

I concentrated on the bruises that would be the hardest to hide – my arms and shoulders.  They weren’t so bad.  My skin marked up easily. Breaking Dawn, page 95

I do not care what arguments there are in favor of these books and this author, the previous excerpt is absolutely unacceptable.  If I have to tell you why, then…well, I just pray that nobody reading this has to be told why it’s bad.

Moving on from that, I feel like I should explain my inspiration for Grotesque before I put the excerpt in because I know if I don’t, somebody is going to call me out on it and there will be a huge scandal and I’ll never be able to show my face in public again.

To start with, I was not actually inspired by Beauty and the Beast.  However, I do acknowledge that many aspects of the book can be seen as Beauty and the Beast – esque.  And I’m okay with that, because I love that story.  But I thought I’d make it known that none of it was intentional.  No, my true inspiration came from a different source.

There was this cartoon show that I used to love called Gargoyles.  It ran in the early 90s, and I have no idea what made me think of it, so don’t ask.  The thing is, since I was only three or four when I watched it, I don’t really remember much of the show.  Here’s what I do remember:

  • There was a group of creatures – Gargoyles – that turned to stone in the morning and came back to life as soon as the sun set in the evening.
  • There was  a human woman who was their friend.
  • The leader of the group was this big guy named Goliath.
  • Goliath often found himself fighting robots that looked just like him.  (Aside: The English major in me loves the juxtaposition of the ancient, magical creature and the epitome of modern, scientific technology.)
  • They had a Gargoyle dog, which is not really relevant, but it is still badass.  Can you say that you have a Gargoyle dog?  No?  Didn’t think so.  (If you can, I would very much like to go over to your house right now please.)

So, curious about this show, I looked up and watched the first few episodes.  And I was fascinated.  Not just because it featured blood and guns, despite being a children’s cartoon show on the Disney Channel, but because it really made me think.

The Gargoyles’ story begins in Scotland, some 1,000 years ago, where they act as guards of this castle where they must have been carved or something.  At first I thought, How interesting.  I wonder how they got wrangled into that deal.  Are they enslaved?  Or is it some sort of agreement?  Like, “Sure you can live here.  No, you don’t need to pay rent.  But could you protect us from Vikings?  K, thanks.”  But it wasn’t like that at all.  The Gargoyles simply saw protecting the castle as their duty, their purpose in life.  They lived for nothing else.  And that got me thinking about how different this story would have been had they been forced into protecting the castle instead of doing it willingly.

From their very first encounter, there is a romantic tension between Goliath and his human friend, Elisa.  I say “romantic” and not “sexual” because this was a kids’ show, so any sexual tension I saw came from the adult point of view that I brought to the show, not something that was already there.  Although it might have been, since the writers and animators were adults.  But that’s not important.  It just made me think of more things, and it is probably where most of the similarities to Beauty and the Beast come from.  Of all the Gargoyles, Goliath looks the most human, but he still isn’t.  Being a kids show, Gargoyles would never have to address this issue.  But as an adult viewer, I wondered how a relationship like that would work out.  I wanted to know how their love would be reconciled with their difference in species, so to speak.

From those two thought processes, I formed the idea behind Grotesque.  First I looked up gargoyles on Wikipedia and found out that the show’s title was a misnomer.  A gargoyle was actually just a glorified waterspout with an animal face.  Grotesques are the scary statues.  But I see why “gargoyle” became the more popular of the two words because it does sound way cooler.  Still, I chose to call the statue a grotesque for accuracy’s sake, and because the word’s various connotations were rich with literary promise, as I hope you’ll see.

Finally, before we move on to the actual story, I wanted to let you know that I did some concept art for the book.  I’m going to put it at the bottom of this post, so you can get an idea of what I think Serrafiel looks like.  Now, without further ado, here is chapter one of Grotesque:

Part 1

Enslaved

Chapter 1

I awaken for the first time on the ledge of a tall building, the ground too far below for comfort.  Above me is an inky black sky full of bright stars, a large moon, and a few wisps of gray cloud.  The words for these things come easily to me, in a language that floods my mind, though I don’t know where it came from.

Truth, be told, I don’t know where I came from, either.  Or how I got up here.  I look to my left and see a stone statue, its mouth open in a snarl, horns protruding from its head, and clawed hands keeping it secured to the ledge.  On my right is a similar carving.

I look down at my own hands and see claws, feel a strange twitching sensation around my shoulder blades and turn to see two large, leathery wings protruding from my back.  Swallowing, I reach up to touch my face – careful of the claws – and run my fingers up my forehead, feeling my heart plummet when I reach a pair of horns.  I look back at the statue on my left.  Apparently I belong with it, am one of its kind.  But then…why am I awake when it isn’t?

Reaching out tentatively, I tap the statue on the shoulder.  It still feels like hard stone, and I notice that my skin almost matches it in color.  I tap again, a little harder.

“Um…hello?”

So I can speak.  My lips form the words around pointed teeth.  My stone brother makes no response.  I sigh.  I’m definitely alone up here.  Looking around, I try to decide my next course of action.  I suppose I should try to get inside; I’d really rather not be on this ledge anymore.  My wings fold shut with just a thought, and I’m able to reach out and feel along the wall behind me.  The ledge is too narrow for me to turn around, so I can only scoot along and hope to find a window.  That or…can I fly?  I’m not so confident I could manage it, since I don’t have the faintest clue how it’s done.  I look down at the ground again and decide against trying; I don’t really want to risk my life when I’ve only just gained it.  That decision made, I continue to feel along the wall, my clawed toes giving me a secure hold on the ledge.

I’m in luck.  There’s a window just beyond the statue to my left, the one I tried to wake up.

“Sorry, friend,” I say as I climb over him.

Seconds later, I’ve slipped inside the window, and the chill of the outside is lessened somewhat.  I take stock of myself again.  My legs are a bit cramped, but that’s to be expected since I’ve been kneeling for…however long I was a statue.  I bend my legs up and down to try and get the kinks worked out, and that’s when I notice the thing that’s dangling between them.  I raise my eyebrows at it, and then the word for it, as well as what it’s typically used for, comes to mind.  Heat rushes to my face as I look away from that part of my anatomy.  I definitely won’t be using that anytime soon.  Maybe I should find something to cover up with.  The word “clothes” comes to mind, and with it the knowledge of what they are and what they’re used for.  Yes, clothes are used to keep warm and to cover up private things like the one between my legs.  I look around the room I’m in, trying to find something to pass for clothing.

The room is dark.  Several sconces are on the wall, but none of the candles within them are lit.  I do see that the wicks are black, so someone has used this room at least once in the past.  Aside from the sconces, there is a table with a dusty cloth covering, and a fireplace that contains a couple of fresh logs.  The tablecloth will have to do for clothes, then.  I pull it off the table, give it a shake, and wrap it around my waist.  It’s far too long, so I use my claws to shorten it, and then fashion a clumsy knot so it stays put.  That done, I try to decide what to do next.  I’ve been able to ignore it for the past few minutes, but now I’m aware of an insistent tugging deep within my gut.  Someone or something is definitely pulling me toward them, and I really don’t know if it’s a good idea to resist or not.  So I follow the tugging sensation and leave the room.

A long staircase leads me deeper into the heart of the building, and I feel when it starts to get warmer – someone has a fire going.

I push my way through another door and into a room that is…buzzing.  That’s all I can do to describe it.  I feel something crackling in the air, a force of some sort.  It’s not quite alive but it has a life to it.  And at the center of it all is a man in a long, brown cloak.  He is bent over a table that is covered in books, and in front of him is a small wooden bowl that is issuing a stream of bluish smoke.

This is the first human I’ve ever seen, and he’s rather unremarkable.  He has gray hair and a slight build that is swallowed up by his cloak.  Though he’s bending over the smoking bowl on the table, I can tell that he wouldn’t be that tall if he were standing up straight.  Still, he is human, and that is apparently a desirable trait, or so the helpful reservoir of information in my mind tells me.  Being human is normal, so whatever I am is not.  I find myself resenting my abnormality, especially when I step further into the room and glimpse my reflection in a dusty mirror on the wall.

My hair is long and…the word for it is “blonde.”  It falls down my back in waves, resting between my wings.  My horns sit right at my hairline, two yellowy-white bones that rise a few inches above my head.  I have very angled features, but they are not as fearsome as those of my brothers on the ledge, at least.  My eyes are bright green, and I think they might be glowing a little.  I can see that the parts of my body that aren’t covered by the tablecloth are tight with muscle, and my feet appear more like a bird’s talons than anything else.  Then there’s the tail.  How did I not notice it before?  It is long and reptilian, and it drags along the floor behind me.

“What do you think?”

I jump and look at the man in the cloak.  I’d forgotten he was there, but as I look at him, I realize he was the thing that had been pulling me.  Now that I am here, the feeling in my stomach has pretty much dissipated.

“I think…I’m confused,” I say.

“Yes, that’s to be expected,” the man replies conversationally.  “I’m just so glad you’re here.  I wasn’t sure it would work.  Creating life isn’t easy, you know.”

“Um…no, I don’t really.”

“Anyway, I brought life to you because I need some help.”

“Doing what?”

He shrugs.

“This and that.  I have rather ambitious plans for my future, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to accomplish my goals without help.  So I risked weakening my powers some in order to give you life.”

“What if I don’t want to help you?”

“Oh, you can’t refuse.  You’re enslaved to my will.  You will have to obey any and every command I issue to you.”

He is so matter-of-fact about it, but I feel anger and frustration rising in my gut as the meaning of his words sinks in.

“So you brought me to life just to use me as a slave?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’d prefer to be free.”

The man snorts out a laugh.

“And what would you do with your freedom?  Do you really think people would accept you into their homes?  Into their lives?  You’d be hunted down and slaughtered on sight.”

I feel my throat tighten, cutting off further words.  He is right, of course.  This had all been part of his plan to keep me under his control.

“Besides,” he continues.  “You can’t be free.  Not until I’m dead.  And don’t get any ideas.  You cannot disobey me.”

Well, this is a solution to one problem at least.  I raise my hand and slash my claws across the man’s throat.  His blood spills quickly, and he collapses to the floor.  The bastard hadn’t ordered me not to kill him, so I wasn’t disobeying anything by doing so.

I congratulate myself on a job well done, and am already planning what I am going to do next when the man’s body begins to dissolve.  That isn’t normal for human bodies to do, is it?

“I thought so.”

The voice comes from behind me and I turn to see the very same man stepping out of the air, parting it like a curtain in order to become visible.

“First of all, I order you not to kill me,” he says.

“But didn’t I…just do that?” I ask.

“You killed my double.  A mere fabrication.  Nothing more.”

“Damn.”

He smiles.

“I can see this relationship is going to be fun.  Things might have been easier for you if you had chosen not to kill me.  Now that I know you’re capable of it, I’m going to have to keep you on a much shorter leash.  Pity.”

I clench my hands into fists, my claws pricking at my skin, but not drawing blood.  Apparently I am made of tougher stuff than a human, in order to prevent accidentally hurting myself.  That would explain why my mouth isn’t full of blood, though my pointed teeth have been scratching at the insides of my lips.

“Let’s see now,” the man muses, finger tapping against his chin.  “I order you to never speak of me to anyone else, to never ask for help from anyone, to never explain your situation to anyone.  I also order you not to hurt me, poison me, or attempt to make me sick in any way.  There, I think that will do for now.  Oh, yes.  One more thing.”

He raises his hand and I see bright, white sparks flying from his fingers.  Then he closes those fingers around my upper arm, and I feel pain for the first time.  A scream is wrenched from my throat as I fall to the floor, writhing as I try to get away from that hand.

“This is the price of disobedience,” the man tells me calmly.  “If you should ever start to wonder if there is a way to go against my wishes, to fight me, remember this moment.”

He removes his hand, and I slump against the cool, stone floor, panting.

“You will call me ‘Master.’  You will not leave this church unless I order you to do so.  You will not attempt to run away.”

With each new order, a weight inside my chest grows heavier and heavier.  He does not chain me, but I feel as if I am shackled anyway.

“Go to the room upstairs and stay there.  That is to be your room from now on.”

I am in so much pain that I am unsure if I can move, but my body seems to lurch forward of its own accord.  Compelled by the magic that forces me to obey, I manage to drag myself back up the stairs to the cold room I arrived in earlier.  As soon as I am there, I collapse back to the floor, shivering.  In an attempt to get warm, I wrap my wings around myself.  My body craves sleep, but it will not come.

I hear footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later, Master steps into the room with a plate of food.  He sets it down by me and then points a finger at the fireplace.  The wood within it ignites into a large, crackling fire, and the room instantly floods with heat and light.

“You won’t be able to sleep until the sun rises, at which point you will turn back to stone,” Master explains.  “Those were the terms of giving you life.  You will wake again once the sun sets.”

He leaves me after that, and I don’t make any move towards the food he’s left for me – a plate of bread and meat.  I wish I could return to being stone and leave this life behind me forever.  And as I lie on the floor, ignoring the food and waiting for the sun to rise, I begin to cry my first tears.

END CHAPTER ONE <— not really in book, just needed a way to signal that I’m going to start the blogging thing again.

I hope you liked it!  See below my picture of Serrafiel (he doesn’t have a name yet, but he will later).

That’s all!  I have a bit to say about that common expression or platitude or whatever it is, “Write what you know,” so that’ll probably be my next post.

Word of the Day: Grotesque (adj) – odd or unnatural in shape, appearance, or character; fantastically ugly or absurd; bizarre

P.S. – You might notice that I’m starting to make the Words of the Day pertain to the posts.  Just look at how this blog has evolved since I started it!  Truly this is astounding!

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