Updates and Such

It's been a minute since I've done an update post that wasn't something quick on Twitter or FB, so I thought it might help to consolidate the info and hopefully get everyone up to speed. 

Long story short - it's been a busy summer, with contracting crews in the house off and on since March and lots of around-the-farm projects to tackle before cold weather sets in. Throw in being sick, and I've been far less productive when it comes to writing than I wanted to be. Last year, for only the second time ever, I managed to release five projects - but that's not usual. I'm a lone wolf indie without a "team" behind me - by design, at this point, because I enjoy doing things my way, thanks very much - and so the whole publishing process isn't the speedy, book-a-month churning-out of work that's come to be expected from indies and self-pubbers (also, more "authors" than you think are groups of ghost-writers working in tandem to produce books at an alarming rate, so, those "standards" are skewed...).

Anyway. Suffice to say I'm not where I want to be, which means Blood of Wolves is still in progress. I'd hoped to have it out in August, but I'm still writing, and I don't have a set date. I don't really do set dates as a general rule, because I'd rather take the time a story needs to develop rather than rush toward an arbitrary finish line. So, right now, I'm going to say October, but please be aware that this is subject to change. 

I've had quite a few questions across mediums about The Wild Charge, and my answer is the same as when I began posting the book: I don't know when the final product will be available for sale. I'm posting each chapter as it is written, and it is not my primary project. Some weeks I get out two updates, and some weeks I don't work on it at all; it just depends. It's free to read on Wattpad, and you can find it HERE, for now.

As for Lionheart...man, I hate to say it, but I haven't written more than a handful of sentences for that big boy all summer. Sons of Rome is my pride and joy, my favorite series, my favorite group of characters - but it is an incredibly time-intensive, mentally-demanding project. The threads of past and present, the blending of real history with the paranormal bits I've invented demand a more tranquil writing environment than what I've been able to foster this year. I need to get some other projects released, and then clear some time in my schedule so I can work on LH and LH only for a little while. I'm so, so appreciative of the patience for those of you waiting for it - all wonderful three of you, lol. I love this series to bits, but I know its audience is incredibly tiny, so, sadly, it's had to get pushed to the back burner over and over the last two years. 

All that's to say: I don't have release dates for anything. I will be putting something out this fall, hopefully soon. BOW is the closest to complete, and also the priority right now; The Wild Charge has low interest on Wattpad (as I predicted earlier this year), so it's just a whenever I feel like it sort of thing, and LH is on hold until I can give it the time it deserves - epic fantasy is not a quick, dirty endeavor, and it IS epic fantasy, not to be confused with anything else. 

That's all for now. Everyone have a great weekend, I'm going back to work. 

Here's a BOW teaser to tide you over:

Percy lifted his head, buckles on his new bridle jangling as he swung around to look at Erik – to greet him, Oliver realized, as the drake leaned in close and huffed through his nose, breath stirring Erik’s hair. Erik lifted his free hand – because he carried something tucked under his arm with the other, Oliver saw – and placed his palm gently on the end of Percy’s nose.

Percy breathed in, and out, his eyes blinked shut, and he turned away, seemingly satisfied. The bond in the back of Oliver’s mind flared with acceptance, and even a hint of liking. Percy slanted him a look that seemed to say, Well, if you like him, I suppose I can as well.

Not just like – love, Oliver returned.

Percy snorted.

“I was trying to let you sleep a little longer,” Oliver said, when Erik reached him.

A single black brow lifted. “And you thought to do that by leaving without a goodbye?”

“No, I’m not leaving.” His face heated, and he fought a childish impulse to fidget. Erik hadn’t caught him doing anything wrong, but that’s what it felt like. “I wanted to – practice. A bit. Before we departed.”

“Before Náli dragged himself out of bed and appeared to make fun of you, you mean.”

Oliver frowned.

Erik reached to cup his cheek, a quick, but warm, caring touch. Then he offered up what he’d been carrying. “If you’re going to wear armor, you should complete the suit. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you do wear the armor.”

Oliver flapped his arms, showing off the gear he’d already put on. “Have to insist?”

“I’m your king, aren’t I?” Erik sounded a touch flustered. “Here. Try it on.”

It was a helmet – an old one, based on its lines. Narrow, and long down the sides, two swooping panels of hammered steel that would hang nearly to his shoulders. A fluted nosepiece and arches over the eyes; a slotted visor on hinges that could be worn up or down. Oliver had seen its like in books: an old calvary helmet from Aquitainia: from the Crownlands calvary, specifically. It was a little dented in places, and in need of a good polish, but the long, bleached horsehair plume on the crest looked to be in good condition, still; it hung down over Erik’s arm and fluttered in the breeze.

Oliver took it from him, surprised by its heft. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Oh, that was in the armory here,” Snorri said. “We’ve got all sorts of odd bits and bobs floating around.”

The mental image of Erik up to his elbows in dusty equipment, digging for something special, put a smile on Oliver’s face that had Erik immediately suspicious.

“What?”

“You’re cute.”

Erik blushed. Cleared his throat. “Put your helmet on and have your practice, then.”

“So long as you stand there and continue to be cute.”

“Ollie.”

Snorri didn’t try to hide his laughter.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Oliver assured.

The helmet was cold, and heavy, but well-padded. He buckled it beneath his chin and turned his head side to side, trying to get the hang of his newly-limited visibility. “Shit,” he murmured. He’d never worn a helmet before – never had a need to. Sickly bastards didn’t ride to war. Didn’t…

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Oliver,” Erik said.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Percy’s back was higher than that of any horse, and so a secondary stirrup had been fixed down low on the girth. Oliver put his foot in it, gathered up the reins, and scrambled less than gracefully up into the saddle before he could think better of it.

He took a moment to settle; to stare down at the ground far below, and to find the stirrups with his feet. To feel the swell of Percy’s ribs beneath his calves as he breathed. He searched for fear and couldn’t find it; inquired to Percy, and met only acceptance and eagerness. This was right. They were meant to fly together.

Erik stepped in close and gripped the snow-dusted toe of his boot. “All right?”

Oliver nodded. He didn’t know if he ought to hold the reins differently, so he secured the oiled leather under his thumb and between his last two fingers, as if he was mounted on a horse. “All right.” He reached down to lay a gloved hand on Percy’s neck. “You might want to step back for this part. We’re just going up and coming right back down,” he assured, when Erik tipped a frankly lost look up to him.

A beat passed, before Erik nodded. “Right.” He backed away, Snorri alongside him.

Oliver wanted to offer the words that would ease his worry…but didn’t think any existed. He could only show him that he was capable.

He took a deep breath, and threw open the half-cracked door between his mind and Percy’s. Let’s go.

Wide, white wings spready with a snap. Percy settled low in his haunches, coiling like a spring.

“The harness, your lordship!” Snorri reminded.

Shit. Right. Oliver snapped the twin hooks onto the rings on the pommel, as Percy gathered a huge breath, raised his wings, and then leaped.

At first, it felt like a horse rearing beneath him.

But then it felt like nothing he’d ever known, as Percy sprang up into the air, dropped his wings, and began climbing effortlessly up and up. Snow swirled all around them. Snorri and Erik shielded their faces – faces that grew smaller and smaller as Percy continued his climb.

Oliver leaned low over his sinuous neck, tipped his head back, and looked up into the morning’s fading stars through the twin arches of his helmet. The steady, strong beat of Percy’s wings left the drake’s back dropping out from under him on each stroke, and Oliver was grateful for the harness and its clips. Erik had been right: this was nothing like riding a horse.

But all the strange new sensations were overridden by Percy’s calm reassurance. The promise that he would care for Oliver, and never drop him on purpose.

It seemed to take hours, but was only seconds, and then Percy’s wings spread wide, and they leveled out. Oliver sat up straight, peered over Percy’s shoulder at the ground below, and gasped.

He’d glimpsed this view in his dreams; in those strange, wakeful moments when the world had turned blue and his and Percy’s minds had melded to one. But then, the scene had always been fuzzy and indistinct. Now, he had a crisp, perfect look down at the now-tiny fortress of Long Reach, the pinpricks of torches rippling on walls and down in the yard. If he squinted, he could just make out the black specks that were Erik, and Snorri, and the guards at their posts.

A laugh bubbled up in his throat, and the wind of their passing snatched it off his lips. He was flying – he was flying.

He used the reins, but lightly. Most of their communication was mental – or perhaps psychic was the better word. Oliver only had to look in a direction, and Percy turned, large body elegant as a dancer’s in the air like this.

They circled above the fortress until Oliver’s face was numb from the cold, and until he felt secure in the saddle, leaning with Percy rather than bracing against him. When the time came to land, Oliver leaned low, laughing again, and urged Percy into a fast dive. His wings spread at the last moment, beat a few times, and he landed light as thistledown in the yard.

Erik’s eyes, when Oliver found and met them, were very, very wide.

“What do you think?” Oliver called.

It was Snorri who answered: “I think it’s official lad: you’re a dragon rider.”