{"id":1499,"date":"2021-08-19T17:15:09","date_gmt":"2021-08-19T23:15:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/?p=1499"},"modified":"2021-08-19T17:21:47","modified_gmt":"2021-08-19T23:21:47","slug":"tyche-books-presents-the-readings","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/tyche-books-presents-the-readings\/","title":{"rendered":"Tyche Books Presents &#8212; The Readings"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>[et_pb_section fb_built=&#8221;1&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_row _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;4_4&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_image src=&#8221;https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/When-Words-Collide-2021-1.png&#8221; title_text=&#8221;When Words Collide 2021 (1)&#8221; align=&#8221;center&#8221; admin_label=&#8221;Title Image&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_image][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p>The tenth iteration of the When Words Collide convention took place over the weekend. It was 100% virtual and was a lot of fun.<\/p>\n<p>One of the panels I was on was the Tyche Presents one, where Tyche Books had some of their authors attend and do brief readings from their work. Because some people who weren&#8217;t able to attend the panel messaged me on Twitter with their regrets and some who were able to attend had inferior audio I&#8217;m pleased to provide text versions of the readings which were featured at that panel.<\/p>\n<p>It&#8217;s certainly not the same as actually being there, but perhaps it&#8217;s the next best thing \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n<p>Each of these excerpts should take about three minutes to read.<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;4_4&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_divider divider_style=&#8221;double&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Excerpt Content&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p>We began the panel with an reading by E.C. Bell from her latest book in the Marie Jenner series,\u00a0<em>Tying the Knot.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt from\u00a0<em>Tying the Knot<\/em> by E.C. Bell<\/strong><\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>This reading is from Tying the Knot, the 7th book in the Marie Jenner mystery series. In this book, Marie and James go to\u00a0 Las Vegas so Marie can move on James\u2019 Uncle Jimmy, whose spirit was trapped there when he died, apparently of a heart attack. Uncle Jimmy is haunting psychic Crystal Desmoines, and Crystal would very much like him to leave.<\/p>\n<p>This reading is the first time Crystal and Marie meet.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>When I researched Crystal Desmoines and found out she was running a booming little psychic business in Vegas, I expected to find her living in a nice house in the suburbs or something. But that was not where the GPS took us.<\/p>\n<p>James pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of what looked like a rent-by-the-hour motel. We parked beside a swimming pool covered in algae blooms, with a couple of people asleep on deck chairs by it. It looked like they\u2019d slept there all night.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAre you sure this is the right place?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat were you expecting?\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSomething better than this,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>We walked up the cheap carpet-covered stairs and through a door to an open hallway that looked down on the back alley. I could hear TVs and music blaring, and from somewhere toward the back, a child cried.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThis is depressing as hell,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n<p>He didn\u2019t answer me, just walked the hallway, looking for # 204. Found it, and stood, staring at the scarred wooden door for a long moment. Then he rapped on the door twice. Hard.<\/p>\n<p>We could hear noises behind the door, but no one answered. \u201cIt\u2019s James Lavall,\u201d he said, and knocked again. \u201cWe have an appointment.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>More noise, and I realized we were hearing cats meowing. Sounded like a lot of them. And then a woman\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMove your little fuzzy asses,\u201d the voice said. \u201cI gotta get the door.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShe\u2019s a cat woman,\u201d I whispered.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGreat,\u201d James said. Then the door burst open, and Crystal Desmoines stood, framed in the doorway. She gasped when one of the cats made a break for it and loped down the hall.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGrab him,\u201d she cried. \u201cDammit, grab him before he gets away!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>James took off after the cat, with Crystal on his heels. I tried to blockade the door as the rest of the cats\u2014mostly kittens\u2014 mewed and pushed to get out.<\/p>\n<p>James made a grab for the cat who zigzagged away from him and then headed back the way he\u2019d come. Crystal neatly grabbed the big tabby as he tried to run by her.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cRambo,\u201d she said. \u201cYou know you\u2019re not supposed to be out here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She snuggled the cat as she walked past me, pushing the rest of the kittens back into the apartment with her foot.<\/p>\n<p>I scurried through the door behind her with James on my heels. He closed the door as Crystal set the big tabby on a table next to the closet. He jumped down and scuttled down the short hallway and disappeared. Finally, we were alone.<\/p>\n<p>Crystal smiled at us. \u201cI take it you are Jim,\u201d she said, and held out her hand to James.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJames,\u201d he replied. \u201cMy name is James.\u201d I noticed he did not take her proffered hand.<\/p>\n<p>Her smile fell as she dropped her hand. Then she looked at me, and her smile returned. \u201cAnd you\u2019re Marie Jenner,\u201d she said.. \u201cI read about you. You\u2019re a little bit famous.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHuh,\u201d I said. \u201cI didn\u2019t know that.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI saw the video,\u201d she replied. \u201cAmazing stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She was talking about the video of me moving on a whole bunch of ghosts, on live TV. My fifteen minutes of fame.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYeah,\u201d I said. \u201cAmazing.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHow did you make all those spirits move on, all at once?\u201d she asked. \u201cI can\u2019t even get one of them to get out of my space, for heaven\u2019s sake. And you moved 100\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201c103, actually,\u201d I said. All right, maybe that was my ego talking, but moving on 103 ghosts at the same time was kind of a big deal.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat\u2019s incredible,\u201d she replied. Then she seemed to realize that we were all still crowded in the little entrance of her apartment.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSorry,\u201d she said, and walked past us, to a doorway on the right. \u201cCome in. I imagine you want to talk to Jimmy.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=&#8221;2_5,3_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;2_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_image src=&#8221;https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/57730599._SY475_-200&#215;300.jpg&#8221; title_text=&#8221;Tying the Knot Cover&#8221; align=&#8221;center&#8221; admin_label=&#8221;Tying the Knot Cover&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=&#8221;3_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">Marie Jenner just wants a Vegas holiday.<\/p>\n<p>When psychic Crystal Demoines tells James Lavall that his uncle\u2019s spirit is trapped in Las Vegas, Marie is thrilled. All she\u2019ll have to do is help Jimmy \u201canything for a buck\u201d Lavall move on to the next plane of existence, and then she and James can have the holiday of her dreams.<\/p>\n<p>But she never dreamed that a lieutenant of the drug kingpin from Edmonton would be staying at the same hotel as her and James, and that James would become his new best friend. Or that she\u2019d have to find Jimmy\u2019s girlfriend Rita\u2014who disappeared the same night Jimmy died\u2014before he would finally move on. Or that the most powerful man in the hotel would be looking for Rita too. To find the money she stole.<\/p>\n<p>And Marie never dreamed that she\u2019d be planning a Vegas wedding in the middle of it all. But she is.<\/p>\n<p>Looks like her dream vacation is about to become a nightmare.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"http:\/\/tychebooks.com\/tying-the-knot\"><strong>Get your copy here<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;4_4&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_divider divider_style=&#8221;double&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Nure-Onna Excerpt&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p>Following Eileen&#8217;s reading we were treated to three separate readings from very different stories from the\u00a0<em>Water: Selkies, Sirens and Sea Monsters<\/em> anthology.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt from &#8220;Nure-Onna&#8221; By Marshall J. Moore<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><em>Kazusa, Japan. 1576.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>The dead fisherman stared blindly up at the grey sky above, his mouth open in a last, silent scream.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cAnother one,\u201d Okabe Yukiko frowned. \u201cThat makes three.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>She stood, tucking her hands back into the sleeves of her kimono. A tall, knife-thin woman, she cut a striking figure as the salt wind blew her hair back from her face.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo?\u201d her companion asked, looking at the corpse with revulsion.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo the killer is still active.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat killer?\u201d Fumiyo Mitsuhide snorted and spat into the sand. The thick glob of phlegm narrowly missed Yukiko, landing instead just beside the body lying stretched along the tideline. \u201cThis one was a fisherman, like the others. They drown sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>A cool breeze rolled in from the sea. Yukiko shivered and pulled her kimono more tightly about her.<\/p>\n<p>They stood on a long, narrow spit of beach beneath a cloudy sky. To the north lay a long cape of land that formed the shallow bay, its shoreline comprised of rocky cliffs and narrow, pebbly beaches. The coast was dotted by a handful of fishing villages, all under the ownership of one Kishimoto Haru, Mitsuhide\u2019s sworn overlord and Yukiko\u2019s erstwhile employer.<\/p>\n<p>As a <em>jizamurai,<\/em> the lowest rank of the landholding nobility, Kishimoto held only this narrow stretch of coastline as his domain and had only Mitsuhide as his sole samurai retainer. The deaths of even two of his vassal fishermen would have a significant impact on Kishimoto\u2019s yearly tax revenue, and so he had enlisted Okabe Yukiko\u2019s service to assist Mitsuhide\u2019s investigation into the mysterious deaths.<\/p>\n<p>Yukiko fixed Mitushide with a critical stare. He was a hirsute man of middle years, broad-shouldered and thick in the belly. A deep scar bisected his face from one temple to the opposite cheek, necessitating an eyepatch. His kimono was nearly as ragged as Yukiko\u2019s own, but he bore the dual swords that denoted his status as a samurai with evident pride.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThese men were not drowned,\u201d Yukiko said, reminding herself that she had been hired to assist Mitsuhide in his investigation, not the other way around.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLooks pretty drowned to me,\u201d Mitsuhide frowned. \u201cHis skin\u2019s all pale and wrinkly. They get that way after some time in the water.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTrue,\u201d Yukiko admitted. \u201cBut look at his eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWhat about them?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThey\u2019re still there,\u201d she said. \u201cFish eat the eyes first.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMaybe they weren\u2019t hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOr maybe he wasn\u2019t in the water long enough for them to start,\u201d Yukiko said. She picked up a piece of driftwood lying in the sand and used it to carefully turn the corpse\u2019s head over. \u201cLook at his neck.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mitsuhide looked, frowning. There were two dark puncture wounds in the dead man\u2019s neck. \u201cLooks like a snakebite.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yukiko nodded. \u201cI thought so as well. But look how far apart they are spaced. Have you ever seen a snake with a mouth that wide, Mitsuhide-san?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Mitsuhide scratched his beard. \u201cIt might have been two snakes, with one fang apiece.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Yukiko did not laugh. Instead she drew her curved <em>tanto<\/em> dagger from her <em>obi<\/em>, the sash that served as a belt. Kneeling, she drew the blade across the waterlogged corpse\u2019s arm. No blood welled from the cut.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cTell me, Mitsuhide-san,\u201d she said, her expression grim. \u201cDo you know of any snake that can drain all the blood from a man\u2019s body?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Frowning, Mitsuhide shook his head.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThen your master was right to hire me,\u201d Yukiko said, standing. She turned, the wind whipping her long dark hair from her face as she gazed out at the roiling sea. \u201cThere is a ghost preying on your people.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; admin_label=&#8221;HR&#8221; hover_enabled=&#8221;0&#8243; sticky_enabled=&#8221;0&#8243;]<\/p>\n<hr width=\"30%\" \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Depth Charge Excerpt&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt from &#8220;Depth Charge&#8221; by Laura VanArendonk Baugh<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">U-33 was a very busy lass, and certainly no lady. On 20 November 1940, she sank three steam trawlers off Northern Ireland: one in the morning, one in the late afternoon, and one in the early evening. By eight thirty the next morning she was shelling another trawler, the\u00a0<em>Sulby<\/em>, sinking her in under two minutes. The\u00a0<em>Sulby<\/em>\u00a0crew had a clear view of the German commander laughing at them as they scrambled into two lifeboats and choice seats as, one hour later, the U-boat sank the\u00a0<em>William Humphries<\/em>. That crew of thirteen shared a single lifeboat, according to the\u00a0<em>Sulby<\/em>\u00a0survivors picked up the next day. But the boat from the\u00a0<em>William Humphries<\/em>, and the second from the\u00a0<em>Sulby<\/em>, were never found.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Two bodies eventually washed ashore from the\u00a0<em>William Humphries<\/em>. Neither was my bridegroom\u2019s.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I was living north of Glasgow, not far from where the\u00a0<em>William Humphries<\/em>\u00a0went down. My people were from the northeast, but I had come to the city when the war demanded more workers. I lived now in a boarding house for unattached ladies, and I worked at the shipyard.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The John Brown &amp; Company shipyard was quite the largest fish in the Firth of Clyde. The yard had produced destroyers for the Great War and then liners such as\u00a0<em>RMS Queen Mary<\/em>\u00a0and\u00a0<em>RMS Queen Elizabeth<\/em>, and now was building ships for the new war. Landing there was a plum for me, and life would have been fine if not for the new war. And Caelan\u2019s death.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I was called from my typewriter on a grey January day. \u201cSomeone to see you,\u201d Mr. Atcheson said. \u201cSaid he\u2019d wait outside. In the cold, I suppose.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He shook his head. \u201cHaven\u2019t the slightest. Ministry of something or other, though, by the looks of him.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">The stranger looking over the firth did appear like a government man, all dark suit and low hat. He had an overcoat against the January weather and aviator glasses despite the grey overcast. He turned their smoked lenses on me as I approached. \u201cMiss Tennent?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He didn\u2019t introduce himself. \u201cI\u2019d like to speak to you about something a little unusual.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I had heard worse lines in the Glasgow pubs. \u201cGo ahead, then.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cMiss Tennent, the John Brown and Company shipyard is critical to the welfare of the United Kingdom. The confluence of the Clyde River and other waters make this an ideal building and launching site, with ships sailing away into the firth\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI am sure you have a good purpose in explaining the significance of this shipyard to one employed here,\u201d I interrupted, \u201cbut my tea break is short, and we\u2019re standing in the wind, and perhaps you\u2019d better skip ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">For just an instant he was offended, visible in a tightening of his mouth below the impenetrable glasses, but then he nodded. \u201cI apologize. I am accustomed to a sidelong approach for rather more resistant audiences.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">That mild apology helped. \u201cWhat\u2019s the unusual topic, then? What do you expect me to be resistant to?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cWe\u2019re looking for someone with special talents to recruit into a new program. That\u2019s why I came to speak with you.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I laughed aloud. \u201cSpecial talents? I\u2019m a typist in a pool, Mr.\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He did not offer his name. \u201cMiss Tennent, you come from a distinguished line.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI come from a village whose name you probably couldn\u2019t pronounce, in the hills along a sleepy loch.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cYour given name is Dierdre. Is that for the fabled Deirdre of the Sorrows?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Oh, the arrogant ignorance of the English. I was named for Dundbhairdghall, or D\u00f9n Deardail for less agile tongues, an Iron Age fort not far from where I was born. \u201cDeirdre of the Sorrows was an Irish princess.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cAh, but your family was Irish before they were Scottish.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">This was true; at its narrowest the sea puts only twelve miles between the coasts, and we were hardly the only line to have crossed it. \u201cThat\u2019s so, though I\u2019m not sure why that should\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cYour mother was a descendant of Niall of the Nine Hostages.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">That caught my attention. Niall No\u00edg\u00edallach wasn\u2019t a casual reference for a Sassenach. It was also true. Still, I didn\u2019t know what he was getting at.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cShe came of the same descending line as Colmcille, if I\u2019m not mistaken.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He did not say it with the possibility that he might be mistaken. And this was a disturbing amount of family knowledge, tracing my lineage to the sixth century and to a saint. \u201cWe\u2019ve barely discussed it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cYour family still lives along the loch.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cAnd why should we move from where we have resided for hundreds of years? Where should we be, if not there?\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. \u201cI only mean to say, you inherit a considerable history.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cAnd a lot of good it\u2019s done me, as you can see by my place as a typist in Clydebank and my address at a boarding house.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cIt could do some good for the United Kingdom.\u201d He tipped his head forward, his unseen eyes fixed on me, reaching for some connection I was not willing to offer.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">I regarded him suspiciously. \u201cIf you\u2019re encouraging for the war effort, I\u2019m already employed at a shipyard.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cAnyone can type. I\u2019ve come to you for other skills.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">Something stirred deep in my mind, a hereditary fear of torches and pitchforks and iron nails. For a moment, my mind ran wild with family stories and tales of tragedy.<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cSo, if you could see\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI have quite a stack of typing to do,\u201d I said abruptly, \u201cand I\u2019d best get back to it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">He looked at me for a moment. \u201cI\u2019ll be staying on in Clydebank for a week or two, if you should care to hear\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p style=\"font-weight: 400;\">\u201cI\u2019m not likely to.\u201d I turned and walked back inside.<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; admin_label=&#8221;HR&#8221; hover_enabled=&#8221;0&#8243; sticky_enabled=&#8221;0&#8243;]<\/p>\n<hr width=\"30%\" \/>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Hut-sitting excerpt&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt from &#8220;Adventures in Hut-sitting&#8221; by Rebecca Brae<\/strong><\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>Hester a witch who\u2019s hut-sitting for Baba Yaga when a kelpie kidnaps a new friend\u2019s child. She agrees to help and quickly finds herself in over her head LOL<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>I jumped back as a dappled storm gray mare charged to shore on waves born of no wind. The beast stood before us, hide twitching, eyes like colored galaxies eddying in the blackness of space. It was at once beautiful and powerful and utterly terrifying.<\/p>\n<p>I held my ground. I wasn\u2019t certain I knew any spells powerful enough to fend off a creature such as this, but I felt in my bones that running was not a survivable option.<\/p>\n<p>Holding the kelpie\u2019s gaze, I summoned my best don\u2019t-mess-with-the-witch-voice and ordered it to bring the kit it had stolen to shore, unharmed.<\/p>\n<p>It tossed its head and let out a grating cry somewhere between a whinny and growl, never once breaking eye contact with me. The silvered mane frothed about its neck.<\/p>\n<p>I sighed, looking between the bridle and the beast, knowing what had to be done and yet fighting the knowledge. What else did one do with a bridle?<\/p>\n<p>I swear the kelpie smiled as I slipped the harness around its snout. All I could see was teeth, serrated and murderous. The beast lowered its head, allowing me to hook the top strap over its ears, and then casually snapped at my leg. Luckily, my spell component pouch was in the way. From how quickly it spat it out, I\u2019m guessing liquefied lizard toes and hwriupt dung balls were not to its liking. (NOTE: Get new spell component pouch.)<\/p>\n<p>I tossed the reins over its head and caught them against its neck. The kelpie\u2019s hide was slick and cool, covered with something more like jellyfish tendrils than fur.<\/p>\n<p>Riding a kelpie down to its underwater lair was about the last thing I ever wanted to do, but Babs had entrusted Pasha and all its contents to me. It was my choice to help Mei, so this was my responsibility.<\/p>\n<p>I called an air elemental and wrapped the sprite around my head, hoping its air would last longer than the kelpie\u2019s desire to drown me.<\/p>\n<p>Holding the reins with one hand, I grasped its mane with my other, intending to pull myself onto its back. The kelpie interpreted the slight loosening as its cue to go.<\/p>\n<p>It turned and dove into the lake. I barely kept my grip as water surged around me, dragging at my robes. And then, we were underwater and I was stretched out, flying above the kelpie\u2019s back. Down and down we went to depths as black and cold as a winter\u2019s night. I could see nothing, not even my cantankerous mount. A great weight pressed on me from all sides. I held my breath as much as I could, only breathing when my lungs felt like splitting, and then only in short gulps so I would not exhaust my air elemental too soon.<\/p>\n<p>Just when my fingers grew so numb I doubted my ability to hold on, we surfaced in a cavern. Thick, knobby columns of white stone hung from the ceiling. Some barely touched the water\u2019s surface and others descended to the bottom. Luminescent blue dots glowed on the ceiling in an impossible starscape. From each point of light, thin lines of suspended droplets extended down and waved in the slight breeze of our arrival. They looked like strung beads, beautiful and innocuous, which is how I knew to stay well away from them. The cave would have been lovely if not for a heavy stench of decay.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider divider_style=&#8221;double&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=&#8221;3_5,2_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;3_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Water Text&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<div>Water is the most yielding of all elements, changing to fit its container, whether that be a thimble or a lake bed. At the same time, anyone who has ever watched the unrelenting progression of a tsunami understands its raw power. Associated with mutability, transformation, and the subconscious, water is both the tranquil azure of a tropical sea and the tumultuous waves and whitecaps of an embroiled ocean. As many faces as water may wear, the creatures within and associated with it have even more.<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div>Featuring: Catherine MacLeod; Kevin Cockle; Greta Starling; Elise Forier Edie; Kate Shannon; Sara Rauch; Katie Marie; Rebecca Brae; Colleen Anderson; L. T. Waterson; Chadwick Ginther; Julia Heller; Marshall J. Moore; Joel McKay; Elizabeth R. McClellan; Eric M. Borsage; Laura VanArendonk Baugh; Josh Reynolds; Liam Hogan; Mari Ness; Davide Mana; Sarah Van Goethem; Valerie Hunter; and Kelly Sandoval.<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong><a href=\"http:\/\/tychebooks.com\/water-anthology\">Get your copy here<\/a><\/strong><\/div>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=&#8221;2_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_image src=&#8221;https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/02\/cover200x310.jpg&#8221; title_text=&#8221;Water 200&#215;310&#8243; align=&#8221;center&#8221; admin_label=&#8221;Water Cover&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;4_4&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_divider divider_style=&#8221;double&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text admin_label=&#8221;Randy Excerpt&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p>We finished off the readings with one from Randy McCharles&#8217; second Sam Sparrow novel, <em>A Connecticut Gumshoe in Sherwood Forest<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Excerpt from <em>A Connecticut Gumshoe in Sherwood Forest\u00a0<\/em>by Randy McCharles<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>\u201c<em>The<\/em> Sam Spade!\u201d Maid Marian practically gushed. \u201cThe investigator from the future who visited my Robin in Camelot not once, but twice. To be honest, I was unsure I should put stock in such wild tales.\u201d Robin\u2019s fianc\u00e9 ceased speaking and stood looking at Sam, as though expecting him to justify himself.<\/p>\n<p>As had happened a few times during his visits to the past, Sam\u2019s stomach tightened, and the word <em>imposter<\/em> burned a path through his mind. When he first arrived in Camelot and introduced himself to Effie as Sam Spade, one of Humphrey Bogart\u2019s most memorable characters, it had all been a bit of flirtatious fun. The Wizard Merlin had charged him with being a Royal Investigator, and the street-smart private detective Sam Spade seemed to fit the bill better than down-on-his-luck, ex-cop Sam Sparrow. He\u2019d wanted to impress the young woman and, well, Sam Sparrow wasn\u2019t much to make an impression. He still wasn\u2019t, though Sam felt he had more going for him today than he did then.<\/p>\n<p>Sam had almost come clean a couple of times, just to ease the guilt if nothing else, but what good would it do? No one in the past knew Spade from Sparrow from Spalding. It would just confuse people. He did that well enough without going looking for it.<\/p>\n<p>Addressing Maid Marion, he allowed a smile to cross his face, and his left cheek twitched, Bogart\u2019s signature tick in his role as Sam Spade. \u201cI\u2019m not certain I should believe the tales I\u2019ve heard about you either.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Marian\u2019s eyes went wide. \u201cYou\u2019ve heard of me? In the future? In a far-off land?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sam nodded. \u201cYou. Robin. Tuck. All the Merry Men.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Marian frowned. \u201cMerry Men?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Robin rested a hand on his fianc\u00e9\u2019s arm. \u201cI\u2019ll explain later.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sam felt he should backtrack a little, just in case Marian got too excited. \u201cWhere I come from, we have stories, histories passed down from generation to generation. I can\u2019t be sure how accurate they are, but you and your friends are remembered as the good guys, so I\u2019m pleased to make your acquaintance.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell,\u201d Marian gushed. \u201cIf you say we are the <em>good guys<\/em>, as you put it, then I must believe you. Has Robin told you his plan?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHis plan?\u201d Sam echoed.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNow, Marian.\u201d Robin again placed his hand on her arm.<\/p>\n<p>She shook it off. \u201cIf your friend Sam is from the future, he may know if your plan succeeds or fails. \u2019Twould be foolish not to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Friar Tuck nodded. \u201cThe Lady speaks wisely.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Robin shook his head and gave Sam a hard look. \u201cMy friends do not like my plan. They seek to enlist your support against it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cThat is unfair,\u201d Tuck said. \u201cFor all we know, Sam will tell us his future memories of our time say your plan is a brilliant success.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Sam took a step backward and pushed out with his hands. \u201cNow hold on. I\u2019m no historian. I\u2019ve heard of you. I-I watched a movie about you. I barely remember it, but I think it was a comedy, so probably not very accurate. And you\u2019re remembered as a story, not history. Stories tend to be made up a little. Don\u2019t look to me to tell you what side of the bed you\u2019re going to wake up on.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>All three of his audience gave Sam a puzzled look. Then Tuck said, \u201cI know not the meaning of such words. Perhaps it would be best if Robin lay out his plan.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=&#8221;2_5,3_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;2_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_image src=&#8221;https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/08\/Image4-199&#215;300.jpg&#8221; title_text=&#8221;Gumshoe in Sherwood Forest&#8221; align=&#8221;center&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=&#8221;3_5&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<div>Sam Sparrow\u2019s search for a retired general\u2019s missing companion takes him to Sherwood Forest where he reunites with old friends from Camelot to help rescue Robin Hood and Maid Marian from the evil Sheriff of Nottingham.<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div>The Sheriff\u2019s plans are more nefarious than they first appear, however, forcing Sam\u2019s alter ego, Sam Spade, to stretch his talents to the limits.<\/div>\n<div>\u00a0<\/div>\n<div style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"http:\/\/tychebooks.com\/a-connecticut-gumshoe-in-sherwood-forest\"><strong>Get your copy here<\/strong><\/a><\/div>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_column type=&#8221;4_4&#8243; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][et_pb_divider divider_style=&#8221;double&#8221; _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;][\/et_pb_divider][et_pb_text _builder_version=&#8221;4.9.11&#8243; _module_preset=&#8221;default&#8221; global_colors_info=&#8221;{}&#8221;]<\/p>\n<p>And Th-th-th-that&#8217;s all,\u00a0folks. Try the risotto and tip your server!<\/p>\n<p>\ud83d\ude09<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>#EndingsAreHard<\/p>\n<p>[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The tenth iteration of the When Words Collide convention took place over the weekend. It was 100% virtual and was a lot of fun. One of the panels I was on was the Tyche Presents one, where Tyche Books had some of their authors attend and do brief readings from their work. Because some people [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[51,71,48],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1499","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-elemental-anthologies","category-excerpt","category-guest-post"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1499","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1499"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1499\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1516,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1499\/revisions\/1516"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1499"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1499"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1499"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}