Inside the Critique Process: Revised Opening

Filed in: blog | craft | excerpts | writing    Tags: brenda novak auction | critique | my fair concubine

Sorry this is late! Had an odd day…but here it is.

If you’re just seeing this, you can see the original version of the opening and the feedback:

Original Opening – 1st post

Feedback and Commentary

Thursday I’ll go into what I was trying to address with the revisions.

***

Tang Dynasty China, 824 A. D.
Chapter 1
(First scene remains the same)

***

“Jilted lover,” the cook guessed.

Yan Ling’s eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped at his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She’d leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold onto her pot of tea without spilling a drop.

She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.

“Should someone stop him?”

“What? You saw how he was dressed.” Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. “Man like that can do whatever he wants.”

“Get back to work,” the proprietor barked.

Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.

“Worthless girl,” her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.

It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She’d never known any life but the tea house. The story was she’d been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.

She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.

The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.

When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor’s wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the center of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look which she knew immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.

“Is there a lot of blood?” the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.

“Shush.”

She poured hot water into a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn’t even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.

His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by strength of his features; the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face which narrowed slightly at the chin.

With a cursory bow, she set down the pot and moved away. There were other tables to tend to and most patrons wanted to drink their tea in peace. Yet her attention kept on wandering back to the stranger. Hours later, he was still seated in the same spot. He wasn’t even drinking his tea anymore. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup.

Government official, they guessed in the back room, though he traveled without any escort and had a sullen expression that continued to sink lower as the day slipped by. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

By the end of the day, Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from long use. The tea house crowd had dispersed to return to their homes. Only the nobleman remained, still hoarding his cold tea.

As long as he stayed there, she was supposed to attend to him. Her master had made that very clear while he sat comfortably in the corner, tallying up the cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signaling that the day should be done.

Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them. The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her.

Cook tried to get her pry information from the man, but of course she wouldn’t do such a thing. He’d suffered enough public scrutiny that day to deserve some privacy. She guessed him to be twenty-five years. He had a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age, and she was beginning to feel for him. After his initial rage, he handled his grief with such dignity and bearing.

Gingerly, she approached the table. “Does the honored guest need anything?”

She reached for the clay tea pot only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched to return to his vigil. From the emptiness of his stare, the young woman had to have been someone close to him. His wife? But no man would let his wife escape with a lover after catching them together.

Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.

“I need a woman,” he mumbled. “Any woman would do.”

Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.

“Perhaps even you.”

Any sympathy she might have had for him withered away. If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he’d said it along with the addition of ‘perhaps’ as if to plunge her worth even further-Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents onto the scoundrel.

The stranger shot to his feet with a curse. With a choked cry, her master jumped up from his table and his wife soared like a windstorm from the kitchen, apologizing profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.

“Get out!” The master’s wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. The front of his expensive robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.

“We are so sorry, my lord,” she crooned. “So sorry.”

Yan Ling clutched the tea pot between both her hands while she stared.

The nobleman swiped the tea leaves away in one angry motion while his eyes remained fixed onto her. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he’d worn all day. The look he gave her was possibly worse than the one she’d seen as he’d charged up the stairs. Heat rose up her neck as she stumbled back.

What had she done?

“That know-nothing, good for nothing girl,” her master railed.

Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. Steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn’t block the nobleman’s deep voice as he complained about such disrespect. She could hear her master and his wife agreeing wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She’d learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined. It was unbearable.

Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen-boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her gray tunic. Fear set her heart skittering.

The tea house was where she’d lived all her life, but it was not home. The proprietor and his wife were not father and mother. This had always been clear to her and she’d had to earn her bed, this roof, and every meal with service and obedience.

One moment of hot-headedness. She’d lashed out at a well-dressed nobleman, of all people. She wasn’t even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged? She wasn’t allowed it.

She would certainly be scolded by both master and mistress, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She had become too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn’t even pretty enough to bring in more customers. They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her.

A beating was all she’d have to suffer, if she was lucky.

***
Now, I don’t mean to get a complex, but our joint critique is up for $2.00 at Brenda Novak’s auction. That’s less than a Starbucks.

Edited to add: Apparently someone bid since last I checked, so it’s now up to $15.00. I’ll make it worth your while, promise.

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Little Sis & I: Inside the critiquing process

Filed in: blog | craft | events | excerpts | writing    Tags: charity auction | critique process | excerpts

Little Sis and I are offering not one, but two joint critiques for auction:

Brenda Novak online auction for Diabetes Research

Get Bria Quinlan to RWA

In conjunction with that, I wanted to give a peek into what the critique and writing process is like between us. I’ve posted before that I think Little Sis has killer instincts and knows how to take something I’ve written and guide it to a stronger, better place. She taught me how to critique and thus, pretty much how to be a better writer.

The blog this week will go through a recent opening I wrote, how Little Sis responded, and then my revised opening based on her critique. Throughout each step of the way, I’ll discuss my reasoning and commentary on her critique. I’ll cover what makes a good critique for me and how I know to trust feedback — as I actually get many readers in addition to Little Sis. P.S. Bria Quinlan is another one of my trusted readers.

***

Breaking Good Writing

In workshops, I talk about how the most important lesson I learned was that good writing wasn’t enough to take you to the next level. The hardest part of the game is when your pages are good, solid, workable– but how to make them better?

Here was an example of an opening that I thought was good. I thought it achieved its purpose and hit all the notes I wanted to hit. It made it through several rounds of readers as well, but Little Sis eventually gave some feedback that turned things around.

This is a risk for me because this hasn’t been accepted by my editor yet. So the caveat is it may all change in the final version. You, the blog reader, may also find that you don’t like this opening at all or you would have totally written it differently. Or that my writing isn’t THAT good. That’s all fine. Please don’t take this as an example of how to write a good opening. I’m trying to illustrate the critique process and I hope to learn something myself by deconstructing it in this way.

Version 1:

This is a draft of an unpublished manuscript, prior to any professional editing or copyediting. This is how the story opens.
Tang Dynasty China, 824 A. D.

Chapter 1

Fei Long faced the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, unsheathed his sword, and kicked the door open.

A feminine shriek pierced the air, along with the frantic shuffle of feet as he strode through the entrance. The boarding room was a small one. The inhabitants, a man and a woman, flung themselves into the corner with nowhere to hide.

His gaze fixed onto the woman first. His sister’s hair was unbound and her eyes widened with fear. Pearl had their mother’s thoughtful features: the high forehead, and the sharp angles that had softened since the last time he’d seen her. She was dressed only in pale linen underclothes. The man who was with her had enough daring to step in between them.

Fei Long glanced once to the single wooden bed against one wall, the covers strewn wide, and his vision blurred with anger. He gripped the sword until his knuckles nearly cracked with the strain.

“Bastard,” he gritted out through his teeth.

He knew this man he’d come to kill, this boy. At least he’d been a boy when Fei Long had last seen him. And Pearl had been a mere girl. Now she was a grown woman, staring at him with a fearful question in her eyes.

“Fei Long.” Pearl’s fingers curled tight over her lover’s arm. “So now you’ve come.”

The soft bitterness of the accusation cut through him. Pearl had begged for him to come back a year earlier when her marriage had first been arranged. He’d dismissed her letters as childish ramblings. If he had returned then, she might not have thrown herself into ruin. Their father’s spirit wouldn’t be floating restlessly between heaven and earth.

The young man stretched himself before Fei Long, though he failed to match him in stature. “Not in front of Pearl,” he implored.

Though he trembled, Han fought to keep his voice steady as Pearl clung to him, hiding just behind his shoulder. At least the dog managed to summon some courage. If Han had cowered or begged for his life, he would already be dead.

“Step away, Little Sister” Fei Long commanded.

“No.”

“Pearl.“

“I’d rather die here with Han than go to Khitai.”

She’d changed in the five years since he’d seen her. The Pearl he remembered had been obedient, sweet-tempered, and pleasant in all things. Fei Long had ridden hard from Changan to this remote province, expecting to find the son of a dog who had stolen her away.

Now that she stood before him with quiet defiance, he knew she hadn’t been seduced or deceived. Zheng Xie Han’s family lived within their ward in the capital city. Though lower in standing, the Zheng family had always maintained a good reputation. His sister had turned to Han because she had no one else.

The tension drained out of Fei Long, stealing away his rage. His throat pulled tight as he forced out the next word. “Go.”

The two of them stared at him in disbelief.

“Go,” he repeated roughly.

Fei Long lowered his sword and turned away while they dressed themselves. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he faced the bare wall. He could hear the shuffle of movement behind him as the couple gathered their belongings.

The bleakness of the last weeks settled into his gut like a stone. When he’d left for his assignment to the northwestern garrison, Fei Long had believed his home to be a harmonious place. Upon news of his father’s sudden death, he’d returned to find his sister gone and debt collectors circling the front gates like vultures.

His father’s presence had been an elaborate screen, hiding the decay beneath the lacquered surface of their lives. Fei Long now saw Pearl’s arranged marriage for what it was: a desperate ploy to restore the family honor-or rather to prolong the illusion of respectability.

When he turned again, Pearl and Han stood watching him tentatively. Each of them had a pack slung around their shoulder. Off to face the horizon with all their belongings in two tiny bags.

Han bowed once. “Elder Brother.”

The young man risked his temper to deliver the honorific. Fei Long could bring himself to return the bow. Pearl met his eyes as they started for the door. The heaviness of her expression struck him like a physical blow.

This was the last time he would ever see his sister.

Fei Long took his money pouch from his belt and held it out. The handful of coppers rattled inside. “Here.”

Han didn’t look at him as he took it.

“Thank you, Fei Long,” Pearl whispered.

They didn’t embrace. The two of them had been apart for so long that they wouldn’t have known how. Fei Long watched their backs as they retreated down the long corridor of the country inn; gone like everything else he had once known to be true.

* * *

Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from long use. The tea house conversations had quieted hours ago. The crowd had cleared away except for a single patron.

He’d been there for hours and he wasn’t even drinking his tea anymore. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup. He was seated at the center of the room, drawing attention in every way.

The man had set a sword onto the edge of the table upon arriving. That was when Yan Ling had first noticed him. His robe marked him both as an outsider and a man of high rank. It was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by strength of his features; the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face which narrowed slightly at the chin.

In lieu of money, he’d shown a jade seal to the proprietor. Her master and his wife had nearly broken their backs bowing and welcoming him. Government official, they’d guessed in the back room. Though he traveled without any escort and had a sullen expression that sunk lower with each hour. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

After a day that had begun with the first light of the sun, Yan Ling simply wanted to sit. She envied the proprietor, who was seated quietly in the corner, tallying up the day’s cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signaling that the day should be done. Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them.

The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her. And yet this one patron was still hoarding his cold tea. One more customer and she could rest for just a moment. The tea house was so humble that it couldn’t ignore any earnings, not even a few coins from a traveler who wanted to nurse his tea for hours.

She guessed him to be twenty-five years. With a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age. Really too young to be muttering to himself out of senility. Yet he was doing it. Again.

Gingerly, she approached the table. “Does the honored guest need anything?”

She reached for the clay tea pot only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched to return to his vigil.

He was never going to leave! Occasionally the tavern at the other end of the street would need to throw out drunks, but it had never been an issue here. She stood a respectful distance away and looked to the proprietor for help.

Her master was deep into his coins. His wife was shouting orders back in the kitchen. No help was coming. Defeated, Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.

“I need a woman,” he mumbled. “Any woman would do.”

Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.

“Perhaps even you.”

If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he’d said it-and then the addition of ‘perhaps’ as if to plunge her worth even further.

Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents onto the scoundrel, expensive robe and all.

Suddenly there were plenty of people crowding the tea room. Her master jumped up from his table. His wife had come like a windstorm from the kitchen, rag in hand as she apologized profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.

The stranger had shot to his feet. The front of his robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.

“Get out!” The master’s wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. “We are so sorry, my lord. So sorry.”

Yan Ling was still clutching the tea pot while she stared.

The nobleman reached up to swipe the tea leaves from his chest in one angry motion. His eyes remained fixed on her the entire time. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he’d worn all day. Heat rose up the back of her neck as she stumbled a few steps back.

What had she done?

“That know-nothing, good for nothing girl,” the proprietor railed.

Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. The steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn’t block the nobleman’s deep voice as he complained about her. She could hear her master agreeing wholeheartedly, accompanied by the cooing apologies of his wife.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She’d learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined-it was unbearable.

Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen-boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her gray tunic. Fear set her heart pounding.

One moment of hot-headedness. She’d lashed out at a well-dressed gentleman, of all people. She wasn’t even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged? She wasn’t allowed it.

She would certainly be scolded by both her master and his wife, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She was too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn’t even pretty enough to bring in more customers.

They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her. A beating was all she’d have to suffer, if she was lucky.

Jeannie’s Commentary:

Now I know the pages have to stand on their own. The author never gets to explain why they did things to the reader. So I’ll just say I felt this opening was solid when I sent it on to beta-readers and Little Sis. It set up both my hero and heroine as sympathetic and interesting characters (hopefully!) and also eased readers into my world. Nothing says wuxia and adventure like a good ol’ tea house, you know?

Tomorrow I’ll post Little Sis’ comments with more discussion.(See feedback on opening.)

In the meantime, check out my auction items at Brenda Novak’s auction which opens today:

For writers: Joint critique with Little Sis

For everyone: Butterfly Swords fan pack (the one-of-a-kind annotated copy is included)

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New Release Monday: The Taming of Mei Lin

Filed in: Asian fantasy | blog | excerpts | new releases    Tags: excerpts | new release monday | taming of mei lin

Warrior Women month:

Check back in tomorrow for an introduction to Wing Chun and the butterfly sword form. On Wednesday, I’ll be posting an interview with kung fu instructor Mandy Sayah. Hope to see you back here!

Guest blog: Author Q&A now through Sunday at Unusual Historicals. One commenter will be chosen to receive a free download of The Taming of Mei Lin from e-Harlequin.

***

New Release Monday is a spinoff of Excerpt Monday, started by Bria Quinlan and Alexia Reed. If you’d like to join up for next month, take a look at the main site: The Excerpt Monday blog.

Welcome to New Release Monday! This is a happy day for me since The Taming of Mei Lin was first unveiled while still a work-in-progress during Excerpt Monday. “Mei Lin” is the prequel to Butterfly Swords which debuts in print on October 1.

The Taming of Mei Lin is available now. Enjoy the excerpt and if you’d like to read more, it’s available from eHarlequin, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and the Sony eStore.
——————————–
Faced with a proposal from a man she despises, impetuous Mei Lin makes a daring declaration: she will only marry the man who can defeat her in a sword fight. She has bested everyone who has so far tried to teach her a lesson…until a handsome stranger comes to her village. In captivating swordsman Shen Leung , Mei Lin finally sees a man she wants to marry. A man she’s willing to surrender to in every way….

***
Chapter 1

Tang Dynasty China, 710 A.D.

Mei Lin could feel the strands of hair slipping from her knot, tickling against her neck. Uncle made her stand outside during the hottest part of the afternoon, even when there were no customers. She wiped her brow and looked over at Chang’s tofu stand at the end of the street with envy. He at least had the shade of a tree to duck under.

If she planted a seed today, she reckoned she’d still be here selling noodles by the time the tree grew tall enough to provide shelter. And Uncle would still be growing fat, napping in the shade.

A tingle of awareness pricked against her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone had stopped just beyond the line of the wooden benches. The stranger wore a gray robe, but that was the only thing plain about him. He had the high cheekbones of the people of the north and stood with his shoulders back, lean and tall. Unfortunately the town riffraff stood just behind him, grinning and poking at each other over some boyish joke only they found humorous. Mei Lin ignored them as she always did.

“Little Cho.”

The boy came eagerly running at her call. Her little cousin was not yet corrupted by his father’s laziness.

“Fetch the tea,” she said and he went running to the stove.

She turned back to the intriguing man. He remained at the perimeter watching her. He had a pleasant expression and seemed particularly still, as if supremely comfortable in this heat and in this world. She stood there with sweat pouring down her back wishing her hair wouldn’t keep falling over her face like it did. It was so rare that strangers came to their village.

He bowed. “Wu Mei Lin,” he greeted formally.

Even rarer that strangers came who knew her name. The smile she was about to give him faded into a frown.

“Little Cho.”

He had just returned with the teapot.

She blew a strand of hair away from her face impatiently. “Fetch my swords.”

The boy scrambled away, nearly tripping over his feet in his excitement. She turned back to the stranger.

“This is why you came, isn’t it?”

“When I learned of Lady Wu’s skill, I couldn’t help but come to pay my respects.”

He insisted on using her family name in an overly polite fashion. The onlookers chortled. The hated Chen Wang was at the head of the pack. Wang tended to stay away from her after she’d given him a black eye that lasted for a week, but he couldn’t resist the show.

“Well, then. Let’s get started,” she said.

Little Cho returned and handed over her short swords. She fixed her gaze onto the man before her. He had his weapons strapped to his side. She’d missed it in her initial fascination.

“I don’t mean to presume,” he began. “If the lady would like time to prepare—”

“There’s no better time. Besides, the rabble will be expecting a performance.”

She scowled at Wang and his lot as she brushed past. It kept her from having to look at him. Why did he have to be so tall and his manners so impeccable? And why was she so taken with this swordsman when it was obvious he was here to humiliate her, just like all the others?

“Little Cho, watch the shop,” she called over her shoulder.

“But, Mei Lin!”

She ignored the boy’s protest and kept walking. He shouldn’t be watching street fights at his age, impressionable as he was. Uncle and Auntie Yin had enough to complain about without her being a bad influence on her little cousin.

The swordsman caught up with her easily, keeping an arm’s length between them while they walked together down the dusty street. There was none of the posturing and swagger she’d come to expect from Zhou’s lackeys. From outward appearances, they could have been joining one another for an afternoon stroll.

“Those are exquisite.”

He was talking about the swords. Twin blades; short, light and quick. Many called them butterfly swords, but there was nothing delicate about them. They were ideal weapons for a woman fighting a larger opponent. Heaven forbid he’d look at her with the same interest.

She sniffed, but a thread of doubt worked loose inside her. He was the first to be interested in her skill rather than the novelty of this odd girl who dared to challenge men.

“You don’t seem like one of Zhou’s thugs,” she said.

“Who is Zhou?”

He sounded earnest; she wanted to believe that he wasn’t just another bragging oaf, here to put this stubborn woman in her place. She stole another glance at him. His black hair was pulled back and tied, highlighting his distinct features.

And he was handsome. She might as well admit it. Looking at him left her with the disturbing sense that she had lost something; something she desperately needed to find.

“You are not what I expected from what they told me.”

He was looking at her face now. A rush of heat flooded her cheeks.

“What did they say?”

“That you were the meanest shrew in the empire.”

He smiled as he said it. His brown eyes were a shade lighter than what was common in this region. It reminded her of the golden wash of the sun over the mountains.

She knew then what she couldn’t find: her usual confidence that the fight was already won.

They reached the center of town where the main roads met at the market square. If Zhou didn’t send this swordsman, then he must have come on his own to challenge her. It had been two months since Zhou made his outrageous proposal, which she had countered with an even more outrageous declaration.

Zhou was a lesser magistrate of the district. He had proposed marriage after catching a glimpse of her at the noodle stand while he was passing through. Uncle and Auntie Yin had been thrilled that someone wanted to take her off their hands, but Zhou already had a wife. Two wives, in fact! She would be little more than a bed warmer and glorified kitchen maid.

She had announced publicly she would marry no man unless he defeated her in a fight. Her uncle and aunt were mortified, but she wouldn’t back down. Her parents had been poor, but proud people. It would offend their spirits to see their only daughter become some lecherous goat’s mistress.

Zhou dismissed her challenge as the ramblings of a madwoman. She doubted he could lift a sword, but his henchmen continued to bully her whenever they came by. Over the last few weeks, several strangers had wandered into town to goad her into a fight. She suspected they had all been sent by the disgruntled official.

She’d defeated all the country thugs and village boys who’d tried to teach her a lesson. But this swordsman was different. If Zhou hadn’t sent him, then he must have come on his own. Could news of her declaration have traveled beyond the dusty edge of town?

She turned to him. “Do you still want to do this, considering what a shrew I am?”

That half smile again. “I am not afraid.”

More townsfolk had gathered to see crazy Mei Lin and another one of her displays of rebelliousness. There was a moment of sadness when she squared off across from him. She’d become a spectacle. The only marriage proposals she ever received were these stupid challenges from scoundrels trying to show her up. One of these days, some brute would defeat her. Someone a hundred times worse than Zhou. She’d done this to herself.

“What shall the terms be?” he asked as he paced to the other side of the square.

Still so composed, his every movement measured and graceful. She should have been paying attention to how he moved, not how captivating his eyes were.

“We’re simple folk here. First blood should be good enough.”

She raised her swords while her opponent drew his weapon. The blade gleamed in the afternoon sun, the craftsmanship obvious to even an untrained eye. Even if she discounted the quality of the blade, she knew immediately this man was serious. There was a way a sword fits into the hands of a true practitioner, as if it were an extension of his body.

“You’re not even going to ask my name,” he said.

“Why bother? You’ll run from here in shame very soon.”

“Wu Mei Lin, the honor would be all mine.”

The way he spoke her name sent a shudder down her spine, despite the heat of the afternoon. Certainly he had come to see her out of curiosity, but could it be he was actually interested? He watched her so intently and his pleasant manners gave the impression he was actually enjoying the exchange. She wished they didn’t have this duel between them to confuse her.

He bowed, blade pointed downward, very formal. Like this was a sacred ritual instead of a street brawl. She looked down at her swords and for a moment they felt strange in her hands, as if she didn’t practice every morning and night with them.

Master always said she wouldn’t know her limit until someone pushed her to it.

“Now?” the swordsman asked from afar.

She tossed her hair out of her face. “Now.”

Copyright © 2010 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Copyright © 2010 by Jeannie Lin

Permissions to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. ® and ™ are trademarks of Harlequin Enterprises Limited and/or its affiliated companies, used under license.

***

New Release Links TBD

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Excerpt Monday: Huo Long and the White Snake

Filed in: blog | excerpts    Tags: Asian fantasy | excerpt monday | historical paranormal | white snake demon

Excerpt Monday was started by two lovely writers: Bria Quinlan and Alexia Reed. Visit the other links for some interesting reads from unpublished and published alike and if you’d like to join up for next month, take a look at the main site: The Excerpt Monday blog.

I had told myself I’d abstain from Excerpt Monday since it was so close to conference, but old habits die hard! For this month, I’m posting a rough draft of a snippet from a historical paranormal series which I’m calling The Soul Stealers. The Sorcerer’s Daughter is Book 1. This would be part of Book 4: The White Snake Demoness.

I’m not sure if this scene will make the final cut. I’m working on putting the ideas together.

———————-

Huo Long only caught a glimpse of the two women as they left the inn that morning. The young girl held a bamboo parasol over her mistress’ face to shield her from the sunlight. Even shielded in that way, it was the mistress that held his attention.

She wore white, pure white as if in mourning. But the silk of her gown flowed about her, wholly unlike the coarse drape of sackcloth. They walked across the courtyard and every eye followed them. Two women, unescorted and alone. That was strange enough.

He was still thinking of the women much later that morning after they left. A group of men gathered in the alley beside the inn to confer in hushed tones. Huo Long leaned close to the wall of the tea room. Their voices drifted through the open patio.

“Who was she?” they asked. And, “Where was she going?”

It was more than curiosity that had these men brewing. The lady traveled with a satchel of riches, they said. Gold and precious jade. She must have been a wealthy widow, relocating after her husband’s death.

His stomach knotted with disgust. It was too easy to find ill-will and foul spirit in this world. He didn’t need to look to demonkind for such evil. Men were too willing to turn their own weaknesses on each other.

He tossed several copper coins onto the table and took to the bustling morning streets of Hangzhou. The gang had scattered throughout the crowd. Huo Long was able to identify one man here, another figure there as he wove through the foot traffic. He tracked the men through the market until they disappeared into the wooded park surrounding the West Lake.

The two woman were likely expecting a peaceful morning, visiting the pagodas and bridges of the lake. Huo Long moved his hand near his sword as he stepped into the shade of the park. The trees pushed back the clamor of the city and the area grew still and quiet. Dense grass muted his footsteps. He listened for voices through the thicket.

To his surprise, there was no sound, no movement as he wandered deeper. He emerged at the shore of the lake and saw the woman in white. She stood serene and graceful, with the sunlight glittering over the water behind her. Her attendant was nowhere to be seen.

He came closer and was about to inquire if she was alright. Then he saw the bodies strewn around them. They lay lifeless in the grass, unmarked A trickle of blood ran from one man’s mouth. Huo Long had been trailing them by less than twenty paces.

A green snake slithered by his foot in the grass and he jumped backward, but the lady in white remained still as the creature undulated toward her. She smiled brightly, the beauty of the smile grotesque given the circumstances. His heart pumped faster with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Oh, he’s come to rescue us. How heroic!” Her eyes glowed like polished jade. “And handsome too.”

The grass at his feet came alive with snakes, writhing one atop another, moving en masse toward the woman in white.

——————–

More excerpts:

I haven’t screened all of these myself, so please heed the ratings. These excerpts may contain content not typical of my site.

5 Comments

Excerpt Monday: The Sorcerer’s Daughter part 2

Filed in: blog | excerpts    Tags: Asian fantasy | excerpt | free read | historical fantasy

Is it that time again? Time flies when you’re on deadline! Well, um, self-imposed deadline that is.

Excerpt Monday was started by two lovely writers: Bria Quinlan and Alexia Reed. Visit the other links for some interesting reads from unpublished and published alike and if you’d like to join up for next month, take a look at the main site: The Excerpt Monday blog.

Excerpt Monday is back! The contemporary romantic elements, Shinjuku, was coming along nicely, but after a while, I realized I might want to submit it. I think the rule is no more than 10% can be excerpted, right? Hmmm…that’s probably a made up rule someone told me. Must research.

I’m falling back to the historical fantasy I’m working on for this month’s Excerpt Monday. It’s a full length novel, so I have some more leeway, right? At least until it’s picked up by someone.

The first draft is halfway done and I am going to fight tooth and nail to finish it, despite a minor melancholy I’m currently suffering after finishing GGK’s Under Heaven. I posted the opening to Sorcerer’s Daughter a while back, before it had been titled. It’s about a mysterious branch of the Emperor’s guard tasked with fighting demons and evil spirits. Kind of like an imperial X-files, I suppose.

Part 1: The Sorcerer’s Daughter

———————-

Tai Shen swung around to face the clearing behind them. The air around him thickened as his hand closed around his sword. Shadows twisted and danced. His senses became honed, focused as he drew from the spirit energy around him.

“Tai Shen–”

Jin’s warning wasn’t necessary. He could see the mass of demons now. They formed into a slithering horde around the altar house, rising from the earth and spinning out from the air.

So many. Memories of his village came to him in a flood. The demons had been invisible to him then. He’d only seen the deaths they’d caused.

A furnace raged at his back. The burning talismans would send the cabin up in flames.

“Get her out of there.” He shouted the command over his shoulder, then strode forward to face the gui.

The spirit realm surged around him as he unsheathed the blade. Wandering souls tugged at his mind, screaming into his ears like a deafening wind. They sensed his life-ridden body opening to their energy. Tai Shen wanted their power. He needed it to fight the demons before him, but the ghosts wanted his warmth in return. His breath and his pulse.

The demon horde took shape. They moved with wrenched bodies and claws that sprouted from what should have been hands. No two gui were ever alike. Symmetry was a law of nature.

Tai Shen drew the energy, the qi, through his sword and let it flow into his muscles as he focused only on the enemies in front of him. When the hunters fought together, they moved as if of one mind. That was the training. Jin would take care of the girl. The demons were his.

Tightening his grip, Tai Shen swung hard, blade set. The steel ripped through the front line. Putrid jelly fell to corrupt the ground where they landed.

The monsters solidified into bone and muscle and jagged teeth. A leathery creature leapt at him. Its eyes gleamed bone white through the darkness. The eyes were the worst to look upon. The eyes gave the semblance of something living, but they never closed. Not even when he cut off the head.

Tai Shen swiveled and cut down another one, his blade slicing clean. His heart pumped steadily. He controlled it with circular breath and will, slowed it even more as he moved faster. Qi flowed through him. He leapt above the thick of the oncoming horde and hovered suspended. Chose his targets. The wide arc of sweep of his blade cut through them like a scythe through the harvest. Yet more grew from the shadows.

“Where are they coming from?” he shouted.

“I don’t know.” Jin stood outside the cabin, keeping Song Yi close.

Tai Shen speared another creature through its torso. The next gui that approached from the darkness of the night was nothing like the monsters that littered the ground. It was a red-skinned demon, twice a man’s height. The body was nearly human. Arms and legs and a head, at least. A tongue of flame flickered from its wide mouth. It held a rusted broadsword in the grip of its claws.

He fell back a step. “Jin, go now.”

“Tai Shen–”

“Now.”

The red demon stared at Tai Shen with its tireless eyes. Its grin seemed to widen. That was another temptation — to believe that demonkind had human thoughts and emotions.

His hand tightened on his weapon. The lost souls around him wailed to be let in. They sensed what he was. A conduit, a vessel. The opposing forces of light and dark twined within him. Shifu had warned them to only take what they needed. The power would always tempt.

He launched himself upward. His feet lifted from the earth, higher than mortally possible. One well-placed strike at the thing’s neck was all it would take. Tai Shen drew his sword arm back to deliver the killing blow, but the red demon raised its broadsword. The two blades clashed with a shriek of metal. Tai Shen landed and dug his heels in to regain balance. His arms shook from the impact.

This was no mindless monster. Tai Shen had defeated worse, but he’d had help then. First Brother had fought by his side.

No time to think. The red demon was upon him again. Tai Shen deflected the first strike. This wasn’t like fighting another swordsman. There was no heart to pierce, no blood to spill. He dodged the second attack and somersaulted over the demon to land behind it.

A flash of white cloth caught his eye. Brilliant in the nighttime. He bit back a curse. Jin was supposed to get Song Yi out of there.

He needed to end this. The demon advanced on him, but as he raised his sword, a halo grew around the hulking beast. Brighter. Brighter still, before the demon melted away with nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Song Yi stood where the gui had been. She held a sword carved out of wood, arm stretched out from delivering the final blow. It was more a dancer’s pose than a warrior stance, elongated and graceful. Her white robe gleamed like new, soft snow.

Next -  Part 3: The Sorcerer’s Daughter

——————–

More excerpts:

I haven’t screened all of these myself, so please heed the ratings. These excerpts may contain content not typical of my site.

7 Comments

Excerpt Monday No Show

Filed in: blog | excerpts    Tags: excerpt monday

This is the first Excerpt Monday I’ve missed since I started participating and I do feel awful. The lovely coordinators even sent a last call to remind me, but I had to make a big girl choice. I was Fast Drafting as well as researching a post for Unusual Historicals. Each UH post is like a mini history paper for me. It takes some effort to put them together and this month I’m trying to do a cross-cultural topic about paper and the printing press a little bit of justice –  it’s not easy for a math and science gal!

Not to mention I just discovered Sherry Thomas on Friday and there are two more books burning a hole through my TBR pile. They’re right over there. I put them on the coffee table so I wouldn’t see them on my desk and read them instead of working. But I can sense them…

I digress and perhaps am starting to make excuses. I would still like to come out and support EM so here we go:

It’s time for Excerpt Monday! For those of you who are new to it, check out the details on the blog: Excerpt Monday. All are welcome, published and unpublished. Here are this month’s excerpts, none of which are mine. It’s quite a great list though and I’m quite excited. I haven’t pre-screened the excerpts, so please heed the warnings and happy reading!

To kick it off, your hosts:

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)
and
Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

Joining us this week:

Jaleta Clegg, Science Fiction (PG13)
Christa Carol Jones, Young Adult (PG 13)
Nadia Lee, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison,Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Debbie Mumford, Fantasy (PG 13)
Isabelle Santiago, YA romantic fantasy (PG 13)

Stephanie Draven, Fantasy with romantic elements (R)
Cate Hart,  YA Paranormal (R)
Inez Kelley, Fantasy Romance (R)
Charlotte McClain, Sweet Romance (R)
Danielle Yockman, Historical Romance (R)

Emily Ryan-Davis, Futuristic Romance (NC 17)
Gail Roarke, Contemporary erotica (NC 17)

2 Comments

Excerpt Monday: Shinjuku Part 4

Filed in: blog | excerpts | guest blogs    Tags: chinese calligraphy | excerpt monday | guest blog | tokyo | travel | unusual historicals

March Madness time! It’s time for Excerpt Monday. For those of you who are new to it, check out the details on the blog: Excerpt Monday. All are welcome, published and unpublished.

Of course I also double booked myself. I’m over at Unusual Historicals blogging about The Art of Chinese Calligraphy. I should have consulted Cindy Pon whose the brush painting artist — but instead I did some research and found some really intriguing information about it that’s actually quite useful for my manuscripts. Come see if you have time (it goes live after 5am) :  Arts and Music: Chinese Calligraphy

This month is part four of my chance encounter story in Tokyo

Read Part One

Read Part Two

Read Part Three

Part Four:

By the time we reached Akasaka station, Scott popped the question. “So when are you leaving?”

“I go back to Seoul tomorrow night.”

We had slowed our steps and pedestrians flowed by on either side of us, all dark-haired and golden skinned. I could blend in and look exactly like one of them. Then again, I couldn’t.

“Any plans?” he asked.

“Well there was the tea ceremony.”

We both chuckled at that.

“Nothing big. I just like to look around.” I shrugged. “I heard the Tokyo fish market is a must see.”

I had a once in a lifetime chance to visit Tokyo and my big plans were to sleep in a capsule and visit the fish market. Thankfully, Scott didn’t laugh at me. He shifted the backpack over his shoulder and looked thoughtful. His short brown hair fell carelessly over his forehead. I liked that. I still do.

“If you want, we can meet here tomorrow morning and take the train,” he offered.

Then he paused. That pause told me things. There was a slight catch in his breath as he waited for my answer. My heart started pounding.

It wasn’t a date. It was too easy to be a date. We both played it out that way. We agreed to meet at nine and then he disappeared up the escalators into the station. Casual. Friendly.

I wasn’t expecting to meet up with Kent and Mari-san for another several hours and it was too early to check in, so I wandered around looking inside shop windows. With Scott gone, I was enclosed in a bubble of silence. I knew about ten phrases in Korean. In Japanese, that number was more like three. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the chit-chat until small talk became impossible.

That was the hardest thing about this consulting job. The people in the office spoke enough English, but every single exchange was hard work. After hours and on weekends, I was left on my own. I had to translate prices in my head, carefully work out each question and listen carefully for answers where only every third word made sense.

Most of the time I didn’t mind being lost and wandering. It made me appreciate what my family must have gone through when they had first come to the U.S. My grandmother was a tiny little bird who only knew about five words in English, but she’d go anywhere and do anything. She was fearless. I decided to take the train to Shibuya Crossing. I could be fearless too.

I emerged from the station beneath the glow of three massive digital screens. There is a phrase my mother uses: As bright as the day. The neon glare of Shibuya was as bright as the day. I became nothing but an anonymous speck, caught in an onslaught of people coming from all directions. If I didn’t move, I’d be trampled underfoot. So the tide  dragged me forward while the lights flashed overhead. This was Times Square multipled by ten.

I had this nagging feeling that I should be doing something to make the most of this experience, but I had no idea of where to go or what to do. In the end, I didn’t go into a single store on Shibuya Avenue. I let the crowd carry me while I absorbed its energy, taking in every sign, storefront and restaurant. There were so many images and everything was in startling colors; red, yellow, electric blue. Billboards and icons and moving lights shouted at me. Maybe this was what advertisers had to do to get anyone’s attention in such a densely packed metropolis.

I floated along feeling cosmopolitan for being here and, at the same time, completely clueless. The details fail me. All I remember was the crowd and the lights. I remember feeling as if I had somehow been transported into Blade Runner. I stood there, with the heart of Tokyo beating around me, and it was like nothing else in the world.

———————

March EM links:

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)
and
Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

Joining us this week:

Leslie Dicken, Historical (PG 13)
Victoria Dixon, Fantasy (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Contemporary romantic elements (PG 13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Debbie Mumford, SFF (PG 13)

KB Alan, Erotic Paranormal Romance (R)
Stephanie Draven, Fantasy with romantic elements (R)
Cate Hart, Paranormal YA (R)
Jeanne St. James, Interracial Menage (R)
Ali Katz, Historical (R)
Danielle Yockman, Steampunk (R)

Sara Brookes, Contemporary Romance (NC 17)
Christa Paige, ContemporaryRomance (NC 17)
Mary Quast, Contemporary Romance (NC 17)

4 Comments

Excerpt Monday: Shinjuku pt.2

Filed in: blog | excerpts    Tags: excerpt monday | romantic elements | Shinjuku | tokyo

This EM tried to sneak up on me, but I caught it. Ha! Excerpt Monday was started by authors Bria Quinlan and Alexia Reed. Unpublished and published authors post excerpts every month. They’ve added many new features such as holiday free reads and new releases too. Check it out on the blog: Excerpt Monday

This month is a continuation of the opening I posted last month. The working title of it is, “My Thoughts Return to Shinjuku”. Perhaps as it unfolds a little more, a little muse might suggest a better title?

The funny thing about re-reading part one — There is no elevator as our protagonist goes to the tea room. But I remember…oops, I mean…I imagined this elevator scene so vividly that the tea room simply must be on the second or third floor. I’ll have to fix that in edits. And the fact that the protagonist’s name sounds familiar is purely coincidental…

From last month:

But I was already late. And the formalness of the woman’s kimono and the meticulous room made me feel all the more gaijin. I hurried across the stones in my socks and knelt down onto the mat. The guy next to me was, like me, wearing jeans. He was the first Caucasian I had seen in days. I shot him an apologetic look, but he simply waited patiently with his hands resting on his knees for the tea ceremony to continue.  Read Part One

Part Two:

The hostess returned to the front of the room in tiny steps, the looped knot of her obi swaying back and forth behind her. The muted lantern light cast a reverent glow. A tray had been set with a kettle and bowls as well as other implements. She served us each a bubble-shaped purple jelly on a paper doily.

“Traditional Japanese sweet,” she explained.

And then the polyphonic tones of Beethoven’s Fifth cut into the proceedings. I sliced into the bubble with a toothpick-like utensil while she pattered to the back room to grab her cell phone. Thank goodness it wasn’t mine.

“Moshi-moshi.” She spoke in hushed tones in the back room while we ate.

The coconut-flavored jelly slid cool down my throat. I took my time picking at it as there was nothing else to do while we waited. The hostess was still talking on the phone when I finished, so I folded the paper carefully in my hands and glanced over at my jean-clad counterpart. He shifted on the mat, but otherwise remained respectfully still. He had light brown hair, short and unstyled. His jaw was slightly square and the look of him invoked an immediate sense of familiarity. I darted my gaze away before he could return it.

I remember how I stood in a subway train a month ago and realized, ‘Hey, I’m not shorter than everyone here’. This was the first time in my life I was surrounded by people who looked like me; Asian faces on every street, in every restaurant — and not just the wait staff.  Why should that feel like a Twilight Zone moment? Like that woman who wakes up from the operating table and is mortified when she sees her own face.

The Japanese woman returned to take us through the rest of the ritual: the respectful bowing, the whisking of the powder and water into a froth. I held the tea bowl in both hands and drank deep. True green tea tastes like boiled grass. The stuff they sell in the States is usually a doctored version.

The phone only rang once more before the ceremony was completed. We paid the hostess for our cultural experience and she zipped the yen notes into a small silk purse.

Out in the lighted hallway, I could see my tea companion more clearly.  His eyes were the same color as his hair, brown and common. He had that everyman boyish face that you saw many times over in the US. Only here in Tokyo could he achieve any sort of distinctiveness. The backpack slung over his shoulder made me think he might be a graduate student.

“That was interesting,” he remarked.

“Yes, it was.”

The stiff formality of the tea room remained with us as we walked to the elevator. Once inside, we grew even more quiet as we stared up at the lighted numbers, counting each ding down. The top of my head barely reached his shoulder.

“The cell tone added a real authentic touch,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “Especially when it rang the second time.”

“And I felt like such an ugly American for being late!”

We laughed together in the close space, poking fun at how we had come expecting a rich and somber ritual.

“I’m Scott.”

“Jeannie,” I replied, and we passed into the second phase of casual meetings.

———————

This month’s links:

Don’t forget to come back on the first Monday of February for New Release Monday.  See what’s coming out and enter to win a free basket of New Releases.

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)

and

Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

Joining us this week:

Stephanie Draven, Fantasy with Romantic Elements (PG 13)
Danie Ford, Contemporary YA (PG 13)
Babette James, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Cynthia Justlin, Thriller with Romantic Elements (PG 13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13)
R. F. Long, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Shawntelle Madsion, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Debbie Mumford, Science Fiction/ Fantasy (PG13)

Kendal Corbitt, Erotica Contemporary (R)
KB Alan, Erotic Paranormal Romance (R)
Cate Hart, YA Paranormal (R)
Jeanne St. James, Interracial Menage Erotic Romance (R)
Cherrie Lynn, Contemporary Erotic Romance (R)
Michelle Picard, Paranormal/Fantasy (R)
Mary Quast, Contemporary Romance (R)
Danielle Yockman, Historical Romance (R)

Sara Brookes, Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy (NC17)
Angeleque Ford, Contemporary, Interracial, Erotic Romance (NC 17)
Elise Logan, Contemporary Romance (NC17)

12 Comments

Excert Monday: Shinjuku

Filed in: blog | excerpts    Tags: excerpt monday | romantic elements | Shinjuku | tokyo

It’s that time again! I just couldn’t stay away from Excerpt Monday. I’m switching gears a little and posting the beginning of  contemporary short story that I’ve been working on off and on. I had to remove all the posts for excerpts that may have been contracted or will be on submission soon, but I figured it will be a LONG time before I try to publish a contemporary or a women’s fiction piece.

This story is based on a short visit I made to Tokyo while working abroad. Enjoy!

About Excerpt Monday:

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Excerpt:

Yotsuya Station, Tokyo

I rushed up the steps of the subway station, weaving through the thick of the crowd as politely as I could. There were multiple exits up to street level and my navigational instincts told me that if I could get outside, if I could just see sky, I’d be able to figure out where I was. But my instincts sucked and they didn’t seem to improve no matter how many new cities I went to.

Out on the sidewalk, the city buzz of cars and pedestrians took over and I cracked open my copy of Lonely Planet: Tokyo a moment before realizing that I had to step aside from the oncoming rush of people. I made myself as small as possible beside the stairs and stared at the glossy map at the center of the book. When I found my location, I stabbed the dot with a finger and looked up, searched for street signs, looked down again, and turned the map sideways.

The tea ceremony at the New Otani hotel was scheduled for 2pm on Saturdays for the price of 800 yen. My cell phone read 1:54. I started walking fast even though I wasn’t sure where I was going. Being five or ten minutes late wasn’t a big deal in Los Angeles time with traffic and crowds and everyone drunk on sunshine, but here it seemed outright disrespectful.

It turned out the hotel was close. Hard to miss too, being a forty-story complex of polished steel surrounded by Japanese gardens. Somehow, I did miss it and had to double back. I stuffed the Lonely Planet into my bag as I approached the glass doors.

“Welcome to the New Otani. How can I help you?” The concierge spoke English in the overly precise tone that came from study.

Darn it, how did they always know? I wasn’t Japanese, but I was Asian and looked it. No one ever mistook me for a traveler from Hong Kong or Korea. Even before I said a word, they somehow knew I was American.

I had to brush my hair from my eyes. “I’m here for the tea ceremony?”

He nodded once and gestured with an outstretched arm, looking crisp in his black suit. I was sweating in my sneakers. Maybe it was the sneakers that gave me away.

At the end of the corridor, a sign on the tea room door reminded visitors to be respectfully quiet in observance of the ceremony. By now my phone read 2:15. I stood staring at the sign, deciding if I should knock. As I reached for the handle tentatively, a woman in a purple kimono opened the door. Her hair was done up in an elaborate knot.

“Tea ceremony?” she asked in carefully pronounced English.

Yes, unmistakably American.

I made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

She beckoned me in and instructed me to remove my shoes. As I tugged at the laces, feeling more out of place with each moment, I noticed there was another person kneeling on the tatami mats at the other end. He was the first Caucasian I had seen in days. I shot him an apologetic look, but he simply waited patiently with his hands resting on his knees.

“Links to other Excerpt Monday writers
Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

and

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)

Joining us this week:

Danie Ford, Womens Fiction (PG13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG13)
Jeannie Lin, Contemporary (PG13)
RF Long, Fantasy Sword and Sorcery (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Debbie Mumford, Flash Fiction (PG13)

KB Alan, Erotic Paranormal Romance (R)
Penny Dune, Romantic Suspense (R)
Cate Hart, YA Paranormal (R)
Inez Kelley, Contemporary Romance (R)
Jeannete Murray, RomCom (R)
Christa Page, Regency Paranormal (R)
Michelle PicardParanormal
Jeanne St James, Erotic Rom M/M (R)
Danielle Yockman, Historical Romance (R)

Sara BrookesFantasy (NC17)
Emily Ryan Davis, Erotic Contemporary Romance (NC17)
Ella Drake, Erotic SciFi Romance (NC17)
Angeleque Ford, Erotic Contemporary Romance (NC17)
Jamal W Hankins, (NC17)
Bryl R Tyne, Transgender M/M (NC17)

9 Comments

Excerpt Monday: Sorcerer’s Daughter #1

Filed in: Asian fantasy | blog | excerpts | excerpts | writing    Tags: demons | excerpt monday | fantasy | historical paranormal | romance excerpt

Is it that time again? Time flies when you’re on deadline! Well, um, self-imposed deadline that is.

Excerpt Monday was started by two lovely writers: Bria Quinlan and Alexia Reed. It revolves around a group of unpublished and published authors who post their excerpts once a month on a Monday. More are always welcome!Visit the other links for some interesting reads and if you’d like to join up for next month, take a look at the main site: The Excerpt Monday blog.

November brings us the opening to a series that I’m hoping to be able to flesh out once Across the Silk Road is done. You can see by the less than sparkly title, that this is still in pre-production. It’s my first attempt to plot a historical paranormal series revolving around five swordsmen in secret service to the Emperor.
—————————————–

The Middle Kingdom, 9^th century

Over the last rise there was silence. Tai Shen expected the sounds of the night to surround them out in this wooded area; the whirring of summer crickets or the coo of an owl. His hand trailed to his weapon, and his sword brother Jin mirrored the gesture.

“Do you sense anything?”

Jin grew still, breathing slowly in and out, before shaking his head. He remained tense however, poised for danger. Tai Shen didn’t comprehend the ethereal forces that Jin sought. Their shifu referred to it as a subtle light.

The outline of a cabin stood ahead. The scent of camphor and sandalwood grew stronger as they approached until it hung in the air like a veil. A strip of paper hung on either side of the doorway, displaying the spider-like brushstrokes of an incantation.

The Taoist master Yang had retreated to this remote stretch of forest nearly a decade ago, losing himself in isolation like so many seekers of the Way. But Tai Shen needed the help of a master now, a true sorcerer who could call the spirits and bend heaven and earth.

A sliver of light seeped out from around the door. Tai Shen peered through the opening. An elderly man lay still upon a mat at the center of the room. Too still.

Tai Shen felt his throat close tight. His insides ground to dust. Master Yang was dead.

A woman in mourning robe of bleached sackcloth knelt beside him. She balanced a writing tablet in her lap and held the calligraphy brush between her first and second fingers. Her brush danced down the strip of paper in one fluid stroke.

“It’s Song Yi,” Jin whispered.

The sorcerer’s daughter.

Song Yi finished the final stroke before glancing up. A white veil framed her fine-boned face.  Her eyes were swollen and rimmed with red, but any tears had long gone dry. “So the demon hunters are finally here.”

They were intruding and adding insult to the trespass by spying. Tai Shen pushed the door open to pay his respects properly. His blood went to ice.

Hundreds of talismans covered the walls, ground to the ceiling. Cinnabar ink stained the yellow paper like blood.

“They come for him every night.” Desperation crept into her voice. “They want him, I know it. I can barely hold them back.”

Had she been taken by madness? “Who comes for him?”

The night breeze began to howl behind him. Jin gripped his arm.

“Guǐguài,” she whispered.

Demonkind. The paper talismans on the walls burst into flame.

Sorcerer’s Daughter Excerpt #2

Sorcerer’s Daughter Excerpt #3

—————-

Exceprt Monday Participants:
Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts and they may contain material that is not typical of my blog. Please heed the ratings when browsing the excerpts.

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

and

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)

Joining us this week:

Jane Bled, Yaoi/M-M Erotica/Vampire/Paranormal/Horror (PG 13)
Danie Ford, YA Urban Fantasy (PG 13)
Heather S Ingemar, Dark Fantasy (PG13)
Babette James, Fantasy Romance (PG13)
Cynthia Justlin, Contemporary Romance (PG 13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG 13)
Julia Knight, Fantasy Romance (PG 13)
Jeannie Lin, Historical paranormal romance (PG 13)
R.F Long, Fantasy (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)
Debbie Mumford, Fantasy (PG 13)
Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)
Megan S, Paranormal (PG 13)
Rosalind Stone, Women’s Fiction (PG 13)
Jo Lynne Valerie, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)

Kendal Ashby, YA (R)
Jax Cassidy, Contemporary (R)
Cate Hart, YA Paranormal (R)
Inez Kelley, Romantic Comedy (R)
Aislinn Kerry, Fantasy (R)
Jeanne St. James, Contemporary Erotic Romance (R)
Cherrie Lynn, Paranormal Romance (R)
Jeanette Murray, Romantic Comedy (R)
Christa Paige, Paranormal (R)
Michelle Picard, Fantasy Romance (R)
Mary Quast, Contemporary Romance (R)
Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)
Zora Stout, Contemporary Erotic Romance (R)

Sara Brookes, Erotic Sci Fi (NC 17)
Emily Ryan-Davis, Romance (NC 17)
Ella Drake, Historical Paranormal Romance (NC 17)
Angeleque Ford, Erotic Dark Urban Fantasy (NC17)
J.W. Hankins, Dark Fiction (NC 17)
Annie Nicholas, Paranormal Romance (NC 17)
Kim Knox, Erotic SF Romance (NC17)
Michelle Polaris, Erotic Futuristic Romance (NC 17)
Bryl R. Tyne, Contemporary M/M (NC 17)

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