So, I finally got Hand of Fire published as an eBook through amazon.com. Check it out, and then write a review for me...please!
I'm hoping to get started on book 4 here pretty soon. Actually, I have already started, just reading through the first 3 books again to make certain I haven't forgotten anything. I have ideas for at least 3 more Tane books and possibly a 4th if I ever decide to do a prequel that deals with the Great War. Keeping all fingers and toes crossed!
Well, trying to keep up with the technilogical times I have a site on Facebook now. Come check me out at Thane's Hut. I have recently put the What's my Tane? quiz on there and plan to add at least one more quiz dealing with which character are you most like and maybe some others if the mood strikes me. And, since Facebook seems a bit more immediate and easier to deal with, most of my posts will go there. Only in the instances of needing more space to post things will I come back here to post. I'll let you know on Facebook when I've posted something here.
I'm on chapter 28 now but, as I said on Facebook, I'm going back over my previous books and doing some minor editing to prep them for submission to agents and editors. Also, my writing has felt somewhat foreced of late so I'm hoping the story will pick me up again so that I can get the last book done sooner and that it will be a better read than if I force it out. Never fear, I'm still feeling the pressure to get it done and hope that soon I will be able to sit back and smile at the final product.
Hope to see you on Facebook soon!
Tom
Hey Everyone,
Well, the new year has come and gone and so has my goal to finish book 3 in 2008. I had a spurt of good writing there for awhile and really thought I would have it done. Sadly, life happens and I'm still writing. The good news is that I'm finishing chapter 18 and hope that another good run will come soon so I can get this story out of my head and into your hands. Thank you for being patient. I know that the wait has been somewhat painful. Rest assured though you do have an ally in my house in the person of my oldest daughter who constantly badgers me about getting it done. You may have noticed that I have also removed the link to purchase books directly from me. I decided that it was too much of a hassle/burden to be in the book selling business as well as the book writing business. I do have a few copies left of books 1 and 2 that I can give up at the original discounted price. Just email me and we'll see what we can do.
Thanks again!
Tom
Just another short story I thought I would share. At the moment I am on chapter 12 of book 3. Keep your fingers crossed that life/work and all the other distractions will be at a minimum so I can finally get this thing finished. Thanks for your patience and support.
Tom
A QUESTION OF HONOR
Cadogan looked into his young son’s eyes as he reached for the sword offered by his next door neighbor. The crisscrossing leather bands felt smooth and cool against his sweaty palm as he wrapped his slender fingers around the hilt and hefted the weapon almost reluctantly. His son’s eyes remained locked on his own, the innocence reflected in them stabbing him with regret at what had been forced upon him and what it would ultimately mean to his family. His wife cried softly seeking for, but finding little, comfort in the arms of her sister. Cadogan dare not look at her; not because he feared he would lose his resolve but for the simple fact that he did not wish the final vision of his wife to be one so full of hopelessness.
But it was hopeless—he knew better than any how impossible the situation was. Soon he would be dead and there was no way to prevent it. An outsider would quickly point out the seemingly obvious response was to simply walk away but to do so would be more horrific than letting his blood spill freely on the asphalt. Such a thought would not even be so audacious as to present itself to his mind. It was so foreign and wrong that it would be like his brain insisting he breathe water instead of air.
He didn’t fear death. He didn’t even fear the manner that it would be handed to him. No, fear was not part of the emotions flowing through him like a rush of frigid water. It was regret and sorrow that shouted the loudest. All the birthdays, Saturday afternoons in the park, holidays, games of catch, even skinned knees, the first crushing heartache, and simply watching with pride as his son grew into a man; all of it would be lost to him and missed in mere moments.
His wife whimpered and without thought, his eyes turned to her red, swollen face. And what of his life with her? How many moments of pure delight would he miss just being in her presence, breathing in her love that was always just on the edge of promise, so often spilling over into his heart? How many more children would he have loved from her given the opportunity to continue on in the happiness they had created together? A thousand regrets flashed through his mind as he quickly turned his gaze away from her and scanned the crowd of onlookers. It was not just what was forced upon him that burned his heart but the sacrifice it required. Yet, he would see it through with honor and resolve.
Someone had called the police and now two squad cars were parked in front of his house, their lights flashing as they cordoned off an area large enough for the duel to take place. Soon the coroner would arrive and pronounce sentence upon his pale, lifeless body and then it would be removed to the funeral home where arrangements were already in the making.
Lukan sneered at him, swinging his sword in a blur of movement as if on exhibition for the crowd’s amusement. How many lives had he taken with that blade? He was not aware of any who kept count, yet Cadogan had heard he kept trophies from his kills on a wall in his basement. He wondered what might be taken from his own body once the deed was done. An ear? Perhaps his heart in a jar. It did not matter really. The rest would be burned to ash and scattered; the fate of the loser to hide his shame at being defeated. He glanced at his son for one last look. At least the law forbad any dishonor be placed upon his wife or son.
Ducking under the police tape, he stepped into the makeshift arena and prepared himself for the inevitable. He would not give himself up without a fight but even the most desperate gambler would not give him any odds. No money would be exchanged at the end for none was foolish enough to bet against Lukan. All that was left now was his personal integrity and the honor he clung to, things for which he gladly gave his life.
Lukan entered the ring, his expression almost showing boredom as it was obvious he wanted this ended quickly so he could finish mowing his lawn and then return to his air conditioned home and his big screen T.V. One of the police officers stepped forward and pronounced the rules of engagement, which were merely a fight till one of them was dead and that to leave the blocked off area would invite a bullet to the brain from his gun and a label of disgrace to the perpetrator’s family for three generations. Cadogan nodded his understanding, while Lukan just snorted; the information unnecessary to one who’d met countless numbers before. The police officer simply nodded and then retreated casually back to his squad car to watch. The other officer had retrieved his shotgun and readied it should Cadogan prove a coward. Though he did not show his doubt outwardly, Cadogan knew the officer entertained no such thoughts toward Lukan. No, the shotgun was for him alone, though he knew it was not necessary.
Lukan backed slightly, checking his blade and then swung it in complicated patterns. It was time. Cadogan gave one last glance to his wife and son and then took up his position facing his opponent. He didn’t know any of the showy moves that his adversary had displayed; he barely knew how to use a sword at all. His life had been given to academic pursuits, which suddenly seemed a waste of his time. Had he known this day would come as it had, his life would have been filled, as Lukan’s, to honing expertise with a blade. But it was the finer things in life he’d desired to give his family, forgetting that none of those things mattered if they came at the sacrifice of his own life. Just one more item to lie upon the heavy alter of regret.
Lukan slowly advanced, like a cat in his movements, picking apart Cadogan’s sloppy form. For a slight moment he could see a sad frown cross Lukan’s face as if disappointed by the lack of challenge Cadogan offered. Lukan’s masterful artistry would be wasted like that of an expert painter asked to touch up the rain gutters on a house. It was an exercise in squander.
The cold sweat between Cadogan’s shoulders ran down his back in chilly anticipation. His breathing had suddenly increased and he felt the time had come. Death’s icy grip was upon his soul and only waited the brief movements that would free it from his body. His lips felt dry, like his throat, his limbs feeling almost weighed down. Mustering his resolve, he waited no longer. To do so would only postpone the inevitable and mark him a coward. Lukan watched him carelessly and waited. Waited for Cadogan whose privilege it was to make the first attack. Closing his eyes for a moment, he steeled his nerves and then turned his complete focus on his opponent. All around him seemed to fade away into gray; all sound was swallowed up in the beating of his heart that suddenly slowed into a rhythmic pattern. Nothing existed but Lukan.
With a sudden burst of adrenalin, he rushed forward, raising his sword as he did so swinging at first for Lukan’s head but then in a surprise shift of his weight, brought the sword down with the purpose of eviscerating him and spilling his guts into the street. Lukan didn’t seem to react at first, almost as if caught off guard by Cadogan’s agile movements. Then, at the single last moment, his sword swung down, ignoring the first cut to his head as if reading Cadogan’s mind, and easily blocked his sword knocking it away. Then with a quick reverse of motion, he brought his own sword to bare slicing it crossways just at Cadogan’s throat.
Stepping back, Cadogan stared at his opponent almost as if he didn’t understand what had just happened. Again, Lukan’s countenance changed to one of sorrow; even regret. The police officer to his left suddenly started gathering up the caution tape they’d used to block off the area. Cadogan watch him curiously for a moment not understanding why. The fight was not over. He still stood; his sword was still in his hand at the ready. Lukan then turned and made his way toward his house. Cadogan could not believe what he saw. Was he forfeiting the contest? Looking at the office with the shotgun he watched expectantly, waiting for him to take Lukan down in shame for leaving the battle area. He suddenly felt light headed. He would live through the day after all. He tried to turn his head so he could see his wife and the joy that would replace the desperate sorrow that had been there only moments before, but he couldn’t get his head to move. Confused, he tried to turn his whole body as the dizzy feeling suddenly increased. It was then that he glanced down in wonder that his feet would not answer to his commands. And just as his eyes lost their last shard of light he registered the enormous puddle of blood pooling at his feet in a wave as it spread in all directions away from him.
Just thought I would use this forum to throw out some short stories, poems, etc. I have written in the past, or that grab me to be written now. The first one is a story a wrote while snowed in a hotel room in Denver back in April of 2003 (could have been 2004). I have to admit that I balled my head off while writing it. Hope that doesn't make me seem any less manly
. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I am thinking of another short story I might write very soon so keep coming back. I know that some of you may be thinking, "Why is he wasting his time on this when he should be working on book 3?" I agree to a point, but confess I have hit a small bump in the road so hope some outside writing will get the juices flowing again. Thanks for your patience.
Tom
My New Friend
The headaches started on Tuesday. I remember it was Tuesday because that was the day that Wesley had Primary. It was before the block meetings that now group everything onto Sundays. It was early spring. I remember that because Wesley was still in school but it was warm enough for him to walk to Primary after school. The church wasn’t far from the elementary school so I had him walk when the weather was good so his younger sister, Amy, could have a good nap before I had to pick him up at the church. That afternoon he wasn’t running around on the grass like he normally is when I drive up. He was sitting alone on the steps. I could tell by looking at him through the windshield that he was pale. He also lacked the bouncing step that marked him as a happy, carefree, nine year old boy. “What’s the matter sweetheart? Are you feeling okay?” “My head hurts. It has since I got to church today.” “Did you fall down or bang it on something?” “No, it just started hurting for no reason.” “Where does it hurt?” His forehead was cold and clammy to touch like it always was after he’d been running around for a time. “Did you eat all of your lunch today?” “No. I only had about half. I just wasn’t hungry.” “Well, when we get you home we’ll have dinner and see if that doesn’t help.” It didn’t help. I made his favorite, macaroni and cheese with applesauce on the side, but he only picked at it, claiming he still wasn’t hungry. By six o’clock that evening he began to run a fever and complained that the pain was getting worse. I forced a couple of Tylenol down him and put him to bed figuring he caught something at school. After a good night’s sleep he would certainly feel better. He didn’t. At ten o’clock he stumbled downstairs to the family room where John and I were watching a movie before bed. He was crying now. “Mommy, it really hurts bad.” “Did the Tylenol help any, sweetie?” “No. It just keeps getting worse.” “What do you think we should do, John?” “I’m not sure. Do you hurt anywhere else?” “No.” “Is your stomach upset?” “No.” “John, feel his forehead. He’s burning up.” “Sure, son. You just sit there on Mommy’s lap while I call Grandpa to come help, okay?” “Okay, Daddy.” They blessed him but by 2:00 a.m. Wesley was screaming. “It hurts, Mommy, it hurts!” There was nothing else we could do so John wrapped him up and took him to the emergency room. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night. I kept waiting for the door to open and for John to carry our little Wesley back upstairs to his bed but they never came. I finally got the call at 7:03 a.m. “Honey, they’ve admitted him. They’ve got him heavily sedated right now so he’s sleeping but they want to keep him here until they run some tests. Call my mom and see if she’ll watch Amy. I’m leaving the hospital now to come and pick you up.” John and I spent the day at the hospital waiting for the doctors to find out what was wrong. Wesley had woken up a couple of times but the pain was so bad they had to put him under again each time. I felt helpless. The whole time I was pleading with God to help my little boy. He was such a sweet little thing. He had a spirit of love about him that was contagious to everyone around him. He wasn’t supposed to be stuck in a hospital bed. It was beautiful outside. It was the type of day he loved. He should be outside running around on the new spring grass. He didn’t deserve this. Some time around 8:30 p.m., the doctor finally came back to Wesley’s room. Wesley had a virus. But not just any virus, his was extremely rare and extremely fatal. It was making his brain swell up inside of his skull. I went through all the steps of grief it seemed in a matter of mere moments. I denied, I got angry, I pleaded, I tried to bargain, I was depressed and then finally my body sank into a lump of numbness. “I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing we can do.” Nothing? How can you do nothing? Doing something, doing anything, defines action. You can’t do nothing. But they could, and they did. And so did the rest of us. Oh, we prayed. I pleaded and pleaded with God to save my boy. I begged, I offered myself instead, I promised everything I could think of, but nothing worked. Nothing could ransom him back to me. John and the Bishop tried to bless Wesley again but what they said lacked any promise of healing. “The spirit constrained me,” John sobbed into my shoulder months later. “I couldn’t heal him. I wasn’t allowed!” He was allowed to command much of the pain away, which was a tremendous blessing. Thursday Wesley woke up and smiled at me. “It doesn’t hurt as much, Mommy. I’m getting better.” How do you tell your nine-year-old child that he’s wrong? That he really isn’t getting better and never will? I just smiled back at his shinning face trying to limit the tears that would not be denied. I couldn’t say anything. To do so would have crumpled me. Wesley looked at me in earnest at that moment. I could see the concern in his eyes. The fear almost choked me that my emotions were showing too much, that my lack of strength was scaring him. But I quickly learned that his love was greater than that. “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t worry about me.” It was too much. I could feel the wracking sobs welling up inside of me demanding to be let free, but then he said the strangest thing. “My new friend says that I’ll be all right.” My anguish was suddenly replaced by burning anger. How dare anyone lie to my little boy and tell him that he was going to be all right. Granted, we had not told him that he wasn’t but no one besides us, his parents, had the right to tell him anything about his condition. I wanted a name and I wanted it right that minute. “Who told you?” “My new friend. He came to visit me last night while you were sleeping.” “Sleeping?” I hadn’t slept for almost two days. I may have dosed a little here and there but no one came into that room without me knowing about it. “It’s okay, Mommy. He helped most of the pain go away. He said I was a good boy.” I smiled at my boy. “You are a good boy.” But that wasn’t the end of it. I confronted the nursing staff but they denied having come in or having let anyone else into his room at anytime. His pain medicine was connected to an I.V. that I had seen changed both times. When I confronted the doctor he only smiled sadly and knowingly. “It is not uncommon when the swelling reaches a certain point for people to have hallucinations.” At that point we brought him home. The hospital couldn’t do anything that we couldn’t do at home. Plus, I wanted Wesley to be around familiar things. I wanted him to see his sister, to be in his own room and in his own bed. I wanted him to feel safe. Friday was probably the best day. His pain was at a tolerable level all day. We played board games, read his favorite stories, and talked about how much we loved him and how important he was to us. Grandma and Grandpa came over and brought his favorite pizza for dinner, which we all enjoyed on Wesley’s bed. I have never felt so close to my family before or since. It was a magical day that I will never forget, but it passed too quickly. That night Wesley whimpered once sling-shoting me out of bed and to his side. But when I got there he was sleeping peacefully. I looked down at him for long moments and then finally allowed myself to cry. I let it all out of me in a rush. I was grateful for the painkillers we had given him before bed because I know he would have wakened up from the powerful sobs that wracked through me. The guilt of every single time I had raised my voice at him, every single time I had told him he had to wait while I selfishly did something I wanted to do, all the lost opportunities to hold him and tell him how much I loved him, it was all like a giant accusing finger closing in on me and tormenting my soul. There were glimmers of light with the knowledge the gospel brings but they were too soon. I had to mourn. I had to sink to the lowness of despair and wallow in my grief for a time before I could fight my way back. They next morning I asked him if he had woken up the previous night with any pain. “Yes, but my new friend was there. He let me lay my head in his lap while he ran his fingers through my hair. It made the pain go away.” I was shocked. How could I have missed hearing him? “Do you mean Daddy came in?” “No, Mommy. It was my new friend.” I thought of the doctor’s words before we left the hospital. “It is not uncommon when the swelling reaches a certain point for people to have hallucinations.” I knew the end was drawing near and I cursed time for its merciless press forward. Saturday afternoon, Wesley finally lost consciousness. He had been fitful most of the day. I finally forced myself to give him a pain pill. I didn’t want to because I knew it would knock him out and I wanted every second I could get to be with my son. But he was suffering. I couldn’t let my selfishness override his comfort. Sunday the whole family gathered to say goodbye. Wesley did not gain consciousness that day. We even threw open the doors to the ward members and our friends who had been so good at allowing us to have those few precious days alone with our son. Our home was filled with love and tears that brought a bit of warmth to my family, but I was inconsolable. That night around 10 o’clock Wesly’s breathing began to slow and become erratic. We knew it wouldn’t be long. Then suddenly, he opened his eyes. He smiled that warm smile of his that fills your body with sunshine. “It’s okay, Mommy. I don’t hurt anymore. My new friend says I have to go though. Please don’t worry about me. He’ll take care of me.” I couldn’t stop sobbing. “But, Wesley, what am I going to do without you, my sweet little boy?” “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t be sad. Maybe my new friend will come back and help you feel better, too. I love you, Mommy.” “Oh, Wesley. And I love you.” It wasn’t until a month after the funeral when I was visiting Wesley’s grave again that his last words came back to me with great force. “Maybe my new friend will come back and help you feel better, too.” It was then that I understood who his new friend was. It was then that I finally let his new friend come back to me and comfort me. It was then that I knew my Savior loved me and held me through my loss and heartache. He had come to Wesley in his hour of need and now I was letting him come to me. He had my son now, taking care of him and watching out for him until I could reach him again, until I could hold him in my arms again and be filled by the light of his wonderful smile, until the time of fulfilled joy when all families will be reunited again. I finally knew Wesley’s new friend and I finally knew peace.
“All over.”
“Daddy, will you give me a blessing so it will go away?”
I just wanted to thank the ladies who came to Live Oak School yesterday, and those who came to Placer Elementary today to listen to me speak about my books. You were all very kind and really enjoyed the short time I got to spend with all of you. Hopefully I will see you all again very soon at your schools!
And, of course, thanks to Karolyn Miller from Scholastic for bringing us all together!
Well, it's been way too long since I've added a post so I thought I should probably stop in for a few minutes and put something down. Today, I've been spending most of my time updating my web site--I hope you like it. It was due for an overhaul. Please excuse some of the non-functioning links at this time while I continue to wear my web construction hat. Hopefully it won't be long before it's all up and running. I have to say that I am pretty excited about it.
Thane is also excited about getting his own site ready to launch in the near future. You'll have to excuse him with the wait though since he's rather busy at the moment trying to get me to finish book 3 of the Master of the Tane series. I keep trying to tell him that I would probably get it done much quicker if he'd stop bugging me all the time.
Well, that is all the time I have for now. Keep coming back to visit and I'll do the same--Tom
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