WiP-It Wednesday for February 3, 2021

 PG Forte: Here's the opening chapter for Lightning in a Bottle, part of my Winter Hearts steampunk series. The book has too many prologues, at the moment, so I'm not sure this chapter will even make it into the final product, but I like it, and hope you will as well. More information about the series (including a peek at the cover of this one!) can be found at: https://www.pgforte.com/winter-hearts

March, 1871

Winter Hall 

Whittier Falls, Pennsylvania 

 March came in like a lion. Storms battered the Eastern Pennsylvanian countryside for days. Rain fell, practically without surcease, flooding cellars, and drowning fields, and swelling even the laziest of rivers into muddy, white-frothed cascades. A wild wind raged and screamed, rattling doors and windows, tearing tiles off of rooves, and whipping the branches of venerable old trees as violently as though they were mere saplings. 

 Sheltered within a stand of such trees, stood a small, sturdy building. Unremarkable from the outside, it housed the workshop and laboratory of one of the greatest minds of the nineteenth century, the late inventor Dr. Charles Winter. Inside, illuminated by whatever meagre daylight made it through the rain-spattered skylights, forgotten machinery hummed quietly as it continued to carry out the tasks appointed to it; circulating the fluid in the large glass tank, regulating its temperature, filtering and replenishing as needed to maintain the proper balance of nutrients and medicaments. 

 Powered by hydroelectricity, and supplied with water from one of those selfsame, swollen rivers, the system was intended to run indefinitely with only the most minimal maintenance required. But maintenance had been in short supply of late, and the storm had other ideas. 

 Without warning, lightning arced across the sky. It splintered an overhanging branch, causing it to crash through the building’s roof. At the same time, electricity surged up through the water pipes. Wires melted on contact. Equipment shorted out and died in a blaze of sparks. And the excess of power caused over a dozen Leyden jars to explode. The tank itself was also briefly electrified, shocking its sole occupant into awareness and waking him from his chemically induced slumber. 

 Test Subject #M1.253.62 struggled to remain calm as he found himself catapulted into an agonizing world of jumbled sensations and incomprehensible blackness. Pain wracked his body as he gasped and retched in an effort to force air into his fluid-filled lungs. He was terrifyingly conscious of the erratic beating of his heart. Its present odd, faltering syncopation was nothing at all like the strong, steady rhythm for which it had been designed. 

 Something had gone wrong. This was not the gentle birth he’d been programmed to expect. As the afterimages faded away and his vision returned to something approaching normal, he was able to identify the object crushing his chest with such intolerable pressure: the charred and newly severed branch of a tree native to the eastern part of North America. Quercus Alba. White Oak. 

 His brain ticked over automatically, cataloging impressions in a desperate attempt to piece together an explanation for what had occurred. Rain. Lightning. Thunder. Wind. Broken glass. Twisted metal. Fragments of slate—a metamorphic rock commonly used in roofing. And, of course, the tree branch. Ah, yes. The conclusion was almost immediately obvious. A storm must have collapsed the roof of the laboratory, leaving him pinned in the shattered ruins of his incubation tank while the life-sustaining fluid in which he’d been immersed drained away through cracks in the glass. 

 His injuries, while severe, were not immediately life-threatening. Which led him at first to conclude that his best course of action was to stay where he was, remain calm and avoid causing any further damage. No doubt a rescue attempt would shortly be launched. It was possible one was even now underway. There was no need to panic. 

However, a quick survey of his internal chronometer caused him to reevaluate his situation. He’d apparently been submerged and unconscious for longer than expected. Far longer. Something, it appeared, had gone very, very wrong. He was not yet sure how or why, but the most logical conclusion was not at all reassuring. It seemed that he had been abandoned. 

 If true, that meant he could not assume that he’d be discovered in a timely manner. He could not even assume he’d be found at all. If he wished to be free—and he did, rather urgently—he had no choice but to try and extricate himself.

Holiday Catch-up

 I know a lot of people hate the pre-holiday buildup--shopping, mailing, wrapping, baking, planning, decorating, traveling (ookay, maybe not that so much, this year, but in general!) STRESSING. And I get that. But, for me, all of that is balanced by the FUN of it all. The music, the lights, the decorations, the anticipation, the cookies, the drinks. 

Yeah. I needed A LOT of those this year. But now it's over (well, almost, tonight is Twelfth Night, after all, and we still have Epiphany coming up, but still!) and, no matter how you look at it, taking down a tree is just never going to be as much fun as putting one up.

Not that I'm able to do that yet. We're watching our grandson while his parents get a much needed break, and NOTHING is getting put away until he goes home even though the CLUTTER is starting to get to me. 

So, since I can't get any actual house cleaning done, I'm playing catch-up online. 

My Holiday Book Sale will run 'til the end of the week. After that, Finders Keepers, Iron and Oak all go back to their everyday prices.

My FREE For the Holidays Web Page is going away until next year as well. If you'd like to read "Counting On Christmas" sometime THIS year, now's your last chance. 

The Nine Naughty Novelists are closing up shop within the next week or so, so this is your last chance to get Nine Nights in New Orleans EVER.

BUT...

If you're a member of my FB Readers Group The Crone's Nest, I have two holiday presents for you. Okay, one's, technically, still in the works, but ANY DAY NOW. 

Join here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/TheCronesNest

The first present is the NEWLY COMPLETED Prologue to the upcoming Winter Hearts series (which I'm calling Winter of Our Discontent). 

October 1870 

 As the world mourns the loss of brilliant inventor Dr. Charles Winter (known affectionately to his friends as the professor) most remain unaware of the great technical advances he had made in the areas of cloning, artificial intelligence and mechanical life-forms. Sadly, this ignorance of so much of his most far-reaching and astonishing work extends even to the professor's own family, which includes his four adult children, the product of his marriage to the late Millicent Pearson Winter. 

 The younger Winters are quirky and independent, dedicated to social justice, rational science and intellectual achievement. Inculcated from earliest childhood with their mother's Quaker beliefs and their father's dedication to progress, the four siblings are tireless in their pursuit of whatever personal goals they happen to set for themselves. 

 At the time of their father's death, the siblings had yet to discover the fact that their supposed half-sister, Ophelia, was not the result of their father's infidelity as they'd long supposed. This ignorance precipitated a crisis for Ophelia, as is documented in the series prequel, This Winter Heart.

My second gift is Winter World of Love, which is a sequel to This Winter Heart. That's the one that's late. But it's definitely coming soon! And if you want it, join the club...in a manner of speaking. lol!

December 1871 

 Just one short year ago, Ophelia Leonides returned to New Texacali hoping to reconcile with her husband. And, for a while, it seemed that most, if not all, her dreams were coming true. But as the holiday season approaches, Ophelia can’t help but notice that Dario has begun to brood. He says it has nothing to do with her, but trust, once lost, is hard to regain. 

 Dario is frustrated by his inability to give Ophelia the life he knows she deserves. Now, as old ghosts from his past draw close, and the bright future he’s promised his wife grows increasingly dim, he’s on the brink of making a last, desperate gamble--one that might destroy everything they've been hoping to achieve.

I'm having so much fun with this series. I hope you'll join me as the Winter Hearts journey continues!

WIP-It Wednesday for October 28, 2020

 PG Forte: I found a new-to-me review recently for This Winter Heart that included a suggestion that I turn the story into a full novel. Ah, would that I could. Hopefully, the next best thing I can do it to write more in the same world. Here’s a sneak-peek at Lightning in a Bottle, the next book in the Winter Hearts series. 

 March came in like a lion. Storms battered the Eastern Pennsylvanian countryside for days. Rain fell practically without surcease. It flooded cellars, and drowned fields, and swelled even the laziest of rivers into muddy, white-frothed cascades. A wild wind raged and screamed, rattling doors and windows, tearing tiles off of rooves, and whipping the branches of venerable old trees as violently as though they were mere saplings. 

Sheltered within a stand of such trees, stood a small, sturdy building. Unremarkable from the outside, it housed the workshop and laboratory of one of the greatest minds of the nineteenth century, the late inventor Dr. Charles Winter. Inside, illuminated by whatever meagre daylight made it through the rain-spattered skylights, forgotten machinery hummed quietly as it continued to carry out its appointed tasks; circulating the fluid in the large glass tank, regulating its temperature, filtering and replenishing as needed to maintain the proper balance of nutrients and medicaments.

Powered by hydroelectricity, and supplied with water from one of those selfsame, swollen rivers, the system was intended to run indefinitely with only the most minimal maintenance required. But the storm had other ideas. 

Lightning arced across the sky. It splintered an overhanging branch, causing it to crash through the building’s roof. At the same time, electricity surged through the pipes. Wires melted on contact. Equipment shorted out and died in a blaze of sparks, and the excess power caused over a dozen Leyden jars to explode at once. The tank itself was briefly electrified, shocking its sole occupant into awareness and waking him from his chemically induced slumber. 

Test Subject #M1.253.62 struggled to remain calm as he found himself catapulted into an agonizing world of jumbled sensations and incomprehensible blackness. Pain wracked his body as he gasped and retched in an effort to force air into his fluid-filled lungs. He was terrifyingly conscious of his heart beating within him; its odd, faltering syncopation was nothing at all like the strong, steady rhythm for which it had been designed. 

 Something had gone wrong.

Bring It Back(list) – This Winter Heart by PG Forte

Eight years ago, Ophelia Leonides's husband cast her off when he discovered she was not the woman he thought she was. Now destitute after the death of her father, Ophelia is forced to turn to Dario for help raising the child she never told him about. 

Dario is furious that Ophelia has returned, and refuses to believe Arthur is his son - after all, he thought his wife was barren. But to avoid gossip, he agrees to let them spend the holidays at his villa. While he cannot resist the desire he still feels for Ophelia, Dario despises himself for being hopelessly in love with a woman who can never love him back. 

But Dario is wrong: Ophelia's emotions are all too human, and she was brokenhearted when he rejected her. Unsure if she can trust the man she desperately loves, she fears for her life, her freedom and her son if anyone else learns of her true nature... 

Excerpt: 

Candlelight glimmered in the gold of his wife’s hair and Dario could not keep his gaze from straying down the length of the dining room table to where she sat, quietly chatting with her son over supper. He’d never expected to see her seated here again, presiding over his table as she used to do. Yet here she was once more, just as in seasons past.  

How many nights had he sat here reveling in the sight of her—her exquisite beauty, her ineffable grace—anticipating the night to come, when he’d have her once more in his bed... 

 “And Papa said we might go riding together sometime too,” Arthur confided in eager tones. Dario started, his attention captured by the unexpected appellation. 

 “Did he now?” There was a distinctly hesitant note in Ophelia’s voice. She shot a fearful glance in Dario’s direction. Arthur appeared not to notice his mother’s concern. “Yes, and I met his horse—Leveche—and he told me what her name means and...” 

His voice trailed off and then he, too, glanced nervously in Dario’s direction. “It is all right that I call you that, isn’t it, sir?” 

 Dario ground his teeth, uncomfortably aware of those two sets of eyes trained so anxiously on his face. Arthur’s eyes pleaded with him to say yes. What Ophelia’s eyes had to say about the matter he didn’t know, for he refused to meet them. His initial instinct was to deny the boy’s request, to insist he address him more formally; but then he reconsidered. Where was the harm in it, really? As long as he kept them here on his estate, shielded from the busybodies and the gossips, why not indulge the boy? “Certainly,” he said at last and hurriedly returned to his meal, unwilling to be drawn into any more of their conversations. He could not, however, resist taking one quick look at Ophelia’s face. The smile that curved her lips, the radiant gleam in her eyes as she gazed back at him caused his breath to hitch and his chest to grow tight. She’d always affected him like this and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to indulge himself, as well—to have his wife once more in his bed, to see if he could not give her cause to smile at him several more times before the morning broke. 

 Dario paused, shocked by the direction his own thoughts had taken. His wife? Could he even call her that anymore, knowing her for what she was? On the other hand, wasn’t that precisely how he did still think of her? Annoyed with himself, his appetite gone, Dario slammed his fork down on the table. 

 He should have divorced her long ago. Religion be damned. She’d been absolutely right to have questioned his motives this morning. He’d been lying to himself for far too long. 

 She was no one’s wife. He did not wish to bed her. 

 He groaned softly. It had been hard enough trying to pretend that was the case with her gone. Sitting here face to face, it was completely useless. No matter how many times he repeated the same empty lies, he still could not make his heart believe them. 

 Buy links are available on my website, along with the link to a free short prequel titled This Winter Night.

A Tale of Two Stories

I am not a multi-tasker. I generally like to work on one project at a time. So the idea I'd willingly assign myself the task of writing two stories at once—both of which need to be finished by the end of the year—seems farfetched. And yet...

It all started with the Common Elements Romance Project (more about that HERE). The idea appealed to me, the lead time was luxurious, and I had several story ideas that could easily be modified to include the “common elements” ie a lightning storm, lost keys, a haunted house (really haunted or rumored to be), a stack of thick books, and a person named Max.

Easy enough, right?

The first story I fixed on was Lightning in a Bottle, a steampunk story I’d had in the back of my mind for years. True, it was originally slated to be the third story in the as-yet-unwritten Winter Hearts quadrilogy, but with the addition of a short prologue, it works even better as book number one. Given the story, the characters and the set-up, it was a no-brainer adding most of the elements. Although I may have stretched the idea of what constitutes a person. 

A robotic dog totally counts…doesn’t it?

So, I settled down to work, interrupted by the occasional necessity to re-release some of my previously published books whose rights had reverted to me, and by the pressing need for an updated website.  And, yes, I knew going in that my non-multi-tasking muse would not be happy with me, but what I didn’t expect was that the witch would seek revenge by planting an irresistible plot bunny square in my path. 

I really should have known better.

It happened while I was editing Going To The Chapel, and making notes for the sequel, Going Up The Country. It occurred to me that I already had a lightning storm and haunted house built right into the flashback scenes. That lost keys would be a perfect goad to increase my heroine’s frustration as she attempts to storm off following a major blow-out with the hero, and there was even a minor character named Max (he and his wife keep trying to insist I call him Maxwell, but I’m not listening). All I need to add are some books.

Umm…yeah, that’ll be hard.

The clincher was that the book was set between Halloween and Thanksgiving—exactly when the Common Elements books are set to release.

How could I not write this book now?

So here I am, juggling two books at once and wondering if I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew. Theoretically, I should be able to finish both books in time, but life has an annoying way of not going according to plan.

To be continued…