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Working on my Fiction Novel

It is a strange thing to be able to manage my time in a way that lets me do the things I love to do. This excerpt is from a fiction novel I've had on my mind for at least ten years, maybe more. I started gaining in my word count during NanoWrimo, which if you are a writer you should check it out here.

I also have a Pinterest board with all the inspiration for this leg of the novel if you care to browse through that aspect of my research. I do a lot of technical writing and ghostwriting for things like memoirs and business planning and things like that. Working on make believe isn't time that is wasted, I think it's the perfect way to explore what the mind can come up with on it's own.

Another day another dollar, or so she thinks. It’s been a long time since Lana took it upon herself to hunt down leads on old cold cases. Since her ‘retirement’ from the Tacitum Spectatorem, things have been interesting to sum it up fast for those of you who aren’t following along. TS for short, think the FBI, the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Museum all rolled up into one but instead of looking at serial killers and cult leaders they look at all the weird, which can and does include the aforementioned ilk of serial killers and cult leaders at times. Lana has been retired officially for the past eight years, coming up on her 63rd birthday. Although she is still getting payments from TS every two weeks in her bank account, she had been advised by the new director that she should stop hunting leads on the towering stack of cold cases she was originally assigned. With the previous director’s death on her hands, the new director thought it was best for everyone on this earth if Lana did something else with her time. TS investigators usually don’t get the privilege of living to such an age, but Lana had lived many lives up to this point. Nothing seemed to frighten her except what lay behind her own eyes when she closed them. This wasn’t just another cold case she failed to close, this was something different. Lana regularly browses the reddit forums for abnormal objects, cursed objects, rare supernatural occurrences, pretty much anything within the realm of witchcraft is in her wheelhouse. There was a time when she thought she could live a life free from this world, but that was an extremely violent time in her life she tries to keep far from her everyday thoughts. Lana wasn’t too far from her destination. Being without a car, and this place being out of the way from a major airport, Lana caught a bus from the Port Authority to the Fingerlakes Region of Upstate New York. At the time, her departure from Manhattan was bittersweet. She had been crashing on the couch of the city’s lead paranormal investigator for about a month. She helped him with two exorcisms but the last one nearly took both their lives. Something big was coming over the horizon, it just wasn’t pressing enough for the both of them to look further than that single situation that was happening. Once it was over, they decided to part ways. Actually, Lana just decided to leave. She was not planning on pursuing this cold case, but certain information made it hard for her to ignore. A listing on eBay caught her attention. A small box carved from amethyst with a woman’s face carved on the top. It looked strangely familiar, when it suddenly hit her in the middle of the night. It belonged to her, or some other past version of herself, from a long time ago. It used to be in the TS archive, she once retrieved it from London in an apartment building that she had once abandoned long ago. Somehow the archive had been robbed, most likely by someone that worked there, since the protection spell was taken down. Lana didn’t put that protection spell up, otherwise it would have been impenetrable. At least to anyone without her blood, blood spells were the most powerful and provided lasting binding spells to work. So much so that Lana had bled herself to preserve certain properties that would be used for other spells that she hadn’t cast yet. This life had been exhausting for her. But it wasn’t done yet.

Coming off the greyhound there was sun and looming clouds beyond a large brick mansion, later she learned that it was a museum for American art. Right across the transit center was a commercial hotel, but Lana had already made arrangements at a local b&b, she couldn’t remember the details. Something with a rose on the sign. Her phone gave her walking directions from her stop, which wasn’t very far at all. She passed a big chain drug store and a few run down rentals to turn a corner on a quiet treelined street with old victorian houses. Some were offices, others looked like private homes. Tucked between a commercial brick building and a large yellow three story house was a little pale pink cottage that looked just like the photo on the website she booked her stay on. The owner was a kind woman with a dull sheen on her brown hair. Her oversized glasses were fitting for her face, which isn’t a good look for most. The only reason Lana booked this place was because on the photos in the website’s gallery she was warding symbols on the trellises in the garden courtyard in the back of the place. Lana didn’t reveal herself to the owner, she just made small talk about how she’s taking her time now to travel since she’s newly retired from her pencil pushing position at some vague government entity. She stated that she was tired and needed a few hours to herself. The owner asked if she’d like a cup of tea brought to the room later on.

“Room service is limited to simple sandwiches and water, lemonade, tea. But in the mornings I do make espresso if you’d like a shot before heading out. I can make recommendations for breakfast and lunch spots if you like.”

“That sounds lovely. Thank you, do you have some kind of decaf tea?”

“Ginger and lemongrass, or clove and cinnamon?”

“Ginger sounds good. Thanks, could you bring it in about an hour?”

…

Alone in her room decorated with over the top lace and doilies and pricilla curtains with sheer lace inserts, Lana took out her beaten laptop and put in her login to her private network.The VPN was set-up for internal use for TS investigators, but when Lana designed this thing no one seemed interested in using it. It stayed that way until she took it with her, re-coding certain aspects to fit her own needs once she left as one of their investigators and went back to her own private practice. She had accessed that screenshot she took of the eBay item and it’s seller. It was an antique shop and consignment down a ways on Market Street across from a kids clothing store. On the was was a coffee shop and a little bit past that was a big chain fast food place. She planned her route and looked the shop phone number up on her phone, she talked to the person at the shop for a few minutes about the item, that she was in the area traveling and would like to see it in person before buying it. They made an appointment to see her the next day in the afternoon since the place was only open three days a week. Any other day you had to call ahead and make arrangements. Lana considered herself lucky and hung up the phone. Perhaps a nap was in order. Shortly after her phone call there was a gentle knock at the door and a clattering of metal. She was faster than the owner had expected, when Lana opened the door to the side there was a metal folding tv tray with another wooden tray perched atop it. A darkly glazed indigo teapot and a matching tea cup and saucer were placed there, the teapot had loose tea inside. Not tealeaves really, but thinly sliced ginger root and some bruised lemon grass chutes immersed in boiling water. At the time Lana opened the door she looked to the end of the hall to see the owner walking away with a larger tea kettle made of copper in her oven mitted hands, likely where the boiling water came from. Lana shouted, “Thank you!” and the owner turned her head and smiled. “Oh, I thought you were probably lying down or something. Enjoy!” And she went on around the corner of the hallway. Lana quietly wondered to herself if the owner would accept a long-term resident if she asked nicely.

…

The sheets weren’t the best she ever slept on but they were a soft slinky material that was comfortable enough. Lana always had a hard time sleeping, since that meant closing her eyes. What lay inside her mind was hard for her to master, but over the decades some things came more easily than they once did. Quiet meditation was a comfort to her, sometimes. Sometimes it didn’t work, when too many thoughts about the past came to the front of her mind. But she opened the window just a little, letting the breeze in and the soft drizzle of rain be her white noise machine. Her dreams were strange, they always are. But in this specific instance they were oddly detailed, more so than usual. She was looking at her own hands and turning a purple stone-carved box in her hands. She felt anxious, waiting.

From a small room there was a single window, her view was the horizon, with fields and gardens beyond. This was a comforting and lovely scene, but to her point of view it seemed crushing. Like a prison.

…

Lana woke up without the alarm going off. It was about 6 in the morning when bird’s songs brought her out of her dreams. She got out of bed and went straight to the shower. Once she was finished she figured she better get dressed fully before opening the door and seeing about that espresso in the foyer. Despite her years away from the coven house, Lana still dresses the part of headmaster sometimes. It was early spring in these hills, so a ribbed turtleneck and high waisted a line skirt was her choice for the day. Usually she avoids wearing heels, but the one pair she ever packs with her things is a cole haan simple round toe pair of pumps with that gel membrane to give her some spring in the step. Dressed head to toe in black and dark gray on a cool spring day, Lana opened the door to find another artfully arranged tray with a white espresso cup and saucer next to a shiny little espresso maker on a stoneware trivet. A little white card placed in the middle had a hand written script announcing “good morning!”. Lana brought the tray in and sat the tea service from yesterday on the same little folding table. She sat it down on the small dresser next to an old television and vcr/ dvd combo player. She opened the card to find three recommendations for breakfast and little google maps printed next to each location. This place is the cutest, Lana thought. She also thought again if the owner would allow her as a long term occupant. She sank down into the over stuffed wingback chair near the window, the dresser still within her reach, and poured herself a shot of the inky black coffee. She sipped it black with no sugar or cream, it coated her mouth with an oily texture. As she kicked off her heels and gathered her knees to her chest, the small coffee cup rested on her knees as she kept her fingers entwined with the cup’s handle. She tried to listed to the song the birds were still singing as she prepared herself for what the day may bring.

The walk was not too far, as Lana took steps toward the place where she came off the bus she found the street that she was looking for easily enough. It was about lunchtime, and even in the early spring there were tourists about. They were easily spotted, mostly in groups wearing shorts and sneakers with their cellphones and cameras out. The owner explained on her way out the door that there is an American painting gallery, local artist galleries and a museum dedicated to glass all in the same four block radius. As she came up to the antique store she noticed it was quite large, taking up three regular size storefronts and spanning two or three stories. On the bottom floor there were numbered areas where different vendors sold their things, this was the ‘consignment’ area, and above were similarly numbered areas where there were antique vendors selling all different things: paintings, prints, scarves, books, old tin toys, dishes, there was also a display of an early working model for the first electric chair. No bad vibes were coming off of it, so it must have never been in use. Still a bit grotesque in nature, but interesting to Lana as well. The owner sat at the counter downstairs with the small purple stone box carved out of Lana’s dream the night before. The price was right and she made the purchase. The person explained that it was so accurately carved that it must be some sort of plastic like bakelite. She didn’t correct him, but asked the person at the counter to wrap it in paper. She didn’t want to put her hands on it just then, more memories may begin to flood her mind and then who knows what reactions she could have. It’s still a bit unpredictable after all this time, even after the first object she touched form one of her past lives, she had a hard time masking her reactions to objects. Slung low on her shoulder was an old hobo sack of a handbag with plenty of room for the artfully wrapped box. On her way back down Market Street she walked on the opposite side from where she came from. Still early in the day, too early for lunch but too late for breakfast, she decided on a cafe/ bakery with a colorful window display. Inside was pretty much heaven with a wafting smell of something cheesy and full of bacon. A slice of quiche and a cup of tea were in front of her, and she took a counter seat facing the street to people watch. Runners and dog walkers and a large group of asian tourists passed her by. As she finished she tilted the swivel seat the wrong way and snagged her skirt. The hem was slightly torn, not that the fabric was damaged but the threads that made the finished edge were unraveled. As she rose she gathered her plate and cup to bring to the counter and asked the cashier if there was a fabric store or sewing supply place, gesturing to her skirt’s hem.

…

Further down the street from where she passed by earlier, next to the chinese food place was a glass window and a table set out in front with discount baby blanket spun wool and cotton balls of all colors. Inside it was a bit dark, but in the back where there was a cash register sitting on the counter was a single desktop lamp casting a glow on a seated woman looking down.

As she entered an old time bell hit the top of the door and the woman looked up from her lap. She had a short bob cut close to her jawline with angled bangs grown out long framing her cheeks. Her skin was quite fair, with rectangular shape framed glasses sitting far down her nose. She seemed to be young, in her thirties, Lana was wondering what kind of an old soul decides to work at the knitting circle’s supply store. “Hello, ‘m wondering if you sell small sewing kits?”

The woman nodded and said, “Yes, actually right here next to the register… I actually put these little travel kits together myself.” They were adorable little emergency kits inside a bunch of miscellaneous antique tin snuff boxes. “That’ll be fine, I’ll take one.” As she was getting rung up for the item, her eyes darted behind the attendant where her attention was when she walked in: her knitting was interrupted by Lana and she was creating a serpent-like pattern that made a raised texture. It looked like a scarf in progress.

Lana made her way to the front door but the backwards warding symbol at the base of the window stopped her. She paused for a moment and decided to make it look like she was getting text on her phone so her abrupt stop didn’t look so suspicious. She turned around and asked the woman how late they were open until, just incase this kit didn’t work out for her.

…

Back at the room she redrew the warding symbol. Although it was probably safe to assume that this was a witch-centric town with the warding symbols in the b&b’s garden and the same symbol, but slightly different, in the knitting store, it’s safer to assume nothing and keep to yourself. Lana did a facetime video chat with the young witch in charge of the New Orleans coven house and they both agreed the warding symbol was against angelic creatures, but not all angels would be deterred by it. Angels have specific ranks and this town was savvy to place symbols against a very specific type of angel. They were not in agreement exactly which type. With Lana’s previous experience, this type of symbol was naming an angel, but her understanding stopped there. For many witches to gain their power they are in essence tapping into another being, like a demon or an angel or a deity, even an idea or some collective thought or thread of consciousness. It’s dangerous, but not always possible to hold on to that power. These witches, if they are in fact witches, are repelling power. Lana wonders what happened here. She starts a search for hauntings in the area. Right away about 12 come up. There was once a ‘Halloween town’ kind of attraction that operated all year long, but a brutal murder occurred, closing it down for good. The official reason was bath salts, and that maybe so. But Lana had that itch in her hands that urged her to look into this a bit more. First thing first, the box. Lana knew whatever may come from touching this object it could bring her to tears at the least, at the most she could fly into a rage. Both of those reactions and everything in between have come to her from touching things from her past lives. She toed out of her shoes and curled up in the wingback chair from the morning. She gathered her sack of a handbag to her lap and carefully removed the item. It’s carefully wrapped marbled papers and rafia bow were torn to shreds since Lana was growing impatient with her own efforts to preserve the papers. Her smallest finger tip touched a corner, this box had to have been carved over a long period of time. It’s cameo top gazing up at her, a sudden flood of information all at once. This never gets easier.

Lana woke up near midnight still a tense ball curled up in the chair, still wearing her day clothes. Her back and hands hurt from holding the pose for so long. Her mind must have said, “no thanks” and stopped her from retaining the information that came out like a flood, like a gash on the skin gushing blood. Unending it seemed, but in her clutching hands was nothing, the box had tumbled down her skirt and onto the soft carpet before her. She wasn’t going to test her luck, she stood up slowly to give her back a chance to click back into alignment and stripped her clothes off. She lay in bed with the quilt over her, feeling the sensation of the puffed raised patterns on her skin. Her bra itched, she took it off at once, lying in bed she tried to sleep and willed her mind to go blank. To allow herself a dreamless sleep. But dreams always come whether she likes them to or not. Her connection with Morpheus was always strong, despite her severing ties with him. Her dreams were of the ocean, on a old time pirate ship, her own hair so long is whipped in the wind and engulfed her face. The sting of salt air in her eyes, her legs unsteady, but not because of sea sickness. Legs seemed to be a foreign concept to her in this scenario. A woman with striking red hair is at her strange feet, not that they looked out of the ordinary as far as feet go. They just seemed alien to her. This red-haired woman was gasping for breath, coughing out water. Looking up at Lana’s point of view, the woman had a resemblance to someone in this life that Lana knew. She looked at that face a million times, in the mornings when she first woke up and at the end, when she shot her point blank to cover up a paranormal investigation gone sideways. Lana woke up with tears streaming down her face. Her body pricked with the chills of terror, every hair on end.

…

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