Wordpress Move

Hi All,
  It's been a while since I posted. I apologize for that. I've moved my main blog over to Wordpress at http://buschwc.wordpress.com/.  I'm trying to stay up to date on it there.  I've also posted some samples that are much more elegantly organized.  I'll continue to use this to follow others, but the bulk of my blog energy will be focused on the others site.  Thanks for all the support.

~Will

Major Update

It really has been a while since my last post, life keeps me busy and away from the blog.  I've been writing on and off with Sands, but recently completed two short stories, The Trench and Spellwar.  I find the short story writing helps stimulate other parts of my mind and keep creative while writing the novel.  I've also been revising my plan for Sands, and will be breaking it up a bit, so that multiple books in the series will be laid out better.  As a result of that, I'll be cutting off the first book early to leave room for the second to be more fleshed out.  Keep watchful, I'm hoping for the full first draft to be ready in about a month! Cheers.

More Short Fiction

Hey everyone,

 Just checking in briefly, it's 3 am as I'm writing this; the cat's woke me up for a snack and I, sleepily, obliged.  In any event, I felt this would be a good time for a new post.  I've finished my second work of short fiction, Spellwar, and posted it up on my Facebook at the link below.  It is actually written for an upcoming writers digest contest in november.  This will mark my first officially entered story. I'm considering expanding my collection. I'm working on Sands still, as well as a new short story for my "Across the Battlefield" series, of which The Trench is the first. I'll likely be publishing that collection after five or six more stories are completed so watch for it in the nearish future.  I would like to eventually make Spellwar a short collection as well, but that is a ways off.  Please take a few minutes to checkout my page and read the two stories; they are both linked as notes through Facebook.  Cheers and happy readings!

https://www.facebook.com/williamcbusch

~Will

Short Story Update

My first short story, The Trench, is complete.  Not sure what is going to happen with it, but I'll be posting it soon for free reading for those interested. :)

CAUTION: Graphic Content

Was writing and had a feeling to change subject, this is what came out.  Kind of creepy when stuff like this just pops up, but I felt I needed to write it out. Also strange because I'm really happy right now and doing well with Sands. Dunno, let me know what you think.

The shell exploded above his head and the man next to him exploded in unison with it, torn to shreds, black ribbons that beckoned him to follow, down into the muddy death below his feet.  Gunther screamed then, a scream like many he’d heard before, from his lips as well as others’.  A foot to his right and he’d have followed the man into the abyss, felled by the murderous sword of the demons across the field.  That field, that cursed field. A black stretch of death and carnage, the blood of men watered it, yet nothing grew, for evil cannot make life, only destroy it.
  He gripped his weapon, useless as it was. The demons seemed to be impervious to anything thrown at them, as if the very hand of the Devil himself shielded them as they threw blazing balls of fire and poison at the men cowering in the trench. The trench, the black snake that wound its way across the burned out land, a vein whose blood was the bodies of the dead, the occasional trickle of the living giving the sense of life as they moved between points of cover, hoping to simply make it through one more day.

Update & Short Story

Hey all, sorry for the lag in updates, life is busy.  I'm powering into some serious material in the novel, currently passing 28k words. I'm also working in spare moments on a short story I'm writing for a Writers Digest short story competition. Totally separate from the novel, brand new idea, world and characters. I suppose it's technically YA, though I'll soon find out if what I write is even in that genre. Stay tuned for a clip from the new short story, working title is Mage...

Cover Design Contest

Today's post is a bit off topic. I recently entered in a cover design contest for a collections of stories about the city of lights, Paris.  The contest runs until Sept. 30, 2011. I've got my cover up on their site, if you'd like to drop by and leave a positive comment that would be great. I don't think they are using any fan voting system, but I'm sure they will take commentary into consideration when choosing the cover.  If you're interested, check out their site at

http://parisstoriescontest.blogspot.com/2011/08/cover-contest-submissions.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+BestAndMostDelightfulStoriesAboutParis+%28Best+and+Most+Delightful+Stories+About+Paris%29

Thanks and Cheers!

Story Updates

Hi everyone, it's been a while since the last post. OK well maybe five days isn't a while, but it sure feels like it.  The novel is progressing great, I'm quickly approaching the 25k word mark. We've had many new characters introduced; Aminah, our mysterious woman with hints at nobility, Robert our captured French knight offered a new life and now Markus, a survivor of a crashed cargo plane that was caught in the time leap with Fort Arsuf. I'll be adding another update, most likely Thursday (notice a patter in my posts here, haha) where I'll introduce you to Markus and our next, perhaps best known, down time character. Stay tuned and stay safe, friends.

Sample Update #2

Hi everyone, been a few days since my last post.  I'm not at just about 16k words, steadily working through chapter 2.  I've been doing a lot of self promotion through facebook and twitter, but want especially thank everyone from Linkedin who has helped boost my stats and confidence.

Today I wanted to introduce you all to our first "down time" characters; that is, the first character who is native to the 12th century world of the Third Crusade. Her name is Aminah, and, well, I'll let you judge for yourself her role in the adventure to come...

Aminah observed her surroundings with complete awe. She was in some sort of palace, surrounded by smooth floors that reflected light against their shining surfaces, patterns like marble, but soft and smooth to the touch.  Warm too.  She looked deeper, picking out the small details many would miss in their fear of these strange infidels.  No, not infidels, she thought.  There were others like her, Muslims, but who worked and fought next to the Christians.  It was most puzzling, but then these people were puzzling.

The room was filled with so many marvels, she almost believed she was dreaming.  But after the fear that had taken hold of her in their headlong run to escape the men sent to kill her.  The strangers had saved her and those who’d followed her, all of them except for Abra, her old nurse-maid, who had been old and crippled, but had insisted on accompanying her, knowing it would be her death.  Aminah said a small prayer for her, but forced herself not to dwell on the past.  She needed to acclimate herself to this place, these people, as quickly as possible. Those who depended on her needed protection, and if she were to make an advantage of the situation, she would need to understand as much about the newcomers as possible.

The first detail that popped out was the beds.  Soft, luxurious, and so many in one room!  They were large enough to comfortably sleep one person, though she knew two could fit easily. Sheets made of a light fabric, not as soft as silk, but tightly sewn and the brightest shade of white she’d ever encountered in fabric. There were two sheets on each bed, a fact she found strange.  But when she’d examined the bed upon which she sat, waiting for the priest to return, she came to understand.  The bottom sheet had somehow been cinched at the ends, forming tightly across the bed surface.  The second sheet was neatly folded on top, the ends tucked under the bed.  Everything was so neat, especially for a military fort, which she had come to learn this instillation was.  The garrison at Arsuf was disgusting, feces and mud and blood all mixing in the marshaling yard, the soldiers hard and cruel.  The men here, however, kept their admiring looks short, met her eyes when she had passed them in the yard, and stood aside to hold the beautiful glass doors as she and her people had entered the palace to see the priests.  What type of people treat women as men, as equals?  The though was alarming, like much she had encountered here, but again she pushed the thought away.

As she continued her observations, she found herself marveling at the windows. How clear and crisp, like they didn’t even exist.  These strangers must have known magic, or been favored by Allah, to be graced with gifts as grand as clear, beautiful windows.  The windows, however, paled in comparison to the marvelous objects the foreigners called mirrors. She had seen mirrors before, but they were usually pools of water or polished metals.  These mirrors were made of glass, perhaps clearer than that of the windows.  She’d seen herself as never before, clear as day, as others must have seen her. Ragged, dirty, with matted hair and torn clothing, she looked like a beggar.  But the curves of her breasts and hips were poorly hidden beneath what scant clothing she’d gathered to hide her nobility in her flight from Arsuf.  Those physical qualities that drew men to her could not be hidden, no matter how much dirt or mud she was caked in. And for the first time, looking upon herself in the mirror, she understood the desires of those men.

She shook off the thoughts, unsettling as they were.  She had no times for daydreaming or admiring her own figure. Perhaps there would be a time for that, but not now, not here.  She came out of her thoughts as the priest returned.  He was short man, only her height, perhaps half a finger taller.  Slim, dark, with a short beard on his chin and closely cut hair, almost to the point of baldness.  He was beautiful, as much as a man, let along a priest, could be.  His face was oval, a pointed chin and a thin nose, the only imperfection a small scar running through his left eyebrow.  He also wore strange devices over his eyes, small plates of glass fastened to narrow, well formed frames.  She understood their function, a sight aid, as he rested them upon the bridge of his nose to read the notes he’d written on the beautiful white papyrus they used for record keeping.  That was another amazing surprise to here; everyone here seemed to be a scribe. No, rather, they did not have scribes, for they had no need with everyone skilled in the art form.

“What is your name?” he said in Arabic, fluent but strangely accented, startling her out of her awestruck stupor. It sounded much like that of the traders from Baghdad and cities further east.

“Aminah,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly.  She feared men as a rule; they cared not for the feelings of women.

“Aminah, it is a blessing to meet you.  My name is Abdul Fahreed, I am a doctor here,” he said slowly, not because of any issues between them with language, but because he seemed to understand that his terms were foreign to her.

Not a priest, a healer, she thought. Healers were common enough in her fathers court, but they did not work in palaces such as this, they were relegated instead to dank towers, summoned only to heal demons or plagues.  She looked at him, uncertain of his motivations or how to respond.  He seemed to sense her distrust.

“I am here to simply record your information and give you a small examination.  I must check for any,” he said something unintelligible in what sounded like the guttural language the European knights spoke, English, “and check for any injuries.”

She hadn’t understood what the word meant, but nodded slowly, understanding that his intentions seemed pure. He would make sure she carried no plague, no disease into the camp.  That was just as well, though she felt fine.

“Hold out your hand, like this,” he said, put his hand out, palm up, fingers spread.  She did so, hesitantly.  What magic could he perform that he could find illness in her hand.  Perhaps he practiced divinity, not a healer but a magician. “This may hurt a moment,” he said, wiping her finger tip with a small piece of fabric coated in a strong smelling liquid.  Once her fingertip was clean, cleaner than it had been in quite some time she realized, he deftly drew a small needle from the tray of instruments next to him and pricked her finger.  She made now sound, jumping but an inch from her seat, more fascinated by the entire process than by fear or pain.

“You can find plagues with but a drop of blood?” she asked him, quiet and timid but no longer in fear of this mysterious man. “How is this possible?”

He said several things she did not understand, words like sentrufiuge and mycroskope. It was very confusing all these new words and concepts, but after listening intently, she was sure this man was also a scholar, not a magician.  A learned man who understood science and numbers and could divine answers to great and complex questions from nothing but a drop of blood!  Then he focus was behind the healer, no, the doctor, as they called him. The object of her interest was a young woman, dressed in loose clothing that showed her bare arms, her hair uncovered and glowing the color of fire, shimmering and beautiful.  She had dots all over her cheeks and nose, but not scars; they were pleasant to look at and made her look even more radiant. He skin was pale, the color of goats milk, her stature small and girl like.  But she read through the charts, those were what the doctors kept their records in, as if she were equal to the man who was in charge of this palace.  The woman noticed Aminah’s appraising stare and smiled; beautiful, perfectly straight and brilliantly white teeth shown through. An angel, surely, she thought, else who could possess such beauty and not be of heaven.  Then the woman was approaching, quickly moving over to where she was seated.

“Dr. Fahreed, if she’s ready, I’ll take her to the showers.  Perhaps a woman’s presence would make her feel more comfortable,” she said, also in fluent Arabic, though her accent betrayed a high lilt.  Who were these people who all spoke her language, Christian and Muslim, working together in complete unison as if the wars hadn’t happened at all.  The two sides had been at war all her life, she’d known nothing but hatred between them. And yet here, it seemed she had found a bastion against the hate, against fear and loathing and sadness, a fortress of righteousness towering out of the desert, sheltering those who had need, protecting them from the forces of darkness outside.

New art for the book.  Up to 12k words, exploring the phenomena our castaways are experiencing and the possibilities entailed.  I'll hopefully have a new sample coming by weeks end so stay tuned!

First Sample

Just dropping by to add some sample text.  Please check out my page for Sands of Eternity on Facebook and Like the page, it would really help out.  Also, any comments or messages regarding the sample would be very helpful.  Thanks!

The small convoy of patrol vehicles bounced up the road, out the Eastern Gate and north onto the access road just outside the base.  Sergeant Raleigh was still processing what Williams had just told him; not protecting migrating civilians, that was normal, but having to confront an armed group of people dressed as knights.  Medi-fucking-eval knights!  Raleigh had seen some strange and truth be told terrible things on his tours in the Middle East and this command was no exception. Men riding on horses and cutting people down with swords, however, presented an entirely new experience.  His reflection was interrupted as the jeeps came screeching to a halt.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” Raleigh yelled up to the drive, instantly ready for trouble.
“Sir, the road is… is…” stammered the driver, sounding increasingly nervous. Raleigh looked up through the windshield and saw what the driver was staring at.  The road looked like it had been cut, as with a knife, in a perfectly straight line.  On the other side of the line was a two meter drop down to the ground; ground strewn with boulders and large rocks. Not exactly ideal terrain for a vehicular scout.
“Roit, everybody out, we’re on foot from here,” called out Raleigh as he and his men disembarked from their jeep.  Raleigh nodded to Williams as they exited their respective vehicles.  He respected Williams’ abilities as a soldier but was reserving judgment on his leadership ability.  Williams had been recently promoted and this was technically his first combat mission, as unconventional as it was.  Raleigh ducked his head again to show this was Williams’ mission, that he was in charge.
“Right, everyone listen up.  We are on foot from here. We are to rendezvous with a group of civilians who are running over the perimeter, about half a mile from here,” Williams said, clearly without being too loud.  “Rangers, we will tack straight to them, heading north to where we think they are heading.  Sergeant Raleigh, you and your men will provide covering surveillance and fire if needed as we draw back the hostiles while evacuating the civilians.”  It wasn’t a question. Raleigh liked that.  Better to get right to the point.  It was Williams turn to nod to Raleigh, giving him the stage.
“As the lieutenant said, my men will provide radio feedback and track the enemy movement from-“ he looked around for a suitable location, spying a small hill about twenty meters from the side of the road “-that hill right there.  Colonel Jones has asked us to get prisoners from the hostiles, and I’d like to deliver on that request.  Given the recent events, and the fact that we’ve got no fookin’ clue what’s happened,” that brought a round of chuckles, even from Williams,” I doubt the Colonel will be too pleased if we come home to him empty handed.”
“From what little intel we have, the hostile group is dressed in full armor suits, if you can believe it,” Williams said to the assembled group. “I want your riot suppression munitions loaded in place of grenades, it may be the only way that we can really incapacitate the hostiles without killing them.  Our SAS friends will provide live covering fire in the case that the hostile group engages.  Defend yourselves as necessary, but we need a prisoner. Right, I don’t need to tell you all twice, move out.”
Raleigh nodded to Williams and then led his men off at a trot up the hill.  They had two L129A4 sniper rifles with them, more than enough in his opinion to deal with the hostiles. The rifles had an effective range of close to nine hundred meters and their targets would be well within that range, closer to eight hundred. He’d also linked up his remote video controls to the .50 caliber machine gun turret mounted on the top of the lead Humvee.  If needed, he could remotely control it to provide a destructive volley of fire.  The hill was about twenty meters in elevation, just enough to provide a prime sniper position to rain down death on the enemy. It was covered in sparse, green and yellow, grass and several small shrubs, which would conceal his men as they fired down on the enemy position.

As they reached the top of the hill, his men began setting up their firing positions, while Raleigh did a three hundred sixty degree observation sweep.  Better to check there were no sneaky hostiles behind them.  But all he saw was a rolling landscape, littered with farms.  As he finished his visual reconnaissance, he had to do a double take on a building he spotted in the distance.  He knew it had to be a figment of his imagination, or perhaps something wrong with the viewfinder, but as he studied it, he realized that his initial suspicion of their situation was becoming more and more likely, despite the impossibility of it.  The building was a tall, stone and timber fortification, located at least eighty kilometers away, but the foreignness of it made it seem so much closer.  Well, maybe foreignness wasn’t the right word.  He’d been to castles back in Britain but none of them had been intact or in use. But a castle in Israel?  With smoke rising from within and the faint bustle of people moving near it.  Raleigh turned away, forcing himself to concentrate on the mission.  If what he suspected was true, they were all in for quite a shock.  His men glanced at him, noticing his intent looks behind them, with slightly puzzled glances. “Don’t worry about it boys, I think we’re in for a ride so get settled,” he murmured as he squatted down behind a boulder to the right of his positions, readying his own HK 419 battle rifle, and watching the movement of the Americans through his scope.

He could see the platoon moving north along what would have been a road.  They’d found their GPS units unresponsive, but knew how to navigate using compasses and line-of-sight.  Swiveling his view and zooming, Raleigh could see the civilians still running, though more slowly, less than two hundred meters from the American position and heading straight for them. As they came into sight of the Americans, they seemed to panic a little, but their backwards glances at the horsemen, who had now changed direction to once again overtake them, kept the group heading for the Americans. Two of the soldiers in the platoon stood then, with megaphones that they brought to their lips.  They first addressed the oncoming civilians in Arabic.

“Turn south, and continue to our walls, you will find safety and shelter. Do not stop, we will help you.”  They repeated this several times.  Raleigh could see a considering look on the face of the woman at the forefront of the refugees and then she was wheeling south, the rest of the refugees following her. Evidently the fluent Arabic their translators spoke had been enough to convince her that heading south was still a better option than the approaching horsemen. As the refugees turned south, the horsemen, knights Raleigh reminded himself absently, seemed to understand that the men with loud voices were the sources of their prey escaping.  They seemed about to charge south until the two nearest knights flew back from their saddles, one with a gaping hole through the right shoulder piece of his mail, the other a bullet in the abdomen.  Both of Raleigh’ shooters had graduated top of their respective marksmen classes, and these shots were designed to be wounding blows, though he doubted the man shot in the stomach would live.

The knights reined up, sure they were out arrow range until two more knights leaped back out of their saddles, as if the very hand of God himself had swatted them aside. Both shots had scored their intended kill boxes, the shooter’s triangle, an area whose three outer points were the forehead and two shoulders.  Virtually any shot inside this area was an instant death sentence, more so with high powered rifles. The rest of the assembled knights, now numbering no more than fourty from their original fifty, sensed their pane must be originating from the men on foot three hundred or so meters ahead.

Into his radio, Raleigh addressed everyone on the open frequency; he wasn’t concerned about anyone else hearing it. “Do not shoot the one with the feather in his helm, it’s a sure bet he’s the leader.  We want him for questioning, he’ll know anything worth finding out.”  If the command was strange to the soldiers, either his or the Americans, none of them said anything.  Through his scope he could see Williams nodding ascent to the order, though he was technically ranked above Raleigh. One more thing to add to the “like” list, the man knows a sensible instruction when he hears one, and doesn't argue about rank, thought Raleigh.

“Try and spare the horses, we may need them later,” Williams said abruptly, and Raleigh wondered if the two of them shared thoughts about just what had happened to them. But he didn’t have time to wonder very long. He saw through his scope Williams issuing commands to two of his men, who reached into a backpack they’d brought along, presumably filled with supplies. They each pulled out what could only be the imposing rectangular box of a claymore mine.  Raleigh thought that odd until he heard Williams voice in his headset, “Lopez and Fielding are deploying two riot claymores, hopefully we can break the charge without too many deaths.”  Raleigh nodded unseen approval of the tactic, but his focus was quickly returned to the now approaching knights.

The knights charge began swiftly, from a stand to a cantor to a gallop in less than thirty seconds.  They had sheathed their swords, drawing an assortment of lances and axes, a few drawing bows.  The bows worried Raleigh the most; if they could get any shots off before being unsaddled, they could do serious damage to soldier armored for mechanized and firearm combat.  “The hostiles have several bowman, at the back of their lines.  With you permission,  Lieutenant, I’d like to removed them from the battle,” Raleigh said into his mic, addressing all of the soldiers on the ground.  Well, he said, I guess I’m actually addressing everyone, on the open frequency. He had no doubt command was listening in back at base, trying to get a handle on what was happening.  

“Copy that, your men are clear to take them out, lethal force, with thanks,” responded Williams, more tense now as his men waited down on the plain.  His troops were on a flat area just below a rise where the charging knights would crest not one hundred meters from their staggered line. While a higher elevation usually provided a superior firing position, their current position would allow them clear shots at the front and rear ranks of knights, hopefully with enough time to stop them before they reached the infantry troops.

“Copy that, commencing fire on rear bow wielding targets,” Raleigh responded, literally as his men opened up on the rear ranks of knights, now no more than four hundred yards from their position and closing in on the top of the crest. The first two targets dropped from the wings of the charging mass; if they could bunch up the hostiles, they would hopefully trip up enough after the first rank fell to the claymores to get some wounded or perhaps unconscious knights to deliver back to base. Two more knights quickly followed their brethren, one as his horse went down under him; Raleigh heard one of his shooters utter a curse under his breath.  These men were professionals and prided themselves on their accuracy, even against armored charging knights on unfamiliar, rising ground.  Within less than a minute all of the knights drawing bows had been killed our incapacitated, twelve of them in all.  That still left twenty eight fully armored knights charging a line of twenty Rangers.

“Bunch them up a bit more boyos, we need those claymores to break the charge for the yanks,” Raleigh said to his men, but it was almost unnecessary.  His men kept firing at the wings, picking off men and forcing the rest to bunch up for fear of being then next target. Then they were cresting the ridge, down to merely eighteen from the original fifty. “Hold your fire, wait until the claymores stun them, kill anyone that tries to break for the line”

The blast from the mines was felt as much as heard, a concussion, followed by screams from men and horses as the charge stopped mid-stride.  One minute the knights had been at a flat run, straight for the American line, the next the entire two front ranks of four knights and their horses were down in a heap.  The third row managed to rein in their mounts, but all of the horses had stopped the charge.  Raleigh could see at least three of the knights were dead, crushed by their horses of those of the men next to him. Two looked to have broken limbs, struggling to rise, and failing. Good, at least we’ll have a couple of the bastards to question, and we can keep them alive, even with a broken leg, he thought with satisfaction. The final two knights in the column, seeing their charge broken, spurred their mounts and headed straight back the way they’d come, presumably for their base camp. One of his men shot, taking the closest knight square in the back, slamming him into his mounts neck.  The animal bucked, throwing the man and leaped forward after the final rider.

“Only need one messenger,” muttered McHenry, the spotter for the man who’d taken the shot.

“Too right,” was all Raleigh said.  He could see the Americans had everything under control.  They’d unhorsed the the four remaining knights with quick, expert lethality.  Those on the ground still alive seemed to have resigned themselves to defeat.  Raleigh finally felt the tension seeping out of his shoulders; they’d won, zero injuries or casualties. He watched Williams intently, as the Lieutenant gave orders to his men, four of whom dashed back to the jeeps, retrieving stretchers.

“We’re going to apply morphine to the injured ones, it should knock them out long enough to get them secured and back to base,” Williams said over the radio. His men busied themselves hauling the dead and injured knights out from under their mounts, applying morphine with quick, expert hands.  Raleigh and his men had just finished packing up their gear when they heard the first shout of alarm.

“Jesus! Get a medic over here,” he heard someone yell, as he reached the bottom of the hill. He was now no more than twenty meters away and could see the source of the man’s distress.  A ranger lay on the ground, clutching a wound to his thigh.  The blooded sword of a knight lay next to him, where it had cleaved the soldiers leg.  His face was white with shock; even years of training to deal with gunshot wounds or grenade burns couldn’t prepare someone for having their leg flayed open by a meter long sword.

“I need gauze, two belts and a stretcher team, now,” said their medic calmly, a brown haired youth of no more than twenty two years. He looked at the cut, grabbed the belt from a soldier offering his, and made two tourniquets around the wounded man’s leg, one around his upper thigh and one midway down.  He began wrapping the leg with the gauze; by this time the wounded soldier was unconscious. “We need to get him straight to Dr. Fahreed,” he said. “I’ll ride along with your permission sir,” he addressed Williams.  Williams only nodded, now intently staring at the man on the ground. Barely more than a boy, 19, no more, thought Raleigh with a familiar sadness.  You saw these kids die in war; in truth, though, war was a young man’s job, but Raleigh knew it would be his only career in life. Perhaps his only career as well, he thought as the stretcher team carried their wounded comrade back to the jeeps.  They’d be at the medical facility inside of five minutes, but with an injury like that, Raleigh didn’t dare to hope.

More Writing

Well, I recently passed 10,000 words, finishing the prologue and chapter 1.  It's amazing how long things can get, without you even realizing you've written so much.  Probably just conditioning from school, feeling like ten pages is a long essay, but then again, this is much more entertaining than writing an essay.  I've moved through the first firefight, into the exploration of the characters and a more in depth look at their situation.  We are also going to be meeting and introducing several of the foreign characters, though not foreign in the sense of nationality.  Hopefully I'll have the prologue and first two chapters posted soon, for anyone to take a sneak peak into Sands of Eternity.  Keep and eye out!

Starting Up!

Well, I've got the blog going.  I'll be updating, hopefully a couple times a week with milestones, snippits of the book and probably questions for readers regarding plot ideas, character profiles, etc.  I want to get external feedback early, but at this point I'm just head down in writing mode, quickly approaching 10k words.  This will likely be a long process and quite a journey but I'm finally ready to start it.