Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

"How did you con them into adopting you? Like, you're gonna be rich when they kick off. Both of them are so old. You have got to tell me how you did it."

Why? So she could con someone into adopting her?

"I didn't do anything. I was only six when they adopted me." I barely managed to hold back "remember?" because of course, the only time Sylvia paid attention to me back in school was when I stood between her and what she wanted. "Right place, right time, right people, I guess." I couldn't really say my parents were warm, loving people who were looking to share their love. Sylvia would not understand at all.

"Some people get all the luck." She straightened up and shook her head, with that calculated, slow kind of movement that I swear she had to practice in the mirror. How else could she get her curls to respond like that and lay just so on her shoulders? "You're rich. Who would have thought it? I mean, you don't act it."

"What does acting rich mean?"

"Well … not dressing like that, for one thing." She fluttered her fingers at me.

Then she stopped, frowning. My deceptively casual outfit was brand new. Mum and I spent half a day at Selfridges with a personal shopper, putting together outfits. Mum liked casual, but she also liked quality. She liked stuff that lasted. Yes, sometimes she wore jeans so heavily studded with rhinestones that she almost couldn't lift her legs to walk, but she also liked good quality, casual fashion. For the first time on the trip, I wasn't wearing my usual comfy jeans with an overshirt and T-shirt.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I had to ask.

"Better get your money back from that shopper chick who was helping you spend all Pop's money," Harry said, leaning into the doorway. He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out, then straightened out his expression when Sylvia turned to look at him.

"You have a personal shopper?" she drawled, her disbelief so thick in her voice, the pitch slid up the scale about an octave. "What is your problem? Why are you acting like you're a stupid poor hick all the time?"

"How should I act? Like a spoiled brat arrogant snot who thinks she should run the world, and just makes herself look like a brainless twit?"

"Like you?" Harry added.

Sylvia let out a steam whistle shriek and launched herself at me. How unfair was that? Harry said it. She never would have realized I was talking about her until he said it.

RELEASE DAY: the next Quarry Hall women's fiction/suspense novel: KATHRYN

 

Today is RELEASE DAY for the next Quarry Hall suspense novel, KATHRYN. Published by Mt. Zion Ridge Press. For print, ebook or audiobook, go to www.MtZionRidgePress.com

You can go to Ye Olde Dragon Books and SAVE $$ on the ebook and audiobook right now -- PLUS you'll get IN THE AIR, ON THE AIR, a short story set in Tabor Heights, the "sister" series to Quarry Hall -- your choice of ebook or audiobook.

https://yeoldedragonbooks.com/homepage/

What's it about?

Kathryn's retreat for relaxation and contemplation is interrupted to take a fugitive to safety, beyond the reach of authorities who may be compromised. The injured woman knows her name is Regina, but not why people were shooting at her. The journey to reach a friend in the FBI is complicated when Kathryn's illness requires frequent stops, permitting Regina's pursuers to nip at their heels.

When the mountains interfere with cell reception, and she can't stop long enough to make a call for help and advice, Kathryn has only her companion dog, her own wits, and prayer to depend on. Deception waits around every corner and Regina's attitude tests Kathryn's sympathy and her faith.


https://yeoldedragonbooks.com/homepage/

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

I always had to keep in mind the rules Kurt and Felicity and I had made up to protect our talents or powers or whatever let us do what we did. Hide what we did, hide what we were, hide from trouble. There was no telling when the weirdness factor of Neighborlee would fail us, and those people who spied on the children’s home would return, notice us, and make us vanish.

So it was good that Sylvia didn't catch me kinda-sorta flying.

"Am I supposed to ask what you were thinking?" I asked, after we stood there for a few minutes in silence.

Sylvia was the one Grandstone who had learned some patience. Where just staring down her cousins, Reggie and Freddie would get them to mouth off and get themselves in trouble, silence didn't get under Sylvia's skin. She could stand there and smirk, or give indications of the mental gymnastics she was going through, and wait for someone else to talk.

The smart tactic was to take control of the pseudo-conversation when Sylvia was involved. Besides, the more time she had to think, the better the chances she would twist the situation around entirely in her favor. For instance, if I made her stand there long enough, by the time an argument arose and she started screaming, she would have convinced herself that I had tricked her into staying behind after the Q&A. Since I had survived ten years of attending school with her, the odds were good that I could predict what she would say and do, and even how she thought. If the mental gyrations in the gray matter of a Grandstone brain could be called "thinking."

"Just how long did you think you could keep that secret?" She adjusted her stance so the other hip was cocked out and she leaned against the other side of the door.

"Uh, it's a secret to me, I guess."

That got one of her trademark squeal-snorts. "Your parents."

"It's no secret that I have parents."

I fully expected her to harangue me with the fact that I was one of the Lost Kids of Neighborlee. Former resident of Neighborlee Children's Home. A reject. A throwaway. Sloppy seconds.

"They're famous!" Sylvia came out of the doorway, jamming her fists into her hips. "Your parents are big-time, famous writers! How long did you think you could hide it? Some people!" Another squeal, with only a touch of snort.

"Uh, I never tried to hide it."

What I tried to hide was my grin. Until that first booksigning where people were lined up halfway around the block, it never really registered that my parents with twenty books to their names were indeed popular writers. People paid good money and waited eagerly for first editions in hardback.

"I can't believe I never made the connection." Sylvia tipped her head to one side, letting her hair fall in her face. "I mean, yeah, they're the weird, hippie Zephyrs, but they're famous. They've got about a gazillion books that people buy. You are rich."

Uh huh. So that was her problem. Nobody in town was allowed to be rich other than the Grandstones.

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Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

Too bad his theory was wrong. Sylvia came strolling in among the last of the first group for question-and-answer. She didn't look happy about being there. Maybe because she strolled in entirely alone. No followers, no admirers, no co-conspirators.

I paid attention to the Q&A because these select academy girls asked smart questions. Maybe because the students who came to the first session wanted to be there. They were interested in writing and doing research and what else they could do with their study focus on language and writing skills when they got out of school. I listened instead of turning down my mental volume control. There were no multiple repetitions of the same inane questions, proving nobody was listening to anyone. I liked listening to my folks talk about writing, about research, about fun and freaky things that happened to them or that they discovered. Mum made them laugh when she admitted how she tried her hand at writing paranormal romances, and while doing research on druids she learned about the Roman occupation of Britannia.

She then related how researching the Roman occupation led to learning about Boudica, the tribal queen who united the tribes in revolt against the Roman overlords and destroyed ancient Londinium. Yeah, nothing like infuriating a warrior queen by declaring that since her husband was dead and there was no male heir, the Romans were going to disband the tribe. Excuse me? Her husband was king because he married her. That was how some Celtic tribes handed down the leadership: the man who married the previous king's daughter became king. When you think about it, a very sensible way of handling things.

Mum never did write her story set in ancient Britain, but she got the girls interested in doing research and just having fun learning bits and pieces. From some of the comments I heard as they passed under the balcony on their way out, she got them interested in Boudica and their own history, too. That was Mum.

Harry escaped while the girls were still filing out. I waited until everyone was gone before I came downstairs. Pop went back to the archives with Dr. Butterfield, and Mum walked off with a knot of girls with specific questions about resources and searching.

There was nothing to pick up and move after the Q&A, not like other talks where Mum and Pop had books or visual aids. I wandered around the room, looking at the stained glass, the chimneys on the lanterns with all the fancy brasswork and colored glass, the inlay on the ends of the benches. There was a lot of history in this little room of ten rows with two five-seater benches in each row.

"Thought so," a familiar, whiny voice said, punctuated with a snort.

I looked at the door. There was Sylvia Grandstone, arms crossed, head tilted to display her golden curls. I wondered who she was trying to impress. Ninety-five percent of the staff were women, and this was a girls-only school. That was followed by a sense of "whew!" Her entrance stopped me just in time, before I acted on an idea of floating up to look at some writing in the stained glass panel at the front of the chapel. While I didn't really care what Sylvia Grandstone thought of me, I wasn't stupid enough to risk her making a fuss that the wrong people might listen to.

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It's QUIZ Time! Ready to earn some points for a free book?

 SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

Chapter 1 Quiz

If you haven't listened to Chapter 1 yet on the Ye Olde Dragon's Library storytelling podcast, NOW would be a good time to do that........ 

2 points for every correct answer.

Send your answers to: 2OldeDragons@gmail.com by February 28

 

1. What did Lanie have to apologize for, her junior year of high school?
2. What would she have preferred doing, back home in Neighborlee?
3. What is her brother's name?
4. How long ago was he adopted, at the time of the story?
5. Why was the woman so angry with Lanie and her brother at the bookstore?
6. What did Lanie end up calling the lady, by the end of the visit?
7. Who were Jake and Emma Crowder?
8. Who is their son (who isn't born yet, at this point in the story)?
9. Why did Lanie get a headache, when she and her brother were exploring in the attic in the haunted schoolhouse?

 

Can We Talk? I mean, I really would appreciate some in put .....

 CAN WE TALK?

Quick survey, folks. I'd appreciate it so incredibly muchly ...

You can answer in the comments, or you can email me (2OldeDragons @ gmail.com) if you feel a little shy or figure it ain't nobody's business but yours and mine.

I'd love to offer you a new short story to thank you for filling out the survey and helping me with homework (yes, I'm taking a course to help me get my books noticed and find people who want to read them, so yes, HOMEWORK!)

Everybody who responds to this survey will get a link to an ebook or audiobook of a new, unpublished short story in the Enchanted Castle Archives series.

Ready?
Let's start:

What are you reading right now?

Why did you pick that book? (favorite author, something raved about it to you, it looked interesting, your favorite genre, you're trying something new, none of the above ...)

Do you like it so far? Are you getting ready to close it and not pick it up? Are you already looking forward to the next book by that author? Why?

What was the last book you read? (title, author, genre -- why did you pick it?)

What did you like or not like about it?

Why do you read, rather than watching TV or movies or playing games or something else to relax?

What is your ideal book that you would love to find in the bookstore or online? Do you like tearjerkers, silly, snarky, scary, thrillers, heartwarming, adventure? Do you prefer "real life" stories as opposed to fantasy?

Have you ever read any of my stories? If yes, which one did you like the best? If not, what about the blurbs didn't appeal to you? What can I do to convince you to try one of my stories (besides offering you a freebie for letting me pick your brain, of course ...)

THANKS! Muchly appreciate your help on this!!!

Excerpt: SEMI-PSEUDO-SUPERHEROES

 

The headmistress was an even bigger fan, but she was reasonable and had some dignity. She and Dr. B teamed up to get some concessions out of the snobs who had thrown up the original barrier. For the sake of the students, of course. Everything came together, including paying for our transportation to Cornwall and the sprawling manor that had been turned into a private school, and get us back to Heathrow on schedule.

An unoccupied faculty apartment was set aside for my folks to do their research in comfort, instead of working in the room Dr. B had set up before he went to New Guinea. In exchange, they were asked to spend a few hours talking with the students about all the aspects of research and writing, journalism, the pros and cons of authorship and the globe-trotting lifestyle. We had to laugh a little about the last part. Mum and Pop had left the globe-trotting part of their job description behind when they settled in Neighborlee. Sure, they still traveled, but no longer ten months out of the year.

As soon as the first green plaid skirt and black sweater trimmed in gold strolled into the meeting room-slash-former chapel for the first question-and-answer session, I got that sick feeling of impending doom. Harry was sitting with me in a small balcony where we could see and hear everything, but we weren't on display like Mum and Pop. He was busy with a pretty cool hand-held video game Dr. B gave him, and he didn't pay any attention to the students filing into the room and jockeying for one of the sixty seats, until I groaned.

"What?" He scooted over on the bench seat and rested his elbows on the balcony ledge, to look down on the growing audience. He frowned at the girls filing in, then at me. "What?"

"Don't you recognize the uniforms?"

He shook his head and shrugged.

"Remember the Tower of London?"

"I remember that Grandstone… Oh." Harry patted me on the shoulder. "Maybe she's sick today."

"Grandstones are always sick, but it's not the kind that gives us any relief." I slid back on the bench, away from the ledge, even though chances of anyone looking up and seeing us were slim.

"Well, you think she's going to come here to listen to Mum and Pop if it's voluntary? I bet the only thing she reads is a supermarket gossip rag or else something about Hollywood. That's why she got sent over here, because she wanted to go into acting. Right?" He waited for me to nod, then bent his head over his video game again.

Honestly, my little brother was a really smart kid.

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