Hens Lay Eggs
food for thought
What’s in a name?
Between client work and my own manuscript, I put in a good 20,000 words last week. My fingers are tired. The bulk of the work is for a single project I was hired to write.
The project gives me some concerns.
It was advertised as a short story. Discussion with the client revealed that “short story” was actually a 20,000-word novella, which then morphed into a 100,000-word novel spread across five installments. Um, folks, anything beyond 10,000 words has long since passed the definition for “short story.”
Anyway, I agreed to do the project and settled on a delivery deadline that the client kept trying to shorten. Um, no, that’s not the way I work. If I agreed to a delivery date, then you’ll have the completed document by that date. I will not and do not promise earlier delivery, even if I make a habit of early delivery, because life happens. That’s all a part of managing client expectations.
I acquired the project through Guru.com, which is yet another freelance platform that caters to low-bid projects. I did not submit a low bid for this project, which also makes me wonder if the client understands that professional quality commands professional rates or if he intends on scamming me, taking my work without any intention of paying the agreed-upon fee. Unfortunately, I’ve become so disillusioned lately that I strongly suspect the latter.
So, the story … I didn’t sign any confidentiality or nondisclosure agreement. However, that doesn’t mean I’ll blab about it either. I will say it’s not in a sub-genre I typically write, although I do believe it’s better written than most of what one finds in that sub-genre. My name will not go on the byline: this is a ghostwriting project.
That said, if this client tries to stiff me (which I expect), I’ll publish the story myself under a new pseudonym. So, let’s have a little fun. I once suggested a pen name to a fellow author who raises chickens: Buffy Orpington. Anyone possessing a light acquaintance with chicken breeds will get the pun. (For those who don’t, there’s a heritage breed of chickens called Buff Orpingtons.) She didn’t take me up on it.
Anyway, that’s just the silly, fluffy type of pen name that I’d use for that type of book. So, join the fun and suggest a pseudonym. Maybe I’ll use it. Maybe not. But that’s all part of the fun, right? You can go searching Amazon for it and then you’ll know who wrote the book.
Speaking of chickens, the two black silkie roosters have settled in nicely.
“The claim rang clearly through his mind”
May Book of the Month:
nThe Dragon Wore A Kilt
n
| n
n
nn
n n |
n
nIn the northern reaches of Scotland rests Loch Saorach, home to an ancient legend—a dragon. The Matasan family has guarded the loch and its dragon for centuries. n Buy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B014N34IU2n |
n
n
n
n
Excerpt Pt 1
n
n“What have you got there, Connor?” Liam inquired breathlessly, having heard his kinsman’s yell and come running.
n
nAt that, the sodden, bedraggled, and bleeding woman coughed and sputtered. Connor rolled her over and held her as she weakly spewed whatever remained of the contents of her belly and lungs.
n
n“The roadway crumbled as we warned it would,” Connor explained darkly.
n
n“Aye,” Liam acknowledged, casting a critical eye over the dirt and rock shifted by the landslide. A good portion of the hillside was lost beneath the water. “I’ll set up signs to warn drivers.” He paused and looked at Connor with a critical eye. “Are you all right?”
n
n“I’m hard to kill,” Connor replied, his tone almost bleak.
n
n“You’d be dead if the monster hadn’t taken a fancy to you,” Liam commented acidly. “I saw it push you to the shore.” He paused again and then asked, “Why didn’t the monster eat her?”
n
n“Because the Saorach claimed her first.”
n
nLiam turned his face toward the glassy, nearly black surface of the water and pursed his lips. The loch was a living thing, something scientists dismissed as fanciful. But many of the old ways still lived that far north, many of the old spirits and gods and magicks had not retreated in the face of Christianity. Indeed, many of them had made their peace with the Roman Catholic Church, which more readily accepted their strangeness than did the less inclusive Protestant traditions.
n
n“I’ll send a message to Moira,” Liam said.
n
n“She probably knows already,” Connor replied as he made sure his rescue was breathing freely. She was not conscious, something for which she should be grateful. The darkening goose egg above her right eye and the bleeding above and behind her left ear gave silent testimony that she’d been knocked violently about inside that car. He wondered what broken bones she endured.
n
nAh, well, it was not to be helped just then, for he needed to get her to the house where his great nephew’s grandmother could care for her until Moira came to work her healing magic. Besides, he was thoroughly chilled and miserable.
n
n
“Do fola liom éileamh, ionúin Saorach.”
May Book of the Month:
nThe Dragon Wore A Kilt
n
| n
n
n  n
n n n |
n
nIn the northern reaches of Scotland rests Loch Saorach, home to an ancient legend—a dragon. The Matasan family has guarded the loch and its dragon for centuries. n nBuy: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B014N34IU2n n |
n
n
n
n
Excerpt Pt 1
n
nHe swam around the monster’s lithe, snakelike neck and grabbed a bit of cloth. Lungs burning, he needed air—desperately. The lake monster stilled and fixed a bushel basket sized eye upon him and the barely discernible body he grasped.
n
nConnor’s own eyes narrowed and he sent a warning to the monster to leave well enough alone.
n
nDo fola liom éileamh, ionúin Saorach. The claim rang clearly through his mind, vibrated through his flesh. He remembered those words from long ago and knew they were not for him that time. He gasped, sucking in a lungful of water. And his vision began to burn as much as his lungs.
n
nThe loch’s oldest and most enduring resident dropped the mangled vehicle from its toothy jaws and snaked a head beneath them. With casually brute strength, the monster lifted them to the surface and pushed them to the shore. With a snort, the ancient beast cast a baleful glance at the puny man and woman and sank back into the dark, cold depths.
n
nConnor heaved air, coughed, vomited water, and sucked in another breath. He rolled over the plump, middle aged woman and pressed against her to expel the loch’s water from her lungs. The water was tinged red and he began to tremble. He turned her over, tilted her head back, and covered her mouth with his, pushing air from his lungs into hers. He breathed for them both, then took a moment to arrange his hands over her sternum and pump several times rhythmically. In the periphery of his vision, he saw the water dragon’s head rise partially from the water and then sink once again.
n
n
Author
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
Follow
Karen (Holly)
Blog Swaps
Looking for a place to swap blogs? Holly Bargo at Hen House Publishing is happy to reciprocate Blog Swaps in 2019.
For more information: