We all have been at that point where a hobby we’re passionate about gets set aside for a time. There are different reasons for this, of course. One is that we burn out and need a break. Another might be life’s obligations taking us away from it. I love to read. Escaping my, at times, petty problems, and delving into a world where I don’t have to think about my own shit is glorious. Buuut… Reading takes time. Time I rarely have anymore.
Hello again! I’ve been missing you, but I didn’t know what to talk about. Also, life keeps happening. But here I am to share a thought on colors associated with gender. This is by no means something that’s only just occurred to me. I have had this thought many times throughout the world building process, but I haven’t talked about it before, so let’s do this shit.
I love hearing new slang terms. Typically the slang terms that I fall in love with and incorporate into my own vocabulary also find their way into my writing. For every fantasy writer world building is essential. If you’re creating a world that differs from the here and now, you can have a lot of fun rediscovering old slang terms or inventing new ones.
A month ago I promise that at least a week the release I would publish the Prologue on this blog, but I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m going to post the Prologue and the first chapter. I try and keep things on the blog relatively clean, so I am taking out a sex scene. Sorry, but if want those, you’ll have to buy the book on January 19th. So, without further ado, here is the Prologue and first chapter of Frohman’s War: Campaign of Acceptance.
~~ Prologue ~~
We’ve been in the air for a day and are well on our way to the territory covered by our beloved airship Liquid Sky. The comfortable climate control makes it easy to forget that it’s freezing and March outside. After dinner I gather my crew to help welcome the newest member of Charlie Bay. Corporal Bernstein spends a lot of his spare time in the enlisted men’s bunks. Coming up to the door, I kick it open, enter and stop just inside the door. A bit dramatic, but that’s what we’re going for. Being a woman, normally I would knock and have whoever I was here to see come out into the hall, but this is a hazing. For any and all initiation rituals it is only polite, and at times demanded because of protocol, to make the arrangements in advance with the gentlemen who call these quarters home.
“Corporal Bernstein, front and center!” I yell. Corporal Bernstein’s one and three quarter meters tall, square jawed form can be seen startling at the back of the large, brightly lit room. His dark brown hair and gray eyes come into view as he scrambles up to me, and comes to attention. Homer, who is to my left, laughs at him.
As any writer knows the Muse is a fickle bitch. She comes and goes as she pleases, sometimes disappearing for long lengths of time. That’s why when an idea hits me I either write down the gist of the idea, or start writing out the story.
Yvonne Krieg 