Category Archives: Teaser

Edwin’s Interview (Lost Isle Launch T-17 Days)

05 Friday Mar 2021

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EDWIN’S INTERVIEW

(This is a teaser for the novel Lost Isle, on pre-order now.)

The man at my door has brown hair—loose, windswept, the ends just barely curling against his forehead and neck. His face is more long than round, giving him the appearance of being lean, though his body betrays that impression with enough muscle to make him unnoticeable in the working class neighborhoods—the docks, the factories, the workshops. His hands have the most personality throughout his entire person—strong, slender hands with scribe calluses built-up on two of his fingers and ink-spot tattoos where the quill had pierced deep enough to stain.

He has the look of an indoor man. The kind who would be hunched over a desk, or a book, or a map.

I step back to let him into my office and he follows me, his eyes quick to rove and quick again to come back to me. His pants were ironed, though not the most expensive. His coat was fitted, though the loose button in the middle again betrayed his throttled funds. He stood straight with shoulders back, but not with chest puffed.

As if, by remaining straight and following the narrow, he might give the impression of a proper gentleman in order to blend and not stand out. Fighting to be average, I’d have called him. A man who did not crave attention and did not seek it. A man who would step out of the light, away from confrontation were it to peek his way.

But perhaps that is me being judgmental. After all, while first impressions are everything according to perception, they are lies tricking us into crafting a reality that person cannot possibly fight against.

“Good morning,” I said, holding my hand out.

He took it with a grip that did not tighten too hard or pull away too quickly. “Edwin Vlaris. You said you wanted to speak to me of a map.”

I gesture to the bench I had just finished clearing off before he’d knocked. “A map, yes. Please sit, Edwin.”

“Thank you.” His voice is unassuming. Shall I say, perhaps even lacking a certain confrontational ability? Continue reading →

A Madman’s Journal (Lost Isle Launch T-24 Days)

26 Friday Feb 2021

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A MADMAN’S JOURNAL
Emmi Lawrence

(This is a teaser for the novel Lost Isle, that is on pre-order now.)

The shop clung to a scent that sang of ages past, of worlds and words hidden behind mold and mildew. A patina of dust lay on every available surface and long-unused webs gathered thickly in high corners and behind haphazardly stacks books. Edwin wrinkled his nose at the intricate map—done in oils with vibrant colors and care—that had been shoved against the wall and propped up with tacks so that it curled with dry depression, left to crumble.

“Done by the esteemed Marcius Hlarro,” boasted the keeper—a stooped man with eyes beady from an indoor life and hands twisted from a lack of stretching. He swept a hand across the map, crinkling the dry corners so bits flakes off and dust eddied into the air. “One of a kind. Shows the very soul of Awadar from almost six decades ago.”

Edwin kindly did not correct the man. Merely smiled thinly—not wanting a mouthful of dust—and nodded absently as he carried on through the stacks.

“Can I help you find something? A gift? A bit of historical research?”

“I’m looking for anything on the history of the Serene.”

“Oceanographer? Deep sea fishing stories? Tales of discovery? Of the first crossings?” The stooped bookkeeper moved fast among his stacks and shelves, rattling off questions

“Actually, more myth and legend was my interest.”

“Leviathan sightings? Aquaholes? Iceberg Towers?”

“The Flightless.”

From between the shelves, the bookkeeper turned those squinted eyes toward Edwin. “Birds. Birds like the great rocs or the tiny swallows that morph? Birds that shift out of sight like the flamingos and rooks? Yes, birds.” Continue reading →

Dead Ship Chanty (Lost Isle Launch T-31 Days)

19 Friday Feb 2021

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DEAD SHIP CHANTY
Emmi Lawrence

There sailed the seas a maddened thing, called a ship of dreams

brought forth to life, by timeless strife,

to begin its reign through the Serene

 

On a current of its making, The Narwhal grew in fame,

its power vast, its nets it cast

to brandish magic before it waned

 

With riches bulked within her holds, and Xanick at her helm,

she sought a port, the hidden sort,

to unload spoils that overwhelmed

 

Then one day long The Narwhal fought, a battle none could win

Broken in half, its decks collapsed,

while within its bowels the great beast grinned

 

And the current of The Narwhal, lodged beneath the arch,

too white to see, too tight to free,

yet across the mast the gryphons march

This is a teaser song for the novel Lost Isle: The Ocean’s Aviary I. This is the fuller version of the song mentioned in the novel that talks of the myth of Captain Xanick and the current he was able to control.

Lost Isle is available for Pre-order on Amazon here!

By the Light of the Moon (Lost Isle Launch T-38 Days)

12 Friday Feb 2021

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BY THE LIGHT OF THE MOON
Emmi Lawrence

“He tells the same bloody story every night to whoever listens. ‘Bout crows in the crow’s nest. Birds normally found in forests taking over the sea, says he. Wouldn’t listen ta a word that comes out of his mouth.”

I thanked the bartender, but ignored the advice and moved to sit next to the young sailor.

“What crows are these?” I asked. “Out in the Serene? In the middle of the ocean?”

The young man snorted into his pint. “Fuck off with ya. I’ve had enough raggin’ for the day.”

But I persisted, opening my satchel and pulling free a crinkled paper with a crude drawing. “Can you tell me how many there were? Did they appear during the night? Did they come down close enough for you to see exactly what they looked like? Anything like this?” I tapped the sketch.

The sailor pulled the mug from his lips. “Ya draw that?”

“Not me. Another who’d been on board a ship that had to skirt a spring storm and saw a few of these birds.”

He dragged the sketch closer, wetting the edges as it landed in a puddle of spilled beer. “Aye, it’s a right likeness, it is. Close enough. There’s that ridge right there along its spine that I’ve never seen on a crow before or since. And it’s got that bright beak and fuzzy gullet. He pushed the paper back and took a large swallow from his mug before continuing. “It’s real, right enough, but what is it?” Continue reading →

Avian Manifest (Lost Isle Launch T-45 Days)

05 Friday Feb 2021

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AVIAN MANIFEST
Emmi Lawrence

Small notes from an expedition hire of the lord and lady of The Flightless. Incomplete, missing information and lacking clarity, the notes remained stuffed in an outdated book on nautical charts in a faded dowry chest in the upstairs corner of his descendants’ house.

Caladrius – A pale blue with stark orange legs, the crane that feasts on pain looks no stranger than the fauna it lives among. A simple beast, little in the way of brains, yet elegant and useful and kept in high regard in a large cage on deck.

Chrono Owl – We followed them by their broken, midnight song. Every beat of their wings a distortion in time and space. Each attempt we’d get close, close enough to see their eyes, the patterns in their feathers, but never fast enough to combat time itself. The lady had hired a sorcerer, a vortex mage, and it took all his strength to slow the owls enough for us to get a hold. Though, even now, I wonder at their age, for some days they seem like ancients and others hatchlings just from the shell.

Cockatrice – What do they look like? We wore blindfolds into the dark caves and moved by feel through their domain. No one ever got a clear look. Not even after we dragged a few back with us, their leathery bodies squirming in the rucksacks, their claws scraping at the inside though they could not scrape clear through the spelled hide. Even after they’d been put on display, lizard-like snouts wiggling in disdain and tiny wings fluttering in useless expressions of aggression, we could not see them clearly through the colored, distorted glass. And when we placed our fallen comrade, the blindfold slipped off his nose when his tie had loosened, next to the display, most tourists ceased their complaints about the lack of view.

Flame-tail – Damn these tiny hellions! Damn them to the planes of hell and beyond. Let them burn up the damned rather than live on a decent plane of existence. If only. Instead, they trail ash and steam wherever they might go. Continue reading →

Wings of the Flightless (Lost Isle Launch T-50 Days)

31 Sunday Jan 2021

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WINGS OF THE FLIGHTLESS
(A Lost Isle Teaser—short story)
(Lost Isle is available for pre-order here)
Emmi Lawrence

I frequented bars and historical sites along the coast line. Went through Port Awadar, then south of the city within the smaller coastal towns, from Evastaur to Nowuldan. Traveling all the way down to Sasu Ilma, though I never took the ferry to Highmore.

Sailors spoke of their travels quickly enough, especially when I bought a round to loosen their tongues. Yet in all those tales, all those high-sea adventures, or doldrums as the case may be, I struggled to find a single man who could give credence to the story that the birds of The Flightless, that doomed menagerie vessel lost at sea, had ever escaped the storm to settle on the mythical Giant’s Whip Isles.

The first indication I had of the possibility of the Giant’s Whip truly existing came from a long retired sailor who had repurposed a fishmonger’s stall into an ale slanthouse. He had a rippling scar along his arm where a fire had caught within his prime years. A tattoo covered the scarring, but not well, the artist a hack and the ink long faded over the years after the man had ceased bothering to touch it up.

He had a garrulous nature, talking over his patrons and teasing his bar girl who laughed to cover her discomfort. The canvas-edged rooftop snapped in the wind above my head and my stool rocked against the stony ground. But the ale was decent and the mugs at least had the look of cleanliness, which was more than could be said for some such places.

On the other side of the repurposed stall stood a plethora of young dockworkers obviously taking a short break from their duties to mill about the slanthouse just out of the summer sun. Flies buzzed near the street gutter and a few mutts hovered behind me where the ale stall just about butted up against a fish-on-a-stick vendor.

“They come and run,” said the retired sailor. A man who’d professed himself to be Steppan Fares, once a rigging climber with a sharp weather eye and a cruel left hook. He’d rattled that intro off in a practiced manner, with a wink and a rippling of his arm as he flipped a mug and pushed up the spigot with one hand. “Ya hears all the news that way. Don’t have ta see the sails ta know which ship has put in or which captain is lookin’ to flesh out their crew. Ya see ‘em all. Stop by for a quick drain ta quench the thirst that salty air gives and ta uncork the news that’s been bursting for release.”

“Do you prefer it then, seeing the brunt of the crews ever passing rather than taking the risk of the high seas yourself?” Continue reading →

Rise of the Snowmen Deleted Scene

12 Saturday Dec 2020

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As a fun extra for the upcoming publication of Rise of the Snowmen, I’ve decided to post a deleted scene from the novel, a piece that takes place early on from Greg’s perspective.

But first, a bit of background!

Why does the scene switch tenses?

Because I cut this scene, this piece is still in first draft form. What this means is that the words here show the thought process that goes from outline drafting within present tense to dropping into past tense as I picked up the narrative during that writing session.

Had this scene been within the final draft, I would have edited the first half into past tense, removed the repetition, and smoothed out the barrage of telling words, leaning the story to a more limited POV vs. the omniscient narrator (me!) who was talking.

What’s wrong with the scene? Why cut it?

This scene ended up being cut for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I wrote the other side of this scene from Taylor’s perspective and I decided that his side was more powerful and necessary to show because of their character arcs. He’s the one who gets to make a choice during this sequence.

And secondly, I was able to show the emotion Greg feels here in other sequences, so this bit felt too repetitive in a general sense.

Tension loses intensity when it’s too repetitive. Tension also loses intensity when the character isn’t an active participant. In this case, Taylor’s side allows you, my dear reader, to see someone actively struggling against a choice, where Greg’s side…well, you’ll see.

Why haven’t we seen many other deleted scenes from your novels? Continue reading →

Lines to Read By (Jan)

11 Sunday Feb 2018

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Continue reading →

Lines to Read By (Dec ’17)

14 Sunday Jan 2018

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Most of these teaser lines are from short fiction pieces I’ve either finished or am working on for 2018. The holidays entirely derailed me, so I’m striving to get back on track now that we’ve headed into a new year.

Continue reading →

Chapter One of Pup Games (A Houndmaster Novel)

09 Saturday Dec 2017

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There are 16 days till Christmas. 12 days till Pup Games is released. 8 days till poem release. 5 days till Co’mil’s Interview. 3 days till La’vii’s Interview.

But there are 0 days until you get to read the first chapter of Pup Games!

Edit: I guess I should have added this link: Pre-order Here!

Chapter One

The first time I saw Co’mil he’d been schooling my brother on the sands of a doghouse. He won that fight with only three dogs, one of whom who had been gravely pregnant and had mostly just stood growling on the sidelines. My brother, a good seven years older than me with a pack of nine, had been left embarrassed, bloody and bitter in the center of the sands. I’d been left hard and gaping, my gaze locked on Co’mil’s wry expression as he shared a loving, celebratory kiss with one of his dogs.

I spent the rest of that night oscillating between listening to my brother moan about the unfairness of it all and imagining Co’mil’s thick arms around me, pushing me into creative positions that my thirteen-year-old self thought were creatively exciting, but in retrospect were admittedly tame.

Co’mil featured in arguably just about every fantasy I had after that for two years. Then I found flesh and blood partners more than willing to turn those fantasies into realities and Co’mil became nothing but an occasional nostalgic remembrance—as if a fifteen-year-old pup could even understand nostalgia, let alone feel it. The first time I tasted reality, lips soft against mine, nerves sparking, that unrequited crush shriveled to ash.

Or so I’d thought. Continue reading →