Here's The Thing About Having Friends

Me and my friends at my Wounded World book launch!

Traversing the world of writing has been an extremely interesting experience for me, as I have learned about independent publishing, met many other authors, and worked towards achieving personal goals. One thing I have learned is how important it is to have an author community for support.

Not just "support" either, as in people to help you do stuff or to answer questions. But "support" as in people to convince you not to quit when you are convinced everyone hates your work or as in people who show up at 10 PM with ice cream and a good book and drag you and your bloodshot eyes away from your computer.

Many authors (such as I!) are the solitary type. I of course have family and friends, but when I need personal space, I NEED personal space, and I need personal space far more often than I need human interaction. I love my computer and my living room and my work, and it can be super tempting to dismiss any need for interpersonal interaction as a distraction and focus solely on whatever project I'm working on.

But other authors, especially with the advent of independent publishing, have never been more supportive or accessible. I have received invaluable critique, support, and guidance from the authors in my community, late night complaining sessions and self esteem boosters, people to do authoring stuff with--and wouldn't be where I am today without them.

Here are just a few things I have gotten from my writing community, and these things (at least the general concepts, not probably the specifics) are things you can get out of whatever community you are a part of.

Knowledge is power.

Me and Stefanie Jolicoeur at a book signing in downtown Dover.

You never know what you don’t know until someone else points it out to you, and my author community has done this for me. For example, what is self publishing? I had no idea, until my friends told me. How do you do it? Still not 100% sure on this point, but I'm working on it. :)

I have learned a ton from my author friends – strategies for marketing my book, errors or issues with my work, recommendations for platforms, website construction, the various elements of publishing, and more. 

And I'm still learning (thank goodness)! Information is everywhere and it can be ridiculously difficult to figure out what is worthwhile and what is not. A team can help you sift through stuff and figure out what is worth remembering.

Cost-sharing can help make self-publishing more affordable.

For an independent author single-handedly funding my own career, cutting costs wherever and whenever I can is crucial. My amigos and I have teamed up for festivals and paid events, traded work (copy editing for cover art, for example), and shared tips on other ways to save, such as where to buy the cheapest bookmarks. Of course we all have different goals (mainly to sell OUR OWN books), but we can still drag each other along the writing highway of hell.

It's important for us to remember that it's not always a competition. Books aren't like refrigerators--once you have one, you can buy as many more as you want. A reader will walk into a store and buy half a dozen books. I've been at events where someone comes up and buys one book from each author at the table, or when I'm on my own, bought a copy of every single book I had available (thank you magical book lovers/author supporters! I love you!).

Teamwork! It makes the dream work! Or something like that.

Marketing is the bane of every author's existence..

Seriously though, we hate it. I don't think I've ever met an author who said, "I LOVE MARKETING!" Most procrastinate on it as much as possible. Some even pass off the responsibility to a spouse or a friend or a sibling.

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Without a publisher behind you to promote your latest work, the impetus for driving sales falls squarely on your own shoulders (and it frequently does even with a publisher). Being a part of a community of writers makes this process much easier as you can help each other market, decreasing the stress of selling your book while simultaneously making new friends. In addition to teaming up for in-person events, you can host or participate in blog tours, social media takeovers, Google+ Hangouts, online libraries, anthologies, and more.

Critique hurts. It also helps.

Possibly the most difficult thing to get used to is having valid, constructive criticism levied against your work. Although you can certainly find beta readers among your friends and family, there is a huge value to having a professional writer or author review your work.

Inexperienced family and friends, if unwilling to hurt your feelings, might just say, "I really enjoyed it!" or if they are trying, might say, "Maybe just clean up some of the dialogue" (or some other vague and less than helpful feedback. Another writer might say, "this scene is irrelevant to the plot and should probably be deleted," or "this plot device is a trope and you should aim to add something else here." It's sort of like being put on the rack--you get stretched and stretched and stretched, and it hurts, but at least you're a little taller in the end.

Because an independent author is self-reliant throughout publishing process, it can be easy to think, “my book is perfect and you don’t know what you’re talking about” approach to critique. But your work probably isn't perfect. It might even suck. So if you truly want to create the best book possible, critique is critical, and you can find it in the author community. 

General support for general things in general. 

Sometimes, all you  need is a thumbs up, whether in person, via text, or on Facebook. The one thing the author community can give you that you cannot receive from any other group of people is empathy for what you are going through. Independent authors have a different set of challenges than traditionally published authors, and it can be a huge stress relief to simply have someone to talk to that understands your frustrations. CreateSpace sent you a box of purple books? Or books with weird glue? Your internet cut out in the middle of uploading your ebooks? You have stagnated and your Facebook page isn’t generating any more followers? You have writers' block? You discovered someone else already wrote the book you are working on? MS Word crashed? AGAIN? Ugh. Your author friends will understand, and possibly even help you overcome these difficulties.

The author community is big, and whether you write science fiction, non-fiction, poetry, romance, or new adult paranormal urban fantasy dystopian, you can find a community that will support you in your work and help you advance to the next level.

Everybody else is awesome, too.

This is what we looked like at the bottom of Mt Washington.

Now, this whole post isn't designed to negate the importance of the rest of your community. I wouldn't survive without Josh there to tell me to stop being so hard on myself or to buy me little Google ads as random surprise presents. Or without my big brother who I call and harass about marketing, sales, money, computers, websites, math, and other annoying things.

And here we are at the top of Mt Washington.

Or my little brother, with whom I commiserate about being self-employed and having to work with other (dare I say it) humans. Or my mom for reading everything I write and loving it, even when it's terrible but also telling me when it's terrible. Or my dad for always being supportive and upbeat, and never giving up on me. Or my best friend for listening to me blab on and on and on and on about anything and everything. Or my other plethora of friends, family, and community members who give me encouragement, support, and buy my books (yes this is a key self-esteem booster and really important form of support).

I would be lost without them. But I would be lost without my author friends too. It's a team effort, just like sky diving is. Or bear catching. Or model airplane building. Or cooking. Or steam engine racing. Or space travel. Or just life in general.

So thanks.

If you're looking for an author community of your own, check out a few of these!

• The Genre Underground
• Infinite Ink Authors
• Indie Inked
• Independent Publishers of New England 
• Your Local Library!

And as long as we're making lists of things, here are a couple of my friend authors that you can check out, who provide some of that support I mentioned. :)

• Zoe Cannon (YA Dystopian)
• Christopher Kellen (Sword and Sorcery Fantasy)
• Stefanie Jolicoeur (Kids books and Middle Grade novels)
• KD Mason (Adult Mystery)
• J Zachary Pike (Fantasy)

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5 Inches Tall - A Short Story by 8-Year Old Ariele

This is me at about the age I was when I wrote this story. Maybe. I'm bad with ages, so your guess is as good as mine.

Most of you know I have been writing my whole life. Well, just the other day, I was digging through some old papers looking for a specific photo, when I found a gem. The Hope Diamond of short stories. I think I wrote it in third grade, and if you must know, I got a B on the assignment. I don't know what the actual assignment was, but the story... well, you'll see for yourself soon enough.

There are two versions of the story--the typed and the handwritten. The handwritten is a much better story, so I've copied that one here. I've also added some of my grown-up thoughts at the end as footnotes, and some illustrations designed purely for your amusement.

Please--enjoy!

5 Inches Tall

One day I was playing in my backyard, when Sarah, my friend, said she was going to get a tour of a Science/Chemical Laboratory called "How To." (1) She asked if I could go with her. Of course I said yes, because I LOVE science. (2)

This is what taking walks in my parents' field would look like if I were 5 inches high.

When we got there, the scientist that was going to give us the tour was working on a formula to make people taller. He was set on making a fortune.

He asked me to hold the test tube for him. (3) While I was holding the test tube, the scientist put in a bright hot orange looking liquid chemical. Suddenly the test tube exploded. I was knocked out for about 5 secs. until the smoke cleared. (4)

When I woke up, everything looked funny.

Everything looked bigger. When I turned around, I saw a big white thing. It was my friend's shoe. I quickly jumped up on Sarah's shoe and untied it. When she bent down, she saw me and turned white.

I would forever have to watch out for cats! "FRIENDS, NOT FOOD," I would yell loudly.

"Ariele!" she gasped. "What happened?"

"The formula he made makes people smaller, not bigger!" (5)

"You're gonna have a really, really tough time in life now!" she commented. (6)

As soon as I got home my parents took me to the hospital. (7)

"Well, she's too small to operate on," said the doctor. "You'll have to take her back to the scientist and have him make another formula to make her bigger."

If I kept doing photo shoots with Mom's vegetables, it would look about like this.

That's how I got to be five inches tall. That was almost the end of it. But those are stories for different times. (8)

FOOTNOTES

(1) I'm very good at naming things. Especially Science/Chemical laboratories.

(2) Do I love science? Or don't I? This emphasis could be either sincere or sarcastic. With an 8 year old, who knows?

(3) Clearly I had never visited a Science/Chemical laboratory, or I would know they have tools that will hold test tubes for you, instead of people. And that they would never hand volatile chemicals to an 8 year old.

(4) I wonder what happened to the solution and all the broken glass.

(5) A surprising twist.

(6) My favourite line ever. Very matter of fact.

(7) Glad they waited until I got home.

(8) I wonder when those times will come--or if they will ever come?

"Good story" eh ;)

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A Turtle Named Lionel [The Turtle Sonnet]

Have you ever had a pet turtle? I've had several.

There are lots of great reasons to get a turtle. Like for transportation.

It all started when I was a kid. If there was a turtle by the side of the road, we picked it up. Every time. (Except if it was a snapper.) Why? I don't know. A family obsession? A family eccentricity? Because it was fun?

Most of the turtles we picked up were box or painted turtles, so they didn't need aquariums full of water or anything. Instead, we fed them lettuce and worms, and they wandered around the kitchen floor freaking out the cats and over-exciting the dogs. Every single turtle we picked up when I was a kid was named Turtline. Why? You'll have to ask my dad.

One day, Turtline disappeared. We looked everywhere for her--under tables, under chairs, behind cabinets--but she was nowhere to be found. One day passed. Then two days. Then three, four, five... a week. We assumed she had escaped through an open door, or been picked up by the dog and deposited in the driveway.

Then, one evening, my dad heard a thumping noise. He looked up and saw Turtline strolling casually across the living room. She had been hiding in the back of the shoe closet, doing who knows what, who knows why. 

You'll have to wait for the movie to find out: The Secret Life of Turtles.

Now, you'll have to forgive me--I could only find two pictures of Turtline (and there is no guarantee that these are the same turtle, or even Turtline, for that matter). Both pictures are from a scrapbook I made when I was 12.

In this one, Turtline seems to be in a bucket of some sort.

Here, the photo is helpfully labelled, "Turtle."

But despite my relative lack of photographic evidence, Turtline was an important player in my childhood. So much so, that when I was in college and found a turtle by the side of the road, I took it home.

I named him Lionel, and he was my first love. I built him a house made from a box. I filled it with mud and plants and rocks. I fed him lettuce and snails and worms. I let him wander through my very, very small one-room house as much or as little as he pleased. We went for walks in the park (which mostly consisted of me studying on blanket and letting him walk a few feet away and then picking him up and putting him back where he started). I gave him baths. I rescued him from trying to get down the porch steps--he would fall and land on his back, the rock back and forth until he flipped over and fell down the next step, landing on his back again. It's a pretty slow method for going down steps.

But my favourite thing to do was to feed him peaches.

Lionel loved peaches. They were his favourite treat in the whole wide world. I bought big ones, and then cut them into little pieces that I fed him one at a time. He would hide in his shell until he thought I wasn't looking, and the poke his head out, grab the peach, swallow it whole, and go back in his shell. If I turned around while his head was out of his shell, he froze. After all, I couldn't see him if he wasn't moving, right? Every day we sat on the porch and played hide and seek with peaches. Eventually, he ate them right out of my hand, but only if I wasn't moving, of course.

It was the best month of my life. 

After a few weeks I knew I had to let him go. He was a wild turtle, after all. So I set him down in the woods, near where I had found him. There was a pond nearby. I watched him hustle through the leaves into the trees until he disappeared. 

And every few weeks after that I would go, leave a pile of cut up peaches on the ground where I had left him. 

Turtles love peaches.

I never saw him again, and I don't even have a photo to remember him by.

Doesn't Gaheris the Turtle look just a bit... evil?

Since then, I've only had one other turtle: Gaheris. I didn't like Gaheris as much. He was cranky and a mud turtle, so I had to keep massive amounts of water on hand for him. He climbed all over my shoes, and didn't like to take baths. He didn't even like peaches. 

Plus, he didn't get along too well with the cat. I only ended up keeping him for a week, and then I dropped him off in my grandmother's pond.

Gaheris always looked like this--that sort of arrogant smile and the scheming look in his eyes. He was probably planning to eat the cat when I wasn't looking.

I guess it just goes to show that one is not always like another. Especially when it comes to turtles. I may pick up another turtle or two in my lifetime, but there will never be another like Lionel.

The Turtle Sonnet

For Lionel.

Once I had a turtle named Lionel,
The greatest turtle I have ever known.
He never thought to cry or bark or yell,
Nor say a harsh word, growl, complain, or moan.

Instead we went for walks on sunny days, 
And took long baths in the warm summer sun,
Lounged on the porch beneath the sun's bright rays.
I fed him peaches one by one by one.

Though our time together was much too brief,
Lionel now has a piece of my heart.
Time will drive us to turn leaf after leaf.
I think fondly of him though we're apart.

And although these things must come to an end
I won't forget my favourite turtle friend.

This isn't Lionel, but he basically looked like this. Except this turtle doesn't have the little quirky little smile, the mischievous glint in his eye, or the little wrinkle on the left side of his mouth. Actually, this turtle looks nothing like Lionel--I take it back. 

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New Rutherford Books!

A few weeks ago I released my two newest Rutherford the Unicorn Sheep stories: Rutherford the Unicorn Sheep at the Walnut Skunk Thanksgiving, and Rutherford the Unicorn Sheep and the Christmas Surprise.

WOOOO!

Fun Fact: There is a secret bit of foreshadowing in the Thanksgiving book that leads to the Christmas book.

As we're moving into the holiday season, I thought I'd give a little background on both books, told through a series of fun facts. Because what is more fun than fun facts? Not much, that is for sure.

Fun Fact #1: The Cats Were A Surprise.

When I initially started creating the books, I wasn't planning to have the cats in the story, HOWEVER, cats have minds of their own and kept photo bombing us. Take this picture for example, a version of which appears in the Christmas Surprise: 

Fun Fact: Wilfred can be an annoying little brat sometimes, but he's cute so he gets away with it.

Fun Fact: At just over one year old, Wilfred now weighs 12 pounds and I'm not convinced he's done growing yet.

I had nothing to do with it. There was a fly and, well, he needed it.

Since Rowan and Wilfred decided they wanted to be in the books, I thought it would be fun to feature all three of them, but unfortunately Goblin was... uncooperative.

Fun Fact: although Goblin is a beautiful cat, she has always been uncooperative for photo shoots.

More on uncooperative models here.

Fun Fact: Goblin is old for a cat, so her belly is super baggy. It would be fun to grab if she didn't go after me with her claws every time I tried.

So only Rowan and Wilfred featured in the books. We'll get Goblin some other time. You can find their bios in the back with mine in the stories that they are in.

Fun Fact #2: Both Stories Happen at My House.

Originally I intended to do the Christmas story at a variety of different people's houses, but given tight deadlines, I ended up taking the photos in different places around my house--the cat tree, the closet, the radiator corner, the front yard, the deck-- you get it.

It was fine for the Thanksgiving book. Walnut Skunks celebrate their Thanksgiving in early October (a fact which appears in the glossary of the book), so I had no issues. But for the Christmas book, I had a problem: I was taking pictures for a winter scene during the summer. As a result, some of my outdoor pictures turned out seasonally inappropriate. Now, I don't mind a little grass, as it does stay greenish even in the winter, or dead leaves. But marigolds...?

Fun Fact: For this photo shoot, I kept having to pick Rowan up and drop her on the deck, where she would sit for about two minutes before wandering either off the deck or over to me to be petted.

Luckily, my wonderful mother pointed this out to me when she read the rough draft, so I had to re-take some photos with snow. Where did I get snow? you ask. 

You tell me...

Fun fact: Rutherford has a cute butt.

Fun Fact #3: The Worms Really Did Jump.

Now I don't want to go into to much detail so I don't spoil any of the story, but the worms did jump. I don't really know why, but it was very surprising and kind of hilarious. We'll leave it at that--a fun fact for those who have read the books to understand, and those who haven't to find out.

------------------

Well I'll leave it there for now. I've sold out of the Christmas book once already, so if you're interested, grab your copy today. It's a unique Christmas gift, and it's awesome to boot (biased opinion, here).

If you're looking for more fun Rutherford stories, check out the new, FREE story I posted over on the unicorn sheep blog!

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National Novel Writing Month 2015

As many of you who follow me on social media know, I am doing National Novel Writing Month this year, and as I do most years, I would like to share a little bit of what I'm writing with you. But first, the numbers!

Last year was the first year I did not win, but I am definitely going to this year! Take a look: 

They've also added a nifty little Lifetime Achievement count, which is fun. I estimate that I've written somewhere between 800k and 900k in the last five years.

Also this month I've done a lot of working out...

F is for friends who do stuff together, U is for you and me, N is for anywhere and anytime at all down here in the deep blue sea!!!! (Yes, this is a SpongeBob song.)

Hung out with Grandma...

My Grandma is pretty great.

Done a bunch of craft fairs...

3 so far! Several more to go!

Bought new books (as if I need more of those)...

Terry Pratchett!!

And hung out with the cats.

Yes, they like to eat other small mammals. No, they did not eat this one.

I started this month right here: 

November 1!

With this: 

Chapter 1: In Which Edna Finds An Old Map And A Key

Boxes upon boxes. Thousands of dusty old papers, covered with the incoherent scribblings of an insane Oliphant that few had ever heard of. Edna was drowning in dribbling ink, ancient pieces of wax that crumbled into dust when she touched them, and oddly sticky glue. She found it surprising that she hadn’t seen the little tails of a family of mice scurrying to avoid her ruthless digging.

She coughed a few times as she pulled another stack of papers out of another box and another plume of dust billowed into her face. Blinking to clear the dirt from her eyes, she glanced at her watch. 2 AM. She should probably stop working and get some sleep.

“Eh, just one more box,” she muttered to herself, reaching out for her favourite caffeinated beverage—Closest Friend. Empty.

She groaned, and leaned down to peer at the paper on the top of the pile she held in her hand. It read:

The Contents of this Book of Edward Oliphant the 4th are as Follows:

1.    His Last Will And Testament, To Be Read Upon His (Likely) Ill-fated Demise

2.    A Diary of His Years As A Fortune Hunter With Diagrams Included

3.    A List of Crucial Items To Be Preserved By His Estate Upon His Death

At this, Edna chortled. He had died penniless, and his so-called estate was non-existent. His years of “fortune hunting” had left him with nothing except piles of boxes and a heap of “Crucial Items” for Edna to sift through. Normally, she would have briefly  sifted through the contents, but her aunt had made a special request. So she obliged.

She continued reading:

4.    A Series of Letters To Those Held Most Dear from the Deceased

5.    A Map Showing the Location of Several Highly Valuable Items Found by the Deceased

6.    A Map Found By the Deceased Upon Which He Places Great Value But Which Leads Nowhere

Edna frowned.  How could a map lead nowhere? If it if led nowhere, why did Edward the 4th put so much importance on it?

She flipped through the pages in front of her until she came to a map. It clearly depicted Pomegranate City, circa 300 years ago. That wasn’t it. A few pages later, it appeared, aged and weathered, severely water damaged and with a big tear across the center.

Across the top, spidery letters spelled out “Yuva.” Edna frowned. Yuva was a mythical planet. Below “Yuva” more letters spelled out, “founded in the year 1021 by Alexander and Theodore Finnegan” which was punctuated by the Finnegan seal next to the Oliphant seal. Edna’s frown deepened, and then she laughed.

“A hoax,” she said out loud, “but poor old Edward thought it was real.” She shook her head.

The door on the other side of the storeroom suddenly burst open and Edna shrieked.

“It’s just me!” her brother called out, raising his hands. “Just me.”

“Lance!” Edna exclaimed. “You scared me half to death.”

He laughed and tossed his silky grey hair back. Grey hair had suddenly become popular, and while Edna didn’t understand it, she thought it looked good on him.

He smiled and strode over to her, his long legs stepping carefully between boxes.

“Late night?”

“Clearly,” Edna replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Jack said he saw the lights on, so I thought I’d come make sure no one murdered you in your sleep.”

“No one is going to murder me,” Edna protested. “And I’m not sleeping.”

“That’s what everyone says,” Lance countered, “right before they get murdered.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure there’s not good reason for anyone to kill me,” she said dismissively.

“You don’t know that!” Lance crossed his arms and frowned down at her. “Who knows what magical treasures are scattered across the floor of this storage facility? Who knows!?”

Edna rolled her eyes. “Did you happen to bring any Closest Friend with you?”

He grinned. “I got your back!” he said, pulling a can out of his pocket.

Edna popped the tab and gulped down half the can.

“Find anything interesting?”

“Edward’s last will and testament sound fun?” she asked.

“If you think it is, I’m sure it must be.” He made a face at the boxes that filled up almost every inch of the room.

“Not really, but I found another Yuva hoax.”

“Really?” Lance’s eyes lit up. “Can I see?”

She handed him the old map.

He whistled. “This is good! I mean, it looks real! As in, really real!”

“Well, it’s super old. Anything that old is bound to look real, even if it’s not.”

Lance nodded and drew his finger across some of the topographical lines carefully drawn across the page. “Amazing.” He flipped it over. “It has the Finnegan seal on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s in Ed’s box. So, it’s ours?” She had no idea. The Finnegans and the Oliphants had feuded for generations, since shortly after the founding of Pomegranate City. Edna had only met one Finnegan in her life, and she planned to keep it that way.

“We shouldn’t mention finding this,” she said.

Lance nodded. “I think you’re right. Anything else useful in that box?”

Edna reached in and pulled out a stack of papers. “Have a seat!” she exclaimed, and handed him a pile.

Lance dropped down on the floor across from her and grinned. He flipped open a notebook and began to read aloud:

Dear Diary,

It’s been a long time since I’ve been this angry—almost two whole weeks! I can’t believe daddy made me clean my room all by myself. The maid wasn’t even allowed to help! Ugh, he is the worst! All I did was mention that his ugly new wife might consider going on a diet, but for health reasons not for weight! I meant it to be helpful. Instead, here I am, VACUUMING MY OWN RUG. It’s ridiculous and unfair and I hate it! And him!

Anyway, I’m planning on sneaking out to go see Leo. That’ll show him! Leo loves me for who I am, and daddy just wants to boss me around. And Leo—I think he’s my true love. But, Diary, don’t tell anyone! I swear I will burn you if you do.

“What is that?” Edna exclaimed, laughing.

“A very angry diary entry from a very volatile little girl,” Lance replied, chuckling. “It’s signed, Nelly. Know who that is?”

“One of Edward’s daughters, I think,” Edna replied. “No one important. She works at a cake factory across town.”

“Why is his daughter’s diary in a box of his things?”

“Maybe it was important to him for some reason,” Edna suggested. “Maybe she says something nice about him later, or maybe he stole all of her diaries.”

“Seems like a weird thing to do.”

“All I’m saying is that people often have reasons for doing things that are incomprehensible to the rest of the universe. This might be one of those things.”

“Fair enough.” Lance shrugged. “You find anything interesting?”

She held up a piece of paper with a key tied to it and some writing scribbled across the top, and then read aloud, “To whom it may concern: this key maybe be useful in the pursuance of Yuva. Please be advised against using it with unnecessary force. Thank you very much. Sincerely, R.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “That’s not his handwriting, is it?”

“No, his name doesn’t start with an R. And look at the way the person writes his ‘f’s.”

Leaning forward, Lance peered at the writing. “They’re backwards!”

“Yeah. That’s how they teach proper handwriting at butler school.”

“So you think this was written by his butler?”

Edna shrugged. “A butler, at least. Or someone who learned to write from a butler.” She set the document in a separate pile, on top of the maps she had found earlier.

They sat quietly for a few moments, leafing through the piles of papers and notebooks. Then Lance looked up at Edna and frowned. “So, tell me seriously—do you think that there is any way this particular Yuva conspiracy could be real?”

Edna rolled her eyes. “Lance! We all know Yuva isn’t real! We learned about it in school since it caused such a controversy when the original hoax surfaced, and because no one ever found out who started the rumor. But, how can it be real? I mean, it’s an invisible planet that hasn’t been located with any telescopes, and that doesn’t have a Door leading to it?”

Doors were a helpful technology that allowed people to travel great distances in a very short period of time. Edna’s own society, the Sagittans, had developed the technology and now had Doors which led to other planets and civilizations all over the universe.

“But look at this,” Lance said, holding up a notebook. Bound with leather, it was beat up and dirty, but in largely good condition. He opened the notebook to the first page, and read:

We did it. We did it, we did it, we did it! The Oliphants, those arrogant bunch of jerks, aren’t the only ones who can build planets. Father and I have finally succeeded. I am thrilled. Our new planet is called Yuva, and we hid it behind a star on the other side of the galaxy, so it is unlikely to be detected by mere telescopes. We hope to set up our own civilization there, and leave these dang blasted Oliphants behind us.

“It’s dated over 2000 years ago.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s a forgery,” Edna scoffed. “If it was 2000 years old, and had been in that box this whole time—or in other boxes for that matter—it would be crumbling to dust and we wouldn’t be able to read a word!”

Lance shook his head, eyes wide. “It’s made of teal cow skin and glazed.” He reached out to hand her the notebook.

Surprisingly heavy, the book almost fell as she grasped it. The pages were stiff and cut into uneven rectangles. It had clearly been made by hand by someone, and the glaze, designed to keep different types of paper and leather from deteriorating over time, was starting to peel in a few places.

“Okay,” she mused. “I’m not an expert, but you could be right about its age. But it still could be a forgery. Maybe someone found this old book, wrote in it, and then glazed it.

Lance gave her a look. “You’re stretching. We have a really old journal which claims to have built the planet Yuva, and two really old maps that supposedly show us the locations of said planet. It might be a hoax, yes, but don’t you at least think it’s worth checking out?”

Edna sighed and nodded, smiling at her little brother. A head taller than her and easily a hundred pounds more, his curiosity never ceased. Good thing he was a detective.

She decided to try a different tactic. “Don’t you have cases to be working on, or something?”

Lance just grinned. “Nope! Things have been quiet around here lately. Which is, of course, a good thing, but it makes my life a lot less interesting. Come on! Humor me, just this once.”

“Alright.” Edna placed the rest of the papers in the box and stood up. She brushed the dirt off of her pants. “Where do you want to start?”

A massive grin blossomed across Lance’s face.

“Where do you think?” he asked. “The Bloodaxe.”

Stay tuned for more :)

<3 Ariele

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