Hello Everyone! I hope all is well with you today! I’ve got Award Winning Author Meg Mims here and she’s talking about some projects that she’s working on! Take it away Meg!
Although I’m primarily interested in the 1800’s, post-Civil War era up to the 1920’s, I have written a medieval “short” story that will become a novella or novel when I get the time to continue writing it.
Hopefully next year. I chose to include it in the Hazard Yet Forward charity anthology that benefits a fellow writer and friend, Donna Munro, in helping to pay medical bills while she’s fighting breast cancer. The authors in the collection are all past or present members of the Seton Hill University Writing Popular Fiction program, either published authors, students or mentors. (I graduated with my MA in WPF back in January 2010, signed my first contract in April of 2011, and my second in 2012.) The HYF anthology is multi-genre (and some of the horror stories are not for the faint at heart) but my story, SEAFIRE, is a “clean” YA fantasy.
I’m committed to writing “clean” fiction — no cussing, no “pink parts” or sex scenes. I can always include emotions and kisses,even a bit of suggestive stuff, but to me the real story lies in the plot and characters’ growth. I’m also committed to “cozy” mystery, so while the dead bodies may pile up, I’m not getting into the graphic stuff. Again, to me the story matters more.
I started writing a version of Seafire as a straight historical long ago and became bogged down in the research. While sharing the story during a Seton Hill critique workshop, I admitted to not being interested in writing the rest of the novel because it would be too difficult to maintain the historical accuracy. Someone said, “So make it a fantasy!” And that stuck with me. I discovered how much fun it is to “build” your own world — so Seafire takes place in a world similar to medieval France. I am looking forward to writing the rest of it!
Check out my 2012 Spur Award-winning western historical mystery, Double Crossing, and my contemporary romance, The Key to Love.
My life changed in an instant on a sunny summer’s day. God’s truth, I never realized the sheltered childhood I’d led for nearly fourteen years would come to such an end. My eye had caught a simple bauble on a black velvet scrap, a dazzling stone of blue fire swirling with hints of green, as if the sea itself had invaded its depths. That weakness sealed my fate.
The heat of that lazy afternoon baked our little town of Mossaic with its uneven paving stones, shimmered between colorful swags of cloth that shaded the stalls. I breathed the tangy scent of lemons and oranges. Sugared dates and figs glistened in their square boxes. I passed the cages of clucking hens, the baskets of eels and fish, and dodged a horse cart creaking through the square. People of the town mingled and exchanged gossip and bawdy jokes over fresh crusty loaves of bread. Flies and honeybees buzzed everywhere.
But everything faded as I stood mesmerized before the jeweler’s bench.
His one eye surveyed me, the other stitched closed from an old wound perhaps, or some forgotten battle. Patched, muddy clothing hung on his skeletal frame, and one wrist ended in a misshapen claw—thumb and forefinger, and mere stumps for the other digits. I had instinctively recoiled when I first stopped. The old man shrunk into himself, as if aware of my hesitation.
That lovely blue sparkle beckoned me forward. I reached out a finger to touch its faceted surface. It burned my flesh. Eyeing the red patch on my skin, I wondered at the surge of energy that had jolted through my veins. Or had that been my imagination?