While I took a break from writing on my blog, I started on a story that is a throw back. I always wanted to write a story for Brice. If you remember him, he was a side character in 1:05 a.m. An Ice Era Chronicle.
Long ago, I wanted to write a love story for Brice and I created an outline... so while I sat at home, I wrote it. I don't know what I will do with this book or if it will ever be published, but it exists and the novel made me happy. Brice's story (also known as Hands Of Clay) would fall after Grinding My Gears at the height of Snow Flu. It ended up being a male-male and what I love about this story is that it's not about the action. I created this story to highlight how boring life would be too. All my books have so much going on, but for some people, they just work and live and they don't have big grand adventures. For Brice and Clay, that's what it's like for them.
Here is a part of the first chapter. This is unedited and a bit raw, but I hope you check it out.
Place: A ramshackle hut in the snowy areas of the Confederate Territories of North America (C.T.O.N.A.)
Time: 1:45 a.m.
Brice licked the gash on his arm like a dog licking his wounds. When the bleeding stopped, he tightened the knot on his shirt wrapped around his crushed foot. The Originals had broken his toes trying to glean information from him. The cloth looked like a psychiatrist’s ink blob test.
Struggling, he couldn’t bend forward with his broken ribs to tend to the injury. At this point, Brice simply prayed that the appendage would be fine. At least fine in the sense that he didn’t get gangrene. Whether he would be able to walk or run again was too big a question to face right now.
As Brice picked a new jagged cut to close using his saliva, his gaze popped to Agent Toby’s still form. Toby was faced away from him on the other side of the huge boulder in the middle of the sagging hut. The chains attached to the agent were also wrapped around the massive rock and locked in place. Both Toby and Brice had been secured to the five-foot squat stone probably because the little hut would be easy to escape. With the heavy shackles around both Brice’s wrists and ankles, escape was out even if the walls were nothing more than bundles of sticks.
“Toby?” Brice whispered. “Agent Tobias?”
The other man didn’t move. In fact, Brice’s ex-boyfriend hadn’t moved for the last two days. Brice tried to remember when he last saw Toby do anything. On some level Brice knew the agent was dead, he just couldn’t tackle that reality without losing hope.
Before Brice could whisper again, the door to the run-down shack was tossed open with a bang. The wood struggled to stay on its hinges. Two Original members dragged a mangled stranger into the tiny space. The guy was dumped next to the rock and secured like Toby and Brice. The new person’s face was nothing but blood, bruises, and swelling. One eye didn’t even open. For a second Brice met the stare of one of his captors. Not wanting to get beat again, he dropped his glare to the dirt and huddled into a ball.
The two men finished hooking the beat-up man to the boulder and then unlocked Toby. They hauled his ex-boyfriend out of the shanty. The door slammed shut. An ice sickle hanging from the hole in the roof fell and broke in half.
Brice wasn’t sure how long he stayed curled on the dirt floor, but the sound of thunder brought him out of his pain and cold limbs. Raising to a sitting position, Brice eyed the hole in the roof. He pushed the cracked plastic bowl under the opening and prayed for rain instead of sleet or hail or… God-forbid snow.
As the first drops hit the pathetic container, the stranger moaned. Brice turned in time to watch the man roll toward him and try to rise. The manacles rattled as if cackling at the guys effort. He collapsed on his second attempt.
“The chains aren’t long enough for you to stand.” Brice leaned his head against the stone. “Save your energy.”
The man scooted toward the rock. Their eyes met. This man’s one open eye was a green-blue like pictures of the ocean. The color Brice would’ve described as clear aquamarine. The agony in their depth stole Brice’s breathe long enough to distract him from his aching limbs.
“I think The Originals must poop out chains. I don’t know how they always have so many.”
Brice cracked a smile and the stranger returned his grin before he crept closer.
Brice had been beaten too, but this person was covered in more blood than anything else. His shirt was nothing more than two shredded pieces hanging on his biceps. His gray underwear clearly offered no protection from the elements, and he had no pants or shoes. His brown hair was shaved short so not even that part of his body would be warm. One grimy sock held on valiantly to his right foot.
“I…” The man ran a hand over his short bloody brown hair. “It’s cold here. I…”
As a rain-sleet mixture pelted the flimsy walls, the temperature continued to drop. The air that puffed from Brice’s lips was a white mist hanging between them.
“I know,” Brice whispered. “I guess we can talk about the weather.”
“Yeah, the weather or whatever polite conversation you want.” Once more the new guy crawled closer to Brice’s shoulder. “You were here first. Prisoner’s choice.” He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan. He tried to hug his arms around his middle for warmth. “Are we outside Dallas?”
“I don’t think we’re in Dallas anymore. It’s too cold here. I think we’re further into the C.T.O.N.A.” Brice wrapped an arm around the stranger and pulled him into his arms. Since his shirt was on his foot, the other man’s cheek met with Brice’s naked chest. The bitter chill ate at Brice as well, but a deep part of him told him to help the brunette, no matter the cost. “North.”
“I don’t remember some of the journey here and…” The half-sentence ended with teeth chattering as the stranger hugged Brice’s chest. “Thank you.”
“We’ll be fine. Close your eyes. Or at least close the one that’s open,” Brice directed. “I’m going to use my gift.”
The man did as Brice dictated. As soon as he was no longer looking at him, Brice summoned his added ability. Using his tongue, Brice began to lick at any open cuts on the stranger’s face. There were many. Although Brice hated the taste of blood, and knew that ingesting body fluids carried health risks, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Gently, he licked and let his saliva stop as much of the flow as he could. The small action was what he could offer other than his body heat.
Moving down the man’s neck, Brice licked at a long wound across the stranger’s chest. When he glanced up, the brunette stared at him.
“My saliva stops bleeding and helps natural clotting and healing for the epidermis. It’s my gift,” Brice murmured in hopes The Originals wouldn’t hear him. His captors had been known to keep people for their extra abilities. “I told you to keep your eye closed.”
“It’s hard when a stranger is licking me.” The man tried to smile but his expression ended in a grimace.
“I will give you an C plus for effort.”
“Only a C plus? Fuck that noise. I deserve an A for keeping my eyes closed while you licked my face.”
Brice found a smile buried somewhere deep and grinned.
“My turn.” The man snuggled into his arms. “Close your eyes. Both of them. I’m going to—”
“Use your gift?”
“Yeah, but the least you could do is let me finish my sentence. I’m freezing to death after all.”
As Brice’s eyes closed, he laughed quietly. The stranger placed his hands flat on Brice’s chest. The move could’ve been to fend off hypothermia, but before he could ask what the gift was, Brice felt the sensation.
A flood of happiness filled him and overflowed into every inch of his soul. Suddenly, Brice could feel the summer breeze on his face and sunshine melting away the chill in his bones. In an instant, Brice was transported back to his favorite place where joy ruled. He was in that spot near the ocean. The rocky area was where he and his brother had built sandcastles. No longer was Brice in the hut, but now he was with his parents before they died. He was reliving the time before him and his brother, Colin, met Keith and became assassins for the Seemyah.
As the feeling of childhood carefree happiness began to fade, slowly Brice opened his eyes and he returned to reality. A little dazed, he glanced down at the man in his arms.
“You have a nice smile,” the stranger said.
Brice wanted to smile more at the compliment. He figured the tingling in his chest and the warmth must be the lingering effects of this man’s gift. The multiplying heat spreading through his arms chased away the frosty air.
As he tried to come up with a thank you, Brice noted the streaks of blood on his pectorals. Those were fresh and wet. He picked up the brunette’s hand. The tips of all his fingers were split open. Red drops gathered on the skin to roll toward his palm.
“The bleeding fingers is my side effect.” The stranger tried to tug his hands away. “It’s no biggie.”
“No biggie?” Brice kept his grip on the other man and brought the brunette’s fingers to his mouth.
“It’s not a big deal. No biggie.” The sentence ended with a shiver, and one by one, Brice licked the tiny cuts until the bleeding stopped.
“You can’t afford to lose more blood.”
“It was worth it to see your face like that.”
You may have wondered why I have not been posting. I'm sorry about my absence. Honestly, it was a few things. I thought I'd be releasing 3:05 a.m. but some factors changed.
But more than my book not coming out, my lack of posts stems from two issues I faced...
First, back when there was so much about Covid-19, I decided I didn't want to weigh in on any of that. This might shock you, but I'm not a doctor. I also live in a small town where the amount of people I see and interact with are so few. As time marched on, it appeared to me that Covid-19 became more political than looking into and facing an illness properly. That was when I really knew that I had no place in making comments about it.
Just when the Covid-19 posts started to simmer down, Black Lives Matter and the riots here in Minnesota began to dominate social media. I looked at all the Twitter posts, Facebook comments, and blogs and felt inadequate. Some people said it was our duty as writers to write about all these social injustices to help the world change. I'm not the person to be spouting ideas on how people of color can change ANYTHING nor do I have any good suggestions on how white people can change either.
My limitations are many. After talking to my friend, Javonte, I became sad as well. By the time he was sixteen, he'd been handcuffed by the police nine times. I have no clue how to make life better for him. I only see a smart, strong, kind person... And all of this makes me want to cry. My tears offer nothing for a better world.
And so... I didn't post on Black Lives Matter. And I didn't post on Covid-19 or wearing masks or riots in the cities sparked by George Floyd. Instead, I sat back.
I know that might seem like I don't care, but that's not true. I do care are about all these issues, but I am real with myself enough to know that hiding behind my computer making judgments and suggestions, helps no one. I think it might hurt some people instead. In this moment, I decided silence might be my better option.
And now we get to today and not much has changed. I can still write about #BLM or masks or Covid, so you might be wondering why I'm back on my blog. Amusingly enough, it's because of a friend of mine. She pointed out that the one thing I can blog about is The Ice Era Chronicles and what I'm writing. (Besides it being the one thing I know, it is also my favorite topic.)
That means if you are here, grab a chair and get comfy. My blog posts are not going to be about the social injustices in this world, but rather the ones my characters face in their world. And if I talk about race, creed, or religion it will be about those issues deep in the Northern Earth Dens. And If I write about masks it will be for fighting Snow Flu.
Also, I made up my mind that I will share with you some of the other stories I'm working on. I hope you will come by my page to check all that out when you need a break from all the important and non important posts about all the crazy things happening in the real world outside my door .
Every New Year's Eve we watch a movie set in the future. I like to joke that I want to see what the year has ahead. I have watched strange movies because of this tradition like Rollerball and Running Man and Barb Wire. They never fail to amuse me...
This year I had my heart set on this film "Droid" which is set in the year 2020.
Sadly, I hunted high and low and could not find even a tiny piece of this movie out in the world. Upon further investigation, I found out that this movie was originally porn that was changed over so that it could be pushed on the Sci-fi crowd. I read about the movie which they said has a Blade Runner feel but with like masturbation tossed in. I bet this movie was fantastic.
Anyway, I am sorry, my friends. I don't know what the future looks like for 2020. Maybe cops as robots and lots of sex? I can only guess. We will all have to find out together!
This holiday season, if you're feeling like you want to give... A review for an author is a great way to share the love and all it costs is your time.
This season, that is one of the things I'm doing. As you know, last month I was at my computer writing for #NaNoWriMo2019 For those of you who care, I did finish it. I wrote 50,000 words in the month of November. That was all on a book titled "Sky's The Limit". I don't know what will happen to that story, but now that I'm taking a little break, I am busy reading.
I've decided that this month, I'm going to spend some time writing reviews for the authors I love. When I am done with a book, I'm going to tell people what I think. I know how hard it is for some authors to get reviews, so I thought that in the spirit of Christmas giving, it costs me nothing and hey... I'm a writer. I can write.
I hope you all have a great holiday this year. Stay Warm out there!
I was on twitter and I saw that someone was doing #NaNoWriMo2019. I had no idea what that was. I know, you would think that as a writer I would know things like this. I guess I live my life with my head buried in the sand.
Anyway this stands for an organization of writers who spend the month of November writing 50,000 words. (National November Writing Month)
First, can I just say that I don't know why they picked November. That's when everyone has to shop for Christmas and bake pies for Thanksgiving. But no one asked me and since I'm late to the party, all I can go is hop on board.
*Me getting on board now*
The idea is that I will write everyday this month. I choose to work on a book called "The Sky's The Limit."
Here is a little excerpt of what I've done so far.
Pulsar grabbed a metal folding chair near a stack of dirt metal shelving.
“Come sit with me, Polly.” Luna smiled at him.
“Yes, Grandma.” Pulsar opened the chair and set it in front of Luna. As he faced her, he considered her strange timing. “Why are you here? It’s three in the morning.”
“When you are old like me, sleep comes and goes.” Luna’s musical voice laughed. “And besides, you like seeing your grandma, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do” Pulsar leaned over and patted her skirt-covered knee. She smiled at the small act of affection he could offer. Over the years, Pulsar had become more knowledgeable about how much sweat he could get on people. He’d been researching his gift and his side effect since he was thirteen. Now he knew what the consequences would be.
Jupiter seeing the hesitation, tossed him the towel. Leaning away from Luna, Pulsar wiped the sweat on his face and hands. This area was cold enough that the perspiration had started to dry.
“I was just wondering why you’re here, but I don’t really care or anything.”
“Yes, you don’t care or anything.” Luna repeated as she looked out toward the piles of trash. Suddenly, her eyes flipped back to his face. “I’m old, Pulsar.”
“Sure, sure.” Pulsar agreed. “But you’re my grandma. You’re supposed to be old. Muhammad Ali says, ‘Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.’” Pulsar smiled at the only women who’d ever saw him as more than a criminal. “You’re still beautiful and smart. Age is just a number. Who cares?”
“Who cares.” Luna’s eyes dropped to her skirt.
Pulsar had no idea what this was happening here. He looked to his brother. Jupiter shrugged and leaned back against the wall.
“I’m going to die.” Luna said after a lengthy silence.
“I know.” Pulsar nodded. “We’re all going to die someday. You always say…” Pulsar summed up a Rumi quote. “Our death is our wedding with eternity.” As much as he tried to dig up his permanent not caring attitude, he found that this time it was difficult. He loved Luna. The idea of his grandma gone from the world made him want to die with her. When she died, it would just be him left in the piles of trash. The only joy he’d have would be the small visits from Jupiter… and the letters from his pen pal.
“Pulsar.” Luna’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “I keep two hearts beating and I’m old. Healing isn’t as easy as it used to be.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to die soon.”
Currently I just hit 47,000 words. Wish me luck. There is plenty of November left for me to write!
Hey all! This is Monica. I'm popping on the blog today to talk about Connor's post that have #teammonica and #teamteens.
If you are friends with C.M. Moore, you know that you get to see all the crazy thoughts that go through Connor's head on the C.M. Moore Facebook page. One of the things you might notice is #teammonica.
I guess I'm here just to go on the record.
I really don't mind.
The other day, I had someone ask me if I was annoyed when Connor shares that I fell out of the car, wear mismatched socks, or says "I'm a real boy" right before he kisses me.
I really, really, do not care.
Connor understands me . We've been together twenty years and I think in his own way he is just super amused by my antics. Connor just wants to share all the things I do that make him laugh.
The girls don't get bothered when he quotes them either. We know what it is like to hang with him. I know what it is like to be married to a writer, and more importantly, Connor is a student of human nature. He's always watching the world around him and thinking about it. It's one of the things I love about him.
So if he quotes me, or shares a story, I hope you laugh too. I've got no misconceptions about who I am. I am totally silly.
#teammonica #totallysilly #reallydon'tcare
For Monica's sister's birthday, they all got a condo down in Florida. When Monica got back from her trip, we sat and talked about all the places she visited in Saint Augustine. At the end of the chat, we got into a conversation about the albino alligators that she saw and took pictures off. (You can see the one she decided was her favorite in the above photo.)
I am thinking that it might be awesome if an alligator or something along those lines could survive the ice and snow. Maybe after the new Ice Era they could become a hybrid or it's an evolutionary jump. They would need a way to keep themselves warm with less sun. Sarah (Monica's sister) suggested that an alligator and a poplar bear have sex and we have a crazy new animal. I gotta admit, that might be fun to write about. So if anyone has any suggestions or thoughts, for example:
Do you think cold blooded animals will survive at all, if so which ones? Or could they burrow underground? Maybe they would attack in a train tunnel!
Do you think something like an alligator or crocodile would survive or would they be wiped out? Maybe they are all extinct.
Also, do you think a polar bear and an alligator could get it on? (Okay if you don't want to think about weird animal sex, I get it)
but... if you have any thoughts at all, comment here or pop over to Facebook (C.M. Moore or The Ice Era Chronicles Fan Page) and tell me what you think. Or just call me crazy for bringing this up!
Check this out. I am doing a giveaway with some awesome authors! It's some fun steamy reading! I put the link below. Sign up to win!
As some of you may know, I'm painting my house (and my fence, and my shoes, and my pants.) But I am finding time to write too. I finished with 3:05 a.m. and it is with my editor still being looked over and loved and licked. I promise it's coming soon. I really liked AK47 and Rourke. I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of their love story.
As for the moment, I'm duel writing two stories. I don't normally do that, but these stories matter to each other in the Off-The-Rails, and I wanted to make sure they were put together just right. In the next book after 3:05 a.m. you meet Josie. She is one of the main characters in One Strong Gale. Josie is in a relationship with Sky Davis. You met Sky as a baby. If you recall the end of 2:05 a.m. you also met his brother Cosmos. Anyway, Sky's The Limit is the next story after One Strong Gale. There is one scene that overlaps. Because of this one little part, I find myself writing the two books together so it fits like a puzzle. I am hoping my beta readers will point out anything that I mess up with these up coming books.
In the meantime, I'm just painting everything. Be happy my paint sprayer doesn't go anywhere near you house.
I was offered a spot with Wounded Warrior Project on their national campaign team a few months back. I was happy to do whatever with W.W.P. because they have really helped me over the years. I signed up with Wounded Warrior Project back in 2011 because a buddy of mine was with the project. Monica joined a month later. After that, we both did events with the organization and met a ton of really great people. I can not tell you about all the awesome vets I've hung with or all the things I've learned with these men and women over the years.
Anyway, once I was with the national campaign team they asked me to come to New York for their Courage Awards. I couldn't possibly say no to that! New York is amazing to see. I have always seen it in the movies, but up close it really impacts you.
When I get home, I will hop on here and tell you about what I am working on next, but for now... I'm having fun and meeting new people. A big thank you goes out to W.W.P. for that.
Our Ice Era Chronicles in Order:
All future dates are subject to change.