Today, I’m here to share a couple of things.
First, a promotion. How can we live without a self-promotion? Speaking of which, I have a lot to learn about that (and get a different personality too.) I recently read somewhere that a self-publishing author who is serious about their career needs to post on social media daily (!) and produce a book every 30-60 days (!!). Guys, I’m so dead.
But also, over-saturation? Every time you open an app, I’m there like a Jack-in-the-box? Um, maybe sometimes…
So here’s the sometimes.
Seven Oars is now out on Audible for those who prefer to read with their ears. It was narrated by a real person, the same wonderful voice actor who did the other Rix books, not a robocop AI voice. I work with Podium, and they have been great in all their productions, very professional and generally super easy to work with. (I get no compensation for saying that.)
I started toying around with ideas for the 4th Rix Universe book, but can’t decide if I have balls to write either Thilza or Phex as a main character. Each presents serious challenges that won’t be easy to overcome. There’s a third option, to introduce a completely new character, but seeing as it’s a series, I feel the need to keep continuity. No other spoilers. I haven’t really written anything, but these very different ideas are floating through my mind.
Finally, Redux. This story has been sucking up all my energy. It’s a good story, but it has a mystery element, and writing mystery is hard. And character development is a thing. And a dual POV.
When two people are from different worlds and have no common ground, when neither is looking for a relationship, what can their future hold?
Here is Chapter 1, introducing Ryf.
Redux - Chapter 1
Tuesdays are the days.
I enter the clinic through the familiar portico. It’s a fancy word for a covered walkway that leads to a glass-and-chrome door. I stop short of opening it and look back at the street from between the thin white columns.
It’s going to rain.
I push through the door and let the artificial coolness of the lobby admit me. My footsteps are quiet on the gleaming marble floor.
The girl at the reception desk beams at me and jabbers about inane things. Weather. Food festival. Her grandmother’s stroke.
The girl’s name is Sonya. It’s written on a small tag she’s wearing on her chest. I see the first letter shining in bright gold. S. A curvy bastard.
I am pleased. I can tell all my letters now. But only when they stand out like the first one. The rest of her name is a blur.
“The doctor is expecting you,” she says. “Would you like me to show you the way?” Her eyes are limpid and hopeful.
“No, thank you.” I form the words with care as I listen to myself speak. My speech is slow but almost indistinguishable from the native Ratans. Or humans, as they call themselves.
I’m also human. But not a Ratan. I know Sonya can’t tell.
I pull out the access card they gave me and flash it at her as I head to the inner door. She sighs. Her eyes follow me until I turn the corner.
Waiting for the elevator, I allow myself to smile. She is so young. She has hopes. Her dreams are still untroubled.
Seventh floor. First turn to the right. Second turn to the right. The last door before the emergency stairs.
I pause. There’s a plaque next to the door. I try to make out the letters. M. The one with too many sticks. Something precedes it and something follows it. I concentrate and find a D.
Two letters. Not bad.
I knock and walk in. He is waiting inside the examination room. Dr. Mann.
A nurse is in the room with him, an older woman. She eyes me fearfully. She knows I’m not a Ratan.
I’m an Orinac. Just another human.
But if you ask her, she’d probably say I’m a devolved hominid. A mutant. A beast. Like most Ratans, she’s repulsed by what she fears.
“How are you doing today, Ryf?” Dr. Mann is friendly. He cares. He cares too much.
“I’m well. And you?” I respond like he expects me to.
“Great, great.” He’s pleased.
I move to the hospital bed set up as a chair for me. I know my routine.
I slide into the chair and bare my teeth in a smile. Dr. Mann smiles in response. The nurse shrinks back.
I shouldn’t mess with her. I sigh and look out of the window.
It’s going to rain.
They begin their measurements. A small prick on the finger for a quick blood draw. Blood pressure. Heartbeat. Lungs.
We run through the familiar questions. Sleep pattern. Appetite. Digestion. Check, check, and check. I’m plagued by a slight vertigo in the mornings, and Dr. Mann makes a note of that. We shall wait and see if it goes away with time. Meanwhile, he can offer me drugs to control it.
I decline. We shall wait and see.
The fearful nurse inserts an IV. I keep my mouth shut and my teeth hidden. When done, she hurriedly puts the instruments in order and slips out.
The IV begins its slow transfusion of drugs from a clear bag into my bloodstream. It fills me up and drains my power.
I look out of the window. It has started to rain. A light refreshing mist.
A warm, stinging sensation spreads along my arm. I feel no nausea yet, but it will come. And the dreams. The nausea doesn’t bother me, but the dreams do. If only I could turn off the dreams.
“Do you have regrets, Ryf?”
I drag my eyes away from the rain. Dr. Mann is still here. He has never asked me this question before. All in all, it’s a pointless question. Yes, he cares too much.
“No, I don’t.”
Nausea begins to churn my insides.
Dr. Mann is no longer smiling. He frowns above his wire-rimmed glasses. “We have resources, Ryf. I encourage you to see a therapist.”
“A therapist… For regrets?”
He talks fast. Being sad for long periods is called depression. Regrets can lead to anxiety and hopelessness. The feeling of helplessness can trigger panic attacks and more depression. Do I have headaches?
“I’m fine.”
Dr. Mann purses his lips.
I am fighting to stay lucid. I hate those fucking dreams. “It was my decision.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “Well, the nurse will be back in an hour.”
I nod. Nothing new. The drugs are pulling me down.
He gives me one last look before leaving. In his eyes, I catch the very thing he is worried about—regrets.
The rain is falling. The window is streaked with water. The world is a blur…
…I like coffee. Who knew? I like the smell and taste. I even like the texture of the beans and the sounds of the coffee maker as it finishes brewing. Ida thinks I’m funny…
…I lean my head against the window on the bus as we roll down the street toward Tandeem in the morning. It stinks of cigarette smoke despite the oversized No Smoking sign. Annoying music is playing, and someone is arguing in the back…
The rain is falling.
…I hear thunder. My braided hair is wet and heavy, and my leather armor is slick. The mountain jungle is alive with the sounds of wildlife. My brother is silent, but I know he’s near as we hunt…
…The man is moaning and writhing on the rocky ground. My hands are smeared with his blood. He cries for mercy but I don’t have any. I put my boot on him and push him over the edge. His cries die out as he disappears down the mine shaft…
The rain is falling.
…A missile is hurtling toward the mountain from the clouds. I’m calm. We’ve got what we need. It will never reach the ground. I lift my weapon to the sky and open up my senses. The son of a bitch who shot at us thinks his little plane is too high in the sky for Orinac hunter senses to get a bead on him. He’s wrong. A pump of recoil hits my shoulder as I let the rocket loose…
The rain is falling hard.
…The woman is laughing. Her warm breath caresses the side of my neck. She’s greedy, squeezing hard as I slide in and out of her slick body. Her pretty eyes are searching mine as she gasps in pleasure under me. I know she wants me to stay. I won’t. Soft skin. Soft… Relief rushes me like a hot wave. For a moment, everything stands still. I’m free. From the cravings, the passion, the drive. Free…
My heart thumps, and I’m awake in the chair. The bag above my head is empty.
The fucking dreams.
The nausea is churning. I take a shuddering breath.
Dr. Mann cares too much. He’s a good doctor. He has regrets.
I don’t.
It was my decision.
I’m free.
Lydia Hope 