Tag: writer

dead magic · Writing

Want a glimpse of Dead Magic?

Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

As promised on my Facebook page, here is a little unedited preview of Dead Magic. Coming this fall:

Immanuel looked over his shoulder and spotted a vase sitting in the center of the kitchen table, overflowing with ferns fronds, forget-me-notes, and periwinkle traveler’s joy. Adam had given them to him when he arrived, but now their edges were curled and turning brown while their heads dolefully flopped over the side. Immanuel set down his tea and picked up the vase. As he made for the sink, he turned, expecting to find Adam behind him but found nothing. He went to take a step forward but was knocked off kilter by something hitting his chest. Heat seared through his veins, snaking through his core until it hit his heart and shot through his body one beat at a time. Swallowing hard, he leaned against the counter, busying himself with the flowers to keep Adam from seeing the fear in his eyes. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, hoping the stutter in his heart would stop.
“Immanuel? Immanuel, are you all right?”
Immanuel jerked back as water overflowed from the crystal vase and ran over his hands and cuffs. The creeping heat abated at the water’s touch until it only lingered as a tight ball lodged near his heart. Releasing a tight breath, he swallowed hard and carried the flowers back to the table without a word. As he raised his gaze to the dying flowers, his chest tightened. Before his eyes, the flowers’ heads uncurled and the bits of brown he had seen a moment earlier eating away at the edges of the petals dissolved. Across the table, Adam absently poked at a sugar cube bobbing in his cup, unaware of his partner’s sudden urge to pitch the plants out the backdoor. Immanuel averted his gaze, but when he looked back a moment later, the blues and purples of the forget-me-nots were more vibrant than the day he arrived.
Something was wrong with him. Something was very wrong.
“I— I think I’m going to lie down for a little while.”
Adam’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, pressing Immanuel’s back into his chest. “You look flushed. Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” he snapped but caught himself. “I’m just tired.”
“Well, I will come up with you.”
Immanuel crossed his arms. “I can get up the stairs by myself. I’m not feeble anymore.”
“I think you misunderstood me.” Adam slowly raised his gaze to Immanuel’s, locking eyes as he held his arms. “I want to come up.”
Immanuel’s mouth formed a soundless O, and before he could think about what Adam said, they were checking the locks on the doors and covering the windows. Darting up the stairs, Immanuel slipped off his jacket and tie and tossed them into his undisturbed bedroom as he passed. He waited at the threshold of Adam’s door, watching his companion carefully close the curtains to ensure no one could see inside. It had become a nightly ritual that Adam had started months before Immanuel moved in to help avoid suspicion from their neighbors. When the room was dark, Adam took his hand and led him to the bed where he snaked his hand under Immanuel’s shirt and ran along the flesh of his back. Even after a week together, Immanuel still hesitated, expecting someone to be just beyond the door. It seemed too good to be true to have such freedom.
“Mr. Winter,” Adam whispered into Immanuel’s skin as he planted a trail of hot, moist kisses down his neck, “I have been waiting for this all day.”
But why? He resisted the urge to ask a question that would only elicit a strange look from Adam and an equally awkward reply.
Before Immanuel could stop him, Adam’s fingers were flying over the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. He resisted the urge to stiffen and cover his deformed chest with his arms, and instead he copied Adam. Beneath his bright dandy’s clothes, Immanuel was as solid and strong as Immanuel felt frail, all ribs and scars. Adam pushed Immanuel against the bedpost, catching his mouth. His pencil mustache scratched Immanuel’s lip as the redhead’s tongue plunged and grazed against his. The breath caught in Immanuel’s throat. Closing his eyes, he let his companion explore his mouth and his ever-changing body. Adam’s hands worked along his sides before sliding over the firm flesh of his buttock, eliciting a soft groan from his companion. Heat crept up Immanuel’s form, tensing every muscle in his abdomen and sending his heart out of rhythm. Immanuel blindingly undid the buckle of Adam’s belt and felt the slide of his fine wool trousers slipping down his legs. Reaching for his own, Immanuel kicked them off and pulled Adam toward the mattress.
The bed sighed under their weight as Adam climbed atop of him. His eyes drank in Immanuel’s form while his hands rested on his ribs. Adam caressed the dents where his ribs hadn’t properly knit together. Immanuel swallowed hard at the thought of being prone and unable to stop Adam’s mental dissection. He hoped it was too dark for Adam to see him, but his mind was silenced by a shiver rippling from his scalp to his curling toes. Immanuel raised his eyes to meet Adam’s gaze. A wordless conversation passed between them, and Adam’s lips curled into a knowing grin. Immanuel stiffened, his hips twitching, as Adam nipped at his collarbones and ran his tongue along his sternum and down the scant trail of hair leading to his flannel drawers. His fingers laced into Adam’s henna hair as a gasp escaped his lips at the rush of air and the goosebumps rising on the tops of his thighs as his drawers were pulled away.
“I want to make you feel better,” Adam murmured, his breath hot against his stomach.
Immanuel closed his eyes, fisting the sheets as Adam drew him in. He needed him, he needed this. He needed to be reminded that even after all that happened, there was still love in the world. More than anything, he needed Adam to make him forget.

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July 2016 in Review
dead magic · Monthly Review · Writing

July 2016 in Review

Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

In Review July

Last year, I decided that I would post my accomplishments for the month and what goals I hope to achieve in the following month.

In July, I found that while I got a lot done on Dead Magic, every other goal I had made in June suffered.

What I accomplished in July:

  1. Wrote 22,000 words of Dead Magic (total 82k)
  2. Wrote 3,500 words of “The Errant Earl”
  3. Wrote the “final” blurbs for DM and “EE”
  4. Read 2 books:
    1. Monstress by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (4.5 stars)
    2. How to Write a Sizzling Synopsis by Bryan Cohen (5 stars)
    3. I also have 3 other books partially read that I’ll finish next month
  5. Published the Italian translation of The Earl of Brass (not yet on Amazon)

What I hope to achieve in August:

  1. Finish writing Dead Magic
  2. Start editing Dead Magic
  3. Finish, edit, and publish “The Errant Earl”
  4. Write 6 blog posts
  5. Publish the Spanish translation of The Winter Garden
  6. Read 4 books

I can’t believe I’m nearly done with Dead Magic. I have less than 10k words left to write, and then, it’s onward to editing. It’s always amazing to me how quickly the words come once I’ve gotten past the middle of the book. Now, if only I could have monthly word counts this high from the start.

Later this week, I’ll share the final blurbs for Dead Magic and “The Errant Earl” along with the covers for both. I’m so excited to be fleshing out bits of the series and finally finishing up Dead Magic. I think DM is one of my favorites thus far. It’s dark and creepy, but beneath it all is an undercurrent of love that balances it out. “The Errant Earl” is a short story with some backstory about how Eilian and Patrick became the dynamic duo bromance they are now.

The downside to writing so much is that everything else suffers. I don’t read much, I don’t write blogs, and every other outside activity takes a backseat. Since I’ll be finishing both projects within the next two weeks (hopefully), I’ll be able to read again and actually enjoy life a little before I throw myself into editing.

I keep thinking about how being an indie author really is the best course of action I could have taken.I love being able to publish what I want, when I want in whatever genre I want. If I wasn’t indie, could I be writing side stories for my readers and working on semi-related novellas? I don’t know, but I know that where I am right now is a good place for me.

Writing

Take Chances, Make Mistakes, Get Messy

Kara Jorgensen4 Comments

ms frizzle quote

I have found my motto for when I teach college freshmen in the fall and it comes from one of my childhood inspirations, Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus.

One of the points we’re supposed to stress to the freshman is that writing should be done in multiple drafts and not in one giant Red Bull-fueled writing binge the night before it’s due. Why? Why does it matter that they hand in drafts instead of one “complete” paper?

A) That writing binge paper is probably shitty. I mean, have you ever read something you wrote at 2 AM?

B) Freshman need to be broken of bad habits they are taught in high school, like papers that focus on form over originality of thought

C) Drafts are a place to experiment, to find what you really want to say, and work on their craft. If they were playing baseball instead of writing, would you tell them that learning to catch the night before a game was adequate?

What I want my students to understand is that drafts in my class will be place for them to experiment with their writing and evolve. Those drafts will only be graded on their completion, but they’ll still be able to get feedback that will help them. The funny thing is, I found myself stumbling into the same trap as my future students.

I was working on a tough scene in Dead Magic and found that I was staring at my Word doc instead of actually writing. I knew what I wanted to have happen in that scene, but I was scared to write it. Putting it into a Word doc seemed so permanent. What if it was bad? What if it needed major rewrites? Fixing it on my Word doc would be such a hassle.

In my head, I knew it was a draft. I know that this version of Dead Magic is going to be overhauled several times before it ever hits Amazon, yet I still found myself staring at my computer as if it could never be changed. Luckily, I’m a stationary addict and already had a notebook I had hoped to use while at work or school to jot down ideas. Putting the laptop aside, I scribbled out the scene over the course of about two hours. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t neat or even that detailed, but it was written.

Step one: Write your stuff in a low-stakes place. Just get it out and try to keep going without too many stops.

Step two: Type it up and edit as you go.

For me, step two is par for the course. I’m not just going to slap up my shitty draft into the Word doc I was so paranoid about ruining. As I type up the new material, I add the detail that was missing in my handwritten draft and clean up any oddities. The low-stakes writing gets you out of the rut and can easily be translated into high-stakes writing. One of the unexpected perks was that I ended up writing more by hand and the word count grew even higher when I added detail while transcribing it.

If you’re getting performance anxiety working on your draft, try a change switching your medium. Writing in a designated notebook instead of Word may help take the edge of your perfectionism and help you get past your “writer’s block.”

dead magic · Writing

Dead Magic Update: Blurb

Kara Jorgensen3 Comments

dead magic

By the time I hit the halfway point in my stories, I like to have a tentative blurb written. If you don’t know what a blurb is, it’s the enticing synopsis on the back of books or on the description on their Amazon page. While I’m still fine-tuning the blurb for Dead Magic, I thought I would share it with you and see what you think.

Emmeline Jardine had no idea that when she stole a package, it would contain a grimoire that holds the secrets of life and death. Disillusioned with Spiritualism, she turns to the enchanting Lord Hale, who offers her a world of limitless opportunities at the Eidolon Club. But strange rumors stir about the exclusive club: grave-robbery, occult rituals, magic.

Across the city, Immanuel Winter, the boy who shares Emmeline’s soul, has settled into a peaceful life as a museum curator, but his happiness is short-lived when his past demons refuse to go quietly. Immanuel fears his sanity is slipping as body-snatching spirits attack and creatures return from the dead. Are they an illusion, or are they merely tied to the new powers he struggles to hide from his lover?

Dark forces are heading for London that threaten to tip the balance between death and life, and they are after more than the grimoire.

They want their soul.

So what did you think? Interesting? Terrible?

If you have an opinion, leave a comment below.

Dead Magic (Ingenious Mechanical Devices #4) will be out this fall and you can add it on Goodreads here.

Personal Life

Graduation

Kara Jorgensen17 Comments

As of last Wednesday, I have officially graduated from graduate school with my MFA in Creative and Professional Writing.

It seems strange to say that I’m done with school since I’ve been in it one way or another for nearly 20 years. I still may go back for a MA in literature, but for now, I’m done.

It still hasn’t sunk in yet. I feel like in the fall I should be ordering texts for class and preparing my backpack with supplies.

I guess I’ll be doing much of the same thing because in the fall I’ll be an adjunct professor at two universities, teaching freshman writing. An adjunct professor is basically a part-time professor who teaches the underclassmen. An entry level professor. It’s the bottom of ladder, but at least I’m on a rung. I’ll be one step closer to becoming a full-time English professor. It may take years to get there, but I’m willing to stick it out.

For most of my life, I had no idea what I wanted to be when I “grew up.” I went from wanting to be an archaeologist to a doctor to an English professor. What I really want to be is a writer, but I think I can balance that with working as a professor. I’ll be teaching students about writing and literature while actively engaging in that community. I’ve seen the publishing industry change over the last five years, and I’ve been self-publishing for the last two. I’m someone who loves reading and writing, and I hope I can impart that to my future students. My life was changed drastically by the influence of a few key professors, and maybe one day, I’ll be that professor for someone.

Writing

5 Tips for Atmospheric Writing

Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

Recently, I’ve been reading Maggie Stiefvater’s series The Raven Cycle, and what has blown me away (besides the characters, plot, and just amazing story overall) is her ability to create atmospheric settings. What I mean by that is that the settings evoke a specific feeling, and this feeling adds to the tension or heightens the mood of the piece. Atmospheric settings can sometimes be so evocative that they are characters themselves. I found this in The Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater, Jazz by Toni Morrison, and The Witching Hour by Anne Rice.

In my own writing, I’ve tried to develop this skill while building the backdrop of London in The Winter Garden and Brasshurst Hall in The Earl and the Artificer. While working on this skill, I’ve learned a few things.

  1. Write your scene first. Add your atmosphere after. I tend to write my scene in layers where I write out the dialogue and overall scene direction first. Then, I do a quick pass through where I add more detail until the scene is fleshed out. When it comes to writing, dialogue, plot, and character movement is much more important than atmosphere. My suggestion is always to work on your scenery after you’ve gotten the essentials down. This also tends to eliminate pages and pages of atmosphere/scene building because you already know what you need in your scene instead of tossing in everything and the kitchen sink just in case your character needs it.
  2. Know what you’re trying to evoke. It makes infinitely easier to build tension or heighten the mood if you know what you’re trying to accomplish. Ask yourself a questions. Is your story paranormal or a western? How does your genre affect the atmosphere of your piece? What’s the overall emotion in this scene? Suspense, mystery, anger, romance, sadness, etc. Does the feeling fit the genre or scene? Does it fit the characters? Sometimes the feelings will conflict with characters to create tension, but if it stands out in a bad way against the rest of your story, you may want to rethink what you’re trying to create.
  3. Figure out what your scenery looks like before you start adding it in. I don’t mean that you need to break out the Sims and start building an entire house, but you should know the major features or the features you hope to highlight. My suggestions is to jot down the defining characteristics of the character the scene relates to. For example, when I was creating Dr. Hawthorne’s home office, I knew he he was a busy doctor who was progressive for his day. This comes out in his bookshelf, which is filled with medical texts from scholars throughout history, and between books there are rather disgusting anatomical specimens in jars. Because he’s busy, his desk is covered in notes that need typing and random bits of paper for his own research. Personal spaces should reflect the characters who live in them. As always, knowing where you’re going makes it infinitely easier to avoid writer’s block.
  4. Focus on the senses. And not just sight. Pretend that you’re where your characters are. What would you smell? Could you taste or hear anything? The more sensory details you include, the more evocative your scene will be. When I get stuck in this area, I go onto Pinterest to look for photos or Youtube for videos of scenery or thunderstorms, depending on the scene. If need be, look up words to describe smells or tastes. I know I’ve looked up how to describe the smell of rain.
  5. When you’re all done, go back and prune. You don’t want pages and pages of atmosphere, so go back after you’ve written your scene and see if you can get rid of anything. Pay careful attention to word choice as you’re editing. Are your descriptions succinct and do they make sense? Show them to someone else and see what their feelings are about your descriptions. Sometimes what’s in our heads doesn’t come out on paper. Atmospheric writing should add to the scene, so if it’s doing nothing but adding to your word count, cut it.

If you’re trying to boost your writing skills and learn how to create atmosphere in your story, my best suggestion is to read and take notes on what other authors do. The best way to learn to write is to learn to read as a writer.

Do you have any examples of writers who rock at creating evocative scenery?

Dead Magic Sniplet #2
dead magic · Writing

Dead Magic Sniplet #2

Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

dead magic

Dead Magic, the fourth book in the Ingenious Mechanical Devices series, won’t be out until the fall, so I thought I’d share another clip from my WIP with you. Miss Emmeline Jardine has pilfered a package from the Spiritualist Society.

The Dorothy Restaurant hummed with chatter only broken by the occasional sharp laugh. Emmeline resisted the urge to shift in her seat. She had been to the Dorothy several times with Cassandra Ashwood, but she never failed to feel odd there. There had never been a public place she frequented where men were not allowed. The room was overly bright even in the dreary weather with its cream and red walls and gaudy array of colorful Japanese fans and parasols artfully tacked to the walls and ceiling. Around them all manner of women ate the same meal at the same white tablecloth and vase of flowers. During previous visits they had spotted Constance Wilde and the Countess of Dorset not far from a table of shopgirls. In a space free of men, the women seemed to change before her eyes into some strange perversion of the womanhood she knew. Cigarettes were lit and overheard table conversation often involved politics, women’s rights, and even colonialism. Of course, there was gossip, but mixed in were stories of tête–à–têtes that bored on elicit. At the Dorothy, they all seemed so free, yet surrounded by a complete lack of restriction, Emmeline faltered.

“You’re very quiet today, Em,” Cassandra said, looking up from her roast chicken and potatoes.

Her eyes flickered over the window where rain pattered against the pane and through the drivel, she inadvertently caught the gaze of a man peeking inside. What he expected them to be doing, she couldn’t imagine, but gawkers, she was quickly learning, were common at the Dorothy.

“Ignore him.”

“Why are they always staring in? It’s rude. It’s a restaurant, not a sideshow.”

“They don’t like that we finally have some privacy. You know, you could have left your book in the coatroom. I’m pretty sure no one would steal it, especially when Miss Barker knows us.”

“That’s not what I was worried about.” She paused. What was she worried about? “I didn’t want anyone to see the title.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to borrow it if you’re that nervous about other people seeing it.”

Emmeline gave her a weak smile. Her eyes traced the outline of the book beneath the crinkled paper. She had placed it on the table facedown with her reticule and gloves on top of it to keep Cassandra from turning it over. Her heart pulsed in her throat, ruining the taste of the meat in her mouth. She was itching to open it. Every time she looked away, she felt its glare upon her, as if the book was watching her—beckoning to her—the moment she turned her gaze. For a moment, she wondered if she should just confess to Cassandra what she had done and open the bloody book.

Before she could act on her thought, Cassandra straightened with a squeak. She wiped her mouth and took a long sip of tea before she asked, “Did I tell you about the gala?”

“What gala? The season is over.”

“Well, it isn’t a society party. It’s a gala to celebrate a new ancient botanical collection at the British Museum. I’m sure you heard.”

When Emmeline raised a dark brow, Cassandra continued, “Your aunt’s cousin, the Countess of Dorset, and her husband donated the main specimen, the silphium plant. Please tell me you know what I’m talking about. I’m sure your aunt mentioned it.”

Thinking back to dinner conversations, she could vaguely recall some mention of a party at the museum. She hadn’t paid much attention. “I don’t think I was invited, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to go.”

Cassandra’s chestnut eyes widened and sagged.

“You actually want to go? But why? It will be so boring. All those old stuffy scholars and their pinch-faced wives.”

“My friends will be there. I don’t think you have met her, but Judith Elliott is my best friend—”

Emmeline stiffened.

“One of my best friends, and I’m certain you will love her as much as I do.”

“Of course,” she replied tartly as she stabbed a piece of boiled potato and brought it to her lips.

She could feel Cassandra’s gaze upon her, eyes torn between anger and guilt. Somehow, Emmeline had never imagined that she could have friends besides her, that she had a life outside the spiritualist society. That and the Dorothy was the only place she ever saw her, and she didn’t appear to have a beau or that she was even looking. Modern woman, Emmeline scoffed. No wonder Aunt Eliza loved when Miss Ashwood came for tea. Watching Cassandra go back to her meal, Emmeline’s stomach knotted. She knew so little about her even though they spent nearly every weekend together and most nights at the spiritualist society. She knew Cassandra worked as a secretary somewhere, though Emmeline couldn’t remember where, and that she lived in a flat not far from the society along with another woman.

From the edge of her vision, Emmeline studied Cassandra’s features. She envied her prominent cheekbones and her expressive lips. When she smiled, it made Emmeline’s face join in her joy, but it was her bearing that caught her attention when they first met. She had thought of quitting the spiritualist society for good until she spotted Cassandra waiting at the front door. She stood tall despite her short stature, with her walking suit smartly cut to accentuate her curves and the color rich enough to bring out the flecks of gold and green in her eyes. There was a self-assuredness about her that didn’t require words to enforce. Maybe that was what five years of relative independence did to a woman. Still, it was troubling to know she had no suitors to fall back on or tear her attention away from the gloom and tedium of the spiritualist society.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this since you have decided to be peevish, but Mr. Talbot’s cousin just walked in,” Cassandra whispered, her eyes darting toward the front door as a rush of warm, damp air washed in.

“How do you know who she is?”

“Because I just saw him drop her off.”

Whipping around, Emmeline turned in time to see a dark-haired woman enter and a charcoal grey steamer pull away from the curb. “I can’t believe I missed—”

The words died in her throat. Cassandra was holding the book, her book, regarding her with pursed lips. Emmeline reached to snatch it from her grasp but pulled back. It wouldn’t do to make a scene. Shaking her head, Cassandra handed the paper-wrapped book back to her.

“I knew something was wrong when you wouldn’t give it up. You never wait to open a book. Nostra is a fool, but this is hers. You can’t steal her property, Emmeline,” she replied in a harsh whisper.

Groaning, Emmeline placed the package in her lap and covered it with her napkin. “But she isn’t even the head of the society, not yet anyway. Besides, it probably isn’t even hers.”

“If it isn’t hers, then whose is it?”

Emmeline opened her mouth, but his name refused to leave her throat.

Sensing what she wouldn’t say, Cassandra shook her head. “But it’s been over five months. Do you really suspect it was meant for him?”

“I don’t know. I know taking it was wrong, but you didn’t know him, Cass. He was evil.”

“You think it’s something malicious?”

She shrugged. “It could be. Would you want Nostra getting a book on soul-stealing or God knows what?”

Cassandra sighed, her gaze traveling to the book in Emmeline’s lap before coming to rest on her concerned eyes and drawn mouth. “Maybe you should open it and see what it is. If it’s just a book, we could rewrap it and bring it back tomorrow, and if it’s something bad—”

“We can get figure out what to do once we know what it is. Good idea.”

Using her untouched bread knife, Emmeline carefully slipped it between the paper. With a crack, the must of centuries old paper and ink rushed out. Emmeline locked eyes with Cassandra as she tipped the package and let the book slide into her hand. Laying across the front cover was a letter. Setting the book and torn wrapper on the table, she turned her attention to the missive. The sole page was stained with ink and flecks of brown, but the lines of the long, looped writing had been written with such force that it had been incised into the page. As she lifted it closer, minute beams of light broke through the parchment.

 

September 14th, 1892

To the person the grimoire chooses,

I hope whoever is reading this letter can forgive that I know not to whom I am writing. I don’t have much time left. The duke is ailing and has entrusted the book to my care, but I fear my time will be as short as his. They have discovered me, and the grimoire is no longer safe in my care. This book has passed through many hands before reaching you. Others like us will have received this package, and in turn, sent it to another to keep the book out of the hands of those who would pervert the knowledge within. If you are reading this note, you are the end of the line. It is my hope that the book has fallen into worthy hands.

You must know dark forces are in Berlin and are moving north to London. They move against all of our kind. Those who would seek to keep the balance of death and life are being cut down by practioners wanting to tip the scale. They need what the grimoire possesses.

Protect it or send it to someone who can.

 

There was no signature. Flipping the paper over, she found the same note written in Latin. Emmeline’s heart thundered in her throat. Dark forces were coming to London. What had she taken?

Stay tuned for more updates for Dead Magic. If you would like news about releases, ARCs, and special deals, please sign up for my newsletter.

Writing

Dead Magic Sniplet #1

Kara Jorgensen7 Comments

dead magic

So, I promised in my last blog entry that I would post a bit of Dead Magic. What you’re about to read is the very beginning of the book.

Dead Magic

Chapter One

Flesh and Bone

 

 

On balmy summer nights, Highgate Cemetery lay as still and silent as its residents, but not on this night. Footfalls echoed across the rows of vine-covered graves, their names impossible to read in the moonlight peeking through the trees. Crickets fell silent as the young man passed and the grasses on either side of the well-worn path rustled with life just beneath the surface. Reaching for the shuttered lantern at his side, Cecil Hale stopped and listened for any sign of his compatriots. He had been told not to open the lantern until he reached the Egyptian Avenue, but the graveyard was harder to navigate in the dark than he had imagined. The dizzying rows of cockeyed graves seemed to go on forever, all nearly identical to the next.

Closing his eyes, Cecil drew in a long breath. A wave of energy passed over him as the warm wind whipped a russet curl across his forehead. In the darkness beyond the curve of trees, he felt a faint pulse of power. So they had ventured into the vault without him. He reached for the pocket watch ticking against his side but let his hand drop. As he rounded the bend, his heart quickened at the sight of the obelisk and lotus-columned entrance to the Egyptian Avenue. Leafy boughs and Jurassic ferns spilled over the top of the mausoleum’s entrance, drowning out the tang of death with the scent of summer. The iron gate whined beneath his hand, and he paused, waiting for the light of a night watchman he knew would not appear. A smirk crossed his lips. No one thought to worry about the dead.

Cecil’s gaze swept over the faceless row of doors on either side of him until it came to rest on the wavering radiance of an oil lamp drifting behind the threshold. Pulling the door open, he shut his eyes against the harsh brightness of the lanterns.

“Did they not teach you how to tell time at boarding school, Lord Hale?”

Cecil Hale stiffened. If it had been anyone else, he would have cut them down to size for not only insulting a viscount but for daring to question the standing of the youngest magister in the third order, but when his hazel eyes adjusted, he found Lady Rose glaring at him.

“Do forgive my tardiness, Lady Rose, but it wasn’t easy to find my way here in the dark. Not all of us frequent graveyards,” he replied before he could stop himself.

A low chuckle emanated from where she stood, but Cecil swore he hadn’t seen her lips or chest move. Against the dusty grey of the mausoleum, her polished bronze hair and pale green eyes took on such an unnatural hue that he dared not question what he heard. Of all the practitioners he knew, she was the only one he feared. If he stared too long, he thought he could see shadows writhing and slithering around her, pulling at the flames positioned in a circle around her and the coffin at her feet. It was her power he felt when he cleared his mind’s eye.

As Cecil pulled the crypt door shut, a lanky, white-haired figure emerged from the neighboring chamber. He was accustomed to seeing Lord Sumner at the third order meetings, but seeing him standing in the mausoleum didn’t sit well. It felt wrong, like seeing one’s grandfather walk out of a Piccadilly brothel. He couldn’t imagine him with his carefully trimmed beard and Savile Row suit anywhere near a charnel house. The man had a lineage as distinguished as any king on the continent, so what could be so important that he would risk being found prowling around a graveyard with the likes of Lady Rose instead of sending an emissary? Maybe he didn’t trust her either.

“Will it only be us this evening?” Cecil asked, his voice reverberating against the vaulted stone as he looked into the darkened chamber.

Without looking up from the coffin edge, Lady Rose replied, “If you’re worried about discovery, my man is keeping watch outside, but the ritual only needs one. His lordship is merely here to supervise.”

“Let’s hope the ritual won’t be necessary.”

“Oh? Are you having second thoughts, Lord Sumner?”

“I think all of us would prefer to avoid such vulgarity. We can only hope his family thought it best to bury the damned book with him.”

“So resurrectionists like us could find it? I doubt it,” she said, running her bare fingers over the lid as if feeling for something.

“Did anyone check his estate and town home?” Cecil asked.

Lady Rose and Lord Sumner exchanged an incredulous look before turning their attention back to the casket. Her fingers slid over the decorative molding and around the brass bars affixed to either side, probing every cranny for hidden springs, but found nothing.

Resting back on her heels, she motioned for Cecil to come to her side with a curl of her finger. “Lord Hale, would you do the honors?”

For a moment, he wished they had left the door open to the crypt. The stale air pressed in as he drew in a breath and held it. Cecil steeled himself, ready to avert his gaze when the lid cracked opened, but when he tried to yank it loose, a bolt of pain shot into his wrists and up his arms. Howling, he staggered back, nearly kicking over Sumner’s lamp.

“The bloody thing’s hexed!” he cried, rubbing his burning, twitching hands.

“The duke’s underlings are smarter than I thought,” Lord Sumner murmured under his breath.

Grabbing a handful of dust from the floor, Lady Rose cast it across the casket top. A series of rings, lines, and scribbles appeared through the detritus. Cecil leaned in to get a closer look. He had never seen a sigil that actually worked. They were out of fashion and the order didn’t support the use of such an arcane technique, so there was no reason for him to learn about them. At the pulsing throb of his hand, he wished he had. Before he could finish tracing the twisting line with his gaze, Lady Rose pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule and scrubbed at the sigil. Cecil watched with wide eyes as she gritted her teeth and continued even as the arcane symbols crackled and arced with electricity beneath her palm.

She released a labored breath and wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand. “Open it.”

 

Stay tuned for more sniplets and updates of Dead Magic. If you would like to get a preview of the book first or news on sales and forthcoming works, please sign up for my newsletter by clicking here.

Catch up on the rest of the Ingenious Mechanical Devices series before Dead Magic releases:

The Earl of Brass (Book #1)

The Winter Garden (Book #2)

“An Oxford Holiday” (A Companion Short Story)

The Earl and the Artificer (Book #3)

Let me know what you thought of sniplet #1!

Personal Life · Writing

Author Update

Kara JorgensenLeave a comment

dead magic

I feel like I’ve been a very negligent author. While I have been writing (Dead Magic is at 15k words or so), I haven’t blogged much.

Part of that is because I’ve been feeling under the weather lately. I had the flu early in the month, and while I feel better, I still don’t feel 100%. It’s made me very tired, and some nights I come home completely wiped out when usually I would stay up and work on a new blog post or write more.

It’s frustrating to say the least. I usually make to-do lists for myself in my bullet journal, but recently, those lists have gotten smaller or have taken longer to get done. I’m hoping that over the next few weeks, I’ll finally shake off this illness once and for all and actually get back to blogging.

I’m really excited about Dead Magic, so I’ll be sharing updates and bits of the story with you soon. All of our old friends are back from The Winter Garden: Adam Fenice, Immanuel Winter, Emmeline Jardine. Dark forces are moving toward London. They want to tap into the cosmos and speak with higher beings, but to do so, they need a certain book. That book has fallen into Emmeline Jardine’s hands and she isn’t giving it up without a fight. All Immanuel wants is a normal life, but he finds that he is in possession of new powers he never asked for and that his life is threatened by an unseen enemy. Soon, Emmeline and Immanuel find themselves in a race against time and the dark magic that threatens to bring the country to its knees. The balance of life and death hinges on their actions. Can they follow the right path or will the temptation of power be too strong?

In a few days, I’ll publish a little sniplet of a new scene from Dead Magic (Ingenious Mechanical Devices #4). Stay tuned.

Monthly Review

January in Review

Kara Jorgensen4 Comments

Last year, I decided that I would post my accomplishments for the month and what goals I hope to achieve in the following month.

So January was actually a pretty good month for me.

What I accomplished in January:

  1. Released The Earl and the Artificer (IMD #3)
  2. Ran a promotion on The Earl of Brass (IMD #1) and the rest of the series and moved over 1,300 copies
  3. Read 3 books and a novella, along with school work (Hoarfrost and Maelstrom by Jordan L. Hawk and A Seditious Affair and A Queer Trade by K. J. Charles)
  4. Began my last semester of grad school
  5. Started brainstorming my next project

What I hope to achieve in February:

  1. Write at least 10,000 words of my new project
  2. Read 3 books
  3. Write blogs more consistently
  4. Keep marketing my books
  5. Try not to lapse into the anxiety loop

January Book Haul

Well, I fell off the New Year’s revolution wagon. Big surprise. One of my resolutions was to buy less books and read the ones I have. Well, I’ve been reading the ones I have, but I may have added another foot to the to-be-read pile. Behold, the January book haul! I am really looking forward to reading these books. Many of them have been on my list for months and now I can finally start reading them.

In January, most of my energy was focused on finishing up and launching The Earl and the Artificer. Now that my third novel has been unleashed into the world, I can finally sit down and start working on my next project, which may or may not be in the series. I haven’t decided yet. There wasn’t a lot of writing done in January due to editing and prepping, but I think February will be much better for my writing now that all of my projects are out of the way.

Well, onward to February!