Dreams in Red: Anne Bonny

Thanks to All Voters

2008-12-18T23:01:00.002-05:00

Wow! I'd like to thank everybody who has been kind enough to read my Anne Bonny-related w.i.p. that's currently up at TextNovel.com --called "Of Storms, Seas and Pirates." My story has been on the most popular list since the end of September and was recently joined by my YA fantasy/romance entitled "13 to Life." "13 to Life" (a werewolf-related story) was also chosen as an Editor's Pick about 2 days ago and just surpassed "Of Storms, Seas and Pirates" in the popular vote today.

So, if you're looking for something to read for free, pop on over to TextNovel.com and please check out my two stories. If you feel so inspired, please give one or both of them a friendly thumbs up, a review or (best yet) both. You can also subscribe to them both for free, getting updates in your email or as texts on your cell phone--your choice.

Thanks again!
~Saoirse

On TextNovel.com's Main Page!

2008-09-28T22:38:00.002-04:00

Woo-hoo! Yippee! My story--"Of Storms, Seas and Pirates"--just made it on to the main page--home page of TextNovel.com . I'm hoping this will stir up a little more interest in that particular w.i.p. of mine.

"Of Storms, Seas and Pirates" is based on the earlier years of eventual pirate Anne Bonny's life and set in a sort of fantasy/folk magic rich early colonial America. I've had a love of the Anne Bonny story for about a year or so now (been curious about all things female-pirate-related for close to two decades, thanks to the novel "Grania"). Getting to write my interpretation of her early years (because I believe heroes and villains aren't born, they're made--yes, yes, I'm a nurture, not just nature sort of gal) is a great deal of fun!

Granted, there aren't gazillions of readers anxiously perusing my progressing story--TextNovel.com is still quite young, but there are some folks taking a peek. And yes, I did finally break and contact TextNovel.com members with the TextNovel.com networking option so they'd think about taking a look. BUT. If there's one thing I'm coming to realize more and more in life it's the unfortunate fact that often it's not what you know, but whom. So, I'm networking. Ugh. I'm not sure I'm socially motivated enough to really make the system work for me. But I'll try nearly everything once. Nearly everything (I have my standards, you know ;-).

So, once again I'll suggest that any of you dragging yourselves past my little blog should stop over at TextNovel.com. Make an account. Start your story. Maybe win $1,000 and a publishing contract. But if you don't win the prize, at least check out the site. It's a great idea and there are good people making it work so the rest of us can play.

Anyhow--go to TextNovel.com. Vote for me! ;-)
Oh yeah...Take care and Keep Writing! :-)
~Saoirse

3 Word Wednesday: Gamble, Omitted, Temporary

2008-07-30T23:45:00.003-04:00

This week's 3 Word Wednesday response is tucked into my TextNovel at TextNovel.com where I'm currently writing a supernatural/fantasy/YA cell phone novel about Anne Bonny's early years.

Feel free to check it out--I'll link later. :-)

~Saoirse

Anne Bonny TextNovel at TextNovel.com

2008-07-29T23:24:00.003-04:00

I decided to take the plunge and begin a TextNovel at TextNovel.com . I'm categorizing it as YA (Young Adult) because of the content and characterization I'll be pursuing. It has a definite fantasy element (I wanted to try something that vaguely makes me think of Orson Scott Card's "Red Prophet" and "Seventh Son" stuff--I love Orson :-) And yes, it's about Anne Bonny (at the story's start she's Anne Cormac, of course).

Try imagining Anne at 16, landlocked in Charles Town. A plantation owner's daughter who is on the brink of being accepted by polite society (as long as she continues the lies her parents began). Now add in a dose of magic and a good helping of teen angst--that's what I'm going for in this version of Anne Bonny's life. It's a far cry from what my speculative fiction version is like. And yes, I have been called crazy for working on two vastly different versions of the same woman's supposed life. :-)

Heck, I taught middle school. "Crazy" is one of the kinder things I've been called. ;-)

So--Check out TextNovel.com . Maybe you'll discover your own story to tell. Maybe it'll have pirates or magic or--Whatever you want :-). That's the greatest thing about writing: It's all your world.

Oh, and while you're at TextNovel.com , give me a friendly vote :-) I'd surely appreciate it.

Take care!
Saoirse

Trying TextNovel.com, Cellphone Novel Site

2008-07-26T22:15:00.001-04:00

Yep, so I’m going to give it a go and try the whole TextNovel.com thing.

Here are my reasons:

1.) You can’t read much on a cell phone screen, so chapters and sections should (I think) be pretty short. My brain seems to work best during short bouts of lucidity, so woo-hoo! ;-)

2.) Short amounts of reading mean short amounts of writing and that’s all I can squeeze in with my hectic schedule.

3.) I’ve toyed with the idea that most novel concepts I’ve devised can be reworked for multiple audiences and different, distinct tones and levels of maturity. For example, the Tam Lin stories are really quite adult in nature but can be toned-down significantly if one just thinks about it. So it’s not like I’ll necessarily lose anything by participating in TextNovel.com (especially as they’ve tweaked out their contract to be much more author-friendly).

4.) I could actually rally some interest in my writing by making it available in a different venue. Publishers do like to know you at least have people’s interest—eh, that’s a double-edged sword, depending on whom you talk to.

5.) I could work on a set of actual deadlines—I think it might be cool to have a new section or chapter available at a regular time each day or week. I need deadlines, by the way. ;-)

6.) I want to try out some new and funky publishing venue. Cell phone novels may just be it—who knows?

7.) And they're running a contest--I'm a sucker for contests!

So—now that TextNovel.com's got a new and friendlier contract—anyone else gonna’ give it a try?

Seriously curious,
Saoirse

No Internet

2008-07-17T20:48:00.002-04:00

Yep, that's right. Driving 20 minutes one way for an internet connection. Blogging can't be a priority in these circumstances. Back as soon as I can be.

Take care!
Saoirse

Sunday Scribblings: My Oldest Friend

2008-07-11T16:26:00.002-04:00

This week's Sunday Scribbling prompt is" my oldest friend." Hmm. I hadn't thought of Anne as having any real longterm friendships--she can be a bit prickly. Must think...

Craziness

2008-07-11T16:15:00.003-04:00

Ok, the past couple days have been crazy.

Got dog #2 (she was the mysterious stray who showed up in the cattle pen nearly a week ago now). Had to go through the proper legal steps, but now she's ours. YAY!

Trying to get the water test to pass so we can get our CO for our new house--finally passed (try #2) and tomorrow the Code Enforcer comes out to do the yay or nay ;-).

Then this morning, Deb calls--major emergency--dear friend is off to the hospital, Deb's watching her kids, I need to open the shop while the my kid's at the Y for summer classes... But I'm supposed to be meeting yet another friend to talk "shop." Luckily we're all pretty flexible about this stuff and cover where and when needed. It's really an extended family of the best sort.

Good news--everything's okay at this point. Friend's out of the hospital and back home--still not totally coherent, but better--it wasn't a stroke after all, just a temporarily crippling migraine (projectile vomiting, dizziness, no coordination, no ability to sensibly string words together, forgetting names--it was bad, but thank goodness not stroke bad).

Now, moving more stuff over, gotta' move a bunch of stuff and do a bunch of stuff before the CE guy visits tomorrow morning. And my Elance work? Yes, I'm actually behind for once--crap!

Anyhow, no prompt yesterday or today--just life. No time for pirates :-(

Take care!
~Saoirse

3 Word Wednesday: Inappropriate, Order, Shortcut

2008-07-09T22:53:00.004-04:00

This week's 3 Word Wednesday list included: inappropriate, order and shortcut. I've been thinking about it all day and I'm still kind of stuck. I did answer it earlier here, but that doesn't help my word count increase HERE. Ugh. Maybe I'll try and "talk it out..."

Maybe the problem I'm having with these words is because so much of Anne Bonny's life was what people (of her time period--early colonial America) would consider inappropriate. Let's face it, she was a lawyer's bastard by his wife's maid, encouraged by her daddy to pretend to be a boy training to be work in his office, brought to the Americas to evade the wrath of her father's wife, in fight and sticky situation after sticky situation... Her father tried to create a shortcut to legitimacy for Anne's mom and Anne by simply pretending that Mary Brennan was his wife and Anne was his born-in-wedlock daughter.

Anne didn't really stabilize as she grew, she was often in trouble (sometimes of the wrong-place-wrong-time variety) and after her mother died it seems she spiraled a bit more out of control. She met James Bonny, married him against her father's orders and then burned down the family plantation in defiance (one presumes ;-). Off she goes to the Caribbean where she hops from man to man before getting involved with John Rackham, aka "Calico Jack." Then Anne comes into her own and plays pirate until...

Well, history sort of loses track of her after she's captured and jailed. Speculation still rages over what really became of her, but chances are, wherever and whenever she finally died, I doubt the circumstance was what anyone would dare consider "dull." And that's why I'm re-imagining her story--she's fascinating and leaves plenty to the imagination while still grounding me in history.

Huh. So I guess I got my prompt answered anyhow. Doesn't nudge my word count meter, but it keeps me focused... ;-)

Take care!
~Saoirse

Resources for Creative Writers--Writing Prompt #26

2008-07-07T07:00:00.002-04:00

Prompt #26 on this site is: A boy who looks like a girl, or vice versa. Ah yes, I am writing about Anne Bonny, of course. ;-)

So I'll mull this one over and I'll be back... :-)

Two days later? YIKES! Here we go....

She thought it might just work. Anne squinted into the polished metal and pulled her hair back even more fiercely, twisting it and tucking it beneath the bandanna before snugging a hat over it. Without adornments and a proper coiffure, she might just pass as a lad rather than a lady. She knew it meant a slightly safer journey aboard ship, but it was an oddly depressing fact when she considered it. That she had never been stunningly feminine might work for her now that she was a sailor's impostor, but it also meant she never had the gentile looks that made men stop in their tracks and offer her their hand or a rakish tip of their hats.

She ground her teeth together and turned to the side, looking at her profile. Everything seemed--proportionate. She sighed and took in a deep breath, testing the cloth that bound her breasts flat. It was serviceable. She thought she should try to find some satisfaction in that, too--the fact her breasts had never filled out to the size of her mother's and seemed quite suited to being strapped nearly flat. A boyish figure, she grimaced into the shining steel. Well, finally it would work to her advantage.

~Saoirse

Imagination Prompt Generator: Some Things to Be Thankful For

2008-07-06T09:30:00.002-04:00

Ok, as I'm trying to do more often, I've found a new prompt to use for the day, thanks to the Imagination Prompt Generator. My prompt (honestly I pressed the button twice because some of them are unfortunately too modern) is: Name some things you are thankful for. So, I'll be thinking about what Anne's thankful for today and then write on it here as soon as I can.

So, I spent most of the day in town (so I wasn't back as fast as I hoped), but here's what I've got...

She would be thankful for this then, too, she determined grimly as her tongue traced the bruised and bloodied edge of her lip. Her fingers drew together in the dirt and she slowly pushed herself back up to a kneeling position.

Behind her—above her—he was still talking.

“This is precisely why I do not teach sword fighting to young ladies,” he stated. “Here.” She heard the shuffle of a fencer’s feet as he came around. His left hand was suddenly before her, palm upturned in a gesture of peace. “Let me help you up.”

Anne spit. Her tongue prodded the tooth nearest where the flat of his blade had rapped her. She wondered if the iron taste in her mouth was blood or rust—she’d found herself wondering too frequently if her heart hadn’t seized up at the moment of her mother’s death. She’d been colder since then, she knew, nearly mechanical. Perhaps she was only an automaton, a machine squeaking and whirring its way through some semblance of life.

She stuck out her hand. His sword’s blade winked in the failing light, dangling tenderly, loosely, in his right.

“In some things you women have quite the upper hand—needlepoint, cooking,” he chuckled. “But your sex simply does not have the capacity to outwit a man in a fight. Come now.” His left hand wiggled. Surely there is some spinning or stitching for a young lady such as you to return to.”

“No one who knows me calls me a lady,” she whispered from under strands of stray hair.

“What?” he leaned forward and she took her chance.

Quick as a hound sighting quarry she darted forward and snagged his sword’s handle. She pulled, but his fingers tightened in the mere heartbeat that separated the two moves.

With a grunt he threw her free of the sword, the blade cool as it brushed past her cheek and rearranged her hair.

On her ass, she glared up at him, skirts disheveled, hair wild where it whipped free of her braid.

“I understand why they do not call you a lady,” he said sharply, eyes glinting. His thin lips twisted into what Anne could only suppose served him as a smile. “Perhaps I will review my schedule after all, Ms. Cormac. You may yet be a trainable fighter.”

Historical note--although this exchange is pure speculation, Anne was a trained swordswoman before she ran off with James and had a truly spectacular fight with her swordmaster in which she supposed cut the buttons off of his outfit, all but disrobing him. And yes, that will be a scene I include in my novel version of her life, too. ;-)

~Saoirse

Sunday Scribblings Prompt: Chance Encounter

2008-07-06T02:08:00.002-04:00

Ugh. This Sunday Scribblings prompt is a tough one. I REALLY want to write a particular scene that came during a "shower epiphany" just yesterday, BUT it is so pivotal a scene I can't bring myself to put it here. Not yet at least...

So I have to think about Anne's story. Do I have another "chance encounter" that's applicable? Hmm...

Oh--Got one (took me all day...)!

It was a matter of morals and ethics, she thought. Was it ethically correct to tell the man who was killing anyone accused of piracy--some of whom were innocent--that there was an ambush
planned for him Saturday evening? He was personally responsible for more than the average pirate's share of death... Did he not also deserve judgment by his peers?

Anne paused on the crowded street, glancing half-heartedly at a spread of goods on a lumpy blanket. It was a decent haul: a few necklaces, a couple rings, a mug, some china dishes, a fancy woman's dress. Nothing she needed and little she wanted. She nodded at the man crouched beside the blanket and moved on.

She could send a note via messenger, thereby fulfilling her moral obligation and yet staying clear of meeting with Woodes Rogers himself. Things could become very messy--very personal--if she had to climb the stone staircase and pass the dour-looking guards and wait for a meeting with the Governor. What if his wife was there?

What would she say? Was there a way for two women who had shared the same man to be civil in the aftermath? Perhaps it would be easier if she never told about the ambush.

She turned the corner, nearly bumping into someone hurrying the other way. "Whor--" Anne nearly swore as she dropped her small bag to the ground, but the insult died on her lips when she saw who had stopped before her.

Anne dropped a curtsy. "Lady Rogers."

The woman tugged the hood of her Kinsale cloak forward, trying to shade her features in the depth of the fabric. Anne's lips pursed and she thought how uncomfortable such a hood must be under the heat of the Caribbean sun...

The woman tried to dodge around her in the alleyway, but Anne grabbed her arm and let out a low and knowing whistle. "Lady Rogers," she repeated, but the words came out as more of a reprimand than a greeting.

The woman looked away. "Let go of me," she snapped.

"Wait."

Although she tugged the hood further over the sharp features of her face, she stopped and locked eyes with Anne.

"I am the last to judge," Anne shrugged. She licked her lips. It was providence, then that they had met here and now. Here, it was always providence, Anne thought grimly. "I have a message for your husband. No one must know it comes from me. I take a great risk passing this information to you--"

"Then say it faster," Lady Rogers commanded.

"Saturday as your husband returns from his work in town, men will be waiting. They will ambush him, take him out to sea and hand him in the cay."

Lady Rogers had paled so much Anne could notice the difference even within the shadows her hood cast. "What will become of our family?" she whispered.

"That is why I have told you. Because there is a family that depends on your husband. Understand that I did not do this for you," Anne stressed.

Color rushed back to Lady Rogers' face, anger heating her complexion and keeping her from fainting. "I expected nothing else from you," she stated evenly. "I will tell my husband. he will find another route to take." She adjusted her cloak again before saying woodenly, "Thank you." She latched her gaze on to Anne's so she read the full meaning of her words.

"Yes," Anne nodded. "I will not mention meeting you. Not here. Not now."

"As I shall not mention you either."

They both nodded curtly to the other and brushed shoulders passing in the narrow alley.

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here!

~Saoirse

Writing Fix Prompt: Daily Rituals

2008-07-04T09:40:00.001-04:00

Here's a prompt from Writing Fix. They have a random prompt generator, here's the one I'll take from Anne's perspective:

"Would others find it dumb? Think about all your dumbest daily rituals. Write about it."

I'll give it some thought and write on it shortly...

She slid the mirror out of the drawer, dusting it with the hem of her sleeve. She leaned it carefully in the groove of his writing desk, seated herself and leaned forward for her daily inspection. An onlooker might think it a practice of vanity, so Anne took pains to do it in strict private.

She examined her eyes first. Had they lost any of their gleam? No--the fierce sparkle was still there... She sighed. She feared that someday a sea battle would cause her eyes to dim--that the violence and cold death she dealt would dull the golden flecks that lit her eyes from within.

Had any new lines developed? Any old ones deepened? She paused, glaring and then realizing the glare actually enforced the lines. She forced her face to slip into a model of passivity--a look no one else ever saw.

This scene doesn't end well yet--It requires more thought, more time. Later then... ;-)

~Saoirse

3 Word Wednesday: Pour, Indifferent, Reason

2008-07-03T02:44:00.001-04:00

This week's 3 Word Wednesday list includes: Pour, Indifferent, Reason. I feel that this one fits here (with these characters and this storyline), but I have to think about why.

Hmm.

Okay, here we go...

Anne watched as he carefully poured the wine into a cut crystal glass. He had fine hands, she thought, not laborer's hands. Their pale color and fine structure was accentuated by the deep red of the wine he held. His hands were unlike James' hands in every way. Not calloused or nicked by hard work at sea, not grasping and needy--just gentle and firm. They were the hands of a true gentleman.

She accepted the glass. Wouldn't her father be proud of her now, drinking fine wine on a marble veranda facing the sea? She watched Chideley, remembering to do as he did. First there was the admiring look at the color and clarity of the wine. A comment was fine--but not what she had said that first night. Comparing wine to freshly spilled blood had only made Chideley's hands grow paler. "Ah," she sighed. "It is red as a rose full in bloom."

Chideley nodded approval.

Now came the slight swish of the wine in the glass--not too fast, as she had learned when she ruined the first gown he had bought her-- and a delicate sniff... "It has a fine bouquet and a slight--" she sniffed again--"oakiness?"

"Quite right," he said.

Anne remembered to blush under his praise. She watched him take a small sip and followed suit.

The frown that drew his eyebrows together made her freeze, the wine warming on her tongue. She swallowed. "Is there something wrong?"

He took a longer sip, but the crease between his eyebrows didn't dissipate. "Anne," he began.

"Yes, Chideley," she replied, smiling up at him.

"I will need to go away on business."

"Where will we go this time?"

"Well, Anne, that's indeed the problem." He examined his wine glass again. "I cannot afford to take you with me this time."

"What?" she nearly squeaked. "Are you in financial difficulty, Chideley?"

He chuckled. "No, Anne. No, no, no."

His laughter was nearly obnoxious, she thought.

"I meant to say that socially I cannot afford the risk you pose when I take you along with me."

Anne sat up even straighter than good posture dictated. "What?" she asked, the evenness of her tone belying her growing temper. "I am a social risk to you now?" she bit the words off, never raising her voice from the polite whisper he had taught her.

He had the presence of mind to step behind a table. "Be fair, Anne. Knocking out that debutante's teeth has hardly appropriate behavior for a lady of any real rank."

"She said--"

But he raised a hand and silenced her with and indifferent look.

Something inside of her shriveled. "When will you return for me?" she asked softly, running a finger down the side of the fine glass. She sensed it was the last time she'd hold something as pretty.

Chideley sighed. "In a few weeks."

"A few weeks," she parroted. The words seemed to have no meaning anymore. She knew Chideley too well to think that within a few weeks he wouldn't have found someone else to warm his bed and educate in fine manners and social graces. Wouldn't her father be proud of her now, she smirked. Just a toy for a wealthy man, set aside when she ceased to further his career appropriately.

"For that reason," he said--but she stood and this time she raised her hand to silence him.

"I will take my things. I will not darken your doorway again. Do not come looking for me, Chideley. In a few weeks I will be well on my way to forgetting you." With a defiant gulp she slugged back the final bit of wine and dropped the glass on the flagstones at her feet. Before he dared comment, she was gone.

I hope you enjoyed it. It's rough, but it was a scene that I knew would come eventually.

For more 3 Word Wednesday fun, go here.

Have a great night!
~Saoirse

Anne at the Salty Dog tavern...

2008-07-02T09:04:00.001-04:00

A meeting and a dangerous destiny entice Anne...

Loaded down with pewter tankards, Anne quickly learned why Trina asked about how easily she bruised. Every drooling man she passed reached out to clutch her firm flesh, and many pinched, seemingly to watch her reaction.She bit her tongue and controlled the urge to bludgeon her molesters—Trina made it clear that though they were friends, damages from dropped drink or broken noses would come from her scant pay. But it was something, Anne reminded herself as she twisted and turned her way around, navigating past the most wicked.

By midnight the crowd was changing, men with their colorful women (many merely rented) stumbled out to their tents, listing shanties or the grimy alleyways in the hastily built boomtown. Some so deep in their cups, they fell harmlessly unconscious at the table, ale on their breath, dreams of plunder causing their lips to curl in appreciative snarls.

Still Anne worked, dancing past a man sprawled on the floor. One of his eyes opened and he snagged her skirt to peek up it. With an oath, she yanked free of his hold on her hem. He smiled, satisfied he had at least tried.

“That’s it,” she realized. “I’m trying. Making my own choice.” She nodded to herself and thrust a refilled blackjack to its waiting owner. She smirked. “I’ll make James lay there a while without me. I’ll go home with coins in my purse and some satisfaction in my heart.”

She paused, leaning against the bar while Trina tapped a new keg. Anne rolled her feet on slender ankles, and rubbed them. “Never realized what you were dealing with, love,” she admitted to Trina.

Trina snorted. “The pain in the feet’s nothin’,” Trina chuckled. “’Tis me patrons,” her voice raised in volume daringly, “the pains in th’ ass that’ll git ye!”

Chortles oozed from the men still sober enough to respond.

Anne laughed freely for the first time in days, and then the tavern fell strangely silent.

He walked in.

“Put yer eyes back in the’r sockets, lass,” Trina advised.

The man stopped in the doorway, basking in the attention of his peers.

The flickering lanterns seemed to glow with greater concentration on the tall man framed by the door. Elegant floral trim marked the edges of his close-fitting frock coat, vines turning in on themselves around domed brass buttons and heavy cuffs. Threads of gold darted through the damask waistcoat he sported on his well-formed frame, peeking out to burn in the light whenever he breathed. Just below his strong jaw was a perfectly pressed collar running like a waterfall into a set of frothy ruffles, making his chest appear even bolder than it surely was on such a man. He dripped elegance, but even bound with lace and embroidery, still it could not cage his masculinity. From the top of his tricorner hat to the soles of his smartly polished boots he exuded power and strength. Perhaps some might describe him as a dandy, but Anne’s breath had never caught in her throat like this when looking at one of their sort before.

“’oly ‘ell, man!” someone shouted from across the room. “I ‘eard ye were back in town, bu' I did’nae believe it!”

“Barely believed it myself,” the man said with a smile and a polite tip of his hat. His eyes inspected the room, pausing to investigate Anne. He hesitated, inclining his head like any proper gentleman. All the eyes in the room, sober enough, followed his.

Anne felt her heart thump uncomfortably at the attention. Color rose in her cheeks, and she straightened under his scrutiny.

His gaze shifted and he grinned at Trina. “I see the scenery has changed a bit.”

Trina grunted. “What ken I git to wash the salt from yer throat?”

“The regular, lover,” he winked.

The noise in the tavern began to regain its place of importance as men and women again started their talking and joking. Anne knew they didn’t dare laugh at his expense.

“Your best ale,” he specified. “Spare no expense. Life has been generous.” He picked out a seat at a table and left Anne to speculate.

Anne looked at Trina expectantly.

“Jack Rackham,” Trina said as if his name was explanation enough.

Anne leaned across the bar, blinking at Trina. “There’re more than four-hundred pirates on Providence now. Surely you can’t expect me to know each one…”

“Oooh,” the older woman said. She cast a glance at Jack. Already he appeared comfortable, propping his boots on the table and leaning his chair back roguishly. Trina’s lips twisted. He was a bold one, barely making an effort to conceal how he watched Anne from a distance. “Captain Jack Rackham. ‘e’s got a taste for sailin’ and plunderin’—like the lot of ‘em,” she added. “Luves the ladies, but ‘e’s kept ‘is distance of late. ‘ad ‘is ‘eart broke, I reckon. ‘e was Vane’s quar'ermaster ‘til the crew mut'nied and 'lected him cap'in.”

Anne nodded and reached out for the tankard.

“Oh, Annie,” Trina warned. “Don’t git too excited. ‘e’s a beau'iful man—no doubt 'bout i', but 'e took 'is pardon from Rogers. ‘e’s jest ano’er rake an' a rogue,” she tried to stop from smiling. Her struggle was too obvious.

Anne chewed her lower lip in thought.

“Anne, I can’t tell ye yer business, but I doubt ‘e’s much differ’nt from what ye’ve gut back ‘ome. ‘e jest ‘as a finer wardrobe, but beneath the finery ‘e’s the same as the rest.”

Anne nodded. She wouldn’t mind disproving that personally. She paused to wonder what lay beneath the finery, but felt herself flush, considering. She regained control and took the tankard. Surely this man isn’t cut from the same cloth as James, she thought, looking him over as she approached. She was unsettled to realize he watched her with the same curiosity.

“Good evening, miss,” he said. His was a baritone so rich Anne’s skin prickled in a response tropical heat could never elicit.

~Saoirse

Introductory Blurb for Dreams in Red

2008-07-02T08:40:00.001-04:00

This was an introductory blurb I was working on to accompany a short story version of Dreams in Red...

Heir to tragedy and heartache, Anne Cormac has dreamed of living a life of passion and adventure. Breaking free of her father’s dreams for her future, at sixteen she marries James Bonny, penniless soldier and would-be pirate. Sailing off to the Bahamas to find work in the “pirate nest” of an island known as New Providence seems a logical step until Anne Bonny realizes James has turned informer.

Her relationship spiraling out of control, she struggles to regain some power over her own life and winds up in the Salty Dog tavern where she meets recently reformed pirate, Captain “Calico Jack” Rackham. Passion sparks between them immediately, but circumstance threatens to keep them apart. For, as angry as James Bonny is when he learns of Anne’s adultery, he’d rather dog her heels for life than set them both free. And Rackham must first confront his inner demons before he can help Anne past her own…

Have a great day!
~Saoirse

Sunday Scribblings Prompt: Guide

2008-07-02T01:18:00.000-04:00

June 12's Sunday Scribblings prompt was: Guide. I know I'm late in participating, but I thought--aha! That sounds like it might work...

"It seems you must make a decision."

She jumped, nearly dropping the teacup and saucer. Turning, she eyed him cautiously. He was so different from the others. He seemed to know her--her thoughts, her worries, her needs--better than she knew herself sometimes. She nested the teacup in its saucer with a click and set the combination on a table. "A decision?" she whispered.

His eyes glinted like sunlight on steel. "Yes, Anne." He leaned casually in the door frame, filling it with his long body, seeming to hang like a shadow waiting for an excuse to move. "You can return to your husband and do his bidding. Earn him money, bear his brats... Be the wife he's always expected and nothing more."

She looked down, eyes shaded by her lashes. "Nothing more," she repeated. She had tried for years to be more than what was expected, even if it meant she was more trouble. But to be nothing but what James Bonny wanted her to be... She swallowed. What a mess she'd made of her life! "And my other choice?" She looked up and watched his lips slide into a slow and easy smile.

"You can come with me." His arms dropped to his sides and he stepped out of the doorway. "Sail with me." He took a step forward. "Fight with me."

Anne's heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn't pull her eyes from his--dark as the sea mid-storm, eyelids lowered sleepily.

He stood just a breath away, and she felt her knees nearly buckle. "Make love to me," he said with all the urgency she felt.

Her eyes squeezed shut--she had to close him out of her sight. He filled her senses so easily and headily she couldn't think straight when he was near.

She felt the warm and tender touch of his hand on her cheek and shuddered. He was more than James or Chideley combined. Soft and hard, silk and steel--and so much more. How could he think there was even a decision to make?

"Here." He took her hand and peeled her fingers away from where they dug into her palm in anticipation. "Anne. This--" something cool and smooth weighed heavily in her hand and her eyes popped open. "This, is for you."

She peered down at the lodestone pendant resting in her reddened hand. "A compass?"

He smiled at her, closing her fingers back around the gift. "Let it guide you when your heart cannot. If you must leave me, find your way to a safe harbor -- a shelter from the storm--or a braver heart."

"James hasn't given me a gift since--" she wrinkled her brow in thought, "since we were courting."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But Anne, I will not give you many gifts, either. The only thing of true value I can give you is a hint of direction." His smile curved and grew into a lopsided grin, boyish and impulsive. He placed a swift kiss on the forehead. "Make the decision one you can live with." And then he walked out the door faster than she'd ever seen him move before.

Yay! I'm glad I got to write that little scene--didn't even know it existed until I started wondering how and when Jack would give her the lodestone. I knew he'd give it to her eventually, but--yay!

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here.

'night!
~Saoirse

Prompt #133: Write About a Keepsake

2008-07-01T23:21:00.000-04:00

This prompt (from Creative Writing Prompts) has me thinking about what Anne would keep after her mother passes away. Here's what I've got so far...

"That's an interesting necklace," he whispered, eyes drifting to the part of her throat that fluttered when he spoke to her directly. Her hand strayed to the silver pendant resting on her collarbone.

"What?" she asked, leaning forward to catch his words.

"The necklace. It's interesting. Is there a story behind it?"

Anne smiled wistfully. "It was a silver spoon before I was born. Just a simple sugar spoon in a silver setting of the household my mother served in Ireland." She shrugged, a noncommittal move. "But it was also the reason my mother's affair was discovered." She held his eyes with her own, gaging his reaction. "It was the reason I was born in prison."

He didn't flinch as she had expected. Instead he took a sip of his ale, all the time watching her. He set the flagon down and licked his lips.

She was dying for him to say something--couldn't he see that? Her heart had stopped in her chest, matching her breathing. Any moment her heart would burst--

"So you were born in prison. Been trying to break free for all your life, it looks like," he grinned.

Her heart raced. "Why do you say that?" she asked, nearly choking on the question. She fumbled for her drink, needing something to wash down the words stuck in her throat.

His hand stopped her from raising the drink to her trembling lips--His hand sitting heavily on her own, hot as July in Carolina.

"Because, young lady, you are dressed far too well to be caught on the docks with men like myself. You are too well-mannered to fit in with this sorry lot," he winked. "You're a dangerous sort, you know. You have everything the rest of us want, so you're desperate to see what you're missing by having too much. A bird in a gilded cage, you are."

Martha crowed and smacked Anne on the back. "He's got you there, love!" Martha shook her head. "Poor thing's between two worlds, Jamie. Helps run her da's plantation during daylight and kicks up her heels with us at night. If her old man ever finds out..."

Anne rounded on her. "What, Martha? What do you think my father'd do to me if he found out? He can't stop me," she snapped.

James' cup clinked down on the bar once more. "Aye. I see. You are a bird in a gilded cage--but you're desperately trying to force open the door. Interesting."

Anne turned back to him, face flushed with frustration.

"So tell me about your mum. There's more to your tale than you're giving up," James said with a dangerously inviting smile.

Have a great night!
~Saoirse

3 Word Wednesday: Frequent, Someday, Open

2008-06-30T23:17:00.001-04:00

Recently the Three Word Wednesday words were: frequent, someday and open. Here's what I did while thinking about Dreams in Red...

Frequently she caught herself pausing on the windswept knoll and staring out to sea, an undeniable hunger growing within her. She would rub the hollow where her belly had so recently bloomed, shake her head and begin the long and slippery walk back down to the beach and its shamble of buildings. And she promised herself each time: "Someday."

"Someday he'll come for me." But she wondered if absence made the heart grow fonder or if it simply let chasms between lovers grow.

"Someday he'll forgive me." And she knew he would--he'd never said he'd wanted children, after all. And with their babe lying freshly dead in the sandy soil, he'd have nothing to tie him down. Nothing to tie him to her, either, she remembered, swallowing the thought like a bitter pill.

But the words that always caught in her throat were, "Someday I'll forgive myself." That she had the least faith of all in, probably because she always had the least faith in herself.

Everyone in the spot of a village knew she was losing her mind.

So when the storms rushed in one morning, it didn't surprise them to see her standing where she always did--perched atop the knoll, hair rushing behind her in the coming gale like a long red flag of warning. But this time--

"Gods," Katrina whispered, pointing to the woman suddenly silhouetted in a lightning flash, "Jack's gonna' kill us!" Grabbing Kristen and shouting to Karen, the trio began the dangerous race up the slope, kicking rocks back with each step, scattering sand into the air to swirl and batter. Hand over hand they climbed, glad to have forsaken the long garish skirts many of their type favored.

Above them, Anne's arms were spread wide open, welcoming the coming winds that would toss her onto the rocks below. She took a step forward. "Someday," she whispered as the wind tore the words from her lips, "Someday I'll be free--"

"Not today, you dumb whore!" Katrina's hand snaked up over the ridge and grabbed Anne's ankle. "Get her, girls!"

Kristen sprang up and knocked Anne to the ground, arms wrapping around her waist. Karen sat on Anne, weighing her down like an anchor.

As Katrina managed to get up the last bit of the slope, she released Anne and signaled her comrades to roll Anne over to face them.

"You will not kill yourself on our watch!"

Anne simply stared up at the roiling clouds that blackened the skies like great bruises on the sky above. Her chin quivered and then the clouds burst open and mercifully poured rain down on the four women.

Her victors never saw the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks they were so washed with rain. For that, at least, Anne was grateful. Limp, she let the women lift and half-carry, half-drag her down to the shoreline. She would not resist. If life wanted her more than death, she'd continue to struggle along.

There's mine. Here's a link to where you can find a bunch more and join in yourself!

Have fun!
Saoirse

Sunday Scribblings: Vision

2008-06-30T22:59:00.000-04:00

This past week's Sunday Scribblings prompt was "vision." I chose to take the prompt and use it with this particular novel. This answer to the SS prompt first appeared in my Write that Romance! blog.

"James--" she paused, squinting.

He stood before her, fists balled at his side, jaw jutting forward--ready for a full blown confrontation.

Today, Anne decided she would not give him the satisfaction. She brushed her gloves together, crumbs of rich soil clinging stubbornly to the leather.

"What?" he challenged, his eyes seeming to shrink as they became a very distinct and unattractive likeness to a pig.

Anne sighed and swatted the remaining dirt off her gloves and onto her skirt. She knew the servants would shake their heads at such a thing, but she needed a moment to think. Reaching up, she tilted her hat very subtly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"James," she began again, more softly, "I know what made my father so ill."

James' eyes narrowed further--Anne wondered how they could, they were so like the tiny French knots her mother had used to create doll eyes.

"I know it was oleander in father's cake. And I know you were the one who did it." She held up a hand to signal he should keep his mouth shut.

It still gaped open in surprise.

"It occurs to me that having the two of you living under the same roof may not be a wise idea. You are far too eager for my inheritance, and my father is far too eager for me to be free of--well, of you." She tugged off one glove, finger by finger. "It all seems quite inevitable, really. Had you not tried to kill him first, surely he would have tried to murder you--accidents are far too common on plantations." Her gaze flickered to him, a silent, yet pointed threat.

Her brows drew together for a moment as she peered at the base of his throat. The spot his charm used to hang. Odd. Hadn't he said he had lost the thing in a tousle with a slave? She shaded her eyes and glanced towards the sunlight filtering through the trees. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but from her spot under the myrtles she could have sworn his charm was still there, glowing eerily on a ghostly chain around his neck. She swallowed. Odd. She tore her gaze away again, busying herself with the other glove.

He grated the words out from between his teeth: "So what do we do now, Annie?"

"Well, as I am your wife and ill-suited to plantation living and the normal standards of local society, I think--" she paused. "Do you smell smoke?"

He pulled back, looking at her as if she'd finally gone utterly insane.

But even as he was reacting, she knew there was nothing for him to react to but her. Behind him she saw strange shadows, like dark tongues of flame. They licked around him, snapping and popping as she watched, and then--they were gone like the very shadows they had been. She wobbled and he grabbed her by the arm to steady her.

"Annie?" he asked. "Are you ill?"

"No," she replied, straightening. She felt cold. She licked her lips. She would need to get the visions under control if she was going to make this work. "James?"

"Yes, Annie?"

"Take me away from here. Take me on a grand adventure--like the stories you told by the dockside." She fixed him with her most alluring gaze. "Let's not fight anymore. Let my father have the plantation--he's an old man. How much longer will he live without your interference?"

He moved towards her, the heat of his body so close made a fine sweat bead around her temples. "Where shall I take you, Annie?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

Anne found herself thanking God that James' ego was so predictable. So where could they go that he'd be no more threat to her father? Where could she clean up the mess of this marriage she'd been so eager to create? She smiled up into his eyes, curling into his arms and whispered the answer. "Take me pirating."

Okay, so it doesn't spend as much time as I wanted to on the snippets of visions that have been causing Anne to falter, but it's something. And it feels good to try a SS prompt again, too. :-)

For more great answers to Sunday Scribblings prompts or to participate yourself, go here!

Keep writing!
Saoirse

Greetings and Fine Meetings

2008-06-29T16:17:00.000-04:00

I'm one of those people who knows she's a mountain girl but still needs to get her feet in the ocean water at least once a year. In high school I took a pirate persona at a local Renaissance Faire and with my female crew I performed "wedding" ceremonies on the kissing bridge and kidnapped the more entertaining actors (treating them to lunch and never messing up their schedules). I read quite a bit about Grania (Grace O'Malley to some) and wondered what it would be like to be that bold.

I've toyed with doing a children's book about Grace, but I have few resources, have never been to Ireland and well--I'd just continually struggle with a feeling of being utterly unprepared while writing it. Ick.

Then I discovered Anne Bonny. Having been a teacher and dealing with some "troubled" youth, I had a better understanding of her emotional state. Having only a year ago lost my mother to cancer, I could actually fathom how a young woman would feel with no mother to continue to model herself on. I have traveled through some of the general areas Anne was familiar with, and I taught colonial American History, so I feel a little better versed in her setting--except for the Caribbean. I have not yet had the pleasure of traveling there, but perhaps I will...

Then yesterday I attended the Antiquarian Book Fair in Cooperstown, NY. Thanks to my father's gracious nature, I now have a grand old tome with a grinning golden skull and crossbones smiling up from the cover. It's a 1926 reprint of Captain Charles Johnson's work: A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates. Ahhh :-) There are bits in there that are lending me invaluable amounts of additional depth and understanding to my strengthening storyline.

So I'm back to writing my novel, Dreams in Red, based on my interpretation of the Anne Bonny story (and loads of research :-).

Join me here to learn more as I continue to dig up the pieces of what I need for my novel. Read snippets and my answers to writing prompts.

Visit me again sometime,
~Saoirse

Sunday Scribblings Prompt: Guide

2008-06-26T00:31:00.000-04:00