Writing and Stuff by Anthony Chatfield

I took the advice of my parents and left the city for a fortnight – spending the time in a country cottage owned by my grandparents on an island south of here. I relaxed, listened to the nimble fingers of a bard chosen for me by a dear friend, and read. It was a relaxing holiday, but it did not last nearly long enough. I returned to the city just a few days ago and I learned just how dangerous that man had been…or at least how dangerous someone assumed him to be.

When I returned from my trip, I found that something had happened in my absence. While I was away, the dirty man with the amulet had managed to get himself killed. But, he hadn’t just been killed – his body had been found in the confines of the dungeons in the Sacred Cathedral, deep within the bowels of the church. A stricken acolyte is probably still in prayer, trying to scrub away the imagery of what he saw there.

I never did see the body, but I heard enough stories of what was found there. He was strung up by his palms, massive hooks, like those used to skewer meat used to grip his flesh and hold it. His body had been burned in many places with strange symbols and characters that few if any knew the true meaning of. The churchmen I talked to told me it was the work of a dark cult – the city guards said it looked as though he had done it to himself, the sloppiness of the marks.

Nothing would have been thought of myself if it were not for the note the man held, a banker’s note of patronage rewarding him with the three hundred coin I promised for his silence. Alongside the note, wrapped around his throat, was the amulet he claimed my father had stolen. I have tried since then to find the amulet but it was taken from the body when it was found and has not been seen since. I hope only that my father was the man whose hands it is in..I also fear that he might have been behind the death of the explorer. I do not know, and I would not push the issue if it were not for the marks left on my bill of patronage – a series of red markings, drawn in the man’s blood. They are surely a threat. I have no idea who they are from or what they mean, but I spent the next two days hidden away in my rooms, a deep chill set in my bones.

Two days later, I left my chambers for the first time to get some fresh air and found myself in the depths of my family’s courtyards, enjoying the cool, crisp air of the final days of summer. I turned a particular corner and stopped nearby the next to last place I would have ever expected to see a small child – beside the thorn bushes and in rags with a small package in her hands.

“Are you Sarina McConnell?”

“Yes.”

“Then this is for you.”

The girl threw a small package at me, no larger than the size of her fist and then ran, to where I have no idea. She had no place to have come from and yet away she went, a tattered young thing. I was afraid at first to open the package but did not want to let such things so thoroughly run my life so in an hour I succumbed to my temptation and tore it open to find a small letter, within a box.

It was this latter that told me to go and see Reggie, who warned me that if I wanted to continue living, I would come to see you, the only detective in this city who would have no idea who I was and no political agenda. So, here I am and I hope more than anything that you are the man your friend claims you are. 

My Fiction blog novel, Brutus weaver, online noveling, stories

Freelance writing is, by definition, anything but a business. You scavenge for work, pander to your clients, and spend more time worrying about how you’ll pay your bills than actually doing work to pay said bills. That said, if you are moderately successful at all that juggling, it will eventually turn into a business, whether you want it to or not. 

When does that fateful moment occur though – that your long time hobby, and short-time means of feeding yourself grows into something more substantial. It’s going to happen whether you like it or not. First off, the goal is almost always to make more money so that your freelancing career isn’t so hard to maintain. When you manage to pull that off, you’re halfway there anyways. You have the clients, you have the drive, now just comes the fun part – all of the finances and paperwork. 

We’ll skip that part for now though. I don’t much want to relive the terrorizing part where I spent so much of my time this last year, but I will say that eventually it just makes good financial sense to upgrade your resources. It saves time on taxes, helps you find new clients in your area, and makes it much easier to find help with your work when you get a bit behind. 

Keep an eye on things though if you’re looking to keep your freelancing as a side hobby. If you get too good at what you do, it will balloon into something much more in no time.

Freelance Lifestyle freelance writing, Freelancing, make money online

He had an amulet in his hands when he came into the room – one the color of blood – the kind that always comes from a mine in the dirtied badlands of the barbarians or some such exotic locale. It was the kind of thing I had only seen a couple of times in my life, even in the city and though I originally had the niggling thought that it might be a counterfeit, I quickly dispatched my concerns when I saw how it shimmered in the candle light. It was magnificent. 

He, however was not. Riddled with scars and a tuft of greasy, disheveled hair that barely covered the left side of his face, he looked as though he had rolled out of a rubbish heap and not bothered to clean out his teeth, or much of anything else, yet. Of course, he was a liar and a thief but the beauty of the amulet had my attention and I didn’t care.

And when he told me that it was the property of my family – that it had been stolen from the tomb of a Royal Prince and his family by my father in his youth, when he was still making his own fortune – I was mortified. I never stopped to think that his story might be false. My attendants worried their hands and tried to get my attention, but the feverish chill of inherited shame took hold of me and I agreed to whatever the man wanted. He promised me the amulet for the money he needed to fund his next excursion – to a dig site in the southwestern mines of Williance – the ones the royal family had abandoned more than a century ago. I gave him everything and was told I would see him again in two months time. 

Three months passed and nothing happened. My concerns over the amulet had long since been waylaid by the reassertion of my friends and family that I had been the victim of a scam artist – the kind that would spend a fortune to trick a noble in the hopes of doubling that fortune. I was not pleased, but I had learned my lesson and had long since stopped inviting the men and women of the world into my chambers to show me their treasures. 

I took the advice of my parents and left the city for a fortnight – spending the time in a country cottage owned by my grandparents on an island south of here. I relaxed, listened to the nimble fingers of a bard chosen for me by a dear friend, and read. It was a relaxing holiday, but it did not last nearly long enough. I returned to the city just a few days ago and I learned just how dangerous that man had been…or at least how dangerous someone assumed him to be. 

My Fiction blog novel, Brutus weaver, online fiction

Every year, I prep and get ready for National Novel Writing Month in November – I rarely, if ever have the time to work on it, but I get excited nonetheless and always have tons of ideas. Of course, that doesn’t mean I actaully remember to post any updates on the good old blog, but that’s just because I’m too busy writing in my novel. 

So, without further ado – I’d like to remind anyone out there who has not yet heard of, or participated in NaNoWriMo in the last decade or so. It’s a pretty big deal for anyone whose even a casual writer and I’ve got huge plans for this year. I’m not going to give them away yet here, but if they work out, I’ll have all the details in a couple months (some kind of incentive, huh?). 

For everyone else, stop by http://www.NaNoWriMo.org to signup and prepare for the new year.

Writing Fiction My Fiction, NaNoWriMo, national novel writing month