Re: Warriors of Love
 

Yesterday, I discovered two errors in my novel Jane. One was the surname "Endell" spelt, on one occasion as "Endall". The other was the wrong character's name. Miles seems a common surname in The Warriors of Love. Miss Miles is a major character in Margaret Again. Jane has two people with this surname: Jennifer Miles (an unpleasant girl Jane knew at school) and Stephanie Miles (a quiet girl who serves as the despatch rider). (None of these Miles people seem connected with one another.) Anyway, I found, on one occasion, I'd written Stephanie Miles' name where I should have put Jennifer Miles. Whoops!

Both errors are now corrected in the hard covered edition. But, because it is available on such outlets as Amazon, correcting the paperback is much more of an undertaking. Whether the paperback will ever be corrected is an open question, but the hard covered edition has a text as good as I can make it.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

I intend to make the two volume Odalisque hard covered edition unavailable in a couple of days time.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

I'll probably do it tomorrow.

The paperback, incidentally, is already unavailable.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

It's been a while since I posted on this forum, but felt that I needed to share this.

I had an amazing experience this morning.

In my fiction, there's something I call gynogenesis, which is a process by means of which two women can create children with no male input. I was thinking that I needed a neat word for the second (female) parent. Thinking it over, I decided that genetrix would be good ("genny" for short, the child might refer to "my genny"). I thought that "gene" was the key component in the word I wanted, and "trix" is my favourite feminine termination. ("Aviatrix", for example, is such a lovely word... roll it over your tongue and hear... were I a female pilot, I would insist on being called an aviatrix.) So I stuck "gene" and "trix" together and came up with "genetrix". But, I wondered, is that a barbarous mismatch of Hellenic and Latin roots? So, I looked at first "trix" in the dictionary (Latin) and then "gene" (as I hoped, both Hellenic and Latin). Then came the amazing bit, I found that the word "genetrix" (meaning "female parent") already exists. I had invented a real word, and it means exactly what I wanted it to mean. Crumbs!

Re: Warriors of Love
 

My new book arrived today:

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2272

I'm really pleased with it... thus far, available in paperback, but not yet in hard covers.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

Oh, and I have created a second edition of Jane to replace the first.

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2273

The tiny writing under my name says "Second Edition".

Apart from a table of contents (incorporating a synopsis of each chapter) not much is new. But I think this change is a big improvement...

First edition text:

Chapter One

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshland. Chill breezes blew, tossing the reed bed into motion, almost like breaking waves out at sea. Sunshine, dodging its way through a rift in the cloud bank, did little to warm the air. A cold blast assailed me, fiercer than the preceding gust. Against this fresh onslaught, I wrapped my cloak tighter about my person. My chiffon scarf having worked loose – a turquoise flag flapping in the wind – I tucked it back into place. As I did so, my fingers brushed the golden goddess image about my neck, its associations reassuring to the touch. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Spending unaccustomed time in the saddle, my bottom hurt. After a sea voyage, my belly weighed heavily. Lingering in my mouth, and settled uneasily in my stomach – leaving me feeling bloated – lay an early lunch of beans and sausages.

It was a Valday afternoon in late Glarehaze of Her Majesty’s fifth regnal year.

“It’s supposed to be summer,” I said glumly.

“Yesterday was nice,” Bobbi replied brightly, but unhelpfully.

Second edition text:

Chapter One

Modesty Clay and I were lovers, although I never really knew her.

Flocking gulls squawked over the marshland. Chill breezes blew, tossing the reed bed into motion, almost like breaking waves out at sea. Sunshine, dodging its way through a rift in the cloud bank, did little to warm the air. A cold blast assailed me, fiercer than the preceding gust. Against this fresh onslaught, I wrapped my cloak tighter about my person.

It was a Valday afternoon in late Glarehaze of Her Majesty’s fifth regnal year.

My chiffon scarf having worked loose – a turquoise flag flapping in the wind – I tucked it back into place. As I did so, my fingers brushed the golden goddess image about my neck, its associations reassuring to the touch. Thick salty mud, an enemy of leather, spattered my boots. Spending unaccustomed time in the saddle, my bottom hurt. After a sea voyage, my belly weighed heavily. Lingering in my mouth, and settled uneasily in my stomach – leaving me feeling bloated – lay an early lunch of beans and sausages.

“It’s supposed to be summer,” I said glumly.

“Yesterday was nice,” Bobbi replied brightly, but unhelpfully.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

And now the Tuerqui Again hard covered edition has been published:

http://www.ligotti.net/picture.php?a...pictureid=2274

Re: Warriors of Love
 

Having completed Volumes 1, 2, 5, 8 and 11 of The Warriors of Love, I've now started on work on Volume 4. It's to be the second volume narrated by Jane. My working (and perhaps final?) title is Jane and Eaquellety.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

Here's the start of the draft for Chapter 1 of Jane and Eaquellety:

Although enslaved as a traitor, Hartlisse now had eaquellety.

Gossiping girls filled our office with a buzz of low murmuring chatter. Beyond the window, chill breezes blew, tossing trees into motion, pale spring green leaves in a lively two step. Judging from women in their winter coats, sunshine – dodging its way through a rift in the cloud bank – did little to warm the air. My first sip of rosehip tea proving insufficiently sweet, I reached for the honey bowl. A fresh blast rattled the window. Although sheltered from the gust, I wrapped my cardigan tighter about my person.

It was a Sorday afternoon in early Drizzlemoon of Her Majesty’s sixteenth regnal year.

With a frown, I saw Helen Smith crossing the road, returning from lunch at least ten minutes late. Should I chide her for this tardiness, or let the matter pass? My duty indicated the former, my heart the latter.

Turning from the window, I saw Debbie Chalmers approaching my desk. During the wicked kingdom period, as I understood matters, one of her forebears had been convicted of treason – on manufactured evidence. Was that Debbie’s grandmother, or great grandmother? Here, in Essex, nobody’s family history appeared unclouded by injustice or abuse. How fortunate I was to originate in Surrey.

“Miss Brewster,” Debbie said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

“No problem, Debbie. I’m at work. I’m here to be bothered.”

“Yes, Miss Brewster, of course… One of the ladies from the Belle House is here, and I thought…”

Under the wicked kingdom, the Belle House had been home to the Earl of the East Wood. Now, it housed a gynogenesis community, most of the ladies of which I counted as my friends. In a professional capacity, I received their taxes, but paid them a much larger sum on Her Majesty’s behalf: mostly for horses they’d bred. Betty Fletcher, taking charge of the equine business, had – almost twenty years before – served as my childhood riding instructor. Perhaps that was coincidence; others would see it as an example of the goddesses’ working – if those two can be distinguished from one another.

“If you thought I’d like to see her personally, you’re quite right, Debbie.” Then, as a doubt struck me: “All the same…”

“All the same, Miss Brewster?” Debbie asked. “Is there a problem?”

“Not exactly a problem, Debbie… but I suppose she’s looking pretty swish.”

“She’s wearing riding things, Miss Brewster, not a ball gown.”

“Of course, she’ll have ridden into town… but that wasn’t exactly what I meant… Elegance of Berenice…”

“The Belle House ladies always wear Elegance clothes… you must know…”

“Yes, I do. I was more worried about me looking scruffy.”

“Scruffy, Miss Brewster? You’re looking good.”

Debbie’s glance flicked over my person. She smiled, clearly pleased by what she saw. My frown seemed an inadequate response.

“Not covered in muck from the stationary cupboard?” I asked.

“No, Miss Brewster. Why, should you be?”

“That locket I usually wear, Debbie. The catch is faulty, and I was fiddling with it while I was in the stationary cupboard… The thing fell off and I was down on my hands and knees…”

The locket had been a gift from Nicola, and contained small pen and ink portraits of us both. Not only was its vanishment a personal loss, but my life partner would certainly be displeased, were I unable to recover the thing. The stationary cupboard was, in reality, a small room crowded with storage racks. My assumption was that the locket lay under one of the lower shelves, but no amount of probing had revealed which. More than likely, my efforts had resulted in the keepsake retreating further into a dusty corner.

Re: Warriors of Love
 

Today I composed a protective rhyme to send goblins off about about their business. An adult imparts it to a child in Chapter 4 of Jane and Eaquellety:

Gibber babble goblin
No threat do you pose
Set off running or hobblin'
Or I'll smack you on the nose!

There's something very satisfying about the first line... it needs saying aloud to be appreciated. :)