Welcome to Strasburg, Virginia

Downtown Strasburg

Sorry I didn’t blog last week, but we had no heat and it was twenty degrees out. We managed to get it working Sunday night, but thanks to a lot of miscommunication it went out on Tuesday again, but it’s all working now and in good time since I left Thursday for my first quarterly writer’s retreat of 2025. I really didn’t want to leave Moose and ZigZag in danger of shivering. My poor dog though is seriously sad. I had just come back from South Carolina two weeks ago. Luckily she loves my son and his partner.

View from walk

I did manage to finish the draft of Deceptive Waters last week and it went off to betas. I started going through the second book, Eye of the Serpent, which does have a first draft, but after poking at it a few days here and rewriting the beginning I realized that I absolutely have to sit down and reread this before diving in to serious edits. I haven’t touched this in a year and while I know what happens broadly, I also know it needs a lot of work so once I get back to work on Tuesday it’s time for a print, a binder, a highlighter and red pen.

Bruno

We actually extended the first retreat this year by one day. So Thursday I packed up my car, reassured my dog that I will be returning to her, and headed for Strasburg. Got there just in time for lunch where we went to an awesome diner called Queen Street Diner and had a childhood favorite, turkey on bread with gravy and mashed taters, precious. So good. We settled in for some good writing, took a detour to WalMart for some fuzzy socks and snacks. (It’s an old house so a little chilly.) I met Bruno and took him home with me.

It's an old house, the front part is 100 years old while the back part is about 60 so it has all these funky nooks and crannies, a hidden attic stair and this strange stair section upstairs between the old section and new that involves three little steps down and three steeper, narrower steps up that thankfully has bars to pull yourself up with. There’s gas fireplaces in a couple of rooms and when they poured the concrete for the front porch a cat had a heyday.

Writer's Retreat

I still haven’t figured out yet what I’m doing for Marguerite so I’m going to let it percolate a little longer. The Feral Writers is working on a collaborative madcap mystery, comedy, slight horror book about a group of writers trapped in a haunted house. Speaking of haunted, the ghost in my bedroom here likes to play tricks like popping the door open when I’m changing but we had words on the second day and they’ve been behaving themselves since.

Karin and I went on a nice walk yesterday before the storm threatened, met some adorable floofers, and got our quads burning with all the hills. I find when I’m stuck a good walk really helps. We’ve also explored Strasburg a little. There are some beautiful murals.

Cat Prints

We went to a comic book shop, bought stickers, wrestling figures, and a mug that says “I have no ducks. I have no rows. I have squirrels an they’re at a rave.” We drank wine and laughed and I started a list of crazy assed things overheard at a writer’s retreat and plan on posting them sometime out of context.

I’m going to work on the opening for my character for that book today and get in some more words on book three of the epic fantasy series The Hand of the Crone. I realized one of my main characters who I love dearly is not emotionally suited to be alone. He loves people so I’ve given him a necromantic kitten he calls Murder Scrapper for companionship until he can be reunited with his loved ones. It’s been fun.

Mural

Later on we’re going to discuss Feral Writer goals and figure out what shows and events we want to do this year. So until next my friends, happy writing and reading.

Oh, maybe I should leave you with a little snippet of what I’ve written this week.

The commotion coming from the alley drew his attention, the sharp barking of dogs who had cornered prey along with the yips of pain and fear. Curiosity had him stepping into the mouth cautiously. If they were feral, it wouldn’t be wise to get too close. Three dogs circled, whining, barking around the fallen body of an even larger dog. A couple times, one of them lunged, only to draw back with a yelp.

The oddity of it all, had him moving closer toward the sound of growling and hissing. The nerve of the remaining dogs broke and they rushed past him looking to escape. Then he caught sight of what had so terrorized the dogs and it startled a laugh out of him. A kitten, no bigger than his hand crouched on top of the dead dog, its back arched in fury, it’s claws shredding beneath it. It was so covered in blood that he couldn’t tell what color it was, but he suspected light fur.

Tobren crouched as it turned it’s baleful gaze on him. “Did the bastards try to corner you and get more than they bargained for or do you have a family nearby that helped?”

He hoped it wasn’t the case that the half-feral pack had destroyed the litter and it was all that was left. The kitten narrowed his eyes at him, laid it’s ears back and hissed. “You’re a little scrapper demon aren’t you?” he said soothingly and reached into his pouches for anything that might tempt it, but the only thing he found was a bit of honey bread left over from lunch.

Tobren broke off a tidbit and held it out. “I don’t have anything suitable for kittens, but this has to be more enjoyable than a flea bitten dog.”