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Six Sentence Sunday

I thought I’d get in on Six Sentence Sunday this week, to start getting you guys ready for THE MAGIC MIRROR AND THE SEVENTH DWARF.

This is a conversation between Ange, the princess and Richard, the prince. Richard is trying to convince her to flee from her jealous stepmother because he has just pronounced Ange fairest of all.

“But I’m not! Her beauty is legend, and while I—”

“The mirror has pronounced you the fairest of all, therefore you are. How do you think her beauty became legend in the first place?”

She stared at him for a moment.

“Now, let’s go,” he said.

This beauty-in-the-eye-of-the-beholder theme is one I keep up throughout the book.

Raw! Unedited! Snippet Sunday – From Snow White Retelling

To celebrate sending my Snow White story to beta readers–which I plan to do before the night is over, I promise–here is a brief snippet.

Lars didn’t lust after his employer’s wife—not really. She was fifteen years older than he, and rather more matronly than he was yet ready for, with a double-chin, well-nursed bosoms and a large, round backside. But she did represent something very desirable to him.

He had never seen a woman shaped like her before. Men, he had seen aplenty—his own father, for one, plus other court dwarfs who regularly amused the royalty. They—most of them—had same thick torso, the same stumpy arms and legs, the same distinctive face.

But on the Frau … well, he tried not to think of what she looked like in the nude. Herr Dexter would thrash him for such thoughts. And so would that giant son of his.

He wondered what the other farmhands thought.

The four of them didn’t always work well together, but they knew better than to cause trouble. None of them wanted to be sent away. None really had anywhere to go, except back to whatever unpromising situation they had come from … except maybe Rudolph. Of the lot of them, Lars only really liked Gunther, who was also the oldest, except for Herr Dieter. Rudolph was pure trouble. Klause was quiet and sullen. Lars had only been among them for a handful of weeks. As the newcomer, he got the hardest work—plowing the field.

I hope you enjoyed it.

Which brings me to a request. I know there are a few German speakers who read this blog. I’d dearly love for a native German to proofread my incidental use of German. If you speak German and are interested, please email me at tia dot nevitt at gmail dot com, and I’ll send you a copy.

As I ran through this story one last time, I took notes on my process because I thought it might make an  interesting blog subject. I’ll post it later in the week. Plus, now that I’m done with this writing and editing marathon (it was more like NaNoEdMo for me), I think I’ll take a little break and breathe some life back into this blog.

Sample Sunday #1 – From The Sevenfold Spell

I decided to take part in #samplesunday, a Twitter hashtag that links to one of your books or works-in-progress. The idea is to post your sample, and then read and retweet other people’s samples.

In this sample, Talia is starting to regret her promiscuous lifestyle, and to wish for something different.


My infrequent confessions went something like this:

“I have not been chaste, as a maiden ought,” I would say to the priest.

“With whom have you not been chaste?”

“A butcher. A baker. A candlestick maker.”

“And are you sorry for these sins?”

“No, I can’t say that I am.”

“Then until you are, your soul will bear its burden.”

The local bachelors talked about me, I know. They traded stories—but they always went happily to my bed. To the aisle? Never.

I spoke of it to Harla, sometimes. “I would make a good wife,” I said.

“I’ve no doubt of that,” she said.

“I’m ready to be faithful to a good man who would have me,” I said. “I would devote myself to him and his children.”

“You’re thinking of Willard.”


“Did you love him, then?”

“I didn’t think of it as love. There wasn’t any time to think of anything but having him.”

“We all thought you went mad for him.”

“I did. I wanted his child.”

She looked at me in shock. “Out of wedlock?”

“I couldn’t have him, so I wanted a piece of him.”

“Then, you really did love him.”

I didn’t reply, but I did wonder about that. Why did I offer myself to him? Although to lie with him had been my own choice, it would have never been a choice I would have made had we been able to marry. I thought of the child I had wanted so badly, of little Aurora who was never conceived. She would be coming on her menses about now, had she been born. More often, I thought of Willard. Eventually, I realized that I had loved him, just like Harla said. It was the only explanation that made any sense.

And it was the only explanation that accounted for my odd taste in men. I was picky, in my own way. I looked for the men so often rejected by other women: the too thin, the too chubby, the too pocked, the too graying. But I also looked for shyness, for awkwardness, for the socially inept. Was I looking for another Willard? Perhaps. I never found one, but I did find some men who stayed with me for lengths of time that measures in months rather than weeks. One even stayed with me for over a year.

Only one was handsome.


I bet you think you know what is going to happen in the next scene. However, I think it will surprise you. It certainly surprised me.