Staying on Track

Sometimes it can be very difficult to see light at the end of the tunnel. Writing a book takes a toll on each writer to some degree, physically, emotionally, spiritually. But, to be a writer takes that effort, to never give up. We are driven by our passion, our need to write -- it is as natural to us as breathing.

So, today, a little advice and wisdom. Save every scrap of paper on a work -- what you might delete in editing may be useful in another book. Keep all correspondence between you and prospective agents and publishers. Someone who rejects you today, could be your saviour tomorrow. And, don't ever lose sight of why you do what you do.

I love writing: creating new worlds, sharing a part of myself with each reader. Writing is life, writing is love, writing is not just what I do, but it is who I am. I will always be a writer, always striving to create something new, something different, something to be proud of. Stay focused and never give up on your dream.

The Wrath of Amun - Third Installment

Words to know: hery heb is a lector priest and wab-priest is a purified person. Though Qaa is a military man by profession, even he is shocked by the brutality of the crime. Feel free to post comments and let me know what you think. According to the publisher, the manuscript is in the hands of the editorial staff and we are looking at a possible August release. The beauty of a small publisher -- it doesn't take 12-18 months to publish.

The home of Raneb was still being guarded by one of Ramesses’s soldiers. The soldier stepped aside to let Qaa enter. The interior was cool and dark, providing respite from the morning heat. The main room was small and showed evidence that someone had been here looking for . . . what? A broken drinking bowl lay on the floor, next to the body. An open wine vessel sat on the table. An imported wine, far more expensive than he surmised the chief could afford, based on the simple residence he occupied. Qaa picked up the vessel and sniffed its contents. The aroma was full and fruity, but with a hint of something unpleasant. He put it back on the table and bent down to examine Raneb.

The man was twenty or so years older than Qaa, but he looked fit. He obviously had not let the benefits of the temple go to his stomach. Numerous flies and beetles covered various parts of Raneb’s corpse. His face was purple and contorted in a grimace; his eyes were staring out at nothing and had clouded over. His body showed no evidence of blows and there were no drag marks on the earthern floor, so he had not been moved. Whoever had ransacked Raneb’s home had done so without disturbing the body. Although the body was warm, it was likely that he died the previous evening. He tried to move Raneb’s head, but the neck was stiff, as were his limbs. He had seen this often in Kush; the man had died the night before and turned completely to stone. To make carrying him easier, he laid Raneb on his back; he noted the side of the body was dark where the blood had settled.

Qaa looked at the various papyri strewn about the simple mud-brick house, but most were sacred texts. The few that were secular in nature contained no mention of murder. On the side table, he noticed another drinking bowl with a black smudge on it. Qaa turned back to the body and noticed the thumb on his right hand was stained, but dry. He carefully examined the clay shards of the broken bowl and found a similar smudge on one of the larger pieces. He had seen all he needed to see for now; he would further examine the body at the temple this evening when the preparations were performed.

He stepped out into the bright Egyptian sunlight, blinking to adjust his sight. He looked up and down the street at the close-set structures; any unusual noise would have been heard in the neighbouring houses. He looked down at the sand outside the house. Too many feet had passed this way; it would be impossible to tell if Raneb had more than one visitor the previous evening. He walked a short distance in the direction of the temple and then back. He looked in between the houses on the left and right, but again, too many feet had walked these paths.

He turned to Thanuny. The priest was older than he by possibly fifteen years. He was a short, fit man who looked like he kept himself well. His kilt was pleated sharply and gleaming white. He carried himself with confidence and appeared to be the type of man who liked order. Thanuny looked to be a man upon whom he could depend to carry out his wishes.

“Thanuny, you may remove the body, but I would like to examine it further, before you start the preparations. Bring the vessel of wine back to the temple, but take care with it; it may tell me what I need to know. I have to return to my ship, and then I shall come to the temple to see the young woman’s body.” Qaa turned to the guard. “I do not want anyone to disturb this house. But I fear the sun may be strong today. Step inside the door and I shall see to getting someone to relieve you.”

Qaa ambled toward the Eastern gateway, threading his way through the narrow streets, looking side to side and down at the sand. He found only one set of footprints leading to the gate from this area, whether it had anything to do with Raneb’s death, he did not yet know. He walked down to the docks and inquired of the Harbour Master if any ships had departed this morning. One had put out at first light, headed down the Nile, to Phoenicia, and three others had left headed to Kush. He stopped briefly at the ship on which he arrived, to change into a lighter linen kilt, and then hurried to the Temple of Amun.

***

Thanuny had arrived before Qaa and notified the lesser priests to direct him to the body of Iput. When he entered the preparation tent, he found Thanuny and three priests waiting for him. They had removed the linen and loose natron covering the dead woman.

“I would like to know who handled the body and assisted Raneb in his initial investigation. And, would someone tell me the name of this unfortunate woman,” Qaa edged close to the table. He looked briefly at the desiccating body; his stomach lurched and he had to look away.

Thanuny spoke for the group. “Her name was Iput, daughter of Kawit, and she was a wick-maker.  She was married to a temple goldsmith’s apprentice, Unas, and her father is Semti, a farmer supplying the temple granaries. Raneb took the hemet netjer to her quarters after she found the body, and then he and I carried the body into this tent. Raneb directed Anedjib to remove all traces of blood outside the entrance. After Raneb had examined her body thoroughly, I began the preparations with Harkhuf and Weni.”

One of the priests stepped forward and bowed. He was a small, thin man about his own age. He appeared nervous in Qaa’s presence and his hands trembled. “I am Anedjib. It was my responsibility to remove any trace of blood from outside the entrance. When I completed my task, I assisted the priests by preparing jars of clay for the internal organs. I am a hery heb and not allowed to touch the body.” He returned to stand next to his brother priests.

The second priest stepped forward, bowing low. By his clothing Qaa knew he also was a hem netjer, as was Thanuny. But, unlike Thanuny, he did not keep his kilt as well. He was about the same age as Thanuny, but was short and thin, as were many Egyptians. He seemed to like the status service in the temple afforded him, by wearing a great deal of adornment. “I am Harkhuf. Raneb and I removed what was left of her clothing and washed the body. I brought Raneb the unguents and oils to anoint her.” He returned to his place.

It was now up to the final man, who wore the kilt of a wab-priest. He was short and plump, old enough to be Qaa’s father. He evidently had enjoyed the luxury of the temple for many years, and now wore a weary countenance. He too bowed in deference to Qaa. “I am Weni. I prepared all the instruments for Raneb, brought in the natron for the organs, placed it on the tables with their jars, and assisted him while he packed her body with the natron packets.”

“Which of you assisted when Raneb removed her organs?” Qaa needed to know.

“It was I who assisted Raneb in the removal of the organs,” Thanuny replied.

“I shall wish to speak with each of you at length. You shall be my eyes as to what Raneb observed and you, Thanuny, shall be invaluable as to what Raneb may have told you. I would like to look at the body myself, and then I must return to the palace. This evening, I shall oversee the preparation of Raneb’s body. I would ask that you have the linen, natron, unguents, and oils at the ready. Raneb served this temple well and deserves to have only the finest preparation. Thanuny, you knew Raneb so it is only proper that you prepare the body and I shall assist,” Qaa dismissed the three lesser priests to begin their tasks. He turned to Thanuny.

“Would you assist me in turning the body so I may look at her back?”

Thanuny and Qaa turned the body so her back was facing them. Her back and buttocks showed numerous healed wounds, which had been inflicted over time.  There appeared to be a healed burn mark on her left buttock as well. There was a large open wound in her lower back on the right side, which could have been the fatal wound.

“Let us lay her back down,” Qaa said to Thanuny. He had seen some horrible wounds in his military campaigns, but this woman had lived a short and brutal life. She bore telltale burn marks on both wrists and ankles, like many a captive, which told him someone had restrained her against her will. The marks were not recent, and also appeared to have occurred over time, so they may not have been inflicted by her killer. Qaa further noted that the fingers on her left hand appeared to have been broken, as they had not healed properly.

Qaa now turned his attention to the front of Iput’s body. There were two large wounds, probable stab wounds, one in her lower left abdomen, the other in her left chest. Again, either one of these could have been a fatal wound if delivered with enough force, but taken together, mercifully she must have died within minutes. However, it was the other wounds on her body which disturbed him more than what he had observed on her back. He prayed they had been inflicted after death.

Her throat had been slashed numerous times, making it appear she had been attacked by a wild animal. But the wounds were all of varying length and depth, which meant her killer had deliberately taken the time to inflict them. Both breasts had been slashed in a similar manner, as had been her genital area. He would ask each of the priests about any internal injuries Raneb may have observed. Qaa felt like retching; doing battle against an enemy was one thing, but brutalizing a woman . . . there were no words to describe a person like that.

***

My First Critic

As I held my author copies of Egyptian Prosperity Magic, which arrived this week, I had to smile. My first critic would have been so proud, had he been here to share it with me.

My father was a quiet man, steady, hard working. But, he could be critical, as many parents are, though he did it with the best of intentions. He wanted his children to strive for perfection, achieve that which he did not, and in so doing, instilled in us the desire to excel.

My mother was, as most women are, more nurturing and instilled in us the desire to learn, to read, to love the English language, both written and spoken. She would praise our achievement; he would push us to achieve more. So, from both of my parents, I learned very valuable lessons which I carry with me today.

The profession of writing is a solitary business, fraught with rejection at every turn. But, having my father as my first critic, made me realise that not all criticism is bad. He was always there to praise our achievements, but he also made us want to achieve more -- to make him proud.

So, on this Father's Day, as I hold my newest book in my hand, I thank my father, who passed away in 2007, for giving me the strength and the tenacity to never quit. He, and my mother, would be quite proud of my accomplishments.

More "The Wrath of Amun"

Another clip from The Wrath of Amun, which introduces my protagonist. Hope you enjoy. A wesekh is the broad collar worn by many in ancient Egypt. A hem netjer is a priest and hemet netjer is a priestess. I want to give you a little look at the novel, without giving too much away. In future posts, I will give you a look at the other books in the series.

As he strode from the docks, in the direction of the Great Gate, Qaa was astonished by what he saw. When he left Waset twelve years ago, construction on the mortuary temple of Ramesses III was just beginning. From the Nile, he had seen the completed complex, safely ensconced behind the high, vividly adorned walls and pylon gates. At the entrance, giant carved marble obelisks, capstones layered in gold, glinted in the harsh Egyptian sunlight. Waset buzzed with activity – workmen painting the columns, scribes and priests marking the symbols for the stone cutters, the distant sound of the goldsmiths. The din from the marketplace was just audible and the smells from the stalls, as well as the temple bakery, were more exotic than he remembered. But all that could wait; he would have plenty of time later to explore his boyhood home.

Blue and white banners, signifying the status of this enclosure as a mortuary complex, swayed lazily in the still air above the Great Gate. As he passed through the First Pylon, he could see the palace off to his left, flanked by columns brightly decorated with reeds and lotus flowers. Qaa quickened his step; he would much rather appear before the king early than be late. He had crossed half the courtyard when he saw someone approach. As the distance between them closed, he recognized the familiar kilt and wesekh of a hem netjer.

“The king wishes me to direct you to his private chambers. There has been a rather unfortunate event and he wishes to see you immediately,” the priest said.

He followed the priest through the palace corridors to King Ramesses’s private chambers. The only sound was the soft, crunching noise of the reed sandals, worn by both men, against the polished tile floor. Ushered into the room, they observed the seated king, deep in conversation with a Medjay, the elite guard of the palace.

“Your majesty, I have brought Qaa as you requested.” The priest bowed deeply to the king.

“Leave us. We have much to discuss.” The king looked troubled as the priest and Medjay both exited the private chamber. Qaa had not seen the man he once called “Father” for five years. He was no longer the warrior-king he fought so bravely alongside. Ramesses had begun to take on the guise of the Nile god, enlarged breasts, rounded belly. Egypt had been enjoying peace and prosperity these many years, and it showed upon the king. His face was weary and worn, as if he were a noble statue, too long in the sun and blowing sand. Qaa approached and bowed low, in deference to his king.

“Your majesty, I have come at your request. How may I serve you?” Qaa straightened and looked at Ramesses.

Ramesses smiled broadly. Qaa had served him well in the campaigns against the Libyans and the Sea Peoples, earning him the Flies of Valour for his bravery, which he still wore around his neck on top of his wesekh. For his unwavering service he had been well compensated by being elevated to the post of Viceroy of Kush. Unlike the sons of his body, Qaa would do anything his king asked. Ramesses stood, approached Qaa, and embraced him warmly.

 “Qaa, you do not have to observe formality with me in private. You are still like a son to me.”

The two men walked out to the palace gardens and sat overlooking the royal pond. It was a beautiful, lush oasis in the middle of this inhospitable desert. Tranquil and restful, the blue lotus flowers floated on the surface of the pond, their scent heavily perfuming the still air. Date palms and fig trees lined the perimeter, creating a barrier from the responsibilities of kingship, providing a private respite from the pressures of governing an empire.  For quite some time neither of them spoke. Qaa sensed Ramesses was burdened by whatever unfortunate event had occurred. Ramesses seemed quite content to just sit in his private gardens, breathing in the aroma of the plants that were now in full bloom. Qaa patiently waited for his king to speak.

“I had summoned you to head up the military, here in Waset, but the gods have interceded. I now need you more in another capacity. My advisors have informed me you are not only First hem netjer in Kush, but also fair and just in legal matters. Any good soldier may work his way up the ranks, but you have excelled in keeping the peace and ferreting out evildoers. It is in this capacity that I now need your skills.”

“My lord, I have always prided myself on my military accomplishments, but you know I serve you and my beloved land. I shall assume any role you feel appropriate.”

“My Chief of the Medjay, who also held the post of First hem netjer nt Amun, was found dead this morning in his home. He had been investigating the brutal murder of a woman found at the entrance of the temple complex. We were to meet this morning regarding the investigation. I now fear the crime may go unsolved, and I am uneasy about his death.” Ramesses stared directly at Qaa, his gaze never wavered from the young man’s unusual blue eyes.

“Had he been ill?” Qaa understood the seriousness of the situation. Waset was the capital city of Upper Egypt and a brutal murder was not an everyday occurrence. The safety of foreign travelers to the city could have a devastating effect on trade if this were not dealt with swiftly.

“Aside from having lived a long life, he was in good health. I need to know that the murder shall not go unresolved; it has disrupted my daughter’s life and she is quite shaken by it. She not only found the body, but in her capacity as hemet netjer nt Amun, she had counseled the young woman at the temple and was expecting her the very night of her death.”

“May I see the chief’s home and his body? I may be able to discern if this was an unfortunate accident or something more sinister. Do you suspect his death could be related to the murder investigation?”

“Raneb had told me he was close to solving the crime and he had been an outstanding officer for many years. If he wanted to see me, he must have had some information that was vital,” Ramesses said.

“What has become of the young woman’s body? Did her family have the means for a proper burial?”

“My daughter is taking care of her burial. She feels responsible for this woman’s untimely death. The body is at the temple embalming tents being prepared.”

“I shall examine her body myself and question the priests who handled her with Raneb. I do not know what he observed, but the priests may be able to shed some light on this matter. I shall also need to speak with your daughter at a later time, since she found the body, if that is acceptable with you?”

“I shall have Thanuny take you to Raneb’s house. His body is still there. When you have assessed the scene, the priests may take his body to the temple for preparation. Return here after you have seen the woman’s body. I shall summon my daughter when you are ready to question her. I trust your judgment in this matter.”

“My king, I shall consult you in all matters concerning this business,” Qaa stood, bowed to Ramesses, turned, and exited into the corridor where the priest was waiting to conduct him to the home of the dead Chief of the Medjay.

Contracts, Agents and the Author

Do you need an agent in order to be a published author? Yes, and no. As with everything in this wonderful profession of writing, there is no hard and fast answer.

For my first book (non-fiction), I did most of the initial submissions on my own to both publishers and agents. At about the same time, an agent took me on and a publisher accepted my manuscript. After the agent and publisher sent me contracts, I still had a friend (an attorney) look them over. After he and I were satisfied with the terms, I signed both.

I eventually severed my relationship with the agent, amicably, and my second contract I negotiated with the publisher directly; again it was non-fiction. I read each clause of the contract, compared it with my first, and was satisfied with the terms. And, I did the same for my third non-fiction book. But, I did have additional wording added to my third contract. You see, now I am also writing fiction.

Most contracts specify the publisher gets first look at your next work. Since my non-fiction publisher does not handle a lot of fiction, I did not want to be in breach of contract by submitting around fiction on my own. So, I spoke up, asked to have the wording in the contract reflect that I was free to submit fiction to other publishers, and the deal was sealed.

Which brings me to: do you need an agent to submit fiction? I do not have an agent. I have not found one that is right for me and what I write. So, I submit to small publishers who specialize in my type of fiction. If I want to submit to "The Big Boys," I would need an agent.

So, for you as the author, you need to determine what it is you want out of your writing career. I am perfectly capable of reading and negotiating a contract on my own, when it comes to non-fiction. And, I have happily signed a contract with a small publisher for my first novel, without the need for an agent. The landscape of publishing is changing every day, with the advent of boutique publishing and epublishing. It is no longer a necessity to have an agent to be a published author.

Opening of "The Wrath of Amun"

As promised, here is the opening of The Wrath of Amun. It is set in ancient Egypt, late New Kingdom. The term "wab" means "pure one" and was a type of priest in ancient Egypt. The term "hemet netjer" means "female servant of the god, or priestess" and "hemet netjer nt Amun" is "priestess of Amun." Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Day 4 in month 3 of the Peret season, in year 17 of the reign of Ramesses III

 “Merti, have you come to speak with your father?” the shadow voice wheezed from the darkness.

“My father is Weni, wab-priest of Amun. Who are you? Why can I not see you?” Though her tone was arrogant, the unknown voice frightened her.

“Your mother used to come here to pray for a daughter and she was rewarded for her prayers. You look so much like her.”

Merti backed up against a column in the First Court, peering into the darkness, listening for any sound that would indicate movement, but saw and heard nothing. “How do you know my mother?”

“It was I who gave her a daughter, not the man you call your father.”

Merti was terrified. Could this be the god Amun, having blessed her mother, making her daughter of the god? She fell to her knees, prostrate on the stone tiles. “What do you want of me, Father?”

“Iput, wife of Unas, comes here. What does she seek?” The voice was gentle, comforting, but insistent. “I need to know, my child, so I may help her.”

“She comes to speak with the hemet netjer. She asked for a protection amulet. She comes here often.” Merti trembled at the sound of the voice.

“When Iput comes again, I want you to listen. Find out when she will return. Place a reed at the base of the first column on the north side of the First Court. I will come to you and you will tell me what I need to know.”

“But, Father, I know when she comes again. She is coming to the temple this night. I heard her speaking with the hemet netjer and they arranged a meeting.” Merti looked up to the heavens and saw the sliver of moon almost directly above her. “She should be approaching soon.”

“Go to your chambers and do not return here this night. Tell no one what I have revealed to you. If you speak of this night, you will never see the face of your true father. I will watch for you and approach you again. Now go, my daughter,” the raspy voice commanded.

Merti got to her feet and, without looking any further for the voice, ran to the safety of the temple.

***

Iput hurried down the narrow streets of Waset. As she tried to conceal herself in the shadow of the southern wall, passing the darkened homes of noblemen and priests, she reached up to finger the protection amulet around her neck. The hemet netjer had given it to her the previous day at the temple, which is where she was now going. There was less activity on this side of the temple complex, less chance for someone to follow her.

With just a sliver of moon to light the way, she could almost make out the pylon gate rising off to her left. She would be safe when she reached the First Court. The hemet netjer awaited her at the temple; she would know what to do because not only was she hemet netjer nt Amun, skilled in magic, but also the king’s daughter. The princess would offer her protection, but Iput would have to tell her everything, regardless of the danger.

Iput stopped to catch her breath at the edge of the last house, knowing the First Pylon lay only a short distance ahead. With fingers trembling, she again reached for the amulet. She sensed movement, but at this late hour, no fires burned to chase away wild animals. Holding her breath now, she strained to listen. She inhaled deeply, summoned up all her courage, and spun around to see . . . nothing. The street behind her was empty and quiet. She exhaled with relief.

As she turned back toward the pylon entrance, she flinched from a sharp pain in her abdomen. Instinctively, she touched her side and felt something warm, wet, sticky; she knew from the smell it was blood. Before she could scream, she felt another sharp pain in her chest, making it almost impossible to catch her breath, let alone scream. She lurched forward, hoping to reach the gate, when she felt one more sharp pain, this one in her back. Iput gasped, sank to her knees, and fell face first onto the sand.

Her attacker, hidden beside the last house, stepped out from the shadows, knelt beside her lifeless body, and turned her over. After several grisly minutes of further indignities, Iput’s murderer stood up, dragged her body to the pylon gate, placed the weapon beside her, and quietly disappeared into the Egyptian night.

***

What I Write and Why

My writing covers both fiction and non-fiction. Some days I am wrapped up in facts and research, some days I get to spread my writing wings and fly with fanciful dreams and visions. It satisfies both parts of my life: my non-fiction is more about me, the person, who and what I am; my fiction allows me to bring my passion alive.

You see, my passion is ancient Egypt. Even though my non-fiction is about ancient Egypt, I deal with factual information and research. In my fiction, I get to expand on a given period in ancient Egypt, and bring the day to day life alive. Though many of the people in my novels actually existed, I certainly cannot "report" the facts.

Having researched for the past twelve years, I have learned so much about ancient civilisations, I wanted to show, in fictional format, that they did have a legal system, quite similar to ours. Their cities were relatively safe, though the same types of crimes occurred three thousand years ago. Love and jealousy, birth and death, joy and sorrow all transcend time and place.

Over the next few weeks, I would like to post excerpts from my novels here on this blog page. Rather than take away from my writing tips and techniques which I post on Sundays, I will be adding additional posts during the week. I would love to get feedback from you, the readers of this blog. So, feel free to comment when I post my excerpts, because, after all, isn't that why any writer writes -- to connect with and entertain his/her audience?