Okay, the issue with the wolf has finally been resolved. It took roughly 3 months, but at least it's done now and I know where I'm going with that. Of course, I feel like a dunce, because now that everything is straightened out, the answer seems so obvious, like there's no doubt this was how it was supposed to work out. What sort of idiot am I not to have seen it immediately? I'm trying to not beat myself up too much, though. It did involve some tricky thinking and research of legends from multiple countries.

Moving on, I'm happy that I'm getting to write about the Skeleton Man. He's the scary guy with all the answers and bad advice. Admittedly, I worry at times that I'm making him too sleazy - I have enough male characters that fit that adjective (hello, Renfrew). But I think if I let him fly his scary flag, it'll all be good. The main consideration with his dialogue is that he hints and reveals a little, but mostly he sets things up for Hallow/Hollowed to reveal later and gives Fin truly horrible advice and information.

Sure, the others set her on the path to self destruction, but he's the one who informs her best on how to drag a lot of questionably innocent people down with her.

There's pressure about writing him now, I must say. Like the maulers of chapter 18, the Skeleton Man is a character I've been hesitantly enthused about since I started this book. And now I can write him! I just half to keep from freaking myself out about him. The draft isn't going to be on par with my image of him, but I have to start somewhere; this is what I'm going to have to keep reminding myself of as I commence drafting him.

Now I'm thinking about chapter 18. I really should get back to that chapter. It has the potential for so much awesomeness - and really, I'm going to have to learn how to write an action scene someday; it may as well be now.

Okay, a teaser and then I'm gone to the Spiritscape for another month or two.


“There was a Veil through which I could not see. Come through the veil, Fin. Come and find the key.”

Lifting a bony hand, he cued a symphony of slithering and quiet clattering as the vines and flowers of the wallpaper became rows upon rows of dancing, jittering skeletons.

I stared at him, at all of it, in a trance. Fascinated by the way his skin stretched and tore over his knuckles, his hand came to my face. But as the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek, the trance broke and I ran.

I ran down the steps, my weight bowing them and shaking the thin, paneled walls that enclosed me. I ran through the store, shouting a rushed ‘thank you’ over my shoulder at the cashier as I fled the building, a bell above the door jingling as I went. I ran out into the freezing air and the setting sun. My feet hit the pavement and I kept running.

Creeping Since 1989,
Maria