Excerpt from Lancelot and the Tides of Time

I've decided I want to push my novel some more and try to convince people to buy it.  I have posted an excerpt below to give you a little taste of the story.  In it, Princess Lesa runs away from her arranged marriage into the city of lost ones.  Oliver was one of her trusted advisors, but in this scene, she realizes that even he has betrayed her.  I have the little teaser about Arthur at the end because the story of Lesa and Rittlock merges with the story of Arthur and Lancelot in what I think is an exciting way.  It would also help if someone reviewed it for me on Amazon.

If you purchase a paperback copy or ebook version, I will send you a sneak peak of my novel in progress called: Fall of Knight.  It's about a teenager who has a severe mental illness.  It tackles the subject of bullying and harassment. I think it's a good book and will be a success once I finish it. Buy Lancelot and message me on facebook with an email, and I'll send you the first ten pages of my new novel.

Anyway enjoy the excerpt, and order the book on Amazon or at this address:

http://www.buckscountypublishing.com/portal/BookStore/LancelotandtheTidesofTime.aspx

Lesa and Peter slid out into the night air and landed safely on the ground.

“I didn’t do anything, Peter.”

“I know you didn’t but I think I do know who did.”

Lesa heard three short popping noises in rapid succession. Peter flew back against a wall then fell to the ground.

A light dispersed the darkness. Lesa saw blood all over the wall and saw Peter lying motionless with blood seeping from his wounds.

“Princess.” A man stepped from the shadow. He held a rifle with a light attached to it. “It’s time for you to go back to your husband.”

Though she trembled from fright, Lesa tried to act rationally. She held her hands behind her back and opened up the leather pouch.

“It’s going to be quite an honor to escort you back to the castle. I’m sure Rittlock will reward me.”

Her hand closed on the handle of the jeweled dagger.

The man stepped closer and lowered his weapon.

“You ought to know better than to go out into the city of the lost ones by yourself.”

He stopped, just out of reach.  “You’re a pretty little thing. A virgin too. All kinds

of things could happen to you out here.” He smiled at her. “I could always tell Rittlock I never found you.”

“He would kill you.”

“Or else I could just never go back. I have plenty of friends in the city. Lots of places to dispose of your body after I get finished with you.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” A certain cool, detached attitude filled her.

“Nervous without the almighty Rittlock here to protect you?”

Lesa could hear the hatred in his voice, but she didn’t know if it were for Rittlock or her or both of them.

“I think I’ll say I found you dead, ravished by the lost ones. No one would know any different.”

Lesa swallowed down her fear. Her mind worked feverishly.

“You’re pretty handsome yourself,” she said, hoping her voice did not shake. “Like I said, you don’t have to kill me if all you want is a little fun. I always enjoy a little fun.”  One more step, she thought. “Come here and kiss me. A little taste now, and later when we get off the streets, a full dinner.”

He slung his rifle over his shoulder, reached out for her, and grabbed her in his arms. Lesa drilled the knife into his side; his eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped. His knees buckled and Lesa let him fall. For a minute, she watched him and made sure he didn’t move. Then, she pulled the dagger free. As she began to kneel over Peter, she heard voices close by.

“She has to be near.”

She recognized Oliver and started to go toward him.

“I had a guard waiting for her. Peter won’t even know what hit him,” Oliver said.

Lesa ducked in shadows and ran down a street.

***

Arthur looked over the field. Bodies littered the ground. Mordred’s siege continued. So far Camelot had not fallen, but he didn’t know how much longer they could last.

He's flippin' crazy!

I grew my beard back, but I'm going to keep it short and neat I think.  It's so gray, but it does help to hide my double chin just a little.

Now, let me mention my post title.  I'm in the process of writing a novel as many of you know.  It's a YA novel about a teenager with a mental illness.  I stumbled upon the mental illness that I wanted him to have by doing a little research.  I originally thought I would have him be suffering from bipolar I, and I knew that in severe cases of bipolar I, that people suffered from hallucinations.  My character sees his dead father, and every now and then, the characters in the stories that he writes come to visit him.

So, I was doing some research and started reading about schizo-affective disorder which is actually a mix of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia with characteristics of each.  There are times when my character has bouts of mania or depression, and there are times when he is relatively stable.  One of the criteria for having schizo-affective disorder is having schizophrenic effects such as hallucinations when one's mood is fairly stable.

Let me state here that I am doing some serious research on my book, and I'm finding out about this illness.  I'm not throwing out a character who is your stereotypical insane lunatic.  My character is a 16 year old boy.  I have deepest sympathies for anyone who suffers from mental illness.  I can even empathize because I have cyclothymia which is a distant cousin to bipolar II, the milder of the  forms of bipolar disorder.  In some ways the story that I am writing has bits that are autobiographical.  Isn't it time that someone wrote a YA novel about a teenager with a mental illness, and wrote it in a compassionate way?  I'm trying.  I'm only a third of the way through it, but  I  think it's really a good novel.  I'll even give you a sneak peak of page one.  See below:

     I put the facemask on – it's a rubber thing that fits into my nostrils – and I tighten the straps to my head. I flip the on switch and a burst of fresh oxygen hits me, so I suck in it sweetness.
My mama would kill me if she ever knew I was using her CPAP machine, but my mom doesn't really notice me much anymore. Now, Dee, on the other hand –
     "Dean, you are an idiot!"
     Speaking of the devil and his imps will appear. I turn to see Dee standing in the doorway looking at me.
     "I am not an idiot," I say through the mask. My voice is muffled by the hiss of the air and nasally – because, of course, my nostrils have two rubber plugs, one up each side.
     "Putting a CPAP on your face every day is not going to make you smarter," Dee says.
     "It provides oxygen." I pause and keep my mouth open. The air escapes and whistles like a storm ripping through trees. This is so cool, I think.
     "Well, you certainly could use a little more oxygen in your brain," she says and laughs. I laugh too. Something about my twin’s laugh makes everyone around her laugh too.  It's a shame she doesn't do it more often.

     Dee walks to me and shoves me down on the bed and then turns the CPAP machine off.
     "You better clean the snot off it. Mom just called. She's coming home early and we're leaving as soon as she gets here."
     She looks around the room, checking to see if there's anything left in here to be put in boxes. "I am not touching that thing after it's been up your nose," she says indicating the CPAP. "Clean it up and put it back in its case. Then clean up your room. You got paper scattered everywhere."

     "You didn't read them!" I jump up, not really mad, just a little nervous.
     “Don't worry; I didn't read your precious stories."
     I know Dee, and I know better. "Yes, you did."
     "Okay, I did. Very weird, brother, but kind of cool too. "
     She turns and walks away. If Dee likes my stories, I know they're cool because Dee’s cool. I quickly pack mom's machine and then go to my room. If dad were here, he'd like my stories too. He’d think they were cool too. I get my creativity from him, but I also get my bipolar disorder. I look at the first paragraph of this new story I'm working on, and I think how stupid it sounds now. I also think about how stupid it is that my dad's dead and how stupid it is that we have to downsize. The depression starts in the middle of my forehead where it always does and then spreads. Within minutes, my body, heart and soul are leaden with sadness. At times like this, I understand how it's possible that my dad's drowning was not an accident as my mom has told us.