Bookstore Event
Last night, I participated in a California Writers Club event at the Avid Reader Bookstore in my new hometown of Davis, California. I genuinely enjoyed the evening. Each of us did a reading aloud. For bookstore appearances in the past, I’ve usually been interviewed or done a talk about the background of my fiction. I’d rarely done a reading per se.
Editing for Reading Aloud
This time, after a very brief intro to what I write, I read aloud from the first chapter of Priestess of Ishana. After a minute or two of intro, I had about 8 minutes for the reading–which is just about right for audience attention span, in my opinion. I clipped and snipped at chapter one. In the process, I created an oral telling, covering the action of the overall chapter.
As those of you who’ve read Priestess of Ishana know, it opens with a corpse and sets up a quirky murder mystery along with several other plot strands, historical and fantastical. The first chapter holds essential clues that the reader will need for the overall book, but I found I could effectively cut them for this reading aloud experience.
Reading Aloud in the Moment
I’m not an actor with those enviable professional talents, but I worked at my job of reading aloud. I practiced getting the drama into my voice and pacing. The reading went well, I think. An intensity from the audience showed I’d engaged them for those few minutes while I told my tale. I probably should have recorded it, but, of course, I forgot. I didn’t even remember to get photos of the event and borrowed some after the fact from an attendee (thank you!). I’m terrible at documenting what I do. When I’m giving a presentation or attending an event, I find myself focused on the moment. I’m not thinking about the potential for social media, etc. I’m okay with that!
My short tale has a spooky feel. And here we are, coming upon Halloween. So I’ll put my crafted excerpt here for your enjoyment, appropriate for the season. It’s set, after all, in a cave that is an entrance to the Underworld and opens with a demonic curse that terrifies a grandfather and his grandson, along with their trusty dog. Here we go:
The Tale for Reading Aloud
The cave meant trouble, the kind that seeps into the world, envious and violent. To go inside filled the shepherd with cold fear. Why had his sheep dog darted into that hungry mouth?
A howl ripped the air.
Ehal cupped his hands and called. He watched the dark opening close by the lake, visible through the willow trees and reed canes. No dog.
Ehal had seen the black waters of the spring inside, the path the demons from the Underworld followed. The priestesses from the city’s Temple of Ishana whispered prayers to keep the world in harmony. They’d be safe when they strayed into that dark cave, but the old shepherd didn’t know those prayers. He stayed away.
“Sacred tits of Ishana,” Ehal swore, and then glanced hastily at his grandson.
Wasmu whistled for the dog, then started toward the rocky trail. “I’ll get him, Grandpa. It’s too steep for you.”
“He’ll come back.” Ehal grabbed the boy’s arm and drew him close. …
Ehal glanced back toward Lawaza, the city beside the lake with the temple at its top. No one was out this early in the morning. The city gates remained closed, and the men from the cluster of huts where Ehal lived had already left for the fields. …
“You stay away from there.” …
His grandson shifted with impatience, [hitting the ground with a willow branch]….
The child launched up the hill, whipping his willow switch in front.
“Wait!” Ehal forced his stiff legs along the trail….
His breath rasped, and he bent over wheezing. That fool dog was going to be the death of him. He stood and struggled to catch up.
He trudged upwards, glancing between Wasmu and the city, hoping someone would appear on the road. The lower part of the city sprawled close to the lake, surrounded by a wooden palisade, but perched high on a broad hill, the stone walls protecting the citadel and temple towered over the landscape. They usually reassured Ehal with their massive stones cut so they locked around each other—like the people themselves of the city and farms, each gaining strength from the other. But not today. No one near. Ehal panted but forced himself ahead…
Wasmu reached the cave.
The boy barely stopped before entering. Ehal raced forward as he had not done in years. A surge of indefinable evil thrust at him from the cave. He feared some disturbance had released the invisible demons who thrive on mortal suffering.
A moment later, Wasmu screamed and backed into the light. He stumbled, his body convulsing. A string of bile ran down his chin.
Ehal closed the distance and wrapped his arms around his grandson. “What?”
The boy didn’t answer. His panicked sobs jerked against Ehal’s body.
Ehal wiped the child’s face with a corner of his rough tunic. He loosened Wasmu’s grip and set him at the side of the trail. “Wait here.”
Ehal shivered as he stepped inside the cave, straining his eyes in the darkness. Early daylight angled a narrow wedge into the gloom, but a wisp of black mist hovered near the ground, spiraling from the spring. Dank rot made the air heavy, and the unnatural cold shocked him. That kind of cold came from the Underworld.
In front of him, the gray herding dog stood stiff-legged, its hackles up, its narrow muzzle pointing at a misshapen form. Something loathsome and cruel had happened here, something that cried out for help.
The smell of burnt flesh gagged Ehal, but he stepped forward. What was left of a man lay face up, his head and shoulders propped by the stone pedestal of the altar…. Charred fragments of his tunic lay scattered over burned flesh. Ehal drew back from the blackened skin and an oozing hole where an eye should have been.
Wasmu pressed against his leg. Ehal jumped.
The dog growled. It sniffed the murky surface of the spring. Mist whorled up like boney fingers. The dog thrashed his head from side to side, as if shaking off a phantom hand that gripped the scruff of his neck, then recoiled from the mist and crept behind the boy.
Ehal’s bones pulsed with pain that grew with each swirl of that black mist.
“Stay back,” he said and pushed the boy toward the opening. “This time, do what I say.”
The old man edged closer to the body. He wanted to leave but could not ignore the harm done to this man… Runoff from the spring made the old man’s feet slip. A drop fell on his cheek. Darkness flowed through the cave like a living presence.
“Will the gods come up through the spring?” Wasmu called.
“They might. Demons, more likely.” Ehal crouched beside the body. “They’re here already. Don’t you feel it?”
…
The smell of tar [clogged Ehal’s nose], strong even over the stench of burnt flesh.
He scanned the ground around the body and recoiled from a black lump of bitumen, the size of a man’s thigh. Even with its arms and legs partly melted, the tarry [doll] figure formed an evil effigy….
A hemp cord ran from the effigy to a pit beside the spring. He raised the torch higher. A figure the color of sand lay at the bottom, more finely formed than the dark one [of tar]. The torch tumbled from Ehal’s hand, sizzling against the wet floor.
He ran toward the opening. “Ishana protect us.”
He scuttled from the cave, pushing his grandson in front of him down the trail. Not even the dog noticed the horse and rider on the hill above them.
To Read More
If you haven’t read Priestess of Ishana, and this excerpt has enticed you, here’s where you can pick up a copy on Amazon (affiliate link).