Eloise & Chance
(Adult: Speculative, Flash – Revising)
You know how this works. Before I write the blurb, I post a selection from the writing playlist – so here goes:
Caroline Samir is Alive and Well
(Adult: Speculative – Complete)
(Adult: Speculative Literary – Complete)
True love means a perfect fit, and Eva Paul is pre-love. She’s more than a Jigsaw client preparing to be coded to her fiance; she’s also a Rehabilitator, a case worker helping couples who originally rejected the procedure find their way out of the unfortunate lives that result. Because second only to the motto that changed the world is this: The first order isn’t always the right one. Now Eva will piece the day together – rearranging her 4th pre-love appointment, her visit to the volatile couple living in the exile they’ve chosen, and a stolen hour on the bench outside of Jigsaw where she holds a daily vigil – to decide her place in this puzzle.
*Apologies if this is not ready for public consumption. At the moment, I love it. (But then, it may make more sense to me than a reader…)
(Adult: Speculative Literary – Complete)
It is the 1920s as they were but for one thing: the ability to extract unwanted memories. In 1925 Montreal, Elsie – aka Dolores Extract No. 1 – is a Mem, a clone born of such a procedure. But unlike the others, she isn’t fixed in the moment she represents; she knows where she is, what she is and that no other Mem has lived so long.
After living eighteen years in the real world, extraordinary Elsie is recalled to the Vault, the safe deposit dormitory where the other Mems live and expire. Her Source – the original Dolores – is planning to reprint Elsie, but the process of printing memories over an existing clone has proven to significantly shorten its lifespan. Fighting back will force the outside world to grapple with the question of what it means to be a Mem, something of which Elsie can’t be sure herself. To the Professor who has been her father – and the father of the Mem technology – she has been redemption; to Harvey, the scientist to whom she’s assigned inside the Vault, she has been a muse and quagmire; to the man who married her Source, she is the piece of Dolores he never knew – the best piece. Now, in the time she has left, Elsie might define what it means to be human.
The Last Life of Avrilis
(YA: literary sci-fi with steampunk aesthetic – Complete)
As a Sentient living at the end of time, sixteen-year-old Avrilis is one of the few to know that life repeats, replaying a script exactly. As an orphan cloistered in her home for the past three years, she knows that even a scripted life can suddenly change. It has, this time around. Her mother died; her father disappeared. Her only companions have been the other planet in the sky, her memory of a boy called Isaac, and the protective “halo” that absorbs the electricity a Sentient creates by living off-script – even if they didn’t have a choice.
Leaving home is Avrilis’ only chance at finding the real Isaac and uncovering what ruined her family’s script, making this lifetime go so terribly wrong – but outside, zealots are preying on anyone who defies the planets with change. When Avrilis saves the life of a vagabond moments before he’ll die, she means him to be her protection. Instead, the two find the subterranean Sentient city – and that the father who abandoned her has a plan to end the world for good. Now she’ll cross the sky from her planet to the other and find out whether this world is worth saving – as long as the zealots and the end of time don’t catch up to her first.
There are several novels/novellas at some stage or another of completion (one called Imogen but just for now; Cait After Exile; The Weight of Alabaster; The Momentary Light Afflictions; etc). There are several short stories meant for the same collection. There are screenplays at various stages of completion, and some projects waiting to decide whether they’re for the page or the screen. There is a television series. There are a few stage plays.
I am a memory. Now I suppose I’ll live like one.
I received the telegram a week before I approached the receptionist’s desk. A lovely girl was stationed there; a student, no doubt. What they call an undergraduate, which means she’s naïve. She may have mistaken me for a student as well, except that I handed her a wide, rectangular slip of paper that read: Dolores Extract No. 1. You are hereby recalled to the Vault. Please return to the premises no later than noonday, 30 August, 1925.
After that she must have known what I am, though if she was shocked or intrigued she made no mention of it. In the eighteen years I’ve lived out in the city, among real people, they always have. Anyone who became aware of my circumstances, of my origin, has been taken aback by the fact that I am so like them. I’ve learned, too, that when they’re in awe, people must tell you so. It becomes the way you distinguish one from another, by what forces them to react.