Writer, on writing July 29, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in writer on writing.
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It stands for Goal, Motivation, Conflict. This acronym is tossed around a lot in modern writing circles (especially among romance writers). It comes from the Debra Dixon book entitled, oddly enough, Goal, Motivation and Conflict.
What is means is that when you write your characters, you need to keep in mind their ultimate goal, what is motivating them towards that goal, and what stands in the way of that goal.
Or, to put it another way, it is the writerly equivalent of a character standing up and shouting “What do we want? When do we want it?” and what they do when The Man shows up with tear gas and rubber bullets.
It is a very powerful part of the writer’s toolbox.
And back at the beginning, it took me probably about a month to figure out that when people were talking about GMC, they weren’t talking about trucks…
Profundity July 26, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in deep thoughts.
A friend of mine lost her parents this week. Her father died Tuesday night, her mother died Thursday afternoon. Wednesday was their 59th wedding anniversary.
Naturally, there have been comments about how romantic it was that they essentially went together. But it just hit me HOW romantic it was.
He went first… and held the door for her.
To those who have gone before July 22, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in deep thoughts, random thoughts, sadness.
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This week… what can I say about this week?
How about “Damn it, I want a reset button?”
This week, in the space of three days, I lost two good friends.
Marty Gear was East Coast Fandom’s Uncle Vlad (as you can see above. He did vampire cos-play before it was cool.) He was surrogate father, grandfather, favorite uncle to many, many people. He was a SMOF (a Secret Master of Fandom), someone who had rubbed elbows with the Grand Masters, and he was hugely influential in costuming and in fandom in general. I’m told that he’d recently gotten into filking.
He died in his sleep on July 18th, at the age of 74. Friends of mine had seen him earlier in the week, and he’d mentioned that he was thinking of cutting back on his fannish activities.
Then, Sunday morning, I woke to the news that Dom Corrado had died in his sleep.
Dom was larger than life (literally and figuratively — most people knew him as Big Dom. Others knew him as Von Fritz, his persona when he was in college at Lehman. It was quite amusing to be in the same room with my cousin the day he discovered that the new friend I’d just introduced to him was someone he’d heard about for years when HE was in college). He taught English in the Bronx for years, until a crazy student attacked him and he had to retire on medical disability. Ever since Sunday, Dom’s Facebook page has been exploding with former students and fannish friends, offering condolences and reminiscing.
I have to admit that I was kinda-sorta responsible for bringing Dom to Lunacon the first time. I’d met him through my then-boyfriend, who had been one of Dom’s students. And we asked him if he was interested in going to a science fiction convention with the Bronx Science Science Fiction and Fantasy group. But I neglected to mention to him that he was the only adult going with this bunch of kids.
So he got there and discovered that he was… the chaperon.
I’m not sure he ever forgave me that. But he also never left Lunacon. He adopted the convention the same way he adopted his students, to the point of having special ribbons printed up every year for the Bronx Science contingent (the original ones, the ones that came later, and the children of those kids). Those ribbons said “Dom’s Kids.”
It was a badge of honor.
According to what I’ve heard, the ME says that Dom had a massive heart attack, and never knew what hit him. He died in bed, sitting up, with his glasses on. Probably reading — a very Dom way to go.
This has been a HARD year for East Coast fandom– science fiction and SCA alike. The ones I can think of off the top of my head are Craig Levin (also known as Dom Pedro de Alcazar), who was Atlantian Drakkar Herald the last I’d heard. He was a dear man, a passionate scholar, a NASA librarian and just plain fun to be around. Judy Gerjuoy, (better known as Jaelle of Armida, former Laurel Queen at Arms for Atlantia) who annually threw a Thanksgiving party for all of her friends and relations, for the past few years coming in from the Netherlands to do so. That party was Darkover, a fantastic convention which will be meeting for one more time this year to honor her memory, then will become a whisper in the darkness. I have fond memories of Darkover. For some people, the holidays start with the Macy’s parade. For me, it started a few days later, with the midnight singing of the Hallelujah Chorus around the pool of the convention hotel.
Think I’m joking?
(The best seat in the house was in the hot tub. People would bring their own sheet music. This is the reason I can sing the Hallejuah Chorus from memory)
I have to say that losing Dom was the one that hurt the worst. He was the one I was closest to, the one who was there for me when my parents died. He was like my favorite uncle, or my big brother, and I miss him. I regret that I never had the chance to have him meet my son (who he would have LOVED).
I wish I could be at the funeral. I can’t. It’s in New York and I’m not.
So here’s my memorial.
To those who have gone before.
We miss you.
We’ll see you again.
We love you.
William, meet the Succubus… July 15, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in excerpt, promotions, Sable Locks.
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Another excerpt from House of Sable Locks.
William entered the room on Madame’s heels, expecting a laboratory, and eager to see what the famous Simon Carstair’s personal workshop would look like, if it would be anything like the man’s workshop at the Academy. He was taken aback for a moment when the room that they entered seemed to be nothing more than a large garret, full of draped furniture and cast off odds-and-ends. Then he saw the draperies along the walls, and rising above them, the machines. He walked forward, staring upwards, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Then what looked like a random arrangement of gears and pipes and wires suddenly resolved into something familiar, and William realized what he was looking at.
Slowly, he looked over his shoulder to see Madame standing by an odd object d’art–a shining metal statue of a reclining nude woman, lying on a wide velvet couch. Madame had a small smile on her face; she nodded once when William went to speak.
“You recognize it, I see?” she asked.
William looked up again. “This cannot be possible. We cannot be standing inside a Cerebral Engine. Can we?” His eyes followed the ever-shifting dance of gears that towered over them, remembering when he’d sat shoulder to shoulder with his father, learning how to build and maintain a much smaller version of this incredible machine. That one had given the Tin Men life, and had kept the hill stations safe from the uprisings. Until Rupesh…
William turned abruptly to face Madame, shoving memories of India away. “This is quite impressive.”
She nodded and smiled. “I thought you would find it so. Now, allow me to present you to the Succubus.” She gestured to the statue, stepped back, and folded her hands, a beaded reticule swinging from one wrist.
William blinked, momentarily taken aback; his memory brought to the forefront of his mind a conversation that he’d had with his father after the frustration of a day of making social calls with his mother. He could almost hear his father’s deep voice in his ear: Most of the time when someone puts you in an uncomfortable position, they’re trying to get the upper hand, prove they have some kind of power over you. It’s petty, but some society people like that kind of game. If you show them you’re confused, they win. So… brazen it out, Will. Confuse them, instead.
Brazen it out, indeed. William stepped forward and bowed slightly to the figure on the couch. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
For a moment, there was only the churning of the machines. Then that sound was broken by a breathy laugh that seemed to come from all around them, and a pleasant woman’s voice said sweetly, “My, he is polite, isn’t he?”
Startled, William took a step back; he stumbled and would have fallen if something hadn’t caught him around the body and steadied him until he could stand again. He looked down and saw a thick metal cable wrapped around his waist. As he watched, it uncoiled and vanished into the floor.
“Good Gad…” he murmured. “It… she speaks?”
“She does a great deal more than speak,” Madame said with a laugh. “You’ll be spending your first night in this house with the Succubus. From this point on, William, your consent is assumed, and your body…” she looked at him appraisingly, her eyes sweeping over him in such a way that William felt his face grow warm “…is at her disposal until such time as you leave. It will be that way whenever you come to call. Once your collar is locked on, you are a slave to the house and your consent is assumed in all things. Do you understand?”
William swallowed, feeling too hot. His shirt collar was suddenly too small, his trousers too tight. He swallowed again, tried to answer and had to cough to clear his throat to speak. “I understand. What do I have to do?”
Madame reached into her reticule, drawing out a length of silver chain. Before she could say a word, William was on his knees, fumbling to bare his throat for her. She looked startled at his reaction, but recovered quickly, moving towards him and looping the collar around his neck. William shivered as he heard the lock click, his eyes closing as the cold metal slowly warmed against his skin. He heard her moving away, the door open and close, and then nothing else.
“You’ve been trained,” the Succubus murmured. “This will be entertaining. Stand, my darling, and take off your clothes.”
* * * *
I watch him as he retreats to the chair near the door and starts removing his clothing. He does so with a surprising grace, and a complete lack of either self-consciousness or shame.
He has done this before.
He still strikes me as young, and I wonder who would have taken a mere boy and trained him to the collar, left their mark etched indelibly in his skin. There is a pair of odd, round scars on his collarbone, and as he strips off his drawers, I see it: a brand, just below his navel. It is a strange and exotic thing, sinuous lines that look like some kind of script; unlike the twisted horror of a scar that mars his thigh and inhibits his stride, the brand enhances his pale beauty. Such a brand, and in such a place, could only have been placed there by whomever it was who had taken him in hand. It is shocking and thrilling all at once, and it occurs to me that I have never before had a paramour who has come to me knowing full well what to expect. My William knows, and he is as eager and as nervous as a new bridegroom, his cock erect, his breathing quick, a most attractive flush on his skin. He is ready for what I have to offer, ready to offer all that he is on my altar.
“When you are finished, my dear, come and kneel before me.”
* * * *
William laid his clothing over the chair a piece at a time, lining his boots up underneath just so before removing the chain that he wore hidden beneath his shirt. He cradled the rings in the palm of his hand for a moment–his father’s heavy signet ring, his mother’s wedding band–then tucked them safely into the pocket of his discarded coat. He was debating removing the ring from his hair when the Succubus spoke, “When you are finished, my dear, come and kneel before me.”
He turned at the sound of her voice, his eyes once again rising to study the mechanism that soared over his head. He closed his eyes and let the steady rhythms of the machines wash over him, echoing his own rapid heartbeat. Opening his eyes, he started forward, limping more than a little from the strain climbing five flights of stairs had put on his leg. But he refused to let the old injury stop him, and he dropped to his knees three paces in front of the couch, arranging himself for punishment as he’d been taught: upright on his knees, his legs spread slightly, his wrists crossed behind his back, and his head bowed to the silver goddess before him.
“Lovely.” It sounded to William as if the Succubus was whispering in his ear, and he wondered how she did it. Thoughts of pneumatic larynxes and valve-driven speech were dashed from his mind when rigid metal shackles rose from the floor to clamp around his ankles and knees, locking him in place. They were followed by a supple metal ribbon that dropped from the ceiling, one end slithering down William’s spine to coil tightly around his wrists, invoking memories of heavy wire biting painfully into his skin, the smell of the cigars that Rupesh had stolen from William’s father, the searing pain of the brand that Rupesh claimed would mark William as his. Caught in the memory, William whimpered slightly and, as if in response, the ribbon slowly started to draw his wrists up and back, stopping only when William’s arms were almost parallel to the floor, his upper body tilted forward against the strain on his shoulders. When at last the pull stopped, the Succubus spoke again, whispering into William’s ear, “How long as it been, my darling, since you were last properly beaten?”
William shivered, feeling something stir inside of him that he thought had died in India with Rupesh. When he spoke, his voice cracked slightly, “Four years, Sahiba…”
William licked his lips slightly, “It means… my lady. Or… Mistress. In Hindi.”
“Ah. Four years, you say?” she asked. “Tragic. And you obviously need it so badly. I promise you, my pet, you will never be so sadly neglected again.”
There was a sudden movement in front of William, and he looked up to see a metal arm swinging a crop experimentally. He caught his breath, then heard the whistle of a second crop cutting the air; craning his neck to see over his shoulder, he could see another arm, another crop raised and ready to strike.
An involuntary moan escaped William’s lips, and the forward crop came forward in response, gently trailing up his abdomen. “I cannot say this will not hurt,” the Succubus said. “But really, isn’t that the point?”
Well, now. That was quick… July 11, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in reviews, Sable Locks.
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But today I ended up reading this entire book, the House of Sable Locks (link below, and in title)
In one sitting
Because I couldn’t stop
You NEED to read this. It’s $5. It’s insanely hot (Erotica, NSFW). It is a BDSM dark steampunk romance with a touch of Hannibal-esque horror (not eating people, but manipulation and emotional and physical abuse) about the Succubus, a room-sized Victorian clockwork automaton with a dark secret, and William, a young man with a troubled past who falls in love with her.
It has ROBOTS. It has BDSM, specifically FEMMEDOMS. EVERYWHERE. It is sexy and delightful and has a fantastic plot.
Go read it.
I think it is safe to say that they liked it.
House of Sable Locks — an excerpt July 10, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in ebooks, excerpt, promotions, Sable Locks.
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Here, meet William.
There was barely enough light to read in William Sotherby’s tiny garret room. The cold autumn rain traced paths of silver through the grime on the tiny window; perhaps if it rained all week he’d be able to see again without squinting. When the townhouse had belonged to his father, this tiny room had housed an upstairs maid. Now the room offered William a modicum of privacy, although it could not shelter him completely from the disapproval of his guardian, his late mother’s brother. William sat on the bed with his left knee to his chest, staring out the window, one hand gently massaging his aching right thigh in what had become a reflexive gesture over the years. He tried not to think of the argument that had occurred over breakfast–his uncle had once again refused to allow him return to Paris and his studies at L’Académie des Sciences Mécaniques. He tried not to think of Dieter and Colette, waiting for him in the ramshackle apartment that the three of them had shared for the happiest months he’d had since he’d left India. He tried not to think of the station in India where he’d spent his childhood, or of dark-eyed, duplicitous Rupesh, his beloved betrayer. He tried to think of nothing at all, and as usual, failed miserably.
There was a knock on the door, which set the crooked, creaking door to swinging and allowed another young man to enter. The newcomer stopped just inside the doorway and cleared his throat. “I heard you had another row with my father,” he said quietly.
William didn’t turn. “He’s being unreasonable, Gerald. It’s been two years since Mother died. It’s been nearly six months since we all put aside full mourning. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be able to go back to university.”
Gerald shoved his hands into his pockets. “You could finish your studies here. Aunt Beatrice would have been happy to see you at Trinity…”
“That’s not true and you know it,” William interrupted. “My mother wanted me to attend the Academy. She wanted me to be an Artificer, like my father was. That was my father’s dearest wish, and she agreed with him.”
“Gerald, you know as well as I do why Uncle James wants me here. He wants to keep me and my inheritance under his thumb for as long as possible. If I go back to Paris, he won’t be able to spend my allowance anymore. Once spring comes, and I’m of age, he won’t have access to my money at all. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to provide for you. You’re my family, and Heaven knows that the money is there. But that’s no reason to keep me… practically a prisoner in my own home!”
“Wills, that’s unfair–”
William snorted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Really? How many calling cards have been left for me since mourning ended, Gerry? How many invitations? How many letters from my friends in Paris? Or reports from Jennings? You might know. I don’t. The only reason I know that Uncle doesn’t show them to me is that the day before yesterday I found one of the reports on the grate. It didn’t burn completely. Along with a draft of a letter to Jennings that was supposed to be from me, to which I can only assume Uncle signed my name. He really does need to be more careful when he’s burning papers.”
Gerald looked shocked. “He what?”
“You didn’t know?” William looked up at his cousin. “You really didn’t know, did you? Well, where did you think the money for Lucy’s dowry came from? I don’t begrudge it; Lucy deserves to be happy, and Henry Overton is a good man. But it would have been nice if Uncle had asked me.”
“I didn’t… I didn’t know, Wills.”
William snorted and shook his head, running his fingers through his unruly blond hair. “It doesn’t matter. So long as Jennings keeps hold of the purse strings, Uncle can’t completely spend my inheritance the way he seems to do his own salary. I’m surprised, though. You didn’t know that Uncle is using my inheritance to pave your way into Samantha Delaney’s bed?”
“William!” Gerald sounded shocked. “There’s no need to be coarse, or to insult my fiancée.”
William blinked in surprise. “She said yes? Congratulations, Gerry.”
Gerald smiled, holding up a folded piece of paper that he had taken from his pocket. “I was coming to tell you. Get dressed, Cuz. We’re going out.”
“Out?” William repeated, his voice spiraling up in shock. He reached for the walking stick that leaned against the head of the bed and got to his feet. “You’re taking me out? And Uncle agreed? But he never lets me leave the house!”
“I didn’t give him much choice, Wills. I told Pater that it’s time that people see you, or they’ll be wondering why they haven’t when the time comes for Lucy’s wedding and mine. He may be after your money, but not at the expense of your place in society.”
William arched an eyebrow. “Should I be grateful?”
Gerald smirked at him. “You should. I was going to take you to the club with me tonight so we could celebrate. But now… I’m changing my plans.” He smiled. “Trust me.”
* * * *
The cab left William and Gerald at the door of a once-fine mansion in a part of London that William didn’t know.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around curiously, trying to see the surrounding houses through the sickly yellow fog that was steadily growing darker with the coming dusk.
“Close enough to Whitechapel that it makes no difference,” Gerald answered.
William turned to look at the now-closed gate. “Whitechapel. Isn’t Whitechapel where they’ve been finding all those dead men?”
Gerald winced. “You’ve been reading the newspapers?”
“I haven’t had much else to do, Gerry. Is it safe here?” William looked around again, feeling a thrill of dread. The newspaper stories had been lurid, the fodder for many a nightmare, reporting of the bodies of unidentified young men that had been found in various places in Whitechapel, the last as recently as the week prior. Each body had shown a variety of minor injuries, bruises and broken bones, no two bodies the same, and none of the injuries enough to have killed a man in good health. The cause of death had been obvious, and had been identical in each case: each man had been gelded, and then completely, methodically, stripped of his skin. The author of the last article had opined that the men could very well have been flayed alive.
“Yes. It’s safe. Here, at least,” Gerald answered. He looked at William and frowned. “Wills, if you’re invited back here, you take a cab and have them leave you at the door, and have them call a cab for you to go home. Outside of these walls is not a place for someone like you to be wandering around alone. You’d be eaten alive.”
“Someone like me?” William repeated. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Wills, you’re far too trusting. It’s endearing, but if you’re not careful, it will get you killed someday. Especially out there. Especially now.” Gerald nodded towards the wall, then turned and started up the stairs towards the front door, missing the pained look that flashed over William’s face. The door opened as Gerald reached it, and he turned and smiled at William. “Come on, then. I told you, it’s perfectly safe.”
William tightened his grip on his walking stick and followed Gerald up the stairs, trying not to favor his lame leg as he entered a lavishly appointed entrance hall that matched the neglected exterior of the house not at all. The Turkey carpet was rich and plush under his feet, and the draperies on the windows were heavy, of wine-dark brocade that set off the polished dark wood of the floor and the tables along the walls.
“Gerald, where are we?” he murmured softly, turning to catch a glance at the servant closing the door. He stopped, frozen, as a silver figure that hummed and clicked softly moved away from the door and disappeared into another room, closing that door behind it. He stared at the closed door for a moment, then turned to his cousin, who was smiling broadly.
“I knew you’d like it here, Wills,” Gerald said with a laugh. “Now come and meet Madame. You’ll be taking tea with her. Just… be yourself.”
“Gerald, what are you doing?” William followed his cousin up the stairs to the first floor and into another well-appointed room, this one obviously a woman’s sitting room. William looked around, a large portrait of a lovely young woman catching his eye from where it hung over the fireplace.
“You pointed out that you haven’t had… many opportunities to do much socializing, so you’ve probably never heard of this place. This is the House of Sable Locks.”
William coughed, more than a little surprised. “You brought me to a brothel?”
For your copy, check out Circlet Press.
Help for Ari. July 8, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in brother can you spare a dime?, can't stop the signal.
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I don’t usually get rabid about things… until they hit home.
This is my friend Ari. I’ve quoted from here:
My daughter and I need your help.
Just over three months ago, I escaped from an abusive relationship. My now ex-partner of two years, beat me.
He constantly insisted that I was stupid and useless, monitored every email account, geotracked my phone, accessed every call and text. During the last six months of the relationship the abuse escalated exponentially, and included an incident where I was punched in the head and ribs repeatedly.
It was only through months of very careful planning, waiting for a moment when my parents would be coming in from out of state and my daughter would be safe with them, and being lucky enough to have friends that offered to help when I asked, that I was able to flee.
On March 31st, I ran. I was able to find a place to stay with a friend, and due to some quick planning was able to get most of my daughter’s belongings and some of my own out of the house I shared with him. It was then that I found out that he had not only been beating and abusing me, but had also sexually assaulted my babysitter. This happened night she had an epileptic seizure and stayed in our home after being heavily sedated by paramedics that treated her. Both I and my babysitter filed injunctions (Florida’s version of a restraining order) against my ex. Sadly, my babysitter’s injunction was not granted because she had a panic attack on the stand and was unable to complete her testimony. My ex testified in this hearing that the sex was consensual, even though she was sedated.
Due to the recent sex scandal within the Lakeland, FL police department, the district attorney has been asked to review the sexual assault case against my ex –
On June 7th a Florida judge granted me a permanent injunction against my ex due to Domestic Violence. It is a two year long injunction (permanent means officially granted, not forever), but I can ask that it be renewed at the end of two years.
Despite being told by a Florida judge to stay away from me and my daughter, since leaving him my ex has harassed and stalked us continually.
· A few days after I fled, my ex called in a false missing person’s report to Orange County Sheriff department stating that I was unstable and refused to let him see my daughter. I was hiding with my parents at a hotel when he did this. He used the tracking information from my phone (which I have since had to stop using) to find our location and list it on the missing persons report. When the situation was explained to the deputy handling the missing person’s report, the deputy stated that he had been deeply suspicious of how my ex knew my location to list on the report – he’d told the deputy that “a friend” had informed him, but when pressed refused to name this “friend.”
· He has called Department of Children and Family services stating that he is my daughter’s father, and that I was on drugs and endangering her; I had to bring her birth certificate and clean drug report in to DCF to prove that he is not her father, and I am not a drug user. After discovering that statements he made to DCF were easily disprovable lies, the DCF case worker was so concerned about keeping my daughter safe from my ex that she did not even write the home address at which she met us in the file, writing “confidential” instead.
· My email address has been taken over, twice, by an IP address in Lakeland, FL where he lives. My Facebook account has been taken over, twice, by that same IP address. My daughter’s email and Facebook were also taken over by that very same Lakeland, FL IP address. During these times I was either in Orlando or in Houston, surrounded by witnesses.
· My phone has been turned off once, the day of the second email and Facebook takeover. Since I had set my phone as backup in order to prevent account access, he had to turn it off in order to get into my accounts.
· A blog of mine that addressed my past abuse and issues with anxiety, and PTSD (I have a PTSD diagnosis) was accessed by my ex, altered, and emailed to my entire social circle with the statements that I have multiple personality disorder and was having a schizoid break.
· My ex has repeatedly contacted my daughter’s father stating that he intends to fight for full custody.
My ex has no legal relationship to my daughter – he has no parental rights whatsoever. During the time we lived with him, he was a reluctant parental figure at best, leaving the care of my daughter to me. Since I fled him, he has suddenly become obsessed with my daughter, stating to my daughter’s father that he wants to have me involuntarily committed to gain access to Tamora. I’ve been assured by DCF, and by the attorney for my first injunction hearing, that there is no way my ex could ever legally gain parental rights. Even with this reassurance, knowing that this man has an obsession with gaining custody chills me.
I love my daughter, and her safety is the most important thing in my life. Tamora’s legal father (whom my ex insisted have limited contact with her) and I are on excellent terms, and we are working together to build a life for her. After listening to my former babysitter describe her sexual assault, and helping her bring charges to the police, the thought of this man ever being near my daughter again fills me with horror.
I’m coming here not to ask for help for myself, but for Tamora. Not even one month after being granted my permanent injunction, my ex has filed to have another hearing to attempt to appeal it. If he wins his case, he will be able to stalk Tamora and I without the threat of arrest, and in doing so find our location. It is my fear that if this happens he will kidnap Tamora. Every police officer, Harbor House volunteer, and DCF agent I’ve spoken to have told me that this is the worst possible scenario – that if he does gain access to my daughter, he will likely take her and run away with her.
I’ve been able to contact a lawyer to represent me in court, and help me keep my daughter safe. However, lawyers are expensive, and although this one has agreed to work for less than half of his usual fee, it is still more than I can afford. This is why I’m coming to you – to ask you to help me make up the remaining amount and keep my daughter away from my abuser.
I have scanned my Domestic violence injunction and attached it. To verify my situation I can share scanned copies of IP log in records that show my account being hacked, the missing person’s report, emails where my ex admitted abusing me, along with texts, Facebook posts, and emails that document his continued staling of both me and my daughter.
If you can’t throw anything into the hat to help her keep her daughter safe, then boost the signal!
My mind is officially blown… July 6, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in heady praise, mind blown, SQUEEE, wow.
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And I just got a message through Facebook. Someone in SWITZERLAND picked the book up after Laura Antoniou mentioned it on Facebook this morning.
She finished it just a few minutes ago. And had to tell me how much she loved it, and that she was starting it over again.
It’s OUT??? July 6, 2013Posted by Elizabeth Schechter in ebooks, happy-happy- joy- joy, Release date, Sable Locks.
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Apparently, Amazon and Barnes and Noble are much more efficient than we gave them credit for being. The release that was supposed to happen in July 9th happened June 26th!!!!
HOUSE OF SABLE LOCKS!!!