Rainy Sunday

I’m grousing right now as I write this, because I am hating the new design my blog host has forced on me for creating new posts. I had been able to switch back to their classic editor until this week, and now I’m stuck with the hideous and far from intuitive editor style they’ve installed. I’ve just wasted an hour trying to find all of the things I need and that used to be available in my toolbar on the old post editor, and I am seriously considering moving the entire blog to my webpage host instead of keeping it here, that’s how aggravated I am right now. And of course, none of this has anything to do with the post I thought I was going to write today.

I think I will save that for another day now and instead give you today’s excerpt, from Hunting Medusa.


Medusa knew he was coming. She always knew when the next one approached to try to kill her. But she had not been ready to die—until now.

While listening to the soft, sneaky sounds of his footfalls on the rocky path, she studied the golden goblet. It had not rid her of Athena’s curse, but it would help her daughters. As long as one of them had it, the amulet would stop them all from suffering constantly as she had all these years, limiting the effects of the curse to only a few days each month for the keeper of the goblet. Until the Goddess forgave Medusa’s foolish bragging.

Her killer drew nearer, still attempting to be quiet. Something about his deliberate pace—unhurried, careful—made her grateful she had already finished her protective spell for her children. This one would not have died as easily as the rest.

She looked around, from one statue to another—men of all ages and sizes, various weapons in their hands or tucked into their belts, all wearing the same horrified expression. Her eyes burned. She knew she was a monster. She had known not to brag so about her hair. Athena did not suffer braggarts. She had ruined Medusa’s hair, had cursed Medusa to live in exile this way—on this Gods-forsaken island, with no company but her own—as well as all her offspring.

Medusa despised living this way. She was not meant to be alone. She had never enjoyed her own company more than others’. When this hunter came, she would let him kill her.

He did not come into the clearing as the others had, charging forward recklessly. No, he came in with his back to her, watching her reflection in a shield. Clever, this one. She pretended to not have seen him, very aware of each step he took.

Soon. It would be over soon.

And she could not wait for the torment to end.

When he came nearer, she closed her eyes and prayed to Athena for forgiveness.

His blade whistled through the air. Closer, closer…


Now I’m going to do a few chores while I’m fired up, before I get back to revisions on Protecting Medusa, second in the trilogy.

How is your Sunday going? Better than mine, I hope.

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