Friday Four or Five and JARS OF CLAY is out!

1. I've been living on my own in Brasov for one week and loving it! Such a beautiful city with a noble, aged elegance. Something about the tired, run-down look of former exquisiteness appeals to me. Shadows of a historic, wealthy and aristocratic time. The architecture is stunning and somehow haunting.

2. What am I doing in Brasov? I'm teaching ESL to children on poor farms outside the city, sorting through donated reading glasses, and getting quite a lot of writing related work done. I plan post a weekly round-up every Sunday, so check back if you'd like more details and photos.

3. I'm ten hours ahead of my friends and family on the west-coast of North America. That means I've practically lived my whole day before they start theirs. When I get up in the morning, it's still yesterday evening for them! Weird.

4. I bought a Kindle Touch before I left on this trip. Not only did I want/need the convenience that comes with carrying an entire library in your purse, as a writer I wanted to use the text to speech feature to listen to my manuscripts, as an editing tool. I am AMAZED at how much easier it is to spot errors when you listen and read at the same time.

5. And last but not least, JARS OF CLAY is out! It's FREE on itunes, kobo, sony and .99 on Amazon. See side bar for links. (Sorry, B & N is so slow for non-residents, but hopefully it will be there soon.)

I'm really exciting to see it out there finally. I spent over 11 years getting this novella, and volume 2, Broken Vessels, out there. 

I'll leave you with a sample first chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Jars of Clay (volume 1) and Broken Vessels (volume 2) contain strong religious themes and scenes of sensuality and violence. Recommended for ages 15 and up. 

Chapter One

Carthage, Tunisia

North Africa–199 AD

HELENA

Helena’s father had cautioned her against wandering alone outside the perimeter of their villa, as mingling with the family’s slave and servant children was not allowed. Her brothers would be furious if they knew how far she had roamed. They, of course, were busy being tutored and if her father had considered her argument that it was unjust to exclude her just because she was a girl, then boredom wouldn’t have brought her here, to the knoll overlooking neat rows of puffy green trees, where a strange boy stood in the burnt grass, picking olives.

She pulled her tunic over her knees so she could crouch low. The boy was her age, maybe older, perhaps in his seventeenth year. His hair was bleached out to almost white from many hours in the sun, and it had grown long enough to trouble his eyes. His skin was toasted brown from the sun, and when he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, the muscles in his arms bulged.

He was fascinating.

Helena lived in a house with three brothers, two of which were slightly older than this boy but neither Gordian nor Cassius had arms like that. And their skin was like hers, pale as parchment.

Prickles shot up her legs forcing her to stretch them. Her graceless movement frightened a nesting bird, which cawed angrily, drawing the attention of the boy.

His eyes, grey like the color of dark clay, studied her.

She was clearly above him in station. He should look away first.

Then he did, and her heart did a curious thing. It lurched with disappointment. Instead of fleeing back to the safety of her villa like she knew she should, she stayed. Watching.

Finally the boy spoke. “If you’re going to just stand there, you might as well come and help.”

Help him? Was he mad?

“Do you know who I am?” she asked

The boy’s rhythm never faltered, and the olives landed in the pail, plunk, plunk, plunk.

“Everyone knows who you are.”

Helena sucked in a surprised breath. That was the last thing she expected him to say. If anything, she felt invisible, entirely unknown.

Inexplicably she found herself approaching the boy, searching his face for any sign of familiarity. No, she’d never seen him before in her life. And in his unrefined way she found him… handsome?

It was as if another person possessed her body. Her hand reached up, unbidden, and plucked a fruit. She carefully tossed it into the boy’s pail. Then she tugged at another.

“Let’s be fair then,” she said. “If you know who I am, allow me to know you.”

The boy stopped, his eyes boring into hers. “I am Lucius, the son of a freedman who works for your father.” He offered a slight bow. “Not to be confused with others who live on this plantation and are slaves.”

Not a slave. For some irrational reason this news brought relief to Helena. Lucius continued his task and she tentatively joined him, realizing she had never picked an olive right off the branch before in her life. There was a certain satisfaction she could not name that came with this act.

Lucius reached above her head, and his arm brushed lightly against hers.

She froze. He seemed as shocked as she and hurriedly moved to the opposite side of the tree.

“Where is everyone else?” Helena said, breaking the tension. “Why are you alone?”

“I’m sent to check the ripeness. I’m only to pick one pail to be tested. Then the others will come.”

He spoke to her in Punic, a coarse language of the lower class.

“Do you speak Latin? Or Greek?” she asked.

“Everyone speaks a bit of Latin.” He stopped picking and walked over to her. She could see that his pail was full.

“You could teach me,” Lucius said.

“W-what?”

“Latin. You could teach me. And other things, too. You do get tutored, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. Only my brothers do. My father teaches me.”

“Well, he’s a smart man. You could teach me what he teaches you.”

“And why would I do that?” Helena couldn’t keep the indignant tone from her voice.

He smirked. “You’re not supposed to be out here, are you?”

Her eyes widened with disbelief. “You would tell?”

“I wouldn’t have to.” Lucius turned away, his shoulders wide and straight with confidence. “You want to come back.”

“I do not!”

He laughed and pointed north of the knoll. “There’s a private alcove over there. Meet me tomorrow at the same time.”