A few simple thoughts

I feel as if I am being told what to write today. I Composed a fairly long blog about a few different issues and it seems as if they simply disappeared. I am going to persevere and try to
make the same points. Below in my older posts I have some samples of my newest novel. Please read and let me know what you think.
Tomorrow I will be selling my books at Starfest and hopefully making some new friendships while revisiting a few old ones. I will be at Starfest all weekend, so stop by and come visit the dealers room. My books can be found on any search engine by simple putting in the title or my name. Samantha Shu
Todays blog is short. I apologise for that. I will write again soon and post a photo of the soul purpose cover art.
Till tomorrow,
Fortune favors the brave!
Samantha Shu

The serving wench arrived with a platter of food. A heaping plate was placed in front of him. Before he had time to contemplate the various portions and colors, a crisp piece of bacon was crunching between his teeth. Oh, glorious bacon! Thank the Gods for… Before he could finish the thought, a large spoon with something white and rotten smelling, approached his mouth. The foul odor overwhelmed him, as the acrid horrible taste fell on his tongue. Urg… ick, yuck, aaaaahh, blech!! His head fell forward and he watched as the dollop of offending waste fell from his tongue onto the plate.
“Victorie eeeeh!” Joey yelped, “Gross. Is the yogurt bad?”
Yes! Yes, very, very bad, Blah, pleck! He hated that he couldn’t wipe off his tongue or take a large drink of the dark liquid before him.
“No.” The voice sounded confused. “It’s fine yogurt, not great, but ok.”
“Uh…so why’d ya spit it on the plate? Gross by the way!”
“I don’t know. I just had to get it out of my mouth, seemed important at the time.”
“Maybe you did hit your head yesterday.”
“Maybe, but you said the punch didn’t make impact. So, how did I hit my head?”
“Dunno. But, all the sudden, you’re scared of elevators and you’re spitting out your food. Plus, you said you were missing time.”
“Yeah, so the last thing I remember was Steve punching me in the face.”
“But he didn’t. Your head whipped around, like always, with that crazy blonde hair hiding how fake it truly was. And the crowd went nuts.”
“Well that’s not what I remember. I felt that punch slam into my jaw and when my head came up, I was looking at some crazed, redheaded, Celt looking, medieval nutbag coming at me.
“What?” Joey leaned forward and Vic was held rapt in fascination by her words. She had just described Gregory Hail perfectly, what parts he could understand anyway. He had no idea what a bag of nuts had to do with any of it.
“Yeah and the I was pushed forward and shock of shocks, I proceeded to beat the crap out of him and the man that had been holding me, with my HUGE man hands!”
“Man hands?”
“Ya! I was a guy! A big, big, guy. I could kinda see my arms and well, I think I was hot.”
Hot? The voice coming from his mouth was describing his fight with the Hail brothers. They had gotten their licks in, but he had proudly won the match. Although, not for his betterment. After seeing the condition of her brothers, Mary had dismissed his proposal and called him a tyrant. As he was thinking of the events of his unfortunate experience, the voice was telling it…oddly, but with a fair amount of accuracy.
“…And the cow called me a bunch of names I mostly didn’t understand, and told me to get off her lands. What a Beotch!”
Joey stared openmouthed as the voice continued. “So, I climb on this horse and my jaw is freakin’ throbbing and I ride for what feels like a whole day. The entire time, I’m like screaming in my head. What the fuck! And where am I? But, I can’t get any control. Weird right?”
Weird. The meaning of this word is beginning to become clear.
Joey closed her mouth and nodded. “So Steve hit you and you were in another world, as a hot guy, riding a horse, after a failed marriage proposal, to an ugly chic?”
Mary is not ugly!
“Yep. I know.” His head was nodding. “Freakin’ nutbag!”
What is a nut bag? Infuriating!

The panel slid open and a small but muscled female stood, looking decidedly impatient. Her short red hair was chopped in various strange angles, as if someone had punished her by removing its length. A hoop of metal hung above one eye, secured through the skin of her brow. Dark red lips opened in a sneer and Vic found himself recoil from the tiny angry wench.
“Vic!” she said, “It’s almost over. Where have you been?” She stopped speaking and reached out to grasp his arm, her grip was vice-like. “What’s wrong?” Her voice changed instantly from anger to concern. He realized this woman must be a servant of some kind, although the way she had initially spoken seemed to deny that. He listened as she spoke, trying to grasp what his Cage was saying. Her breath came quick and for the first time he realized that the body was completely in sink with his mind. Hallelujah!
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “I was in the elevator, feeling great. Then out of nowhere I had a panic attack. I was really scared.” Her voice was shaky, yet he still found the silky timbre soothing. “I’m feeling okay now. So you can let me go.” She shook her arm for effect and the vice like grip disappeared. “God, Joey. Been eatin’ your Wheaties? Shit!” Vic felt his fingers slide over the opposite bicep, rubbing the irritated skin.
Lord, women are so weak, he mused, amazed that such a small amount of pressure caused an unusual amount of discomfort.
“Sorry,” Joey said. She turned and linked arms, pulling him forward “Let’s eat! And, while we are shoving unholy amounts of calories down our gullets, you can tell me all about your episode.” She laughed as Vic’s arm dislodged from hers and his hand smacked hard onto her tight behind. What the hell? “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
Stan? Wasn’t the name Joey?
“Where ya wanna sit?”
“Booth,” the Cage stated, while bouncing in front of her companion.
“Cool” the redhead, whose name he was now unsure of, said.
Cool?
A wench dressed in a somewhat more appropriate attire than the two he was forced to be with arrived and asked for the order. As he listened, Vic found himself fascinated by the way the language was simplified. He had discerned that ‘ya’ was you, and ‘coffee, coke’ was beverage. ‘Waitress’ was serving wench and ‘Stan’ was not the name of his companion. He had been correct initially. It was Joey, still an odd name for a female. He was still working with the notion that she was being punished for some ill deed. Although, what action could lead a king to order a ring placed through an eyebrow? He tried to shake his head to no avail. Maybe this woman’s name was Josephine and Joey was the shorting of it. Yes that made the most sense. GA! He was musing over such trivial matters, when the real issue was how to escape this infernal prison.

Chapter Two

Vic gave up trying to gain control of the body he found himself residing in. Initially, he had screamed, fought against the movements and strained to find even an ounce of control. The moment the body looked into the mirror was the moment he stopped fighting. Later, he would realize it was shock that shut him down. When it happened, he had stopped screaming and stared into the large brown eyes of the most beautiful face he had ever seen. When her full mouth opened and she said “weird” he felt shock and awe at the vividness of the moment, the hot moisture in the air, the feeling of it against his skin, the vibration of the vocal cords as he spoke. Everything felt so real and yet, he was only a visitor here. In the first few moments the screams in his head had been panicked and defining. The shower of hot water and overwhelming mint of the ointment pushed into his mouth had calmed and focused him somewhat. He still felt trapped in a human box, but he could now contemplate his bizarre situation with a slight degree of rationale.
What is your last lucid moment? He asked, trying to speak but only managing to think the statement. Before he could reflect on the thought he was moving down a long hallway with many doors on each side. There was a decidedly feminine bounce to his step that he found extremely irritating. How did women manage to walk this way and not have a colossal headache consistently, he wondered in disgust. He turned and was startled by a loud shrill noise, akin to a bell ringing, as a panel opened into a small closet. He stepped into the opening, turned and pressed his index finger onto a glowing orb with a number etched onto its middle. Abrupt movement pulled him from his state of musing into utter fear, as the ground began to move under him. He stood casually tapping his right toe against the ground, as he screamed and tore at the sides of his invisible cage. The tapping stilled, his hand shot out, braced against the panel, just as all movement stopped.

To her utter and complete amazement, the blow fell hard and true as shockwaves of pain radiated across her tender jaw. Her head flew to the side as the arms holding her tightened their grip. Dazed, yet somehow still conscious, she gazed through the dark strands of hair that fell over her eyes. That’s not right, her muddled mind tried to tell her. A curtain of almost black hair, far shorter than her own blond locks, whipped away as she looked up into the bright angry eyes of her attacker. “A fair fight was never your strong suit Gregory. Why start now?” The voice that said the words was coming from her; she could feel the strong vibrato as the air left her lungs. But the voice was not hers. It was strong, deep and masculine.

Prologue

Victorie smoothed her hands down the coarse material of her ankle length skirt. The material swayed against her bare legs and brushed the top of her black leather boots. The small chain mail glove on her left hand clinked against the belt buckle as she tucked in her cotton blouse. The material was rather flimsy compared to her usual combat gear, but today was different, more presentation, less acrobatics.
“Vic, hurry up!” a voice called from the hall.
She grinned and yelled back , “ I’m coming, keep your shorts on!” As she raced to finish her pre show preparation her heart beat faster from the adrenaline being released into her bloodstream. This was the part she liked least about performing. The nervous energy frustrated her and made her forgetful. A forgetful moment could be a very dangerous thing in her business. Victorie stopped moving and listened to her heart pounding. She listened, felt, and thought about the day.
“This day will end well, and when it does, I will smile.” Her voice held a slight tremble as it always did when she said these words aloud. She turned toward the door, took a deep breath, wrapped her right hand around the hilt of her broadsword and walked from the room.


Victor Standish, Vic to any who cared to acknowledge his disdain for his namesake, couldn’t believe his bad luck. This castle and its lands had been in his family for ten generations and now it was slipping through his fingers. His idiot grandfather had put a provision in the will stating that the eldest sons only regain the family wealth after securing a strong wife. Upon nullification of those circumstances the family wealth would revert to the cousins on his mothers side of the family, the Madison’s. A family divided was the least of his problems. He had let the time get away from him and now his father was on his death bed, his sister had married and moved away, and he was all that was left of a once thriving dynasty. He knew he should feel some shame for his current situation. He didn’t. Anger was the only emotion that wrapped around him at the moment.
Vic had always hated his grandfather. It was one of the reasons that he had put off his impending nuptials, anything to irritate the old man. A step that seemed ludicrous now with the old man long dead and his father near death. His pride had never served him well, a trait ironically identical to his grandfather’s most notable attribute. A candle flickered on its stone base by his bedside. The shadows danced around the room. A crack of thunder shook the air. It was barely mid-day, yet clouds had caused the light to hide. “This is preposterous!” his deep voice boomed inside the large chamber echoing off the walls. He decided in that moment, he would do it; there really was no other choice. He would ride to Castle Hail and ask for Mary Hail’s hand. “ Argh!” he groaned thinking about what it would mean. He stopped all movement and listened to his heart as it pounded in his chest. “This day all will be well. At its end, I will smile.” His strong voice sounded as it always did when he said these words aloud, unsure but hopeful. He moved with purpose toward the door, at the last moment reached out with his left hand, and wrenched his broadsword from the wall.