The Adventures of Hawkmoth and Luna
****Coming in a matter of weeks, for instance, will be Dragonfly Woman, a full-fledged novel, in which we learn what really happened to aviator Amelia Earhart on her round-the-world flight in 1937:
Amelia clambered up the vine and gasped. A lionlike form lay stretched out on the fuselage. Wings as long as the Electra’s – or at least a Vega’s – rose from its back. The monster lifted its eaglelike head, and its ears snapped erect in interest.
She had never seen such a beast before, yet she knew its name.
“A gryphon,” she gasped.
The gryphon studied her with red-gold eyes. It made garbled noises like a parrot, punctuated with an occasional clack of beak.
Something hit the mile-long lianas above AE’s head. Tendrils snapped in her hands. She grabbed a heart-shaped leaf, which tore. She fell.
A second gryphon clung to the vines like a cat up a telegraph pole. It watched her drop with a disinterested expression then it sprang away.
Amelia’s foot hit a tendril. She spun in the air and grabbed at braided creepers. They left the palms of her hands tingling as if she had slapped a brick wall with all her might. She remembered a hundred pulp magazines in which heroes jumped from buildings and deftly caught branches or flagpoles.
Note to self: Cancel my subscription to Argosy.
Feathers eclipsed the morning light. Iron-hard shackles clamped around her upper arms. Her descent stopped with muscle-spraining suddenness.
Gray wings beat explosively to either side. She touched one “shackle” and felt bony bird claws.
Another eagle head twisted down to look at her.
“My guardian angel,” gasped Amelia.
More works wait their turn in the queue. I'm staying up late every night now, editing, reviewing, proofreading, tweaking and then doing it all again. Well, that's pretty how much I envisioned my life would run, so . . . On we go!