Guitar Mancer — Episode 1: Luci

Guitar Mancer Cover final 05-04-2016

Welcome back everyone.  I’m happy to see you!  Thanks for all your positive feedback about the prologue to this novel, The Guitar Mancer.  

I have a confession to make… I’m still not over my angst.  I’m worried that the novel pace will be too slow for a sort-of-serial.  But it’s a novel, broken into segments, which I’m sharing here.  Okay. I’ll hush my whining about that and get on with it.  Today the setting and characters move away from the villain’s prologue and to Nashville, Tennessee.  You will meet the heroine of the novel.  But first…

This Week’s Featured Bloggers — 2 Barbaras 

Barbara (aka Ghostmmnc)

Barbara at Teleporting Weena gave us lovely things. I was able to use Screaming Yellow Zonkers (stay tuned for a recipe!) and Flower Power sticker. Click over to her blog where, as Barbara describes it, she tries all forms of the written word, including fan fiction, original short fiction, and poetry.

Barb Taub

Barb Taub gave us Country Joe and the Fish, VW convertible, and lava lamp.  Click over and check all her amazing books, as well as a cover reveal for her latest!  It’s so exciting.

About This Episode

1969 Jean Shrimpton as Luci

1969 Jean Shrimpton as Luci

You may have seen me mention my “Manuscripts Lost” (click here to learn about that disaster).  Oh yes… two novels that were at least 3/4ths finished, and a fantasy-romance that was half done, all accidentally thrown into the trash.  The latter was the first version of The Guitar Mancer

Yes, I said fantasy-romance.  It became obvious to me that I can’t write romance. However, the mythology of the magic I created for that story, the villain, the hero and heroine (Tam and Darla), and her animal companion all stuck with me more than a decade later.  I brought them and their “mancer” magic back and finished the book for a National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).  

Also, when I took out the “romance” category I added more characters, plus Route 66 with its own mythology, and changed some important names.   Most notably, “Darla” became Luci.  (I let Darla become her mother’s name.)  

If you missed the Prologue, which was the first installment of this novel, you’ll find it here.  Now, Episode-1 introduces Carolina Lucille Harper, sometimes called Wee Mouse, mostly called Luci.

Episode 1 — Luci

1965 Chevrolet Malibu ad

Luci slowed the Malibu as she approached the end of the onramp.  There was a good opening in traffic.  A light touch of the gas pedal revved the V-8 engine and the Chevrolet sped onto the freeway.  Gray leafless trees blurred on the roadside. She reached toward the dash where she’d put a flower power sticker, and adjusted the heater.

New Year’s Eve, 1969 — it seemed like an odd day to have a job interview.  Luci figured it would either end the year with a fire cracker-like bang, or a fizzling flop.  She took a deep breath and shifted her shoulders, trying to relieve tension. She hoped to land her first real bookkeeping job since getting her associate degree.

Jobs weren’t as plentiful as they’d been when she started earning her degree in 1967.  Things had looked positive all that year.  Then it seemed to happen so suddenly — at the end of 1969 the country was in a recession. Flower Power stickers

Her dad had been the one to push her toward the bookkeeping profession.  Just push, mind you, he did not insist.  Grover said that no matter what else was going on in the world, good or bad, people would always need bookkeepers.  Or at least they would as long as there were taxes — and only two things were sure in life, death and taxes.  And as long as there were taxes there would be bookkeepers.

She hoped he was right, but she hadn’t had anywhere near the number of job offers the school had promised.  In fact she’d only had three interviews in as many months, and no job offers at all.  It was quite a contradiction to what the school described.  To hear them tell it, businesses would be knocking down her door to give her a high-paying job. 

Her dad seemed apprehensive about this interview, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.  He was always supportive and encouraging.  Grover Harper even did pretend interviews with her, similar to the ones the Careers Services woman had done with her at school.  However, this time there was an undertone of worry in his manner.  Luci passed it off as a twinge of overprotectiveness on his part.  Her dad was pretty easy going, but now and then Grover got a little overprotective.

Luci sighed, stretched her neck from side to side, rolled her shoulders and mentally walked through some of the questions they were likely to ask her.  Then a sign on the embankment beside the interstate distracted her. 

Every week there were more billboards, she thought as she glanced at the latest one.  She did a double take, thinking the new one was downright lewd.  It depicted a woman holding volleyballs in strategic places instead of wearing clothes.  Luci gasped when she read the sign.  “Party-gras — Nude Volleyball!

Screaming yellow zonkers“Oh my God!” she cried aloud.  “No wonder I didn’t get the other jobs.  No wonder they gave me such funny looks!”

Her last job had been working part time at a coat check booth at a dinner club with the same name.  The club had closed down.  It would only be temporary, the manager promised her.  She had a job there any time, as soon as they were able to open the doors again, he’d said.  Luci had no idea that they’d reopen as the kind of place that featured nude volleyball, for heaven’s sake.

So there she was, on the way to another interview and that billboard sent her confidence right to the floorboard of the old Chevy Malibu.  Luci had eaten Ramen Noodles and Screaming Yellow Zonkers at lunch for weeks to help offset the price of the resumes she’d had professionally printed.  Now what was she supposed to do?  Party-gras was in big bold print on her expensive resumes.  Apparently she’d been the only one in Nashville who didn’t know her former employer transformed form a dinner club to a nudie bar!

Luci wished she had a car phone so she could just pick up the receiver and call her dad to ask what she should do about the resume and Party-gras.  The only person she had known who had a car phone was Garry Hatfield back at the business college. 

The mobile phone was mounted to his car, just under the dashboard, on the hump in the floor between the driver and passenger sides.  It had a rotary dial and a receiver, just like an ordinary phone, but there was also another area, just as big, with two rows of buttons. 

1960s Mobile Phone1964 car phone users, USA: 1.5 million / 2017 (projected) mobile phone users USA: 266 million


Once Luci asked him to show her how it worked.  However, Garry said he was in hot water with his dad for making too many calls.  The service was really expensive.  He’d be in big trouble if he made more than ten calls a month, and Garry said he’d already made eight.

“Someday everybody will have one,” Garry had said and Luci tried not to laugh at the ridiculous comment.  “There are a million and a half mobile phone users in America now,” he’d added indignantly.

Country Joe n FishThe disc jockey announced Country Joe and the Fish with “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die Rag.”  Luci turned up the radio’s volume, because after seeing the Party-gras billboard that was exactly how she felt.

The Malibu slowed because she was so deep in thought over the dreadful billboard.  She didn’t realize her foot had stopped pressing the gas pedal.  The loud honk of an eighteen-wheeler jolted Luci back to the task at hand — driving. 

The big rig pulled alongside her Chevrolet Malibu and blasted the horn again.  But that time the driver propped his arm in the open window and made a pumping motion with his fisted hand, inviting her to blow the horn back at him.  It was generally considered harmless highway fun, or flirting.

Well, that’s a switch, Luci thought.  Usually it’s people trying to get the truckers to blow their horn.

Good, at least he wasn’t mad at her for slowing him down.  However, Luci was on the way to an interview.  With what had just been revealed about her former employer, she wasn’t in the mood to flirt with the trucker or anybody else for that matter.

A glance at the eighteen wheeler showed the trucker was waiting expectantly.  On an impish impulse she decided to give the trucker a little surprise. Recently Grover replaced the broken horn on her car.  Luci’s father had inventive ways of looking after her.  Nashville was a transportation hub.  There were more eighteen-wheelers on the highways in Music City USA than there were in most other cities. 

Grover had been in the car with her one day when they were unexpectedly surrounded.  Left, right, front, and back, the huge trucks paced them.  He was afraid it was making her nervous.  However, Luci was really just being careful.  Although she had to admit, it did feel a little claustrophobic being hemmed in by the big trucks.

One of the trucks had accidentally drifted a little too close for comfort and she blew her horn.  With the noise of the trucks on every side, you could barely hear the Chevy’s warning blare.  So when that horn wore out not too much later, Grover replaced it with the same kind of horn the big trucks had.Semi truck ad

Luci turned and gave the trucker a wicked grin, and then gave a horn blast of her own from the Malibu.  The truck driver’s eyes popped out and he was so surprised that the big rig swerved.  Then he started laughing, waved and moved on down the highway.

Not quite flirting with the trucker caused her to not quite miss her exit.  She took a quick glance down at the directions she wrote when the man called to set up the interview. 

Her eyes darted quickly from the directions in the seat beside her to the exit ramp.  Yes!  That was it.  She might have known she’d have to get across all those lanes — and in a hurry.  However, luck was with her and she got across without missing her exit.

The directions turned out to be good.  She had no trouble at all finding Blaylock Sound Magic Studio.  On her dad’s advice she drove once around the parking lot paying attention to the cars.  Grover said looking at the cars the staff drove would give her some advance idea of what to expect once she got inside.

1960s VW Beetle adThe cars were a mix of old and new, from an old VW convertible to a brand spanking new Lincoln Continental.  Or at least it looked brand new.  It was black and so polished that if the sun hit it the wrong way it might blind somebody. 

Next to the Lincoln was a vintage red Cadillac.  It couldn’t have been more different, but it was in mint condition.  Luci guessed the Cadillac was about a ’59.  It had the rocket looking tail lights that were iconic not only for Cadillac, but the entire American auto industry during the jet inspired tail fin craze of that era.

She tilted the rearview mirror to check her make up.  Luci always made her eyelashes as long, thick, and spiky as she could manage with just mascara.  She wished for the thousandth time that she could master applying false eyelashes, but they usually ended up closer to her eyebrows that her lash line.  Luci took the advice of the Career Services woman from college and used eye shadow in a barely noticeable color of beige, rather than the dramatic greens and blues that were so popular.1969 Yardley of London lip Slicker

As she opened the Yardley of London “lip slicker” her mind flashed back to the “Nude Volleyball” billboard.  The cosmetic clerk named the shade of lipstick Naughty Nearly Nude.  Luci took a deep breath, and tried to put that thought out of her mind.  With a last retouch of the pastel pink lipstick, she got of the car. 

Her hair was pulled back in the center at her forehead, with a little bouffant and wispy ringlets framing each ear.  It fell below her shoulders, with big loose curls, just at the ends. 

Luci adjusted the wide red leather belt of her new coat.  It was ivory with a red windowpane plaid design woven into the wool.  She chose the coat carefully, even though she realized she’d probably remove it as soon as she got into the building.  Under the coat she wore a gray flannel pleated skirt with a matching Eisenhower jacket and a short yellow silk scarf tied at her neck. 

Lava lite adFashionable, yet not too trendy, just like they said at Career Services, she thought as she caught her reflection in the Malibu’s window.  Luci tucked the vinyl folder containing her resumes under her arm, but she stood beside her car as if rooted to the parking lot and looked at the building. 

She headed toward the front door of the building.  It was plain looking, with few windows.  She guessed that helped keep out noise.  There was a small window beside the door.  On the windowsill was a lava lamp, with molten green flowing up and down.  Watching it made her queasy.

Luci took a deep breath and focused on the positive.  She forced her feet to move and put her hand on the studio’s door.


End Episode 1

I haven’t forgotten you foodies!  Here’s a simple recipe for Screaming Yellow Zonkers at Top Secret Recipes.

Screaming yellow zonkers recipe

 Thanks for visiting. I hope to see you next time.  Mega hugs and keep on truckin’!

Keep on Truckin

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

New Serial — The Guitar Mancer, Prologue

Guitar Mancer Cover final 05-04-2016

Welcome everyone!  I was in quite a state over whether the pace of this novel would bore the heck out of you when you’re used to the fast pace of my serial stories.  So on Wednesday I brought my anxiety here to this blog, and took a poll. Many thanks to all of you who voted!  I listed a few different options from which you could choose — you know I like to involve you in everything.  By a very large margin, the winner was for me to continue as I had planned and serialize my novel, The Guitar Mancer.

This Week’s Featured Blogger:  Olga Núñez Miret

Olga Núñez Miret

Did I say this new serial is an experiment? After collecting comments with “things” for a few days, I knew adding them to an existing story, rather than writing from scratch and flying by the seat of my pants would be even more difficult than expected.  However, I will add your “things” as best I can, and feature someone each week.

Robot Warning

This first installment of The Guitar Mancer is a prologue, and it is different from the rest of the story. The setting, is different, and it takes place at an unspecified point in time before the main story.  Also, I’m issuing a warning that this episode is longer than I expect the others will be, because I didn’t want to divide the prologue.  

Here’s a point of interest about this story. I’ve said that I brazenly mix the mythology of different cultures in a single story.  This time I’ve combined two rich mythologies of my own creation. But I also stirred in some legends from ancient Japan, for the bad guy.

The prologue is focused on the villain.  He’s got serious issues…  So it’s only fitting that author, translator, and psychiatrist, Olga Núñez Miret provided the “things” for this episode, the focus of which is my very messed up villain.  Too bad he didn’t turn to Olga for help!  I was delighted when Olga agreed to do this kickoff installment for this serial version of my novel, The Guitar Mancer.  

Featured Guest Information

Escaping Psychiatry beginningsNow about the featured blogger for the kickoff of this serial, Olga Núñez Miret.  Olga’s expertise in the psychiatric field is clear in her series “Escaping Psychiatry.”  You can learn more about her many books at her blog or her Amazon author page.

 One day, when I finish “Atonement in Bloom” I hope to have Olga translate both novels into Spanish. There is no one else I’d trust with the task.  You can learn more about Olga’s translation service at these links.  She talks about her translations on her blog. Click here and here.  Find out about some of the books she has translated here.

For the “interactive” aspect of this new serial, Olga provided, blueberry pancakes, Oklahoma (the musical), and the Apollo 11 moonwalk.  Be sure to read to the end for a link to some delicious pancakes!

As I warned, this installment is longer than the future episodes will be, but still fewer than 2,200 words.  Without further ado, we begin  The Guitar Mancer.

Prologue:  Guards

“Just don’t make any waves man,” Gowad drawled.

Gavur tried to be patient with his coworker.  The younger man had spent a year in the United States of America at a university before getting into some kind of trouble he wouldn’t discuss.  Gavur expected it was either about illegal drugs or the strange but irresistible blueberry pancakes about which the young guard spoke with longing.  .

He tried not to be annoyed by all the American slang the young man used, but it irritated him nonetheless.  It sounded disrespectful.  To Gavur, respect was the cornerstone of society, and it had been ingrained into his personality since he was old enough to walk.Desert Legion Alan Ladd

“I have to agree with you though,” Gowad added.  “He’s a frail old man; too feeble to hurt anybody.  Keeping him down there with no light or sound.  Sensory deprivation it’s called.  It’s inhumane.  How old is that codger anyway?  He looks like he’s about two hundred years old.  You ever got a look at him?” Gowad rattled off the words, immature, arrogant, and oblivious to the increasingly cross expression on his companion’s face.

Restraining the impulse to slap the younger man, Gavur took a deep calming breath.

“Elders are due respect,” Gavur said through clenched teeth.  “If that is his sentence, then the judgment was rendered with wisdom.  It is not for us to question.  But it grates against me to see an elder disrespected.”

“You’re right! We should stage a protest!  They have them in America at all the universities,” Gowad said excitedly.

The older guard expelled a sharp breath at the foolishness of youth.  “Such would get us killed,” he said.  “Besides, they are finally moving him up to the basement level cell.  It has a small grate to let in sunlight.  Too high to see outside, and too small for a window, but even that is an improvement.”

1957 Dauphin Co Prision PA

Dauphin County Prison, PA 1957


Gavur had been secretly fascinated by the mysterious prisoner for the entire twenty-five years he had worked as a guard.  He had only glimpsed the man once or twice, an impossibly ancient man who continued to exist through the long years, despite his living conditions and greatly advanced age.

When Gavur first began working as a guard, the wardens made sure none of the guards had regular contact with the ancient man.  Gavur realized they believed he had some kind of mystical power.  Their fear made it seem like his power must be something supernatural. It was as if they believed the ancient man could do something as impossible as man walking on the moon.  Though the Americans claimed to have done it, and showed puppet-like figures supposedly on the moon, Gavur disbelieved.

However, the old wardens were long gone, as were the facility owners.  They moved the old man in order to put political prisoners in the cells that were far below ground, where the darkest secrets were kept.  The new management didn’t remember to rotate the guards who dealt with him.Life to the Moon

Compelled by a fascination he didn’t bother trying to understand, Gavur maneuvered to bring the elderly man his meals each day.  When no one was paying attention, he talked to him through the small food slot.

One day Gavur found himself asking timidly through the slot, “Do you need anything?”

“Sticks,” the frail voice replied.  “Casting sticks for the Onymōdō, the divination.  It would comfort me greatly to be able to do this,” he said sounding fearful to hope for a kindness.

“I know someone who might be able to get such things, though they may not be exactly what you have in mind,” the guard told him, feeling inexplicably happy that he might be able to do something that pleased the ancient prisoner.

When he brought the divining sticks Gavur watched through the food slot as the elderly man stooped painfully to the floor.  Gavur tensed, at the stiff movement, because even that much was more than he expected such an old man to be able to do.  Then the ancient dropped the sticks, carefully looking at them as they landed.

After a moment Gavur murmured.  “What is it?”

“Luck?” the old voice rasped.  “No… something about a woman, and that is never lucky,” he said with a dry chuckle, encouraging the guard to laugh with him.  “A name I think, but it is foreign to me.  It seems to mean ‘light.’  Lucilla in the Latin, but I perceive a different language. (Remember this about “light” you will see related names and more throughout the story.)

Gavur chuckled, thinking the old man was still jovial.  “So have you predicted romance for yourself then?” he asked.

“Far better than romance,” the old man said as he straightened.  “Far better.”


Prison cell

Awhile after the old man had been in the cell with a grate that let in light and sound, a strange thing happened.  While the man had looked to be older than even a hundred years, after a week he looked closer to eighty.  He also looked less frail, and rheumy eyes were improved, no longer near to blindness.  Gavur was more fascinated than ever.  Did the old one hold the secret to eternal life?

Gavur carefully inserted the tray of food at the slot in the cell door.  Other guards would let the meal drop to the floor if the old man wasn’t quick enough to take the tray.  However, Gavur always waited for the frail man to take a secure hold on it.  Patience was a virtue that Gavur had learned well.  He spoke respectfully and cheerfully, telling the ancient one that the meal was ready.

He heard one soft footstep, and wondered if the man was waiting right beside the door.  Gavur knew he wasn’t able to cross the tiny room in a single step as a more virial man would.

“Thank you my son,” said a deep, strong voice that was barely familiar.

Gavur bent down to look through the food slot.  His hand went limp on the tray, but the prisoner had a firm grasp on it.  Gavur gasped in astonishment.  He had half convinced himself that the transformation of a centenarian to an eighty year-old was his imagination.  However, the man he now saw couldn’t be older than sixty — and he was a hale sixty at that.

With trembling hands Gavur put the key into the lock.  He had to convince himself that this was the same prisoner.  The man made no attempt to come closer when Gavur opened the cell door.  Rather, he sat calmly and thanked him for the food.  He invited the guard to sit and talk with him.  Gavur needed no further encouragement.  He felt he must learn everything he could from the amazing man.

The prisoner motioned toward the tray of food, as if excusing himself for eating in front of someone who was not eating.  Then in preparation to eat, he rolled back his loose sleeves revealing intricate snake tattoos

Gavur tried not to be obvious in looking at the tattoos.  He was awed by the artistry of the design and curious about how many snakes were depicted.  They seemed to twine up his arms and had multiple heads.  Some parts of the tattoo reached the old man’s neck.  Gavur thought it must cover both arms and possibly parts of his chest and back.yamata no orochi vintage

“There are eight,” the prisoner said as if he had plucked the question from Gavur’s mind.  “It is the Yamata no Orochi; the eight-branched giant snake,” he said in a voice that obliged Gavur to make eye contact as he spoke.

He gazed absently at the small rectangular grate near the ceiling.  As Gavur looked upon his face the old man’s rheumy eyes cleared.

“For countless years there was no light, no sound.  That was the only way they could contain me — complete sensory deprivation” he said as if deep in thought.  “Now there is light.  Soon my hearing was restored and there is also sound,” the man — Orochi said with a smile that made Gavur’s blood run cold.

“During the long decades many levels below underground my body grew old and frail.  Yet trickles of power reached me even below the surface,” he said and Gavur struggled to understand the strange things he was saying.  “It was barely enough to notice, but enough to keep me alive.”

Orochi touched his face.  Once it was cragged with hundreds of wrinkles, but half of them had smoothed away as if by magic. 

“Now that my senses are no longer deprived, my healing has accelerated,” he said in a satisfied tone. 

Boy Flute vintageStepping over and looking up at the small opening to the outside world, he stretched and put his fingers into the ring-like holes of the grate.  Orochi seemed to ignore the pain as the metal dug into his flesh.  Gavur was amazed to see him use just the strength in his fingers to pull himself upward so he could see out the opening.  That put his eyes at a level with the street.

Joyous laughter came unexpectedly from his mouth.  However, a line of concentration creased his brow and his smile faded.  Gavur maneuvered carefully to stand in a spot that provided an angle allowing him to see what the miraculous man watched.

Across the street, a boy sat playing a flute.  Gavur could hear it.  However, to the old man it made no sound.

He stared hard at the flute and talked about the air around it shimmering.  Orochi said he could see the patterns in the energy that separated him from the music.  A woman stopped and talked to the boy.  Then Orochi complained violently that the shimmer abruptly left the air.

“Just play, damn you!” he raged at the child who was too far away to know.  “It doesn’t matter whether it’s good or bad, or what faltering excuse for a tune you blow.  Just play!” Orochi cried though only Gavur could hear him.

As the boy and woman left his field of vision, Orochi said the air began to shimmer again.  He knew the boy was playing the flute.

He pressed his face against the grate, trying to see farther.  Orochi watched the spot where the boy had been long after blood trickled down his arm where the grate cut into his fingers.


Gavur returned for his shift the next morning.  In the distance he saw Gowad with his transistor radio.  It blared out a song from the American musical, “Oklahoma.”  He was unsure what to expect when he looked through the food slot, but the old man, Orochi, looked much as he had the evening before.  Gavur heard the man cry out in pain, and hurriedly unlocked the cell and went inside.

motorola pocket radioOrochi sat up, grabbing his head and fell from his lumpy cot.  He curled into a ball and writhed upon the floor as if agony burned in his brain.  Gradually the pain appeared to become less debilitating.

“It’s settled into a rhythmic sensation, but it makes my teeth vibrate inside my skull,” Orochi gasped.

The sound of footfalls neared the cell.  The closer the footsteps came, the worse his pain seemed to become.  Then the pain released Orochi so suddenly that his knees buckled.

His face relaxed.  His mouth dropped open in awe.  “I am no longer completely blocked from the source of power…  I hear music, just faintly,” Orochi whispered.  “I can touch the source of power!” he murmured in ecstasy.  “It ebbs, a mere trickle when compared to the raging flood of power I once commanded.  Yet that trickle is more than any but the most talented mancer will ever know.”

The young guard, Gowad, approached with a transistor radio plugged into his ears.  Gavur watched Orochi as he seemed to reach for the sound of the music.  It was as if he drew it into himself, but it left Orochi panting and weak with need, yet trembling with unspent power. 

Gowad was outside his cell door.  The force of the energy the old man created with that music snapped Gowad’s head back.  Gavur heard a muffled thud as the young man’s body fell to the floor.  The tiny plug was dislodged from the Gowad’s ear, and the sounds from the radio became louder. 

Gavur heard the disc jockey announce the “Oldies but Goodies Show” and Chuck Berry performing the American classic, Johnny B. Goode.  Then a wild riff of guitar music exploded from the transistor radio.

“What is this instrument? I have never before heard the instrument that helped free me.  It holds a greater potential to express pain than anything I have ever heard.  That pain shall be mine to command!” Orochi exclaimed.  “This music makes me yearn to share that pain with others,” he panted, causing Gavur to draw back fearfully.

“I must have the instrument.  I am still weak, obtaining an instrument that is well bonded to a mancer would restore me completely.  But even the instrument of a mere talent would help,” he said as if to himself.

Stepping outside his cell, Orochi bent to touch Gowad’s face.  “What was the instrument?” he demanded, and the incapacitated guard arched his back in agony as Orochi dredged the answer from the Gowad’s mind. 

“A strange concept for an instrument,” Orochi murmured.  “An electrical guitar?  Yet this electrified guitar invoked the power quite well.  Now, where do I find this place, Deep down Louisiana close to New-Or-Leans… among the evergreens?”


Johnny B. Goode

And with that wild guitar riff, the story shifts from the villain’s prologue to the main characters and their “current day” world of New Year’s Eve, 1969 in Nashville, Tennessee. 

As a thank you for taking time to visit and get to know The Guitar Mancer, here’s a recipe from Suzanne at A Pug in the Kitchen for some beautiful buttermilk pancakes.  You could easily add blueberries! 

I look forward to seeing you next time.  Have a groovy week and mega hugs!

Teagan sig


Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.




Wednesday Wallow


Thanks to everyone who voted. I appreciate your feedback. 

My apologies to those of you in later time zones, but now I have to get back to “real” work and chores, so I’m closing the comments (and the poll, if I can figure out how…).

The winner of the vote was the serial version of The Guitar Mancer, that I talked about in the previous post.

Wishing everyone a happy Saint Patrick’s Day!  See you this weekend with the Prologue of The Guitar Mancer!


Yes, it really is me doing a mid-week post.  Hi! Happy hump day… and tomorrow, happy Saint Patrick’s Day.


My previous post announced my intention to make a new serial out of my novel, The Guitar Mancer.  To keep things interesting, and to keep you readers engaged, I would add “things” from you to each installment.

I’ve prepared a few episodes now — and I’m wallowing in my indecision.  The book is written at a novel’s pace, setting stages, developing characters and situations.  The serials I wrote here moved five times faster.  I’m just not sure whether it is suitable for blogging.

So I’m taking a poll.  Please vote.

As always, I comments are below. But please cast your vote.  You’ve always been part of Teagan’s Books and I want to know what you think.

Vote Vintage

What’s Next? New Serial!

Nice Party, but What’s Next?

Scrubbing bubbles

Thanks to all of you for coming to the party that started last weekend, and ran throughout the week.  I had a great time and I think the guest (or rather Ape) of honor did too.  So I hope everyone enjoyed themselves.  I know for a fact that the Four Naughty Chimps had fun!  Thank goodness they volunteered to help with the cleanup.

Naughty Chimps

One thought has been on my mind (about this blog) for many weeks — What’s next?

Quite some time ago I had the idea to use one of my draft novels and somehow convert it to an “interactive” serial story.  So I registered the copyright of my very quirky urban fantasy, The Guitar Mancer.


You see, when I was writing the story it took a turn that I didn’t expect.  I wasn’t able to embrace that unanticipated change in the tone of the story.  I just wasn’t satisfied with it, so I never applied the finishing touches.  Then one day I had the idea to use the novel in a way similar to the interactive Three Things serials, and see how reader-submitted, spontaneous things might change the story!

Call for Three Things!

Some of you weren’t around for the interactive serials, but don’t let that keep you from coming out to play.  As readers offer their “three things” I work the items into the story.  That also gives me a chance to promote the person who left the things.  

Rt 66 NMBecause this story already has structured elements that I’m not willing to give up, this time I will enforce a few rules or limits for you to keep in mind regarding the “things” you contribute.  Sadly, less pantsering.

The story opens on New Year’s Eve, 1969.  So keep everything to the era of the late 1960’s to 1970.  This will also be a virtual road trip across historic Route 66 in the USA with mythology I created about the famous highway.

Don’t worry — I’m not asking you to think of one of each of the three below, just keep them within this scope.  Get it?  So think of these elements when you give me your things:

1969 Jean Shrimpton as Luci

Jean Shrimpton (1969) as Luci

  • 1969-1970
  • Route 66 Road Trip
  • Road Trip Food (or food of the era)

To help you a little more, here is our heroine, Luci.  She’s a fashionista, but she’s also a down to earth, smart cookie.  However, she learns that she has talents she had no idea she possessed until she met Tam Taliesin and Bodaway Thunder.  More about those two guys later.

If you’ve been here with Teagan’s Books for a while, you know that every little thing about the other serials was pure pantser fun.  They were 100% driven by the things you left in comments and unplanned from the very first word…

However, that can’t fully happen this time, since I’ve already written the novel. The purpose with this serial is to investigate how your things will spontaneously change the story.Guitar-blue-flame dreamstime_m_15806645

You can get a feeling for the kind of story this is by looking at my Pinterest board for The Guitar Mancer.

Also, for the kickoff the Three Things Version of the Guitar Mancer next weekend I’ve arranged for a special guest who is, in a way, three things — author, translator, psychiatrist, Olga Núñez Miret.

So let’s get this roadtrip on the highway!  Go to our comments playground and leave three things related to  1969-1970, Route 66 Road Trip, and/or Road Trip Food.  I can’t wait to see where this goes.

Beep-beep!  Let’s go!

Mega hugs,




Copyright © 2016 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

3-D: A Party for the Story Reading Ape

Naughty Chimps

Hello everyone. The Four Naughty Chimps are back and it’s time to get jiggy!  None other than the one and only Chris Graham, better known to you as The Story Reading Ape, is here today.  And I’ve decided to throw him a party.  Woot!

Chris/Ape is such a multi-talented individual, making book cover designs and promo trailers.  Not to mention his tireless promotion of Indie authors.  I’m going to start this party by showing you a sample of something new he’s doing — 3-D images of book covers.  I was so excited to see Atonement, Tennessee in 3-D!


3-D Atonement Cover no background

The Prices, etc, can be found at:

It wouldn’t be a party if I didn’t invite everyone to come out and play.  When I saw the wonderful 3-D image, on a whim I challenged our Ape/Chris to write a quick story relating to 3-D.  Not only did he go 3-D, he put three “D” names in the story.  Now that’s jumping into the game!

Then I realized it was a little unfair of me to ask the Story Reading Ape to write a story if I didn’t take the same challenge.  (I freely admit that his story is better than mine though.)  Of course he had upped the ante by adding the three “D” names.  Chris TSRA

Now, since this is a party, you know that I want all of you to come out and play too.  Leave something in the comments that the thought of “3-D” inspires in your imagination.

First we’ll have the story from Chris, and then you’ll see mine.


By Chris Graham

Davy, Don and Duke had apparently not only painted the town red last night, they’d applied three coats of primer and varnished over two coats of waterproof emulsion judging by they way they felt this morning.

The alleyway they woke up in didn’t look familiar; it was wet and kinda flat looking; even when they forced their eyelids wide open.

As the others watched in befuddled disbelief, Duke slowly peeled himself off the wall and flopped around for a while before draping over a nearby garbage can.

“God – I feel so FLAT!”

“You are!” slurred Don.

“Don’t ya mean – “You Do?””

“Nope, he was making a statement of fact Duke”, a stunned looking Davy slurred in agreement.

Flat Stanley“Waddya mean by that?” grunted Duke as he tried to push himself upright.

“Because you ARE flat” Don slurred more clearly.
“As a pancake” Duke clarified.

Duke looked down at himself, slowly turned his hands and arms around a bit, repeated the action on each of his legs and looked back at his two buddies, still sitting propped up against the alley wall.

“As paper…” his buddies screamed in unison when Duke momentarily disappeared from the waist up as he turned.

Silence gripped the alleyway as all three of them fainted.

Some hours later, when they woke up together, a trio of voices shouted “Hey Guys, I’ve just had the weirdest dream.”

The alleyway still looked as flat as they did.

The end.

My Turn

Okay… that’s hard to follow, but I’ll at least participate.  Here’s my spontaneous 3-D story.  But since I can…  I’m going to put the title at the end, to avoid spoilers.  Here goes…
1930s bedroom elaborate

“Well, Dinah…  It’s a little bit, I don’t know, Gothic looking,” Daisy said thoughtfully as she looked at a picture of a bedroom design her friend wanted to use.

Daisy actually thought the décor bordered on tacky, with all the ruffles and lace.  However, that kind of thing did suit her romanticizing friend.  She moved to a spot where the light was better.  The two young women had slipped into the copy room of the university’s Advanced Technologies lab.  It was the closest place to make a photocopy.

“Where did you find this photo?” Daisy wanted to know.

“It was in the research materials my cinematography professor let us use,” her friend replied.  “Oh I can’t afford to be late for class.  Give it back.  Let me just make a copy of it.  This machine looks like it’s already warmed up,” Dinah said as she put the photo into the machine.

“Cinematography?  Dinah, wasn’t your assignment in that class about a director named John Badham and Frank somebody-or-other?  Hang on a minute.  That’s not a copy machine!  It’s a 3-D printer.”

The lights flickered and went out as all the power was diverted to the 3-D printer.  The machine clicked and chugged.  With a groan it spat out a ruffled pillow.  Shrill whirring whistling sounds filled the room.  The printer shook and belched out a lacy curtain.

Smoke Blue Horizontal

“Turn it off!” Daisy cried, worried that the printer would explode with all the noise it was making.

Dinah frantically and repeatedly pressed the off button.  When that had no effect, she began to slap every button on the control panel.

“I can’t!  It won’t stop!” Dinah yelled above the noise.

The printer screeched and hissed.  Smoke filled the room.  The girls coughed and tried to see through the vapors as they felt their way toward the door.

The sound of soft footfalls reached their ears.

“Who’s there?” Dinah cried.

With the grace of a cat a dark silhouette strode toward them.

With a shaking voice Daisy whispered to her friend, “You don’t suppose that’s D—”

Dinah finished the name in a shaking voice, “Dracula?”

3-D Dracula

Daisy and Dinah Meet Dracula

The end.

Your Turn!

Okay, now it’s your turn.  Think 3-D and all the advancements, or all the science fiction, or even the goofy red and blue 3-D movie glasses.  Give your imagination freedom and leave a comment about 3-D.

Open Invitation

If this inspired you to just write something or otherwise create anything related to 3-D, that’s even better!  If you want, you can use the comments to leave a link to your story or blog post.  Kindly link back to this post if you blog about what you wrote, cooked, painted, or photographed.

Thank you from my heart for “coming out to play” at my party for the Chris Graham, The Story Reading Ape.  Drop by his tree house to say hello.

Mega hugs,


Copyright © 2016 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.