Excerpt

Take from first-draft of Subversive Helovxis (Book 6).

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Laxum woke with a start.

Chained to a chair made of sheet metal, all she could do was move her fingers and toes. Her hair was down, blanketing her shoulders, and she’d been stripped and put in a Femarctic male robe.

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Femitokon: Memory Kill

Dialog – Ch1: Fusada Kul and Fos Tis discuss Eppis Banto.

“You just don’t like her?” Tis asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “Since Fita went to Mynu, I feel like there’s an ocean between us. No matter how much I swim, I never get to her shore, and when Banto’s around, I feel like I’m drowning.”

“Bound to happen,” Tis shrugged. “Ozbi and I were close, but we grew apart when we went off to caste-training.”

“She’s not you,” I said. “Fita and I are one, Tis.”

Tis stared at me, I couldn’t figure out what she was thinking.

“It’s not just Banto,” I said. “My twin’s a brainer, but I’ve never been comfortable around them. The feeling’s mutual.”

“I’ve noticed,” Tis said. “They’re intimidated by you, because you talk better than the rest of us, you can match them in a conversation.”

I smiled at her, “Sofita said the same thing when we were donats.”

I’m Dead.

Posted at my personal blog –

On Tuesday morning my computer initiated a non-ordered recovery. 

It wrote over EVERYTHING on my computer – including Femitokon, the series of novels I’ve spent the last six years of my life writing.  It also wrote over Amazonomachy, the series I just started. I was an idiot and didn’t back up anything to a different drive or cloud.

After spending two days dealing with the fact that we were unable to salvage anything from the hard-drive, I’ve spent this Saturday night crying my ass off.  I’ve decided, in my anger and bitterness, to throw in the towel. 

I’ve notified the very gracious 47 North rep, and let him know I won’t be delivering a series to their imprint in 2014.

I’m a bit too demoralized at the moment to write a coherent entry.  I’m done.  It was cool while it lasted.  I won’t be blogging anymore, I likely won’t be on the net much anymore.  I’ve reached the point in my 42 year old life where I’m just too old for this shit.

-Tina Anderson

Right now, I want to fucking die. Everything I’ve written for this series since 2006 is gone, all of it.  Manuscripts, timelines, and character sheets.  My only saving grace is that I had the sense to put the bible on a wordpress blog; I’ll have to rewrite five of the eight novels I’d outlined from start to finish.  Worse? I had to tell the publisher interested in it, that I could not submit at this time.  Fuck.