Men in Tights, Wizards, and Other Legendry

3 weeks and a day ‘til the release of Outlaws 2.5, “Truly Great Words Never Die”! As you may have observed via the colorful new image over on my sidebar, the Kindle e-book is currently available for pre-order. And the advance reader copies went out to winners / volunteers / favored friends this past week.

…along with, I belatedly realized, a certain novel cover that I haven’t yet officially unveiled on the blog.

Men in Tights Fail Gif

Welp, there’s only one thing to be done about that: Let the official cover unveiling commence a bit earlier than planned. XD

Wizard Never Late Gif

Pretend this also goes for authors and their covers.

So, for those of you who haven’t already made it toward the end pages of an Outlaws 2.5 ARC … y’all ready for your first look at Outlaws of Avalon 3?!

The blurb:

Long ago: Hailed as heroes, killed as criminals, an extraordinary band of outlaws met their end in Sherwood Forest – all except the four who were supernaturally saved, and the one who did not exist. …Not yet.

Now: With Avalon Faire’s living legends finally free to move between the realms of magic and modernity, there’s no dream too fantastic to reach – including that kept alive by a secret society, awaiting only the right time, and the right minstrel, to rewrite history.

Just when the future seems brightest, the Merry Men find themselves thrust into the past, facing a second chance at the lives they might have lived … or the death they might not have the luck to cheat twice. For the otherworldly Allyn-a-Dale, it’s all in a day’s destiny. For an already struggling Will Scarlet, it’s a nightmare that may prove black enough to break him. And for the whole of the band, it’s anyone’s guess whether courage, cunning, and camaraderie can win out against their most infamous enemies: The Sheriff of Nottingham, Sir Guy of Gisborne, and – for once in eternity – Time.

The cover:

Legend cover 02, front

There it is, you guys. Courtesy of Lars and Milan van de Goor: The face of the third and final novel in the Outlaws of Avalon trilogy – aka, the books of my heart.

My Precious Gif

…aka, my preciousss

The book’s not coming out ‘til October, so don’t lemme start getting all up in my feelings about it just yet. For now, let’s just celebrate how marvelous the cover looks on this fine day that we’ll pretend I intended as Cover Reveal Day all along!

Men in Tights High Five Gif

London Rain

I was planning to blog today about this past Sunday – i.e., the day a local library held its awards ceremony for the creative writing contest in which I took 2nd place in my category. Buuut my time got eaten by writing other things, so we’ll recap the ceremony next week. As for today, it’s still National Poetry Month, so here – have a poem, inspired by one of my Pinterest boards.


London rain.

Water mirrors splashed across the street, holding the sky on the ground.

Look down, look up.


London fog.

City wrapped up snug in black and white and smudgy gray.

Make that grey. With an e. Like the earl.


London bridge.

Stretched across the Thames (I think).

(I hope) in no danger of falling down.


London clock.

Face up high, all round and glowing like the moon.

Likewise, the night’s timekeeper.


London red.

On the buses, double-decked. On the boxes, telephone.

Signage: Mind the gap.


London rain.

Slicking silver off umbrellas, filling air with petrichor, keeping company with those who walk the paths where Beatles tread, with Sherlock and his game afoot, where vampires slipped ‘tween gaslight shadows, Sweeney Todd sang dark revenge, never-grown-up boys flew star-ward and straight on ‘til morning, while a sword stood in an anvil on a stone awaiting kingly call…

Tales on tales, and worlds in worlds, all there beneath the watchful

Eye of London.

London Rain


Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 3

Today, for your reading pleasure, the conclusion of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 2, here.) Enjoy!


“Goodbye?” I cry. “You’re leaving the sky?”

The moon replies, I’m seriously considering it.

“But, the night!” I protest.

Can get along without me. There are still the stars, after all.

“But, the tides!”

I’ll find a replacement satellite. Your planet’s waters won’t know the difference.

“But… but…!” I’m running low on arguments. “What about me?”

The moon’s song turns sad. I know it will be hard

“Not hard,” I say. “Impossible. Some days, you’re my only light in the darkness. Some days, yours is the only beauty that can reach me. Without that… without you…” Tears ambush my eyes. “How can I last the night?

“Look. I get it. Burnout is a thing – even lunar burnout, apparently. Maybe the rhythm of the heavens is no better than the human rat race. Maybe you need a vacation. And you’re welcome to it! Hideout for a cycle or two. Make my attic your rehab retreat. But it can’t be forever. Please.”

Bawling seems a little more dramatic than I’d planned, but here we are. Blame it on the lateness of the hour. Everything’s awful at two a.m.

The moon’s soft light is like a stroking hand, attempting to soothe. Its music is all shushes and coos.

Suppose, it says at last, we can reach a compromise?

Compromise. Noun. That thing where nobody wins.

Suppose I leave the sky, it muses on, but not your sight?

I sniffle back another sob. “How would that even work?”

Open your eyes.

I do, and move to swipe the tears away, but the moon’s light stops me. It’s brighter than ever. Insistently so. More tears well up against the glare, but never get a chance to fall. The light is pushing back. Pushing… in.

“Personal spaaace!” I wail. “What are you doing?!”

I don’t get an answer. I rub at my eyes, and the huge glowing crescent is gone. Yet, the nighttime attic around me hasn’t dimmed.

A whisper inside says, Look in the window.

Not out the window. In.

There in the glass, my ghostly reflection. And there in my eyes…


Part 3’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board –

To carry with you, says the whisper, through the dark. I will not leave you, my child.

“Wow,” I say, because wow. “But… what about finding that replacement satellite?”

The whisper sounds like some extraterrestrial cuss. Maybe it’s not too late to get a message to Pluto and Charon. Up on the roof, love, and blink exactly as I tell you

For the end of the story, this seems an awful lot like an incredible beginning.


Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 2

Today, for your reading pleasure, the continuation of a short story written by yours truly. (Part 1, here; Part 3, coming later this week.) Enjoy!


“Why on Earth is the moon in my attic?”

I don’t expect an answer, given that I don’t expect the moon can talk.

But it can. And does. Not in English, or even in words, but in… well, I guess it would be best described as music.

It says something like hello, and sorry to have disturbed you. I gather that it hadn’t intended to introduce itself until morning.

“Oh, that’s all right,” I say, because polite, inoffensive lies are my conversational default. One day I’ll slip up and tell someone what I really think, and then the world will end.

Truth is, I’m not terribly upset to find the moon in my house. Is this in any way logical? No. Can the ramifications of this event be anything short of disastrous? Likely not. Should I be contacting somebody about this? I don’t know who, but probably yeah.

But the moon knows me. I hear my name in its song.

And I know the moon. Sort of.

In one sense, it’s like a favorite celebrity. I know the moon’s stats. I can list its achievements. I recognize its face every time it shows up in pictures.

In another sense, it’s like an old friend. The sight or thought of the moon warms my heart. I feel the love in its light. It’s just always been there, the way family is.

The shining crescent says, Because family is what we are.

Part 2’s inspiration, as seen on the “Sun’s Rival”-inspired #ISeeYou Pinterest board –

Confusion contorts my face. “Biological?”

It laughs. Nothing so Earthly as that. But you hold a part of me. And so you are my child.

I’m somewhere between touched and giddy. “That’s… special. But why are you here?”

The moon’s music sighs. I am old and tired and thin.

“Like a hobbit spread over too much bread?” I’m pretty sure that’s not quite the quote, but I’m tired, too, if not so old. My head’s too full of missing my pillow to bother with first-rate Tolkien references.

Like a moon, it says, with too many phases behind it. Wax and wane, wax and wane… I haven’t the will to grow full again.

So I’ve come down to tell you goodbye.


Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Moon in the Attic, Part 1

Today, for your reading pleasure, the first part of a short story written by yours truly. (Parts 2 and 3 to come later this week.) Enjoy!


It’s times like these I wish I had a husband.

I’ve told myself I’m not the marrying kind. That my need for solitude and personal space far outweighs my sometimes-desire for romance. That I’d have no hope of a good night’s sleep if I had to share a bed, particularly if my bedmate were known to snore. Or even breathe loudly. Or touch me.

On the other hand, unexplained rustles and thumps in the attic don’t do much toward a restful night, either.

It’s probably burglars. Murdering ones. Or raccoons. Zombie ones. Or a spider of unearthly proportions.

I’m going to die tonight.

Had I a husband, I’d send him up with a broom or a BB gun to take care of whatever unholy pest has come to plague our home. Instead, it’s single, sleepless little me up those stairs. Clutched in my hands, a sizeable stick. Jammed on my head, my Adventure Hat. (Or, for tonight’s purposes, my Guard My Hair From Cobwebs ‘n’ Such Hat.) Tingling in my veins, a potent form of chronic anxiety that can morph into berserker rage at need. …Or anytime I’m harassed by a housefly.

Every dusty step creaks beneath me. Every breath contains a whispered whimper. Have I lived my best life? Have I any regrets? It’s not actually too late to go back downstairs and just burn the house to the ground…

I reach the trapdoor to the uppermost story, and heaven above, there’s a weird glow shining through the cracks. Bright white light, bordering on blue. Not zombie raccoons at all, then. Mutant raccoons. From space.

Therefore, not a spider! That’s some comfort, at least. Feeling slightly less terrified, I push open the door, and…

That is the moon.

That is the moon.

The moon.

Is in.

My attic.

The story’s inspiration.


Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha – including my latest release, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale (The Outlaws of Avalon, Book 2)”. Already read it? I’d greatly appreciate your review!

The Ballad of the Scarlet Scarf

Once upon a time, an author received some Christmas cash from a kindly old relative.

“Make sure to spend it on something special,” the K.O.R. stipulated – which, as far as the author was concerned, usually translated into “new books, hooray!

But books are not the only special thing, and so the author determined to keep her mind open for a truly out-of-the-ordinary treat.

And that author – *solemn nods* – was me.


And that truly out-of-the-ordinary treat was to be found on, a shop dedicated to taking something special – books – and making it into something more – books’ insides on t-shirts, totes, and scarves!

The titles to choose from were many, but I knew right away what I wanted: An infinity scarf featuring the text from Howard Pyle’s “The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood”.

Will Scarlet was likewise excited. “HECK YEAH, my name around your neck! And Allyn’s, spelled wrong! :D”

The order was placed; the scarf printed, shipped, and delivered; the package opened and delighted over and—

“Wait,” said Will, inspecting the scarf line by line, first on one side, then the other, then both all over again. “It’s not there. My name’s not there.”

For the scarf’s text had started at the book’s beginning, and there was not space to print the whole. It stopped after the first 30 thousand words or so – some way before the chapters introducing Will and Allyn.

Will was devastated.


A short while of his weeping and lying catatonic later, he sprung into action. “Quick, back to the website! Check their exchange policy!”

The policy declared it was all about 100% satisfaction – which, with Will this heartsick over being left off my scarf, we could not be said to have attained. So I mailed it back, and on the online returns/exchanges form spake thus:

While I have no complaint regarding the scarf’s quality (it’s lovely), I* was keenly disappointed to see that my most beloved passage from Howard Pyle’s “The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood” was nowhere to be found thereon. So I would like to exchange this scarf for another in the same style, but this time featuring Part Fourth, Chapter One – Robin Hood and Allan a Dale**.

*(cough) I may have left the details re: my emotional character friend out of it.

**Aka, a key inspiration behind the happenings of the newly released Outlaws of Avalon 2, “The Marriage of Allyn-a-Dale”. ^o^

The Litographs rep who replied (shout-out to Jack) most graciously informed me that they were unable to just start printing from somewhere in the middle of a book.

“Customize!” Will hollered in my head, because there was the option to order a (moderately more expensive) custom scarf, on which could be printed whichever approx. 30K-word text I uploaded, provided the words were either owned by me (no) or in the public domain (yes!).

Me: “Would that work?”

Jack the Repper: “Sure thing! Here’s a refund for your first scarf, and a link to Project Gutenberg, which may well have the text you seek, saving you the time and trouble of typing it all out yourself.”

…Which, for Will Scarlet, I would have done, if necessary. But happy days, Project Gutenberg had the book’s text online, requiring of me only a little basic copy/pasting.

Fast-forward a few days, to when this new-and-improved beauty arrived…


…to much Scarlet rejoicing.

*James Madison voice* “HIGHLIGHTS!”

*James Madison voice* “HIGHLIGHTS!”

Now I’ve got my Merry Minstrel’s Pyle-told tale in three editions – two hardcover books, and a scarf!


“What,” Allyn murmurs, “you couldn’t have changed the spelling from ‘Allen’ to ‘Allyn’ when preparing your custom text upload?”



The scarf is perfect, shut up.