III Progress Report

As the Kenny Rogers and The First Edition song released in 1968 goes, I Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In).

Between shoveling snow here in northwest Pennsylvania and working on the third book of the Ridgewood Chronicles, I haven’t been blogging like I should. Plus, there’s the holiday shopping and planning my wife’s birthday this week. Lots to do before I can settle down for my long winter’s nap.

I’d planned to have the third book finished by Christmas, but I missed a few deadlines. So, I’ve moved it to January. The cover is done, and the body is in its final draft. I have a proofreader going over it right now. It would be nice to have a team of beta readers, but I didn’t put it on my Christmas wish list this year.

Coming in at around 35,000 words, the book features Vree Erickson in three short stories that include her aunt Emily Umberto, her neighbor Lenny Stevens, and her mom Karrie Erickson. Each story involves a special magic medallion that gives Vree a task to complete. If she succeeds with the three, she can get her witch powers on her sixteenth birthday.

The center of the medallion is a compass with the Roman numeral III in the center. The middle I is elongated and serves as the compass’s needle. Each I vanishes when she completes a task.

The first story features Rook Tricksters that possess Vree’s home. In the second story, the Council of Witchcraft and Magic turn Vree into a mermaid to rescue a long-lost fairy from a castle that appears for one hour at midnight on Christmas on the bottom of Alice Lake. And in the third, a warlock abducts Vree because he thinks he can activate her magic healing powers to heal him. But that’s not the task Vree needs to complete. The medallion takes her to a creature imprisoned in time by a mistake.

Here is a quick sample of that third story:

The figure shuddered violently, its limbs spasming as the collar’s light pulsed in time with the medallion’s heat in my palm.

The veins above us let out a sound—not rustling, not creaking, but a low, guttural moan, like a wounded animal. One tendril lashed out, whipping past my face close enough that I felt the damp, metallic breath of it against my cheek.

The thing’s head tilted further forward, impossibly further, looking down until its featureless face pointed straight at me. The collar’s veins flared again, and this time, I felt it—a tug deep in my ribs, like something inside me was being reeled in.

Aunt Emily reached up abruptly, her fingers dripping with that thick, violet light. It clung to her skin, crawling down her wrist in tendrils of its own. “Vree,” she said, and her voice was different—older, wearier, like she’d aged a decade in seconds. “The medallion isn’t just a compass. It’s a tether.” The inky light writhed around her stained hands, forming shapes—numbers, maybe, or runes—before dissolving. “And this.” She gestured to the thing, now twitching violently in its suspension. “This is what happens when you cut one.”

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Thanks for joining me for this look at III.

Hopefully, I won’t have to shovel any snow this week. (Knock on a wooden snowman.)

Peace and love, everyone, and wishing you the happiest of holidays.

Steve, 12/21/2025

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This post “III Progress Report” copyright © 2025 Steven Leo Campbell at stevecampbellcreations.com – All rights reserved.

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