9 posts tagged “nanowrimo”
I'm struggling with the gore quotient. I think maybe there should be more of an ew factor. Maybe. I don't know. It is the first killing of the book, and there will be plenty of time later to get really nasty. I think maybe first violence should be like first lovemaking: quick, awkward, and not really what you expected.
Hm.
WARNING: someone gets gutted. Seriously. Don't read if you don't like violence/tension/people doing gross things.
* * *
"Lady? Do you need a hand?" The man that spoke tapped Anaya on her elbow, nearly making her jump. She hadn't seen him. Her hand reflexively closed around the hilt of the awl.
I'm used to holding a knife, Anaya realized with a start. The thought made her nervous.
"I'm quite all right, but thank you," Anaya replied. She was now standing with her shoulder resting against the wall. The man, who was tall, thin and pale, was leaning over her. He had a bone-thin face, dark slanted eyes and what Anaya could only think of as a leering skull grin.
"But, Lady, you are struggling."
"I am really all right," Anaya repeated. All of her nerves were screaming for her to be away from him as quickly as possible. She couldn't say why- nothing about his features or bearing really annotated a threat. Yet, on some primal level everything about him was threatening. His features might be thin, but on a different man they wouldn't evoke the thoughts that Anaya was having of skeletons barely coated in rotting flesh.
The man held out his hand to her. "I'm Saul."
"Anaya," Anaya said. She did not shake his hand.
"Oh, cold," Saul said. "I see you didn't lose the stick up your ass when you lost your wings."
Anaya's blood ran cold. "Excuse me?"
"Your biggest flaw always was your pride. Would it have killed you to shake my hand? To be civil?"
"I am being perfectly civil," Anaya said. She immediately wondered why she was being so defensive.
"Sure." Saul leaned back and crossed his arms. "I'll let you pass. See, that's being nice." Saul motioned to the empty hallway. Anaya leaned on her crutch and worked her way past him and to her room. They'd given her the last room in the hall. Outside her door was a second lobby, a simple room with only two chairs, a rickety table and a water cask. A fading plant graced the door to the wrap-around porch, a single sun bulb lighting the plant and the room in a yawning yellow glow. Anaya looked longingly at the bulb before letting herself in to her room. She looked over to see Saul standing perfectly still, staring at her as she closed the door.
Anaya locked the door and chained it shut across the top. She had to struggle with her crutch to reach high enough- the doorway seemed tauntingly high. She sat down at her night table and poured herself a cup of water, replaying the last few moments over and over in her head. Saul had spoken about her wings, and about her personality. Those two facts seemed to say that he knew her somehow. But he'd introduced himself, so either they never had really met or he'd known to expect that she'd gone blank.
Interesting.
Anaya sipped her water slowly, mulling over the details. She'd felt so defensive. Why? Had her body recognized him and known he was a threat? Did she know him? That was the important question. Did she know him? Could she remember anything about him? Anaya closed her eyes and struggled to summon up any detail that could help her. Did she know him?
Anaya couldn't be sure. Okay, so that was done. What next? What should she do? Was he a local boy or another guest in the inn? Was he known, trusted, by anyone here? Should she go out and inquire about him? If she did, and someone asked why, what would she say? What could she say? Simply that she met him, and he interested her. No, she couldn't say that. That endowed too much importance to him.
Yet, he was important, because he may or may not be a threat. "May or may not be a threat," Anaya said out loud. "May, or may not, be a threat."
A threat, a threat, echoed throughout the room.
Blood red eyes stared at Anaya from across the table. She jumped in her seat and tried to back up.
"Oh, don't worry," a cold voice said.
Don't worry, don't worry...
"Who are you? What are you doing in my room?"
My room, my room...
"I'm just here to lend moral support," the creature said.
"Support?"
"Your sins have come back to haunt you."
Haunt you, haunt you...
"I have no idea of what you speak."
You speak, you speak...
"You will," the creature said, and disappeared.
Anaya sat for a moment, and then instinct took over. She stood, moved to the door, struggled to unchain it, and walked out of the room. Her crutch banged against the floor with a staccato beat. Anaya looked around, seeing Saul nowhere. She looked out the side and back entryway, the kitchen, everywhere. People said hello and she responded in kind. A few people asked what she was doing, and she simply told them that she was practicing walking with the crutch.
All Anaya knew was that she had to find Saul, and she had to find him immediately. He wasn't in the common room or outside the inn. He didn't appear to be anywhere. Anaya gave up in frustration and went back to her room.
Saul was reclining casually on her bed.
Anaya stood stock still. The crutch was under her left arm, her right hand grasped the awl. Her muscles tightened until they sung with anticipation. She suddenly felt that she could fling herself on to the bed despite the six feet between her and it. She could stake Saul through his heart before he even sat up.
Why are you thinking that way? Anaya asked herself, promptly answered by, why are you questioning?
Saul smiled tantalizingly. "I knew you would search for me," he said. "I knew you would want me."
"I don't want you."
"But you do. You want to know who I am and who you are, and you have to ask. You have to."
"I don't," Anaya said. After a pause she added, "and I won't."
"Then why look? Why want? Why need?"
"What makes you think that any of those things are true?"
"I don't think. I know."
I know, I know, the ghost chorus answered.
Saul's eyes were glowing red. "You are so small, so pitiful. I hardly think that it's worth bothering with you."
"Leave, then. Go."
"No, no, no," Saul said.
No, no, no, no, no, no...
Anaya closed her eyes and reopened them slowly. "Leave my room."
My room, my room...
"Still handing out orders like favors, are you?"
Are you, are you...
Anaya's blood kept growing colder and colder. "You will leave," she said.
"NO." Saul spat out the word with a furiousness that left Anaya in shock. He shot out of bed and crossed the space between them so quickly that Anaya had no time to react. He leaned in to her, forcing her against the wall with a loud smack. Her crutch jittered and fell out of her grip. It hit the floor and bounced, gonging hollowly.
Anaya shivered and tried not to shrink back. She didn't want to be dominated. "This is unacceptable," she said.
Saul laughed and leaned closer. "Oh, really? What do you plan to do to me?"
To me, to me...
"Leave," she said.
"No," he replied. Now he touched her. One hand was against her cheek, the other moved up from her waist to her chest, baring her pale skin. She shuddered and flinched away. He laughed, leaning even closer. "Come, now, bright one, what will you do? Aren't you going to fight?"
Fight, fight...
Red filled her vision. The awl was still clenched in her right hand, it's solidity reassuring. It wasn't a knife, but Anaya knew with cold certainty that it would be as good as any knife if she needed it to be. "Back away," she said darkly.
Saul couldn't possibly have leaned any closer, his body was already fully pressing against hers. He said nothing in reply, he simply turned his face towards her neck and licked her.
Anaya reacted without thought. Her right hand pulled the awl free of her pocket while her left hand propelled her off of the wall. Saul lost balance and staggered back. As soon as his body left contact with hers, Anaya leaned back and punched her right hand forward. The awl connected with Saul's body pointed end first. The impact both disgusted and enthralled her. The awl ripped through him like cloth. For some reason she had expected his body to be more solid.
Anaya didn't fully realize what she'd done until she saw the blood. Saul was laying on the floor in a crooked C, one hand limply over his stomach. His mouth worked wordlessly, his breath sounded strangely airy. Something dark and misshapen was falling out of his stomach on to the floor.
Oh my Lord, Anaya thought, I've gutted him. I've gutted him.
Anaya ran from the room as quickly as her twisted ankle would allow.
I realized, very suddenly, that I'm having issues with pacing. It's not particularly troublesome, but when I was talking with my husband about the story I got hit upside the head with a proverbial two-by-four. He pointed out that for the continuity of the metaphor I should change which characters I kill off, and that I should think about moving some things I had planned for a further novel back in to this one.
Harumph.
So now I have to think- who do I want to have live? I was already axing one of my favorite characters. Now I realize it could be far more compelling to save her, and to move someone else out, and to do all of this crazy stuff. Hm. I don't want to go in to detail because I wouldn't want to ruin the story for those of you who are looking forward to having a solid novel in your hands- but it does raise some issues. For example: If Auderon is metaphorically someone like a King David- does he come with intrinsic flaws? How far do I carry the metaphor? In my mind he represented the government we give ourselves in place of a spiritual discipline. In that case, if the literal return of light at the end of the novel represents a return to spirituality, then should the natural government be usurped? As an analogous event it makes sense- but I like Auderon.
Okay. SPOILERS AHEAD:
I MEAN IT. SPOILERS.
STOP READING IF YOU HATE KNOWING WHAT (possibly) IS IN STORE
I had originally planned for Zantra to have an affair, and for her to end up dying as a result and leaving Dachae to raise her children, with thoughts of possibly Dachae becoming Queen in the second novel of the series. Now I'm thinking, God, I don't know.
I'm thinking that Auderon is usurped by the man with whom Zantra would have an affair. This actually sort of makes sense. Zantra would be Queen, and would have moved the Queen Mother out of the picture. Then Auderon is usurped by the council because of this and that thing, and Helles (Zantra's squeeze) takes his place. Zantra is pregnant with Auderon's baby and induces labor secretly and sends the baby away with Dachae so that the baby's life won't be at risk.
Maybe Zantra still dies.
Then I'm thinking, in the second book, you'd have Helles in the castle, but the entire country would be erupting into something like anarchy or tribal rule (Husband's idea) with maybe a threat of attack from the border lands- now you'd have Auderon and Dachae and Zantra's baby somewhere- they could be worked into the storyline- as well as the remnant's of Anaya's party- who would have INCREDIBLE psychological power because they were the ones responsible for the return of the light.
It could be an interesting tale. Perhaps more interesting than the one I'm writing now. It makes a few minor characters more important- like Helles, who was mostly important because of things that have to do with the past century storyline. He actually makes more sense this way. It also creates great unrest in the lands that Anaya would be traveling through, which adds more interest because then she would also have to cope with anarchy and warring factions when people protested the change of king.
It draws a cool analogy between past and present events.
My major issue? It screws with my favorite character. I adore Auderon. He is so flawed, and strong, and good, and flawed, and I love him being King. I'd miss him if he had to go poof halfway through the book. It just sucks, because the storyline MAKES MORE SENSE if he's deposed.
Gah. I hate writing sometimes.
I'm really happy with how this bit turned out. I'm changing a lot in the way the story is presented. When I wrote it originally, I wrote it with the past storyline introducing each chapter. I may start doing that at some point, actually. This time around I decided to mix it up a little. I originally made Anaya's character become slowly self aware, so that thirty or so pages in she knew exactly who she was and what she was there for. She didn't tell any of the other characters- but she knew and they knew that she knew. The mystery was then left to the reader to sort out. What exactly happened 100 years ago, and what exactly was this mystery woman going to do to fix it now?
While going through the process of writing it all out this time around, I discovered a few things.
- Any reader with half a brain will sort it all out fairly quickly. If not the exact details, at least the gist.
- Given point 1- trying to be mysterious makes me look cocky and makes the reader feel like I must think he or she is dumb.
- Any reader that doesn't suss it out on his or her own will still enjoy things without me spelling it out to them.
- Given the about three points, it's more fun to let the reader feel more knowledgeable than the characters.
- The story is much more suspenseful and interesting if the protagonist is NOT all knowing, is confused and scared and therefore must have her bravery tested
- It is heart poundingly good when the protagonist is given flashes of clarity and then thrown back in to the darkness
- Sex is GOOD. Not bad. Sex, when used like a weapon or dangled like a carrot on a stick, can add a lot to a story.
Anyway, back to introducing this excerpt. Um, here's the excerpt?
* * *
Anaya lay in bed, asleep. At first she felt like she was waking. Then, slowly, she realized that she was dreaming. In her dream she was sleeping in a much more comfortable bed. She was laying on her stomach, face turned to the side. She could feel something pressed up against her like a blanket. Were those feathers? Anaya tried to sit up but was blocked by searing pain.
Remember the height from which you have fallen, a voice said.
Anaya looked around to see a woman kneeling at her side. The woman put her hand to Anaya's face and stroked it gently.
To see you laying here broken, the woman spoke, her skin glowing softly. Her mouth didn't move, but Anaya could hear her clearly.
"Poiema," Anaya whispered.
The woman nodded. I am ridiculous to risk visiting you again, her voice whispered in Anaya's mind. I had to give you this memory.
Anaya looked up and suddenly saw a mirror suspended by her bed. At first all she saw was her own face. It was not so different from the fact she currently wore. Thin, high cheekbones, jade green eyes. Her hair was crowned with short cropped dark red hair. It was not nearly so light and curled as the hair Anaya remembered seeing earlier in the day. It was hard to tell if it could be the same. Anaya also recognized her long thin figure, not particularly short or tall. Anaya was only slightly startled by her musculature- there did not seem to be an ounce of fat on her body. Her breasts were small and hard.
No, what surprised her the most were the huge white wings sprouting from her back.
Anaya covered her mouth with one hand, and then noticed the man laying beside her in bed. Breathing, and alive, not covered in blood. He looked less like Brendon than Anaya had initially thought. This man was still very young and vital, his hair untouched by gray and his face unlined. He lay there, beside her, naked, a few stray feathers pressed against his naked flesh. He stirred and opened his eyes. "Sun," he said.
Anaya felt coldness in her belly as she realized he was addressing her. "I'm here," she said softly.
"It's light out," the man said.
Anaya looked around and realized what he said was true. The sun was already arching in to the sky, and out of her window she could look down the side of the mountain out over the country. She recognized the place- this was Kalle Peak, and for her to have this view she must be in Luminare, in the castle. She was looking over the city of Light, down over the expanse of the combined lands. Everything looked lush and green, it must be spring time.
"Yes," Anaya said, "it is light out."
"You shouldn't be in bed, you need to prepare."
"I do?" Anaya asked.
"You're married tonight," the man said. "You can't have forgotten."
Anaya was suddenly awake. The darkness had never seemed so complete. She sat up in bed and felt the blankets beside her. She wanted desperately to see that man there, beside her. She wanted the warmth of his naked flesh, to run her fingers through his sandy hair and to pluck the feather from behind his ear. She saw a shadow of herself in the mirror and felt the ridged scars on her back, where her wings should have been.
"He called me Sun," she said, and with that name she tasted just the slightest bit of who she should have been. Nothing made any more sense than it did a moment ago, of that Anaya was sure. All she knew was that now she had a memory in which to anchor herself. A memory of her lover, alive.
In Honor of my post-vacation conquering of fear and opening the document up again. I do have issues with the way the story is going, but this particular scene came together rather nicely. I actually *gasp* like it a little. I think it may be my growing fondness for Anaya and Brendon and the fact that they will be going through so much together, but, well, I like it. So, Toe-Knee, shellakers, et. all, here's the snack you've been requesting!
* * *
Anaya didn’t like meat. The realization struck her with an alarming suddenness. She had put a piece of stewed beef in her mouth and started chewing. Suddenly it tasted like blood and she spat it back on to her plate. Her actions alarmed her. As soon as the meat was out of her mouth she realized that the smell was making her ill. It seemed to be filling her nostrils, tendrils of odor reaching back into her head like sticky fingers, assaulting her brain. Anaya covered her mouth, stood, and practically ran back to her room. Brendon watched her curiously, but made no move to immediately follow. Anaya didn’t know what to think. Did he like her or not? Did he care about her wellbeing or not? All of his moods were maddening. How could he put his arm around her one moment and then ignore her illness the next?
Anaya lay on her bed, quietly raging at him. She raged at this dank town, the itchy clothes she was wearing, the smell of meat that seemed to have followed her in to her room to keep up its assault on her senses. Anaya sighed and started running things over in her head, just to see if she could fit the world in to some kind of reasonable order. Brendon, she thought. Perhaps there was some kind of method to his madness. Maybe he really was testing her, testing what she wanted from him.
If that was what he was doing, she really had to figure it out for herself. What did she want from him?
It’s nothing, she told herself. He’s just the first flesh and blood person you remember seeing, and that has some kind of significance to you. You want, no, you need for him to be good, so that you can have faith in the world.
The sound of cold laughter filled Anaya’s head. She looked around, startled, to see a dark figure hovering outside her window. Cold red eyes glinted at her. Anaya’s breath caught in her throat.
“Lady,” Brendon said, knocking on her door. “If you are done relieving yourself of your dinner, I’d like to talk.”
The red eyes disappeared. Anaya forced her breath to slow and went to the door. She closed her eyes as she opened it, at first afraid to look at Brendon. He was standing there, very still, his hand on the hilt of the knife he wore at his side. Anaya realized that she had never noticed it before. Anaya breathed out slowly and said, “I doubt I’ll need to vomit more.”
Brendon smiled. “May I enter?”
“Won’t being here with me, alone, somehow tarnish your reputation?”
Brendon chuckled. “If anything it would enhance it.”
Anay rolled her eyes and stepped away from the door so he could enter. “Speak. Quickly. I find myself without the patience for long conversations.”
“I’m glad you can’t stomach meat,” Brendon said. “That was the problem, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. The smell, the texture…” Anaya wrinkled her nose. “Totally abhorrent.”
“Just don’t use those words with Marcella. She wouldn’t take lightly to her food being abhorrent.” Brendon sat on the edge of Anaya’s bed. “Some people come out of the woods with a thirst for blood and raw meat,” he said. “So it comes as a relief that you do not. You have been less touched by the darkness. I think that everyone here will sleep better without visions of you coming in to their rooms at night to slit their wrists and drink their blood.”
Anaya stood very still. “That happens?”
“More often than anyone is comfortable with,” Brendon said. “It’s been some time since anyone in our town has died. We tend to be… careful with the blanks, I would say.”
“What does that mean?”
“Locking them in to their rooms at night, making sure they have rooms with no windows or way to exit. Sometimes the more sketchy ones have their drinks drugged. The really, really crazed ones are locked in to the jail. You seemed to be calm and collected enough, but even so one can never be sure. Sudden fits of rage or battles for attention, sudden silence or distraction, need for dominance… they can all be signs.”
“Or if one were to walk into the kitchens and gnaw on a raw hank of meat.” Anaya laughed lightly and sat down on a chair.
“If only it were that simple.” Brendon smiled, “I was worried for a moment, but you seem to have come around. I wouldn’t be too worried now. We will leave your door unlocked.”
“So your erratic behavior- were you seeing if I would grow angry?”
“Yes. And you didn’t.” Brendon shrugged, “I must apologize. I didn’t want to make it too obvious. I was afraid that if you were crafty enough you may realize.”
Anaya nodded, “but you are no longer worried?”
“No.”
“Is this what you do with every blank?”
“It differs. You were special.”
“Why?”
“Have you already forgotten the blood?”
Anaya hadn’t. The blood still seemed to be in her mouth, under her fingernails. It sat in a corner of her mind, taunting her to decipher what it meant. It pooled under the face of the man in her dreams. It seemed to say something, silently. When Anaya closed her eyes, the words seemed to be there, silent, struggling to be heard. There was more to everything, there had to be! Anaya just didn’t know what.
I am finicky and changeable. I understand those to be widely considered "feminine" attributes. Whatever.
All I know is that I now have 15,000 words and I'm angst ridden because 1) other people are writing more than me and 2) I hate about half of what I've written but can't afford to backtrack right now.
Plus, I'm bitter because the passages I REALLY want to write are further down the line. I'm thinking of glossing over the current section (who needs to develop their mental picture of the main two anyway? Puh-leaze. Bo-ring.) and just skipping to the fun blood and gore parts.
BLOOD! GORE! BURNING CITIES TO THE GROUND! That's why I chose this storyline, right? The action? The gristle and guts and mayhem and madness? Oh, wait, it was because of the lovely symbolism. Heh. SCREW symbolism! I want to rip out someone's still beating heart and make them lick it.
I need more time to write. And sleep. Those things are mutually exclusive, right?
I have word count envy. I'm so pitiful.
That's all.
I'll feeling better once I introduce the vampires and the antagonist gets gutted with a wooden awl. Yikes. I'm looking forward to that. I need my head examined.
Today is a splendid day. I woke up early so I could write before the kids were out of bed. I banged out 3,083 words of my NaNovel and it felt wonderful. Great. I feel more confident writing this story than I have in the past, and while parts of it feel awkward and forced, it's nothing that editing can't help.
Today's work to follow:
be warned. I haven't read over it AT ALL. I'm sure there are HUGE errors. That is part of NaNoWriMo.
* * *
At first there was an absence of noise. Not silence. This was worse than mere silence. She struggled to open her eyes before realizing that they were already opened. There was a total absence of light as well. She lay on the ground, writhing, struggling to feel. Her body felt broken and strange. She ran her fingers over smooth limbs. Noises were starting to expose themselves. A steady drip, drip, drip. The sucking sound of animal feet pulling in and out of the sodden ground. A call, here and there, like birds singing out to each other.
There were no birds here, of that she was sure.
Memory seemed clearer than reality. She could remember fire, the taste of blood like iron in her mouth. She remembered feelings of loss and hopelessness, so strong that a keening wail rose in her throat. The wail broke through the quiet like a mortar through a wall. The strength of her voice amazed and horrified her. She broke the wail off, suddenly, without letting it die naturally.
Silence fell again, broken only by the steady dripping and her own muffled sobs.
She lay, naked, covered in black grime. She shivered and shook, thin pale hands scrabbling at her skin. She was realizing now that she could see. She was out in the woods some where, far from any light or signs of people. She was naked and cold.
She had absolutely no idea who she was, where she was, or why she was.
She pulled herself to a sitting position, examining her bone-white hands, thin feet, slightly muscled arms and legs. She felt at her face. This body seemed so unfamiliar. She remembered herself as taller, thinner, darker. When did she become so small? So easily broken? So frail?
"Who am I?" She asked the darkness.
The darkness answered back:
Am I, am I, am I...
The woman jumped, startled. "Who are you?"
Are you, are you, are you...
Memory suddenly fell like a veil over the present. She saw a bright, green wood, a man's body fallen on the ground, blood spreading like a pool. Again she screamed, this time letting the wail die it's natural death. It trailed down to a fresh bout of sobbing. If only she could remember who she was and how she had gotten to this place.
The woods here were bare of leaves, black and murky. Everything seemed painted with gray and brown and rot. It seemed like the waiting room for the dead, the way she'd imagined it when she was a small child. Was she dead?
"Am I dead?" She asked the night.
Dead, dead, dead, was the reply.
"Who was he?"
Was he, was he, was he...
"Is he dead?"
Dead, dead, dead, echoed out again.
Yes, the woman thought, I must be dead. I must not be able to remember who are what or why I am, because I am still in shock from my own death. Only these woods seemed to solid and real to be the woods of the netherworld, and her own body felt too solid and real to be a spiritual one.
So what was happening? What was this?
The woman struggled to her feet. Her legs shook uncontrollably, unsure of themselves. She fell back to the muddy ground with a resounding smack. Laughter rang out in the woods. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn't the one laughing. Her body curled back on itself by instinct. She looked around, searching for any sign of who might be there. The sky was dark, there was no moon or stars to help her.
There was no sign of anything at all.
Then, slowly, black seemed to separate from black. Thin creatures seemed to be moving. Forward and backward, side to side, they moved so quickly her eyes couldn't seem to focus on them. Her eyes couldn't focus, that was, until bright red points started shining in the darkness. The creatures were looking back at her.
"Who are you?" She called out.
Are you, are you, are you...
"Why are you doing this to me?"
To me, to me, to me...
One figure seemed to separate from the others. It moved towards her, slowly and slickly. It spoke with a voice that was clearly audible. Dark, like oil, darkly this figure glimmered. "My, how the mighty have fallen," he said.
"Who are you," the woman said. It was not a question so much as a statement of her own confusion.
"I am what I am," the figure replied. "I am here to watch your triumphant return. Though, might I say, dear heart, that triumph isn't generally naked in the mud. I would have expected angels to fly you down to the earth, yourself dressed in silk and diamonds, with a halo of white-hot gold. Perhaps the heavens are not pleased with your performance?"
"I have no idea-"
"Of that which I speak," the voice said.
I speak, I speak, I speak, the multitudes affirmed.
The woman stared helplessly at her dirty hands. "Can you tell me who I am?"
"Oh, could I!" The figure laughed, "I could sing you a thousand songs and dance a thousand dances about who you were, but all I care about is what you have become. Small, weak, nameless, and left alone for me to glory over."
Glory over, glory over, glory over...
The woman forced herself back to her feet. "I will not sit here to be mocked by the darkness!"
The darkness, the darkness, the darkness...
"But, dear heart, you have no choice!"
No choice, no choice, no choice...
Anger welled up inside the woman. Harsh and powerful, it blocked out all thought. It coursed through her veins, heating her cold skin. The taste of iron returned to her mouth, swelling up behind her eyes, obliterating her vision. All she saw was red.
The figure laughed at her, "angry, child?" He asked, "do you want to hurt me?"
Hurt me, hurt me, hurt me...
"Stay with it," he said. "Stay with that anger. Stay with that pain, feed it to me!"
To me, to me, to me...
Again she looked at her dirty hands. Suddenly she was struck by the fact that it was not mud she was covered in.
It was blood.
The iron taste in her mouth kept growing stronger and stronger. Her legs were shaking. Her head was cloudy. All she could see was that man, that man in the meadow, covered in blood. This was his blood. His blood.
"His blood," she said.
His blood, his blood, his blood...
Suddenly she was alone. Completely alone. The woman looked around, feeling small and pitiful and scared. She had to find clothes to wear, food to eat, some kind of shelter. She could tell that this was not a world where one should ever be alone.
She ran.
*
Zantra sat on her balcony, hands folded delicately in her lap. She looked out over the darkness with tired eyes. Soon she would be summoned for tea with the Queen Mother. She would have to pretend to be shy and unassuming. She would have to laugh at stupid jokes and gossip like a child and pretend to care to learn all of the ins and outs of court intrigue. Right now, in the silence, she could look over the lights of the city and feel some kind of peace.
Peace, blended with horror.
In a few months she would be sitting here, looking out, and she would be the Queen. She would be observing her minions. The thought made her want to scream. For the rest of her life, she would live in the darkness. A darkness of the soul, a darkness of the morals, but also the literal darkness. For over a hundred years the city of Dechi and the surrounding land had been shrouded in darkness.
A hundred years ago was the golden age of Ayre. The lands of Eludel, Lauo, Maar, and Dunhaven had come together under the rule of Asunmae Dechi. That was the time of the Betrayal. The Prophecy of Betrayal came true.
A woman stands
In the Garden of Light
Sheds the Blood of the Beloved
And Dark covers the Land
People had said those words for ages. They stood as a warning to young women about to marry. Don't let your anger conquer you, or you will live in darkness. Their origin had been all but forgotten, until Asunmae Dechi's betrothed was killed on the day of their marriage, and the world fell into darkness.
The Caer, the creatures of darkness, came into the land. They blotted out the sun. The people of light, the Elirii, fled. There were pockets of light, here and there. The town where Zantra had been raised was one of them. Those were places where the Elirii were still revered. Where people believed that the prophecy of Betrayal was an incomplete teaching. They spoke in whispers of a further line:
In the Morning rises the Sun
There would be a morning, they believed in it. All over the world the sun rose in the morning. Travelers from far away lands would come to the people of Dechi and would promise them that there was hope. The Caer could be fought back. The sun could return to the sky.
The people of Dechi were too afraid to fight. Blood had been shed in the sacred garden, the Elirii had deserted them. There was not a single weapon made by man that could pierce the heart of a creature of darkness. Men had tried and had been driven insane. They couldn't leave Dechi, either. Every child born under the darkness had a dark mark on the back of his neck. If a marked man left the darkness, he would die in his sleep.
Thousands had tried, only to be dragged back to the borders and tossed across. Eventually people just stopped trying. Zantra wasn't marked. She was born in the light. Her mother had given her life for Zantra to be able to leave Dechi and forge a life elsewhere. What her mother hadn't known was that her father had owed the King a blood debt. When the King learned that Zantra had been born, he demanded her for his son. Zantra had been dragged back, in the night, carried by the Caer.
She had lived in the town of Laodicea, in the light. She had believed the prophecies of a morning to come. Every day, she had gone to the border, praying that the darkness would be gone. The darkness stayed, and so did Zantra. At first she stayed because she didn't want her father to be killed. Then, she stayed because she wanted to be Queen.
In any case, she had stayed. So here she was, looking at her soon to be minions. Waiting to be called for tea with the Queen Mother. Hating herself, passionately.
*
The woman had come across a town. One moment, she was running in the darkness. Her feet were bloodied and torn. She was running out of breath. She could sense the dark figures following her. Then, suddenly, a town sprang out of the darkness. The woman stopped. She looked. She wondered what her next move should be. Should she just walk in to the town and beg for help? Would they think she was insane, lock her up? She couldn't remember her name, or why she was here. She didn't know where she was from. She had nothing to trade, no skills that she was aware of.
They would have no reason to help her.
So the woman stood, staring at the town, wondering.
"Hey!" A voice cried out. The woman looked around, seeing no one.
"Hey!" The voice called out louder. Now the woman saw a watch tower, off to her left. She didn't know why she hadn't seen it before. A mirror swung around and suddenly she was standing in a beam of light. The woman threw an arm up over her eyes and swung the other in a pitiful attempt to cover her nakedness.
"Help!" She called out, "I woke up in the woods, I'm naked and cold, I don't know how I got here..."
"Stop explaining," the voice shouted, "help will be there soon."
The woman waited, shaking. She could see a man climbing down from the watch tower with blankets lashed to his back. He trotted over to her, unfolding the blankets and holding one out in front of him. At first the woman thought that it was the man from her vision, come to life. He seemed as tall, with the same slightly wavy brown hair, the same slightly lined dark eyes, the same athletic built and pinched mouth. Then the woman shook herself back to reality. The man in her vision was very dead, and this one was very alive. "Here, my lady," the man said, looking away as he held out the blanket.
The woman took the blanket and wrapped it around her body. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I have no memory of a day ago or a year ago, I just... I just..."
The man patted her on her back. "That's okay. My name is Brendon."
"My name is..." The woman paused, "I don't know what my name is."
"Just woke up naked in the woods?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's midweek, so let's call you Anaya."
"Excuse me?"
"A few times every month someone just shows up. We're a trot from the border, and when the Caer get pinchy they like to steal new minions. I'm sure someone in your family sold you for a favor, and now you're here."
Anaya was aghast, "I was..."
"Probably sold. Maybe you sold yourself for someone else, it happens."
"It..."
"It happens," Brendon said kindly. "The important thing is that the innkeeper here will give you clothes and put you up. Come with me."
"Anaya," the woman said.
"Beginning of the week, people are named with a variation of Tom, middle of the week An, and of the week Bren."
"You are Brendon?"
"Yes." Brendon smiled again. "I showed up a year or so back. I decided to stay here and help the other blanks for a while. Some day I'll move on."
"Blanks." Anaya said coldly, "is that what we are? Blanks?"
"It's not a kind word," Brendon said, "but that is indeed what we are. We are blank. We need to be fed and clothed and named, like babies. What would you call it?"
Anaya said nothing.
*
There was a short rapport at Zantra's door. Zantra heard her maid, Dachae, go to answer it. There was a hushed conversation and then the rustle of fabric falling back across the doorway. Dachae bustled out on to the balcony. "That was the guard, sent to escort you to the Queen Mother's suite." Dachae bowed and back out.
Zantra liked Dachae. She was small, she was sweet, she had a sense of humor. Maids were paid for their propriety, but Dachae seemed to always be holding in a laugh when Zantra was, dying of boredom when Zantra was, and watching the men of the Court when Zantra was. Were Zantra not the princess and Dachae not a maid, they might have been friends.
Dachae stood at the doorway, her hands tucked behind her back and her brown hair flying out of its bun. Zantra paused, looking at her. There was a small smudge of dirt on Dachae's cheek. Fortunately her hands were clean.
"Oh, Dachae," Zantra said in exasperation.
Dachae's brown eyes went wide with shock, "what is it, my lady?"
"Go fix your hair and wash your face. Quickly." Zantra sighed, "if you are untidy, you won't hear the end of it."
Dachae rushed into the washroom. Zantra could hear her cursing herself. Zantra smiled and examined her own hair, face and hands. Everything seemed to be in order. Blonde hair neatly plaited and pinned back, hands and face clean, face lightly powdered, lips wet, eyes dark blue and lids dusted with color. Grey dress immaculate.
All was well.
*
Brendon led Anaya around the town wall, back behind all of the buildings and out of the view of the public. "Some men," he was saying, "lead the blanks right up the center of town. I personally find that abhorrent. It's what happened to me."
Anaya lowered her eyes, blushing. "Thank you for your kindness."
"No need to thank me," Brendon said, slowing. "Here we are."
They were in a yard littered with rain barrels and old pots and pans. Laundry was hanging off of lines. Several day lamps lit the area rather brightly. A few maids were sitting on the back porch, drinking from canteens and laughing. They had knitting in their laps. One sprung to her feet. She was a little older, her hair beginning to gray. She was plump, dressed conservatively, and dimply when she smiled. She rushed up to Anaya. "Oh, you poor dear, look at that hair. What a shame. What're we calling her then, love?"
Brendon smiled, "Anaya, I think."
"A sweet name. Been a while since we had one." The woman put an arm protectively around Anaya's shoulders. "I'm Marcella, my husband owns this ridiculous place. That lump on the porch there is Candice, my daughter. Candice!" Marcella called harshly, "put down that worthless sock you're making and draw this poor soul a bath!"
Brendon chuckled, "you should be well cared for, here."
"You back to guard duty, then, love?" Marcella asked Brendon.
"I have to be. The Caer have been performing a lot of blood rituals lately. You know what happened in Myr when they got lax."
Marcella ran a finger in a circle around her heart and raised her eyes to the sky, "Elirii protect," she said. Brendon did the same. Anaya looked at both of them, confused. She wasn't sure if she should mimic their actions. She wanted to ask what it was, but she felt that perhaps she shouldn't. She didn't feel ready to learn what happened in Myr.
"Off with you," Marcella said to Brendan, pushing him on the shoulder. He laughed, and left. Marcella hugged Anaya roughly, "you, dear, look like you need a bath and a meal and a good sleep. Don't you worry. This is one of the safest places you could be."
"I'm not worried," Anaya said. She couldn't be sure if she was lying.
I am 50 pages in to the re-write. I have drastically changed two subplots, written one new chapter, re-written a second one entirely, switched the roles of two major characters and what their motivation is, and written in one new character.
I'm exhausted.
I really want to finish this month, but I'm being forced to deal with the fact that at this pace it will take at least one more month, maybe two. Gr.
I have 125 pages to go. That doesn't include the fact that I will have to write in another chapter. My sanity is only saved by the fact that I'm planning on excising most of at least one chapter, so it should even out to about the same length. I am somewhat angst ridden about the fact that I will no longer have thirteen chapters, even though that is a totally arbitrary number. Why does it matter?
It doesn't!
ARGH!
I really should be taking it easier on myself, because I don't want to enter into November and writing Firelight already half neurotic. Though, to be honest, half-neurotic is when I do my best work. I was suicidally depressed when I wrote Ravens, and that depression is what caused me to give in to the desire to kill Yita (who was, at the time, my favorite character) and inspired the end of the novel. I probably would have never written the book had I felt like myself. Chase was a character that I came up with mostly out of a desire to give myself hope. That makes Chase, the novel, another book I never would have produced had I been totally happy.
There are times when I wonder if I would be able to write when I'm actually happy.
I can edit when I'm happy.
Can I produce a novel when I'm happy? I don't know.
That makes it very, very ironic that I'm heading into my fourth NaNoWriMo totally angst ridden and pissed at the world. I'm not depressed this time, but I'm not happy either.
Oh, the irony of life!
I have written three novels and participated in NaNoWriMo in 2001, 2002 and 2003. No, I don't think this makes me
anything even vaguely approaching an expert. None of my novels have been
published and I haven't made a dime. That said, I have learned a lot.
I'm also an avid reader, and I think the first requirement for being a
writer is that you have to love writing. The process, and the end
product.
So- out of the times I have done NaNoWriMo in the past, what have I learned?
The first thing I've learned is that writing a first draft is an
intensely selfish thing. You go into the writing process not knowing
if what you write will be anything approaching readable. You go into
it knowing that you will be sacrificing a great deal of time, and all
of that only because you want to. I've also learned that it's okay to
be selfish. Every book ever written started out with an idea, and
someone taking the time to see if that idea would work. Without the
selfishness of authors the world would be bereft of literature. So, go
with the selfishness. Do the deed.
All first drafts have
problems. While there may be a few authors out there that get away
with a minimum of editing, the vast majority of first drafts have huge
errors. The process of writing means re-writing. That's a good
thing. Your first draft does not need to be anywhere close to the
final product. It must have the skeletal structure of the finished
thing, but the meat of the story goes on in the finishing touches.
You have your skeleton, you have your meat. The third thing I've
learned is that 1 must, always, come before 2. Finish the first draft
before editing. You can re-read your work, sure, but the best way (for
me) to go about finishing the first draft is to separate the two things
in my mind. I tell myself to lay out the bones before even thinking about putting any meat on it.
Plot holes? Don't sweat it. The beauty of life isn't the planned, but
the unplanned. You go out to buy milk and see an old friend. You plan
a honeymoon only to get rained in and spend the whole time eating room
service in a house robe. The beauty of life is also the beauty of
writing. Often we find what we planned falls through once encountered
with the reality of characters and the strictures of making a story
believable. Don't get so attached to your plot that you miss the real
story.
Write regardless of your personal feelings or mood.
Learn to put the words on the page even if the "spirit" isn't with
you. If you only write when the spirit takes you, you will never
finish. Writing is work, just like everything else in life. It is a
craft as well as an art. If you can't learn the craft, you will never
be good at the art. Talent only takes you so far. People born with a
talent for basketball still have to perform rote drills. People with a
talent for business still need to crunch numbers and people with a gift
for words still need to practice their craft even when it doesn't feel
like art.
The beauty of NaNoWriMo is that it forces all of us to
practice our drills, so to speak. We learn a familiarity with our
craft that we would never have without accountability.
My
advice? For what it's worth, my advice is to look at your NaNoWriMo
writing as just the first draft, just the bones. No one is expecting a
work of art out of you. All of us who have been there and done that
have had a love/hate relationship with our NaNo work. That's fine, and
expected. So throw yourself in to it, selfish as that may be, and
learn to love the craft!
A few survival tips:
- Treat yourself. If a double mocha with caramel drizzle will keep you at your desk, do it.
- Choose now what you will sacrifice later. You will HAVE to give up a few TV shows, some dinners out, some time with friends. If you make the decision now to just record Grey's Anatomy and catch up later, it will be easier than hating the fact that you are missing it when you realize then that you won't have time.
- Accept the fact that the house may be dirtier.
- Tell your family and friends ahead of time that you will be incommunicado and may not return every call. Ask them to give you space. Don't let it blindside anyone.
- Keep a notebook to write down word and
page counts for each writing session, and to write reminders for the
next. For example, if you are writing a scene where one character
gives another a blue shirt, and in the next scene the blue shirt will
play a role, write "blue shirt, character A, needs to say "blah blah
blah, etc." That way you'll ward off plot inconsistencies.
- Work ahead, don't catch up. If you know you can't miss this or that event, work ahead. You will feel better knowing that you're 5000 words past your goal than worrying about the 2000 you will have to make up.
- Treat yourself. I cannot stress this enough. Make the writing a pleasure. Fill thoughts of your desk with thoughts of chocolates and nachos, and it will make the time you spend there that much sweeter.
I have three potential storylines that I could write for NaNoWriMo. Of course, as soon as I made the decision to commit I started freaking out. The storyline I want to write is for an epic fantasy, originally planned for three small-to-medium books. If I cut out all the background flashbacks and the side-story with the Princess dying in birth and all the tension between the Queen Mother and the Prince, it suddenly becomes doable in maybe 120,000 words. Seeing as NaNoWriMo asks for a short novel (50,000) it would do.
*sighs*
The three previous novels I did weighed in at seventy five thousand, ninety five thousand and one hundred fifty thousand. I know I can pump out a major novel in a short amount of time as long as I graph out the story carefully. Whether or not it's a pile of steaming crap is another matter entirely.
I know that I could write out the fantasy story. The question is how badly do I want to?
I also really like my other stories. So, of course, I am the Great Almighty Waffler. I sit here and I think that maybe I don't want to push myself so hard. The fantasy story is ultimately the most marketable. There's a huge buying audience for good old fashioned Tolkien-esque High Fantasy (in Capital Letters). I have the potential to write said fiction. Do I want to? It's my first love, but do I want to make myself one of those authors, always questioning my integrity and being compared to those who came before?
So, I thought I'd let my lovely blog neighbors weigh in. I really value your opinion, and perhaps by committing the story lines to paper (internet?) I'll gain a little clarity.
Oh, and if anyone steals these I'll have their heads. Just saying.
STORY ONE: Firelight
A woman wakes up in the forest alone, naked and confused. She's hearing voices. She can't remember who she is or why she is there. She starts to wander around and is plagued by memories that make no sense. In her memories she appears to be someone completely different. Demons (well, I don't call them demons in this story, but, for ease of communication will call them demons) start plaguing her.
Far, far away an elf princess is looking out the window and sees light, as if it is dawn. This is strange to her because there has been almost no natural light in hundreds of years. The reader learns that the world has fallen into a literal darkness. No one has seen the sun in ages. All food is grown by magical light. The world has fallen victim to a battle between the creatures of light and darkness (literally meant. Light personified, dark personified.) The known world has fallen into a perpetual night.
The crazy woman makes it to the castle, after journeying and subplot that I won't write. More castle subplot will have to be condensed. Suffice it to say that the elf princess is now betrothed to the human prince, they've stopped hating each other quite so much, the human Queen Mother is an evil person. The crazy woman steals clothes, makes it into the castle during the Prince's weekly sit-in to hear the needs of the people. She suddenly has a flash of who she used to be (a Queen! Surprise, surprise!). She gives an invented name, says she is sure she must have been a victim of some sort of robbery and asks for refuge. The listless Elf Princess (Zantra) asks to care for her, says that she could be her companion. The woman (now going by Anaya) agrees. The Prince and Queen Mother bicker, blah, blah, blah.
We now introduce NOW. He is an evil bastard with the word NOW on his forehead. Only Anaya seems to be able to see this. There is an utterly awesome fight scene in which NOW attacks Zantra's maid, and Anaya proceeds to kill him. Well, not kill him. She wraps him in a tapestry and he spontaneously combusts. Anaya realizes she must have magical powers.
Weird dreams and omens, blah, blah, filler stories, Anaya splits in the middle of the night a few days before the Princess is to wed the Prince. Anaya makes it out of town before she realizes she's being followed. It turns out to be the maid, Kestral. Kestral and Anaya travel, routinely being accosted by NOW in various incarnations.
Right now is a good place to tell the reader that there are several species of humanoids in this world. Some are pure light or darkness (Eliiri and Demons), some are feline, some are doglike (the servant race) some are elves or fae, some are dwarven, some are winged and some are (drumroll) Vampires! Vampires don't only drink blood. They also leech life force. They also can shapeshift on a rudimentary level. Hence, sometimes Anaya sees NOW and realizes he is NOW, because he's got it tattooed to his forehead. Other times she doesn't realize it is him.
Anaya's dreams now include a guy with THEN tattooed on his forehead. You learn that when she was Queen, she had an evil brother. This is THEN. As the back-story commences the reader learns that Anaya was Queen during the Golden Age. She got engaged and was about to be crowned when things started getting really strange. In her dreams, she is also winged and really tall. In the present, she is short.
More traveling, more storyline, they are slowly joined by people representing each of the humanoid races. More storyline, more traveling, nothing important really happening. Slowly Anaya realizes that they are heading towards the center of the kingdom, where the old castle used to be. Legend has it that the last Queen of the combined peoples (Asunmae) went crazy and blasted the castle and mountain to smithereens. No one has gone there in ages, it's cursed, blah blah blah.
More backstory, in which you find out more about the Queen (Asunmae) and why she went nuts.
Complicated magical stuff, owing favors to demons, etc.
More traveling.
They get to the center of the kingdom, stuff happens, cool allegory and interestingness, the end.
Oh, lots of burning things. And there's dawn, which is all symbolic and cool.
STORY TWO: The Raven's daughter
For those who have read In the Company of Ravens, this story continues quite a bit after that story ends. Maybe six or seven years. Lourdes has gotten out of the loony bin and is trying to find out what happened. Chamberlain has traveled across the country, and is trying to track down traces of what happened to his daughter. Branwen and Clench have both gone their own way. Clench is out of the company entirely. Branwen has finished law school, but stayed in the city because she's insane, clearly.
Bennett and David are happily married, expecting a second child and raising Wren in Mexico. They've started a small bed and breakfast and are living on the beach. Rainbows shine, little birdies are singing, all is happy and content.
Then, they hear through the grapevine that Lourdes has broken free and is looking for them. They start to panic. How well have they covered their tracks? They've managed to keep Chamberlain chasing his own tail- but Lourdes is a different story entirely. Wren starts to have nightmares. She tells them that they have to keep moving.
Lourdes remembers conversations with Bennett and puts together a list of locations where they might be and starts narrowing them down.
Lots of cool storyline with Lourdes searching for them, putting the clues together. Chamberlain gets wind of what Lourdes is doing and starts hunting her down. He knows that she'll find Bennett and Wren. He starts to wonder what his best option is- follow Lourdes and try to beat her to the punch, or try to find Wren first and protect her from her own mother?
Bennett and David take Wren back to the old City, sure that Lourdes won't look for them there. Lots of cool storyline with Bennett seeing old places and faces and trying to shake off her fear of Lourdes, plus lots of David meeting Lourdes' old people. This is where people really see the fear and tension that the City was in when Lourdes was there, and how her reputation is larger than life. Even though she's been out of circulation, people still live in absolute fear of her. There are rumors that she is biding her time, or that she is dead and her ghost has been killing people.
Yes- there are still deaths, and they are being blamed on the Ravens. By this point David has hunted down both Clench and Branwen, and they know that there aren't any more survivors. So who is doing the killing?
Bennett is getting close to her due date and starting to panic. She wants to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that her family is safe.
Lourdes figures out what is going on and goes back to the Old City.
Chamberlain follows her there.
There are still people being killed.
News travels like wildfire that Lourdes is back.
Chamberlain finds David and Bennett first. He says that he doesn't want Wren back any more, he just wants to protect her from Lourdes. Branwen and Clench join in on the protecting Wren bandwagon. Branwen tries to get her protection from the police or the city- no luck. Clench offers to help keep watch.
Tension.
Cool flashbacks.
Lourdes scopes them out. She wants to kill Bennett and David and steal Wren. She seems unaware of the affect this will have on her daughter.
Showdown.
This and that happens, and then the other thing (I don't want to spoil it!) and Lourdes and Chamberlain end up facing off. They come to a stalemate.
There is an explosion. Enter person X- the person who has been parading as Lourdes' "ghost".
More cool plot that I won't reveal.
The storyline ends with Branwen and Clench helping David and Bennett set up a new life in the Old City.
Plot holes suggest that Chamberlain and Lourdes have managed to elude both death and capture again. Because, honestly, Lourdes is too fun to kill.
THIRD STORY: Bebe.
This one is less solidly scripted. It follows a conservative Christian teenager through her first "real" relationship, out of wedlock pregnancy and abortion. She confesses to her family, is ostracized, and runs away from home to meet out a meager living as a waitress. She lives with an older lady who she idolizes but is cruel and a bit heartless. The girl, Sasha, has to deal with her conflicting feelings of guilt and exhilaration at being free from her father's domineering presence. She misses the comforts of religion but can't stand the self-hatred it's created in her.
Besides the fact that she now regrets the abortion and wishes that she at least had the baby. If she had the baby, she'd have gotten something concrete out of her sin. As is, all she has is a life she wishes she wasn't living and this pervasive sense of everything being horribly wrong.
The guy that she slept with ends up being a decent guy. At first he doesn't try to find her, because he feels like she must want this live alone. After he hears how miserable she is he comes back after her, and the story follows him fumbling attempts at courtship. They elope, they love, they go back to her family to try to win approval. The parents are still jerks, but the mother at least makes some effort at reconciliation.
The story ends with them cuddling on their single bed in a crappy apartment, wondering if they will have any future at all. But, it's happy because they have each other and Sasha forgives herself. Yay, wee!
*^*^* The first storyline I know I like. I've worked on it and worked on it and worked on it so long I'm pretty sure it's air tight. The second storyline is slightly less solid, but I feel like it has more potential. I may change my mind once I start trying to commit words to paper. The third storyline is more like Chase, so much so I'm not sure I want to touch it. Another teen pregnancy story with religious overtones? Can anyone say pigeonholing? But- I like it because it's an atypical romance. More like real life, where people get hurt and things are bloody and awkward and you're never sure of your own footing.
So, people- what do you want from me? Or will you leave me to fumble this one out myself?
