October 2009 Archives

Despite my resolution to get this one in early, I finished up the submission package for "Gutter-wing" just today. It actually came out to be longer than the minimum length, which makes me think I'm getting the hang of this novella thing.

I had fun with this setting, probably because it was so different for me — I don't think I would've tried it at all if the anthology description hadn't sparked a wayward neuron. Thankfully I'm not tempted by any of Samhain's other anthology calls at the moment, so I should be all good to go for NaNoWriMo.

So it looks like I'll be participating in National Novel Writing Month this year to make sure I actually start writing regularly again. Life's been so busy lately that I honestly haven't had time to sit down and put out the words. I'm counting on lots of peer pressure to keep me in line.

Here's the start of the story I'm thinking of working on:

Her brother traded her for peace, two dozen swords, and three hundred arrows. She did not speak to him on the day the soldiers came to escort her through the mountain pass and to her new home; she was too furious with him.

"Kimri," he said, "won't you even give me a proper farewell?"

She patted her sorrel's neck, then swung herself up into the saddle. They wouldn't need a farewell, she thought, if he hadn't given her away to the mountain-king like market goods. With her knees, she told her horse to move on.

Her brother stood squarely in the way. "I had no choice, you know," he said.

She spared him a disdainful glance. It was true that no one dared challenge Helsmont. The small mountain kingdom conducted its affairs as it saw fit, but in the past it had always done so quietly, involving none others. It had been her brother's messenger who had gone there first, asking what it would take for an alliance between their realms.

Kimri was, frankly, impressed she was worth such a price. But it was one thing for the mountain-king to offer it, and another for her brother to take it.

Tereth sighed and stroked the sorrel's face. "At least don't try to run away this time. Ride safely," he said, then stepped aside.

Her escort was waiting in the yard outside the stable: fourteen soldiers standing by their horses, garbed in leathers and furs rather than uniforms. But from their stance they couldn't be mistaken. That was what had given her away, Kimri thought, the time she'd run off and tried to join a troop. Her brother's warning had been unnecessary; she wasn't going to try to escape these men—

—and woman. There was one among them, but she didn't seem out of place — she had short-cropped hair, a scar on her cheek, and a sword on her hip. She fascinated Kimri, for there was no female soldiers in Anagard.

Kimri rode up to her. "Surety for my virginity?" she guessed.

"Any good commandant could ensure that," the woman said. "King Tathan trusts all of his commandants, and each of them has the obedience of his troop. You would be as safe with any of them."

"An iron fist," Kimri said.

The commandant shrugged. "He is the mountain-king."

"And you?"

"I?" Her demeanor turned formal. "Commandant Beatris. I am charged with your safety until we reach Helsmont and I deliver you into the hands of King Tathan."

"An onerous duty indeed."

When Kimri saw the hint of a smile on Beatris's face, she was reassured that the other woman had a sense of humor.

Alas, I'm not referring to the electricity that tingles through you when you've grabbed onto the tail of an awesome story and it's dragging you through the wilderness at top speed. All I'm going to say is that if you're traveling and plan to write on your laptop, and your laptop's power adapter has a grounded plug (three prongs) and the country you're going to uses a different voltage and you do have a voltage transformer but said transformer only proffers ungrounded outlets...local hardware stores probably won't be able to help you. That's all.

However, I did find out that I'm able to write a nibble of a story with characters in a previously written story (a discovery made just days before deadline, of course). I thought it fitting to offer an autumn-themed story that was tied in to Summer-set, and so you'll be able to find "Fall, Falling, Fallen" at samhellion.com later this month. Here's the start of it:

On the day the prince was to arrive, all the women were aflutter because it was said he sought a bride. Melea was too busy to care — she was looking for a dog that had strayed. "Misbegotten cur," she sighed as she made her way through the browning grasses outside the city, although of course it wasn't. Shiri, the missing dog, was of faultless pedigree — Melea had chosen the parents herself, and Shiri's bloodline was nearly as noble as her own.

I came back to find that "Stolen Away," a fantasy romance short story in a Venetian-inspired setting, is available in the October issue of The Samhellion.

The formatting's a bit wonky, so I went ahead and posted it on my site as well.

More after I recover from jetlag and meet a deadline.

I'm running around like a decapitated chicken, trying to get things organized for my vacation, especially since work's breathing down my neck with two deadlines. I also have this ridiculous preference for returning to a home that's spotless, which has led to my scrubbing the toilet at 2 in the morning on past vacation departure dates. I'm hoping to avoid that this time around. But anyway, there's been a lot of literary planning going on as well:

I've given myself writing homework over the next week: polish "Gutter-wing" and finish an autumn-themed short story. Extra credit: play with ideas for a longer piece to work on during NaNoWriMo. I'm still not sure I'll be participating, but having a novel idea all prepped can't be a bad thing.

My destination is also the home of my favorite stationery store. I am picky about my longhand implements; the notebooks and pens I've found in the US just don't cut it. So I'll be stocking up on those.

I also have a nice mix of sf and romance paperbacks to read in the airport. It was a little odd, limiting my reading in the last couple of weeks to hardcovers only (since those are heavier and take up more luggage space), but whatever a girl's gotta do, yeah?

Note how I've gotten all of the above settled, but the toilet still needs cleaning...

This is the short story I eked out. It should be out later this month.

A list of names.

"Barone Rosolen, for arson."

The executioner set up the noose, then gestured for the guards to bring the next man forth.

"Tamerighi Godori, for murder."

There was a brief scuffle on the scaffolding before the stool was properly occupied. During the delay people exchanged greetings, asked after business, and commented on any of the convicts who were arranged in a row to witness their last sunrise. A few citizens — relatives of the condemned, no doubt — stood stone-faced and silent enough to join the gargoyles perched atop the older palaces. Others leaned forward to better hear the herald's words. Elizabeta simply stood and waited.

The last man stepped forward without being dragged. Though young, he was tall, and the executioner had to adjust the rope. During the pause, his gaze swept the crowd and met Elizabeta's eyes.

The rest of the world faded against those black eyes. She tried to turn her head but couldn't move. Panic seized her and squeezed the cry in her throat stillborn. He didn't look away, even as the herald called out the last name.

"And Deo Miceli...for treason."

The square fell silent at this pronouncement. And so the raised voice of the herald riding into the plaza was as clear as Chidalien glass: "Stop! Take that man down! Deo Miceli has been declared innocent!"

Disbelief erupted. Someone jostled Elizabeta, freeing her from those eyes. She fled, slipping through the press of bodies, but before she vanished down a side street, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder back at the scaffolding.

Through the uproar, Elizabeta watched Deo Miceli, standing on the stool positioned to put him in prominent view, smile and fold his hand closed, as though over a victory softly come.

I managed to scribble out a short story that has nothing to do with my upcoming release. I think the point of this short story was to promote said release. Using some of the characters or even just the setting might have helped with that. Oh well.

I had trouble with the theme — I did hammer my head against an idea set in Summer-set's world, but it didn't end up flowing for me. Obviously, the next setting to try was alternate history fantasy Venice! (Think of, say, the way Guy Gavriel Kay borrows from history without slavishly following it.)

Maybe there's enough of my writing voice evident in 2,500 words to interest people in completely unrelated works? We'll see.

I just committed to writing two freebies around the time when Summer-set will be released, in the hopes that it'll drum up interest. They both have themes, and they're both due sooner rather than later. Surely I'll be inspired just in the nick of time for each?

"Gutter-wing" is at the point where I'm going through and filling in the holes left from writing scenes out of order. Some just need a bit of spackle (I think we used toothpaste for the push-pin holes left in our college dorm rooms from our posters). Others require a crane for all the necessary shifting around. And yes, there may be a wrecking ball involved for other parts.

I really like how this one fits naturally into the required length. Maybe I'm getting used to writing novellas; I remember how I had to shoehorn a subplot into Summer-set to get those last few thousand words. But there was a span of years between writing the first and last sentences of that one, while I had a clear vision for this one from the start.