Writing continues. I’m working on a novel that I think shows a lot of promise, even in the early draft. I’ve identified several problems, none of them disqualifying, and so I’ve continued to write with my fingers crossed – but not so crossed that I can’t type!
Much of my time has been devoted to finishing up my education, which has been difficult and rewarding. I will graduate in a little more than two weeks, and then I’ll see what the future holds from there. I’ve had some really encouraging conversations recently that give me hope for job prospects and my future in this town. I love this community that I’m in, and hope to stay.
The novel is currently titled “DAWN-RIDER, MOON-STEALER.” Here’s an excerpt from the 6th chapter, “At Lord Sunrest’s Vale.”
The child acted as though she had never seen the city before, which of course she had on many occasions in her ten years. But her watchful guardian did not care to temper her impish, careless joy, for it was infectious, and he was weary after many late nights burning candles down to the wick. It was the sort of weariness that began to whisper — first to the heart, then to the body — that all hope of pleasant things are traitors to the truth; that the dark, vengeful, midnight lies are the real substance of life. Hama did not despair of finding an answer, not yet, but only because the long days and nights had not robbed him of little Enya.
The girl was a raindrop in his still waters, an ember fallen on his dry bed of fallen leaves. She danced where he hobbled; she sang, and he croaked. When the Frog King of the Deadmarsh first beheld the Tulip Maiden all clad in yellow gossamer, Hama felt that they two must have had very similar experiences. Enya had begged faerie stories of the stodgy academic, and he had begrudged her the dalliance. To his surprise, he soon found that he enjoyed the tales as much as his work.
“After all, grandfather,” she would say, for she called him such when she was in a good mood, “these are stories about dragons. It’s as good as work, and twice the fun!”
“A thousand arrows, dearest,” he would reply with a smile and a thump on the head. “We’ll fire the right one before long.”
Happy December, Merry Christmas! May your pen always be sharper than the enemy’s sword!