Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Word Count: 2,008
Favorite Line: (this may not stay but I got a kick out of it, which is exactly why it might get cut)
“She could march into Shanhasson stark naked with a string of barbarian lovers panting at her heels and the nobles will still bend knee to her.”
Rhaekhar chuckled. “Now that is a sight I should like to see, as long as I am First of this string.”
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84,896 / 100,000
(85.0%) |
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Today was a road trip to visit my Mom, Granny, over hill and dale with the monsters bickering all the way in the van. I brought the laptop intending to get some nice wordage accomplished in the three hour total round trip drive, but my touchpad mouse kept misbehaving. I ended up getting more outline notes than anything. We’ll see how far I get tonight (but it’s already 10:00 p.m. my time).
I finally learned one coffee scenario that I do not enjoy: coffee coming out of my nose because I’m laughing. Not pleasant at all. Thankfully I’d already finished most of the food on my plate.
My Beloved Sis drew me a really cool inspiration for Charon’s book as a subtle hint of what story I should write next.
Off to try and get a few words…
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Today’s word count: 3,215
Favorite Line: “Nay, Khul’lanna, nay. Don’t ask us to do this. Don’t ask us to stand by helplessly and watch this cur lay a hand on you. I cannot bear it. Gut me now, slit my throat, anything, but do not ask me to watch them kill you.”
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82,888 / 100,000
(83.0%) |
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Day’s word count:
Favorite line: “It’s amazing what a little wild lovemaking on the shores of the Silver Lake can accomplish.”
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79,673 / 100,000
(80.0%) |
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Yeah, yeah, I know I said to expect short and sweet updates until I finish the first draft, but Venna would NOT shut up until I spoke to her. So welcome back to the show “Every Character is the Star of Her Own Story,” brought to you in order to create more satisfying secondary characters. The star of the show today is Venna, an evidently very misunderstood villainess in The Road to Shanhasson who refused to wait to tell the rest of her story until I finished the first draft.
~ * ~
The woman wouldn
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Finally, I made it over the hump and I’m into the homestretch. For those in the know, at dawn, we leave the Plains for Dalden Bay and the final ride up the Road to Shanhasson, pretty much all of Act III (plus a little romantic interlude before all hell breaks loose).
Until I finish this draft, my posts are going to be brief and to the point. As far as word count, I’m guessing 100K for the first draft, but that’s minus my main villain’s POV. I’ll have to weave that through later. This is just the main story line. I’ve got to get Shannari to Shanhasson, and then bring her home safely to the Plains without too many lost. That’s my goal.
The hardest part over these next few days will be leaving the story for the real world when I have the scent of “the end.”
Today’s Word Count: (final) 4,836
Favorite line: “If anyone is to be Khul’lanna’s breakfast, it is I. You can be her midday morsel.”
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76,964 / 100,000
(77.0%) |
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
I’ve seen a lot of things on this five-year climb. The road winds up the Mountain, sometimes so steeply my wrists ache from the constant typing. I can’t type fast enough and come up for air, gasping, arms hurting, hungry and bleary eyed, only to realize I was supposed to have gone to bed hours ago. Sometimes those steep climbs merely dump me into another Valley of the Shadow of Death, all the more unexpected because of the heights I thought I’d reached.
A soft voice whispers on the still night air: There’s no safety on this Mountain, didn’t you know that, silly grasshopper? No stage of the Mountain is easy. Other than quitting and trudging home with my tail between my legs. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how flat and safe the way back appears if I turn around, and how steep and dangerous the road remains ahead.
Don’t look back, the voice whispers. Don’t look down. Don’t stop now.
~ * ~
Why the melodramatic references to the Mountain today? I’ve been thinking off and on for days about expectations–specifically reader expectations. For the first time, I’m writing a book with full knowledge that PEOPLE will actually READ this book. Not safe people…like my beloved sis and Wanda who are going to love me even if I mess up this story, although they’ll YELL at me until I fix it…but….READERS.
Laugh if you will, but that’s a rather scary proposition.
Oh, I don’t know when, exactly, that this Valley began to inch its insiduous shadow into my path. It might have been while reading a piece May is writing about The Ruthless Reader. Or more likely, it’s my own ruthless dissatisfaction with a recent book. Mix that in with some positive reviews on my own work, and I suddenly find myself wanting to huddle by a campfire and peer around fearfully at the shadows instead of trudging onward.
Those shadows start to whisper such horrible things. What if…the writer’s question, you know…I’ve messed up this book? What if people hate me because I killed a character? What if people are sickened by the villain(s)? What if people want to tar and feather Shannari because she…No, no, why not stich a big red “A” on her chest?!?
Worrying about what people might think, I started making little mistakes. I flinched away from scenes I knew must happen. In fact, I tried to hide the very complex and gritty characters I’d struggled so hard to breathe life into in a silly effort to make them safe, clean, and pretty.
Instead of letting them bleed and rage on the page in all their dark glory.
Oh, okay, Gregar was still pretty, even when I messed him up, but you know what I mean.
On the bright side, at least I realized I messed these things up and have already fixed them, instead of finishing the first draft and realizing… oops! Will the real murderously sexy Gregar please return to the story? Will this whiny, whimpy Shannari PLEASE go away? Will this insanely secure and never ruffled Rhaekhar please fall down on your sword and let the jealous, aggressive Khul back on the page, please?
I finally realized today that I’m in my Dark Moment. I hit this Valley with every book, the moment when I quail before the feat and wonder what the hell I was thinking. I thought this story would be safe. I thought I’d write confidently to the end and not flinch from the truth of my own premise, but even this story threatens me with doubt. Even these beloved characters wonder if the light truly shines brighter in the midst of the midnight’s shadow, if in the end, even love can save them after the misdeeds they’ve committed and/or seen.
I realized there is nothing more ruthless than a writer doubting herself in the darkest moment of Story. Yet the moon shines above, dimly but still there, a silver beacon of beauty and love and I know what I must do.
I block those whispers from my mind. I refuse to consider the shadows writhing on either side. And I trudge on through the Valley. Don’t look back. Don’t look down. Don’t stop now.
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
First, a killer review of Survive My Fire and The Fire Within by Bethanie here. She blew ME away.
Point of view. The was one of the coolest things about this story for me: Throughout, the narrative switches point of view from 1st to 3rd person depending on which character
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
Daisy at The Long and Short of It Reviews has given Rose another great review:
Ms. Burkhart also gets bonus points for illustrating the best way to deal with tangled extra-long hair. Start at the bottom and work your way up. So many fantasy writers give their heroine butt-length hair and never mention the every day maintenance of it. One cannot get through a sword fight, or run for one
Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. You can comment here or there.
So there I was, writing away at the bottom of the Well, slamming words left and right…and I suddenly realized I’d paddled into stormy waters.
The water became thick, more like Jell-O, and every stroke about pulled my arms out of their sockets. “Hmmm,” says I. “Must have made a wrong turn at Albuquerque.”
I knew this scene. Even in the old terrible first draft from years ago, I’d had this scene. The key players had changed, of course, but in general, I knew where it was going. So why was I stuck? I started going through the mental check list. Was it a sex scene? (Sometimes those bog me down. All those hands to get right, don’t you know.) Nope. Was it a fight scene? (Ditto on the choreography.) Nope, but it was a violent scene. Torture. I need the good guys to torture some of the bad guys…just enough…to get key information out of them. They need to know who the traitors are.
But I knew all this going into the scene. So the problem was deeper.
After struggling to get even 200 words last night, I finally realized what I’d done around 10:00 p.m. I’d turned my heroine into a weakling. Shannari couldn’t watch the torture. Why? Because that was easier than letting her do what she needed to do.
She needed to do some of it herself.
I didn’t want her to participate, but oh, boy, she certainly did. As soon as I backed up and deleted the weak whiny stuff, she took over in a hurry, sliced and diced a while, and now this scene is going somewhere. Whew.
Back to drowning in the Well, I hope.
No Friday Snippet today, but if you want to read something, go back to yesterday’s character interview. I’m struggling to get scenes in Road that don’t spoil something…either the key developments at the end of Rose, or how those things worsen in Road. So I’ll have to think about what I can share through snippets. If I have time this weekend, I’ll peruse my old files and see if I can spruce up something enough to give away.
