So my great progress has been slowed a bit — and I’m okay with that. That’s why I was trying so hard to get ahead!
However, I wrote myself out of my comfort zones in both stories, for different reasons.
In Victor’s story, I thought HE was going to give me the most trouble. I mean, hello, the man likes to use his crop and I have noooooo knowledge of how that might play out. Other than being reluctant and stressed out, Victor has been fine. It’s SHILOH who is now driving me nuts. I joked with Sis this past weekend that I had to type her scenes with my eyes shut. She has such a potty mouth and is sooooo beyond any heroine I have ever written before. This gal knows exactly what she wants and she isn’t afraid to tell Victor in every single dirty word she knows. At first it was hilarious because of Victor’s reaction. Now, geez, it’s hard to type so much with my eyes closed.
In Deathright, I decided that to make this book BIGGER and fit into the overall scheme of the world I’m building, that I should add Her Majesty the Queen of Britannia to the mix. Great idea. Waaaaay too much work at this point in the game, because it requires a huge over-arcing story thread that was only a vague idea in the back corner of my mind. It took me a couple of tries, both jotting notes and opening a new file, to figure out what’s going on in her mind, and WHOA. She blew me away. I adore her already, and I never expected to. To be honest, she’s supposed to be an antagonist, or at least a morally-questionable trickster character who makes the protagonists’ lives more difficult, but I love her. Which is a good thing, obviously, since she’s a major character and needs to stick around for several books.
The little bits with Murray tugged on my heart in a totally unexpected way. Love it when that happens.
The other thing going on: I sent out a new submission package last night, so I needed to revise my synopsis and query, pull everything together, obsess and stew over every little word, etc. However, that’s off my plate and I can concentrate. Well, I still need to do that PR letter. Grrrr. But otherwise, it’ll be Victor and Deathright this week.
NaNoWriMo total: 22,176
Snippet: this is from the Majel file. By the way, most of the characters’ names have a very special or deliberate reference. Murray in particular I chose because he was Byron’s and Shelley’s publisher. Now the character on page has absolutely nothing to do with that, but it was a subtle nod to the period and what I’m doing. Majel’s name is also a nod to someone, as is Catrionia. Others I just like and made up, e.g. Zang, pronounced Zane-guh.
Murray bowed with a smart clip of his heels as she picked up the datapad, but he lingered in her presence. She’d known him for decades and trusted no one as much as she trusted him, but the man looked positively petrified, pale, sweaty, and kneading his hands.
Her eyebrows rose with alarm. “What is it, Murray?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I have more troubling information.”
“More bad news, or something more troubling than a planet’s assimilation without my orders?”
“The latter, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing even lower. “Bordering on a personal issue, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” She set the datapad aside and gestured to the chair beside her desk. “You have my complete attention.”
Murray sat, all long elbows and bony knees, so that he looked folded and scrunched in the low chair. He toyed with the cravat tied at his neck, demolishing his mech’s careful artwork.
“Murray, you’re being very silly. How many years have you known me?”
“I came into your service sixty three years ago, Your Majesty.”
Yet he looked nearly the same as she remembered, with only a few lines about his eyes and a sprinkling of gray at his temples. Surely the dedication and care he’d lavished on her all these years deserved a few rewards, such as the vitality and youth enhancing techniques perfected at MIGS. She might not approve of Stryker’s methods, but she was forced to admit that she personally and Britannia as a whole had prospered and flourished with MIGS’s miraculous inventions.
“Surely after all these years, you’re not afraid to tell me the truth.”
“Of course not, Your Majesty.” A faint smile tugged at his lips and a ghost of the man she’d taken to her bed after her heirs were born nearly thirty years ago tugged at her heart as well. “I know you rely on me for that very reason. Yet I’m reluctant to tell you this because I know it will hurt you deeply, and I’ve no wish to upset my queen more than she must already be after this day’s events.”
She reached over to take his hand in hers and merely held him, waiting for him to find the words.
“I have reason to believe that Princess Elinor is conspiring against you.” Murray raised tormented eyes to hers. “She is spreading dire rumors among the nobles, claiming that you are unfit to rule because,” he stole a quick, furtive glance at her hair mixed with feathers, “you have gained an unhealthy fascination with the crows roosting on top of the Tower.” He swallowed in a loud gulp. “She means to have you assassinated.”