So yeah… running short several days, but I’m still making a big point of trying to write at least a little something every night. A couple hundred words is the absolute bare minimum. Next level I’m okay with is my traditional non-Nano quota of 500 words. And, of course, there’s the actual Nano quota. Over the last three days, I’ve hit one of each of these. Which means I’m still dreadfully behind by the Nano count, but it also means I’ve written new words for each of the last eight days running. That’s a big improvement over most of the year.
Chapter 3 is a good way towards done at this point. Melisanda has dropped a little bomb on Kendis, who really does not care for her arrival in the slightest. Team Kendis is about to figure out in the meantime exactly what to do with the Unseelie bard who’s pretty much fallen back into their laps.
And speaking of whom, for giggles and grins and in particular for , I’m going to give y’all another snippet. But this one’s bigger and spoilery if you haven’t read Faerie Blood yet, so I’ll stick it behind the fold!
“Oh God, no way,” I burst out. “No fucking way!”
The figure on the ground had no shirt or shoes, and the form-fitting pants that were his only clothing had seen far better days. Even from several steps away I could see a long tear down one leg, showing bruises and streaks of blood beneath. What flesh the trousers didn’t cover seemed little better, for half-healed scars crisscrossed his back, and skin that should have gleamed with the translucence of moonlight looked bone-pale with fatigue and cold. Black hair that I’d last seen styled into quite the retro pompadour was reduced to an unkempt mop. For an instant I hesitated, stunned by this piteous appearance; was I really seeing who I thought I was?
When he looked up at me, though, I was sure. So was Christopher, who swore as he whirled to join me, and only then did I find I’d charged forward in a rush of reaction. But the newcomer’s large, wavering smile stopped me in my tracks, a smile that clued me in that nobody was home behind his eyes. He tried to rise, to push up to his knees in a ghost of his normal grace; maybe he was trying to bow? I couldn’t tell and didn’t care, and yet, I couldn’t help wincing as he promptly pitched forward onto his face.
“Mah dear Miss Thompson,” he said on the way down, in a Tennessee drawl I knew to be as false as a six-dollar bill, “we’ve jes’ gotta stop meetin’ this way.”
Oh yeah, I knew him. He was a bard of the Unseelie Court, a singer who shamelessly exploited his coincidental resemblance to a young Elvis Presley, modulo tapered ears and eyes that gleamed like sapphires–or would have, at least, in proper health. Like me, he was a mage, though he was many centuries my senior and had had much more time to master his power.
His name was Elessir a’Natharion.
And he’d tried to kill me.
I am going to have way too much fun continuing this. Assuming I can actually keep pulling the words out of my brain!
Written Friday: 226
Written Saturday: 1,699
Written tonight: 514
Chapter 3 total: 2,439
Bone Walker total (first draft): 7,903
