The Crown of Victory

Or rather the icon of victory. I am proud to present, my proof that I won NanoWriMo 2007 . . .

That's pretty much the award . . . and the knowledge that I actually wrote over 80 pages in 30 days - mostly between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and midnight.

Thank you to everyone who supported me in my endeavor: those who asked me about the progress of my novel, those who patiently put up with my incoherent babble regarding the latest word counts and plot problems, and even those who laughed at me for posting a sign at my desk that read "At lunch. Will return from noveling at approximately 1:00." (The sign was Plan B. I couldn't make the sticky note stay stuck to my forehead.)

I crossed the finish line. Panting, wheezing, holding my ribs and thinking I was going to cough up my spleen, but I made it!

And I must express my gratitude to my characters: Gwen, Trev, Arin, and Feather - who have filled my pages with interesting dialogue. I must also apologize for the portions of my novel that were hammered out at two in the morning, when I was bleary eyed and prone to writing descriptions of clothes for sheer lack of anything else to do.

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“Are you sure you can sit in that – dress?” Prince Naev asked, pulling a large wooden chair away from the table, and indicating this was where Gwen should sit.

Gwen shot a sideways glance at Arin. “Of course,” she stuttered. “There’s nothing wrong with our dresses . . . really.”

Arin pulled out the chair to Gwen’s left and looked at her sourly.“You may as well know that she has nicknamed most of our formal gowns ‘contraptions,’” he said glancing to each side to make sure no other nobles were in earshot. “But fragile as they look, she’s managed not to undress herself in public yet, so I don’t see that she has any grounds to complain.”

The Prince was suddenly taken with a coughing fit, and Gwen turned a color of crimson that nicely complemented her dress.

“And I happen to think her dislike of her wardrobe is the only good sense Genevive has ever shown.” The voice was soft, but it fell on Gwen’s ears with the force of a hammer, as Treven Lefyre finished assisting Cassia, and pulled his own chair out from beneath the table.

“Good evening,” he said politely. “I hope you will not take it amiss if I ignore you for the rest of the night.”

“If only all our problems could be solved with such honest diplomacy,” said Father Sideo, taking his seat across from Trev. The priest moved carefully, with a slowness that told Gwen that his joints pained him. “But I am afraid that there are few who can keep their emotions out of their negotiations.”

“And thank the gods for that,” said Master Kasire taking his seat to the right of the Sun Priest. “Or the world would be a lot more boring place."

Crossing the Finish Line

Or rather . . . wheezing toward it at an ever more frantic pace. I am proud to announce that at 10:30 p.m. or so (the clock is kind of blurry) I broke the 40,000 mark! Three days, 10,000 words. Time to throw the water cup over my shoulder and pound my way over the finish line. Wish me luck!

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As they rode into the stables, Gwen steeled herself for the toughest part of the entire journey – a ladylike dismount. Much to her relief, Arin slid off of Skeeter, tossing his reins to a nearby stablehand, and immediately came to her aid.

“My Lady K’Orofin,” he said graciously. “I know you need no assistance, but I would hate to see your dress catch on one of the saddle buckles.”

Gwen giggled. “It happened to my sister once,” she said, leaning down as if to whisper to Arin. Naturally, several of the stablehands moved in closer, their ears pricked up to hear what she had to say. “I’m afraid the dress was irreparable,” she said, “but the gentleman who was assisting her off her beast got such an eyeful that he immediately proposed. Not a bad bargain, a dress for a husband, would you say?”

Arin stared at her, his brown eyes wide with surprise. “I honestly have no idea what to say to that,” he said.

“Prepare for a proposal,” Gwen whispered under her breath, leaning her weight forward and gracefully sliding out of Oatnut’s saddle. Much to her relief, there was no sound of tearing cloth or popping stitches, and she was fairly sure she had only displayed her legs to the knees.

Breaking the Barrier

And at 11:28 (local time) - I have officially broken the 30,000 word barrier (and probably broken a pretty good sweat). Despite Thanksgiving travel and the obligatory time that must be spent with family, I continue to run the long hard race.

And if I can figure out a way to distract A. from interrupting me every fifteen minutes, I might just pound my way across the finish line . . .

Ah . . . the possibilities. Happy Turkey Day tomorrow . . . or rather, in 30 minutes!
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She was terrifying and beautiful, all at once, her eyes a soft green, glittering with unholy light.

One of the three men in front of her fell back a step, shielding his eyes. “Kill the bitch before she sends up the whole damn inn,” he ordered.

“Our orders are to capture, not kill,” the third figure said, a small-boned man with a long nose and a full mouth.

“I’m not dying for the Sun Priest,” said the first, drawing a dagger. The small blade glittered in the flickering light.

The girl sucked in a breath of air sharply, and the skin along her left thigh began to blister. Dios, Trev thought, she’s got no control. It is taking all her efforts not to burn the figure behind her to a crisp – which leaves no offensive strength for her attackers.

“Lay a finger on her, and die,” Trev said coldly, his voice cutting through the flames.

Viva Las Vegas

Did I mention I'm going to Las Vegas for Thanksgiving? Tomorrow? Or more precisely - on the day that is less than 30 minutes away from this very second?

Hmmmm . . . I suppose I should pack. Honestly, this particular family trip clobbered me from behind with a sock filled with pennies. And I don't even have jet lag . . . yet.

I broke 26,000 which -while spectacular in its own right - is not where I need to be. I wonder if my family will understand if I lock myself in the room and refuse to come out until I hit 45,000?

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Trev held the griffin pendant up to the sky, noting how the sunlight filtered through the beak and wings, making them appear almost translucent. The workmanship was fine indeed, but beneath the harsh sunlight, he could make out the deep green vein of a serious fracture, one that would eventually split the stone.

“She is beautiful,” he said, “but she will break under very little pressure.”

“Some of the most beautiful things are as fragile,” said the merchant-girl, her eyes sparkling. “She must be handled with care, no? You seem like you have gentle hands. You find a gentle woman, the fault will no be a problem.”

Another Point of View

My first foray into writing from my male character's point of view will result in much time spent editing in January and February. No sir - it wasn't pretty. I think I finally got the hang of him now. Oh - and I lost my voice. Literally. My physical voice. It began fading out Friday, and now if I talk, I sound like a badly tuned instrument being played by a cow.
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“It would be difficult,” she said, “but if you are wanting us to, we could try and break her to the saddle? We have a few green lads who could use blooding in griffin training.”

Trev pretended to consider the option. “Actually,” he said, “I had no intention of making this purchase, and am tired from a long day of travel. May I have a day or two to consider your offer?”

Abindine flashed another grin. “Which is a polite way of saying you are low on funds.” She laughed at the startled look on Trev’s face. “Mayhap I should ask you to pay the week in advance, no? But I like you. I like that you bought such a spitfire for a mount. I like the attention you attracted to my place of griffin keeping. So maybe we cut a deal. Maybe I let you house your exotic griffin here for half price, no?”

“Do I look that pitiful?” Trev asked, with a long face.

“Not pitiful,” Abindine said. “Kind. And I repay kindness.”

Achievement!

If nothing else, I met my own personal goals for the day. I broke the 20,000 mark - and it's not even midnight!

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The merchant looked up, gray tendrils of smoke slowly drifting about his head and neck, before snaking upwards and out of the tent. “She is a desert griffin,” he said, his voice bored. “Very rare. But maybe you have an eye for rare griffins?”

Trev chuckled. “Not really. I had no idea that this one,” he patted Feather roughly on the shoulder, “would reach near the size he did. If anything, it is more a hindrance than a benefit. He costs twice the amount to feed!”

The female griffin stirred, raising her head to look out the bars of her cage. Her body was curled like that of a cat, compact and well muscled. Her eyes were deep gold and glittered like coins in the bottom of a river.

<Feather,> Trev sent. <What on earth is going on?>

<I can’t tell you,> Feather sent, his sending fading in out. Trev had never seen the griffin so close to a true panic. <But,we must purchase her, no matter the cost.>

Over the Hump

Today marks the day that you should be at a glorious 25,000 words . . . I won't tell you where I am. Let's just say I stopped to drink some water and chat with the volunteers while the other marathon racers zipped by.

But I'm still in the race!

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Arin groaned. “Gwen,” he said, scratching his head, “not that I disagree, but when am I going to have time to finish copying those records?”

“You have Emma,” Gwen answered smoothly, “and I see no reason why the Prince would suffer if his fingers bore a few ink stains. He may as well be doing something useful.”

“What?” Prince Eglin sputtered, sitting forward suddenly and giving a hiss of pain as the movement jostled his thigh. “I can’t . . . I mean, I don’t . . . Yvonne,” he appealed, “surely you won’t condone such nonsense?”

Yvonne chuckled. “Why not, Lad?” she said. “You won’t exactly be seated on a horse any time soon, and there is little enough to do at court if you cannot participate in the hunt.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Besides, the Scholar King has a nice ring to it.”

Prince Eglin groaned and leaned back. “All right. I surrender. The only white flag I have to waive is my bandage – but I would rather prefer that it stay where it is.”

“Now,” Gwen shot the Prince a genuine smile. “We have met badly on two occasions. Would you like to erase those prior introductions, and try for a third?”

Closing the Gap

Still not on target . . . but gaining a few more feet every day.

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Emma whistled. “And it would change the entire political structure - giving power to a faction that most people have been taught to view with unalloyed fear. That is a pickle.”

Gwen laughed, reaching out to tweak one of Emma’s red curls. “And Arin is right – you do have a good head on your shoulders. It seems you have a better grasp of the politics than I do.”

“Not really,” Emma blushed bright red. “I have simply read a lot of books,” she stammered. “After all, there was not much else to do on Hinterland’s estate.”

“And I would lay odds that you have absorbed some of the information from the records you have been copying,” Gwen said shrewdly.

“Gwen!” Emma’s eyes were wide with alarm.

“Silly goose,” Gwen said, sighing impatiently. “I won’t tell anyone, though I can’t see what benefit will come from hiding your intelligence and abilities.”

Emma stared at her hands. “I’m just . . . not used to all of the attention,” Emma said, slowly.

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. And you weren’t saddled with two ladies’ maids, a wardrobe, and a job that requires you answer personally to the Queen.”

Must . . . Reach . . . 20,000 Words

Stuck at 13,000. Only 4,000 behind. There's still hope I can catch up if I ignore a few things like um . . . work . . . or feeding the cats . . . or bathing my child . . . .

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There was a moment, where Jisel and Gwen merely looked at one another, the one weeping blood, the other gasping frantically for air.

The hall was silent, save for the high-pitched sob that came from Jisel. The madness slowly left her eyes, replaced by a cold glaze of resignation. Gwen’s shoulders slumped in relief as the waves of pain, madness, and anger faded to nothing – and yet her heart was pounding, her chest tight with anxiety.

Jisel made a sound that would haunt Gwen’s nightmares for years to come, a cross between a soft mewl and a hiccup.

“How could you betray your own people?” she whispered, blood running down her wrist and spattering the chamber’s marble floor. “You wish to protect the Queen? So be it. After all, my life had no value. Reap the rewards of your decisions, My lady Empath.”

Running the Marathon

So I am off to a slower start than usual, but I am about to break the 10,000 word mark, and take a deep breath of the satisfaction that comes from that small victory. I may be about 3,000 words off target - but my assassination attempt was foiled. My main character has been adequately traumatized.

I also decided to compromise between NanoWriMo and blogging . . . and post some excerpts from my work every once in a while. Remember . . . Nano is about *quantity* - not *quality.*

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<Agreed.> Feather’s voice was thoughtful. <She seems as lost as any of us. She hides it well, but I would bet she feels displaced. She is lacking a home, just like us.> The griffin’s voice became fuzzy as his thoughts turned inward.

Gwen took a deep breath and regained her composure. “So,” she said, her voice soft, “you see we may not be so different after all. Master Lefyre was kind enough to invite me to his school to evaluate whether the training he provides you may not benefit those empaths who have managed to survive. I haven’t been here for long . . . but from what I have seen, I am inclined to think that Master Lefyre may be right. And I hope you can forgive the trespass.”

<Cat’s out of the bag there, Trev. Hope you were planning on telling your students what you were up too.>

<Not really, no. But I never forbade her from telling anyone. Honestly, I didn’t think it would be a topic of conversation.> Trev looked around the circle of students, and then stifled a sharp bark of laughter when he saw Finch watching Gwen, slack jawed as any baby bird.

“There is no trespass, my Lady,” Finch said, closing his jaw with an effort.

“You belong here, same as us,” Jece said stubbornly, shooting a look at Trev that would have been alarming, had Trev been on the other side of a battle line. Sinsa said nothing, but her blonde head bobbed up and down with her agreement.

The Smell of NanoWriMo In The Air

To borrow a line: the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated . . . but I must admit my approach to blogging has begun to resemble my approach to exercise. Namely, non-existent. Unfortunately, blogging will remain sporadic through November, as I have fallen victim to NanoWriMo 2007. For those unfamiliar with NanoWriMo, it stands for National Novel Writer's Month - and is an event in which writer's voluntarily agree to try and write 50,000 words in 30 days. The clock begins ticking at midnight on Halloween and continues until midnight on November 30th.

Maybe I'll see you in December. I am determined to post a fairly lengthy dissertation on the ending of Neon Genesis Evangelion (at one of the Halloween parties I attended, I ran into yet another individual who loved the series but did not understand the ending - and it was the proverbial cocktail that dropped the camel to its knees).

Wish me luck! I'm currently 5,600 words behind schedule . . . so I had best switch over to my novel and quit wasting word count here . . .