Sunday Snapshot: After the Dance

I've started rewriting The Golden Gryphon. I was just going to edit it, but it's turning into a rewrite. I'm on page 27 of 371, so a long way to go but it's all good. I'm finding that more emotion flows onto the page now that I know the characters better.

So, here's my Sunday Snapshot. What are you working on? Will you share a sample with me?


As the crowd dispersed from the betrothal announcement, Faldur took her hand as naturally as if he were accustomed to doing so and guided her to a seat in the entry, which was cooled by air pouring through the open doors. It felt lovely after the crush of bodies inside. He moved stiffly.
 
“Are you well, Faldur?”
 
“Just a bit sore. It is nothing.”
 
Worry hitched in her chest. “That looks like Durken’s jacket.”
 
“It is. Would you like something to eat?”
 
“Sit and rest. I’ll get some for both of us.”
 
He huffed out a breath. “I am perfectly well. Allow me, this once, to do my duty toward you.”
 
She opened her mouth to protest.
 
“Please.”
 
There was such earnestness and pained dignity in his weathered face that she acquiesced.“Very well.”
 
She watched his lean figure merge into the throng heading towards the newly refreshed tables. He wasn’t limping, but he was clearly hurting. Why would he not tell her anything? Her father had hidden nothing from her, or at least she believed he hadn’t. She had been sixteen when he died, barely more than a child. Faldur had helped her and her mother move out of the captain’s cabin at the ranger post to make room for the next family and seen that they had all they needed until Lord and Lady Tarnbel invited them to stay. Faldur had been like an older brother to her all these years, though in her heart something more tender took root and grew unnoticed by him. 

Lucky 2013

I am declaring this year "Lucky 2013."

This is the year that I am going to get my novel published. This is the year I'm going to define myself as an author and a person.

I'm finally remembering who I am. That may sound funny but it's been so long since I just focused on myself that I wasn't sure any more. So, let's see, who am I? You'd probably like to know too.

I am a Hungarian/English/German mix of stubbornness, logic and idealism. You really don't want to get into an argument with me.

I am a creative soul that lives in rich worlds of imagination. Sometimes I have a hard time focusing on this world. I truly wonder if those people and places don't exist somewhere outside this current realm and we are just channeling them.

I am a statistician. Yes, I am. I count things, estimate them, and think about distributions, underlying assumptions, p-values and so on. It may seem counter-intuitive that a writer is also an analyst, but... Okay I have no explanation for it.

I love the outdoors but the outdoors does not love me. My soul wants to climb mountains, cross prairies and dive into deep, hidden waters. My allergies, sensitive skin and weakling body protest.

I love food. I will try anything, even octopus.

I also love wine and beer, but my tolerance is extremely low.

I am an extravert who wants everyone to read everything I've written as soon as I draft it. This tendency has resulted in quite a few embarrassing expositions of really awful writing, but has also created quite a few fans of my less awful work.

I don't have an abundance of ideas as a writer, but I take the ideas I do have and develop them into sagas worthy of Michener or Rowling. Well, okay, not necessarily that great but they are surprisingly complex.

I like simple things around me: primitive American or colonial decor, for example. I adore handmade pottery, and Celtic designs on jewelry.

I want to live in a log cabin someday. Actually, I want to live in a cabin in Alaska and hunt my own food like that guy on PBS. Not permanently, but for six months or so. I'd have to learn how to shoot first, I imagine.

Most of all, I want to be free to be myself. I want to love and laugh and stop worrying all the time. I don't care what people think; I never really have. People, in general, are caught up in so many things that they need someone to point the way out. I've been caught up for a very, very long time but I'm slashing at the web and almost out. God, it's a good feeling.

Life is a lot of trouble, but we make so much extra trouble for ourselves. There are so many things we can't control. I want to do my utmost to take care of the things I can control, pray faithfully for God to work on those I can't, and then lay it all down and enjoy my life. This philosophy is radically different from the first half of my life, where I felt I owed everyone my soul, including God. If I didn't work hard enough, I wasn't living up to my potential. I was letting everyone down.

You know what? This IS my potential. Yes, we need to work hard. But we also need to live.

Let 2013 be the Year of Living.

A Solstice Kiss

The Hanorja celebrate the longest night of the year by staying up until sunrise, drinking, dancing and visiting with friends as the whole village gathers at Glenhym Castle. Faldur and Marenya spend the evening together, neither wanting to give in and quit dancing first. At last they stop by mutual consent and she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, but he promises to wake her in time to see the sun rise.

The other guests stretched and stirred, moving outside. He waited as long as he dared, then shook Marenya’s shoulder.

“Is it morning?” She sat up and blinked.

“Yes. Everyone’s gone outside.”

They walked out into the cold stillness of the garden, and up the steps to the wall. She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her, for he had forgotten to fetch their cloaks. Below them everything was sparkling with snow and a pinkish golden light, clean and new and perfect like the first morning ever dawned.

The first edge of the sun’s bright disk appeared above the trees. Something stirred in Faldur that he hadn’t felt in ages. It had been so long since he had known anything but the company of other rangers, the cramped, smoky barracks, bad weather, worse food, watchfulness and danger, that he had nearly forgotten what it was like to be an ordinary hanor. This night had lifted the lid of a box long-closed and he was helpless to shut it again.

Marenya was in his arms – soft, warm and still a little drowsy. They were standing behind everyone else. No one was looking at them. He bent his head down to hers and she looked up in surprise. He kissed her, their breath mingling in the frosty air. At first she froze,  but then responded with a sweetness that made the earth tilt strangely beneath him.

When they drew apart at last, she gazed into his eyes with the same devotion he had seen in Pelwyn’s face when she looked at Mel.

All at once, Faldur realized what he had done and cursed himself.

Sunday Snapshot

Hi everyone! It's time for another Sunday Snapshot, where you post a short snippet (100 words or less) of what you've been writing. It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be yours.

I'm working on a short story right now and it has me "in fits" as a friend of mine would say. Not only are they supposed to be spicy, fresh, and colorful, but there has to be some kind of a twist. Kind of like really good pasta. 

He turned the wagon down the rutted road that led to the spring. The brown branches of the trees bowed ominously in the stiff wind, leaves swirling in the gusts and drifting against their trunks. Batya bowed her head to keep the dirt from her eyes. The wagon lurched over the ruts so violently that she gripped the edge of the seat with both hands to keep from being thrown off. The kettle and chain thumped and rattled under the blanket. 

P.S. Come in Character, our improv character website, is live again. Come and post in character in response to the prompts and interact with other characters at the same time.

 

Sunday Snapshot

We haven't done a Sunday Snapshot for a while. That's where I ask you to post a short snippet of what you've been writing. I love seeing the variety of everyone's work. Kind of like an anthology.

Speaking of which, I haven't mentioned here yet that I am now published as part of the South Jersey Writer's Group anthology called "Tall Tales and Short Stories from South Jersey."  It's available from Amazon here.

There's an author interview with me on the anthology website.

But now for the snapshots. Please post yours  in the comments. I love reading them!  Here's mine. Remember, it doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be yours.

Her arms, thick as a man’s, ached with fatigue. Sweat poured down her face. She wiped it away with her sooty sleeve. Moving away from the forge, she thrust her hand deep into a bucket of clean water, found the rag there, wrung it and wiped the blessed coolness over her face and neck. She flipped her thick braid out of the way, feeling the wisps of hair that had worked loose during her long day.

A Stone House

One day I want a stone house with strong timbers for its bones

A house that the wolf can’t blow down

Or enter without my say-so

I want a house with two stories, maybe three

Where I can lie in my bed and look at the trees

And feel safe above it all

The fire in the fireplace will be my own

Flowers on the table that I grew myself

The only food will be the food I like to eat

No discord will be allowed in my house

Only peaceful souls will be allowed to stay

Only gentleness, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control

Christine L. Hardy

Descartes Was Right

I have come to the shocking realization that I don't need anyone.

I am a social being and need people around me, but I am not dependent on any one person in particular for my happiness. I have buried my loved ones over and over in my mind against the day when death takes them. I don't know if this is callous or just practical, but it is simply how I am.

No one can be depended on indefinitely. Circumstances and personalities change. Humans can hurt each other, grow jealous, or just lose interest. To idealize any one relationship is to set onself up for disappointment.

The only constants are myself and God. But even He, in his mysterious and sometimes cruel sovreignty, and I, in my flawed humanity, can be crappy company at times.

Absolute truths shift on hidden axes like Copernicus's universe. People fall away, rogue moons separated from their source of gravity. The only thing - the ONLY thing - that I know for sure is that I think, therefore I am*, and that there is One whose thoughts are above mine.

Everything else is up for grabs.

*"Je pense, donc je suis." - Rene' Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, 1641