I'm feeling a lot more "free" at the moment, less inclined to bursts of irritation and outrage. I attribute it to no longer being stuck in the house with a highly strong-willed, bored-out-of-his-brain six seven year old. He's at school, he's no longer harassing Charlie Cat, he's no longer antagonising me, and I can finally breathe.
Despite my initial plan for #maynia which was to write a Joey and Jenny extravaganza of utmost silliness, I found myself called back to Vengeance: a story that I've been pitter-pattering in for a decade now.
There is a "Writing Advice" tidbit that I read somewhere many moons ago, and I couldn't tell you where I saw it but there are probably several iterations of it written/said by other people. The basic gist is:
Write. Write, write, write!!! Then put it down and never look at it again for at least a year. You will read it with fresh eyes and you can see it better.
That's basically what I've done with my precious. Vengeance. Probably to be re-titled before publishing.
I was obsessed with that story. I never put it down. The first chapter sucked so I'd write it, rewrite it, rewrite it again, finally like it and move on to the next, then go back to the start, hate it, rewrite it again -- an endless adventure of rewriting!
Which led to me sucking the life and soul out of the story. It no longer had the oomph in my eyes.
Why did I think it sucked? Because of elitist writers and their soul-shattering ideals. I had plenty of normal readers read the first chapter and like it, "Ohmygod, I felt like I was there! I want to read more! I love it!" but I focused too much on the negativity of the elite and finally snapped, coming out with:
That's over with now though. I've been reading through my last iteration of Vengeance and have decided, a year later, that it's actually pretty damned good and what the hell was wrong with me?
I'm fixing a few grammatical errors as I go along, re-wording a couple of things, I've changed the name of one of the Gods from Johne to Yohné which is a more accurate pronunciation. I'm not going to include any of these things in any sort of "word-count" because none of it is new.
There are still eight chapters that need to be written though -- of course, they're the hardest ones involving the end's action, heartbreak, and soul-wrenching tears that I'll struggle to write through as I sob my eyes out of their sockets. 😭👀
But I'm feeling refreshed, capable, ready to finish this at last.
Here's a-yet-to-be-edited tidbit that has been posted on the platform before but I'm sharing it again!
Lord Andru squinted at his son, an extended silence passing between them before he at last drawled, “Indeed, Cael. She is just a mere girl. It is as you say. Draw your sword against her.”
Lyria’s heart plummeted into her stomach. Cael’s disdain radiated towards her in thick, tangible waves and her gift manifested in response, beyond her control and forbidden within these sacred walls. Ari sat tall and stared at her as the magic enveloped her body and slowed her surroundings. The cat was going to attack her too!
She withdrew her father’s over-sized sword and held it at the ready, wincing at the blackened filth that still coated it. Her eyes darted from Ari back to Cael as he turned from his father, his movements slow and fluid. His blue eyes were as pale as the moons and the waves of his hair danced across his brow as he whipped his hand with a flourish and drew his sword from its sheath. He whirled about to face her, but it was too late —the grime-encrusted point of her father’s blade was already at his throat. His weapon fell as he winced in exaggerated misery and the clatter echoed several times over as Lyria forced the young Lord to his knees.
Natural flow returned and a dangerous excitement soared alongside her heartbeat as she realised she had gotten away with it. The cat was interested, but did not care.
“Does the Lordling yield?”
Cael stared up at her, his face as stone, and an unreadable glint flickered within his eye as he muttered, “’twas hardly fair, but I concede.”
Ari watched the exchange but there was no malice behind its golden eyes, only a knowing gleam. The creature licked at its paw and stretched out beside the throne, seemingly indifferent to her transgression, and she rehoused her father’s blade, allowing Cael to return to his feet.
“As I thought,” Andru smirked. “The mere girl easily outplayed you. Rede, find her some lodgings and get that sword cleaned up. A captain’s blade must shine bright in these dark days.”
HAPPY MAYNIA! 🍻