of the write-a-thon, and I’ve double-checked my goal–2K between today and tomorrow.
I should be able to whip that right out, yes?
One would hope. Luckily, I’ve the house to myself this morning because my friend has zipped off to work and won’t return until this afternoon. After my workout and a quick trip to the bank to replace a debit card I stupidly convinced myself to cut up, it’ll be all about the writing all the time.
Even with the coffee application, I’m still running on stupified this morning. Dagnabit.
Yesterday, I had lunch with KellyM at a lovely place in Pleasant Hill, and it was like a teeny tiny con as we chatted about writing. Yes, we do this regularly over Skype, too, but somehow a restaurant, food, and face-to-face interactions make it more… oh, real.
So the last huzzah of vacation continues.
Monday is going to be a real slap in the face when I hit the classroom and actually have to, you know, WORK.
Eesh.
After a lovely day spent lolling by the pool with my family in Santa Barbara, we zipped home, and I ran out the door to Borders and writing.
Which I did. It was difficult to get back into it, but I tweaked all the places Jenni said needed tweaking and moved on. There was a big jump to this scene, but I can’t imagine what of any interest happened between the last scene and this one, so. Jump, it shall be.
I’m also not certain why Benim wants Kalim, and before I write more of this section, I’ll have to nail that down firmly. What I do know is that Benim’s a spy for the enemy, and you’d think that would be enough, but nooooooo.
I also have to figure out time for everyone. This is a sticky process at the moment, since it feels as though Kalim’s time is passing faster than everyone else’s for me. Or maybe it’s because he’s moving and the other main characters aren’t going anywhere physically.
Eesh. These novels. Here, have the newest version of the opening.
Kalim, arms laden, scuffed the sandy expanse of the monastery’s courtyard as he crossed. Another day closer to his acceptance date. Another day nearer to the worst possibility—never being elected soul-bearer and never leaving the monastery. More than anything, he wanted to see the world. To explore.
Bashak’s mild ridicule of his worries did not help. That had been this morning’s trial before he had dumped a task suitable for one of the younger initiates on him. The day before he had brushed him off with the casual comment that Kalim had no reason to be concerned. With a frown, he shifted the dried yarrow and a bundle of coarse-woven cloth and trudged on to the infirmary.
Of course he had to be concerned. It was his entire life in the balance.
A lookout cried out, and Kalim spun about, following the man’s pointing finger. In the distance, far beyond the open monastery gates, a point of swirling dust and sand swelled.
Excitement surged, and clutching his burdens, he dashed to a fig tree to shelter from the desert sun and leaned. No one would chastise him for gawking—others, including the masters, had slowed to a halt.
Loud cries as the men on duty processed the potential threat and rushed to shut the huge gate. But Kalim straightened, his eyes intent on the speeding object. A sandship!
More yells as the gate duty identified the approaching visitor. The gate’s forward progress halted, reversed.
Mouth ajar, Kalim watched the approaching ship. It was only the third visit in his nearly eleven years as an initiate.
The ship’s sails, shadowed with sand lifted skyward by its passage, were now clearly identifiable, as were the streamers whipping from its tallest spar. The wooden ship zipped across the desert, the scrub in its path crushed beneath its runners, while an unfelt wind billowed its sails.
Kalim’s grasp on the herbs tightened as the sandship whizzed closer. Would it stop in time? He braced himself, while a few in the courtyard broke, fleeing to the safety of the perimeter.
The sails flattened, men swarmed the rigging, and the ship skidded to a halt a few yards from the monastery walls.
Now off to figure out how close the latest fire in Kern County (Bull Fire, 4500 acres last night with 500 personnel, 7 water-dropping helicopters and 7 air tankers) is to my middle child’s Boy Scout camp. A text did get out to say they all were fine, but they have no power or phonelines. I’m not sure how a text managed to overcome these hurdles, but I’m grateful, and I’m hoping he doesn’t have to evacuate the camp like they did when he was 15 or so and flames crowned the hills above them. (Yeah, he got sent to prepare the evacuation site in Porterville for 300-500 kids. Gotta love the Scouts. If you’re ready for leadership, then, by gum, you get it. In spades.)
See that white speck at the bottom? That’s the car ahead of us on US15. Amazing what the power of water with centuries to spare can do.
No new rewriting the past two days. Saturday’s writing was all about nailing the first chapter and sending it out to the posse. (Which they ripped apart, and came up with… Not Much. And KellyM thrilled me by telling me it was starting to look like a Book. Eeeeeee.)
Jenni gave me a few tweaks to work on, and I’m doing those tonight before I do the rewriting. I’d be doing them now, except, well… I’m writing this, while waiting for the Spousling to return so we can head to Santa Barbara to see my mom, my sister, and one of my brothers and his family.
Half a family reunion! (Sans kids, though. Once you throw in the kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids, we start looking like a convention.)
Writing out tonight, and probably more once I get back home. The laptop’s coming with me this wedding veil trip north (yeah, another. At least it’s not a dress.) and I’ll find time between now and Friday to nail the rest of those words.
(Conversation between Spousling and me ensues:
Him: Is that hard to follow?
Me: I missed the antecedent.
How often do you get to use ‘antecedent’ in casual conversations? Grammarians. *tsk* :P)
And now we’re off! (And the fog is burning off here, which means it might burn off in SB before 2P. Maybe.)
Wyoming. Or maybe Idaho. Somewhere between Jackson and Utah.
Jackson Lake backed by the Grand Tetons.
I didn’t want to write last night–I’d spent four hours school shopping. School shopping for me does not actually involve clothing stores. It’s all about hitting Lakeshore and getting out for under $200 (score!), Office Depot (yellow Sharpies sold individually! OMG!!), Big Lots (nothing exciting here–ziplock bags and plastic storage) and Michael’s (jewels for the treasure game for four I saw at Lakeshore and refused to cough up $25, that I created for $11 for six on my own. Such is the life of a teacher.)
Not. Done. Spending. Yet.
Wait til I head back to Lakeshore with 30+ yards of laminating.
Anyway, I didn’t want to write. But the Clarion West write-a-thon is still in process, and I feel guilty if I don’t make a stab at it.
I checked out Skype. No one. So I did my trusty fallback: sign into chat with the OWW zoo peoples. Yep, they were all there. Particularly Jodi and Celia. Jodi threatens me nicely, and Celia horrified me (with the help of Jamie) to create a marshafails.com site with blinking lights and dancing hamsters, nested tables sized incorrectly, and locked frames that won’t let you escape. There was more, but that was enough to make me fling open my laptop in a frenzy.
So end result an hour and a half later: 1900 words deleted and 1300 rewritten.
Friends. What would we do without them?
Old Faithful. A small fire in the park that day created the haze, and we drove into the parking lot to a spout of water, so had to stay for the later show.
It’s not the biggest geyser–there was one that went off a good distance away and behind some trees that went much higher and for much longer. The interesting thing was that when it did go off, most of the water where Old Faithful was receded.
Had to move downwind of this one in order to get a shot. Geysers don’t make it easy.
And when the wind shifts, you get geyser in your face. (For the record, they’re cool and moist, with the added bonus of an occasional whiff of sulfur.)
That’s Lake Yellowstone in the background, the very lake that tried to swallow us by sneaking a wave across the road as we drove by the night before. It looks so calm, doesn’t it? Do. Not. Trust. It.