Writing Update: November 13, 2016

This post is about 250 words. 

It’s been a few months since I published an update like this, but with back-to-school, Boy Scouts, the election, and the release of Gears of War 4, it’s been a busy Autumn.

Oh yeah, and I’ve been doing  massive amounts of editing.

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I haven’t been idle, even if this blog has been a bit quiet. To remedy that, I’ve uploaded excerpts to the site.

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Excerpt – June 6, 2016

This post is approximately 600 words. A newer version of this section lives here: Spring in Dappledown.

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I’ve had several requests to start sharing some passages from the book. This is flattering, yet somewhat terrifying due to the personal nature of the work. This might seem counter-intuitive, I mean, isn’t the point of writing a novel to have it published?

Well, yeah.

But since I’m working on the first draft, there’s the challenge of sharing something that’s not quite ready for eyes other than my own. To be clear, the following excerpt needs some polish and additional detail. Many artists, myself included, want to give you a specific experience, something an unfinished work doesn’t necessarily do. Also, if the draft passage sucks (technical term), you might be under-presenting your abilities. Hopefully.

I think that’s enough caveats and deprecation for now. Here is the introduction of the main character, Tildy, the girl who lost her family, her kingdom, and even her name.

Spring in Dappledown

Tildy sat upright so quickly, her head swam. Eyes blinking slowly in the dim morning light, her fuzzy brain struggled to comprehend where she was. Trying to calm her heaving breaths, she closed her eyes. She was in bed. In her room on the second floor of the cottage.

She was glad to be awake. It was the dream again—that shadow in the tall tower. It thrilled and terrified her in a way that meant it was not an unwelcome recurrence. But she always woke up exhausted, as though it were less dream and more reality. She focused on the last image in her mind: had there been a crying baby? As usual, the details scattered like butterflies in a storm. Continue reading