The Pond - Part 20

Izolda held up her hand, admiring the gold band on her finger. On the wagon seat beside her, Nikolai was a solid presence, filling her with optimism for the days ahead.

Everything had gone as planned, better even, than she expected. Nikolai had come to the room at the inn, expecting to see Katrinka. Though he was not surprised, or displeased to see Izolda, his shock at her news froze him in place long enough for her to embrace him, transferring the dust for her spell to work onto his skin.

She planned on allowing him time to mourn, while at the same time encouraging the revival of his affection for her. Things were different in this new land. An extended period of mourning was unnecessary. It surprised her to learn that Nikolai had only told his friends that he was going to fetch his wife, he’d told them nothing about her ahead of time. She could not believe her good fortune – it would be easy to slip into the role of fiancée.

But once again, Nikolai surprised her. As an unattached female, it would be unseemly for her to travel with him without a chaperone, so he gave her a choice. He had come for a wife, and he intended to return with a wife. She could take Katrinka’s place, or he would pay for her passage back to Russia.

While she had convinced herself that Katrinka had not been the right woman for Nikolai, from the way the girl had carried on she had assumed there was a great bond of affection between them, if not love. She had never considered the affection was one sided. Would this make things easier, or more difficult for her? She had no idea.

She had not needed to feign her surprise at his ultimatum. Either the spell she had begun weaving over him in Russia was stronger than she realized, or he cared for no-one, wanting only the status of being married. Her resolve hardened. Perhaps he might not care for her in that way yet, but by the time they reached the place where they would make their life together, he would.

And so they were married in the chapel that had been pre-arranged by Nikolai for him and Katrinka. Katrinka, Izolda knew, would not have liked the dark, tiny chapel that smelled of the sea. She would have demanded a church, and the opportunity to wear her finery. And she would have expected a fine dinner afterwards.

Izolda and Nikolai had a pleasant enough meal in a café near the harbour, but Izolda couldn’t have cared less. She had what she wanted, marriage to Nikolai. Now she had the rest of her life to turn him into the man she knew he could be.

“I have a confession to make,” he told her, facing the trail again.

“So soon? The ink is hardly dry on our wedding papers,” she teased.

He smiled faintly. “It is something I was going to tell Katrinka,” he said heavily.

“Oh,” Izolda’s mind raced. Why would he feel the need to tell her something that was meat to be shared with Katrinka?

“I was going to try and talk her out of this marriage. That’s why I was so relieved when she wrote that you were coming with her – you could be our chaperone.”

He went on in a rush. “I was sure there would be someone in the town that would be more suited to her. She was unused to hard work, and she was somewhat . . . frivolous. She would have driven me mad, had we married. But it had been arranged.” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “You must think me a terrible person.”

“No, I—no,” Izolda said, stunned at his confession. “But . . . why marry me, then? You were under no obligation to do so.”

“From the first moment we met, I felt drawn to you. I knew you would be the kind of wife I dreamed of. You are strong, and capable. You would work alongside of your man. And you are beautiful,” he added.

“I cannot believe this,” Izolda whispered.

“I know I should be mourning Katrinka, but I barely knew her. You, I feel I have known you always.”

“We are going to have a wonderful life together,” Izolda prophesized.

Triolet Poetry Form

The Triolet is a medieval French form, thought to have originated in thirteenth-century France. Pronounced TREE-o-LAY, the Triolet is a single stanza of eight lines. It has a repetitive rhyme scheme of ABaAabAB – the capital letters represent lines that are repeated word-for-word. Thus, the first, fourth, and seventh lines are the same, and the second and last line are the same.

In the 17th century it was used as a vehicle for propaganda and character assassination during French civil uprisings. In the late 17th century and early 18th century they began to appear in English. In the 18th and 19th centuries, it began appearing in Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, and many other European languages. Still in all, the Triolet was never a commonplace poem, although it does seem to be growing in popularity in the 21st century.

Schematic:

A – first line
B – second line
a – rhymes with 1st line
A – same as 1st line
a – rhymes with 1st line
b – rhymes with 2nd line
A – same as 1st line
B – same as 2nd line


At first glance it seems like a really easy form. After all, technically you only have to write five out of eight lines, but it’s a little tricky getting those lines to make sense.


TRUTH
I look into your eyes
and you show me the truth
but can this be wise?
I look into your eyes
and search for the lies
though you’ve given me proof.
I look into your eyes
and you show me the truth.


LOVE
A love must be pure to live for forever
such as the one between you and I,
a love incorrupt that nothing can sever
a love must be pure to live for forever,
a goal to be sought, life’s greatest endeavor
a challenge to pass, the gods to defy.
A love must be pure to live for forever
such as the one between you and I.

Merry Christmas!

Christmas is the spirit of giving without a thought of getting. It is happiness because we see joy in people. It is forgetting self and finding time for others. It is discarding the meaningless and stressing the true values.
— Thomas S. Monson

Santa Claus is anyone who loves another and seeks to make them happy; who gives himself by thought or word or deed in every gift that he bestows.
— Edwin Osgood Grover

Christmas is a necessity. There has to be at least one day of the year to remind us that we're here for something else besides ourselves.
— Eric Severeid

Hope everyone is having a good Christmas (or whatever it is you celebrate).

I usually look at the week between Christmas and New Year’s as my time for looking back on the year behind me and figuring out a game plan for the year ahead. The fact that this post falls on Christmas Day is unfortunate, but it doesn’t change the content.

So let’s start by taking a quick look at my goals from last year:
1. Finishing – start tackling my pile of unfinished books and short stories, one at a time.
2. Selling – start submitting more of my work for publication.
3. Writing – start every day with a timed writing, set aside time for other writing as well.
4. Learning – put a little effort into learning something new every day.

Doesn’t seem too unreasonable, does it? But how did I do . . . that, is the question.

1. Finishing. Well . . . I finished Magical Mayhem, so there’s that. But I would not say that one out of eleventy billion books/stories qualifies as a success.

2. Selling. I made a token attempt at the beginning of last year, but that fizzled out pretty quickly. I think I need to come up with some kind of system. Like, dedicate one morning a week where that’s all I do – look for markets and submit stuff.

3. Writing. Writing should go without saying, but in this case it was at the very least writing every day. I made a strong start with this, doing what I called my three-minute words. I’d pick a word at random and then free write for three minutes. This worked really well until I turned these random words into a serial. And when it ended, I started a new serial but I wasn’t using random words so I wasn’t writing every day. So I guess this would be a half win.

4. Learning. Well, this was a big, fat fail. I paid for a bunch of classes, but never did them. There was no set time to start them, so hopefully they can still be used this year. I did go to the Kingston Writersfest where I participated in most of the masterclasses, so I guess it wasn’t a total failure, but I still don’t know how to use Dropbox properly.

As you can see, I didn’t do too well on my goals last year. In fact, I really sucked. And I have no good reason for it either. I guess you could say I was in the wrong head space for most of it. This isn’t always something I can change, but I am learning to live with it.

The week ahead is going to be one of reflection on how I can improve my writing habits. Maybe 2023 will be the year it sticks.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

What kind of a crazy person has time for blog posting before Christmas? Me, apparently. To be fair though, Monday’s post on the other blog was videos, and Wednesday’s was a repeat of the only Christmas poem I’ve ever written. I think I might make this a yearly tradition.

The hardest post to do was the serial installment, and it wasn’t that I didn’t have time to do it, I just wasn’t sure what happens next. So I really struggled with it, and I think it shows. I’m really not looking forward to the first meeting between Izolda and Nikolai because it’s going to be a pivotal moment in the story

This week’s distractions included the mother-in-law's funeral, visiting with out-of-town relatives, finishing up the Christmas shopping, making fudge, and the big ass storm that hit late Friday afternoon and is just beginning to dissipate today. If you’re on my Facebook page you’ll have seen the failure of my first double batch of chocolate fudge. The second batch worked well, as did the double batches of peanut butter fudge and peppermint fudge. Single batches included almond fudge, chocolate mint fudge, and caramel fudge (which never really set right, but that was okay because it tasted terrible).

Friday started out raining, but the temperature dropped rapidly and the wind picked up to gale force by mid-afternoon. Most of the town lost power, but we are fortunate enough to live in the narrow strip of town that didn’t.

NEW WORDS:
1842+159+548+612=3,161
DOWN – 110 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get my blog posts done early.

EDITING:
0 pages
Due to time constraints and social obligations, I got no editing done. However, I did think about it at least.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

MARKETING:
I made no inroads in making an Amazon page (to be honest, I forgot all about it), and I’m sure it’s easier than I think it is. Nor did I start filling out the paperwork to be included in the book promotion site. I’m starting to think this is going to be something to attempt in the New Year.

Goal For Next Week:
Look into developing an author page on Amazon, work on the book promotion form.

TECH & TRAINING:
I did not look into doing anything with Dropbox. It keeps getting lost in the shuffle of the minutiae of life.

Goal For Next Week:
Start backing up files to Dropbox. Set up external hard drive.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I cheated a bit on the poetry post last week, I recycled an old poem. But it’s the only Christmas poem I have, so it is what it is. I’m actually thinking about posting it every Christmas, at least until I come up with a new one.

This month’s prompt for my poetry group is pretty interesting, encompassing an entire year in verse. It might behoove me to get started on it early.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form; work on my poemwork.

CRAFTING:
I had no time for crafting last week, not even so much as a row or two on my afghan. So, I made fudge. And whipped shortbread. Only the out-of-towners got ornaments this year, everyone else will have to settle for cookies and fudge. It is what it is (which is apparently my new motto).

Goal For Next Week:
Work on the craft migration, work on the afghan.

WHAT I’M READING:
Didn’t have a whole lot of time for reading last week, but I’m almost Unnatural Creatures, which is an anthology of stories selected by Neil Gaiman. I did read a very old romance anthology called the Night Before Christmas to get me in the Christmas spirit. The nice thing about rereading something from years ago is that only one of the stories was vaguely familiar.

Goal For Next Week:
Start making a little time to read every day.

GOAL REVIEW:

Once again I got all my blog posts done, which is really saying something considering it was the week before Christmas.

It’s not surprising that I did no editing and no marketing, because hello, Christmas. Plus there was some family chaos and shopping to do and fudge to make.

I did not do a new poetry form, but I did get a post up.

No crafting, Christmas or otherwise. I’m really hoping to start the great craft migration this week, but I’ve got a bunch of stuff going on this week, so we’ll have to see. At the very least I’d like to see how far I can get on the afghan.

The mother-in-law’s funeral was not all that dramatic, but there was a lot of drama both before and after. I tell you, it’s a shame I don’t write for the soaps, I’d have fodder for years.

Last week wasn’t as stressful as I expected it to be, but on the other hand, I didn’t get as much done as I would have liked. I’m grateful we pretty much finished our shopping on Thursday, because the storm was pretty epic.

Here’s hoping for a happy and healthy New Year.

The Pond - Part 19

Having spent her morning on the deck watching the New World draw nearer, Izolda retired to her cabin for the actual docking. The trunks were carefully packed, and if some of Katrinka’s nicer clothes had ended up in Izolda’s trunk, well, there was no one to know but Izolda.

The somber black dress she wore was Katrinka’s. Why a bride needed such a dress was beyond her, but it served Izolda’s purposes well. A grey dress would not have conveyed the sentiment as strongly as black, nor would it have made her skin seem as lustrous. Appearance was going to play a large part in her first meeting with Nikolai.

It was important that she get close enough to Nikolai as quickly as possible to transfer another of her powders to him, one much stronger than the one she’d used on the captain. Even so, she knew Nikolai well enough to know that even if she could revive his feelings towards her, he might feel obligated to send her home again until a suitable period of mourning for Katrinka had passed. She could not let that happen.

As she waited for the ship to go through the docking procedures, she paced in the cabin, rehearsing what she would say, and how she would say it. While it was true she had the power to make Nikolai her puppet, that’s not what she wanted.

Back in the old country there had been a spark of attraction, but he had been duty-bound to Katrinka. It had really taken very little to drive a wedge between the two, and to enhance what he’d already felt for Izolda. She wanted him, yes, but as he was, not as some soulless creature.

Nikolai was a strong, ambitious man and he needed a strong woman at his side to help him achieve those ambitions. That woman was her, Izolda. Katrinka had been frivolous and weak. He would have eventually realized his mistake in marrying her, but it would have been far too late.

Finally, finally! There was a knock on her door, the porters come to take the trunks away. Izolda gave herself a final once over in the mirror, then picked up her reticule and followed, joining the line of passengers disembarking the ship

The city of Boston spread out beyond the docks, and Izolda was intimidated, in spite of herself. It was so very different from Russia. The cacophony of voices around her was deafening. Katrinka’s father had hired a tutor to teach his daughter, and by extension Izolda, English. She had been careful not to let either the tutor or Katrinka know how quickly she’d caught on to the new language so as not to rouse the other girl’s jealousy.

Now she was able to understand many words and phrases spoken by the people around her, but everyone talked so fast! It took her a few moments to translate what was being said. For the first time she was grateful for the ship’s captain insisting that the steward accompany her to the inn where there was a room waiting for her.

The fact that the room was in the name of Katrinka Romanovich rankled a bit, but it couldn’t be helped. His duty done, the steward tipped his hat and left. Now all that was left was the waiting. Izolda didn’t mind this waiting. She was a patient soul, especially when it mattered. And Nikolai mattered a great deal to her.

A Visit From the Computer Tech

I’d almost forgotten about this parody, which I wrote twelve years ago. Despite technology changing and growing over the years, I think it’s still apropos today. Merry Christmas, everyone!


A Visit From the Computer Tech

’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, just the optical mouse;
The cords were all strung to the PC with care
In hopes the technician soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of interwebs danced in their heads;
The wife couldn’t take any more of this crap
So she went to bed while I took a nap.
When there on the screen there arose such a clatter
I sprang from the chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the keyboard I flew like a flash,
Grabbed up the mouse and gave it a bash.
The monitor gleamed with a brilliant blue glow
Seeming to mock me as I loudly moaned, “No!”
And what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a security warning that made my eyes tear.
With an attack on my drivers, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment my computer was sick.
More rapid than eagles the popups they came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now Trojan, now Wormy, now BankerFox vixen!
A technician’s coming, my computer he’s fixin’
By installing protection, a router, a wall!
And then he’ll delete you, delete one and all!”
And then, in a twinkling, as I thought to despair,
A van entered my driveway and parked with a flair.
I opened the door with a feeling profound,
And into the house came the tech with a bound.
He was dressed all in blue from his head to his toe
And his jacket was covered with a sprinkling of snow.
A box full of tools was grasped in his hand
And he looked like an angel, come down to land.
His eyes, they were bloodshot, his face was unshaven
From his pocket he pulled a business card graven.
He was balding and old, and he started to sneeze,
Then, spotting the cat said, “I’ve got allergies.”
The stump of a cigar he held tight in his teeth
And he caught his hat on the door, in the wreath.
A squint of his eye and a shake of his head
Soon gave me to know the bill I would dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
And in a few moments pulled the plug with a jerk.
“The mother board’s fried,” he said, shaking his head.
“And the rest of your hard drive looks like it’s dead.”
Then he packed up the tower and picked up his tools
“Gotta watch these old ‘puters, they’re stubborn as mules.”
He walked to his van, my computer in hand
I had to admit, this did not go as planned.
And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, no more surfing to-night.”

The Write Way

A trilogy is a huge investment on the part of author, publisher, and reader, and I'm grateful that so many people were willing to invest along with me.
— Rae Carson

I love the trilogy form. I like the idea that you can establish a character in book one. And then in the second part, you can take the characters down to their darkest point. And then in the third part, you have total freedom either to give them redemption - or just to kill them.
— Adrian McKinty

In writing a series of stories about the same characters, plan the whole series in advance in some detail, to avoid contradictions and inconsistences.
— L. Sprague de Camp

So . . . last week I talked a bit about how I’ve been writing a series but doing it wrong, this week I’d like to explore how I should have been doing it.

Okay, I’m going to assume you have a brilliant idea that you can sustain across a multi-volume series. But to make sure, you need to plot it out. This is the hard part, if you’re a pantser like me. It’s not that you can’t write a series without plotting it out first, but you need to know how the whole thing is going to end so that all roads lead to that resolution. And even a sketchy, point form outline will keep you on track.

If you’re a plotter, you need to have a basic plan for the entire series, and then you can plot the individual books one at a time. This let’s you understand not just how each book fits together, but how it fits into the series as well so you can tie it all together in the end. An organized structure will help you keep track of what happens and when, especially important when the action is spread across multiple books

Don’t be afraid to include subplots. Subplots can be fun and liven things up for your readers. The ups and downs of one (or more) subplot can provide a rise and fall in the overall action to help keep the reader interested.

While all four of my Elemental books can almost stand on their own, they’re basically subplots to the larger story that makes them part of the whole. Now the Moonstone Chronicles on the other hand, are all a continuation of the same story, but also have subplots – sort of a story within a story.

Plotting it out ahead of time will also help you figure out how many volumes your series is going to be – don’t drag it out just because you think you can sell more books. It weakens the overall story.

Next you need to think about setting and characters. Are you using the same setting for the whole series? A different setting for each book? Whichever you decide, your setting needs to be vivid and intriguing enough that your readers aren’t going to get bored.

Characters need to be interesting, likeable, and multifaceted. They’re the reason your readers will keep coming back – to see what happens next to their favorite character. It’s important to introduce your character’s desires and goals early, so your reader will become attached to them. But reveal their details slowly, so there’s something new to learn with each volume.

Make your secondary characters count, don’t just have them pop in and out for no good reason. They should have purpose. Maybe they help your main character, or maybe they’re there to get in their way. They could even trigger a subplot.

One thing that’s really helpful is a story bible. I wish I’d done this with my series, and I fully intend to do them going forward. This is a dedicated notebook that contains everything you ever wanted to know about your book series – characters, actions, subplots, settings, maps (if you’ve got them).

The story bible is something you can refer back to when you’re not sure if a character’s eyes are blue or green, or if he’s left-handed or right-handed. Or you’ve forgotten what time of year it is, or what city they were headed for. Maybe you’ve used a particular subplot already.

Your final book should offer a resolution to the minor conflicts as well as the big one, otherwise your readers are going to feel cheated. Perhaps your story needs to come full circle, ending where it began, or maybe your hero(s) ride off into the sunset. But one way or another, if the series is done, the story should be done.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

This has been a week, I tell you what.

There were a lot of outside influences, all converging from keeping me from getting ahead with my writing, but that which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?

My stitchery group had their Christmas luncheon last week, I had a poetry group meeting, the pleasure of the granddaughter’s company due to a snow day, and there was a death in the family.

Sadly, the only one that didn’t really affect my time was the death in the family. My mother-in-law passed away, but this was not unexpected as she was in a nursing home for a number of years and her health wasn’t good. The husband’s family is large, and somewhat dysfunctional, and the real drama won’t be happening until next week when all the drama llamas begin converging for the funeral.

The good news is, despite the big chunks of my time being sucked up by social obligations, I still managed to tread water with the writing. And, of course, this being the time of year it is I’ve being doing a lot of thinking and reflecting on what lies ahead and what I want out of the year to come. I haven’t come to any conclusions, but I’m working on it.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1756+292+259+841=3,148
Extra poem – 123 words Total words = 3271
UP 141 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get my blog posts done early.

EDITING:
0 pages
Due to time constraints and social obligations, it never even occurred to me to try and do some editing, although I do have a folder with the files for Elemental Spirit on my desktop now. So maybe that counts as progress?

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

MARKETING:
Well, hell. Maybe I was a little premature putting marketing back on the table.

I made no inroads in making an Amazon page, and I’m sure it’s easier than I think it is. Nor did I start filling out the paperwork to be included in the book promotion site. I’m starting to think this is going to be something to attempt in the New Year.

Goal For Next Week:
Look into developing an author page on Amazon, work on the book promotion form.

TECH & TRAINING:
Incentive or no, I did not look into doing anything with Dropbox. It keeps getting lost in the shuffle of the minutiae of life.

Goal For Next Week:
Start backing up files to Dropbox. Set up external hard drive.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I did the last of the Chazz Combs forms last week, the Jay’s Way form. Which was kind of fun in an annoying, on drugs kind of way. I read all three of the forms to my poetry group Wednesday night and there was some lively discussion on whether Mr. Combs picked the syllable counts he did on purpose, or if he just arbitrarily picked them out of a hat.

I also wrote a bonus poem last week that I shared with my poetry group (but not on line). It was created from the prompt we were given for the month of December. At last month’s meeting the four of us who showed up were asked to write the beginning of a sentence. These sentence fragments were then to be incorporated into a poem for this month. It was a fun exercise.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form.

CRAFTING:
Looks like I’m on my own as far as crafting goes. I can’t compete with kitten cuteness. LOL

I was really hoping to include home made crafts in my Christmas packages this year, and thanks to the return of the crafts I made that didn’t get sold at the craft sale, I was able to include a small sampling in my two outgoing parcels, but it’ll be up to me to make them myself if I want to include any more.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep going on the Christmas crafts for gifting.

WHAT I’M READING:
Last week I didn’t have a lot of time to read, but I did manage the 2-in-1 volume, A Wish For the Season, which included A Season For Grace by Linda Goodnight, and Heart of the Family by Margaret Daley. Once again I didn’t realize until after I’d bought it that it was a Love Inspired book. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, it’s just usually I like something with a little more bite to it.

And I started reading Unnatural Creatures, which is an anthology of stories not written by Neil Gaiman, but selected by him.

Goal For Next Week:
Start paying better attention to what kind of book I’m buying.

GOAL REVIEW:

Some of them may have been late, but I got all my posts done last week, and considering the week I had, that’s saying something.

It’s not surprising that I did no editing and no marketing, because that’s just the way things have been rolling lately.

I did a new poetry form, plus an extra poem for my poetry group meeting. Seven members showed up, which is almost twice what it’s been the last few months, so that was nice.

The crafting was a big, fat bust. I’d bought all this pasta so the granddaughter and I could make pasta snowflakes, and then she opted to play with the kittens instead of crafting. I did make a half-hearted attempt to make them myself, but all I had to go by was a picture, and I’m not sure what they used to stick the pasta together. Obviously not a glue gun. So . . . we’ll be eating a lot of pasta in the new year. LOL

The mother-in-law passed quietly last week, without fanfare or drama. The real drama will begin when the hypocritical drama llamas all gather for the funeral this coming week.

This will obviously make for a stressful week, but I’m still hoping to at least get my blog posts done.

The Pond - Part 18

Izolda stood at the rail of the ship, the light wind teasing the hair she wore down to make herself look younger and more vulnerable. She was wearing one of Katrinka’s dresses – why should she not? They were much the same size and it took very little to alter it to fit properly. And after all, what was Katrinka’s was now hers.

She looked out over the ocean, as she did quite often, always looking forward, never behind. The seas had calmed almost immediately after Katrinka had been lost, much to the puzzlement of the captain and crew. They’d never seen a storm blow up and then dissipate so quickly.

With one last, deep breath of fresh sea air, she turned and reluctantly started back towards her cabin. It wouldn’t do to spend too much time out on deck. One of the matrons who’d been whispering in a little cluster near the salon might take it into her head to try and take Izolda under her wing, the poor, bereaved dear.

As she passed them, they murmured sympathetic nonsense. Izolda smiled sadly at them and kept going. One of them made as though to follow, but a gesture with her right hand had the woman halting in her tracks and then returning to her friends.

“I thought you were going to offer to sit with her, Claire,” one of the women said.

Claire had a slightly dazed look on her face. “I didn’t want to intrude,” she said slowly. “We must all deal with loss in our own way. Some do better on their own. We should leave her alone.”

Her friends looked at each other in confusion.

As Izolda disappeared from view, she could hear their loud whispers behind her and could barely suppress a smile. Really, those women were even easier to influence than Katrinka had been. Her smile faded. Hopefully Nikolai would be as well.

She closed the cabin door behind her and locked it. Going over to her own trunk, she pulled out her book of spells and unwrapped it. Settling down in the middle of the bed – the perfect size when one didn’t have to share – she opened it up and began leafing through it.

Though she knew it by heart, she went over the spell that would allow her to regain her control over Nikolai again. With any luck, the seeds she had already planted would still be there. She would just have to refresh the spell, rather than renew it.

The key would be to take things slowly. He must be given time to mourn, but as he did so she would make sure his thoughts of Katrinka would become less fond. And he would need comfort from someone who had known Katrinka. It would seem only natural that he turn to her. She would make it so.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door. Izolda frowned, but closed the book, wrapping it up again before placing it back in the trunk.

“Who is it?” she asked through the closed door.

“It’s Captain Jennings.”

Izolda cursed under her breath. “One moment please.”

Quickly, she went back to the chest and pulled out her box of herbs and a mortar and pestle. A pinch of this, a touch of that, a quick grind with the pestle, then she gathered up a pinch of the resulting powder and closed the chest again.

Unlocking the door, she pretended to stumble and when the captain stooped to help her, she blew the dust in his face. “Oh, pardon me for my clumsiness, Captain.”

“No harm done, my dear,” he said.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked, although she knew perfectly well why he was here. “You will forgive me for not inviting you in,” she continued. “But it is unseemly for me to have a male visitor without a chaperone.”

“Forgive my intrusion,” he said, his face slightly flushed. “We should make landfall tomorrow and I have come to offer my services as an escort for when you meet your friend’s fiancé and must break the sad news to him.”

He had come to her with the same offer the previous day, but obviously the spell she cast then made him forget completely.

“I thank you for your kind offer,” she said. “But you need not concern yourself. Such news would be better coming from a friend.”

“You’re right, of course,” the captain said. “I will take my leave of you.”

Izolda’s breath came out in a huff as she locked the door again. If she were to look on the bright side, at least having to deal with all these people allowed her to hone her spells.

Jay's Way Poetry Form

You know, I really wish I could uncover more about Chazz Combs. So far I’ve found a Chazz Combs on Instagram who’s retired from the USAF and enjoys family, cars, guns, knives, and watches, a link to the Poets Collective (where I first stumbled across his forms), and a link back to my own blog for last week’s poetry post, presumably because I used his name in the title of my post.

Jay’s Way is the final form I’ve found that was invented by the elusive Mr. Combs. This is a twelve line verse, once again with a really funky syllable count and a more or less normal rhyme scheme.

The syllable count is: 3-7-11-9-5-3-3-5-9-11-7-3
The rhyme scheme is: a-b-b-c-c-d-d-e-e-f-f-a
And here’s the schematic:
xxa
xxxxxxb
xxxxxxxxxxb
xxxxxxxxc
xxxxc
xxd
xxd
xxxxe
xxxxxxxxe
xxxxxxxxxxf
xxxxxxf
xxa

Other than the syllable count and rhyme scheme, there wasn’t any other information available about this form. I’m assuming that it’s supposed to be centered, like the others, so that’s what I’m going to do in my example.


Circle

an old soul
realizing it was time
to let go of its tether to earthly clime
began the separation of mass
carefully, like glass,
like a web,
life at ebb,
each gossamer strand
removed as though by a sleight of hand
into the eternity beckoning,
an afterlife reckoning
circle whole

Seriously, Series

One of the traps or pitfalls of writing a trilogy – or a triptych, or whatever term you want to use – is that the second book can be a long second act to get you from book one to book three, which borrows all of its energy from the first book.
— Justin Cronin

There is one final point, the point that separates a true multivolume work from a short story, a novel, or a series. The ending of the final volume should leave the reader with the feeling that he has gone through the defining circumstances of Main Character's life. The leading character in a series can wander off into another book and a new adventure better even than this one. Main Character cannot, at the end of your multivolume work. (Or at least, it should seem so.) His life may continue, and in most cases it will. He may or may not live happily ever after. But the problems he will face in the future will not be as important to him or to us, nor the summers as golden.
― Gene Wolfe

In writing a series of stories about the same characters, plan the whole series in advance in some detail, to avoid contradictions and inconsistences.
— L. Sprague de Camp

This is really frustrating. I know there are some great quotes out there about writing a book series, but I could only find a couple of them.

With the release of the third, and final, book in my Moonstone Chronicles series, I find myself wanting to go back and change things. Does this ever happen to you? If not, then you probably have a better handle on writing a series than I do.

I knew, from the beginning, that this was going to be a trilogy. In fact, I had planned it to be an Ennealogy, which is a nine-book series. There were going to be three written about Jessica’s father, as well as six written about . . . what comes after, I guess. I never really thought it out that well.

I made lots of notes, but the notes consisted mainly of character sketches. I wrote the same (short) twelve chapters over and over again, never really going anywhere because I had no idea where I was going.

And that, right there, was part of the problem. Being a pantser (someone who writes by the seat of their pants), I didn’t take the time to think it through. I just went off willy nilly and sent Jessica off on her adventures.

My Elemental series is suffering from the same problems, only more so (I think). It’s not just because I’m a perfectionist that I want to go back and change things, it’s that I see some serious flaws in this series too. I wrote An Elemental Wind on a whim. It wasn’t until I finished it and it was released that I thought, “Oh, this was kind of fun. And you know, there are three more elements I can write about.”

I was about half way through the second book when I figured out the connection between it, and the first one. And then it was during the fourth one that I figured out a way to tie them all together. Trust me, this is not the way to go about doing a series.

As a die-hard pantser it pains me to admit this, but pantsing is not the way to go if you’re planning to write a series. You at least need to have some kind of an idea what the end game will be so that your stories can consistently move towards that end.

In this respect, the Moonstone Chronicles were somewhat easier to write than the Elemental series, because I knew what the end game was. But the Elemental series . . . if I had known ahead of time that this was going to be a multi-volume series, I could have found my purpose right from the beginning and there are things I could have included that would make my reader’s sit up and say, “Oh, so that’s why that happened in the first book. Cool!”

So in other words, my friends. If you’re contemplating writing a multi-volume series, don’t do it the way I did. In fact, maybe next week I’ll explore how you should do it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

Wednesday I released my seventh book into the world, Magical Mayhem finishing my Moonstone Chronicles trilogy. It had been about five years since my last book release, and since things refuse to remain static, the process has changed somewhat. So uploading my book I was nervous, and in a rush, and so you might notice it doesn’t quite match the way the other two appear on Amazon. I’m sure it's something I can go back and fix, but I need a breather first.

I did the first 53,000 words (a little less than half the total word count) of Magical Mayham, formerly titled Wandering Wizards, for my 2013 NaNo. But I was still working on the second book of the trilogy, Lucky Dog, at the time and it’s kind of hard to move forward on a book when you don’t know what happened before.

I was in a weird frame of mind for most of the week. One of those times where I seem kind of removed (mentally speaking) from what’s going on around me. It happens some times, and I think it’s usually brought on by an abundance of grey weather.

I had a lot of stuff I was hoping to accomplish, both writing and otherwise, but none of it got done. It happens, and I’m not going to beat myself up about it because I’m sure it’ll happen again. All I can do is move forward and hope I do better in the week ahead.

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1907+234+989=3,130
DOWN 378 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Get my blog posts done early.

EDITING:
0 pages
Nope. No editing. Didn’t even look for a copy of Elemental Spirit.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

MARKETING:
Okay. Marketing is officially back on the table. And I don’t just mean submitting new stuff, it also means promoting current stuff. Wednesday saw the launch of my seventh book, plus I have stories included in four anthologies.

I received an email recently, inviting me to participate in a new website geared to promoting books and reading. There’s a rather long, complicated form to fill out, but I have until January 15th to do so.

The other thing I was thinking about was creating an author’s page on Amazon. I have no idea how to go about this, but it’s something to think about.

TECH & TRAINING:
I had a dream the other night that there was a fire in my house, and I only had time to grab the kittens and get out. All my files, computers, and USB sticks were lost, which meant my life’s accumulation of writing was lost. It gives me new incentive to start backing up to Dropbox.

Goal For Next Week:
Start backing up files to Dropbox. Set up external hard drive.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
I do simultaneous poetry posts on both blogs on Wednesdays, but this past Wednesday I delayed the one over here until noon because I ran a post about my book launch earlier. But the poetry post was a new one, the Chazz Effect form, which wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form.

CRAFTING:
When I arranged for the granddaughter to come over to do crafts with me, I did not expect to have to repair a bunch of the ones her mother and I had made previously. So that left us a little short of time for our own crafts. But we managed to do half a dozen snowmen and several penguins for their Christmas tree. Her penguins were uniquely her own. :-)

Today we’re going to try snowflakes out of pasta, and maybe pasta angels. And maybe I’ll even remember to take a picture this time.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep going on the Christmas crafts for gifting.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished reading The Cabin in the Woods, by Sarah Alderson. Then I read Juniper Wiles and the Ghost Girls, by Charles de Lint, and My Killer Vacation by Tessa Bailey.

Goal For Next Week:
Maybe slow down the reading a bit.

GOAL REVIEW:

Well, I missed Monday’s post completely, but I did the others, plus there was a bonus post on Wednesday for the release of Magical Mayhem. But I didn’t count it in my wordage report because most of it was a rather lengthy quote from the book itself.

No editing – no surprise there. See, this is where it would be handy if I had everything stored in Dropbox, then I wouldn’t have to keep switching back and forth between computers, or USB sticks or whatever.

Marketing and Tech were more thought than action, but hope springs eternal that they’ll see more action in the week ahead. But I did manage to do a poetry post with a brand new form, so there’s that.

The granddaughter and I did do some Christmas crafts last weekend, and we’ll be doing more later today. I really wish I’d taken a picture of them, especially her penguins. She opted for evil penguins, so they all have red eyes. What a kid!

Did I say this past week was supposed to be less stressful? Boy was I wrong. Any week that includes an abundance of shopping (Christmas shopping) is bound to be stressful. Add to that we’re on death watch for the mother-in-law . . . unless she rallies, which happened the last time we were on death watch for her.

To be honest, I don’t see the week ahead being much less stressful, or productive, it being the time of year it is. But I guess we’ll see.

The Pond Part 17

It took three days to reach the port at Sankt-Peterburg, where the steamship waited to take them to America. The closer to the city they got, the quieter Katrinka became, almost as though she was having second thoughts.

But Katrinka was easy to control, and there was no way Izolda was going to let her back out now, not when she was so close. It took very little power to make Katrinka happy again, and to erase the misgivings her father had at sending his beloved daughter into the unknown.

While Fyodor, Katrinka’s father, talked to the ship’s clerk, Izolda looked over to where the steerage passengers were waiting. She could not imagine being squeezed in amongst them. Thanks to the money Nikolai sent and the generosity of Katrinka’s family, the girls were to share a first class cabin.

“Have you ever seen anything so enormous?” Katrinka asked, clutching at Izolda’s arm.

Resisting the urge to shake the other girl’s hand off, Izolda glanced at the ship they were to take. “It is quite large, isn’t it?”

“You could fit our entire village in it three times over!”

Izolda ground her teeth together to keep from snapping at Katrinka. This is who Nikolai was being forced to marry? It was a good thing she planned to save him from such a fate.

The clerk motioned another of the ship’s crew over and Fyodor turned to the girls. “This is one of the stewards on the ship. He will show you to your cabin. “

The man tipped his hat at them.

“I want you girls to go straight to your cabin, no loitering on the deck. And stay there as much as possible. Nikolai will be there to meet you on the other side and will take you to the home he has built. From what I have heard, he is doing very well for himself.”

Katrinka threw her arms around him and squeezed. “I will miss you father, and all the rest of the family too,” she said tearfully.

“You will make Nikolai a fine wife,” he said gruffly, eyes moist. “And you, Izolda. A pretty girl like you will have no problem finding a husband.”

“I hope so,” she murmured, suffering herself to be hugged as well.

There was a blast from the ship. The steerage passengers began picking up their belongings and forming a queue.

“Write as soon as you reach your destination,” Fyodor said. “And God go with you both.” He hurried away before he was reduced to tears.

Katrinka made as if to follow him, but Izolda laid a hand on her arm and together they turned to follow the steward. He led them to a different ramp than the steerage passengers were taking and they boarded the ship. Having been given his instructions, he led them straight to their cabin, pausing only long enough to point the way to the dining hall on the way.

Their trunks were already waiting for them. The steward told them what time they would be expected for dinner, and then left them alone. Izolda looked around their room with a critical eye. It was a little small for two, but would be just perfect for one.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

For the first few days of the voyage the seas were calm. But after the fifth day the water grew rough and Katrinka grew seasick. She grew worse and worse, until Izolda sent for the ship’s doctor.

After a cursory examination, the doctor, a rotund little man sporting a goatee, told Izolda, “It looks worse than it is. Trust me, my dear. No one has ever died of seasickness.”

He might have been less light hearted if he’d seen the thoughtful look on Izolda’s face as he turned his back and left.

The seas calmed and Katrinka grew better. She developed the habit of taking an evening walk along the rail of the deck and of course Izolda accompanied her for propriety’s sake. They became a common sight, the young bride to be and her faithful companion.

The ship was forced to change course to avoid a typhon and there was speculation at dinner that night about how many days they would be behind schedule.

“And I would suggest you young ladies forego your walk this evening,” the ship’s clerk, who was at their table this evening, advised. “Though we have only caught the tail end of the inclement weather, the winds can be quite strong.”

“I agree,” Izolda said quickly. “It is far too dangerous to walk on deck.”

Katrinka looked like she was going to say something, but subsided and merely smiled.

That evening, a rain-soaked Izolda burst into the first class salon. “Help, oh, someone help!”

“What is it child?” the doctor said.

“It’s Katrinka! I fear she has been swept overboard! Oh, someone help!”

The purser sent for the captain, while the doctor led a sobbing Izolda over to one of the club chairs.

“Now tell us what happened.”

Izolda took a sobbing breath.

“I thought I’d talked Katrinka out of taking her evening walk, but she slipped out of our cabin when my back was turned. I followed, thinking to talk some sense into her.” Another gasping sob. “I could see her just in front of me, near the bow of the ship. There was a gust of wind, and then a wave, and then—and then Katrinka was gone!”

She buried her face in her hands and began to cry in earnest.

The doctor looked over her head and exchanged a glance with the purser. They would check the deck, just in case, but the other girl was as good as gone.

When Izolda finally retired to bed that night, it was with a smile on her face.

Chazz Effect Poetry Form

This week’s form is another one invented by Chazz Combs. You might remember him from a form I did at the beginning of November, The Bev-A-Lyn Rhyme.

At first glance I thought, “Oh, this looks like a fun form.” But then I noticed that it has a rhyme scheme as well. *sigh*

There are only nine lines to this poem, but to write it you might want to work backwards because the last line, consisting of a one syllable word, has to be included somewhere in each of the other lines. The syllable count is: 14,10,9,7,5,3,2,2,1 and the rhyme scheme is: a,a,b,b,c,c,d,d,e

Here’s the schematic with the syllable count and rhyme scheme:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxxxa
xxxxxxxxb
xxxxxxb
xxxxc
xxc
xd
xd
e

And, like the Bev-A-Lyn Ryme, this poem should be centered on the page. My best advice if you want to try this form? Chose your end word wisely – believe me, this poem is harder than it looks. :-D


The Wise Men

One star high in the sky, led the wisemen on their long quest
no one to tell them that this was their test
of their belief in the one true god
one by one they went abroad
to find one manger
one stranger
one queue
one to
one

Happy Launch Day!

I’m pleased (and relieved) to announce that Magical Mayhem, the conclusion to my Moonstone Chronicles trilogy, is now live and available for download!

Believe it or not, I wrote the first half of this book for my 2013 NaNoWriMo! However, one of the big issues I had with it at the time was that I was still working on Lucky Dog, the second book in the series. Of course it was released in 2016, so I may have been dragging my heels a bit. But hopefully it’s worth the wait.

In this conclusion to my epic adventure, Howard is given an amulet imbued with elven magic, meant to aid him in is magical studies. Instead, he uses it to visit the magical realm himself. Here’s what happens when he wakes up:

Howard woke with a groan. It took a few seconds for his memory to catch up and when it did he sat up too quickly.

“Ow, ow, ow!” He held his head as it threatened to explode with pain. “Jesus! Why didn’t anyone warn me about side effects?”

The pain receded slightly and the spots that had been dancing in front of his eyes lessened. It was at that point he realized he wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by a ring of heavily armed elves, all dressed in some kind of dark grey uniform, all with drawn swords pointed at him.

“On your feet, human,” the one with extra decorations on his tunic ordered.

“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.” The pain in his head seemed to recede a bit as he took several deep breaths.

This was not how he pictured arriving in the magical realm, although he was grateful that it appeared to be where his transferal spell had landed him. A quick glance around showed that he landed in someone’s formal garden. In fact, he was fortunate that he landed on the path and not in one of the flower beds with their ornate statuary or worse, in the fountain.

The soldiers, he couldn’t think of them as anything else, showed signs of impatience so with a supreme effort he got to his feet. Another quick glance around had him expelling a quiet sigh of relief. There was no sign of Ellen, thank God she hadn’t been close enough to get caught up in his spell - he’d have never heard the end of it. Of course, he was also going to be in for it from her for leaving her behind, but he’d cross that bridge when he returned. If he was able to return.

“I don’t suppose one of you kind gentlemen could tell me exactly where I am?” he asked, a puzzled frown on his face. While he hadn’t expected to land at Jessica’s feet, he had hoped to be in her general vicinity. When he last spoke with her, she and Dominic had been well off of Ghren lands, taking a boat on a river or something. This looked to be a town or city of some kind.

“Silence. You will come with us.”

As much as Howard would have liked to protest, he had a feeling it wouldn’t do him any good. The pain in his head receded to bad hangover strength and he was feeling slightly dizzy, so at first he focused entirely on staying on his feet. Gradually the dizziness passed and he began to look at the passing scenery with interest.

The path through the garden was made from something like flagstone, only this was no dull grey slate but a white, marble like stone. On either side of the path were flowering shrubs and exotic blossoms, slender trees that bore unfamiliar fruit. They came to a finely wrought gate that appeared to be carved from the same stone as the shimmering white walls surrounding the garden.

There were two elves guarding the gate who stared at them impassively as the company passed through. With an ominous clang the gate shut behind them. Howard couldn’t help gawking a bit as they walked. This had to be an elven city, or at the very least a town, something he’d always dreamed of but never imagined could be real.

The street was a smooth cobblestone, not quite as fine as the path through the garden, but still not ordinary stone. The buildings looked like they’d be right at home along the shores of the Mediterranean - no more than two or three stories, made of white stone with low walled gardens separating them from the road. He caught glimpses of carvings and embellishments on the walls and wished he could stop to examine them more closely.

There was a profusion of flowers everywhere, clinging to the walls and climbing up the staircases that led to upper stories. Though he couldn’t see them, Howard could hear a medley of bird song, hauntingly beautiful sounds. The sun was shining high overhead, from which he deduced it was close to noon, but there were no other people – elves – around.

The reflection of the sunlight on all that white was making his headache worse. Howard stumbled along with his guards, only vaguely aware of numerous twists and turns in their path. After what seemed like forever, they halted in front of a squat, unadorned building and he was led inside.

The elven equivalent of a jail, he deduced. It reminded him of the jails from old western movies. The room was large and scrupulously clean, the walls and floor made of the same stone as the other buildings he’d seen. There was a desk made of pale wood, polished to a shine, to one side of the door with a mirror hanging on the wall behind it. A row of carved wooden chairs of the same wood as the desk were lined up along the opposite wall, and the back had been divided into two cells with sturdy looking bars.

“In here,” he was told, the elf in charge indicating the cell closest to them.

“Hang on a minute. I’ve been nothing but co-operative, so I’d like—”

“In here,” the elf repeated, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Howard huffed out a breath but did as he was told. The elf locked the cell door behind him. “Someone will be in to question you shortly.”

The cell was actually very genteel when compared to an old west hoosegow. There was a cot along the outside wall, neatly made up. A washstand was placed against the wall between the bed and the bars dividing the two cells, with a pitcher and wash basin on it and a folded towel beside them. On a whim he checked under the cot. Sure enough, there was a covered chamber pot. The elves may be low tech, but they were nothing if not civilized.

He sat down on the narrow cot and sighed. This was definitely not the way he’d anticipated making an entrance into the magical realm. But as bad as things looked, he couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. He’d done it; he’d actually teleported himself to the magical realm. Now all he had to do was find Jessica.

To find out what happens to Howard next, BUY MY BOOK! :-D

On Amazon, find it HERE

And . . . That’s a Wrap, NaNoWrimo!

A deadline is, simply put, optimism in its most kick-ass form. It's a potent force that, when wielded with respect, will level any obstacle in its path. This is especially true when it comes to creative pursuits.
— Chris Baty

Your best friends are also the most likely to see this novel-in-a-month plan as another of your charmingly crackpot self-improvement schemes. Don’t be offended if you encounter some good-natured ribbing; the idea of writing a novel in a month deserves to be laughed at. When the chuckles die down, though, do your best to make it clear that, however ridiculous the whole escapade may sound, you plan on seeing it through to completion. Also make it clear that when you are a best-selling author you will use a portion of your vast fortune to reward your supporters and destroy those who scoffed at you.
― Chris Baty

I tend to celebrate crossing over with a meditative ceremony where I print the book out and neatly stack its pages on the floor. When everything has been properly laid out, I take a few steps back from the work, close my eyes, and offer up my thanks to the writing powers for another bountiful harvest. At which point, I get a running start and dive headlong into my word-pile, rolling around and snorting like a pig. And then I fall asleep for three days. How you celebrate is up to you.
― Chris Baty

Chris Baty, for those of you wondering, is the founder of the whole National Novel Writing Month event. It started in July, 1999 with 21 friends in the San Francisco Bay area. Why 50,000 words? Baty did a word count for the shortest novel on his book shelf, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, and used that to set the standard.

Only six of the participants, including Baty, completed the challenge that year. The next year the event was moved to November, to give people something to do during one of the dreariest months of the year. They created a website, and a verification option. There were 140 participants with 29 winners.

It began snowballing from there. In 2006 (the year I did my first NaNo), it became a non-profit organization. There were 79,813 participants and 12,948 winners (I was not one of them). It supports many writing fluency and education programs. It has programs geared for young writers, and you can also participate in Camp NaNo, letting you tackle your writing project in the summer as well.

Last year there was over 400,000 participants, but I couldn’t uncover how many completed the challenge. A few years ago they stopped making you validate your word count to get your winner’s certificate – it’s purely on the honour system now. I remember the years when the system kept crashing because of the sheer numbers of writers all trying to validate at the same time, so I can’t blame them.

I know there are people out there who participate in the challenge without signing up on the official site, but where’s the fun of that? By signing up you can buddy up with friends, participate in the forums, and see what NaNo events are going on in your area. You can win fun little badges, share your project cover, and keep track of your stats.

What do you get at the end of the month? The satisfaction of setting a goal and meeting it, no matter what, and a nifty certificate you can print out for your wall. A sense of community and camaraderie with other NaNoers. And you have access to goodies like discounts to writing software like Scribner and Drabble.

I have completed the challenge 14 times so far, failing only the first year where I ran out of story about 20,000 words short of meeting my goal. To date, I’ve only published two of my NaNo novels. The rest are . . . incomplete, despite the fact they’re all over the 50,000 word mark.

But it’s left me with editing fodder for years to come. :-)

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

WORDAGE REPORT

You know what’s more distracting than kittens? Pain in your jaw. And while the pain killers were great, they made me pretty sleepy, so the last few days of NaNo, plus the blog posting, were a little challenging.

But the pain is mostly gone now, except when I yawn, and NaNo is over. So the next batch of excuses will all be about getting ready for Christmas.

Take yesterday for instance. I was going to get caught up on all kinds of things, but first there was the craft sale my Guild was part of, so I had to go to that (and I had to park miles from the community center where it was being held and walk there in the pouring rain). The rain stopped and the wind came up, so naturally I had to go down to the waterfront and take pictures of the waves. The Santa Claus parade happened that night, despite the cold wind, and I’m pretty sure they “padded” the parade by throwing lights on every damn town and county maintenance vehicle there was because the parade was endless. Then after a really late supper, I remembered that I still had craft stuff to prepare for the granddaughter, who was coming over to do crafts today. And that’s why this post is so late. :-)

NEW WORDS:
Blog Posts – 1930+578+313+687=3,508
DOWN 478 words from last week

Goals For Next Week:
Finish my NaNo novel (only about another 1,000 words of story to go)

NANO
It was a kind of steady NaNo for me this year, mostly I kept chugging along. My best day was 3,352 words, and my worst was 175 words. But at least I wrote something every day. Many years I’d start out NaNo strong, then nothing for a couple of days, then catch up, then fall behind, then catch up again.

But obviously, slow and steady wins the race and even though I didn't end up with as many words as I did last year, I still crossed the finish line with words to spare. And also, I think for the first time, I finished close to the end of my novel. Usually I have plot holes, if not huge chasms, that I need to go back an fill at some point, or the story is far from incomplete. This year, I just have the dénouement and I’m done. Go me!

Week One: 1415+2097+1526+1677+1694=8,409
Week Two: 1385+2033+940+1252+1870+1303+175=8,783
Week Three: 1429+1258+3053+953+1034+2088+2064=11,879
Week Four: 3352+2674+2267+1585+2062+890+1226=14,056
Week Five: 1418+745+2960+2825=7,948
Total NaNo words – 51,075

Expected Goal – 50,000

EDITING:
X pages
I just realized that when I get An Elemental Spirit all polished up and send it out into the world, I’ll have completed both of my series. If it seems like forever since I started them . . . well, it has been.

I’m not sure if Spirit should be included under editing, or as regular words because it’s pretty much got to be re-written, especially the beginning part. I did it as part of NaNo a couple of years ago, mostly to force myself to get off the fence with it. And while I’m not thrilled with the results, at least it’s something to work with.

Goal For Next Week:
Start work on An Elemental Spirit.

MARKETING:
On suspension until after Christmas

TECH & TRAINING:
Dropbox is starting to become a “thing” with me. One of those good intentions the road to hell is paved with. I keep meaning to get to it, but I just haven’t yet.

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out how to set up the automatic back up for Dropbox. Set up external hard drive.

POETRY WEDNESDAY:
It was the last day of NaNo and I was already battling numerous distractions, and I suddenly realized, “Oh, this is Wednesday. I’m supposed to have a poetry post up.” So I dove into my archives and pulled out the Trolaan, spiffed up the post a bit, and threw it up there. It was pretty late, but it got done.

Goal For Next Week:
Share a new poetry form.

CRAFTING:
I wasn’t feeling up to doing crafts with the granddaughter last weekend, which was just a day after my dental surgery, but I was up late last night hot gluing hazelnuts to walnuts and then painting them so they’d be dry for this afternoon when she’s coming to make Christmas crafts with me.

The craft sale my stitchery guild was part of was yesterday, and I think they did pretty well. There was a nice variety of stuff, not only at our table, but for the whole sale. I think the person who did the best was the lady selling alpaca products – the blankets were just flying off the table, and one just happened to fly my way. ;-)

Goal For Next Week:
Figure out what other Christmas crafts to do this year.

WHAT I’M READING:
I finished Angels Fall, by Nora Roberts, and since NaNo wasn’t over yet so I couldn’t start my après NaNo book, I started reading The Cabin in the Woods, by Sarah Alderson.

Goal For Next Week:
Keep the reading to a slow and steady pace – I’ve got too much other stuff to do!

GOAL REVIEW:

Despite the fact that the only post that was up on time was my serial installment, at least I got them done, in spite of distractions like pain and tiredness. So I’ll take that as a win. And just an FYI, you don’t want to miss this week’s installment where you see how Izolda plans to deal with the last remaining obstacles keeping her from Nikolai, and set in motion the driving force for the rest of the story. :-)

Next up for publication will be An Elemental Spirit, hopefully some time next year. I haven’t looked at it in a while and I’m really hoping it’s not as in bad a shape as I think it is. I know the beginning sucks, but the rest . . .

Technically I should be putting marketing back on the table, seeing as Magical Mayhem is coming out on Wednesday. I have a couple of ideas, so we’ll see what happens with that.

I still haven’t mastered Dropbox, but now I’ve got some extra time so I need to get back on that.

Last week’s poetry form was recycled from a poetry post I did more than ten years ago, but at least it got done, when I finally remembered it was Wednesday. Funny how the days just seem to slip away from you.

No time for crafts, what with NaNo and all, although I did have a guild meeting to go to where I worked on my afghan. I’ll be doing more Christmas crafts in the week ahead though, because, you know, Christmas is coming.

So last week was a little stressful, but still pretty productive. This one should be even more so. Productive, not stressful.

The Pond - Part 16

Izolda stood in the witch’s cave, her cave, for the very last time. She glanced around, making sure she was not leaving behind anything important. In the pack at her feet was the book of spells and recipes that had once belonged to Varnya. As well, there were several sealed glass bottles of potions, and several bundles of dried herbs that she might have difficulty finding in the new world.

On the shelf by the bed was the journal she no longer had any use for, as well as the tinctures she didn’t require for the journey. They’d be easy enough to recreate at a later time. The bed was made, the cave was clean – she shouldered the pack and left without a backward glance. At the mouth of the cave she paused and set the ward. It would only allow a woman to pass, and only one with power.

She moved through the woods silently. This was the only thing she was going to miss. The forest had been her sanctuary, a source for herbs for her potions. While she was sure the new world would have forests as well, it would not be the same.

Back at the village, she slipped into the house unseen. A large wooden trunk rested on the hearth. It was only half full, but Izolda didn’t have all that much of her own. She wrapped the spell book in a spare skirt, as much to protect it as to hide it, and then fitted the bottles into a case she’d had made by her brother Dimitri, who had a fine hand for woodworking.

Hearing the approach of someone, she quickly buried the case in the center of the trunk. Though the bottles could be mistaken for bottles of scent or skin creams, she didn’t want to take the chance of anyone recognizing them for what they really were.

Izolda’s aunts Anya and Polina entered, both carrying bundles of cloth.

“Izolda!” Polina said. “We were hoping to find you here. Come, come, see what we have brought you.”

They set their bundles on the table.

“What is all this,” Izolda asked, mystified.

“We know there is not a husband waiting for you, as there is for Katrinka,” Anya said. “But there is a good chance you will find one, and quickly too, a pretty girl like you.”

“You have spent so much time helping Katrinka with her trousseau, you’ve had no time for your own,” Polina added. “So we have taken it upon ourselves to help you out. See, here are towels and bed linens.” She held out a towel for her inspection.

“And here is a quilt, made by us all,” Anya said, resting her hand on the folded fabric.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Izolda said, playing the part of being genuinely touched. “I cannot believe you did this for me.”

“We could not let our sister’s daughter go off to start her new life unprepared,” Polina said gruffly.

“Thank you, both of you.” Steeling herself, Izolda, who rarely touched another person, hugged them both. She placed the linens in the trunk. “It was just what was needed,” she told them.

“I will miss you sorely,” she said, closing the trunk.

“You will not have time to miss us,” Anya assured her. “First there will be Katrinka’s wedding, then no doubt you’ll be planning one of your own.”

“No doubt.”

The next morning her trunk was loaded onto the bed of the wagon alongside Katrinka’s larger, heavier one. It was a day’s journey to the seaport where the ship was waiting to take them away, so the girls said their goodbyes at the village.

At last they were on their way, Katrinka’s father driving the wagon. Katrinka kept turning and waving, tears streaming down her face. But Izolda as dry-eyed as she faced forward into her future.