‘Ch-chance … to see … her,’ he forced out determinedly, gesticulating, forming signs as he spoke. He found it helped, somewhat. ‘W-w-why … w-waste? W-why … n-not w-w-want … look at … h-h-her? Even if … c-c-c-can’t … h-have …’
Pan choked, muffling his coughs in his elbow.
‘Don’t misunderstand, of course they want to see her: Jacyntha’s a celebrity, someone special and exciting. But men aren’t romantically interested in women, we haven’t been for centuries. You know that. That was wonderful, by the way,’ he added, smiling praise for Pan’s verbal efforts.
Finished sharpening, Pan arranged her arrows neatly in the propped up quiver and jumped backwards, standing at attention as Jacyntha raised her bow. In emptying that quiver, she struck dead centre twice, then scored eight, six, nine, four, and eight, hit the centre four times in a row, and scored eight with her final shot. Pan was sure every single arrow, every score (except perhaps that four), was calculated. Between shots she’d turn to her spectators, flashing confident smiles and laughing.
From three-thirty, the castle began to fill with rich and powerful men, many come from wards right at the edge of the country. They had arrived days before, and stayed in private suits arranged in the sunniest corners of the castle, or else at their own stylish townhouses. Those who’d enjoyed appointments with pretty and popular women joined men just arrived from the city, congregating in parlours, libraries, and at the Shelves where they exchanged greetings—gentlemanly cordial handshakes between acquaintances, and boisterously enthusiastic hugs and back slaps between close friends long unmet. From four, taking their tumblers of amber whisky and pungent smoking pipes with them, they began to flow out onto the castle grounds, crowds of common men falling back to let them pass.
Just when I’ve written that my blogging calendar’s looking all bare, I miss a day. Terrible reason, too. Came home from choir yesterday with every intention of blogging something – hadn’t quite decided what, yet – but instead wound up catching up on the two episodes of The Hour that I missed while in Adelaide. And today … I’m using my 3G. Internet’s been out since late yesterday night. So, I suppose even had I gotten around to blogging last night, I might not have been able to.
Argh, I generally avoid this at all costs. This is the third time I’ve started this post – the iDevice has been having serious disagreements with WordPress. Not the best way to blog … but I’ll make do. I hate the term first world problems, but …
Not a great deal exciting to report, anyway. Send out a few query letters to agents. Editing the NaNoWriMo novel. Working on Behind Glass, which I was going to post today when the Internet came back, only it didn’t. Contemplating an older story that’s next in line once I finish up everything I’m working on now. Should probably be drafting the next Treading Twisted Lines and writing the last six or so chapters of Tom, but may wait until I’m done seeing to the NaNoWriMo creation. The story isn’t as terrible as I was afraid it would sound when I read it again, but still needs a fair amount of adjustment. About a third of the way through, now.
So ends another highly uninformative, not very useful post. Sorry about that. Should probably start blogging about something I know heaps about and could actually be useful for others. Sadly, though, the thing I know the most about is my own writing, just as it was when I started this blog. And I can’t even give good advice on writing. Sorry, again.
Blog content’s probably not going to change any time soon. If it does, though, you’ll probably be the first to know.
Woke up after arriving back in Brisbane yesterday evening to a lovely homecoming present – my first book review.
A fellow Smashwords author called Sam Seudo – I read one of his short stories last year, and really got into it – wrote a wonderful review of The Chosen Voice, giving it four out of five stars. His assessment was extensive, drew attention to both good points and less-well-executed aspects, summed up his overall opinion … pretty much everything someone could want in a first review. He even helped me realise something important about one of the lead characters, which will affect how I write her again. If she pops up in the story cycle again. She probably will. I at least want one more appearance from her, even if it’s brief.
Think I’ll have to up the number of reviews I write for my fellow Smashwords authors. It’s just such a lovely thing to find in your email, that someone you’ve never met has read and honestly appraised your work. Something all writers should have the true pleasure of experiencing.
Adelaide was fine. Hot, though. But dry. Spent time with some good people, a few of them even quite like-minded to me. And the concert went reasonably well after a week of intensive rehearsals, though the first half was better than the second, I think. A good festival, all in all. Nice to be blogging again, though. My poor calendar’s looking so sad.
Tomorrow, shall be boarding a morning plane and travelling south-west for Adelaide to partake in a choral festival, ten days worth of singing and frivolity. Much of it in a castle. It has turrets.
Needless to say, given said castle, the likelihood of my continuing to post in a (generally) regular fashion shall be hindered from tomorrow until the twentieth, when I return home. Castles, I believe, are not known for their wi-fi. Particularly those with turrets.
If my evaluation of the castle wi-fi situation proves inaccurate, perhaps I’ll try for a quick post now and then. However, such posts probably would not be worth reading, as I could not promise them the degree of effort they deserve, given my time will be pretty well occupied with rehearsals and the above-mentioned frivolity. More, they would make the title of this post rather redundant. So, even if there is internet access, I’ll probably take a break, and stay absent from the doll thermometer until the festival is over. Any truly free moments should probably be devoted to getting the bare bones of the next Treading Twisted Lines story finalised. Had a bit of a moment over my notebooks, before: didn’t like the notion of bringing them, liked the notion of leaving them at home even less. So they’re coming. They may just be extra weight, but … can’t really do much about it. And I’ll be glad, if I need them.
So. Until the twentieth.
Good blogging to you all.
All with early afternoon appointments scheduled, Jacyntha and a few other archers chose to pass their free hour after lunch together, starting in a sunny parlour and progressing to the sunnier rose gardens by the castle’s tightly guarded front gate. Apparently immune to the tense atmosphere the extensive castle guard in black created, armed with pikes and rifles and so many knifes they bristled with silver, the archers amiably discussed the next day’s tournament, though Jacyntha and Jenna in particular chattered in an anticipatory, challenging fashion, making bets as to who would score highest with their first shot, and trying to prise and trick the others’ tactics out into the open. Jared, at Jenna’s side, shot Pan an occasional disapproving, apprehensive look, warning him not to do anything controversial before the other escorts.