We all know what it is like to juggle real life and writing. It takes effort and dedication and a lot of hard slog. Nevertheless, that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. That said, I finally began to edit this week. It was not much mind, but something. I think what spurred me on was talking to a writer friend about stories and writing. He made me realize that my manuscript is not going to write(or edit) itself and that if I do ever want to get somewhere with this whole writing gig, I need to be proactive. That means finding time to write, making sacrifices, writing and editing through the mental block.
The rest of the week was spent designing temples and palaces and other buildings which I keep promising to show you and then forget to. Oops. Now that university work is a bit more under control and holidays are coming up soon, I will have more time on my hands to blog and do all those other little yet important things.
And now to the main business of the day, the WIPpet. This excerpt is from chapter 9 (for the date) and is rather long as I feel you deserve a longer excerpt as I didn’t post anything last week. Context: *spoiler* has occurred sending Kara into a spiraling pit of depression. Three months after *spoiler* she grants an audience with two of her childhood mentors, Lord Markey and Lord Jonyen, who have a potentially treasonous suggestion.
Lord Markey: “Our proposition is this: you are the true heir to the Farilien throne. Lord Jonyen and I will support your claim regardless of the personal cost. And with our backing you will train in swordsmanship and war so that when the Haeleans reach our northern borders with a host that your father refuses to believe exists, you will lead us into battle like the ironmaidens of old.”
“What does that have to do with the succession?”
“If the Haeleans are not defeated when they attack, there will not be a throne of Fariel nor any line to succeed it.”
“You are capable, my lady,” Jonyen took over, “your absence from needlework did not go unnoticed, nor did the scratches and bruises. And to all intents and purposes, your education equalled your brothers’.”
Kara considered, “You will swear me allegiance, even though it is treason to do so?”
“My lady,” replied Markey seriously as he drew his blade, sunk to his knees and with the pommel facing Kara and the swords wicked edge hanging over his unarmoured chest, he pledged, “By all that is holy, the Raheni, this land of Fariel and the graves of my ancestors, I swear that I, Raenin Markey, Duke of Rhea, will serve and obey you, Karavere si Piren, princess of Fariel and true heir to the throne, until the end of days. I pledge my sword to you. I pledge my life to you. I pledge my soul to you. So I do swear.”
Kara sat back on her chair, stunned by the ferocity of Markey’s pledge but before she could gather her wits, Jonyen too adopted the pose, “I, Timen Jonyen, Lord of Fremmel and father of a child widowed, do pledge by everything holy, by the spring and the summer and the autumn and the winter, by the many graves of my departed children and on the lives of the two that lived, my allegiance to you, Karavere si Piren, princess of Fariel and true heir to the throne. I swear that I shall serve you, obey you and keep your confidence until the end of days. I pledge my sword to you. I pledge my life to you. I pledge my soul to you. So I do swear.”
“Thank you, my lords,” Kara whispered.