picowrimo | Pico day 27

Another good hour this morning. Rick is already outside, working away at his to-do list. I have ticked the most important item from mine:)

Kudos on getting your hour in in the morning!

Yeah, you should grab your stolen writing hours whenever you can. I'm lucky to have summer break at the moment, but that's how I get my writing done during school term.

I wrote nearly 3 pages of the summary chapter today. God, it was tedious. Like pulling teeth. Sitting over the novel and tormenting my brains: this should go into the story, no, this is not necessary, but yes, otherwise it won't make any sense for those not familiar with the novel, rubbish, the ones who know it would die of boredom... and so forth. The day I finish this sucker I'll open a bottle of champagne or whatnot. Er. Yes. Sorry for the whining.

Excerpt:

“You do not believe he has truly changed,” Cuhelyn said. It was not a question but Hywel nodded nonetheless.

“Do you?” he asked back.

Cuhelyn shook his head. “No; but I am hardly impartial when it comes to him. Your father may have extracted a price for Anarawd’s death through your hand, but that means not that I have forgotten – or forgiven – on whose behalf my lord was murdered. Neither can I believe that a land-hungry prince who has already betrayed his own people out of greed would change his heart all of a sudden.”

“And rightly so,” Hywel agreed. “I am certain that he believes he can manipulate Father into solving the problem for him again, as he had done so too often in the past. I fear we have not seen the last of him yet.”

Chills the champagne for you...

You might have to pick either for it to work only with the novel, or for it to stand alone, if both isn't going to be possible.

And I like your extract again. You write this period so well.

Woke up teeming with ideas, but have been busy most of the day and they've gone away again. Sigh. I did manage to take a stab at the mini-scene I needed to poke a new plot thread into this monster. That's spoilery, so have an excerpt from an earlier edited bit...

I leaned against the kitchen table and got myself a lungful of air that didn’t smell of the root more than a little, and then another one. The table bucked under my weight and the sword on top made a dive for freedom. I snatched the hilt out the air and waved the thing at the room’s solitary seat. Harebell ignored my stab at chivalry and parked her backside on the window ledge. It was a great choice from where I was sitting. The sunlight behind her erased her features like the incoming tide rewrote love letters inscribed in the sand.

Nice work!

*champagne on ice*

Cuhelyn seems to have his head screwed on the right way!

I hope the ideas will return. I like the cynicism of both (one assumes) Harebell and the narrator here.

Finished another poem (http://kafj.dreamwidth.org/59415.html). Little things! Maybe I'll feel like writing something big again some day, and maybe I won't. We'll see.

Thank you. I go with the novel, mostly, because the events described are actual historical ones, so I don't have much leeway in the matter. But I don't want to copy the novel, hence the summary version.

He is a very single-minded character, but I like him.

The table bucked under my weight ...

Happens to me all the time. *g*

Little things are good! I often wish I could write something short for a change but alas, it's rarely possible for me.

I like your poem very much.

A hectic start to my weekend. Having spent the day at Leeds Steampunk Market (I kept to my budget, but then accidentally boought a chaise longue on the way home) I edited three short chapters, which I typed up after some light gardening (the loganberries are responding to my threads to bring them under control come winter by fruiting even more enthusiastically). Rupert has done some more research, and a visit from Chroistophe has unforeseen consequences:

He'd found no evidence in the diaries that Mama and Papa had spent time together in the December of 1962, or even in January 1963 – he might have been an early baby, after all – but with no definite proof that they hadn't met then, even though there was no mention of Mama whatsoever in any of the diaries he'd read, Rupert had allowed himself to hope that his fears were unfounded. Then he'd met Papa's new friend.

There was nothing overt they did or said in front of Rupert that told him they were together – they were hardly likely to kiss each other in front of him like some of Mama's more extravagant swishy friends – but he sensed an understanding between them that he'd never seen between Papa and Mama. How had he deceived himself for so many years? Papa was too confident about himself to have ever married Mama under some mistaken belief that he could become what he wasn't.

Rupert knew himself to be a Peveril – his looks told everyone that much – but he wasn't really Papa's son, no matter what was printed on his passport and birth certificate. He loved Papa, and he loved Mama, but he needed time to work out how he was going to forgive them for lying to him all these years.

(In the right spot now...) Nothing new, but I went back over the last scene and tinkered with the dialogue. A little from the middle-ish bit ~

***

“You didn’t call an ambulance?” Sherlock said.

“He was bleeding and the ambulance would not have got to us and on to a hospital as fast as I could bring him here straight,” Sherlock said.

“To where you work,” Sherlock said.

Matron nodded.

“You assumed a risk,” Sherlock noted.

The matron’s posture had relaxed somewhat during the conversation. She drew herself up again at this remark. “To save a life, I would,” she stated and raised her chin.

Sherlock’s eyes flicked from her face to John’s and back.

Well done, you!

Good luck finding a solution to that one.

Pesky Real Life scaring all your ideas away.

Poetry's tough, though. I admire your progress with it.

I like Matron's thinking there.

Thanks! I think they come on purpose on the day when I really need to work. I don't think Harebell's as cynical, but she dislikes my narrator cordially & is indifferent to how attractive he finds her, which is a characteristic I like in a young woman.

Me too!

I've been so blocked for so long, it's nice even to lose the ideas...

Poetry is tricky -- kudos on carving out another one. I particularly love the end of this one.

Pico day 27

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