Posts

Posted on

Comma On My Mind

  • I think today I’ll do some exercises, and I may seek new ones.
  • Hovering over the keyboard, his fingers contemplated their next move.
  • Clouds drenched us overnight and gray hangs overhead this morning, so I feel like writing about water.
  • Last night I told my wife I think writing well would mean writing full time, but I don’t think I will take on that challenge soon.
  • As it turns out, knowing where to put the commas isn’t all that hard.
  • My grammar for fiction writers book is in my desk drawer, yet I resist opening either util I can nail all the conjunctions.
  • I don’t think I will get them all from memory, plus I haven’t figured out how to use ‘nor’ at all.
  • I’m still shaky on the introductory phrase, for I often find I write longer ones than I think are allowed to be called introductory.
  • I’m not sure if questions constitute a full sentence, nor am I sure why I would think that were true.
  • Eesh, that nor one kills me.
  • I shouldn’t forget the comma before names. Right, Scott?

What other exercise can I dream up?

I read about SVO order, and I thought I might work on that more. I also read one author who recommended back loading sentences with your core thought. Either of those might make good exercises.

I’ll explore those later.

xxx words on day 586

Posted on

A Back Story Interlude

OK. So, this witch and this sorceress walk into a bar and this witch says, “Bartender pour me a Tombstone.” And the bartender says, “We’re all outta tequila, but maybe the grave digger could sell you a plot.”

The people making up the sorceress and the witches culture encroached on land rich in magic resources. The indigenous people didn’t much like this, but their inability to stave off the invaders didn’t leave them much choice. They have been raiding towns and eking out an existence as best they can for a few decades, but recently they’ve been backed by some other hereditary rival of the first group.

On an ambassadorial mission to the indiginous’ nominative leader Morgan is kept captive.

Because of some undefined subtlety the first group’s leaders do want to bargain for Morgan’s release. Possibly unaware of the 3rd party backers they believe some concessions will alleviate the enmity between the two peoples.

Regardless of the political value of such diplomacy, Rhoda and Wendle think the wait-and-see plan is bullshit. Their sister and wife has been abducted and they don’t care for the reasons why. Or maybe they have some suspicion regarding the 3rd party. Potentially a suspicion that puts their otherwise indigenous sympathies at odds with their desire to have Morgan back and safe.

Sorceresses and witches don’t get along well because sorceresses see the use of magic as a mundane tool. Their training is practical and parallels the sort of training any craft would perform. Witches see the use of magic as a religious endeavor. They acquire skill through prayer and devotion and they use magic in subtle and deep ways. Neither group argues that they possess a different power than the other, but sorceresses think witches are meek and pointless while witches find sorceresses blunt and disrespectful. There is plenty of middle ground, but powerful people on both sides think the other should be put down.

Morgan and Wendle’s joining is some backstory that was supposed to help bridge the gap but didn’t. This story could be about Rhoda and Wendle pulling that off instead. In fact, it could be that Morgan had a more traditionally witch-like vision of the future that her marriage to Wendle would be that bridge. She originally thought it would be just the marriage, but she is now better seeing it as the abduction leading to the teaming up of her sister and her wife.

Filled out some coarse dramatis personæ. But still no plot.

424 words on day 585

Posted on

A Stalking Cat

http://cghub.com/images/view/93768/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/jrslm/2046856319/sizes/m/

The Black Kite on Wendle’s shoulder spread it’s wings and arrowed it’s beak at Rhoda. Wendel turned her head to look away. Rhoda took the moment of false privacy to extinguish the daemon and shift onto her feet. She sheathed the dagger but not the attitude.

“These monks believe things, girl. Things I don’t and things I know you don’t, but it never goes to piss on someone you don’t need pissed on, ” Wendle inclined her head, “Take my meaning?”

Rhoda flicked her head as much in assent as in a brush off. She took both the older woman’s meanings just fine, then broke her silence. “She’s my sister.”

Another gust drove through the glade pulling at the flames atop each lit candle but not dragging them free—enchanted. Spell-inscribed canvas streamers hanging from the alter’s hexagonal umbrella slapped the rafters. Shards of snow blustered down between them. The kite adjusted it’s grip.

Wendle locked eyes with Rhoda. And Rhoda stared back. Morgan may have been Wendle’s wife, but she was Rhoda’s only sister. When you had eight brothers one sister meant something hard to describe.

Wendle looked away as she had before. This time Rhoda noticed the dark brown curls tucked into her sister-in-law’s cowl and the gold hoop on her ear. The bird trilled a whistle. Fucking witches.

“You’ve matriculated?” Wendle asked.

“I will.”

“You won’t if I allow you to come.”

“What you allow means nothing to me.” Rhoda conjured a fresh daemon—a stalking cat this time. It glowed blue.

Wendle exhaled. “Let’s get you killed then. And put that out.”

The witch gestured lightly at the blue cat. It winked to black like a falcon snatched it on the wing. Rhoda hid her surprise.

297 words on day 584