The Casual Madness, i.e. Snippets

It's time for May Snippets (according to the Book of the Chronicles of the Katiebugs of The Whisperings of the Pen), but first I am pleased to note that Elizabeth Rose on Living On Literary Lane very charitably invited me over for an author interview.  You can read it here - it was lots of fun!  Again, thank you, Elizabeth Rose, for inviting me in for tea and talk.

Plenilune writing has picked up a bit since March.  I spent March reading a lot of non-fiction, which, when taken as a single diet, considerably cramps my creativity.  So I spent April rereading several old favourite fictions and that helped a good deal.  I have been writing - not exactly chronologically, but I have been writing.



May Snip-Whippets




This is a rum turn of luck, if I dare swear before you on it.  We had hoped—”
“We had,” laughed Centurion.  “Some of us still do.”
Plenilune
 
People rushed to her side.  Aikin, who was closest, was there first, with an experienced but very bloodied hand under her elbow to hold her until she found her balance.  The world swam a moment with brown and tawny and pale light until it became a November wood again, and she looked down and over to see the huge body of the boar scrabbling and heaving, still alive, but only barely, with her make-shift weapon and Aikin Ironside’s spear in its chest. 
“Someone kill it, please,” a man called, half-laughing in an uncertain, shaky way.  “She’s all right, only tumbled a bit.”
Plenilune

There was a soft cracking sound behind her; glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder, Margaret found [FitzDraco] had drawn his lips in a wide thin line which seemed to be his best pantomime of a smile.
Plenilune

 “By the twelve houses!” the fox cried, getting impulsively to his feet.  “You met Bloodburn?  Would that I had been there.  I am sorry you met him alone.”
Plenilune

I am sorry,” Margaret said again, quite subdued and not a little awkward, and rather wishing, despite the madness, that she could have met the woman.  The irrevocable madness of the mother seemed to explain, a little, the casual madness of the son.
Plenilune 

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared down at the picture.  When she saw that it was a map she had expected it to be a little rough, with open edges as if there were places the explorer had not gone.  But no, the map was in pristine condition, fraught with so much detail that she was not able to take it all in.  There was Marenov√© and the Marius Hill—and Lookinglass a kind of embattled star to the east on the edge of a long dragon-back of hills.  She saw Darkling and Orzelon-gang, the steppes, the narrow, misshapen Honour of Thrasymene; but all this passed by her in a kind of fitful blur, like a fly that is angrily swatted away.  What she did see, very clearly, was the small, intricate, almost life-like figure of a dragon hard by the east side of the Marius Hills, pointing west into the lift of the fells as if to mark a path.  With her heart uncomfortably where her throat should be she lifted the corner of the page and slid her hand underneath it.
“God forgive me,” she murmured, and tore the page from the book.
Plenilune

But the joke rang hollow with Margaret.  With renewed vigour the inexplicable pangs in her chest returned, twisting upward into her brain images of the fells and the snow-hushed pine-woods, the glimpses of deep black lakes round the spurs of the hills: she saw the mews full of hawks and the kennels full of hounds: she heard the echo of proud Blue-bottle Glass declaring his power to the world.  No, no one would want Rupert.  Not even Plenilune.
And her heart ached because of that.
Plenilune

Her movements were fluid for one so old, her voice blue-veined and thin, but certain.  “Thee marks it, young man, and ‘twas a death-knell in thy soul for omen!  Thee marks the star Frezen blinked out, like a snuffer put on thy hope!  Let not Hell hope!  Let not Hell hope!  Aye! aye!” she laughed with both hands clutching the air before her, as if shaking something in their faces.  “ ‘Tis an omen!  ‘Tis an omen!  It may yet go ill with the evil lords!  He is the God not of the dead but of the living!  Aye, thy omening star goes out and he sits in Heaven and laughs at thee!  Uncovered are thy wickednesses!  Unhappy are thy auguries!  Ill will it go with thee!  Treble confusion on thee!  The death of thy enemies is wormwood and gall in thy bowels!”
Plenilune

5 ripostes:

  1. Positively thrilling, Jenny. Honestly, these May snippets are the best. Bar none. :) I loved each one and it made me want to start writing in earnest again ASAP. :D

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  2. The second to last one is the best. So sad.

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  3. Oh, so, so good, Jenny! Reading your wee snippets always makes me want to put pen to paper and just write for hours on end (with tea, of course :D). Alas, in the world of Those Still in School, it is time for exams and essays and the like. That doesn't necessarily mean I've been reading only nonfiction (oh, I wish! ;)), but rather, memorizing tables of Spanish verbs, writing academically-correct essays, and learning anew the concepts of biology in order to pass my exams. 'Tis a trying situation, but when all is completed (in one week or thereabouts), I will have a dreamy summer open to all the fictional reading I can fit in.

    P.S. Thank you for dropping by Literary Lane — it was such fun having you!

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  4. Amazing snippets, Jenny... I just love them all.

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  5. This is just awesomesauce! All of it! But I find myself liking the last paragraph best. I don't quite understand it all, but I think I like this mad sounding woman.

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