A Strange Power in Those Riddling Words

Snippets again!  I was kind of amused by the responses to my Lookinglass post: I felt as if the snippets I chose as descriptive examples weren't my best, though they were adequate for the points I was making, but everyone seemed to rave over them!  I'm not complaining, I'm just questioning your sanity...  I'm still reeling from meeting my goal to reach 100,000 words on my manuscript and thinking that I'll plot another goal of 10,000 by the end of September.  Nothing happens in September, anyway.  But here are snippets!  I hope that, in your cheerily bizarre minds, you enjoy them as much as I do.  We can all be insane together.  And I must warn you in advance: having looked over these snippets as a whole, I find none of them very happy. 

September Snip-Whippets

Autumn lay like beaten copper over the land, beaten by the wind, enamelled by the faience-blue sky.
Plenilune

They liked me better for it,” Margaret said with hard, cold iron in her voice, “but I think they would have liked it better still if Aikin had not been just in time to save me.”
Plenilune

The puzzle had much the same effect on the fox as it had on Rupert. He rose swiftly and backstepped as if from a viper that had been dropped suddenly in his path. It frightened Margaret to see his face unguarded—she had not known how guarded it had been before—and to know she carried a strange power in those riddling words and to not know what that power could do.
Plenilune

With one hand on her shawl wrapped about her head, her other gathering her skirts about her ankles, she ran across the yard and ducked out into the face of the wind. The roses bunching and climbing up the yard walls were roaring like a storm-tossed sea of silver and green. The windbreak across the pasture was struggling at its job: the wind was in everything, roaring, thundering, buffeting, drowning out everything but the water-droplet notes of a blackbird who was perched in one elm, very high up, where the wind was tossing it about with reckless abandon.
Plenilune

...through a few black bars of lettering, a dead theologian from an alien world had managed to thrust her awareness down, like a spade into dark loam, into a deeper world where things could be felt but not touched, believed but never seen.
Plenilune

At the end she signed it, which was the hardest thing of all. A horrible confusion welled up at her out of the characters: her own surname seemed meaningless, detached from herself; she did not want the title ‘de la Mare,’ or even ‘of the Mares;’ to belong to Plenilune was a thing she did not dare assume, nor was she at all sure, even now, if she wanted such a place. She stuck with her thin, brittle little English name, whose Saxon overtones and history meant nothing now—but it was all she had.
Plenilune

His touch was like the fire-glow of the autumn wind, cold, personal, searching in a horrible, painful way, wearing at her defences so that, even as she knew it was hopeless, she wanted desperately to loose herself from earth and fling herself into the grip of that crimson gale.
But how could she, when the creature asking to carry her cross would not even crawl out of his own prison?
Plenilune

In the end she chose a gown of pigeon-coloured velvet that purled back in places to let out the silky sheen of the ocean at sunset. With the muted flame of colour she moved across the barred light of the room, paused only to thrust her hair up and hold it in place with pins and sky-fire gems, before stepping out of her room, as one stepping out onto a battlefield that has already been lost.
Plenilune

 ...a dog barked down the lane and the wind, changing direction for a moment, brought through the gloam the soft drub of hooves on turf and dirt. There was a momentary jink of light down the hill between hawthorn and wind-swept barberry. It was only for a moment, then it was lost again in the curve of the pasture; but it would reappear shortly at the end of the lane and come steadily toward her, horses emerging like wraiths from the night tide, travel-worn faces awash with the moth-shuttered lantern-light.
Plenilune

As he turned the horses over to the hands of the stable servants and stepped into the full glare of the light, his hood falling back off the crown of his head, she saw the long road up from Darkling-law had left him very tired. And, as his eyes slid past her to Rupert, who had appeared with a soft breath of warm air from inside but without a sound, she saw in his face the unmistakable look of a man too tired to fight.
Plenilune

She went, and they set her down between Aikin and Huw on the settle—it was a narrow seat, and she had to ram her feet against the floorboards to keep from slipping off—and handed her a horn cup of perry that was light and chilled but made the blood run hummingly warm in her veins afterward. 
Plenilune

What might he do next, she wondered, and might there come a time when he so changed that she would no longer know him at all? 
Plenilune

8 ripostes:

  1. Wonderful! How I so love your monthly snippets as they are such fun and a delight to read. I must say that the fifth and sixth snippets are probably my favourites though, and this one too: "In the end she chose a gown of pigeon-coloured velvet that purled back in places to let out the silky sheen of the ocean at sunset. With the muted flame of colour she moved across the barred light of the room, paused only to thrust her hair up and hold it in place with pins and sky-fire gems, before stepping out of her room, as one stepping out onto a battlefield that has already been lost."

    I love it!

    Thank you for letting us have a peek at your writing of the month, Jenny, and a new writing goal for September sounds like a marvelous idea...

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  2. Ah, good. I don't have to wait till the far ends of September to read this post. I actually had forgotten it *was* September already. Sheesh. But I am ready for Autumn, and that is why your very first snippet gonged in my head. I also loved the one about the wind, and the one about the riders arriving in the dark. How much longer do you think, till you finish Plenilune?

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  3. My favorite is undoubtedly that of the dead theologian from an alien world. Hebrews 11:1 sprang to mind right away, and now I'm anxious to know who the dead theologian was, and how he thrust Margaret's awareness down. I love how you so perfectly captured her lost feeling.

    And the last one? A chill went down my spine. I want to know more of whoever "he" is, and quell the little bit of dread that rose up at "what might he do next." You have such a talent for drawing me in and making me desire more, Jenny! Wow!

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  4. I'm still bowled over by your having a hundred thousand words. Wow. Just wow. I liked the one about Rupert's{I'm assuming it was Rupert} prison. So far I think I like reading about him best. He hurts.

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  5. My favorite was this one:
    "At the end she signed it, which was the hardest thing of all. A horrible confusion welled up at her out of the characters: her own surname seemed meaningless, detached from herself; she did not want the title ‘de la Mare,’ or even ‘of the Mares;’ to belong to Plenilune was a thing she did not dare assume, nor was she at all sure, even now, if she wanted such a place. She stuck with her thin, brittle little English name, whose Saxon overtones and history meant nothing now—but it was all she had."
    So melancholy and reluctant. <3

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  6. I must read this book. This is the first blog post I've read about your story, but it was all I needed to know.

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  7. Joy - The snippets always take so long to come, and then they are gone again so quickly! I did TWO posts in August, but we won't speak of that... Don't you like that dress? Abigail always likes the outfits I manage to describe, but truthfully I find clothing to be very difficult not only to describe but simply to imagine. I usually have to stop full-tilt and brain-storm an outfit before I can move on. Not my forte, but as I certainly don't want people to get the impression that my characters live in a nudist colony, it's something that has to be done. And really I do usually enjoy the products I manage to yank out of thin air, as in the case of this grey dress. ^.^

    Rachel - You are hereafter banned from saying anything because you asked me how long until I finish Plenilune. :P No, not really, but I honestly don't know. Until I finish the story, I suppose. :P

    Miss Dashwood - Kudos to you several times over, for liking that last snippet (which is among my favourites) and having the book of Hebrews brought to your mind. Because the book of Hebrews is undiluted awesome. And because I like dancing in my cold feet on people's proverbial spines. ^.^

    Anne-girl - 109,512 AND COUNTING! And no, that's not my picture. I don't know whose it is (cute, ain't it?) but it isn't mine.

    Bree - I confess I did a little skip with my feet under the computer table when you said you liked the passage concerning the letter and Margaret's signature. Such a familiar, mundane thing to do juxtaposed to an alien society. In the matter of descriptions, this was a description by sleight of hand and comparison that I really liked, though I did it myself. :P

    Aubrey - It's coming! It's coming! I feel rather bad because I'm not talking much about Adamantine though Adamantine is slotted as the first of the novels; but it is finished and I'm working on Plenilune, so Plenilune is what I am talking about...

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