All Quiet On the Lunar Front

Amendment note on Margaret: Eva Green would be better.

Actually Finishing Something [in] July 
Week Two Questions
(It takes a long time to go from week one to week two.)

How time flies! (What.)  Did you reach your weekly goal?

Well, actually, I did.  I did, and I exceeded my goal!  I have rewritten Adamantine's first chapter and edited the scene in Plenilune which needed clarification. I was not expecting to get that Plenilune scene done last week: I was anticipating starting in on it yesterday and wrapping it up by the end of this week. 

Is this challenge pushing you and encouraging you to write more often?

I don't want this to be taken in a party-pooperish spirit, because I love Actually Finishing Something July, but the gig does throw me off balance a little since this time I am working on edits and rewrites, not ploughing through a single scene, the latter of which allows me to move forward with momentum and the historical context of what I have just written to guide me.  I feel disconnected and disoriented when dashing about from plot point to plot point like this, which often causes me to shut down.  But - it is making me get those edits and rewrites done, regardless of the fact that I sometimes feel I am blundering about in the dark.  And I'm grateful for that.  The getting things done, I mean, not the blundering...

Did you accomplish most of your writing in the morning, afternoon, evening, or at random intervals during your busy day?

I don't - hmm...  I seem to recall doing some writing last Monday morning before work, and then more after work in the evening.  I think I must have done some writing at Abigail's house in the afternoon and afterswimming of Wednesday.  I finished the chapter rewrite on Thursday - I remember that because I told my father I had done so that evening when we were sacked out on my brother's couches trying to fit dessert in alongside burgers and potato salad.  And then I worked more or less diligently on the Plenilune scene because I knew it was going to be difficult and I wanted to get the dashed thing over with.  Getting the dashed thing over with is always good incentive.

Any particular music tracks inspiring your prose?

I wouldn't say "inspiring," but I have been listening to Frightened Rabbit's "The Woodpile," and odds and ends of Two Steps From Hell: Infinite Legends, Archangel, Protectors of the Earth, Spirit of Champions, Strength of a Thousand Men, To Glory, United We Stand / Divided We Fall...mostly because that is what my husband has on his playlist and after I switch it on for my exercises I will sometimes just let it play on after I have finished and moved on to the rest of my day.  None of these have anything to do with my novels.

Share a snippet (or two) from your writing!

In the teeth of a mountain storm [he] and the other rough-hearted, half-piratical fairies had clung to shattered old roadways and scaled cliff-faces that only the wild black goats inhabited. Born and raised in the south country where weather was more wet than wild, [he] had borne the precipitous drops in temperatures hardly, but there was a persistent fear which he did not like to admit to which kept him going. His companions did not have that, and for two weeks, one by one, they had slipped on the broken roads and gone over into the abyss, or curled up to sleep at night and not got up in the morning. Only a few hours ago, in the molten gold of a distant dawn, [he] had rolled out of his fur-lined sleeping bag and shoved hard at Emer’s shoulder to rouse him, only to have the fairy’s vermilion wing crack off in a spurt of sluggish, blackened blood. For one horrible moment he had stood over the body of his last companion, guts crawling up on themselves as it was borne in on him that he was now completely alone.

[He] put up one heel on the rung of his chair and draped his forearm across his knee. For now Margaret chose not too look at the prisoner’s face, but watched [the other's] from a high angle—and saw...the wolfishness of him staring out from under the sharp-edged, dark brows of the de la Mare face as a wolf peers out from under its native bush. She saw the lips part a little and reveal the hungry dog-teeth. He leaned a little forward to meet the motion of his leg, chin upthrust to look into the prisoner’s face.
What must it be like for the prisoner, she wondered with a shudder, to have to stare back into that violent disapproval?

Share three of your favourite bits of dialogue.

The man got up. Under his feet the heavy shards of the box cracked, shivered on the wind, and became dust. “Are you going to become difficult?” he asked.

What—still have a little fight left in you? The dragon reared up its head. No matter. You are easily crushed.

Nay, sirrah,” she spoke lowly, huskily. “Do not look to us for mercy. Our hearts are iron-clad.”

How are you going to move forward in this challenge?  Are you changing your word-count goal, or other such battle-plans this week?

Rewriting the first chapter of Adamantine bore in on me the realization that there are several subsequent points in the novel which need attending to.  I have another section which needs rewriting in light of the first chapter.  I may tackle that next week, but at present I think I will squirt back to Gingerune.  I am standing between a particularly happy, emotional scene and a particularly horrific, emotional scene, and I don't want to make that step from happy to horrified.  Pfft.  I guess I'll have to do it anyway.  But I think that, for now, Plenilune is safe. 

Check out the rest of the Actually Finishing Something [in] July gig at Whisperings of the Pen!

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