What is your writing goal?
I have several odds and ends that need clearing away: Adamantine needs its first chapter rewritten, and there is a scene which needs clarification in Plenilune. These jobs will not take me until the end of July to complete, but I have been putting them off until now. I will have to come up with a goal for Gingerune too... Possibly hash out that nasty plot twist that was thrown at me, which I mentioned abstrusely in my video.
Give us a short synopsis of your goal. What makes it unique?
Well, the one is going to be difficult because it is supposed to be the "hook," and I have never been good with hooks. I suppose that is what makes that part of my project unique. My second task is going to require me executing invasive surgery on a scene that is already stitched up and tied off. Gingerune is going to be difficult, as it has got into the habit of being difficult, because I'm going to have to brainstorm, and follow plot-lines to see how long until they pitch off the cliff, and generally determine which course of action is the best for everyone, myself and my sanity included.
How long have you been working on this project?
Seeing as I am working on Adamantine, Plenilune, and Gingerune, it accumulates to roughly six or seven years. I feel as though I've covered a lot of ground in a short amount of time. I remember starting The Starling, my massive break into fantasy literature, in January of 2005 - I know because I had just got word that my sister-in-law was expecting and my main character was having a baby girl as well... But that tome was massive, took me seemingly ages to write, and yet I had finished that, polished and published The Shadow Things, written Adamantine (spanning some time before and after my marriage), Plenilune, and now I am thigh-deep in Gingerune, and in approximately eight years. The word count and the year count doesn't seem to add up.
How often do you intend to write in order to reach your goal by August 1st?
I should have the chapter rewrite done by the end of this week, hopefully before. The editing of the Plenilune scene should take a single sitting. Pushing into the opening moves of the Gingerune plot twist (a plot twist which was foisted upon me against my will by my characters) so that I can determine where I am going will take I have no idea how long, and therefore I will be writing hard to reach that goal.
Introduce us to three of your favourite characters in this project.
Well, seeing as two-thirds of this is editing, you have surely already met Rhodri of Adamantine and quite a handful of characters from Plenilune, such as Skander Rime and Lord FitzDraco (who were in that other scene I was working on a year ago). Personally, I think my favourite character of the Plenilune scene is Huw Daggerman, who, if you will remember, shouldered his way into the plot without my permission. He doesn't have much to do with the scene I am touching up, but he is there. Like Steve McQueen in "The Magnificent Seven," he is always trying to steal the limelight a little if he can, the brute, and that makes me laugh.
Go to page 16 (or 6 or 26 or 66!) of your writing project. Share your favourite line or snippet on that page.
Six or sixteen, twenty-six or sixty-six? My plots are just gathering a good head of steam by that point! Oh well...
The thin sunshine warmed her brow and the wind, cool and autumnal, was not able to get through any chinks in the rough-woven cloak of wadmal which Imogin had given her. The road continued to ascend very gently toward the southern hills; in places, the wild had swept back in like a green wave over the scar of trackway, a tabby sort of green: with darker waves where the juniper stretched, and lighter, furrier green where the tottergrasses grew. There was plenty of thyme, but by now it had all flowered and gone to seed. Ling was growing everywhere, the primary garment of the vast landscape, and clothed the grey earth with purple, red, and sagey dust. The tang of the plant filled the air. An abundance of shepherd’s purse with its eternal clustering of little pale spark-flowers, gorse, and red bryony had overgrown part of the ditch that ran alongside the road; Andor often got his collar caught on the gorse in his hunt for rabbits, but in time he learned to steer clear.
The staring contest broken, she looked round to find the monster from her dream in the doorway, dressed rather differently now in rich black tunic and trousers, as though Hamlet had somehow stepped off his stage into her life. He carried a pair of hawking gloves in one hand.
“Be a gentleman,” said Margaret shakily, “and go away.”
“Still.” Akmennades’ head turned back. “I think it is ill-omened. There has not been a man or a woman of the White Cyclamen these twenty years.”
In the silence the wind pattered against the curtains. Ginger could feel, like electricity along a cat’s back, the soft, slow rise of Mazelin’s temper. “Verily?” His voice was careful. “I have been gone from Thera a long time but when I left my side of the royal family was strong. How did this come to be?”
Tea or coffee?
Tea. "Always." - Snape
And now I'm going to ignore everything, and go read Chesterton.