May 3rd, 2001

nanowrimo 2010

Even numbered hours

I slept on even numbered hours last night and suffered through episodes of jactation during the odd hours. It makes for a most uneasy night, let me tell you.


My writing is going reasonably. I have no more than ten thousand words of which perhaps three thousand are "keepers" but that is not bad this early in the game. I'm calling the book "Kodrus" at the moment after the main character. I'll try to come up with a better name soon. I'm in the middle of the necessarily expository first chapter. I hate those wordy explanations between tiny bits of dialog but I don't know any other way to do it. You know what I mean

    "Hello," said John, flicking a speck of dust from his $3000 suit and musing that as the CEO of the largest custom marmoset corporation on the planet, it was odd that he should have to flick dust off his own lapels.
The alternative has John getting up, doing the three "S's", having breakfast, going out to plant the cotton and I still don't know if this is the ante-bellum south, 1950's Arkansas or the lesser moon of Grosbxyklnkxt (where I hear they can run 45 miles an hour on stilts).


I'm thinking of posting "Kodrus" opening lines to the livejournal writers community. The criticism will probably be less than constructive, but you can always winnow some benefit from the storm.

  • Current Music
    Bill Evans - There will be another spring
nanowrimo 2010

Home again, Home again, Jiggety Jig

I had to leave work at about 10:30. Too tired to go on. I'm alternately perspiring and shivering with the chill. Time to crash and let nature solve my insomnia.

Still don't feel sleepy but I expect if I lay down I'll zonk out quickly.

Here's the opening paragraphs of "Kodrus". I thought it best to expose it to the slings and arrows here rather than inflict it on the writers' community. I may put a longer snippet there later.

         "My Lord."


         The man so addressed was Kodrus, self-styled Prince of Haft. He sat behind a low desk reading. His considerable height was not apparent until he stood. It was accentuated by the waist-length red hair knotted at the right side of his head in the fashion of this year. A black tabard overlaid his tunic of shimmering blue and he girded it with an incongruously utilitarian leather strap. His black hose fit closely and showed evidence of fine tailoring. His slippers of finest supple leather might barely be shoes at all.


         As he stood, Kodrus asked, "Yes, Jace?"
    Kodrus' liegeman, friend, a warrior of repute, stood near four hands shorter than his friend. Black, shiny hair marked him as a Southman, but his features bore the pale sensitivity, the long jaw, and the dark eyes of the North. "My Lord, war chariots approach the Cleft."


         "Who are they?"


         "None recognized their markings, Lord," said Jace. "They approach in great haste and in considerable numbers."


         "Order extra men to the bastion. I go now to arm myself. I will join you at the Cleft as soon as I may. How many are they?"


         "Sixty, Lord."


         Kodrus froze. Sixty chariots would empty the North of charioteers. Three warriors or four in each chariot, one driver, perhaps two for some of the larger vehicles, meant well over two hundred men under arms. No ten Barons or Earls from beyond the river could field such a force. No standing army on either side of the rivers could face them. Even the immense Southern Counties could not defend against them.
    • Current Music
      Wynton Marsalas - Fathers & Sons