This month has been a lesson in not getting too hung up on writing plans. I made myself this very specific, month-by-month schedule for writing for the year at the end of 2020. But as this month has progressed, and The Children of Oher has kept growing beyond what I can reasonably finish by the end of January, I’ve had to accept that this year probably won’t go quite as I’ve arranged. I might need more than three months to revise the second Enorians book, and then I might need more than two months to give the first Enorians book another look before I start querying it.
This week the owner of the horse I ride every Wednesday told me she would be out of town this weekend and next weekend and said I could ride him a couple extra days. While I obviously very happily agreed, because I’d never turn down extra pony time, it does mean that my writing has and will continue to suffer a little. I simply have a significantly smaller number of hours after work to write when I ride.
So, I’m trying to be flexible and forgive myself if things don’t go quite as I planned. It’s important not to get too hung up on how you think things should go. It’s important not to beat yourself up if you don’t write that exact number of words you were hoping for (guilty of doing that myself on many occasions). It’s important to remember that there will just be days when life gets in the way, and it’s not the end of the world that you didn’t get to write.
I have a whole second half of the year schedule, but honestly, if I can get the two Enorians books revised and start querying the first one, I’ll be happy.
What I wrote over the past week
Chapters eighteen, nineteen, and twenty of The Children of Oher
What I’m reading right now
The Archive of the Forgotten by A.J. Hackwith
Red Dust and Dancing Horses by Beth Cato
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Brown & Dave King
I’m always impressed when authors put a lot of thought into the foods in their stories. Harry Potter is the first example that comes to mind because of the sheer creativity of its chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties and sugar quills and butterbeer. But even simpler descriptions, like the specifics of smelling cardamom and honey and tea or the characters having pumpkin stew and garlic flatbread in The Sky Beyond the Storm are enough for me to appreciate the effort the author put into their food choices. And I think the reason behind being so impressed is because I have no idea what to include when it comes to food. I have some automatic go-tos, like stew. Always stew. Or meat and potatoes. You know, things that I eat. I struggle with it, and I know it’s something I need to work on.
So, when I started writing “Spirits of the Sea,” which is inspired by a Dutch tradition where draft horses are ridden down to the sea, I wanted to include super Dutch foods. And I wanted to try really hard to add in a wide variety of different things and get specific with the details.
Well, lucky me, I’m Dutch and have regularly gone to Holland since moving to the States back in the late 90s. Not to mention that my dad always brings back a suitcase full of food or asks us to bring a ton for him if we go without him. So finding very specific foods to write about was easy, and I had a lot of fun with it, especially with trying to figure out how to describe and translate what it all was into English.
And now, obviously, I have to show some of my hard work. Here’s a little snippet from during the ride (Now I just need to include nice specifics like this into everything else I write):
They paraded through the center street, weaving their way toward the sea waiting beyond the grassy dunes. Cheers went up as the horses passed. People shouted at those they knew. The scent of fries and deep-fried and grilled meats, herring and smoked eel, and freshly baked pastries and sweet cotton candy wafted over the riders and gathered crowd of people watching.
Veerlie’s stomach rumbled as the wind whipped the scent of her favorite deep-fried, raisin-stuffed, powdered-sugar-covered, fritters toward her. They were only ever made the week of the sea ride. Now that her nerves were under control, she realized how hungry she was and wished she’d eaten a better breakfast.
“That smells so good,” Marysa said wistfully, looking over at the mini-pancake stall standing in front of a dark-windowed store. A line of people wound its way around behind the gathered watchers.
“On our way back, we should stop to get food. I’m starving,” Veerlie said. The sweet, buttery scent hit her and sent her stomach rumbling again. Her mouth watered at the idea of the puffy palm-sized pancakes coated with powdered sugar.
What I wrote over the last week
Chapters fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen of The Children of Oher.
What I’m reading right now
The Sky Beyond the Storm by Sabaa Tahir
Red Dust and Dancing Horses by Beth Cao
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Rennie Brown & Dave King
“The process of doing your second draft is the process of making it look like you knew what you were doing all along.”
– Neil Gaiman
I know a lot of people who moan and complain and say they hate revising, and I can absolutely see where they’re coming from. It’s tedious. It’s frustrating. It’s a pain to have to restructure, cut entire chunks, remove entire characters or merge two because you realize you don’t need both of them. It’s particularly annoying when you get to rereading the same chapter for the seventh time, and you’re just tired of reading it again and again. It’s even worse when you end up entirely rewriting two-thirds of your book. Twice. And then realize you’ve got to remove 100,000 words, because it got wildly out of control during the last revision, and you’re cursing your past self.
Revising can be the worst, but also, I’m actively looking forward to revising the second Enorians book and later this year, giving the first another edit, too. During my final quarter of my Master’s Program, I got really bummed, because I missed writing about Rowan and Aurea and Vivian and all the other characters from the first and second books. I ended up writing a bunch of scenes just for the fun of it, and it was amazing to go back to them.
So while revising can be a pain, it means I get to spend time with those characters again, characters I’ve been missing for the last few months. Not just that, it gives me a chance to do those characters justice, to fix the bits of them and their stories that aren’t great yet, to take out things that don’t fit, to make them and the story better. It gives me a chance to fill in missing details and explore everything again. It gives me more time with my favorite characters. Characters that I know I’ll miss when all is finally finished, because I’ve been writing these people for years, and I love them. If you look at revising as a way to spend more time with the people you’ve created and care so deeply about, it’s really not so bad.
What I wrote over the last week
Chapters twelve, thirteen, and fourteen of The Children of Oher.
I feel in no way accomplished enough to give my own advice when it comes to writing, but I will happily pass along some that I’ve gotten from others. Some that has helped me.
I got myself a Masterclass subscription for Christmas, and naturally I had to start with Neil Gaiman, because I love Neil Gaiman. And during one of the videos he said of new writers, “Your job is to get the bad words, the bad sentences, out, the stories that aren’t any good yet.” It reminded me immediately of something one of my undergrad professors told us in a creative writing workshop, which is to give yourself permission to write badly.
This is such a great lesson, not just for writers, but for anyone who’s trying something new. You’re going to suck at first (unless you’re a prodigy or something). That’s inevitable. I certainly have a pile of hot garbage from years ago that will never see the light of day, but without that pile of bad words and sentences and stories that aren’t any good, I wouldn’t have gotten to a point where I feel like my writing and stories are worth showing to anyone. But I think for writing, especially, it’s a great thing to be told that it’s okay to be terrible, because you know what? That’s what second drafts are for. Your first draft can be a disaster, but you can fix it. And then fix it again. And fix it once more, like I did with my first Enorians book. The book as it is now has absolutely nothing to do with the first version other than the fact that Rowan’s name is Rowan (except even that’s not true, because the spelling changed).
So gives yourself permission to write those bad stories or paint those terrible pictures or play terrible music or continue to struggle to make your body do what your brain is telling you it should while you’re on a horse but it’s hard because muscle memory – this last one might be really specifically aimed at myself. You’ll learn something with every wrong move you make, and as with anything else, the more you do it, the better you get and the easier it becomes.
Since I kept it relatively short today, here’s the first couple pages of Chapter One of The Children of Oher. Keep in mind what I just said about first drafts 😉.
Kora’s wedding day looked nothing like how she’d imagined it in her childhood. First, she was only eighteen. She’d always thought she would be well into her twenties or older. Someone else had picked out her dress, a simple, straight white thing that made her feel like she was wearing a sack. Not the graceful gown she’d pictured, with a flowing train and a sparkling bodice. She didn’t have a veil, though she’d always liked the idea of her husband lifting it to kiss her when the time came. Her hair hadn’t even been done nicely. It lay in its dark, messy waves, the top all frizzy from having a bag pulled off her head. Not pinned up in some elegant style like in the pictures with diamond-studded hairclips and flowers weaved throughout. And the last thing she’d ever wanted was to get married in the middle of summer outside. The sun beat down on her, making her hot and uncomfortable. But worst of all, the man Kora stood in front of, the man she was supposed to marry, wasn’t a man she loved. In fact, she hadn’t met him until ten minutes earlier.
Trying not to look into the stony face of her supposed future husband, Kora glanced at the people around her. They stood in a garden surrounded by houses. An unnaturally perfect garden. Kora had always liked overgrown ones, where the plants were allowed to flourish and go where they wished, but this one felt sterile, controlled. Each flower, each leaf, each petal placed just so. Water rushed somewhere behind her. A river? She wasn’t sure. The grass prickled against the soles of her bare feet.
She wasn’t the only one girl who seemed out of place. On either side of her a half circle stretched at least ten girls long, each one wearing the same sack of a white dress. She couldn’t get a good look at some of them, but the ones she could see looked to be in various states of shock or grief. The blonde girl beside her wept silently, eyes on the ground, her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. The woman on Kora’s other side had hair as green as the eyes she darted in Kora’s direction. Woman, Kora thought, but young, still. Not much older than herself. All the girls in line couldn’t have been older than their mid-twenties. Had they all been brought in from the outside like her?
Each of the girls had a male opposite standing in front of her. Kora glanced at the man before her again. His skin was the color of wet driftwood, and black eyebrows formed a deep frown, his forehead wrinkled and beading with sweat. The muscles in his jaw stood out, as if he clenched them. But his deep-set eyes weren’t on her. They gazed at something to beyond her, and when they flicked to her, she quickly looked away.
Beyond the couples, if they could even be called that, the garden was filled with a large crowd, all dressed as if they were attending an actual wedding rather than whatever this was supposed to be. They spoke to each other in quiet, excited voices. What were they all waiting for?
Trying to relieve the discomfort of keeping her arms behind her back, Kora rolled her shoulders, grimacing. She tried her plastic cuffs again, moving her hands in hopes this time they were looser. The cuffs rubbed painfully against the already sensitive skin of her hands. All the attempt did was earn her a sharp jab in the spine. She shot a glare back at the man behind her. That earned her another jab in the same bruised spot.
A hushed silence fell over the waiting crowd and all eyes drew to the break between the houses across the garden from where Kora stood. Even the men standing before each girl turned to face the newcomer. Kora followed their gaze, fear and anticipation make her sweat.
The woman who stepped into the garden had a warm, open face, though she didn’t smile. She took in the scene around, blue eyes full of affection. Her long, silver hair spilled down over her shoulders, and as she glided forward, her white robes rustled along the grass. A gold chain hung around her neck, leading to a large disk, which rested in the middle of her chest. Though Kora couldn’t make it out, she could tell there was a symbol on the circle.
With a fresh jab in the spine, Kora realized everyone else had bowed their heads to the woman. Gritting her teeth, she did the same, wondering who or what this woman was. Someone important. That much was clear. She walked with an air of certainty, her shoulders back, her head held high, as if she knew just how important she was. She paused beside the statue in the middle of the garden, one that Kora hadn’t yet taken a good look at. Kora was surprised to see the carved figure had no hair. It seemed wrong, somehow. Strangely, she’d been expecting Oher to be some beautiful woman with long flowing hair and a welcoming face, somewhat like the woman who’d just walked into the garden. Instead, carved out of rough, dark stone, the woman’s face had been etched in a pained expression, something like grief, agony, with her eyes closed as if she couldn’t bear to look at what lay before her. She held her arms spread, like she beckoned them, like she wanted them to take away her pain. It made Kora intensely uncomfortable. She focused back on the living woman.
Clasping her hands together, the woman surveyed them with a smile, her eyes warm and welcoming. “Good afternoon to you all, my beautiful children. What a glorious day she has bestowed upon us on this most wondrous of days. With her divine blessing, we have had another fruitful crop yield. With her divine blessing, we have filled our stores with fish from the river. With her divine blessing, we have protected ourselves from the Abominations lurking outside our walls.” She paused, allowing cries of gratitude. When they abated, she smiled and continued. “My darling children, with her divine blessing, we have found willing brides for our sons.”
What I wrote over the last week
Chapters nine, ten, and eleven of The Children of Oher
Anyone else ever come up with a short story idea and have it turn into a novel? Somehow that happens with a lot of things I write, apparently. As I may have mentioned, I’m terrible at short things. Though, to be fair, this is considered short when you compare it to my Enorians books. I’m sure it happens to a lot of people. In fact, I was just watching the Neil Gaiman Masterclass, and he was talking about The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which, if you read my last post, you know if one of my favorites. That book started out as a short story, too, and then grew into the beautiful novel it is now.
Anyway, point is, here I am, writing an unintended book. Whoops.
In writing this, I started considering whether I should change my plans a bit for next year. Originally, I planned to revise book two of the Enorians Saga, then revise book one again once people get back to me, and in the second half the year, write book three. The thing is, though, I am well aware that my Enorians book one is long. It’s very long. Like in the 700s of pages long. And while that’s fine for already-published authors, I know publishers might be less likely to accept it simply because it’s…well, very long, and I am untested, if you will.
Now, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try querying it next year anyway, because I will, but I’m considering using the second half of the year to revise The Children of Oher a couple of times instead of writing Enorians book three. See, I have a feeling this much-more-reasonable-length book will be easier to have picked up, since it looks like it’ll be coming in under 100,000 words (Enorians book one, on the other hand, is over 200,000). That way, in case I struggle to get Enorians book one picked up, I have the Children of Oher to start sending out in 2022. Gotta be realistic, right?
That also gives me a chance to write my horse story, Spirits of the Sea, since that should also come in at a much more reasonable length than anything Enorian-related. Who knows, though, maybe I’ll just really want to work on Enorians book three in July.
If all goes as I hope, Enorians book one will be my debut novel. If not…Well, I like this new book, too, and then the Enorians will just have to wait their turn.
I know, of course, that self-publishing is an option, but that will be a last resort. I’d much prefer to go the traditional route. I definitely don’t need to be published by one of the big ones; I’m happy to be picked up by a small press, but there’s just so much involved in getting a book published that I’d rather let professionals handle (like finding editors, cover artists, formatting/layout, etc).
I was going to do a “Meet the Characters” for Enorians book two this week in anticipation of starting the revision next week, but since that’s being pushed back a month, let’s meet the characters from The Children of Oher instead! These will not be as extensive as the ones from my post a few weeks ago where I introduced Rowan, Aurea, and Draea from Enorians book one.
Meet the Characters
All pictures were made on artbreeder.com
Kora Mercer – Brought into Orilon against her will and forced to marry a man she’s never met, Kora just wants to get the heck out of there. While she doesn’t trust anyone around her, she is willing to use them to escape if that’s what needs to happen. Though she’s got no one left beyond the walls of Orilon, she still wants nothing to do with the town or the Children of Oher and would rather brave the abominations running around outside than stay where she is.
Asher Lindgren– Struggling between doing his duty to Orilon and Oher and also wanting to be with his best friend and love, Shay, Asher isn’t sure what to do. Shay’s been trying to convince him to leave, but Asher feels bound to do what needs to be done for the good of the Children. It’s more than that, though; he also fears he won’t be able to keep Shay safe from the monsters outside the walls, the same way he couldn’t protect his brother. He tells himself they can find happiness within Orilon, even while secretly knowing that isn’t true.
Shay Clarke – Having been in love with his best friend, Asher, for years, Shay just wants to leave so they can be together. He let things be what they were for a long time, but once news came of the upcoming wedding, and knowing the two of them could never be happy in Orilon, he started trying to convince Asher to leave with him. The problem is, neither Asher nor Shay have ever gone beyond the fields just outside the walls, which means they’ll need help navigating the world beyond the town.
Cleo Harper – Aka Harp – Another of the girls who was brought in with Kora, she is forced to marry Shay, but as luck would have it (luck or Asher requesting the living arrangements), she ends up living right next to Kora. Like Kora, she wants to escape, too, but she does have people outside that she needs to find, so she asks Kora for help.
Oelia Payne – The Divine Elder of the Children of Oher. When the people of Orilon stopped conceiving female babies, she took it as a sign Oher was angry at them and was punishing them for allowing the abominations to live amongst them. She had to take matters into her own hands and start bringing in women from outside. Then the Melting Death happened, and she knew that was another punishment, not just of the Children but of the whole world. She’s doing all she can to attempt to appease the goddess and atone for their sins.
What I Wrote Over the Last Week
Chapters six, seven, and eight of The Children of Oher.
“What’s your favorite book?” is always a hard question for me. Not just because my favorite books typically change, but also because I don’t have just one. Who has just one favorite book? That’s crazy, right? So, here we go.
My Favorite Books:
I have to start with the Harry Potter series just because it’s the reason I started loving reading, and writing, in the first place. It also continues to engross me with every reread, even knowing what’s going to happen. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban has and always will be my favorite, though.
And in no particular order, here’s the rest (for which my lovely foxes will be helping me show off each wonderful book):
The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman – I read this first years ago, and then last year during my Masters program, I took a Neil Gaiman class. I’d somehow forgotten everything about the book. It was like reading it for the first time all over again. I don’t even know exactly what it is I love about this book so much, but I do love it. It’s strange and beautiful and full of magic.
The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater – Have you ever read a book and thought, “Damn, I wish I wrote this book”? That’s this book for me. I freaking love this book so much. I honestly think part of why I love this is just because horses… It’s about horses. Carnivorous water horses. And people who love those horses so much. It just speaks to me. And I love the characters. I love all of it. And ever since I read it, I wanted to write something about horses, which is, I think, another reason I wanted to write Spirits of the Sea.
Under the Skin by Michel Faber – I loved this book the first time I read it seven years ago in Scotland, and I’ve loved it every reread since. I even managed to convince the boyfriend, who never really reads, to read it. He didn’t seem to understand my love for it, but, honestly, I can’t even tell you why I enjoy it so much. There’s just something about it that makes me want to reread it over and over (which I guarantee I’ll continue doing).
Fledgling by Octavia Butler – I flew through all of Octavia Butler’s books in like a year and a half, and my favorite is really a tie between this one and Kindred, which was the first one of hers I read after it was recommended by a professor during my Masters program. Fledgling is strange and uncomfortable and somehow wonderful at the same time. This seems to be a theme, but I don’t know exactly what it is I love about it. I just loved all of it and its change on vampire ideas.
Red Rising Series by Pierce Brown – This has to be one of the best sci-fi series I’ve ever read (or, well, listened to in this case). I am just so impressed with the world building – and thoroughly jealous of Brown’s skills in that department – and the characters are wonderful and real, and the plots are insane. Before book six comes out, I fully plan to reread the first five, because there is just so much going on it’ll be a good reminder.
Her Body and Other Parties by Carman Maria Machado – Only recently have I started enjoying short stories, and this was recommended to me by my wonderful writing buddy. And I enjoyed every single one of the stories. I’ll definitely be going back and rereading them again.
There are so many more I could list, but I’ll leave it there, otherwise we’ll be here all day.
Other books I read this year that I absolutely loved:
River of Teeth by Sarah Gailey
Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
The Killing Moon, The Shadowed Sun, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, The Broken Kingdoms, and The Kingdom of Gods all by N.K. Jemisin
Difficult Women by Roxane Gay
Favorite Authors – aka I’ll read anything of theirs you put in front of me:
N.K. Jemisin
Margaret Atwood
Neil Gaiman
Keri Arthur
Octavia Butler
Both Hank and John Green
What is/are your favorite book(s)? Favorite authors?
What I Wrote Over the Last Week
Chapters four and five of The Children of Oher. I am determined to finish this by the end of January, so I can keep somewhat on my planned schedule of revising book two and then book one and starting book three of the Enorians Saga by July.
We all have different things that inspire us, but I guess the question I’m really asking is where do our ideas for stories come from? I’m sure everyone has a different system of coming up with stories. Some might take moments from life and write a story based around those. Others might see a picture and create a story to go along with it. There are hundreds, probably thousands of writing prompts on the internet to leap off from. In Zen in the Art of Writing Ray Bradbury talks about writing lists of nouns, and he’d end up writing stories based on those words. In a class I took during my final quarter at Lindenwood, we had to randomly select numbers that would give us our starting character(s) and the first sentence that would be our jumping off point. And from there we were to come up with a novella idea. A whole novella idea with a plot outline and everything. I thought for sure the professor was nuts. It’s amazing what can come out of something as simple as: Woman and girl (child) & “The grass had grown knee high.” I now have not a novella idea, but rather, a novel idea, because I’m terrible at keeping anything short.
Besides that, I only have a few specific memories of things that have inspired me or where specific stories came from.
I don’t know where the original idea for the enorians came from. I just know it all started in high school when my friends and I were passing notebooks back and forth between class and roleplaying in them. The only really specific moment of inspiration I remember related to the Enorians Saga was when I was in Scotland. Our whole study abroad class took a trip to the Isle of Skye, and we went to see Old Man of Storr.
It was windy to begin with, but it just became all the more intense the farther up the hill we hiked (or more like struggled, panting the whole way). With the hovering fog and the wind nearly blowing us off the mountain, I made a joke to my friends about how it was actually just wind spirits protecting the rock and trying to stop us from getting too close because it was actually a portal to another world. And thus, the portal to Enoralori was born.
Funnily enough, some of my other ideas have spawned from dreams. If you read the blog post about my mom, you’ll know the short story I wrote about the girl getting a phone call from her dead mom came from a dream I had, where my mom called me.
The novel (which grew from a short story to a novella to now a novel… whoops) I’m currently working on – The Children of Oher – also came from a dream. I dreamed that I was being forced to marry some guy I didn’t know by this cult, but really he didn’t want to marry me, either, because he was in love with his best friend. And even within the dream, I looked at the person next to me, and went “This would be a good idea for a story.” And now here we are, writing that story.
And, of course, I have to mention where “Spirits of the Sea” came from. I saw a video on facebook of Dutch people riding their draft horses down to the sea and I loved it so much I immediately went, “I have to put this in a book somewhere.” I ended up turning it into a fantasy short story, which morphed into a novel idea, because of course it did.
The one other specific memory I have of inspiration happened last year before we went to Belize. Our friends told us it would be a good idea to get a base tan before we went, since we were going in November, and the sun there is pretty intense. So I did that, and one day while I was lying in the tanning bed, I thought about how nice and warm it was. And an idea for a character popped into my head. A woman who used tanning as a way to relax after a hard day of work. It turned into some kind of weird body horror thing, because apparently that’s something I can write, I guess. I haven’t actually finished that story yet, but it exists in a half-finished state.
I also think it’s interesting to consider what inspires us in the sense of the types of things we create. I can’t seem to steer away from fantasy, nor do I really have any desire to, and I know for certain that’s because my love of reading all started with Harry Potter and has only continued to be fueled by fantasy since. I think that’s also the reason why most of my writing somehow tends to involve monsters and battles, despite that I actually hate writing battles haha. And, of course, there has to be some kind of love or romance aspect in every story, because I’m always a sucker for a love story. The enorians gods came into being after I took a Greek Mythology class during college, and while the gods themselves aren’t based on any specific gods, the idea of enorians having numerous gods came from Greek Mythology.
It’s funny. I worried in the past that I would run out of ideas. I wondered how authors could just keep coming up with new concepts, and now I’m sitting here with six books I want to write for the Enorians Saga and one prequel-type novella/novel to go along with that. I’ve got The Children of Oher I’m working on, and four more book ideas beyond those. So I guess it’s safe to say I probably won’t run out of ideas anytime soon. And hopefully if I ever do, the inspiration fairy will find me in my dreams.
What I Wrote Over the Last Week
Chapters two and three of The Children of Oher
What I’m Reading Right Now
Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Horsemanship Through Life: A Trainer’s Guide to Better Living and Better Riding by Mark Rashid
Phew, NaNo is over, and thank goodness for that. I am tired. It’s crazy that I managed to go beyond NaNoWriMo length in April and May. But, then again, I wasn’t working at that point, nor did I have anything else going on in my life given, you know, COVID, so I had all the time in the world to write. It was a bit different last month for a number of reasons. The first is that I started a new job, so I went from working something like twenty-five hours a week to suddenly working full time. Second, I wasn’t working on a novel or anything specifically planned or set like I was in April and May when I was working on book two of the Enorians Saga. Instead I had a vague idea of some stories I might want to write.
I’m really glad I decided to go with writing a bunch of different things, because I ended up coming out of it with six myths (only three more to go to hit my goal of twenty), a few short stories, and the start of two novels.
There were so many days after waking up early and working eight hours that I just did not want to write. And three of those days I gave in and wrote nothing. A couple others I counted my blog posts to try to hit my word goals. It was rough. Writing is hard!
On days I was really on the struggle bus but knew I had to get those words down, I ended up writing things I knew would be easy, which was how I ended up writing about Rowan (seen on the left here in the art breeder version I made) and Ien for funsies. But I did manage, for the most part, to write consistently. The first time I attempted this was my sophomore year of undergrad when I got halfway. And this year I finally finished! Which means that I wrote 50,000+ words in a month three times this year. Which is kind of absolutely insane.
Props to anyone who manages this while working full time, especially if they have kids, too, or things they have to do outside of work. Managing full time work and existing as a human adult who also has hobbies and friends and family and responsibilities can make it hard to fit writing in. It’s so easy to make excuses, to find reasons not to write, and for so many years I made those excuses and found those reasons. It wasn’t until I started my master’s program and decided that seriously this time, I was going to write every day whether I wanted to or not, that things changed. And as I said, there are certainly still days where I don’t write, but they’re far and few between compared to before.
Also, can I just mention how difficult finding a good picture to along with my daily Instagram post was? Especially when I was trying to post them right before bed. When in doubt, post a cute picture of a cat, right? (Haha see what I did there? A cute cat ->)
So what’s next? Well, this month I’m continuing one of the novels I wrote the first chapter of… After I finish the character sheets and planning out specific story moments. So, you know, probably like six days after I originally wanted to start it, but oh well. And then when the new year hits, I want to revise Enorian Saga books two and one (again) and then write book three. Maybe I’ll even come up with titles at some point so I can stop referring to them by number.
All right, enough rambling. Let’s look at what I wrote last month, and maybe share an excerpt for each section 😉.
Things I wrote during National Novel Writing Month
Myths
“The Folly of Blissfruit” – A myth about an enorian fruit (blissfruit) that causes crazy amazing highs and why enorians shouldn’t eat it.
“The First Aesan” – A myth about Aesa’s decision to take children to her realm upon their death rather than sending them to the Aether.
“Aesa’s Ring of Conception” – A myth about a Velite woman who desperately wants children but can’t have them and Aesa’s special ring that allows conception no matter the circumstances.
“The Apex Predator” – A myth about Nora-Vel’s objects, which are all body parts of her favorite creature.
“Typheus the Wind Scythe” – A myth about how a weapon of Kezerien’s, a wind scythe, became a god-blessed weapon.
“Borea’s Heart of Darkness” – A myth about a god-blessed lantern of Borea’s that allows the holder to live even beyond the moment they should have died while they seek their vengeance.
Excerpt from pages two and three of “Borea’s Heart of Darkness”
Ashira’s head swam as she pushed open the door. She dropped to her knees, weeping at the sight of her parents dead in their bed. A wave of weakness washed over her, and she pressed a hand to the wound along her belly. It burned beneath her palm, hot and painful. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she knew she was dying. She felt it.
She sank onto her side, stating up at the bed, surrounded by the heavy silence of her slaughtered family. Her family had long ruled Lirona, and though she did not know for certain who had sent the assassin that murdered her family in their beds, she knew she could not die without punishing them.
Closing her eyes, Ashira stoked her hatred for the Sandrian assassin and the unknown person who had given her the assignment. She let the hatred, the anger consume her, and then she prayed to Borea. She had heard tale of an item blessed by the goddess of hatred. A special lantern that would keep the holder alive until they got their revenge.
Borea, in her realm where it rained acid and blood, heard Ashira’s prayers over the moans and screams of caged souls. So great was the princess’s hatred and anger that Borea felt it through the suffering of those around her. Borea understood the need to sate the bloodlust. And who better to offer her Heart of Darkness to but someone so desperate for vengeance that they would prolong their life to achieve it?
But the lantern came with a price. Before she sent it to the girl, Borea spoke to her through the still-pooling blood of her parents. The blood slid off the bed and formed a vague-enorian shape in front of Ashira. It stood mere inches high, but the voice that rang out was clear and laced with loathing.
I have heard your prayers, Ashira of Lirona. I will give you that which you so desire, but know it comes at a cost. You have until the light goes out to kill your target, at which time, you will die. If the light goes out before you kill your target, you will die. Upon your death, your soul will come to me, where you will spend eternity among the tortured souls in my realm. Do you still wish to seek your vengeance?
Ashira stared at the wavering blood-made being before her. She didn’t care where she went after she died. All she wanted was to destroy the person who had slaughtered her family. “Yes,” she whispered.
Short Stories
“Spirits of the Sea” – Once a year, the residents of Senresse ride their horses down to the sea to wash the evil winter spirits from their legs. But danger lurks beneath the waves, for the sea spirits require a sacrifice to keep the island flourishing (this was really just an excuse for me to write about horses).
An untitled story about a girl who receives a phone call from her mom, who died the year before.
An untitled story about a server struggling while being the only one on shift as told via table numbers.
“The Journals of Silsia” – Silsia was one of the enorians who first came through the portal. These journal entries show her struggle in adapting to this new, strange place.
Excerpt from the first journal entry in “The Journals of Silsia”
Day 2
It’s terrible, staring up at the portal jutting up into the sky, knowing we’ll never go back. We arrived at the beginning of the cold season, it seems, though we have no idea when – or if – the weather might change. Perhaps there is only a cold season here. All I know is the snow keeps falling, coating the ground in a thick, white layer. My clothes barely ward off the chill. I miss the coat our creator blessed me with. The thick, shaggy hair would’ve kept me warm like it always does during the winter.
But it’s more than that. It’s more than just missing my coat. Kalasandria “blessed” us all with these human forms, as she called them. The Zaria tells us we have to wear them to blend in, in case any humans show up. But I haven’t seen another soul since we arrived. Only us enorians. I hate this form. It’s so confining. My skin prickles and itches like it knows it’s not my real skin, like the hairs of my true form tickle it from beneath. And I keep forgetting I don’t have my secondary arms. I dropped a mug the other day, one of the few Dris and I managed to bring. I went to grab it with my lower hand, forgetting I didn’t have it, and the mug shattered on the frozen ground. That’s the fourth time I’ve dropped something now. I don’t now if I’ll ever get used to this.
The Zaria says it’ll take time, but we’ll all get used to these new forms. Those of us with wings seem to be struggling more than us land-bounders. They’re used to flying everywhere, but now they have to be careful. They can’t be seen, the Zaria warns. Apparently, these humans can be hostile when faced with something unknown.
If we don’t finish up these shelters we’re building soon, I’ll have to change back, no matter what the Zaria says. I’m freezing, and so is Dris.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Kalasandria did save us from Enos and the war, after all, but why didn’t anyone consider our living arrangements before we came through the portal?
The portal that’s now sealed. Closed off to us forever. Will I ever see home again?
Starts of Novels
Chapter one of The Children of Oher, which started out as a short story idea, then was going to be a novella, but then I plotted out the chapters the other night. Now it looks like it’ll more than likely turn into a novel.
Kora Mercer (pictured in the art breeder version I made) gets kidnapped by the Children of Oher and is forced to marry one of their young men because the group hasn’t had a female child born in years, so they have to resort to pulling women in from outside their walls. But when she realizes her new husband, Asher Webb, is in love with his best friend and wants as little to do with all this marriage business as her, she has to decide whether to trust him in hopes they might escape their prison together.
Chapter one of the novel version of Spirits of the Sea, which will be told in first person from the point of view of the sister of one of the protagonists of the short story version. – When Amalia’s (pictured here in the art breeder version I made) brother is taken by the sea spirits, she takes matters into her own hands and searches for a way to travel to Ijamere to get him back.
Excerpt of the first two pages of chapter one of The Children of Oher
Kora’s wedding day looking nothing like how she’d imagined it in her childhood. First, she was only eighteen. She’d always thought she would be well into her twenties or older. Someone else had picked out her dress, a simple, straight white thing that made her feel like she was wearing a sack. Not the graceful gown she’d pictured, with a flowing train and a sparkling bodice. She didn’t have a veil, though she’d always liked the idea of her husband lifting it to kiss her when the time came. Her hair hadn’t even been done nicely. It lay in its dark, messy waves, the top all frizzy from having a bag pulled off her head. Not pinned up in some elegant style like in the pictures with diamond-studded hairclips and flowers weaved throughout. And the last thing she’d ever wanted was to get married in the middle of summer outside. The sun beat down on her, making her hot and uncomfortable. But worst of all, the man Kora stood in front of, the man she was supposed to marry, wasn’t a man she loved. In fact, she hadn’t met him until ten minutes earlier.
Trying not to look into the stony face of her supposed future husband, Kora glanced at the people around her. They stood in a garden surrounded by houses. An unnaturally perfect garden. Kora had always liked overgrown ones, where the plants were allowed to flourish and go where they wished, but this one felt sterile, controlled. Each flower, each leaf, each petal placed just so. Water rushed somewhere behind her. A river? She wasn’t sure. The grass prickled against the soles of her bare feet.
She wasn’t the only one girl who seemed out of place. On either side of her a half circle stretched at least ten girls long, each one wearing the same sack of a white dress. She couldn’t get a good look at some of them, but the ones she could see looked to be in various states of shock or grief. The blonde girl beside her wept silently, eyes on the ground, her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. The woman on Kora’s other side had hair as green as the eyes she darted in Kora’s direction. Woman, Kora thought, but young, still. Not much older than herself. All the girls in line couldn’t have been older than their mid-twenties. Had they all been brought in from the outside like her?
Each of the girls had a male opposite standing in front of her. Kara glanced at the man before her again. His skin was the color of wet driftwood, and black eyebrows formed a deep frown, his forehead winkled and beading with sweat. The muscles in his jaw stood out, as if he clenched them. But his deep-set eyes weren’t on her. They gazed at something to beyond her, and when they flicked to her, she quickly looked away.
Beyond the couples, if they could even be called that, the garden was filled with a large crowd, all dressed as if they were attending an actual wedding rather than whatever this was supposed to be. They spoke to each other in quiet, excited voices. What were they all waiting for?
Trying to relief the discomfort of keeping her arms behind her back, Kora rolled her shoulders, grimacing. She tried her plastic cuffs again, moving her hands in hopes this time they were looser. The cuffs rubbed painfully against the already sensitive skin of her hands. All the attempt did was earn her a sharp jab in the spine. She shot a glare back at the man behind her. That earned her another jab in the same bruised spot.
Other
I wrote five different chunks of scenes written just for fun, which consisted of things that happened in book two of the Enorians Saga but in this case written from an alternate point of view, background information on the antagonist of all three books, and a couple of scenes that might end up in book three.
I’d given an excerpt from my “other” things but a lot of it is very spoiler heavy in terms of things that happen either between books one and two or in book two, soooo I’ll have to skip that.
What I wrote over the last week
I finished up “Borea’s Heart of Darkness”
A scene about Ien and Akrin that will hopefully take place in book three in some capacity.
I then took two days to do nothing to recover from NaNoWriMo and used the next couple days to plan out The Children of Oher.
What I’m reading right now
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Horsemanship Through Life: A Trainer’s Guide to Better Living and Better Riding by Mark Rashid
To continue from last week’s idea of friendship and how making friends as an adult is hard, I wanted to talk about, well, friends. I’ve never had a large number of friends, and that’s fine. I’d rather have a small number of close friends than a lot of superficial friends. But I’m sure I’m not the only one who struggles with making friends as an adult. I’ve had a lot of work friends, people I say I’ll keep in touch with after I leave that job, but we rarely do. I know that’s partially me being terrible at staying in communication with people (even my sisters), but also it’s hard to stay connected when your schedule is different than theirs and you each have such separate lives.
There’s two exceptions to that I-suck-at-staying-in-touch-with-friends part of me. I talk to my dear friend and writing buddy of a year and a half daily, but I think that’s just a rare case of us being essentially the same person. And then there’s my BFF, who I’ve spent the last I don’t know how many years texting every day. Some days we literally say good morning and then don’t really text much the rest of the day because I have work and writing and a million other things to do, and she has three kids.
Friendships as adults are weird because we grow up seeing our friends at least 5 days a week, sometimes more if we saw each other on weekends. We grow up getting to spend literal years seeing them so often, and then suddenly school is over.
Now you’re stuck trying to juggle working, existing as a responsible human adult, fitting in your hobbies or pets or spouses, or in my case, making time to write every day, and also every so often getting to see or even just talk to your friends. It’s so different from being essentially forced to spent hours a day with your friends during school, so it’s unsurprising that making friends as an adult is hard. It’s one thing to stay in contact with people you were already friends with in school, like I do with my BFF. That’s so ingrained in my daily routine that if we don’t text each other, it feels wrong.
And I think that’s why it’s so easy to become friends with your coworkers, because you’re forced to spend hours with each other. But then when that time spent together vanishes because you find a new job or they find something else, it becomes difficult to stay in touch for all the reasons mentioned above.
But anyway, friends. The reason I wanted to talk about them, really, is because I think friends are so important. Of course, your family (if they’re not toxic, terrible people obviously) and your SO are important, too, but friends are so necessary beyond those people. There are things my friends understand that even my family and my boyfriend don’t. Like the insanity that is my desire to read 90 books in a year or horses. I need my horse friends to gush over horses with.
My BFF just moved back to Wisconsin a few weeks ago, and it’s been so wonderful to get to actually see her again and to have her within driving distance. Sometimes you just need to see your friends.
And I somehow manage to just only make short friends, so I look like a freaking giant when I stand next to them. Thanks, Dutch genes.
So anyway, how does that relate to my books? Well, when I first wrote book one, many moons ago (like 10+ years), it really had no friendship in it as far as I can remember. But…that draft is a hot mess, a disaster. We don’t talk about it. It will never see the light of day. So now onto the current draft, when I realized people need friends, there’s actually three major friendships: the one between Rowan and Robin, the one between Aurea and Draea from both sides, and the most important one between Aurea and Eliana.
Rowan leans on Robin often. He seeks her out for advice and comfort. Their friendship is forged on the foundation of shared grief. And when human comfort isn’t enough, Rowan turns to his beloved animals: Ateela and Alvaro. I think in Rowan’s case, those animal friends are even more essential to his mental health than even his human ones are. So I guess I should amend the earlier statement and say there are four major friendships, the final one being Rowan and his animals.
Aurea and Draea’s friendship is different in the sense that it began with Draea caring for Aurea and her brother when they were younger. Their friendship is more than just friends. They have something of sisterly bond. Aurea even sometimes considers Draea like a mother figure. They depend on one another, and when Aurea has to go on her mission, they both struggle with being away from each other, Draea in particular.
When I first wrote about Aurea questioning her beliefs (not a spoiler since it’s mentioned in the blurb in the “Projects” page 😉) it all stemmed from her relationship with Rowan. Now, while that was all fine, I wanted there to be more than just her changing for a boy. We’ve all seen that before. Eli was already a character by then, and someone Aurea was superficially friends with. So I had all the groundwork there. I just needed to solidify that friendship, and I think Aurea’s arc is much stronger for it, because now her change doesn’t stem from just Rowan. In fact, it starts with Eli when she realizes humans really aren’t all that different from her. I really wanted Aurea’s change to come from more than just a boy, and I hope that worked the way I intended.
I really love all the friendships in this book. I think friendship and its importance shows up in two and three, as well, in different ways. So, anyway, now that I’m done rambling about friends and their importance and friendships in book one, here’s a couple of excerpts showing the three POV characters and their friends.
It was pretty hard to pick for Draea and Aurea, since they don’t actually get to see one another from chapter one through forty-five, so most of their friendship details come from background details and letters Aurea writes to Draea. I was going to show something from Draea’s POV, but instead here’s a small excerpt from when Aurea first gets settled in her new room in Orien’s Haven.
From Chapter 3
But even more important than the concealer was the note and the present Draea had given her before she left. If she’d lost them, she would’ve been devastated. She opened the box to reveal a thin silver chain with a circular pendant hanging at the middle. Etched into the pendant were three symbols: A halfmoon curved along the right side and along the left, the symbol for Enos, the silhouette of his curved horns, their tips meeting the tip of the moon. Between the two curves of the horns and the moon hung a drop of blood. The symbols of the gods they’d come from. Kalasandria for Aurea, and Verox and Enos for Draea.
Aurea touched the little pendant, a small smile playing on their lips. Draea had one just like it, though neither could wear them openly. Aurea tucked the box in with the tubes of concealer, unfolding the note.
In case you ever get lonely or miss me. Know I’m always here. I believe in you, my sweet Auri. I love you.
Dray
And Another From Chapter 10
She found a tall, sweeping tree overlooking the lake, one with white flowers covering its entirety. She had no idea what it was, what kind of fruit it grew, but she settled herself beneath it and lay flat on her back, gazing up at the clusters of white. She smiled at the surge of memories.
Many warm nights, after training, she and Draea would go into their backyard, small as it was, and lay below the tree that took up a majority of the space. They’d stare up through the leaves at the darkening sky, watching the pink-tinged clouds float by, arms pressed together as they lay side by side. Sometimes they’d talk about their days, sometimes they’d lie together in silence. On more than out occasion, they’d taken turns consoling one another, arms wrapped around the other as she cried. Most recently, she’d been the one holding Draea, promising her she’d be back, that she’d be fine.
Tears prickled behind her eyes. Gods, how she missed Draea. It was like a piece of her was missing. She lay there on the uneven ground for a long time, watching the clouds through the breaks between the flowers, listening to a bee buzzing near her head. Another one moved above her, going from flower to flower lazily. The wind rustled the flowers, sending a few stray petals floating down toward Aurea. It was peaceful there, as she’d suspected. And yet her stomach held itself in a tight knot.
For Rowan and Robin I’m just going with the introduction of Robin, which is a moment where Rowan gives her a birthday present.
From Chapter 4
After dropping off the groceries with Samina, the head of the kitchen, he found Robin cleaning the library. Her son, Oliver, was strapped to her chest with a wrap wrapping over her shoulders, between her moth-like wings, and around her middle. Her dark grey skin and her short black hair had the same bluish quality when the sun hit it.
“Dahlia and Carolin are joining us for lunch, if that’s okay,” Rowan said, holding out his hands in an offer to take Oliver.
Robin loosened the wrap and pulled out the six-month-old boy, handing him to Rowan with a grateful smile. “Thanks. He’s getting heavy.” She rolled her shoulders. “That’s fine with me. Is it okay if Emilie comes, too? I ran into her a few minutes ago and might have invited her.”
“Of course. The more the merrier.” Emilie Kiman was one of his horse trainers, a young Mersian who Robin had become good friends with after she’d moved into the house not long before Oliver was born. He set Oliver on his hip and dug in his pocket with his free hand. “Here. I know it’s early, but happy birthday.” He held out the little box.
Robin scowled. “Rowan! You don’t have to get me anything. You do enough just letting us live here.”
“Nonsense. I already bought it. Take it.” He pushed it into her hands.
She shot him a dirty look before opening the box. “Oh, Row. Thank you.” Tears brimmed her bright green eyes. “It made me think of Aims when I saw it. It’s why I liked it so much.” She moved closer and hugged him tightly.
He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t made the connection. Aimery had been a Kezerite, so of course the lightning-like pattern had made her think of him. He wished, as he always did when she was reminded of her dead husband, he could take away her pain. Rowan gave her a squeeze with his free arm. “Sorry I made you cry.”
Robin laughed, wiping at her eyes. “No, no. Thank you, really. It’s beautiful. I love it.”
For Aurea and Eli, there’s a moment where Aurea misses Draea greatly and the two women bond over missing their friends.
From Chapter 10
“Hey, Lena. I thought that was you.”
Aurea tilted her head back to see Eliana walking over. “Oh, hey.” Eliana’s smile made her feel better somehow.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
Eliana lowered herself to the ground, stretching out beside Aurea. Her arm touched Aurea’s, Eliana’s foot bumping hers. The faint scent of Jasmine washed over Aurea, settling her and filling her with a quiet peace.
Aurea swallowed the lump rising in her throat at how familiar this felt.
“What are you doing over here?” Eliana asked.
“Just watching the clouds.”
“The flowers are kind of in the way, though.”
“Well, yeah. But I like them better anyway. They’re pretty.” And they reminded her of the little while flowers that grew along the fence in their yard at home.
“Are you okay?” Eliana tilted her head to look at Aurea. “You seem sad.”
“I miss home. And my best friend. I thought it would be easier, moving here.” Aurea met the hazel eyes. “You know?”
Eliana smiled sympathetically. “I understand missing a best friend.”
Aurea had all but forgotten that Eliana’s best friend had moved away. “How long ago did she move?”
“Last summer. She went north.” A sadness flickered across her face, smile faltering.
“Why did she leave?” Would Eliana get to see her again? Or was her friend lost to her? An ache bloomed at the idea of never seeing Draea again. At least Aurea knew she’d get to be with her again.
“She followed a girl, someone she loved.” Eliana sighed, eyes turning skyward. “I don’t blame her. If Warren asked me to leave with him, I would.”
Aurea wouldn’t leave Draea. Not permanently. Not for anyone.
“Have you ever been in love?” Eliana asked after a moment.
“A few times.” And each had ended in heartbreak. She’d fallen hard and fast every time. But she’d never have considered moving away from The Isles permanently, for any of them. Draea, though, she knew, would’ve left with Edur. She’d been considering it, considering moving to the mainland when he’d been killed in that hunting accident.
Guilt slithered into her heart at the memory of the relief that’d filled her. At the relief of knowing Draea wouldn’t leave her. But gods, had she felt awful for feeling that way. Draea had been grieving her son, her husband, and all Aurea could think was how grateful she was that Draea wouldn’t be abandoning her. It still made her sick to think of her own selfishness.
“So you understand, too, then, the lengths you’d go to, to stay with them.”
“Yeah.” But she didn’t. And maybe she never would understand what it was like to love someone so deeply, so thoroughly, that she’d be willing to leave The Isles, willing to leave Draea for him. Aurea turned her head to look at Eliana, a fondness for the other woman filling her as she inhaled another lungful of the faint Jasmine smell. She smiled when Eliana grasped her hand, grateful for the woman’s presence, for her understanding.
“It’s okay to be sad and miss your friend. You don’t have to pretend with me.” Eliana squeezed lightly. “We can be sad together.”
Aurea laughed. “Sounds great.” It was nice to have someone to talk to, someone she felt comfortable with, someone she could spend time with without worrying about pretending to be okay with it.
“What brought you to the orchard? I’ve never seen you here.”
“It looked quiet. I just wanted to be alone for a bit.” Aurea turned her gaze to the flowers again. “Do you come here much?”
“I work here on and off. I switch between the green houses and here depending on where I’m needed.”
Aurea didn’t know how Eliana had enough time for everything she did. “So you work here and at the green houses, The Tea Room, and you run your market stall?”
Eliana grinned. “And sometimes I help Warren’s father at the butchers.”
Aurea laughed again. “How do you have time for yourself?”
Eliana’s smile faded. “I like to keep busy. Keeps me from thinking too much.”
They were silent for a while, Aurea waiting to see if Eliana would elaborate. But it seemed like Eliana wasn’t ready to explain. Aurea’s eyes found the little white flowers, the sun peeking through the clouds beyond and sneaking through the petals to warm her face. “What kind of tree is this?”
“A pear tree.”
“What other kinds of fruit grow here?” She wondered what pears tasted like. Were they sweet or tart? Or bitter? She had no frame of reference. She doubted anything she’d ever eaten compared to the fruits growing in the orchard.
“Apples, plums, and cherries grow on the trees. But we also have a couple rows of berry bushes.”
Aurea lifted herself slightly to look behind her. All the trees were covered in flowers of white or varying shades of pink. It was beautiful here, peaceful. Not the same peacefulness she felt at home, laying in the backyard, listening to the sounds of the ocean, but as she settled herself back beside Eliana, she felt the homesickness ebbing. The wind rustled the flowers of the pear tree, sending ripples across the lake down below.
And because Rowan and I are both crazy horse girls, I have to include Rowan and Alvaro from about halfway through the book, so I’m cutting it a bit short due to spoilers.
From Chapter 38
When Rowan reached the stable, he grabbed the lantern hanging outside the side door and brought it into the dark building. The familiar sound of soft, sleepy nickers came from the stalls nearby as he shut the door behind him. He inhaled the scent of hay and horses, making his way to Alvaro’s stall. Ateela followed, pausing every now and then to sniff at the floor.
Alvaro stuck his head over the stall door when Rowan neared, greeting him with a whicker. Other heads poked out of nearby stalls, curious who was interrupting their sleep.
“Hey, buddy,” Rowan said, hanging the lantern on the wall beside the stall. He slipped inside and quickly shutting the door again before Ateela could get in. “Sorry to wake you.”
Alvaro nosed at his pockets, blowing through his nostrils.
“Ah, you don’t care that I’m here. You just want these, don’t you?” Rowan smiled, digging a few treats out.
Alvaro’s soft lips brushed against his palm as he took them from Rowan’s hand.
Rowan brushed aside the stallion’s forelock and rubbed his forehead. He already felt much calmer than he had earlier, surrounded by the familiar, comfortable smell of the horses, the sounds of hooves moving over hay-covered floors. He pressed his forehead against Alvaro’s, closing his eyes.
Ateela pawed at the stall door, whining.
When Alvaro had eaten the treats, Rowan moved back over to the stall door. He opened it enough to let Ateela in, then lowered himself onto the floor, leaning against the wall. “Mind if I stay for a bit?”
And Alvaro, as if sensing Rowan needed it, lay down and draped his head over Rowan’s lap. Ateela lay down on his other side, pressing his warm body against Rowan’s leg.
Tears filled his eyes as Rowan ran his hands over the stallion’s face.
What I wrote over the past week
“Typheus the Wind Scythe” – A myth about how a weapon of Kezerien’s, a wind scythe, became a god-blessed weapon.
I finished up “The Journals of Silsia.” And you’ll be shocked to hear this, it came in at just over fifteen pages, because what even is short?
A for funsies scene from Ien’s POV that I can’t explain due to spoilers for book two.
Some background stuff about Droken to get to know him better and flesh him out more before I start revising book two.
“The Heart of Darkness” (no relation to Heart of Darkness the book hahaha) – A myth about a god-blessed lantern of Borea’s that allows the holder to live even beyond the moment they should have died while they seek their vengeance.
What I’m reading right now
Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir
Dreadful Young Ladies and Other Stories by Kelly Barnhill
As you may — or may not — know, I love horses. I might have mentioned it a few times here and there. It might say so in my “About me” page. I’m definitely not shy about my love of horses and have fully accepted my crazy-horse-girl self. It also won’t be surprising to anyone who reads book one. Rowan is 100% also a crazy horse girl, according to my boyfriend. Which, to be fair, he kind of is. He does love horses and talks to them – kind of like me… Whoops? I have a feeling horses will appear in most of my writing in some capacity. As my boyfriend told me recently, “If I were a crazy horse girl, I’d be able to tell you’re a crazy horse girl” based on how I write about them. (Am I about to use this as an excuse to share a bunch of horse pictures? Absolutely)
I started riding when I was seven, but I realized after I left for college that I didn’t really know much beyond how to stay on the horse. Which, to be fair, is an important skill to have. I might be exaggerating a bit, but that’s how I felt. And that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the many years I spent riding where I did, because I do. So much.
I got to ride so many different horses. I got to spend ten years riding Sinbad, the best horse ever, who I still miss and forever wish I could have owned. He might have tossed me an awful lot, but I learned that was because of me. If I was just brave and unafraid of those jumps, he’d sail right over. Unfortunately, I’m still scared of jumping because of all the times I fell off. Thanks, Sinbad. I love you anyway.
But anyway, when I got to college, I realized I knew a lot less than I thought I did. And there, I once again got to ride a wide variety of horses, and I had a great time, and I made wonderful riding friends and explored trails and got to follow a 5k on horseback, which was amazing. I galloped through a field in St. Andrews, Scotland, and rode past cows and through streets where we nearly ran into a little old lady. And I did a three-hour trail ride in Ireland. After I left college, though, I still felt like I didn’t know much.
Because horses and lessons are expensive, I ended up just not riding for five years after I moved in with my boyfriend. But then two years ago I decided if I ever wanted to buy a horse (which I do, desperately) I’d better get back into lessons and actually learn how the heck to really ride. I don’t want to go into horse ownership (eventually, hopefully in the next few years) blind. Both for myself and for any potential horse I own.
And I found the most wonderful and positive and lovely person to give me lessons. We ended up taking a break because she was gone for the winter and then my mom was sick and all of that happened. But last year on my birthday I finally got back into actual regular weekly lessons. Boy was that huge five-year gap a mistake. I didn’t realize how much I needed horses until I started riding again. I didn’t understand how much I missed it until I got back on a horse. And I will never go years without again if I can help it.
I’ve learned so much from my trainer in the last year and a half. I realized what my flaws are, what I need to work on, and while I definitely still struggle not to make the mistakes, at least I know about them now, I feel like I’ve gotten much better than I was when I started riding again two years ago.
What I didn’t expect when I started taking lessons again was to become friends with my trainer. And of course I knew we were friends and I knew I liked her because she’s such a great, fun person, but I didn’t realize how much I’d come to care about her until she told me last month she was leaving.
I’ve left two barns. I’ve taken lessons from multiple lovely people and when I left or they left, it was fine. But somehow this is different. Somehow this time I’m really sad. When she told me she was moving out of state, I was shocked to find myself getting all teary-eyed and emotional. After repeatedly saying “This sucks” because I didn’t really know how else to express myself, we hugged and I actually cried. I didn’t know what would happen when we eventually parted ways – if we ever did – nor did I know how it would happen, but I didn’t ever expect it would involve me basically weeping in my car before driving home.
Have you ever been so sad that you’re just useless? Yeah, that’s how I felt that day after I got home. I know I was supposed to write. I don’t think I did. Or maybe I did and ended up writing some emotional scene about Rowan. That sounds exactly like something I’d do if I was sad haha. Anyway, the point is that making friends as an adult is weird and stupid and hard and then you make one, and when they unexpectedly have to move, it sucks hard.
I think the deep sadness came from more than just a friend leaving, though. I think it came from a combination of knowing a friend was moving away and the unexpectedness of the news when I had, apparently, expected our partnership to go on for much longer. I fully expected to go horse shopping with her helping me and then continuing lessons once I got said horse, and obviously that won’t be a thing. And I think I’m also sad about that. I feel less…certain, I guess, about horse-buying. Not that I have the money for it right now anyway, and it probably won’t happen for a couple more years. But I felt like once I got a horse, I had someone to rely on if I needed help, and now that person is leaving, and I’m not sure where to go next.
Wednesday was my last lesson with her, and I’m so bummed about it. I’m happy I get to keep riding at the barn, but it’ll be weird not getting to see her or hear her chipper voice or listen to her telling the horses, “It’s so hard to be a you.”
What I wrote over the last week
Finished up the untitled story about a girl who one day she gets an unexpected phone call from her dead mom.
“The Apex Predator” — a myth about Nora-Vel’s objects, which are all body parts of her favorite creature.
A scene that will probably take place in some capacity in The Enorians book three, during which Ien tells his friends and family they need Vivian’s help.
“The Journals of Silsia” — a story about one of the enorians who came from Enoralori through the portal written in journal entries.
As always, check out my Instagram for excerpts from said stories.
What I’m reading right now
A Torch in the Night by Sabaa Tahir
Dreadful Young Ladies and Other Stories by Kelly Barnhill
A.M. Sӧtemann 