It’s a bloghop!
Good morning, and welcome to my newest entry for the Weekend Writing Warriors bloghop. If you link what you see and are interested in participating, the rules are simple enough:
- Add your name and genre(s) to the most recent post on the WeWriWa site
- Post a link to the WeWriWa site on your blog/Sunday post
- Keep your excerpt 10 sentences or less (8-10, no more!)
- Visit other WeWriWa authors and experience their work
(Find a complete set on the WeWriWa page as well as links to pages of all the authors involved. Check it out.)
Today’s snippet follows directly on the heels of my last Weekend Writing Warrior entry A Scullery Maid. Because of … stuff, this entry has been lightly edited and creatively punctuated to fit the rules of the Bloghop.
Kiriina nodded, making no move to approach the stool to which she had been directed. “Lady Kessalan insists you attend her with all speed.” She turned and fairly danced up the stone steps, and into the bowels of the kitchens.
Visse sat for a moment and stared at the lime-washed wall of the stairway where Kiriina had just vanished. At last, she returned her attention to the bowl in her lap and the half-filled sausage in it. Better to beg pardon for being late than risk making her aunt’s dinner guest’s ill.
Careful to not break the delicate skin, she tied off the end of the pudding in her hand, then after laying it on the tray, balanced that on her knees long enough to also grab the bowl. When she was sure she had a solid grip on both, she rose. The tray she set on the stool she’d vacated while she took the remaining mix in her bowl and calmly dumped it into Kiriina’s waiting work.
Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed the snippet. Come back in two weeks for another bit of Courting A Swan Song
Last week sort of blew up in several different directions, and the thought of writing new words and not escaping into someone else’s just seemed impossible to consider. Eventually though, the characters demand attention, and like any sane writer (is this an oxymoron?), I knew I needed to spend some time with them or they would start making it impossible to sleep.
Well, actually, I didn’t listen that easily, and I haven’t slept that well for a bit now. High point is… I have words. But the caffeine hasn’t been pulling its weight for the past few mornings.
Simple maths… Today I offer you four paragraphs: 1 for the month plus 3+0 from the day. The fifth opening paragraph offers a lead in from my last WIPpet post: Not Smiling. Here I continue to explore the cause of ‘Listii’s nightmares. I’m learning a lot about the way the Guard has grown since the Cataclysm and things I’d never have guessed about ‘Listii’s relationship with his family and dearest friends.
Any normal day, he’d have been happy to stare. Today he wasn’t even sure he could call her a pretty thing. She just was prettier than most anyone else in the barrack’s mess, or she would be, if she didn’t look like his dead sister.
Impossible. His sister had died years ago, long before they’d emigrated to Acaria. Since he also knew all the trainees, an none of them looked the least like Visse—at least none of them had before this week.
This was the third time he’d seen his sister walking the Center’s halls.
He accepted the refilled cup with a nod vaguely in the girl’s direction. “Thanks, lass.”
“Of course, ‘Listii.”
Hopefully you enjoyed that. Now, why not head over to the WIPpet linky and visit some our other awesome members? Much love and thanks to Emily Wrayburn, for hosting out bloghop.
image courtesy of Wallup.net
It’s Saturday Sunday(!) again, and as always, time seems to have flown by since my last Stream of Consciousness Saturday post. Time for a new one (with a new prompt I daren’t use here[against the”rules” this week, you see])… especially since this week isn’t my WeWriWa post week and I missed my Wednesday WIPpet too.
Mostly I’ve been running away into an imaginary world created by Victoria Thompson in her Gaslight Mysteries novels. Why I’ve been running? Life has been… interesting lately. Not bad-bad-bad, but more emotionally difficult than I needed right now.
It’s my propensity for chasing after windmills and trying to fix problems that aren’t my own.
There are times I’d like to trade places with those that I am helping, to be the one receiving the help and not offering, not feeling obliged to give it. And I do feel obliged… not so much because I was asked to help (oddly, I’m less inclined to help when I am asked as when I sense a need and am not).
Eh… I shouldn’t dwell on the crazy. It’s almost a new week and, deals with God not withstanding, I don’t have to keep going this way. Don’t have to look back to know what I need to do to go forward at the moment… the path is clear (muddy, but clear). The moon is lighting it well…