WiPpet Wednesday: gamey rambling (again) and things not at all going according to plan...

I finally did it!  I worked my little arse off and I finally got G is for Gabrys finished... although I didn't get to do much else between that, work and family time...

As a reward, I'm having a couple of days off (sorry Ais, Lirio, RQ and Fayth...) to play Metal Gear Solid V: the Phantom Pain.

I am... not very good at Metal Gear games.  I liked Metal Gear Solid 2 enough to buy it on the Vita after I had it on the original Xbox, although that may have had something to do with a certain put-upon, very dim, blond male character who spends a chunk of the game naked.  I have MGS3 on Vita mostly because it came with MGS2; I don't have MGS4 (despite it also featuring the put-upon, dim blond) because that was PS3 only and the PS4--which, like the PS3, I said I would only get if there were enough games I wanted to play to justify the cost--is not backwards compatible nor is it likely to be.  And I have MGS5: Ground Zeroes, which although I completed I unfortunately did not play enough to unlock said dim blond's level, due to being damn terrible at sneaking.

Also, I have Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance, which is actually my favourite game out of all of them, not least for featuring the same certain put-upon dim blond and for being far more my kind of game, which means lots of stabbing and no sneaking at all.  Also vast amounts of homoerotic content.  (No, I'm not kidding.)

I've also got a lot of other computer games.  And in those games, there's usually theft of some kind.  You can pickpocket and rob bodies in Assassin's Creed.  You can hack computers and steal cars in Watch_Dogs, or accidentally pilfer cheese in Skyrim.  Most RPGs encourage unsolicited entering of homes, rifling through their drawers and helping yourself to their valuables.  Even in Portal you can pick up and run away with a usually very startled sentry turret.

The Phantom Pain is probably the first game I've played where you can steal the enemy soldiers.

I am having a field day.

WiPpet Wednesday

WiPpet Wednesday is a blog hop organised by the always-brilliant K. L. Schwengel, which focuses on our Works in Progress and ties them into the date, either through simple means or more complicated WiPpet Maths.  It's a whole lot of fun filled with brilliant excerpts, and you can find out more and join in yourself here.

It's the 2nd September (02/09, woo, new month!), so my maths is just 9 - 2 = 7, for 7 paragraphs, following on from Fayth deciding that playing nice just wasn't working any longer (though it looks like it might start backfiring...)

This will make sense eventually, honest.  (Also, profanity warning.)

The guard went down with a howl, one hand scrabbling uselessly for his pistol while the other clasped his knee.  The second guard fumbled with the catches on his holster, all the while gaping at Fayth; Fayth shot him in the foot.  Without waiting for either man to get a handle on their pain long enough to process what was happening, he dashed between them and grabbed RQ’s hand.  “Come on.”

RQ jerked back in his grip, struggling to free himself.  “What the hell are you doing?!  Let me go, you fucking madman!”

Fayth tightened his grip and put a second laser hole in one of the guard’s legs for good measure.  “I’m saving your worthless life, that’s what I’m doing, and if you don’t get moving I’ll shoot you in the legs too.”

RQ paled but made no effort to follow.  It took all of Fayth’s strength to drag him forward, muttering profanities under his breath the whole way.  He even had to put a third hole into one of the guards, to add insult to injury: a neat one in his hand because the bastard was going for his gun again.  Clearly incapable of taking a hint.  The other one was a little quicker on the uptake, his own falling away from the butt of his pistol, but Fayth had to reverse up the hallway nonetheless, in part to keep an eye on them, and in part because he suddenly didn’t trust RQ not to brain him if he turned his back.  Just remembering his punch made Fayth’s cheekbone ache.

In front of him, RQ tried to pull free again and yelped as Fayth crushed his hand.  “Don’t you understand I’m trying to help?”  Fayth shouted over the deafening wah-wah of the alarm speaker they passed under.  So far there was no sign of the other two guards.  Fayth had to hope that by now they were at least two floors above them.  “Don’t you know what they want to do?”

His third attempt to wrench himself free unsuccessful, RQ just stared at Fayth with his mouth compressed into a thin line and didn’t say a word.

Fayth shoved the pistol into the back of his trousers, swapping the hand grasping RQ’s for a grip on his slender wrist instead.  Turning his back on him might be a risk, but at least it’d be harder for him to escape.  “I didn’t think you were an idiot but I guess I was wrong.”

Ready, Set, WRITE! - Wrap Up

Ready, Set, WRITE! is a summer writing challenge hosted by Erin L. Funk, Alison Miller, Katy Upperman, Jaime Morrow and Elodie Nowodazkij as a way to encourage participants to get going on their projects and to help keep us accountable.  We share brief updates every Monday so as not to interrupt writing time with blogging.  You can find out more here or check out others' updates over at the hosts' blogs.

1. How I did on last week’s goal(s)

Last week I wanted to write 5,000 words (1,000 handwritten), and finish G is for Gabrys.  And I can say...

I did it!

Well, I didn't do the handwritten one, but that's mostly because I was working my arse off trying to finish Gabrys.  I finished the week with 9,220 words, 2,872 of them yesterday in my desperation to finish it before today.  I think I can live with not handwriting those...!

2. How I did on the summer's goal(s)

My ultimate goals were: Make discernible progress on (or, even better, finish):

• The Reconstruction of Kirill
• The Rose Queen

and finish:

• J is for Jonathan
• G is for Gabrys

And while I've done nothing on The Rose Queen, I did write a chapter on Reconstruction of Kirill (which to be honest is more than I'd done before the summer!), and I totally finished J is for Jonathan and (finally!) G is for Gabrys!

I also had: Try to make some progress on plotting out Dust & Ash, because I don't think that can go anywhere without one.  And this one didn't really work out, mostly because Camp NaNo happened and I suddenly ended up with unexpected characters and an unexpected plot!  (Not that I'd change Ais and Lirio for the world.)

And as for this one...  And, finally, finish at least one item out of the four crochet projects that're sitting behind me exuding a malevolent aura.  I did finally figure out how to stop it sitting behind me and exuding a malevolent aura...

I dumped it upstairs where it couldn't glare at me instead.  Sorry, crochet.

3. A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised

Throwing back his hood, Makary was apparently of the same mind: his sword slid effortlessly from its sheath and batted away Ardashir’s first lunge like it was nothing.  He made short work of the second and third too, but by then Ardashir seemed to have his measure.  Each thrust was parried, and in return each retaliation was deflected like it was nothing.  It was said that Līzahran was the tongue of the wind whispering sand over the dunes, but that truly was the whisper of blade drawn over blade before another clang resounded throughout the close confines of the corridor.

It was beautiful, almost balletic, and Ardashir was gradually winning.  It would only be a matter of minutes before his superior training got the better of Makary, and Rafay was still in no state to fight—

A crash filled the hall.  Ardashir staggered one step, two, then hit the ground face-first.

Just beyond, the quiet sarayi with the close-cropped black hair let the remains of a thick urn clatter from his fingers to the floor.  When he spoke, it was softly-accented Līzahran.  “I have no wish to go back to those small rooms and put up with him again.”

“It’s less problematic than killing him,” Demiah agreed, grabbing Gabrys’s hand and pulling him towards the door.  “Come on, my prince, before we’re drowning in guards.”

It didn’t escape Gabrys’s notice, from the corner of his eye, that both Makary and Rafay gave Ardashir’s senseless body a surreptitious kick.

4. The biggest challenge I faced this week

Getting the bloody story finished.  I found writing the excerpt in particular very satisfying.  :p

5. The biggest challenge I faced this summer

Motivation, and getting over my inability to write even a sentence without feeling sick.  And I did it!  And more to the point, I've come out the other side with two new stories I never expected!

6. Something I love about my WIP(s)

I think it has to be that, even if they're troublesome, my characters still do things (generally without me) and I'm just writing to keep up.

And finally...

I don't really do manicures, but I did actually make an effort with my nails for a photo.  They're in a better state than they were when I started RSW actually, so perhaps the increase in writing has agreed with them!  (On that note, over summer I wrote 57,375 words...!)

Thank you to everyone for this summer, it's been so much fun!  To Erin, Alison, Elodie, Katy and Jaime for setting this up for us, and to everyone else for sharing in the experience!

You're all amazing!

WiPpet Wednesday: too bloody long, and not the way it was planned...

Things are taking a turn for the decidedly weird with G is for Gabrys.  I keep being fascinated that a story that was only supposed to be 300-700 words has become (at last count) over 15,000 and sprung up a cast of characters, including one I absolutely did not expect to see.

I'm not complaining—well, maybe I am a little, because I want to get it out of the way and it's keeping me from other projects—but after all that time where writing even one word felt like pulling teeth, it's just... unexpected.  I really hope I finish it before it gets to 20,000 words though.

After that... well, I'll probably put it where it was supposed to be in the list, then leave it for a while, give it a spot of editing and then use it to see if I can teach myself how to typeset pages for bookbinding.

I'm usually terrible about finishing projects (and computer games, and... most things, actually: I don't like endings), but I'm rather looking forward to this one.  Not least because of how long it's bloody taken...

WiPpet Wednesday

WiPpet Wednesday is a bloghop run by the always-brilliant K. L. Schwengel who I very almost got the wrong blog address for just then.  It encourages writers to share sections from their Works in Progress that relate in some way to the date (the section, not the content), either through simple means or WiPpet Maths.  If you want to find out more, read some brilliant snippets from stories and join in yourself, it's over here.

I won't threaten another section from G is for Gabrys, because I think one person being threatened with a fork was enough for this month!  Instead, since it's the 26th August 2015 (26/08/2015), I'm going to add 2 + 6 = 8, then 8 + 8 = 16.  2 + 0 + 1 = 3, and 5 - 3 = 2... so 16 - 2 = 14 for 14 admittedly quite long paragraphs from The Rose Queen (as ever, sorry about that).

This one contains a profanity warning, because Fayth can be sweary as it is and now he's really panicking...

Fayth screeched to a halt, barely able to breathe. He’d assumed that they’d take him back home before they executed him. Dead bodies were a pain to transport, but they were infinitely more well behaved than the living. RQ might even now be slowly cooling against a plastic-wrapped mattress.  Worse, it might be a bullet to the back of the head, a spray of red across the wall. 

There was no fucking way he was letting that happen. Hope was all he had, weak and desperate and clawing and he was not going to let go of it. He took off at a sprint, hurtling down emergency access stairs three at a time rather than risk the slow, cramped confines of an elevator, and swarmed through corridors like a one-man plague. 

He was, by his own admittedly somewhat shaky estimation, three floors from the danger zone, where prisoners were likely to go in and never come out again, when his pace slackened. Nothing to do with lack of will, or that he’d given up, but damn he was tired. Adrenaline could carry him so far but there was a limit, and Fayth was pretty sure he’d passed that several floors ago. His hand trembled around the gun’s grip. Not for the first time, he envied the bounty hunters and brawlers their body mods and enhanced systems. Taking his nanites for a tune-up was increasingly looking like a fantastic idea, because he couldn’t do this again.  There was a reason he preferred to sneak in to steal things; he’d not had to do this in years, at least, not in such a sustained manner.  Doing it again on the way back might well see him off entirely. 

And still no alarms sounded.  Kirik must really be keen on saving RQ. 

Fayth leaned against the wall, desperate for the chance to gulp down air—and nearly pissed himself in terror as sirens screamed through the hall.  Time was up; now or never.  At least this time it didn’t involve red lighting, that stuff always made him feel ill.  Pushing off from the wall, he broke into what he hoped wasn’t the last sprint of his life. 

The four guards were lightly armed, built like brick walls and rendered RQ barely visible beyond their broad shoulders, and Fayth almost skidded round the corner into them.  If the alarm hadn’t been blaring fit to burst his eardrums there would’ve been the element of surprise.  As it was, they all spun gracefully in his direction, hands falling to their holsters.  And paused, confused. 

He couldn’t blame them really.  They were probably expecting a second incursion from the Orenda, come to steal back their prize.  It was a fair bet they weren’t expecting the man who’d just delivered that prize back to them.  Not one drew their guns. 

“You’ve gotta move,” Fayth bellowed to be heard over the shrieking alert, his mouth moving before his brain could direct it.  “They’re coming for him.” 

“We’re taking him to the containment block,” one wall rumbled uncertainly, his words almost drowned out by the siren.  “He’ll be safe there.” 

Safe?  Lie of the year right there.  “Nah, man, they’re expecting that.  They need you upstairs, fight them off.  I’ll hide him ’til it’s done.” 

From beyond the shield of shoulders, he thought he saw RQ’s sceptical expression, a sentiment echoed by the guards.  One—must be the leader—turned to the others, quickly ordering two to peel off and head back, before returning his attention to Fayth.  His voice rumbled below the level of the alarm; Fayth could feel it roll through his stomach.  “They’ll help deal with them, don’t worry.  We’ll carry on here, so you can get back to your ship now.” 

Shit damn crap, this wasn’t going how he wanted.  “You don’t think you’re being a bit predictable?  I knew where to find you, so they’re bound to.” 

“This time, we’re prepared for them,” the leader said, turning away.  “Run along.” 

“Fine,” Fayth grumbled, and shot the man in the knee.

Ready, Set, WRITE! - Week Twelve

Ready, Set, WRITE! is a summer writing challenge hosted by Erin L. Funk, Alison Miller, Katy Upperman, Jaime Morrow and Elodie Nowodazkij as a way to encourage participants to get going on their projects and to help keep us accountable.  We share brief updates every Monday so as not to interrupt writing time with blogging.  You can find out more here or check out others' updates over at the hosts' blogs.

1. How I did on last week’s goal(s)

Last week I wanted to write 5,000 words (1,000 handwritten), and finish G is for Gabrys.  I... pretty much failed on all counts.  I wrote 4,757 words (so not too far off), of which 815 were handwritten (because my hands were starting to itch), and although they were all on Gabrys, I still haven't finished it (though the plot has advanced).

2. My goal(s) for this week

Finish G is for Gabrys.  I only have one mapped out plot-point left, then I have to figure out the ending.  It was one of my summer goals and by gods I will do it, even if it is now 11,600 words long when it was only supposed to be 300-700.

Also, write 5,000 words, of which 1,000 should be handwritten.

3. A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised

There was something so sad in the words, so helpless in his face; Gabrys found himself leaning forward, desperate to do something, anything, that might remove it.  He was only aware of his intentions himself when his lips brushed over Demiah’s, feeling their soft warmth and sweetness.

It would have been fully deserved if the sarayi slapped him for his forwardness.  Instead Gabrys felt a sharp intake of breath, then the kiss was returned.  Only briefly, but enough that he could feel everything in it that was so lacking from every moment Ardashir touched him.

When they parted, the faint smile was back on Demiah’s lips, and Gabrys fancied it looked slightly happier this time.  “That was... unexpected, my prince.”

“I’m sorry.  I—If you want me to never do anything of the sort again, I just—”

The warmth of Demiah’s palm caressing his cheek startled him into silence.  “I didn’t say that, my prince.

4. The biggest challenge I faced this week

Summoning the willpower to write.  Turns out handwriting keeps me away from the perils of the internet, to which I turn every time I run out of steam in a sentence or paragraph...

5. Something I love about my WIP

That it went from something that was supposed to be small, into... well, this.  I have no idea where this plot came from.  Also, that it finally taught me the word for someone in a harem (which I then promptly disregarded for most of the story).

WiPpet Wednesday: a mishmash and a familiar face

It was a weird week last week.  There's always something a little depressing about getting older, offset somewhat by the fact I'm always overestimating how old I actually am, so yet again this year I realised I'm at least year younger than I thought.  (Two years out this year, which was a relief.)

Never did work out if it's because I'm terrible at maths, or if I'm just too lazy to pay attention.

There's something odd about the end of August in England when the weather becomes changeable.  The days seem to become a blur, which hasn't really helped things.  It came as a bit of a surprise that it's even Wednesday today.

In other news, I've finally started reading the Game of Thrones books one of my NaNoers gave me at least a year ago and I'm enjoying the first book so far, but there's something daunting when you look down and go "oh, I'm on page 30 already", only to realise that, yeah, great, but you've got another 800 to go...

WiPpet Wednesday

It's that awesome time of the week again: the blog hop hosted by the ever-brilliant K. L. Schwengel where participants post sections of their Works in Progress that in some way, either through simple links or complicated WiPpet math, relate to the date.  You can find out more, read other blogs and take part yourself over heeeeere.

You know, I've been working quite hard lately on my one outstanding Blogging From A-Z post, G is for Gabrys, and I'm actually starting to make progress now.  Perhaps it'd make more sense if I shared a snippet from—

...I think there's a couple of people who'd hunt me down and strangle me if I did that right now.  :p  (Though that'd be one way to get to meet people in the flesh!)

So, since it's the 19th August 2015 (19/08/2015), my maths is 1 + 9 = 10;  2 + 0 + 1 + 5 = 8; 8 ÷ 8 = 1.  10 + 1 is 11, for 11 paragraphs.

Last week we left Corliss sulking off onto his new task, so this week we're returning to Fayth.  When we left him, he'd been aimlessly pushing some awful not-cream cake around a plate, only to be startled by a crewman letting slip that RQ was being returned solely for his execution.

You could say Fayth did not take it well.

The crewman—Kirik, like knowing his name would stop Fayth threatening him; a sorely deluded man—didn’t waste time putting up a fight, and for that Fayth was grateful. If it wasn’t for the way his hands shook as he opened the door to the armoury Fayth would have sworn he’d wanted him to mount a rescue. He certainly didn’t question the bigger man’s actions. Maybe he realised that Fayth wouldn’t tell him even if he asked. Telling would require knowing why in the first place, and Fayth didn’t want to sit around long enough to analyse that particular question.

Then, gun in hand, he was off and running, leaving Kirik behind with with three tiny red marks on his neck and a bemused expression on his face.

Fayth just hoped Kirik didn’t feel the need to tell anyone how he’d been threatened with death by fork.

No alarms sounded as he pounded through the corridors. The few crewmen he saw passed in a blur, startled expressions frozen with wide eyes and O-shaped mouths. Either they didn’t see the gun or strange men charging through hallways while armed was an alarming but regular occurrence. He hoped it was the former, not the latter.

Damnit, why was it so hard to find Pynes’ office a second time round? He was sure he’d been up there and round there, but it just led to more interminable corridors and if there was one thing the month had supplied more than enough of already, it was interminable corridors.

It was useless, he’d never find them like this. He’d be lucky if Pynes and RQ were even in the same room now.

Room. They wouldn’t be in the same room, because Pynes would want to move RQ somewhere safer, where even if RQ heard what would happen and decided to make a run for it, he’d never manage to escape.
Fayth swore loudly and spun on his heel, pelting back down the corridor again.

Waystations all looked the same. He’d considered it a design flaw in the past—and strictly speaking it was, from a criminal standpoint; if you knew one you knew them all even if you did have a tendency to become geographically embarrassed now and again—but right now he could kiss Pynes. What he’d chosen as a simple stopover on his way back to God knew where was about to make Fayth’s life significantly easier.

Secure cells and other important rooms were usually placed at the bottom of the station, in the middle and far away from the insecure outside edge. It hadn’t been that long, even if he was pretty sure Pynes’ office had been only halfway up the station, two levels from the docking bays. They couldn’t have taken RQ all the way down and in by now, locked him away where Fayth couldn’t get at him even if he could get Kirik to help him again. Please God, don’t let them have managed it...

What if they’d already done it?

Ready, Set, WRITE! - Week Eleven

Ready, Set, WRITE! is a summer writing challenge hosted by Erin L. Funk, Alison Miller, Katy Upperman, Jaime Morrow and Elodie Nowodazkij as a way to encourage participants to get going on their projects and to help keep us accountable.  We share brief updates every Monday so as not to interrupt writing time with blogging.  You can find out more here or check out others' updates over at the hosts' blogs.

1. How I did on last week’s goal(s)

Last week I'd intended to write 5,000 words, 1,000 of which were to be handwritten, and I'd wanted to finish G is for Gabrys.  I actually wrote 6,880 words, of which 5,340 were handwritten and 1,540 were on Gabrys.  Needless to say... I didn't finish Gabrys.

2. My goal(s) for this week

Finish G is for Gabrys.  And maybe write a little on the Camp NaNo project...  In short, the same as last week: write 5,000 words, 1,000 of which should be handwritten, finish that damn story.

3. A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised

His stomach clenched.  He’d been too shocked, too upset, to realise before.  But he’d be damned if this didn’t make him sound—oh shit—like the most likely culprit.  From the tenseness behind him, he wasn’t the only one arriving at this conclusion.  And how could he blame Ais for it when he’d stabbed him, no matter how lightly, just for saying he loved him.

4. The biggest challenge I faced this week

My birthday was on Saturday, but since it's not really a birthday if you don't get time off from work (and I was maybe a little resentful it fell on my one day off a week!) I had Friday off too and we went out.  I didn't get much done either day, but they were fun.

EDIT: Also, unexpected sequelitis.  I heard ADHDS's The Informant and suddenly realised what Lirio and Ais were doing after the end of the story.  It's frustrating, I don't/didn't want to write a sequel!

5. Something I love about my WIP

That Lirio has just spent almost all of this section completely naked.  Ridiculous, but it amuses me nonetheless.  And also that his mental anguish turns out to be remarkably good for word count.

WiPpet Wednesday: unexpecting the unexpected

Bearing in mind my utter uselessness at continuing on with NaNo stories after NaNo has finished (and I have 12 years' worth of unfinished NaNo stories to back this up!), that I'm still working on this Camp NaNo project is somewhat bemusing...  I'm now at 29,000 words and I have the weirdest suspicion that I've now actually started dreaming about Ais and Lirio.

Things are, as ever, going from bad to worse for our heroes (using the term loosely...) which apparently means that for the last two days I've sat down and accidentally written around 1,000 words a day on them.

Shame it's not 1,000 words on any of the projects I'm actually supposed to be working on!  The weirdest thing is though, that I'm actually having fun.  (Lirio's not, but if he was I wouldn't have so much to write about.)

Also, after ages of reading people say "well it's an acquired taste..." and "I had to force myself to drink it the first week or so..." I finally decided to try green tea.

After my first cup, it's been pretty much the only hot drink I have drunk.  Turns out I actually really like it.  So, finally, something healthy I've been successful with!

WiPpet Wednesday

WiPpet Wednesday is a blog hop hosted by K. L. Schwengel to encourage people to work on and share their Works in Progress, but it's a blog hop with a twist: each snippet should in some way relate to the date, either through basic substitution or WiPpet maths.  You can find out more, read other blogs and sign up yourself over here.

Today's maths is pretty basic: it's the 12th August so it's 12 + 8 for 20 lines from The Rose Queen and we're still on Corliss, just for this one last bit.  (Although if you do fancy reading any more about him, I wrote an 850-word 18+ thing with him before his life in this story for the A-Z Challenge here.  Fastest sex scene of the month!)

Medworth’s eyes narrowed.  Everyone thought his crow’s feet were marks of a life spent laughing; Corliss suspected they had as much to do with the icy glare he seemed perfectly capable of pinning his Head of Security to the carpet with.  Perhaps Medworth smiled with other crewmen, but Corliss was there under sufferance.  “Unless you’re capable of making it up to the Project—to me—somehow?”

At last, a straw he could clutch at.  It might do nothing to stop him being swept back to Caleca, but if he was lucky and absolutely refused to let go, it might just allow him to claw his way back into the Captain’s good graces.  “I’ll do anything to serve the Orenda.  You know that, sir.” 

He didn’t need to hear the words to know what they’d be, but Medworth didn’t leave things to chance and intuition.  “Retrieve the Rose Queen.  Prove you’re the man you assured us you were when we took you on.” 

Corliss nodded, snapping out a smart salute.  “Yes, sir.”  There was nothing else he could say.  No words could make it better.  It was action, because even death was better than the alternative.  He hesitated, saluted again, then turned on his heel and stalked from the room, Medworth’s eyes burning a hole in his back. 

In the hallway, his face collapsed into a scowl that could have been career-ending had Medworth seen it.  His life had gone straight to Hell all right, and if he didn’t do something about it now, Hell would seem like an all-expenses-paid five-star resort on a garden planet in comparison to Medworth’s pointed threat. 

Somehow—and he’d better come up with a way, fast, because he didn’t think Medworth was in a patient mood—he’d get the gardener back and make the thieving bastard who stole him pay for his loss of face.

Ready, Set, WRITE! - Week Ten

Ready, Set, WRITE! is a summer writing challenge hosted by Erin L. Funk, Alison Miller, Katy Upperman, Jaime Morrow and Elodie Nowodazkij as a way to encourage participants to get going on their projects and to help keep us accountable.  We share brief updates every Monday so as not to interrupt writing time with blogging.  You can find out more here or check out others' updates over at the hosts' blogs.

1. How I did on last week’s goal(s)

Last week's goals were to write at least 4,000 words (1,000 of which should be handwritten) and finish G is for Gabrys.  I actually wrote 6,419 words (4,840 handwritten), but am now only around halfway through my mental plan for Gabrys; so two hits and one miss.

Oh, and my goal from week four, to finish Chris Wooding's Ace of Skulls?  FINALLY done it!  In the end I polished off most of the book in a couple of days, and read Natasha Pulley's The Watchmaker of Filigree Street too, which was a brilliant, brilliant book.

2. My goal(s) for this week

I'm starting to get frustrated by all these projects hanging over my head, so this week I'm going to try to write at least 5,000 (at least 1,000 handwritten) words and actually finish this not-so-short story that should've been done in April!

3. A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised

Ais thought about thinking about it, then opened the door instead.

4. The biggest challenge I faced this week

Keeping focused.  I'd sit down for a while at the keyboard, write a few words, then get up and wander off to sit with my notebook instead.

5. Something I love about my WIP

For the Camp NaNo project: things I only wrote because I saw them in my mind are now starting to connect to other things I only wrote because I 'saw' them, which is both a relief and slightly disconcerting.  For Gabrys: ...that I'm about now halfway through it. *grins*

WiPpet Wednesday: rewards and punishments

My reward for not doing as badly at Camp NaNo as I expected arrived today!

One of the nicest things about fountain pens is converters, which you can fill with any ink you choose... which usually results in owning quite a few bottles of ink (they're much cheaper than buying cartridges).  And I'll admit I'm pretty cheap with my inks: I prefer Diamine, which are usually £2-3 a 30ml bottle.

This... is not a cheap ink.  This is my third J. Herbin 1670 ink, and it's only just come out.  The 1670 inks have tiny flecks of gold in, and from all the promotional pictures I've seen that use it, it's got a beautiful sheen when used.

It's also... *ulp*  About £14 a bottle, and I've never used any of them, because I'm just a tiiiiny bit scared of them.  (I don't think I can be blamed at that price.)  They do look gorgeous though...

I will get around to trying it out though.  Probably with my dip pens, because I'm a little unsure how well a Lamy will deal with the gold flecks in the feed and I'm pretty sure my little Pilot with its EF nib will just choke on them.

But it IS pretty...

And on the subject of (subjectively) pretty, I found the Rose Queen bookmark I made while bored a few months ago.  Never did get around to making one representing Fayth...

WiPpet Wednesday

WiPpet Wednesday is a brilliant blog hop where participants show snippets of their Works in Progress, and all snippets relate in some way to the date, whether through simple substitution or WiPpet Maths.  It's organised by the lovely K. L. Schwengel and you can find out more, read other posts and jump in yourself over here.

It's the 5th August 2015 (05/08/2015) so my math is 2 + 0 + 1 + 5 = 8.  5 - 8 = 3.  3 + 8 = 11, for 11 paragraphs (sorry for the length).

To commemorate finding the bookmark again, I figured we should nip back to The Rose Queen to see what's going on.  I left Fayth with the discovery that his delivery of RQ is not everything he thought is was...

..and you're going to have to wait a little longer to see how that pans out, because chapter 4 deals with someone else.  Someone troublesome, who turned up without my permission...  (Profanity warning.)

The other thing he couldn’t help noticing, as he shifted from foot to foot and clenched his hands tightly together behind his back, was the sheer amount of greenery around the place.  Anywhere else, he’d take the stalks and stems to be a particularly expensive brand of synthetic and dismiss it as a pointless frippery; in here, he knew the truth.  Each plant was painstakingly—he might go so far as lovingly—raised to be the finest example it could be and then handed over to serve as nothing more than decoration.  It was easy to make a parallel between the plants and their gardener.

“Baenan.”

Outwardly he was sure nothing more happened than his knuckles whitening as he gripped that little bit harder; inwardly, he flinched.  If he was being addressed by his surname, he really was in for it.  “Yes, sir.”

The deep carpet muffled each heavy footfall and the man’s breath was barely audible, but Corliss knew where the man was standing simply from the pressure of his eyes over his skin.  The room might be designed to intimidate, but it had nothing on its occupant.  “Would you like to tell me anything about today, Baenan?”

Well, no, he wouldn’t.  What he would like to do was hide in his cabin until he could be sure people had stopped laughing every time he passed, but he was fairly sure that the Captain wasn’t going to accept that as an answer.  In fact, there was a lot the Captain wouldn’t accept as an answer, like how the Head of Security had found himself brained and naked in a storage closet.  Hay Medworth had a reputation as a fair Captain, but no matter how fair he was, Corliss didn’t think anyone would take the theft of their most valuable asset they’d ever had well while the man supposedly responsible for ship-wide security dozed through it all.

Fucking thief; it had taken a full ten minutes for Corliss’s nose to stop bleeding and hadn’t that amused everyone else.  He hadn’t intended to effectively broadcast that he was one of the few crewmembers without nanites.

“I’m waiting, Baenan.”

He swallowed, like that would force down the knot of fear in his chest, and kept his gaze fixed on the empty table in front of him.  Real wood, if he had to hazard a guess; he wondered if it had been grown in the habitat or shipped from a garden planet.  “I was doing a sweep of the docking bays.  I didn’t want anyone thinking that position meant pulling rank and offloading the shitty—” he winced; “—unpleasant, sorry sir, jobs onto junior staff.  The craft had all the correct credentials,” he added defensively, grip behind his back tightening again.  “The AI wouldn’t have let it dock otherwise.”

Captain Medway loomed into his peripheral vision.  From the way his lips pursed, that was the wrong answer.  “The system was fooled.  I would have thought you of all people would know how incorrect that was.”

It was like being slapped, only more effective.  He could get used to being slapped, but Medway’s sharp tongue opened the lacerations of his past every time.  “He hit me round the back of the head with a cleaning utensil, sir,” he found himself protesting weakly.

“That reminds me.”  The Captain settled behind his desk and watched the inwardly-squirming man over his steepled fingers.  “The cost of a new mop is coming out of your pay.  Perhaps you’d like to be demoted to caretaker duties and become better acquainted with it.”

(Oh, and just so they're not totally abandoned...  this is my most recent favourite bit from the half-arsed project:

Ais led him to a large flat stone that overlooked the sea and sat him on it.  Without the heat from his hands, the wind chilled Lirio's skin and rose goosebumps.  “You want to say we’re screwed, don’t you?”

Lirio snorted.  “I wanted to be, then your brother interrupted.”

So still no luck on that front for them!)

Ready, Set, WRITE! - Week Nine

Ready, Set, WRITE! is a summer writing challenge hosted by Erin L. Funk, Alison Miller, Katy Upperman, Jaime Morrow and Elodie Nowodazkij as a way to encourage participants to get going on their projects and to help keep us accountable.  We share brief updates every Monday so as not to interrupt writing time with blogging.  You can find out more here or check out others' updates over at the hosts' blogs.

1. How I did on last week’s goal(s)

They were two pretty simple goals: write 4,000 words and reach 20,000 words for Camp NaNo.  Happy to say I actually managed both!  I finished Camp NaNo with 20,598 words and wrote a total of 4,756 words for the week.

2. My goal(s) for this week

Try to write at least 4,000 words again, and actually make an effort on finishing that bloody G is for Gabrys thing I've been ignoring all month!  And try to make sure that at least 1,000 words of what I write is handwritten on my Camp NaNo project, since it turns out I really quite enjoy handwriting--and I don't think Lirio and Ais would be happy if I left them now.

3. A favorite line from my story OR a word or phrase that sums up what I wrote/revised

“Why are we here?”  He managed to ask through his breathlessness and the dust cloud.  “Where is here?”

“My brother’s new house,” Ais said, caressing Lirio’s cheek so tenderly he barely felt the sting of his bruise at all.  “I said we’d dust it for them.”

“That’s what you call this?”  Lirio felt himself grin.

“I was planning on dusting with your back.  Or mine, depending on who’s on top.”  He kissed him again.

4. The biggest challenge I faced this week

Keeping going, as ever.  Summoning the energy to make comment rounds, which was incredibly bad of me.  And Saturday, which was spent in the city with friends.

5. Something I love about my WIP

That I'm still writing it, to be honest.  Normally when NaNo or similar ends I'm so relieved that I put down the story and don't pick it up again, but I've actually written something the last two days as well.