Hitting the Books

It was the dryad who warned Travis that there were Confederate soldiers already on this side of the Chickhominy. She was trying—unsuccessfully—to pry Miníe balls from the trunk of her gnarled black oak with her fingers. After recovering from her initial shock at his appearance, and at his ability to see her, she willing accepted his offer of assistance. Especially of the steel knife she could not herself handle.

“It is rare for one of your race to still be able to see clearly,” she commented, wincing as he dug out another lump of lead.

Travis paused, peered closer at the bark, then frowned thoughtfully. “Mum says it’s our Irish blood. There you go, ma’am. I think that’s the last of them.”

She ran a hand lightly over the wood and smiled, body already melting back into the tree. “Yes. My thanks, bluecoat.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

Her nut-brown face faded from sight. Travis turned to remount Meg. Then a pair of leaf-green eyes blinked from the trunk. “I would not continue down this road—there are many grey men ahead.” She closed her eyes as if listening. “They are crossing the river even now. The blue riders and the men with deer tails have already retreated towards the city.”

Oh blast, Travis thought, one foot in the stirrup. She’s talking about the 4th and the Bucktails. If they’re back in Mechanicsville, that means we’re cut off.

A slim arm pointed back the way he’d come. “There are more of your kind that way, down the road that enters at the grove of beeches, near to what you would call the Totopotomoy.” The eyes opened again, looking puzzled. “There is something else, but I can’t place it…” Her voice dissipated as she vanished completely. Travis turned to Meg with a grimace.

“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear,” he said, hauling himself into the saddle.

Well, I’ve gone and fallen off the face of the planet again. Suppose it’s mostly the time of year, but I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking and reading. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to blog-fast for a bit if I’m to get any real writing done. Actually, I think I’m going to try to Internet-fast too. I’ve already cut down my daily consumption of email and the such. Some days I don’t even turn the computer on (except to order more books from Amazon). (if you wonder how I manage to write without turning on the computer, it’s because I still prefer to write longhand. There’s something freeing about putting pen to paper rather than fingers to keyboard).

I’ll miss all of your sparkling wit and delightful posts. But it’s difficult to write when I spend all my time reading other’s writing. And I don’t have a lot of time to spend in the first place.

I hope to see you all with the turning of the year.

Happy Holy Days!

Nessili

It’s almost NaNoWriMo time again.

The question is, is it even worth attempting? I can barely find time to keep up with my paltry blog posts, let alone complete a 50,000 word novel in one month.

Last year I got a mere chapter’s worth of work done on WidowWalk. Something came up. Don’t remember what it was. But I did start writing the book, so now I can’t work on that one again: NaNoWriMo requires you to start from scratch (other than plotting and outlining and character sketches, etc.)

I do have a book mostly outlined and ready to work on, this time more sci/fi than historical (although half the book does take place in the past…during the American Civil War, which I’ve plenty of experience writing about).

But I’m neck-deep in rewriting An Uncivilized Yankee.

And there are 3-almost-4 fantasy novels wanting out of my head and on to paper. Books 1 and 2 are sitting at about 20,000 words apiece. Book 3 is mostly outlined plus about 3600 words and Book 4 is little more than a plot idea rolling around the back of my brain.

To top it all off the hubby is going to be out of town the first week in November–he’s going to Auctioneering School. Isn’t that cool? But that does leave me all alone with the Punkin again.

So. Do I? Or Don’t I?

I’m looking for a picture to help focus on a character.

Grant Walker is a computer programmer and gamer. An unlikely hero. Late 20s. Shaggy, sandy brown hair. Wire-rimmed glasses (I’ve always had a thing for little wire-rimmed glasses). Eye color unknown. Average height and build.

Think James Spader from Stargate, only with better hair (and cuter). Yes, I already looked at his pics and they aren’t right.

This is the best I’ve come up with so far, and it’s pretty weak.

Anyone got a better pictures for me?

Jiggity Jog.

Was away on a Women’s Retreat this weekend. Bunch of ladies from my church rented two lovely, huge beach houses. And I do mean huge. The main house had 9 bedrooms and 7.5 baths (not counting the two master suites we didn’t rent), an indoor pool, home theater, pool table, ping pong, beachside. Luxury…sorta. The house was brand-spanking new, and felt thrown together–doors didn’t latch and lock, gaps in the windows, and the WiFi didn’t really work (which is why I didn’t post like I’d planned to).

Our first night was very…um…exciting. We arrived in the middle of a nor’easter. We got sandblasted (literally) with 40+ mph winds. The sand covered the cars like snow. I had sand in my ears, in my hair, in my pockets, just from unloading the car. The wind was so strong that the house I was in, which was built up on stilts for flooding reasons, swayed so badly that I got seasick. On land. The tide came within about 25 feet of the house (if you click the link, look at the sandfence in the background. The waves were up to there).

At the same time, it was awesome. I’ve never seen the ocean so wild. The waves had to be 15-20 feet tall. And so loud. And my room had a Jacuzzi

I’d finished Fire in the Mist before leaving for the weekend (hopefully I’ll get to my review on it soon), so I read Piper at the Gate, by Mary Stanton instead. I loved Heavenly Horse from the Outermost West (it’s one of those I go back and read at least once a year), but wasn’t as impressed with Piper. Especially since information given in the first book was changed in the second. That Argh-ivates me to no end.

The retreat ended Sunday, but we had the house until Monday morning, so my husband and daughter came down for Sunday night and we got to let the Punkin run around on the beach for a bit. She loved the sand–laughed, kicked at it, wiggled her toes in it–but hated the water itself. Didn’t like the pool either. Thought playing pool was mighty fun though.

Nice sunny day today…as we were leaving. On the way home we stopped to let me get some scenery data for my book, which opens outside of Richmond. But once I got home I realized I might not have been in the right place. Which means I’m not sure, once again, where my action is taking place. ARGGHHH!! Drives me nuts. So now I get to spend the rest of the evening trying to pinpoint where Stonewall Jackson had his HQ on June 26, 1862, and whether or not there is a stream nearby.