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Author: Tracey Dyck

Starting Sparks // to fool the court

Surprise! It’s not a Saturday, but I’m posting anyway because why not? You might remember that back in January, I may have damaged a few hearts with a piece of flash fiction called Ann Marie. I’m participating in Starting Sparks again today, though I think your hearts will stay intact this time. Ann Marie was a rainy, emotional, grieving piece. This one is more wintery (seeing as I’m clinging fiercely to spring right now, I haven’t the foggiest idea why this thing insisted on snow) and feisty . . . but I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

Starting Sparks is a monthly linkup hosted by Emily @ Ink, Inc. and Ashley G. @ [insert title here], in which they take turns providing writing prompts. If you’re in a writing slump, or just need to switch gears for a while, prompts are a fabulous solution. Trust me.

When I saw the May Edition, I thought it was too fun to pass up. Dialogue prompts might be some of my favorites, come to think of it. This is also one of my first conscious attempts at something like an omniscient POV. Or a more distant third-person. Or the much condemned head-hopping. I’m not really sure at this point. Anyhoozens, enough dithering. Here it is. Enjoy!

* * *
“No,
not you. Anyone but you.” Prince Tyrus—by all appearances thoroughly
overwhelmed by the sight before him—covered his eyes, then scrubbed his hand
down his face as if resigning himself to meet it head-on after all.

“And why,
pray tell, am I not suitable?” Voice prickling with ice, Evaleen shook a
fistful of her voluminous skirt. Tiny shards of crystal sewn into the
barely-blue fabric tinkled. “I certainly look the part, thanks to your staff.
No one will know that I’m a bridgekeeper.”

Prince
Tyrus waved a hand. “You could be a digger in the chasms for all I care.
Station has nothing to do with it. It’s just—” Again the hand waving. His
fingers whisked the air as if to thread words from it.

“It’s
just what?” Evaleen crossed her arms. Her toned biceps stretched the
long sleeves designed for the insipid girls of Wavening Court, and not for
sturdy women who shoveled snow off the bridges all day. The pale afternoon
light shining through the palace windows glinted in her defiant gaze.

Tyrus
gestured between them. “This. You and I. We don’t exactly get along. The
court’s not going to believe me for a minute if I walk in there with you on my
arm. They want me to choose a wife, not adopt a sister with whom to squabble.”

A beat
of silence passed, during which a sudden wind gusted over the palace turrets
and sent a flurry of snow crystals whirling past the windows and down, down,
down into the dark abyss surrounding the castle on all four sides.

Evaleen’s
ruddy, wind-burnt cheeks lifted in a smile. “But as long as they believe me,
things will be just fine.”

Tyrus
released a ragged noise that was half sigh, half groan. He turned to the window
and stared outside, hands gripping the stone sill. His floor-length fur mantle
bristled like it was still attached to the snow bear from which it came. “I
never thought I’d tell Wavening Court that I intend to marry the girl who cast
me out in the first place,” he muttered darkly.

[source] 
“Cast
you out, ha.” Evaleen plucked at her crystal-sewn bodice, wrapped tight around
her ribs. How ladies managed to breathe in such constricting garments, she
hadn’t the foggiest idea. But maybe the lack of oxygen was the cause of their
weak voices and limp smiles. The thought nearly made her snort, but she caught
herself just in time. “I sent you to safety. Curse the hinterwinds, I
practically saved the kingdom. You should be thanking me.”

Tyrus,
oblivious to her clothing hardships, let the abyss outside the window suck his
gaze downward into its blackness. “For throwing me into that wind glider and
launching me south? South, Evaleen. Did anyone ever tell you what kind of
people live there? What they do to northeners, especially young ones? I nearly
lost my life multiple times, and on top of that, I nearly lost my father’s
kingdom.” His fingers kneaded the stone windowsill. Memories a decade and a
half old throbbed in his mind . . .

Floating
for miles on the cold drafts rising from the network of chasms . . . Touching
down in a place green and sticky with heat . . . Clan men jabbering in a
foreign tongue, carrying him by his ankles and wrists.

Taking
him to the Purification Pit.

Pitch
blackness.

Fat
slugs crawling over his skin, his face, their acidic slime burning his young
flesh. His own screams echoing back to him.

Years
of slavery.

Weekly
trips to the Pit.

Evaleen
dropped her hands to her sides. The sound broke his reverie. “And if I had done
nothing, the invaders would have put you in the family plot next to your
father’s grave.”

Tyrus’s
shoulders stiffened. “’Ware how you speak of the dead, bridgekeeper.”

“My
soul is safe regardless of my manner of speech regarding decomposing flesh,
Prince. Didn’t the south cure you of such superstitions?”

Lips
pinched over a sharp retort, Tyrus finally turned from the window to face her
again. Better to scrap the whole conversation and return to the point. “I cannot
walk in there with you. Return to the regent and tell him to find a replacement
actress.”

“No.”
Evaleen tilted her chin up, daring him to a battle of the wills.

And if
there was one thing he’d learned long ago as a nine-year-old prince (back when
he was still innocent and un-orphaned) crossing the bridges from one massive
pillar of rock to the next, it was that the bridgekeepers possessed a will
stronger than anyone he’d met within Wavening Court. Hours of sun and
unforgiving wind, shoveling the snow constantly blown in, repairing cracks, and
salting the ice slicks—those conditions seemed to harden something in the
keepers.

Defying
Evaleen, commoner though she was, would be of little use.

Tyrus
shook his head, defeated before he’d begun. “They have to believe we’re betrothed.”

She
flashed her left wrist, bound in a silver strand of metal. “The regent provided
me with a betrothal band.”

“They
have to believe you’re of northern blood.”

She
pointed to her head of blonde curls. “This doesn’t get any more northern.”

“They
have to believe you’re of the Court.”

“I’ve
tended bridges crossed by hundreds of Wavening feet. I know the part better
than you do, long-lost prince.”

“They
have to believe I chose you.”

She
pointed at him. “That part is up to you. Get rid of that crease between your
eyebrows and smile a little. Keep me close when we walk into the ball, give me
all the dances, and pretend I’m the most interesting person in attendance.”

Tyrus
opened his mouth to protest that impossibly lofty order, but she marched on.

“And if
you so much as breathe a word of our, ahem, strained past, the act will
be over. You understand that, right? They don’t know I was the one who sent you
away. Your job is to keep them ignorant.”

He
grudgingly accepted the truth of her words, but then straightened with a gleam
in his eye. “Most importantly, though: they have to believe we’re in love. And
that is going to be impossible, so you may as well go talk to the regent now so
he has time to find a replacement before the ball begins in three hours.”

Evaleen
grinned now, teeth flashing in the slanted light. Wolfish. Cunning. “Not so
difficult if you take a little blood-blush wine.”

Tyrus
froze. He backed away, hands up. “No. No, I’m not taking anything of the sort.”

Blood-blush
wine was not really alcoholic, though its effects were undeniably strong. Made
from boiling water and ground up blood-blush flowers picked right before they
bloomed, some called it a love potion. It was reported to make the drinker
enraptured with whatever he or she looked at while swallowing the elixir, but
only for as long as the wine stayed in the digestive system. A sizable gulp
would swill around in his stomach all evening, long enough to convince the
court.

But no.
Being made subject to anything picked at the scabs of the past and
rankled Tyrus down to the soles of his boots. Offering his emotions up for tampering
was especially bad. Not to mention the blow the resulting behavior would be to
his dignity. Fawning in public over a girl he hated? It was too much to bear.

Evaleen
arched a brow. “The more you argue with me, the more you prove the point that
you do need a little helping along.” She withdrew a scarlet vial from the folds
of her skirt. “One night. That’s all. Suffer a little embarrassment, make the
court believe you’ll be marrying me within the fortnight, and on the morrow
they’ll crown you as king. Then the realm will be safely in your grasp, and the
invaders can be driven from our home for good. By your sword.” She came
closer, took his hand, and pressed the vial into it. “Your sword, and not Lord
Galoth’s.”

Galoth,
the uncle who’d been ruling in Tyrus’s absence, was as foolish as they came.
His thoughts seemed to zigzag like a hare’s tracks, and that was no way to run
a kingdom. Under his loose and silly reign, the invaders had settled in and
begun eroding the country with their brazen, thieving ways. Much longer of
this, and a puff of wind would cause Wavening Court to crumble into the
invaders’ waiting hands.

 “And then,” Evaleen continued, “once you’re
safely on the throne, you can quietly denounce me. You’ll never have to speak
to me again.”

Tyrus
stared at the bright red vial of liquid in his palm, then at Evaleen standing
so close her skirts brushed his boots. He fought down a rising tide of
bitterness that tasted like bile. “Fine,” he spat. “But just remember—any wild proclamations
of love I make tonight will be drug-induced and thereby as false as a northern summer.”

Evaleen
smirked. “I’ll remember.” Still she remained inches from his face. It appeared
she would not move until he ingested the vial’s contents.

With
the heavy sigh of a man who knows he’s signing away his pride—and perhaps his
life—Tyrus uncorked the vial and gulped the liquid back. It tingled on the way
down and tore a mighty cough from him.

He had
a moment of sinking dread before the world seemed to glow rosy bright and the
face before him became striking in its feminine glory. In that moment before
drowning, one thought crashed through his mind like a last breath of air to
desperate lungs. One solitary thought.

This tastes a lot more potent than a single
dose.


Paper Crowns Blog Tour // Interview with Mirriam Neal

It is with humongous excitement that I welcome author Mirriam Neal to Adventure Awaits today! She just published her second novel, Paper Crowns. I’ve been following her blog for a few years, and over that span of time I’ve also been one of her beta readers for several stories. So I can tell you with 100% conviction that she is an amazing writer, one who pens her tales with depth, vibrancy, and wit. (Just wait until you meet one of her trademark snarky characters.)

It goes without saying that Paper Crowns’ release has me flailing/squealing/bursting with joy. And I’m equally thrilled to have the chance to interview Mirriam about her writing journey and her new book. After all, the paths of writers so often intersect in some way, and it is at those junctions that we find encouragement for our own journeys.
Mirriam Neal is a twenty-two-year-old Northwestern hipster living in Atlanta. She writes hard-to-describe books in hard-to-describe genres, and illustrates things whenever she finds the time. She aspires to live as faithfully and creatively as she can and she hopes you do, too.
You can find her at any of these places:
And here’s the book itself, all brimming with magic and beauty and intrigue–isn’t it positively gorgeous?!
Ginger has lived in seclusion, with only her aunt Malgarel and her blue cat, Halcyon, to keep her company. Her sheltered, idyllic life is turned upside-down when her home is attacked by messengers from the world of fae. Accompanied by Halcyon (who may or may not be more than just a cat), an irascible wysling named Azrael, and a loyal fire elemental named Salazar, Ginger ventures into the world of fae to bring a ruthless Queen to justice.

Without further ado, here’s the dedicated, talented authoress herself . . .
*****
Tell us a little
about yourself! Personality, interests, how
you take your coffee—whatever.

I’m an
INFP – a severe introvert who adores people. Writing is my greatest love, but
when I’m not writing I’m probably making art or reading. (I’m currently reading
Jennifer Freitag’s ‘Plenilune’ for the first time since I beta-read it. I’m in
love all over again. She inscribed it to me and called me the ‘kitty-cat foxy
bomb diggity,’ which probably says more about my personality than I ever
could.) I take my coffee black and strong enough to eat the spoon.

Because many of
us here are on our own writing journeys, could you share a little bit about
yours?
I
was always an avid reader, and I fiddled with writing now and then. I never
finished anything until I turned twelve, and wrote a short story called ‘The
Pegasus on the Mantle.’
I submitted it to Girl’s Horse Club, an online
gathering for horse-loving girls, and I consequently forgot about it – until I
received the notification I’d won! After that, I couldn’t stop writing. It was
the push I needed. It’s been rocky and I’ve had phases (I once went through a
depressing phase where everything was…well, depressing) – in fact, after
writing for over a decade, I’ve only recently fallen into something I can call
a ‘groove’!

What was the Paper
Crowns
journey like, specifically?
It
was more of a jaunt than a journey. It took a total of one month to complete,
and was far from grueling – it was a literary vacation. Most of my novels are
definitely grueling journeys, no matter how much I love them, but Paper Crowns
was something else.

What are some of
the sources of inspiration that fueled this story?
I started reading Julie Kagawa’s ‘Iron Fey’ series, which inspired me
to also write something fey-ish. I’m not a fan of Julie’s writing, but the
concept was fun, and there are a million different ways to work it. Owl City’s
‘Sky Sailing’ album prompted the idea of Ginger’s Blessing.

What’s your
favorite part of writing?
The characters.
Everything I write is very character-driven (occasionally they’re so
character-driven that the world-building suffers during the first draft, but
that’s what first drafts are for, right?).

What’s the
hardest part?
For me, the hardest part is
always editing and revising. Editing, because I’m really terrible at seeing my
own typos and errors. Revising, because when I write something, it (usually)
feels ‘set in stone.’ Changing it feels like sacrilege. (When I break this
rule, however, I break it in really spectacular ways and end up with two
entirely different novels.)

If you could
spend a day with one of the Paper Crowns characters, who would it be and
why?
It would definitely be Azrael. He
would infuriate me half to death, but it sure wouldn’t be boring.

Your book deals
with magic (wysary). Can you talk about how this fictional magic meshes with
your Christian faith?
I think many
Christians believe modern fictional ‘magic’ conflicts with Christian faith.
Most of the time, this isn’t true. Many years ago I did extensive research on
this, because every time I dug into magic and Christianity, it seemed like a
‘Christianity vs. Magic’ fight. It’s a fight that’s completely unnecessary the
majority of the time. ‘Magic,’ as we know it in most fiction today, simply
isn’t in the Bible. Not anywhere. Necromancy, communication with demons, and
divination – these things are condemned in the Bible, but turning someone into
a bird or creating paper objects that fly? That kind of magic simply isn’t
mentioned. The terms ‘witch’ and ‘wizard,’ as found in modern Bible
translations, didn’t even exist at the time of the original text. You’ll find
the meaning of the original words to be more in line with ‘necromancer,’ etc.
Before I carry on too much – I believe magic is extremely complimentary to
Christianity, and is very easy to mesh.

What’s next on
your writing/publishing agenda?
I plan to
finish editing ‘Dark is the Night,’ the first in my Southern urban fantasy
‘Salvation’ series. I’m still writing ‘The Dying of the Light,’ my futuristic
sci-fi Japanese Robin Hood, and I need to edit and revise ‘Paper Hearts,’ the
sequel to Paper Crowns.

What advice
would you give to other young writers?
Don’t
view writing as your career. You want to be a writer? That’s fantastic – but
don’t burden your writing with thoughts like, ‘You need to make me enough money
to live on.’ Write because you love it, and support yourself with another job.
If your writing takes off in a big way, congratulations! That’s amazing! But
give your writing the freedom it needs without trying to make it support you.

*****
Fabulous answers, Mirriam! I especially loved your piece of advice at the end there. It’s something I need to take to heart–giving my writing room to breathe by not depending on it as a source of income, at least not right away. Thanks for the freeing perspective! And thank you so much for stopping by!
To my fellow wayfarers, voyagers, and questers: who’s eager to read Paper Crowns? (Hint: ALL OF YOU, BECAUSE IT’S FABULOUS AND YOU NEED A SLICE OF MIRRI-MAGIC IN YOUR LIFE.)
P.S. The Paper Crowns blog tour lasts for the month of May. All the stops are listed HERE. There’s book spotlights, guest posts, more interviews, etc., so I encourage you to check them out!

Subplots and Storylines – April 2016

Somebody needs to tell me how in the world we’re one-third of the way through 2016. Because we can’t possibly be that far into the year! Nevertheless, my calendar usually doesn’t lie, unless I forget to flip it, which I didn’t, so it must be true.
By the by, I do realize this post is a day later than normal, and for that I apologize. But last night I was too zonked from a crazy weekend at work, and I was rather firmly imprisoned by the pages of the book I was reading . . . So I decided to put this off one day. You all don’t mind, right? (If you do, I shall unleash that dragon I keep in my basement.)
Anyway, I don’t think April was quite as flurrysome* (shh, that’s a word–I just made it up) as the past couple of months have been. It wasn’t quiet by any stretch of the imagination, but it was more normal, I guess.
*It was, however, flurrysome in the sense of wintery weather. Who gave April permission to sprinkle snow on us, then warm up enough to melt it, then snow again? Bleeeegh. I think it’s actually spring now. I’m currently sitting on my porch and enjoying the sunshine and birdsong.

Life

The month began with a retreat involving my college & career group along with my two middle siblings’ youth group. Mixing high schoolers and young adults does actually work, wonder of wonders. We rode in a bus to the same lovely camp we went to last time. It had been November (2014, I think?), and it had snowed. This time it was April, and it still snowed.
Some of the highlights from the retreat:
  • Playing Balderdash (which was an overdue delivery on my youth leader’s long-ago promise that we would play it . . . IT WAS FABULOUS AND WORTH THE WAIT).
  • Splitting up and putting on hilarious skits. My group came up with one loosely based off of this video, but with way more characters involved:
  • Sledding on an inner tube down a wooden slide in the bitterly cold wind.
  • Staying up late to watch a movie.
  • Finding out the speaker had been mentored by my late (honorary) grandfather.

On a different note, I’m buying my first car! My dad and I spent an afternoon doing a thorough cleaning of it. It’s going to be great to have my own wheels–up until this point, my parents have been generous enough to give me use of one of their vehicles for work and such, but with my brother soon graduating, he will be needing it. So finding this car at this particular time is an answer to prayer! I don’t have it in my possession yet, but it should be ready sometime in May.

We celebrated a few birthdays in the family. (April is birthday central around here, my goodness.) Thus, we had some special celebrations at home, as well as family gatherings to attend.

I sent off my blogoversary giveaway prize, which recently arrived at Anna’s place. Yay! Check out her pictures HERE. Seeing them gave me the warm fuzzies.

I got promoted at my job just last week! It hasn’t quite sunk in yet, but I know it’s going to be good.

That’s a little peek at the happenings of life this month. Now it’s on to all the bits of story I watched, read, and wrote!

Movies



The Help // This is the one I watched at the retreat. I quite enjoyed it! There were a couple minor things the movie could’ve done without, but other than that, it was a moving story of how black maids were treated in 1960’s America. (Hint: terribly. I wanted to punch certain characters for the way they treated their servants.) Skeeter, a young journalist, sets out to show the world the truth about the maids’ life. The maids themselves risk an awful lot to get the story out.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End // Watched this with my brother one evening. Hilarious! The PotC movies are ones you don’t really expect much depth from–just laughs and epicness, which it definitely delivered. The plot was so convoluted, I could barely follow it in the first half, but Jack Sparrow’s hilarity made up for it. “Gentlemen, I wash my hands of this weirdness.”

Once Upon a Time (4 episodes of Season 3) // It seems my sisters and I are going through this show a lot slower than we used to. That’s okay, though–we’re savoring it. Almost finished with the third season, and I do not like the Wicked Witch.

Books

Merlin’s Blade – Robert Treskillard // I’ve seen this trilogy around many times, and finally got around to reading the first book. It took me close to half the month to read it, which was mostly due to my schedule and only partially due to the book’s slower pacing. I feel like I would’ve enjoyed it more had I read it more quickly.
But it was pretty cool that Treskillard blended the historical and fantasy genres, and as the story progressed, I started to form theories about how things will play out in the next two books. Another thing I liked: Merlin is almost blind, which is unusual, and I felt the author dealt with it well and figured out other ways to relate setting and action. Also, I hadn’t expected that King Arthur would be an infant. Most stories seem to have him all grown up already.
Knightley Academy – Violet Haberdasher // My brother recommended it to me, and for very good reason! It’s the rollicking tale of Henry Grim, a servant who gets the chance to sit the Knightley Academy exam. He passes (spoiler alert!–not really, though, since it takes place early on and the title pretty much confirms that particular bit of the plot), and finds himself befriended by two other commoners in a school full of the sons of posh nobility.
The book takes place in an alternate history of 1700’s Victorian England, which is awesome. I loved reading about Henry and Co.’s misadventures, and there’s just something about a slightly fantasy-ish school novel that I find charming. I mean, Latin and fencing and medicine and miserly teachers and kindly teachers and creepy tapestries and a mystery and detestable bullies . . . What’s not to enjoy?
And let’s just take a minute to talk about the characters. Henry was wonderful! So practical and level-headed for a fourteen-year-old, yet with a tender heart and a lovable underdog-ness about him. Besides Henry, Adam has got to be my favorite. He’s also a commoner, and he’s Jewish, which is yet another reason for his rich classmates to tease him. He also has a great sense of humor. (Although half the time he’s funny without trying to be. His whining somehow comes off as endearing rather than annoying.) Then there’s Rohan, an Indian orphan raised by rich white parents. He has the manners of a gentleman, and his voice of reason is just what Henry and Adam need to keep them in check. And lastly, Francesca–or Frankie, as this tomboy prefers to be called. Her father is head of Knightley Academy, and she’s been kicked out of so many schools, she finally has to get a tutor at Knightley. Unladylike, spunky, and mischievous to the bone, she does her fair share of troublemaking.
I’ve gone on long enough about this book, but seriously, it was fabulous. And clean, too!
The Raven Boys – Maggie Stiefvater // You can blame this book for the lateness of S&S. I got home from work yesterday and read it for hours. I hardly ever read for so long at a time anymore, but in the space of last week, I binge-read the last half of Knightley Academy on Sunday and the last half of The Raven Boys on Saturday. So fun.
But about the actual book: Emily from Ink, Inc. and I were having a discussion (on one of my posts, if I remember correctly), and she very highly recommended I read The Raven Cycle, then proceeded to logically and passionately explain all the reasons why. Convinced by her and also by Cait’s frequent fangirling over Maggie Stiefvater, I decided to try it out.
Firstly, Maggie Stiefvater’s writing is gorgeous. She has an amazing way with words. It’s like art in word form. Not only that, but her character development is top-notch. I am thoroughly in love with Blue, Gansey, Adam, Noah, and even Ronan. Their depth and individuality were so real, which made the relationships and interactions fabulous. Honestly, they’re the reason I liked this book so much.
And, just as Emily promised, there were good themes of wealth and class mixed in. Quite thought-provoking, actually. (ADAM BROKE MY HEART, OKAY.) So all of this plus an epic journal and a small town and questing for a dead Welsh king and pretty scenery and a baby raven and ley lines made for a great story.
My only quibble is the language–I was a bit surprised to find it there, and it cropped up more frequently than I would’ve liked (though not as often as some books out there). The F-bombs especially were unnecessary, as were a couple of crude jokes. I have to admit that a smattering of the language was in keeping with Ronan’s character, but he wasn’t the only one using it, so . . . I don’t know.
Blue comes from a family of psychics, which didn’t bother me much, interestingly enough. I think it’s like what Emily told me: it’s done in more of an urban fantasy style than one of realism, so it feels more like magic than anything else.
Bottom line: loved the story, loved the writing, could’ve done without the language, and will definitely be reading the rest of the series! (Thank you, Emily!!)

Writing

This was a rather nice month writing-wise! I wrote 12, 962 words in The Prophet’s Key, bringing the total up to 20,748. It’s kind of mindboggling to think that, if this were a novella for a Rooglewood contest, I’d be over the word limit . . . and yet the plot is just barely beginning. (Yeah. I may have some pacing issues to fix when editing. Things are happening quickly enough, but there’s still scenes I know I forgot to put in there. So obviously it will need to be streamlined somehow. But we’re saving the editing for later, aren’t we, Tracey?)
I’ve been struggling a bit with this book so far, but I think I may have found the key–oh, wait. A pun. Haha. Anyway, I think I figured out what my main problem is, which I discussed in an impromptu post HERE. I haven’t had a chance to write much since that discovery, but I’m hoping that the words will start to flow this month.
I’ve been writing in mostly small increments whenever I have the time, but I did have one serious writing day this month, during which I wrote about 2700 words. I know that’s not a lot compared to authors who do this thing all day, every day, but considering that I haven’t had much chance to work on my stamina recently, I was quite pleased.
In other writing-related news, I started that writing course by Ted Dekker I’ve talked about–The Creative Way. This month I’ve gone through the first four sessions, which is far slower than I intended. But that’s okay, because I’d rather absorb the lessons fully than rush through them. In between the sessions, I’ve been reading The Creative Way Meditations, a devotional-type book included in the course. Both the audio sessions and the book have already been so helpful. It feels like my eyes are opening and my vision is sharpening.
This first module (out of three) deals with the foundations of who we are and who God is, and what that means for us as writers. It’s incredible! I’m sure you’ll be seeing more posts in the future inspired by what I’m learning. And once I finish the next two sessions, I’ll be starting Module 2, which is all about the craft of writing.
Between all the drafting and session-ing, I somehow forgot to continue researching agents to query. Oops. I did look into one small press that I’ll put on my list, but other than that, zippo progress this month. I’d like to finish compiling my first list in May, however! My my, but I’m being ambitious. But seriously, though, it would be awesome to be ready to send out my first batch of queries in a month or two. (Hold me to it, guys!)

Farewell April, and hello to a bright May.

You know how I described life in March as running at a breakneck pace down the street? I think April loped along at a steady jog. I’m still amazed at how much can happen in one month. But there were, thankfully, moments I could stop and just breathe before plunging into the next thing.
(Still, I think someone needs to implement a three day weekend, and not just for long weekends. A two day break, often just one day because of work, isn’t long enough!)
Now tell me where your quests took you this month! What roads did you travel, either in life or on the page? Have any of you played Balderdash? Or read/watched anything I mentioned? And is it really and truly spring now–have we gained a safe distance from winter, so that we’re no longer in danger of it making a comeback? Pass around the chocolate chip cookies, and let’s chat.

A Walk, a Brainstorm, and a Discovery

[source]

I mentioned in passing that I’m currently redrafting The Prophet’s Key (sequel to The Prophet’s Quest). What I didn’t say is that this novel is being a petulant little child.

I’m over twenty thousand words in, and something doesn’t feel right. That’s one of the worst feelings as a writer–that uneasy sense that something is wrong. It’s when your spidey sense, which grows more and more accurate the more you write, tells you that something isn’t working, and then you need to figure out what that something is so you can fix it ASAP.

This dull alarm is even worse when it comes for a story that’s very near and dear to your heart. Journeys of the Chosen is a big project for me. It’s important. I’ve invested a lot into it. So I want to be ‘in the zone,’ as it were. I want to be head over heels in love with this book I’m writing. That’s what drafting is for! (And then I’ll fall out of love during editing, only to fall back in again. It’s how the cycle goes.)

So on Sunday, after lazing around and devouring half a novel (I can’t remember the last time I read so much in one sitting–it was glorious, folks), I decided to take a walk to stir up my creative juices so I could make use of some writing time. And, let’s be honest, I was falling asleep on the couch, so some physical exercise was a good idea.

Walking is a great time to contemplate things, specifically writing things. Marching along, hands stuffed in my sweater pockets and hair tossing in a brisk wind, I stewed. What’s the problem? I asked myself. Why haven’t I clicked with TPK yet? I ordered my wandering thoughts into a list.

  • Is it drafting doldrums? Drafting can be massively fun–in fact, it often is for me–but I know I usually go through bouts of wishing everything was already on paper so I could just fix and fiddle. So am I struggling to manufacture new words?
  • Is it prolonged editoritis? When I transition between editing obsessively (*cough* The Brightest Thread *cough*) and creating something new, it usually takes a bit for my left brain to settle down and shut up enough for my right brain to freely and messily explore things. But if I’m 20k in, I shouldn’t still be feeling like this.
  • Is it because chunks of my plot are shaky and not yet researched? There’s some stuff I haven’t mapped out yet, and some of it is potentially tricky. Writing oneself into a plot wormhole is never a pleasant feeling.
  • Or . . . is it something else entirely? Maybe I haven’t yet connected to the heart of the story. Maybe I haven’t hit upon the reason I’m rooting for these characters and this book. Am I in love with the book yet? And if not . . . why?

In Ted Dekker’s writing course that I’m slowly going through, The Creative Way, he teaches that in order to write powerful, transformational fiction, you need to take that journey of transformation yourself, along with your characters.

So I asked myself, “What’s my journey with this story? Where do my struggles and my characters’ struggles intersect?”

I know that once I figure that out, I’ll truly, deeply care about TPK.

As I walked, I turned that over in my mind. And I came up with some good stuff that resonates with me. One intersection of author/character struggles I thought about was that of homesickness. The paradoxical kind you can get even when you’re under your own roof. The longing for times past–good times, safe times–coupled with the bittersweet resignation towards an uncertain future. I’ve experienced that, and it’s something my characters are going through in an even worse way. So in their journey through that homesickness, I need to take my own journey. Work through my own struggles.

I thought, “Let’s delve into that, Tracey. Make it poignant and palpable on the page. Grip the readers with that aching, that yearning. Make Aileen and Josiah hurt in their individual ways, so much that I feel the pain and the readers feel the pain.”

Oh.

Pain.

One criticism book 1 received from my editor was that I raised good challenges, only to let them fall away without much effort. I see myself doing the same thing now with book 2. Am I afraid of the pain?

I so badly want my protagonists to succeed because I so badly want to succeed in life. So is this too-easy conflict resolution my way of trying to make my own problems fall away with little effort? I’m scared of those dark moments when I have nothing but blind trust to lean on, and so I avoid putting my characters into those moments. Or rather, I put them there, but I don’t let them stay for long.

It comes down to trust. I have trouble trusting that God will come through in my valleys. But I need to live bravely. And like my dear friend Christine recently said, we need to write bravely too.

This, then, is my journey. A journey of trust, of faith in the blackest darkness and of clinging to hope when all other handholds are washed away.

I must make my characters suffer. Chip away at their resolve bit by bit until they fall into a deep valley from which they see no way out.

Pain.


Heartache.


Doubt.


Make their lives a living hell, so to speak (progressively worse in each book as I raise the stakes and whatnot), in order to discover alongside them how to trust the King and believe He’s still there and still in the business of rescuing lost hearts. This is my journey just as much as it is theirs. When my own heart recognizes the ‘valley of the shadow of death’ for just that–shadows–and trusts in the light, that transformation will be apparent in the story too. What I bleed onto the page will transform the characters. In turn, it will transform the readers.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a book to write.