~ ~ ~
Cirellio pressed toward the horizon against steady blasts of heat. A bone-dryness pervaded his mouth and throat, a misery unlike any he had ever experienced. He’d read that the land beyond the rainshadows held many secrets, but as far he could see, there was only desolation: Jagged rocks, stretches of claypan, and, beyond that, an endless sea of sand.

~ THE SARCONA SANDSEA ~

Aside from his horse, Twice, he had no travelling companions. A Brennan merchant warned him of the dangers of crossing the Sarcona alone. But his fate, like all others, was tied to Grianai. The God of Fate. The Pensman.

It was said Grianai lived just above the stars, spinning the tales of mortal man. Cirellio had long accepted his inferiority to such a god. He embraced it. The sun was high and merciless, and he had just run out of water. If being alive meant his life still had a purpose, then reaching Shiira would justify his reasons for being there.

In the early evening, a dark shape emerged from the skyline, floating on waves of heat. It was mirage-like, but glints caught his eye to the southeast which could only be reflections off the surface of the Tessil River. And signs of life were springing up everywhere, from mouse-owls to sponge toads to flowering cacti.

Soon, the winds died down and the form of a massive wall revealed itself; a wall that could only belong to one of the great cities. After patting Twice on the head, he kissed the star-shaped talisman dangling around his neck and whispered a prayer of thanks. For direction. For shade. For another day of life.

The west gate was surrounded by a grand, tunnel-like archway he estimated at 100 paces high and at least as thick as it was tall. Murals of gods he’d never seen before were painted across the vaulted ceilings, supported by a bevy of wide, towering columns. Banners flew at even intervals, displaying starbursts in eight directions, and a cool, moist breeze rushed by; one he was sure Twice appreciated as well.

There were five guards stationed at the gate, all outfitted in boiled leather armor with starbursts emblazoned across their brigandines. The edges of their pikes winked in the sunlight as Cirellio approached.

And to the right, seamless with the tunnel walls, was a sandstone booth. The gatekeeper seated inside was a slender old man in shuttle-woven robes. At his back was a trough-like reservoir, built right into the wall, where clear water rushed by. He scrutinized Cirellio’s horse and saddlebags and asked him something in another language. It had to be Shiirati, one of the three languages of the Storm.

After a long silence, one of the guards said something that sounded of frustration and kicked a nearby lever.

Twice reared the instant the chase gate crashed down behind them, blocking off the exit. Cirellio gripped the hilt of his dagger, wondering if he had the strength to kill even one pikeman.

“Forgive us,” said one of the guards, “but we are suspicious of all Northlanders, you understand?” Read the rest of this entry »

I’ve had a serious case of  blogger’s block lately. I’d take blogger’s block over writer’s block any day. … But not necessarily every day.  

Today the doctor let us know my son is officially free of his heart and apnea monitor.

Here he is on Easter Sunday:

And here’s him being his usual cheerful self:

You may have noticed those little black and white cords. No worries; they’ve officially gone bye-bye and the next chapter can begin.

I finished reading A Game of Thrones. Finally. I had no idea just how much story laid between the covers, like I just read five very good novels rolled into one.

Then I started in on The Path of Daggers. I figure if I’ve read seven WoT books, I can read the rest. It’s been kind of nice settling back into Jordan’s familiar world, as good as George R.R. Martin’s was. I’m heavily invested in the characters of WoT and am excited to see the story through to the end.

My editing’s been going very well despite getting knocked out of my own NPI. My paragraphs have gotten … noticably larger lately– without feeling too info-dumpy. I feel like I don’t have to trim everything as much as I used to because the flow still seems to be there. But please. If it’s not, knock me off my high horse.

Maybe I should introduce you to Cirellio sometime. Maybe a passage from a chapter? He is the main character, after all.

And maybe I should change the way the site looks, something bright instead of dark? A change around here might be just the inspiration I need.

WC: 512.

It’s been a wonderful, fruitful month… I’m soo much closer to the End of the Book now—The story is so much clearer on the page and in my mind than it has ever been before—And I’m much, much closer to finally scaling that un-scalable mountain I’ve been blogging about ever since my very first post.

I bet if I hadn’t had the gall to run this event and the stubborn-ness to stick with it to the end of March, I’d still be at least 10,000 words ago. I bet if I hadn’t had the audacity to start blogging about writing, I’d still be stuck way back on a rudimentary version of chapter 5. Cirellio would probably still be stuck in the middle of the Shiirati Desert, wondering what the heck to do next. Now … it all seems like so long ago. I bet if I didn’t have the support of all the great people that visit this site, I wouldn’t be feeling too good about my writing; I might’ve called it quits by now. This whole experience has been magical for me, so thank you!!!!!!!!!

Tomorrow marks the final day of the Novel Push Initiative. And the final word count. Get that wine ready!

;)

WC: 613.

Cirellio learns more about the powers he recently acquired.

WC: 834.

Scene 51, in which Aeriallas is finally introduced. She’s fishing at a lake, and Cirellio sits down nearby, staring at the reflection of the mountains in the water, and begins to talk with her about what’s been bothering him—something he’d never do at the beginning of the book.

This is another one of those scenes that gives me the feeling many of the characters in Five Rings are growing and maturing, and at their best during simple times like this.

WC: 567.

Today I wrote a rewarding, touching scene—a conversation between Mourn, Cirellio, Eth, Marrow, Tasa, Cyronil, and Shanung. It was all about what they speculate happens when we die.

Despite having seven people in conversation at once, it flowed nicely. Kind of like a campfire scene, but without the fire. :)

And, the best part? Every one of these characters had radically different opinions on the matter. It really made the characters come to life, moreso than ever before.  Especially Tasa.

WC: 829

Feeling much better! Ah.

Cirellio robs a mansion today. And as with any robbery, lots of unexpected, unpredictable things happen. Things such as asthma attacks.