Before I get to the WIPpet, I want to announce that I’m getting close to the point where sharing would involve spoilers. I think I have enough snippets left to last until March, when I will be revising CD for NaNoEdMo.
I’m not quite sure what to offer in March. I will be writing many new scenes and tweaking and rewriting much of what’s here – there are serious issues to deal with, subplots and characters and conflict and disasters to add…it will still have the charm of Henry and Tisira, with a much more cohesive, rich storyline. I might.…
- Offer bits as I go – this could get confusing, as the new scenes will be woven in throughout the novel, and I will be going back to the beginning.
- Offer revised versions of snippets already shared, for comparison and comment.
- Offer something else…I’ve been making pre-editing notes aplenty for Bounded by a Nutshell, the companion fanfic for this WIP. I could share those, or something else.
I’m open to suggestions or preferences, and will decide for sure before the last post of the month.
And now, on to the WIPpeting!
Today is February 5, 2014.
- Today’s math: (14-5+2=11). I subtracted the date, the 5th, from the last two digits of the year, 14. Then I added 2 for the month.
- Today’s WIPpet is 11 sentences.
Henry and Tisira have a bit of a fan club amongst the #WIPpeteers, so we’ll stay with my Trueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish– at least until we get to a place where sharing might give too much away.
We rejoin Tisira as she is, once again, up in the air…
Tisira slipped carefully, hairsbreadth by hairsbreadth, from beneath Henry’s outflung arm, loathe to wake him and feel the sharp bite of his fears – a bone he could not give up gnawing. Just as she could not give up the Hunt for the meaning of the words,or the wrongness of the stars.
He said nothing of it, ever; nor did she, anymore. And yet it was ever there between them, this gnawing, a live thing eating at their easiness in one another.
She stood watching him for a twentybreath – not her purposeful breaths, already wanting to be out and away, but his slow, sleeping comforting breath. She let it flow through her, binding them, setting a part of herself to his rhythm, to keep him with her as she Hunted, and mayhap to be a part of his dreaming.
But then the gnawing grew too much, and she Changed, slipping out the open window, and up to the thatched roof. It was a middling stifling night, with thick full air, but at least the scents she read from this far up were spiced with the river, and the temptation of the woodlands.
“The stars are fire,” said Father’s voice, in her mind, as she looked to the stars, their wrongness still gnawing, gnawing. Was it imagining that she heard, too, not only the voice of the actor who had spoken the line in the courtyard below, but another, a singing voice like a man too far gone into his drinking bowl, as she sometimes saw at Osiraan?
Will Tisira unravel this riddle? Will Henry be the one wakening alone? Are there other dangers lurking, as yet undetected? And what or where is Osiraan?
Come back next week to find out…!
And, one more thing before I go…
Here’s a song for the girl who Hunts answers and gnaws at bones, while the world sleeps and spins around her. It also happens to be one of my personal favorite bits of musical loveliness.