A Huntress is Born, Lives, and Stalks Through My Fantasies…

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Hi there! Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday –K.L. Schwengel’s weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

Winter Storm Vulcan is blowing outside, and, perhaps illogically, making me smile. Yes, I love the name.

Well, here we are – in the midst of my own personal March (Editing) Madness! It’s a whole new adventure – revising a completely pantsed WIP – with a plan!

I’m getting a better idea of how long this first revision pass will take. I think I’ll need about 3 months, in total, to complete the sixty scenes. Thus far, new scenes are taking about 5-6 days, and existing scenes 2-3 days.

So, it’ll be a while, as I chisel and carve and excavate and reconstruct – and I’m very excited to see how it all turns out!

Here’s the cool part:

You can help!

Every comment and insight has the potential to allow me to see this story as a reader, and not a writer. So, when you’re done reading, please take a minute to let me know what worked or didn’t, for you. I’ll be doing at least three revision passes, and possibly more, so your opinions could lead to something wonderful…but only if you share them!

I won’t be moving through the novel in a linear fashion, for this pass, so the WIPpets will be bouncing around.

Chameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction):

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

And now, on to the WIPpeting!

WIPpet Math:

Today is March 12, 2014.

  • Today’s math is simple: There isn’t any! Why, you ask? Well, as my kids are fond of saying lately, “Because reasons.” Maybe I’m a little loopy from this Vulcan storm! =)
  • Today’s WIPpet is 24 sentences. I
  • I won’t be offended if you want to say I took the date and multiplied by 2; or some other reason. Could be I just wanted to share these!

Today’s WIPpet is told from Nockatee’s POV – just after she is “born” as a result of Tisira’s fall and resulting amnesia. She’s just awoken, naked beneath a tree, seriously wounded and helpless – and then someone finds her.

But even that thought brought the fangs of pain, and I cried out, again, the one word I had as mine. “Father!”

“I am not thy father; but I will help thee, if I may.”

I tried to follow the voice, untangle the words. At the same time, I scrabbled away; an agonized rolling more than a flight, but I could manage no more; all I could do was to whimper, “Father?”

“I know not who thy father is, nor where to find him. But I will take thee to my cottage, where thee may heal, and, mayhap, we can find him together.”

Words that meant nothing. A voice that drew me, even while instinct said I must escape. I could not trust. I must have help. I burned, and froze, in the same instant.

My eyes jumped where they willed, and I could stop them not. My mind, too, leapt, as though at some prey I could not know. The boy came closer, and I scrabbled off a little more, the pain bringing a cry – “These are the wrong stars!”

The boy was reaching to me. A snarl came to my lips, broke loose. I couldn’t see clearly, but I could feel him. Was he danger, or safety?

Be at ease. I will not harm thee.”

But could I believe, or trust? Ought I?

A wave of feverheat seared me; the fangs crushed and tore, and I was helpless to do anything but shake and snarl as the boy knelt and touched my face…

Will the girl remember who and what she is? Is this boy to be trusted? Can she recover?

If you’ve been with us a while, you know some of these answers – but do any of us know them all?

Stop by next week…I can’t promise answers, but I can promise more questions! =)

For this week, I’ll leave you with an oldie that reminds me of Nockatee. And this totally random tibit: my older brother bears a truly eerie resemblance to Mick Jagger!

)

Want more WIPpets?

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 It’s #WIPpet Wednesday –K.L. Schwengel’s brainchild which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is January 22, 2014.

  • Today’s math: (22-1-7=14). I began with the date (22), then subtracted the month (1), and then the digits of the year (2+0+1+4=7).
  • Today’s WIPpet is 14 sentences.

Henry and Tisira have a bit of a fan club amongst the #WIPpeteers, so we’ll stay withTrueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish– at least until we get to a place where sharing might give too much away.

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

We find Tisira awakening alone at the cottage, and confused…

This snippet occurs immediately after my last WIPpet, At the Cottage Chameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction).

Nockatee half-awoke, and for a thirtybreath,she hovered between worlds, Burning with Father’s soulfires, chilled through to the marrow. Then, a nightbird’s sharp trill roused her, and she was awake,huddled and shivering on cold, damp earth.

A tenbreath later, she recognized the scent, and knew that she was on the floor of the cottage, lengthening shadows her only covering, for she was naked. She did not remember coming here. Had she not been Hunting?

But Henry was not here, and hadn’t been, since they left, by the scent. In the bond, she could feel him -all worry for her that he tried to cover – that she would find where she belonged, and leave him behind; that she had come to some terrible harm in the woodlands.

His fears tangled with her own – the words, that were old, heard in Father’s deep, calm voice as she fell asleep in the cupboard in his office, but new-writ in the book Henry had given her. And the stars – the wrong stars, she knew, without knowing how the stars could be wrong, or what was wrong about them.

She lay, without moving except for her body’s trembling, and waited for the answers to come, for another hundredbreath

Sima garo will provide. There are always possibilities.

So whispered the voices of her parents in her soul. Perhaps they were true whispers; for memory began to form around her presence here, in the cottage she and Henry had shared. She had come to these Huntlands, alone,with herself her quarry.

Nockatee is finding answers, but each seems only to bring more questions. Will these prove the same, or will she finally be able to put the pieces together, and puzzle out an answer?

And here’s a song that might offer Nockatee some hope, as she wrestles with all she remembers, and all she doesn’t know…

Want more WIPpets?


 It’s #WIPpet Wednesday –K.L. Schwengel’s brainchild which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is January 15, 2014.

  • Today’s math: (1+15= 16). 1 for the month, 15 for the date.
  • Today’s WIPpet is 16 sentences.

Henry and Tisira have a bit of a fan club amongst the #WIPpeteers, so we’ll stay with Trueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish– at least until we get to a place where sharing might give too much away.

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

We find Tisira alone, Hunting the source of two strangely familiar scent-trails…

This snippet occurs immediately after my last WIPpet,ChangesChameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction).


Tisira leapt into the nearest tree, to see if she could follow the scent trail from its branches,making making camouflaged travel a simpler matter.

Her breath caught in sudden dizziness, and she half-remembering falling through branches, with no ability to control her body or the way that it fell.But that was not now. She set herself, and climbed,despite the queasy complaints of her gut.

The spoor was still readable as it rose from the warming earth, and she followed it. The beings – a male and a female, she discovered, as she found the place where they had relieved themselves – had been casting to both sides of the trail, and were headed precisely in the direction of their cottage.

Tisira circled, leaping from tree to tree with breath held each time she was airborne;although none of the native animals were alerting, the scent was fresh, and they might yet be about. They were adults, and she had to assume, that they were stronger and held more knowledge than she. She couldn’t yet guess at what they wanted, but she knew that they were not from here, and their scent, although tickling memory, was not one she now knew.

When her spiraling path finally brought her within sight of the cottage, it was to find that the door was standing ajar on its leather hinges, when she knew Henry had closed and latched it against intruders. The owners of the strangely familiar scents had been here, and might still be – for she could not detect any sign that they had come out again.

She got to the last tree before the clearing where the cottage stood, and waited, crouched on a limb, watching for any telltale movement.

But there was none, and, although she watched for three sunlengths of the fading afternooning, no shadow moved, nor did any sound emerged from the cozy little home where she had first lived with her bondmate.

Tisira slunk out of the tree, and ducked into the tall grasses around the house, stalking slowly although she wanted to run, to storm inside, to demand explanations for the invasion into their lair….

But, when she finally got to the door, it was to find the cottage empty…..although their scent was heavy, in the small dampness of the shut-up cottage. She could tell where they had stepped, and what they had touched….and, in moments, she knew what they had taken….

What was taken? Why? And to where? Is there danger or salvation in the answers?

Come back next week to learn these answers….or to discover new questions…

And here’s a song that might appeal to Tisira, about now:

Want more WIPpets?


 It’s #WIPpet Wednesday –K.L. Schwengel’s brainchild which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is January 8, 2014.

  • Today’s math: (1+8+ 1= 10). 1 for the month, 8 for the date, and then 1 more to make 10, because today is my daughter’s half birthday…in six months, she will be 10 (also, stopping at 9 would leave us all in an awkward spot.)
  • Today’s WIPpet is 10 sentences.

Henry and Tisira have a bit of a fan club amongst the #WIPpeteers, so this week we’ll stay with my Trueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish.

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

We find Tisira alone, Hunting and remembering in the common woodlands outside London.

This snippet occurs a few hours after my last WIPpet,Hunter and Prey. Chameleon’s Dish is the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series Star Trek fan fiction).


Tisira Hunted only scents, for several sunlengths, delighted to be at last alone, free from the city with its noise and stink, and, for now, with the liberty to be just as she was. She had found her inner Huntress, and she remembered that there had been other times when chill air had ruffled her fur as she ran and climbed trees she could almost feel the shape of.

When she tired of exploring this new and yet known form, she took a rabbit for herself, gorging upon its blood organs, savaging it in frenzied play simply because she could…

Dimly, because her animal sensings were different, she could feel Henry trying to understand the changes he felt in her – the Changes he felt in her. But she could not share this part of her nature with him; he would need to find his own peace with all of her, else not.

Tisira was all but certain, now, that the place where she had been was very unlike this one. And what she was was nothing that was meant to live here, in these strange Huntlands.

After she tired of her sport, she found a mossy and sunwarmed boulder, and draped herself over it to clean herself of all traces of her kill, and the lulling motions filled her with a longing for others of her own kind, to share in the communal washings that she half remembered leading to tangled, purring sleep or rollicking play.

She caught a faint spoor on the passing breeze, and wrinkled her nose as she turned toward the scent.

She – almost – knew it, in some memory still shrouded from her, but becoming slowly clearer, as though emerging from a low, deep fog.

 What does Tisira smell? Will the trail lead to answers, or more questions? Safety, or danger?

And here’s a song to celebrate Tisira and her inner Huntress’ return:

Want more WIPpets?


 It’s #WIPpet Wednesday –K.L. Schwengel’s brainchild which encourages writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is December 25, 2013.

  • Today’s math is simple. 25 lines for the date, then a bonus birthday gift for my lifelong friend and soulsister, Eden Mabee – and a Christmas treat for everyone else.

Eden’s been missing Henry and Tisira, so this week we’ll stay with Trueborn Weft series fantasy WIP, Chameleon’s Dish.

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

We rejoin Henry and his wild mate, Nockatee, at the White Hart Inn, in London, where they’ve gone to trade and to seek the words Nockatee feels hold the answer to the mystery of her identity.

This snippet occurs the morning following last week’s WIPpet, The White Hart.It’s the companion volume to Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp Series Star Trek fan fiction). The words discovered here are referenced earlier in the WIP, and were shared in a previous WIPpet, Words, Words, Words.

She went to the small, plain ewer and basin in the corner, and splashed noisily for a few moments, as though she could sluice away all questions and disturbing thoughts in so doing.

Then she turned back to him and said, all in a breath, “At what time will the players perform, Henry, and where? Will there be Shakespeare? I should not like to miss it, if there is.”

Henry smiled, and tried to put aside the worries of last night, when Tisira had been so near, and so threatening in her strangeness. This morn, she was his Nockatee, and mayhap that was enough.

“I will ask, when we go to break our fast. Who will milk our Nanny?”

“I will tend her. Let’s give the milk we can’t drink to the inn.” Her eyes brightened, and she licked her lips. “Do you think there will be more mutton stew?”

Henry laughed at her expression. “If there be any left, I think there will not be, once you have done with it!”

They passed their morning, after that, in busyness. Nockatee tended to Nanny, who was happy in a large stall. While Henry was tending the morning fire in the greatroom, he learned that the players would arrive at one o’clock, and that they would be performing Hamlet.

Nockatee was settled in his  mind, all morn, and the name ‘Hamlet’ passed, several times, through her thoughts, as though trying to attach to something, and – almost – succeeding. But, each time, whatever it was drifted back into the dark places she could not touch within herself.

And then, at last, the play started, and she sat rapt and straight on the bench beside him, with that air that minded him of a hunting cat again, as though she might sit there, never moving, forever.She was so beautiful that Henry could hardly breathe, and he could attend to the play not at all. There was only her, and her unblinking attention…

“DOUBT THAT THE STARS ARE FIRE
DOUBT THAT THE EARTH DOTH MOVE
DOUBT TRUTH TO BE A LIAR
BUT NEVER DOUBT I LOVE.”

And Nockatee made a little gasping jump on the bench they shared, and her hand gripped his – hers so tight and strong that his bones creaked upon each other, and he could feel all of her softening calluses. Her eyes were wide and aglow with hope, her mind afire now with new certainty – and new questions.

These are the words!” she whispered on a breath, holding them tightly within her, as a treasure.

 

There we have it – Nockatee has found her words, at last. But will she come to understand what they mean, and why they’re important?

For December,pick the WIP, and POV character! If you have a favorite, don’t be shy! Someone decides, and it could be you! This WIP is the default.

And here’s an excerpt just for Nockatee and Tisira:

Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read and/or join in yourself!


It’s #WIPpet Wednesday again!

The purpose ofK.L,Schwengel’s brainchild is to encourage writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is October 2, 2013.

  • For today’s offering, I’ve added the digits of the day, month, and year (10+2+6+2+0+1+3=18; plus one because I  messed up was time traveling!).
  • You get 19 sentences today!

During October, I offer the paired volumes,Chameleon’s Dish (Trueborn Weft series), and Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series).

Chameleon’s Dish is a YA fantasy  WIP. Here’s the logline I’ve created for it:

In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

This week, we find Nockatee, the little girl lost who has now lost memory and identity, too, recovering and beginning to learn how to survive and thrive in this new time. She is also beginning to remember bits of her former life…

This rough-draft passage is lightly edited to remove obvious gaffes and for style.

Enjoy!

She had lost track of the days since she had been here, but she had counted two tenday for certain. She was stronger, now, and felt her eyes were almost strong enough to make out the words in the book Henry had given her, and the others, he kept, as well.

Not yet, though. For now, she must rest. She had a feeling that she had not rested much in the days before she was hurt, when she has still known who she was and where – possibly when- she belonged.

She hadn’t yet mentioned this thought to Henry, that she suspected she might somehow have been ripped from her own time, some time that hadn’t come yet. It seemed fanciful, perhaps even impossible…..but there was a logic to it, as well.

The book she remembered, the one like the one Henry had given her, was very old….it had the scent and brittleness and color of old, old age. And that voice she could almost put a face and scent to, the one that made her think, “Father!”, saying, “This volume, ti’kahm, is over 800 years old, and still treasured for its insights….”

There had been more. She felt its presence, but memory was gone….

She sighed, trying not to feel trapped and impatient. Sima garo provides. She had the words, and the musical voice, and the shape, almost, now, of what they meant. She could not yet venture outside, but she could tend to the fire, after a fashion, and stir the night’s soup, and see that there was tea, and perhaps, soon, she might be strong enough to cook and sweep and tend the bed and dishes. She could create with the clay Henry brought, and line her boxes, and enjoy long talks, and observe all she experienced.

Sima garo provides. She was here, now, and she would do what she could to repay Henry’s kindnesses and recover her self.

This was what she could do, now, and there was no benefit in wishing for that which she couldn’t do or have, now….

There we have it – Nockatee is finding her past, which might lie in the future. Will all of her memories return? Will she be able to survive in this time? Will she find her way back to where she belongs, and be reunited with her family? And what will become of Henry, if she does?

No, I’m not telling you – not yet. There’ll be more of Henry and Nockatee’s adventures, in two weeks.

I have a different type of video today; my friend Brenna Dee, at her pottery wheel,creating lovely magic. I know the methods Nockatee uses are far more primitive, but I imagine that molding the clay is as evocative and sensual an experience for her, and a form of therapy, during this time when she can do so much less than she knows she was once capable of, and when home, family, and identity seem to have vanished…

And now – release the comment hounds ! =)

Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read what other #WIPpeteers are writing, or to join in yourself! We love new folks, around here!


 

 It’s #WIPpet Wednesday again!

The purpose of  K.L,Schwengel’s brainchild  is to encourage writers to move their WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.

WIPpet Math:

Today is August 28, 2013.

  • For today’s offering, I’ve subtracted the digits of the month from the date (2-8=20), then subtracted the last two digits of the year from the total (20-13=7).
  • You get 7 lines today!

During August and September, I am focusing on editing the paired volumes,Chameleon’s Dish (Trueborn Weft series), and Bounded by a Nutshell (Trueborn Warp series).

Chameleon’s Dish is my August WIP. Here’s the logline I’ve created for it:

  • In the dangerously superstitious past of Shakespeare’s England, an amnesiac girl and a foundling boy must keep her strange nature hidden as they stalk her lost identity.

This week, Tisira feels her father’s insanity, and is rejected in her yearing for her absent parents. This scene is at the beginning of a very chaotic time that will culminate in the events of my previous post, After the Fall.

This rough-draft passage is lightly edited to remove obvious gaffes and for style.

Enjoy!

“I’m listening, Mother,” she whispered, and her breath was a choked thing past the lump in her throat. And she took herself back to the shallow cave, where she built up as strong a fire as she dared, and stripped herself naked, and sat, shivering and sweating, in turns, while Father’s flames raged through her.

She was open, and wanting – wanting parts of Matehunt she had never known existed, till now. Wanting Mother and Father, for herself. Wanting them to sense her, feel her as she felt them. But they were absorbed only in each other; for them, now, there was nothing else. She yearned toward them, but they yearned only for each other.

 

There we have it – a little girl longing for faraway parents who seem fixed only upon each other. Will they feel her? Will she get home again?

No, I’m not telling you any of that. Tisira is going on hiatus again for September, while I focus on editing notes for the “other side of the story”, Bounded by a Nutshell.

We’ll catch up with her again in October.

And now – release the comment hounds ! =)

As promised, I am offering Henry’s theme song this week…give a listen, if you’d like!

 

Want more WIPpets? Click the cute little blue froggy to read what other #WIPpeteers are writing, or to join in yourself! We love new folks, around here!

 



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