Figured it was time for another update. We'll start with Snow, since it's my next release:
Putting up this plot planner has exponentially doubled my writing. Seriously, my productivity has gone WAY up. There may be another reason for that, too. One day, something inside of me just kind of snapped, and I got tired of feeling like I was going around in circles with Snow. So I put my butt in the chair, set a word count goal for the day, and don't do anything else until I've hit it.
So how much have I been writing a day? I've been cranking out 3500 words. I write 3000 before I go to work at 3pm, then 500 more when I get home at 11:30pm. My fiance's gone during the day at work, so the apartment's pretty quiet. Except for when the downstairs neighbors are yelling at each other, then I either put in ear plugs or go to the park if it's pretty.
3500 isn't always easy. There are some days where I want to skimp, when watching TV actually sounds inviting. There are some days where I stare at the blank screen, half heartedly typing up things and feeling like everything I produce is crap. I think that happens to every writer, from either being burned out or writer's block. And when I'm not actually getting somewhere with something, or at least feel like I am, I get frustrated and discouraged. I'm a bit of a "busy body," one of those types who prefers reading over veging, because I always get restless and feel guilty for being lazy or something, like I should be "doing" something when I'm relaxing. Somehow I don't feel that way when I'm reading a book. Only with TV.
It's something of a cosmic joke I work for the cable company.
But then I think about the book, and the wonderful people who have written to me telling me they would like to actually read said book, it motivates me to get it done. Snow has made me want to pull my hair out. I know, I say that about every book, but this book especially has challenged me. It sent me into a slump, because I knew my original draft sucked. There were times when I felt like scraping the novel altogether. But it's taught me SO much.
"Just keep going," I told myself, "don't give up. You'll be better for it in the end."
I have to tell myself this with every book, especially near the end of the middle, when it feels like things are either fizzling out or spiraling out of control. I've always felt like plot in general is an area I could do better in, as well as the notorious writing no-no of showing instead of telling. That's something I've been trying to weed out of my technique, and it wasn't really until I read Martha Alderson's
The Plot Whisperer and read her definition of telling that it clicked for me what I was doing wrong. (Fabulous book, btw. I highly recommend it for writers at all stages, it's that good.)
You see, that's the thing with me: Each book has to be better than the last. I feel like
The Scarlet Dagger is a better book than
Veiled Innocence, and I feel like
A White So Red is better than
The Scarlet Dagger because I've grown since then. It's also freaking long, by far the longest book I've written. 80k tends to be my sweet spot. Snow, however, demands more. I'm estimating it'll weigh in at a hefty 100k, maybe a little more.
Originally, I meant for it to be a novella, a free download with a subscription to my newsletter. (I have another novella I like better that I'm working on for that purpose.) But when I got to the 50k rough draft of the original, I knew this wasn't how the story was supposed to be told. So I put off rewriting it for about 2 months. (I know, don't kick me.) I needed to figure things out. I mean, geez, if I was going to have to rewrite it I better know what I'm freaking doing this time. So I read Martha's book, and this whole plotting and revising thing didn't seem like a Goliath anymore. I plotted, I planned, I fleshed out my characters, infusing the scenes with more conflict, character development, and symbolism, where appropriate. I wanted
more from this book. I knew I could do better. So I'm giving it my all, writing out the action, scene by scene as it plays out. Hardly any summary, except for this one scene where I think you'd be bored to tears if I didn't have it.
And I think it's the best damn book I've written.
This is what I'm predicting: At the rate I'm going, it'll probably take me 'til the 22nd to wrap things up with Snow, then it's into revisions. I scheduled an extra "day off" (I have it in parentheses because I never truly take any days off from writing), on the 27th so I could have Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday off to work on my books. It's going to be glorious. I make a lot of goals, just because I
need something to push toward, and I want to spend the last week of April self editing Snow before packing her up and sending her off to my beta readers. Then it's 3500 a day - maybe more, if my brain doesn't turn to jelly - on
Dark Horizons, persevering, sweating, and toiling until it's DONE.
And I said I would share snippets, so share I shall.
Do you remember
the original beginning preview I posted a while back? Well, the opening's changed. The entire mood of the novel, for that matter, has had a makeover. When I wrote my first draft, I began it at the scene where the Huntsman comes to kill Snow White. (Hope that's not a surprise to anyone, since it's a pretty iconic tale.) But then I realized you would think, "Who cares what happens to her?" because I haven't given you a chance to get to know her beforehand, to find a reason to root for her and be scared for her.
So, here's the new intro. It's significantly darker. In fact, this is probably the darkest book I've written, but don't worry. It's not all "doom and gloom."
Think "dark in a Tim Burton" kind of way. Somber in setting, but the story still has fun.
* Disclaimer: This is the unedited version. Please forgive any mistakes you see. =) It'll be a lot more cleaned up before publication, especially since I've recreated more awesome beta readers and an editor. Yay!
Chapter
One
Tears
of Blood
Cold,
rough stones scraped Natalia’s bare feet as the guards all but dragged her down
the empty corridor. The smell of fresh bread drifted past, threads of sweetness
mingled with the stale air trapped within the castle. The guards’ pace was
quick, their obsidian chain mail clanking much too loud against her ears,
fueling the headache erupting within her skull. Shapeless thoughts and memories
of yesterday’s grueling chore regimen occupied her mind, its recesses still
foggy with sleep. Frigid air chapped her throat, hastening her awake and
whispering that winter was not far off.
They
turned a corner sharply, toward a set of massive black doors carved with
filigree and a swirling flock of ravens.
Natalia’s
voice pitched to the bottom of her stomach, her eyes widening. She felt her
cheeks cool as the blood left her face, a small trembling settling into her
limbs.
The
guards barreled toward the doors, which opened for them as they dragged her
through and marched up the crimson rug that bled through the center of the
large, circular room. Natalia knew from memory that the stone walls were lined
with windows, though the light had been choked out long ago by a waterfall of
black curtains. Iron sconces and candelabras with slender white candles dotted
the room, doing more to enhance the shadows than provide much light.
Natalia
kept her gaze at her feet, not wanting to look at the approaching dais before
her, at the great black throne that crowned the room.
The
guards stopped, pitching her forward so fast she stumbled and fell. She managed
to splay out her hands, catching herself before her face could smack into the
floor. Pulse after heavy, quick pulse throbbed in her ears, her heartbeat
vibrating throughout her body as she squeezed her lips shut, struggling to
control her suddenly labored breathing. Her body tensed, waiting for the dark
voice, smooth as velvet, to address her, but instead a tiny voice fragile as
glass spoke.
“Tali?”
Natalia’s
head snapped up, her heart ceasing to beat for a second or two before picking
up with increased speed.
Octavia,
High Queen of Thesperia, was there, but of course she would be. This lighting
suited her, making her features sharper but all the more striking for it. Time
could not touch the Queen’s cold beauty, not a wrinkle in her perfect pearly
skin or a gray hair in her tresses of black waves that reached the floor. Her
violet eyes were heavy with thick lashes, and her lips were always stained the
color of mulberries. A long cloak of shimmering gauze wrapped around her
shoulders and pooled at her feet, the skirt of a black night gown showing in
the gaps. On her head sat a tall black crown, its gothic tiers shaped like
thorns, and embedded with shards of red crystals that seemed to catch the
light, holding it captive and glowing faintly.
The
Queen caught Natalia’s gaze. A slow smile spread across her face. “Morning,
dove. We’ve been waiting for you, haven’t we, precious?”
She
trailed a long, sharp red nail down the collarbone of the young girl standing
before her, who trembled under her touch. The Queen shifted her weight and the
girl moved with her, a marionette caught in a puppeteer’s snare. A whimper
bubbled out from the girl’s lips. “Sssh.” The Queen stroked her wild red curls
with her free hand, placing her face alongside the girl’s. “There’s nothing to
be afraid of, my pet.”
Her
lies were pretty, but tasted bitter.
A
sharp pain spread through Natalia’s palms. She tore her eyes away only long
enough to steal a glance at her hands. Somehow, she had squeezed them shut,
unaware the nails had broke skin until sweat had stung the cuts.
She
lifted her gaze and stared straight ahead, spine rigid, throat tight. “You
wanted to see me, my Queen?”
Octavia
continued staring at the girl, smiling adoringly with frosted eyes. “Sweet Rose
here has something she wants to tell you. Don’t you?”
A
tear spilled down Rose’s cheek, her watery green eyes locked with Natalia’s.
“I’m sorry, Tali. I didn’t know!”
“Didn’t
know what? What’s happened?” She wanted to run forward, to snatch her baby
sister from that woman’s grasp and comfort her while singing lullabies into her
ear.
Octavia
looked at Rose expectantly. The tips of her nails dug in to the pale flesh of
Rose’s chest, and she let out a sob. Frantic words spilled from her mouth.
“I
found it this morning,” she said, “when I first stepped into the hall to… to
come find you. It was just lying there, alone in the shadows. I swear I didn’t
take it!”
Natalia
looked from her sister to the Queen. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly.
“Rosemydre,”
the Queen said sweetly, “what is the first rule of my house?”
Impossibly,
Rose grew paler. “That – that we do not leave our rooms until we hear the
morning bell.”
“Did
I miss it? I do tend to be a heavy sleeper. The sentry had a hard time waking
me when they caught you.”
“But
I didn’t steal –”
“Rose,
be quiet!” Natalia snapped.
Her
green eyes looked hurt, but she firmly pressed her blood red lips – Natalia’s
lips – into a thin line.
The
Queen traced a single long line across Rose’s chest, leaving behind a bloody
rivulet. “You never answered the question, my sweet.”
Natalia
ground her teeth together to keep the curses inside her mouth. She wanted to
rip the Queen’s hair out. Her whole body trembled with the effort to contain
her anger.
Rose
squeezed her eyes shut.
“No,
my lady, the bell did not ring,” she whispered.
“Then
that’s one lash for breaking a house rule. But, that is a small price to pay
for a small indiscretion. This, however, will cost you much more.” She flicked
her fingers, summoning a gaunt page that resembled a skeleton dressed in black
brocade and velvet. He bowed deeply, handing a shimmering golden trinket to the
Queen, who lifted it with her index finger.
Natalia’s
mouth went dry as the pendant caught the torch light, flashing red. A single
ovular, red crystal wrapped in gold filigree hung from a dainty golden chain,
three red beads on either side of the pendant.
“To
this day,” the Queen said, “it amazes me your father could have been so
careless as to give a blood crystal to an ordinary dairy maid. That he made her
his Queen is laughable.”
Natalia
glared at her, silent.
The
Queen stared at the crystal with hunger in her eyes. “So special. So precious.”
She set the necklace in her lap, looking at Natalia. “Rose,” she asked, not
removing her eyes from Natalia’s, “what is the punishment for thievery for a
child under thirteen years of age?”
Rose
took a shaky breath. “The – the thief’s hand is – is broken. By a hammer.” Her
voice warbled on the last word.
“Very
good, Rose. You are a true Thesperian. You know the gracious laws of our kingdom
well. Now, let me ask you one last thing. This was no ordinary necklace. It was
stolen from your Queen. That deserves at least ten more lashes, I think. Don’t
you?”
Natalia
stared ahead, chest constricting. The gears of her brain were still hung up on
the hammer, images of Rose’s little fingers being smashed to bits playing over
and over in her mind’s eye. She almost missed the Queen addressing her.
“A
fair price to pay, wouldn’t you agree, big sister? I am without a doubt one of
the most magnanimous rulers for ten kingdoms. Not many others would deign to be
so generous.”
Rose
was crying uncontrollably now, whimpering and shaking her head as the Queen
summoned forth three guards, the middle of which was wielding a large metal
hammer.
Natalia
watched them approach the dais, growing cold all over.
“No,”
she said, barely audible.
They
took Rose from the Queen’s grasp, pulling her down the dais and forcing her to
her hands and knees, yanking one hand out in front of her. Rose struggled
against them, shrieking as two of the guards held her down while the third
raised the hammer.
“Wait!”
Natalia held up a hand and stepped forward.
The
Queen tried to look surprised, raising both delicate dark brows.
Time
stopped for a heartbeat before Natalia spoke.
“I
will take her punishment, all of it.”
“No,
Tali! You can’t!” Rose yelled, but the Queen held up a finger, and one of the
guards placed a hand over her baby sister’s mouth.
“You
will still be required to perform all your duties,” the Queen said. “This is a
punishment for a criminal, not an easy way out of service.”
“I
understand,” Natalia said, trying to swallow but finding no moisture left in
her mouth.
The
Queen slowly smiled. “Very well.”
She
waived her hand, and the guards released Rose. She stood and stumbled toward
Natalia, crying out protests, but was seized by two guards. Natalia listened to
Rose’s screams as she was hauled away. With fists clenched and jaw locked, the
guards came forward and grabbed her by the arms, bringing her before the foot
of the dais. Two hands were on her shoulders, forcing her down. It wasn’t hard
– her knees were threatening to give as it was. The brunt of her weight landed
on her kneecaps with a sharp crack of pain, but Natalia barely noticed it. Her
eyes were locked on the hammer.
The
hands on her shoulders pushed, shoving her over, so low her chin touched the
floor. Her elbow popped as her right arm – and her writing hand – was jerked
outward, the soft threads of the rug poking between the fingers of her exposed
hand.
She
struggled to breathe, to control the dizziness taking over. The hammer rose in
the air. Natalia tore her eyes away, finding the Queen staring down at her, the
hint of a smile playing on her lips. The Queen had twined the chain of the
necklace around her fingers into a familiar crisscross pattern, a children’s
game that involved making a web out of yarn or string so as to trap your
opponent when they tried to slip their fingers through.
In
the center of the golden web was the pendant, soft round circles and fierce
crimson hue, staring at her through a prison of gold bars.
Natalia looked at it,
not hearing the whoosh of air as the hammer was brought down.
***
Thanks for reading to the end of this uber-long post! And since you made it to the end, I have a question for you: What's your favorite fairy tale retelling? Personally, mine is Robin McKinley's
Beauty, though Marissa Meyer's
Cinder comes in a close second. Both of those were all-nighters for me.
Happy reading and much love,
