Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Despite just a little over 4 hours of sleep, I’m alive this morning and working on getting the monsters out the door for school.  I’ll post one last snippet from Victor, and then I’ll have to find something else to entertain you for Friday Snippets.  It might be January before I start that tradition up again, because Dec. will be finishing Victor and Revision Hell, on not one but two books.

First up, it’s past time for me to revise Return to Shanhasson, last year’s NaNo novel that took me until Dec. 23 to finish (105K).  I have something I’d like to try, and I can’t do it unless this book is ready to go.  If it works out, I’ll post details later.

After Victor has sat for a couple of weeks, I’ll be ready to tackle him again.  My goal is to have both books submitted by the end of January.  Then it’ll be back to Deathright full steam ahead, in conjunction with Seven Crows.

In this snippet, I introduce Mama Connagher, a woman to strike the terror into any daughter in law.  Well, hopefully.  Unedited, first NaNoWriMo (shitty) draft.  This happens after the dark moment when Victor thinks he’s lost it all.

Virginia Connagher waited on the wraparound porch as though she’d known her son was coming home, even though he hadn’t made the hour drive up from Dallas in months.  She wore the same thing she always did:  riding jodhpurs, English riding boots, and a spotless white shirt, even though her hands and knees were dirty from digging in her garden.  Her black hair was sprinkled with a bit more gray, her eyes lined with a few more wrinkles, but her eyes still snapped with the fiery spirit that had captured Tyrell Connagher’s heart forty years ago.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Son.”  She looked him up and down and he couldn’t help but straighten his shoulders and widen his stance.  He braced for her to begin questioning him, but instead, she smiled.  “Come on down to the stables and see the new foals.”

Relieved although he tried not to show it, Victor walked with her down the red-dirt road to the long horse barns behind the house.  She proudly showed off the new stud she’d shipped in from Ireland, the yearlings in the paddock, and bit by bit, he managed to relax.  The smells of sweet hay, feed, and horse were as familiar to him as the two-story farmhouse where he’d grown up.  He’d worked with Mama in the show ring and Daddy in the fields, rounding up the cattle and shipping them to market.  He’d ridden every inch of their acreage, spent hours with Conn down at the creek fishing and swimming, and fixed countless feet of fence with him and Daddy after a storm had knocked a few trees down.

Watching a sleek bay mare with her spindle-legged baby, he felt the last stone of guilt fall away.  Here, he knew exactly who he was.  He was the Victor, the oldest Connagher son, football champion, and proud of his hard-working parents.  Maybe he could convince Shiloh to drive out here with him.  If she saw him here, the real Victor, then maybe…

“I saw your show last night,” Mama said, her voice too careful for him to tell what she’d really thought about it.

He propped a boot up on the bottom rail but didn’t turn to look at her.  “What’d you think?”

“I was wishing your Daddy could watch it with me so we could recreate a few of those challenges ourselves.”

Victor practically choked on his tongue.

Mama chuckled at the look on his face.  “Surely you wondered where you got such an inclination.  Did you think I’d be horrified at my baby boy with a crop in his hand?”

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted sheepishly.  “I guess I should have known better when Conn called me a few years ago for help.”

Nodding, Mama leaned against the fence and turned that steely blue gaze on him.  “He’s not as hard as you.  He never was.”

“Not as mean, neither.”

“Oh, Victor, is that what you think?  That you’re mean?”

I’m one mean sonofabitch, Mama.  I like to hurt people.  Especially the woman I love.

He ground his teeth and averted his gaze.

“I suppose you think I’m mean, then.”

That made him jerk his gaze back to hers.  Just a few inches over five feet tall, she possessed the kind of quiet, commanding presence that made people snap to attention whenever she walked into a room.  No one would claim she was a ravishing beauty, but once someone met her, it was hard to take their eyes off her.

Reluctantly, he had to admit it was the same kind of power he’d always had.  People listened to him.  He never had to raise his voice, and if he did, he scared the shit out of people.  He’d always assumed he’d inherited that top-dog attitude from Daddy.

Thinking back over his childhood, he tried to remember a time when Mama had ever overruled Daddy.  They’d always worked like a team, smooth and well-oiled.  Daddy wasn’t a big talker, but he’d always handled the discipline.  A look from him could strike terror into the most recalcitrant boy’s heart, so he’d never gotten into much trouble beyond the normal boyhood scrapes.  They’d both been there for him, through heartache and disappointments, like when he’d blown his knee and kissed his future goodbye.

They’d seen him at the lowest point of his life.  His dreams turned to shame, his love lost, his victor’s heart broken.

His gaze fell on the old barn in the distance.  Worn gray wood still stood, lost and forgotten amidst the shiny redwood and white picket fences of the newer horse barns.  When his last hope of returning as a pro-quality quarterback had died, he’d retreated to that old barn, too ashamed to come home and face Daddy.  Too heartbroken to risk their pity.

“As soon as I noticed my old crop was missing from the barn, I should have had a talk with you,” Mama whispered, her voice as gentle as the hand she dropped onto his forearm braced on the fence.  “But you’d been through so much already, and you didn’t ask any questions.  I watched, I waited, and you seemed to move on with your life.  When Conn went to you for help, I thought you were settled and comfortable with your needs, but maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I should have talked more openly with you.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing a man wants to discuss with his mother.”

She laughed again, shaking her head.  “You could have asked your Daddy, but he could have only helped you understand the other side.”

That made him whip his head back to her face.  “Daddy was a submissive?”

She snorted.  “There wasn’t a submissive bone in your Daddy’s body.  He never wanted to be conquered or tied up.  He wasn’t into that kind of game and neither was I.”

Dreading her answer, Victor asked, “What were you into?”

“Pain,” she answered simply.  “I used to joke that a bronc rider would have to be a masochist to get back on after getting trampled a few times.”

Victor tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t imagine his weathered father submitting to the sting of a lash, let alone asking for it.  The man had worked from sunup to sundown every day of his life, raised three God-fearing respectful children, and died loving only one woman his entire life.  Victor had always thought him the strongest man in the world, fearless on a horse, even the wildest, rawest green broke mare.  He just couldn’t imagine the same man asking someone–a woman, his wife, no less–to whip him.

“Do you think I liked knowing that I yearned to hurt your Daddy?”  Mama asked sharply, her fingers tightening on his arm.  For a woman, she had a fearsome grip.  He’d always assumed her strength came from a lifetime of training show horses, but now he wasn’t so sure.  “Do you think it made him feel like a man in our day and age?  To lock the door of our bedroom, strip off his shirt, grip the bedpost, and ask me to whip him within an inch of my life?  I had to, son.  He had to.  The need was there, eating away at him constantly.  He needed the pain as much as I needed to give it.”

She turned away, but not before Victor saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.  “He said once that he wished I were a man so my arm didn’t give out quite so quickly.  He’d meant it as a joke, but it hurt, son.  He could have taken much more than I could ever give him.  For years, I worked out with the whip and crop, training my arms and body to make sure I met his need to the best of my ability.  So don’t you look down on yourself, Victor Connagher, or you’re looking down on me and his memory.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all someone I love,” Victor whispered, hanging his head in shame.

“The young lady on the show?”  Mama asked softly.  He nodded, so she said, “When do I get to meet her?”

“Maybe never.  She left me.”

“I saw the way she looked at you, son.  Even on television, I could see that woman would give her heart and soul just to see you smile.  So why would she leave you?”

“She needs more than I can give.”

“Can, or will?”

He growled deep in his throat and jerked his hair tighter, but the pain didn’t help.  Not this time.  Nothing would ease the raw, aching need burning in his gut.  Nothing but Shiloh.

“It’s got to be difficult for a woman to find the right man when she needs to be hurt.  Women in our society have fought tooth and nail to get to the place where they can demand what they want in bed, but pain is a different beast all together.  It’s not politically correct for a woman to play the submissive, but it’s somehow even more horrible if she needs pain, too.  If someone had dared hurt Ty in a way he wasn’t interested in, he would’ve plowed his fist into the bastard’s face.  What’s your woman supposed to do, son?  Walk up to a stranger and ask him to hurt her?  How’s she going to be able to get him to stop when she’s had enough?”

Rage exploded in Victor at the thought of another man laying a hand–or a whip–on Shiloh.  He wanted to hold her, love her, and yes, hurt her.  Exactly the way she needed it.

“If she needs to be hurt, son, then it’s better done by someone who loves her and cares for her wellbeing than an arrogant fool with a whip who doesn’t give a damn about anything but putting on a show.  Do you love her?”

Victor clenched his jaws and nodded.  God, yes, he loved her.  He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, tormenting himself with the memory of the pleasure she’d given him, mixed with the guilt.  He’d lain there all night, hating himself but rock hard and aching with the need to do it all over again.  All I could think about was how f*cking good it’d felt to hurt her.

“You can’t deny this side of you, son.  You’re only lying to yourself.”  Mama  gripped his upper arms, leaning closer so she could stare up into his eyes.  He might be a foot taller, but she made him feel like a little boy again.  “We didn’t raise you to be a liar or a quitter.  You might have lost a game, but everything’s on the line now.  This is the biggest game of your life.  You’ve searched your whole life for a woman who could love you and accept the pain you need to give.  Are you going to let her get away?”

He smiled, not the nice, gentle smile a son would give his mother, but the grin of a confident conqueror bent on razing his enemy to the ground.  Even–especially–my own stupid hang-ups. “No, ma’am.”

“You go get her, son, and you bring her home this very night.  I want to meet the woman who finally claimed my Victor’s heart.”

“Soon,” he promised, leaning down to kiss her cheek.  “But not tonight.  We have to finish taping the show first.”

“Then you’ll bring her to the ranch?”

“If she’ll come, yes.”

“Remember, give her the pain you both need, son, but hurt her with love and hold her when you’re done.”  Mama smiled back and Victor felt a chill dripping down his spine.  “And don’t worry.  She’ll come, or I’ll fetch her myself.”

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

I’ll post more details and a snippet tomorrow.  Right now, I’m zonked.  I’ve been writing solid since 9 PM in order to finish and it’s now…*checks watch* 12:40 A.M.  I’ve been off from the Evil Day Job for a week, so I’ll definitely be a zombie tomorrow, but it’s totally worth it!

And no, Victor is not finished with me yet, so the fun will continue another couple of days.  I’m in the final punishment round that will declare America’s Next top sub.

Offical NaNoWriMo word count:  50,052

Victor total word count:  67,193 and counting.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Thanksgiving prep is in full swing.  Last night, my SIL (the monsters call her BB) came over and we peeled, diced, boiled and mashed 20 pounds of potatoes.  20!  I had to mash them in batches because my little hand-held mixer kept gumming up.  I also made the cornbread (for stuffing), diced and sauted the onions/celery (also for stuffing), boiled some eggs (but I need to do another batch today) for deviled eggs, and made a huge nasty mess on top of the stove when my commercial-sized pot of potatoes boiled over.  UGH. 

Today my list is even longer, and no, I don’t have any words for the day yet, and I can’t stay up late tonight, because I have to be up by 6 AM tomorrow to get the turkey in the oven.

So it was especially important that I not fall even more behind yesterday.  I stayed up until midnight again to make sure I broke 40K.  I made it, just barely.  I hope to write short spurts today in between my chores, but the monsters only go to school half a day, which complicates everything.

NaNoWriMo:  40,062

Snippet:  The dark moment approaches. 

She tried to burrow into his neck–so he wouldn’t see the darkness in her eyes–but he wouldn’t let her hide.  No, the Master could hide all he wanted, but he would never tolerate such dishonesty in his submissive. 

She tried to make herself angry with him, but it didn’t work.

He kept his hands and voice gentle, but she knew he had to see the truth written in her eyes.  If he doesn’t…then he can’t be my Master, no matter how much I want him to be.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

So I’m starting to fall a bit behind.  Thanksgiving preparation is killing me!  We’re hosting again this year and expect 16 (possibly up to 20) for lunch Thursday.  I don’t have “a list.”  I have 5 pages of notes about when to start each dish and a grocery list a mile long.  And here I thought mastering a story with 2 major subplot lines was challenging!

I was sooo tired last night that at 10 PM I made a fresh pot of coffee.  I was determined to get at least 1 day’s words in so I wouldn’t fall even further behind.  It took almost 2 hours, but I got my words.  This morning, I was going to run errands, etc. but Papa from Mexico (my Dad and he’s not really from Mexico) will be in town for Grandparents’ Day, so I think I’ll get my words first.  I need to break 40K today if I have any hope of hitting NaNoWriMo this weekend.

NaNoWriMo total (as of last night): 37,924 words

Snippet:  I love the undercurrents in this snippet, building toward the big showdown.

“I trust you.  Don’t you know that?”

“How…”  He swallowed the ragged edge in his voice.  “How can you trust me?”

Shadows flickered through her eyes that he couldn’t name.  Doubt?  Concern?  Anger?  “Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

Releasing her, he stretched out on his back and stared up at the ceiling.  “I don’t know.  I don’t know how far I’ll go.  I don’t know what my limit is, and if I don’t know mine, how can you trust me not to cross yours?”

“I don’t know what my limits are either.”  She laid her head on his chest and stroked her fingers up and down his chest in lazy swirls, teasingly giving a light pull on his chest hairs.  “Are you scared of me?”

“Hell, yes, I’m scared of you.  Baby, you push me so hard I’m afraid I’ll drag us both off the cliff.”

“Well, as long as we go together, I don’t care.”

She said it so lightly, as though she really didn’t care, while the very thought made him ill.  How could he love and protect her if he was the one who’d hurt her the worst? 

“I suppose we ought to get back.  Mal still needs to punish me.”

Stiffening, he fought for a calm and reasonable tone of voice.  “I really don’t like another Dominant to punish you, even for the show.”

She propped her elbow on his chest so she could stare down into his eyes.  In a somber, gentle voice, she said, “You know you’re the only one who can ever truly punish me, don’t you?  What Patrick did was just a show.  It didn’t mean anything.”

“It meant a big f*cking deal to me to sit there and watch him hurt you.”  When I wanted to hurt you myself.

“It hurt, sure, but it wasn’t punishment.  It certainly wasn’t glorious like what you just did.  I’d much rather have you hurt me.” She shrugged, so nonchalant that he wanted to shake her. 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

I can’t claim many words at all for today, but I have a very good reason.  Last night on Twitter, I saw a recommendation from Smart Bitches that they’d love to see downloadable excerpts on author sites.  Made total sense — after all, I’ve been a reading junkie now that I have my iPhone.  So after work tonight, I set out to create pdf, rtf, and epub downloadable excerpts for all my novellas and novels.  They’re centrally located here on a single page, or you can retrieve the files from each book’s page as well.

I’ve got to admit, switching pdf to epub via Calibre and Stanza was a royal pain in the backside.  I can’t imagine what a headache it is for Deena to do these (and many more!) each and every release!  However, I think this is a huge step in the right direction.  If there’s a format you wished I had available, please let me know and I’ll figure out how to get it!

Back to NaNoWriMo, I had over 2K last night, but only a couple hundred tonight.  An unplanned sex scene reared its ugly head, earlier than I expected.  Is this the big show down moment?  Is she finally going to tell him to suck it up or leave her the hell alone?  Maybe.  I need to see how the next few sections play out.  I’ve still got a few external plot things to deliver (the leak/spy) so I don’t know if the timing is right or not.

But at least I had fun.  :-)

NaNoWriMo total:  32,582

Snippet:  Remember that Shiloh’s stage name for the show is “Gift.”  She did poorly on the “service” challenge and is being punished by another Master, shortly after the last snippet I posted.  Remember, this is all staged for the show.  It’s not a real BDSM scene in action.  However, it’s the only place where Victor allows himself to really play Master, which is why Shiloh gets herself into so much trouble.

“Her safeword,” Victor said in a voice that made cold chills race down her spine.  “Is Christmas.  I expect you to use it if you need to, Gift.  That’s an order.”

She kept her head down for him, giving him the respect even though he wasn’t participating in the scene.  “Yes, Master.”

“Christmas,” Patrick drawled out.  “Very well.  Count them out, Gift, so I’m not forced to start over at the beginning.”

The long leather tail snaked on the floor, rasping and promising agony.  He gave a trial snap that made her flinch, but the whip didn’t touch her.  Not yet.

He laughed softly.  “Ready, my dear?”

“Yes, sir.”

She heard the sharp crack of the lash before she felt the cut of his blow on her left shoulder.  Her breath rushed out and she twisted her wrists in the bonds, but she didn’t cry out.  Damn, that hurt.  He must have managed to hit one of Victor’s bruises.  “One.”

If it’d been Victor delivering punishment in a formal scene, she would have thanked him for it, but not Patrick.  Not unless her Master ordered it.

Panting, she opened her mind to the pain.  She didn’t fight it or tense her muscles.  In fact, she relaxed everything.  Her knees sagged, but the bonds kept her upright.  She fought her eyes back open and sought Victor.

Don’t you understand I’m doing this for you?  This is nothing compared to what I want–need–you to do.

He gave a slight nod of his head but his face remained stiff and remote.  An order, or encouragement?  She couldn’t tell.  His face was too hard, his eyes too dark.

As a consummate showman, Patrick trailed the leather across the ground, drawing out both her tension and the viewers’.  When her breathing had steadied, he pulled his arm back and sent the whip whistling through the air again.  Pain bloomed on her opposite shoulder.

She sucked in her breath and clenched her jaws to keep from crying out.  She wouldn’t make a sound for him.  Screams and moans were rewards for the Master wielding the weapon, and she refused to reward anyone but Victor.

When she trusted her voice, she whispered, “Two.”

“I’m impressed, Gift.  I thought surely you would be whimpering by now.  Maybe you’ll endure ten strokes after all.”

Her back burned so fiercely she did want to whimper, but she looked at Victor–his hand clenched about his crop that was laid in his lap, his other hand wrapped around his wineglass so tightly she thought it might shatter–and she clamped her mouth shut.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

The day started out really slow.  I had a brief session semi-Dark & Early, and then after the Evil Day Job while waiting on dinner to cook (Princess Monster has guitar lessons on Monday so we eat pretty late).  When I came downstairs to do the dishes, I only had a tad over 1K.

I went back upstairs after dinner and proceeded to goof off on Twitter.  Conn wanted to look up some poetry for some Twitter buddies, which is always fun and engrossing.  I guess I should have shut down my internet, but I was smiling and happy when I finally sat down to write, instead of grim and determined.  While watching Monday Night Football, I kept whittling away at the scene, determined to break 2K for the day.

When I pasted my day’s work into the NaNo file, I had not only hit 2K, but realized I needed less than 200 words to break 30K for NaNo.  Of course, that was a challenge I could not refuse!  So back to Victor and I eeked out a few more paragraphs.

NaNoWriMo total:  30,001 words

Victor:  up to 49,946.  Now you’d think I would be determined to keep going until I broke 50K here, but I do have 50K already.  I have a side file started for some future “dark moment” notes, a couple of blog entries I’m still debating, and a long talk with Mama Connagher.  So I don’t feel pressured to keep going for another 54 words tonight!  My wrists are pretty sore (I played a game of Bejeweled tonight with my laptop touchpad and almost cried they were so sore!), so I’m calling it quits for the night. 

Since Victor is picking up a little, I might try to get a bit in Deathright tomorrow after I complete at least 1666 words for him.

Snippet:  Written tonight, unedited.  Victor is NOT pleased. 

Rage pulsed so dark and ugly through him that he trembled.  He’d never bound her, and now another would do it and make him watch.  He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, instead of ripping that damned rack apart with his bare hands and dragging Shiloh upstairs where he would bind her.  Where he would punish her within an inch of her life.  Where he’d make savage love to her until she never again even thought to invite another Dominant to lay a hand on her.

Something touched his knee and he flinched, his eyes flying open.  Shiloh huddled at his feet, her forehead pressed to his leg.  “Forgive me, Master V.  Give me the order and I’ll refuse.  We’ll re-film the entire episode.  And I’ll endeavor to watch everyone’s food selections instead of daydreaming about what I could do under the table with such a full-length cloth to hide me.”

Some of the turmoil shredding his gut faded.  He heard the sincerity in her voice.  By the catch in her throat, she might actually be near tears.  Silently, he laid his hand on her head, rubbing his fingers against her scalp.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Yes you did.”  He sighed out a long breath but kept his fingers gentle on her head.  “I’m assuming Mal helped you plan this out?”

“She said it would be risky,” Shiloh admitted.  She twisted her head so she could look up at his face.  “Are you very angry?”

“Yes.  And I’m going to be much angrier after I have to sit here and watch Patrick ogle my sub while he whips you.”

 Her eyes were dark and solemn.  “Am I yours?” 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

So I won’t lie – the last few days have been TOUGH.

It’s been a combination of many things:  week two slump, several crucial sex scenes, and shaky character arc that required me to go back and tweak a few things.  This isn’t the time for revision, but I had to get a few “points” on the character graph clear in my mind so I could see where I needed to map the next point. 

I’ve struggled to concentrate.  I sit down and want to do ANYTHING but write.  Check Twitter!  Check my e-mail for the thousandth time (having key submissions outstanding doesn’t do much for my willpower to stay out of gmail)!  I even sat down and wrote the promo letter, gathered up all the mailing supplies, labels, etc. and got my ARCs ready to mail out.  Friday, I got my PO Box, so exciting, so now I need to print out some return address labels, then my packages will be ready to go.

But through it all, I’ve touched at least Victor every single day.  (Okay, that sounds dirty.  You know what I mean.)  I may have only gotten 300 words in two hours, but I kept chiseling away at the file, even if that meant a single paragraph a few days back to clarify something.  I’m still in good shape for NaNoWriMo and slightly ahead of the midway point.  Hopefully I can keep that small margrin.  My numbers over the weekend have slowly crept up — I cleared 1400 words today, which is a mountain compared to the last week or so.

I haven’t written in Deathright for several days.  I finished Act I and ended with a cliffhanger.  Now it’s like my brain needed time to let all that sink in.  I know what happens next — generally.  It’s just a matter of getting back into that story when I’m ready.  As tough as Victor has been, I’ve been afraid to leave him because I didn’t want him to go cold on me.  He’s my priority, even if I’m dying to write the other story too.

NaNoWriMo total:  27, 487

Snippet:  This is a bit from the rough stuff I wrote tonight – totally unedited.  The Dominants are displaying the “reward” for the reality show:  their collars.  Georgia is the hostess of the show.

Georgia smiled for the camera and reached out to pluck Victor’s velvet away herself.  “Oh, folks, just wait until you see what Master V has hidden beneath this cover.  It’s so gorgeous, I’d almost try out his crop just to have the opportunity to wear it.  May I?”

Victor inclined his head and let her pull the velvet aside.  The camera panned in to get the full effect of the large glittering diamond V. 

Georgia fluttered her hand out toward the diamonds.  “How many carats?” 

He smacked the crop down an inch from her hand and she snatched her fingers back, her eyes snapping with outrage.  “Enough.” 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Finally, some decent progress!  But only in Deathright.  I need to sit down with Victor and jot some notes tomorrow before getting started.  I’m really loving Majel and could almost make a book just for her.  Actually…  Grrr!  Finish the current book, dear Muse, and then we can talk, okay?

Today: 2,452

NaNoWriMo: 24,628

Snippet:  I don’t want to give away too much of Majel’s incredible story.  A lot of today’s words were telling her history — which I might have to change as too infodumpy.  On the plus side, it’s not “As you know, Bob” because Murray has no idea of the truth.  Worst case, I don’t include any of this in the final story, but *I* have to know it.

Majel closed her eyes and took a long draw of the fine wine, hoping it would still her nerves.  “I didn’t make the connection that the nanobots may have introduced new DNA…Until my mother tried to kill me.”

Murray sat up so quickly she almost dropped her goblet.  “What?”

“She ordered me to meet her on the Tower roof,” Majel lifted her chin slightly, indicating the ceiling above.  “I thought it was odd.  After all, if she wanted to speak to me, why not order me to her chambers, or at least come to mine?  But like a trusting lamb to slaughter, I met her upstairs.  That’s when she told me she was going to disown me and my heirs.  I was upset, obviously, swinging from rage to worry to fear.  What would I do?  Where would I go?  Why had I risked my life for nearly a decade in her war, only to be exiled from my homeland?  We were arguing when she shot me.  She emptied the gun into my head and chest, the whole time muttering that it wasn’t enough.” 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

So my great progress has been slowed a bit — and I’m okay with that.  That’s why I was trying so hard to get ahead!

However, I wrote myself out of my comfort zones in both stories, for different reasons.

In Victor’s story, I thought HE was going to give me the most trouble.  I mean, hello, the man likes to use his crop and I have noooooo knowledge of how that might play out.  Other than being reluctant and stressed out, Victor has been fine.  It’s SHILOH who is now driving me nuts.  I joked with Sis this past weekend that I had to type her scenes with my eyes shut.  She has such a potty mouth and is sooooo beyond any heroine I have ever written before.  This gal knows exactly what she wants and she isn’t afraid to tell Victor in every single dirty word she knows.  At first it was hilarious because of Victor’s reaction.  Now, geez, it’s hard to type so much with my eyes closed.

In Deathright, I decided that to make this book BIGGER and fit into the overall scheme of the world I’m building, that I should add Her Majesty the Queen of Britannia to the mix.  Great idea.  Waaaaay too much work at this point in the game, because it requires a huge over-arcing story thread that was only a vague idea in the back corner of my mind.  It took me a couple of tries, both jotting notes and opening a new file, to figure out what’s going on in her mind, and WHOA.  She blew me away.  I adore her already, and I never expected to.  To be honest, she’s supposed to be an antagonist, or at least a morally-questionable trickster character who makes the protagonists’ lives more difficult, but I love her.  Which is a good thing, obviously, since she’s a major character and needs to stick around for several books.

The little bits with Murray tugged on my heart in a totally unexpected way.  Love it when that happens.

The other thing going on:  I sent out a new submission package last night, so I needed to revise my synopsis and query, pull everything together, obsess and stew over every little word, etc.  However, that’s off my plate and I can concentrate.  Well, I still need to do that PR letter.  Grrrr.  But otherwise, it’ll be Victor and Deathright this week.

NaNoWriMo total: 22,176

Snippet: this is from the Majel file.  By the way, most of the characters’ names have a very special or deliberate reference.  Murray in particular I chose because he was Byron’s and Shelley’s publisher.  Now the character on page has absolutely nothing to do with that, but it was a subtle nod to the period and what I’m doing.  Majel’s name is also a nod to someone, as is Catrionia.  Others I just like and made up, e.g. Zang, pronounced Zane-guh.

Murray bowed with a smart clip of his heels as she picked up the datapad, but he lingered in her presence.  She’d known him for decades and trusted no one as much as she trusted him, but the man looked positively petrified, pale, sweaty, and kneading his hands.

Her eyebrows rose with alarm.  “What is it, Murray?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I have more troubling information.”

“More bad news, or something more troubling than a planet’s assimilation without my orders?”

“The latter, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing even lower.  “Bordering on a personal issue, I’m afraid.”

“I see.”  She set the datapad aside and gestured to the chair beside her desk.  “You have my complete attention.”

Murray sat, all long elbows and bony knees, so that he looked folded and scrunched in the low chair.  He toyed with the cravat tied at his neck, demolishing his mech’s careful artwork.

“Murray, you’re being very silly.  How many years have you known me?”

“I came into your service sixty three years ago, Your Majesty.”

Yet he looked nearly the same as she remembered, with only a few lines about his eyes and a sprinkling of gray at his temples.  Surely the dedication and care he’d lavished on her all these years deserved a few rewards, such as the vitality and youth enhancing techniques perfected at MIGS.  She might not approve of Stryker’s methods, but she was forced to admit that she personally and Britannia as a whole had prospered and flourished with MIGS’s miraculous inventions.

“Surely after all these years, you’re not afraid to tell me the truth.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”  A faint smile tugged at his lips and a ghost of the man she’d taken to her bed after her heirs were born nearly thirty years ago tugged at her heart as well.  “I know you rely on me for that very reason.  Yet I’m reluctant to tell you this because I know it will hurt you deeply, and I’ve no wish to upset my queen more than she must already be after this day’s events.”

She reached over to take his hand in hers and merely held him, waiting for him to find the words.

“I have reason to believe that Princess Elinor is conspiring against you.”  Murray raised tormented eyes to hers.  “She is spreading dire rumors among the nobles, claiming that you are unfit to rule because,” he stole a quick, furtive glance at her hair mixed with feathers, “you have gained an unhealthy fascination with the crows roosting on top of the Tower.”  He swallowed in a loud gulp.  “She means to have you assassinated.”

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

This weekend was definitely tougher going than the first week.  I finally had to [cheat - fill this in later!] because the scene just wasn’t jiving in my mind.  See the posts on Writing Transformative Sex why certain scenes can be difficult for me.  I didn’t have two characters just falling into the sack.  I had two characters who were afraid, confused, lost, upset, SOMETHING.  I needed the emotion and I couldn’t put my finger on the “journey” inherent in the scene.  Not exactly.  So I broke voice and just typed out a few ideas I had on my mind and I’m going to move on.

Sometimes, for a first draft, you just have to move on and finish the damned book.  Later, in revision, I may find I don’t even need that scene.  For this book, I think I will — but I’m hoping to have a better handle on the sexual journey after the next “day’s” events unfold.

In Deathright, I decided that to make this story fit into the overall world I’m building that I should also introduce a thread for Her Majesty.  But then I immediately stumped myself, because I can’t write a scene for a character when I’m not clear on her motivations.  Oh, in general, I know things, thanks to the plotting of Seven Crows.  But I also got stuck in that little story.  I knew something wasn’t right, and it has to do with the Queen and her story.  Every character is the star of her/his own story, so I need to know what her goal is.  Exactly.  In excruciating detail!  I didn’t feel comfortable writing in the main file, so I started a new document to type out ideas and see what I get.

Today, I need to write a PR letter.  I hate PR letters.  I can write all day about people who only exist in my mind, but I hate writing about myself.  I really need to get some ARCs out, though, and I have no excuse, other than a reluctance to get this letter done.

I don’t have individual file word counts handy (plus it’s complicated now that I started a THIRD file!) so I’ll just go with the total NaNo counts.  Victor did break 40K last night so I’m definitely past the halfway mark.  (I’m targeting 70k, about the same as Dear Sir, I’m Yours.)

NaNoWriMo total:  20,484

Snippet:  I’ll show you how I “cheat” when I haven’t finalized the worldbuilding details yet.  This is a bit from the Queen’s POV for Deathright and is ROUGH.  I don’t just throw names at stuff — I try to make them mean something — and I have no idea how Sublime Space has been laid out yet.  Details, details.

As soon as her advisor stepped into her chambers, Queen Majel knew by the tightness of his face and stiffness of his shoulders that he approached with foul news indeed.  She threw the datapad down on her desk and rubbed her aching temples.  “Another planet has fallen to MIGS.”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty.”  Seneschal Murray activated the viewscreen and brought up a chart of [Gamma Sector].  “Lady [name] notified me moments ago of an SOS signal we intercepted from [planet].”

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Friday, I had a pretty good tally in Victor going with 1,929 words.  I planned to switch to Deathright in the evening and get a little more words, but it just didn’t happen.  By the time the monsters got to bed, I was so tired that I went to bed too, and then slept almost 10 hours straight.

Yesterday, I knew we had family coming over for dinner:  my Dad, my sister, and Uncle J (That Man’s youngest brother) and Aunt BB.  I needed to get the kitchen presentable as well as start the crockpot of ham and beans that I’d promised, and then my Dad showed early, which is always a treat (but kept me from writing before company showed).  We picked up the monsters’ old-time pictures I tweeted about a few weeks ago, grabbed lunch, and drove to two different places in order to find our dog’s food (long story).  We pulled in our driveaway and Molly had been waiting for us long enough to pull out a book while sitting our front step. 

We talked, drank coffee, watched the monsters try to kill each other, drank more coffee, etc.  Dinner was simple but delicious.  Before Sis headed out I was already yawning (despite the number of cups of coffee I’d had!), and so I wasn’t very productive last night.  I did open my file and wrote a handful of sentences, but that was it.

So I got up early this morning before church and wrote a few hundred words.  Not much, but enough to finish the scene I was in and get a little bit of a headstart before football sucks up the rest of the day.  I need to jot notes for the upcoming scenes.  For Victor, I know the “show” scenes, but I don’t know the off-the-show scenes very well, other than vague notes.  I need to know the PURPOSE.  What’s at stake, who’s doubting, who’s afraid, etc.   The external plot is progressing nicely, but it’s the internal arc I need to watch.

NaNoWriMo total right now:  17,915 words.

Snippet:  I have Victor open, so I’ll give just a small snippet from there that won’t mess up the Friday Snippet flow.

“The first trailers are running on VCONN tonight too.”

 “Then it’s to be too late for your mole to leak the show’s details–we’re going to be baring it all ourselves.”  She paused, her eyes sparkling mischievously.  “You did call and warn your mom, right?”

Victor groaned.  “I’ll call Mama right now.  God help me.”

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Good progress in DEATHRIGHT today, meager progress on Victor, so I’ll start there tomorrow.  I had all sorts of fun today and ended with threats of blackmail. 

Today:  3,117

Victor: 37,075

Deathright: 12,625

NaNoWriMo total: 15,303

Snippet:  Just a short one tonight, since tomorrow’s a Friday Snippet!

General Aurelius Stryker bowed as low to Her Grace the Duchess of Araknae as he would Her Majesty the Queen of Britannia.  The only difference: he bedded Her Grace while planning to assassinate Her Majesty.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

I’m pretty groggy tonight (so hopefully I’ll sleep well–no espresso after 6:30 PM!) – and I managed to confuse myself on which backup file I was using, so hopefully I got my numbers all straightened out!  It’s hard enough keeping one story straight, let alone two.

Wonderful breakthroughs today.  The scene that was giving me fits in Victor was finally resolved.  Whew, intense, emotional, and totally worth the slower grind the last few days.  Over 2K for Victor, and then I switched to Deathright and discovered some really cool things there, too.  For one thing, Captain Zang’s theme song is now My Immortal by Evanescence.  Love that song, but I’ve never had the *perfect* character for it–until now.

Great day but my wrists are killing me.  I even managed to get a walk in with the monsters tonight!

Today: 3,925

Deathright: 10,098

Victor: 36,499

NaNoWriMo total: 12,186

Snippet:  Continuing the section in Deathright:

At last, they reached Wheel A of the docking stations.  Two other circular stations hovered above, high in the atmosphere and connected by a steel and glass tube of elevators and plazas.  Large enough to moor a deep-space vessel, Wheel C was reserved for the Imperial shipments from Britannia.  Wheel B was less grand but more heavily populated, harboring countless vessels from all over the galaxy.  To encourage trade, a large shopping mall awaited just off the docking ports where one could buy the latest technological wonder or sell a “specimen” to research.

To avoid the wretched sight of caged and chained peoples from all over the galaxy who would soon be parted from their DNA, he’d docked less than an hour ago in Wheel A.  With the General’s offices—and hundreds of armed mechs—mere moments away, most ships avoided A despite its easier access.  He’d planned to stay only long enough to pick up his next orders, but Lady Araknae must have been waiting for him.

Why me, he wondered, recalling her taste fluttering on the back of his tongue.  Her desperation had been as real as her fear and mistrust. 

A white-haired man in a formal MIGS uniform bearing a single golden star on his shoulders waited outside the Skog with a traveling trunk and a small silver box.

Lady Araknae hugged the man, who whispered in her ear—but not low enough to escape Zang’s acute hearing.  “Are you sure, Daughter?”

“Yes,” she replied, squeezing him.  “We won’t get another chance.”

The man straightened and turned his narrowed gaze on Zang.  “Can we trust him?”

“We must,” she said simply. 

Zang whistled and Grubber stuck his head out of the hold.  “Take this cargo to my suite.”  Lady Araknae bristled, until he smiled in a frightful display of sharpened fangs.  “We have yet to discuss the price, my lady.”

Grubber reached for the shiny box first, but Lady Araknae scooped it up.  “Father?”

“The funds were transferred to the MIGS office as soon as you notified me where to bring your trunks,” the man replied.  “You hold the indenture for the Skog in the palm of your hand.”

And my very life.  Zang watched their farewell silently.  Her father wept openly as though he never expected to see his daughter again.

“Where are you going?” 

“It’s better if you don’t know.  We must leave now, Father, before someone notices the disruption in that particular examination room.  Destroy every single trace of our research.”

“It’s already done.”

As he led the way onto his ship, however, Zang couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was hidden in that silver box gripped so protectively in Lady Araknae’s arms. 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

This morning, I started in DEATHRIGHT since that’s where my mind was after the “reward” last night, and then tonight, I buckled down for the real work in Victor.  All in all, a nice productive day, and I have notes sketched out for both stories to cover me another day or so.

That’s key for me:  when I have 10-15 minutes down time waiting on dinner (or the coffee pot!), I jot notes.  Tonight, I realized I needed to explore a secondary character for whom I knew nothing but his name.  In a matter of minutes, I came up with a nice backstory for him that will hopefully add depth and enrich the story.

Today:  2,382

Deathright: 8,203

Victor: 34,454

NaNoWriMo Total:  8,261

Snippet:  Continuing from last section of DEATHRIGHT.

Long seconds went by without interruption.

“I want to see your ship, Captain Zang.  I’m most curious about your Razari engines.”

“Of course, my lady.”  He inclined his head as he’d been taught.  During basic training, all conscripted species were civilized with a blast of electric shock fierce enough to stop their hearts until they showed the proper respect for their betters.  “Allow me to escort you.”

He held out his arm as though he were a gentleman asking permission to escort his lady to the ball.  Head high, she lightly laid her fingers on his forearm.  The door whooshed open and they stepped outside.

“My lady!”  The robot-man sounded as shocked and horrified as though his lady had been mauled and eaten alive.  “Do you need assistance?”

Although the mech was nearly as tall as Zang, the woman on his arm managed to peer down her nose at the soldier.  “Not at all.”

The mech blocked the hallway.  Zang tensed, automatically cataloguing the soldier’s weapons.  Two long, steel barrels lined the mech’s right arm, each carrying six explosives strong enough to collapse an entire wing of this structure.  On his hip, he wore a smaller revolver more appropriate for individual targets.  One shot from that seemingly insignificant gun would be powerful enough to short out Zang’s nervous system for hours.  If the mechs were armed with nanobots…

Zang let out a long hiss of aggression.  If he lays a single finger on the revolver, I’ll rip his throat out.

“What is your designation, soldier?”  Lady Araknae barked in a voice that stiffened the mech’s spine.  “Must I remind you that I am the Duchess of Araknae’s sole heir and that I also sit on the Board of Directors, carrying a dozen degrees in the sciences, the same as my esteemed father, General Lizbonne?  You are interfering with my research, sir!”  She tapped several commands into her datapad, peering at the soldier’s number plate.  “I ought to have you wiped on the spot.”

“Forgive me!”  Babbling, the mech scrabbled out of her way, cupping his once-human hand over his identification number.  “Excuse me, my lady.  I merely wished to protect you.  Do continue your research.” 

She sniffed loudly and marched down the hallway.  Beneath her breath, she whispered, “Keep your head down.  Try to look like you’re afraid of me, not like you’re going to eat your way out of here.”  Raising her voice, she sighed heavily.  “Bloody hell, Captain, how much farther is it?”

Slouching, Zang lumbered forward and opened the door for her.  Sweeping his arm awkwardly, he bowed low.  “Docking station A9, my lady.”

With long, proud strides, she stomped down the hallway, skirts rustling and swooshing from side to side.  Scientists and soldiers alike jumped out of her way, bowing and scraping with hardly a glance to Zang, who did his best to cringe along in her wake.  Sweat trickled down his back and his fangs ached.  He knew his eyes were dangerously slitted, for his spine burned, his skin tight to the point of tearing open to loose the dreadful monster he carried inside.

If the lady thinks I’m repulsive in this form, she ought to see the nightmare I’ll become.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Back to Victor, with pretty good progress today.  The scenes are a little choppy but nothing I can’t smooth in revision.  The bones are there and that’s all I need right now.  After getting my quota for Victor, my reward is a few minutes in DEATHRIGHT before stumbling off to bed.  I’ll update this post tomorow with whatever words I might get.

Today:   2,088

Victor:  33,518

Deathright:  (rolled to day 3 count – not enough to matter)

NaNoWriMo Total:  5,821

Snippet:  Since I’ve been doing Friday Snippets in Victor, I don’t want to skip too far ahead to today’s words and mess up your timeline.  So I’ll give you a bit of Deathright.  This follows the opening section I showed you yesterday.

This woman might be dressed in the manner of the fine ladies of the Imperial Royal Court, but she possessed the courage of a Matriarch.  If only she possessed the same honor, then he might indeed be prepared to deal with her.  “Release me from these bonds so we may negotiate the terms of our agreement.”

Lady Araknae stared back at him coolly, but her hands betrayed her.  Shaking, she brushed absently at the spotless skirts of her gown.  Her skin was nearly as white as the fine linen, flawless, smooth, and flecked with delicate gold.  Glossy black hair coiled her head in a tight braid, while piercing turquoise eyes ringed with indigo searched his face, measured the width of his shoulders, and assessed the bulk of his body.  He did not need the tightening of her mouth and the increased pallor of her face to tell him what she thought of his appearance.

The silken taste of her skin lingered on his tongue, sharp with fear, bitter with instinctive revulsion, and yet as controlled as any experienced soldier.  She was afraid but determined and possessed a formidable intelligence dark with secret knowledge.  Horror roiled there in the secret recesses of her mind.  She knew something so dreadful that she was prepared to abandon her family, her country, and every privilege she’d enjoyed as a wealthy and titled citizen of Britannia to keep that knowledge from falling into the wrong hands.

With such knowledge, perhaps the Matriarch can recover our independence by striking down the very Empire which destroyed us.

Lady Araknae stepped around the table behind him and entered the codes that released the bonds chaining him in place.  He exploded up out of the chair and jumped to the wall away from the door.  With his fists and fangs at the ready, he held his breath, waiting for the door to fly open.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

Between laundry and football, I didn’t get quite as much done today as I hoped, but I’m pretty pleased overall.  It helped to sketch out notes by hand off and on throughout the day, so that when it was time to sit down and write, I had the direction.  I continued to work in Deathright today, but first thing tomorrow, I’m switching to Victor. 

NaNoWriMo Total:  3,733

Deathright:  6,646

Victor:  31,430

Snippet:  I’ll post the opening section of Deathright, but the rest of the snippets will be much shorter, even once I switch to Victor.  This first part has been at least cleaned up a little — but today’s words haven’t been, and I don’t think I’ll have time to clean them up any time soon! 

The most pressing difficulty with living on a remote planet dedicated to the study of alien species was, quite simply, the aliens.

Catriona Lizbonne, Lady Araknae, watched with barely veiled distaste as the mechs deposited the unruly alien specimen opposite her.  Bio-enhanced robotics possessed more than twice of most any living creature’s strength, yet it took three mechs to secure the restraints on the big Razari.  Hissing and snapping treacherously fanged teeth at the armored limbs locking him into place proved ineffectual, and at last, the Razari ceased his struggles and turned slitted green eyes on her.

For a remarkably ugly alien, he had the most brilliant emerald eyes she’d ever beheld.

“My lady.”  The highest-ranking mech sketched a bow to her, his body mostly living tissue with only minor technical enhancements. “If you need anything, simply ring for assistance.”

Catriona inclined her head, trying to be as cold and regal as her mother, the Duchess of Araknae and ruler of this forsaken rock on the farthest reaches of the galaxy.  Her mother’s title provided great prestige and assured at least the polite cooperation of every mech currently deployed by the Military Intelligence & Galaxy Sciences, known simply as MIGS.  On the other hand, the General and his cadre of brilliant scientists were an entirely different story.

If they discover my plans, I’ll be silenced before I’m even aware that the Game is afoot.  A mech in my sleep, poison in my replicated food, an innocent anomaly in my vaccinations, nothing else will matter, for I’ll be dead.

The mechs clattered out of the room and the door swished shut.

She picked up the datapad and pretended to read the alien’s file—which she’d already read so many times she’d memorized every detail—until she managed to calm her mind.  Beneath the table, she slipped her left hand into her reticule and wrapped her fingers around a small silver tube.  To the untrained eye, it was a simple stick of rouge to be applied to either the lips or cheeks.  Cosmetics were all the rage at Court, or so the Duchess of Araknae had prattled on and on about at dinner last evening. 

If the tube were scanned, however, one would find a tiny modulator hidden inside that would disrupt the listening and recording devices hidden in every room and hallway of the MIGS Headquarters.

The Razari’s breath hissed in the silence, his rage and hatred a discernible vibration on the air.  He stared at her, grim in his ferocity, but silent.  He’d had enough contact with the Empire and MIGS to expect the worst.

The scientist in her couldn’t help but take note of their species’ differences.  He was humanoid, yes, but so very exotic and large in appearance as to be considered monstrous.  He strained against the wrist cuffs they’d locked in place about his massive forearms until tendons and veins stood out in stark relief against his brownish skin.  Dark iridescent green markings ringed his wrists and disappeared up beneath the short sleeves of his standard black uniform.  More emerald markings mottled his throat, a striking compliment to the greenish-black fronds of hair which waterfalled down his shoulders and back.  Around his neck, he wore a dull black chain from which hung six glassy crystals, each as long as her thumb.

Despite her extensive education in the sciences, she still felt a moment of surprise that he wore clothing and jewelry, for which she immediately suffered a pang of shamed regret.  Such privileged thinking had excused the destruction of species after species in the name of Britannia.  Entire civilizations had been lost in the name of protecting—or expanding—the Empire.  That Britannia’s noble Houses’ pockets had expanded at a comparable rate was merely an insignificant observation made by the subjugated species which now bordered on extinction.

If this male…man…walked into the Royal Court in Londonium, the Queen’s Guards would surely obliterate him on the spot.  Then Her Majesty would send an entire legion against Razar itself to ensure no one dared oppose her.

Catriona ran through everything she knew about the Razari, which was dreadfully insufficient for such a monumental decision.  Can I trust him?  With my life?

The alien leaned forward, pinning her with his eerie eyes.  His crystals clanked on the table.  “My papers are in order.  You have no right to hold me.” 

“These papers?”  She pulled out a heavy vellum document bearing a seal stamped in black wax, which embedded the nanochip for easy scanning—and, more importantly, tracking.  Spreading it open, she read aloud:  “Zang of Razar, indentured Captain of the ship, Skog, conscripted into service of the Military Intelligence & Galaxy Sciences on this day…”

“Zane-guh,” the alien said, lips pulled back in a snarl.  “I serve as Captain and am unavailable for your experiments.  It says so clearly in my contract.  The Matriarch was very explicit in her agreements with your Queen.  Never again will a Razari be subjected to biotech!”

His Matriarch had indeed been very clever and careful in her desperate negotiations to save as many of her people as possible after the Empire had unleashed the latest bio-engineered weapon on her planet.  Despite the atrocities of genetic mutation and widespread death she knew had coccurred on Razar in a bloody, horrible war frightfully not unique in the Empire’s long history, Catriona forced out a trilling laugh in case anyone happened to be monitoring this room.  However, she couldn’t hide the faint tremble of her fingers tracing the black seal of the eight-legged spider that had made this planet infamous.  “If you know anything at all about MIGS, then you know she’s not my Queen.”

“I have served my contract with honor.  In three more years, my debt will be paid in full and I will be free.”

She allowed a grimace to twist her mouth.  “Free.  As long as you avoid Her Majesty’s Sublime Space.  Free as long as you stay off her Silk Roads.  Because if any Imperial ship spots your little cruiser, you’ll be blasted out of the sky.”

“Free.”  The alien arched his neck and upper back into a hunch, lowering his head in a fierce glare, his eyes glittering like fiery jewels.  “The deathright is mine, bought and paid for in the blood of my people.  I shall die with honor and none can take that freedom from me.”

She’d noted the strange reference to deathright in his contract but had no idea to what it referred.  Thumbing the slim canister to activate the disruption, she leaned forward and lowered her voice.  “What if I purchase the remaining years of your indenture?  You could be free in months rather than years.”

His tongue flicked out—thankfully not forked or she likely would have shuddered—but it was black and strange enough that she unconsciously pulled back to a safer distance. 

Cocking his head, he studied her, his eyes flashing oddly.  “That would be a very great sum, my lady.”  She heard the sneer in his voice, even if his lips didn’t curl with disdain.  “My ship in particular has a reputation of slipping in and out of nearly any Imperial port without detection.  MIGS shall not price the Skog or her captain as a bargain.”

“Price is not your concern.”

He lowered his head even more, straining against his bonds to reach further across the table to flick that odd tongue at her.  During their research before the assimilation of Razar, Imperial scientists had speculated that a Razari’s sensitive tongue could be used to convey information such as emotions and intent by tracking pulse, temperature and even scent.  Steeling herself, she leaned forward, too, refusing to show any fear or hesitation.  If he were trying to judge her honesty, she would at least make it easy for him, no matter her revulsion. 

A mere hand span separated their noses.  His tongue flicked out again, close enough she felt the wind of its passing, but she didn’t flinch.  “And what, my lady, do you require in return?”

At least the disdain had been replaced with a grudging admiration.  She harbored no illusions that any non-Razari had ever allowed him this close.  She refused to think about how sharp his teeth must be.  “I want passage to a planet far from Sublime Space.  Can you recommend a safe haven for an expatriate?”

“I can indeed.  But before I agree, I shall need to examine my passenger and her cargo in excruciating detail.”

Catriona swallowed.  She had no idea what the alien might require of her, but she’d do it.  Failure was not an option. 

Gripping the disruptor tightly in her left palm like a holy relic, she prayed her sweat wouldn’t compromise it.  She rose slowly, leaning closer to the alien with her right hand braced on the table to keep her balance.  His scent was not unpleasant but strange, ripe with the odor of green growing things and brackish water.  She brushed her cheek against his. 

The damp heat of his tongue tapped gently along her jawline to the pulse throbbing in her neck.  There, he planted his tongue firmer, as though scanning the very blood in her veins for some biological signals she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

At last, he withdrew.  Calmly, she straightened and slipped the disruptor back into her reticule.  She met his gaze and found his eyes sparkling, whirling green and gold glimmers that made her dizzy.  “Well, then, Captain Zang.  Do we have a bargain?” 

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

I cannot tell a lie:  I’m feeling rather scattered and stressed as NaNoWriMo kicks off today, and so I decided to stay up and get a head start.

I spent the day throwing together a first chapter for a contest that ended today.  I’d spent time on it weeks ago to plot it out, but then changed my mind on the world and genre.  This past week, I spent a little time each night reworking the plot to fit into the new world, but I only had a few hundred words of the chapter started. 

Determined to submit after spending so much time plotting and worldbuilding, I hadn’t taken careful note of the deadline, and nearly freaked out when I realized I couldn’t wait until midnight to submit, but 5 PM PST.  I rushed to complete my project before heading out for dinner and trick or treating for the monsters.  This is a new story, but connected to something I’ve shared and hinted at before here.  I hope you’ll end up seeing more of it next year, regardless of how the contest pans out.

I wrote over 2K for that project and a query, but couldn’t count those words for NaNoWriMo.  Since that project was handy–instead of Victor–I went ahead and worked on the next chapter tonight.  NaNoWriMo is all about the words and pushing forward no matter the cost, so you may see tallies across both Victor and the new one I’m calling Deathright.

Today’s Total words:  3,745

NaNoWriMo Total:  1,687

Deathright:  4,603

Victor:  31,430

To keep everything straight across multiple previously-started projects, I created a “NaNoWriMo” document to which I’ll paste each day’s new words regardless of project.

Each day, I’ll try to post a tiny snippet, maybe a single favorite line, etc. just to keep things interesting.  This is the opening line to the new story:

The most pressing difficulty with living on a remote planet dedicated to the study of alien species was, quite simply, the aliens.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

If you’re joining the insanity next month but you don’t want to resort to typing in song lyrics or throwing in an exploding elephant as a writing prompt, how do you get through the tough moments?  No matter how much you love a story and want to finish it, there are going to be stretches of the journey that are difficult to climb, bottomless gorges to traverse, and merciless heights to scale.

Here are a few techniques I’ve picked up over the years, many from writing a “Fast Draft” several years ago.

1. Do as much prework as you can stomach. Don’t spoil the process for yourself.  e.g. if spreadsheets make you break out in hives, just jot a few notes.  Do whatever you can for character building, plot ideas, backstory, etc. that you can possibility do prior to Nov. 1st.
2. If you do get stuck but don’t want to stop the word counts, try writing something from #1 above. It won’t help your overall ms length in the end, but it may very well help you FINISH the story, which is the ultimate goal.  (And the words will certainly help your NaNoWriMo counts.)  Pick a major event in the hero’s past and explore it in detail.  Write a character letter for the heroine and explore some of her core decisions — who she really is, what she fears, what she wants, what she needs to overcome.  None of this will be wasted if it helps you reach “The End.”
3. Skip to scenes you already know.  There is no writing rulebook, and there’s no reason you have to write every scene in order.  From my experiences, I almost always have to rewrite these scenes in revision — enough changes in the intermediate scenes that I just can’t use the scenes that I skipped to, at least not cut-and-paste use.  However, figuring out those later scenes may very well give you exactly what you need to go back and write the middle, so don’t be afraid to skip around.
4. Don’t get bogged down in the details.  This is not time to stop and research something, or look up something on a map.  It’s way too easy to lose an hour Googling just the right color to make the heroine’s gown or the perfect street to send the villain.  Make a note and move on, either with [notes to yourself inside the text] or…
5. Keep a notebook handy.  The one benefit of writing faster than usual is that I tend to spend more time in the zone.  As I’m writing the current scene, my mind is zipping forward to the next, and the next, getting ideas, generating new elements.  Don’t think you’ll remember them later!  Take a few minutes and jot those ideas down.  You’ll be thankful the next day when you wake up groggy and can’t remember your hero’s name!
6. Don’t backtrack. Now this one I do sometimes cheat on, but I try really hard not to backtrack too much.  I like to make sure I’m keeping the tone right and the characters true, so every 100 pages or so, I like to stop and reread everything.  Or I reread the previous chapter.  This becomes a problem if you’re constantly flipping back — because we love to revise.  Don’t fall into the trap of revising what you’ve already written — that’s for Dec. and Jan. after the book is finished!
7. Don’t revise. If you do realize that a major revision is going to be required, make a note in the notebook and continue writing as though you’ve already made the change. This can be really hard, I know, and sometimes, quite frankly, I just can’t stand it.  The perfectionist in me cannot move on until I make that major plot change.  However, for NaNoWriMo purposes, you’ll have a much better chance of hitting your words if you keep your forward progress.
8. Get your words, and THEN visit the forums. Part of the NaNoWriMo fun is the world-wide energy.  It’s a blast to know all these people are churning words out frantically with a common goal.  You definitely don’t want to miss sharing experiences and enjoying that energy on the forums and blogs.  However, get your words first!  It’s super easy to get pulled into the latest discussion, and before you know it, that precious hour of writing time is gone.
9. Don’t get hung up in the “competition” aspect. While NaNoWriMo is fun, don’t let it control you.  Don’t start throwing crap together just to win.  Keep your eye on the prize — a finished PUBLISHABLE ms.  NaNoWriMo can be a fabulous tool to keep you motivated and help you write faster than you ever thought possible, but it can also be stressful.  You may think you’re doing great, and then you stop by the forums and some crazy person already has 100K and is still going strong.  Talk about taking the wind out your sails!  Somebody is always going to write faster and better.  It’s a fact.  Write the best you can and enjoy the process.  It’s your journey and nobody else’s.

A final caveat.  Don’t write fast just to hit that 50K.  I know that sounds contradictory to what I just wrote above, but I’m speaking from personal experience here.  I’ve done Fast Draft.  I wrote 50K+ in 11 days to finish a first draft of a story.  That was two years ago.  I’ve tried on two separate occasions to revise that story and submit it, and I’ve failed both times.  Was there value in the experience?  Definitely.  Did I come up with a publishable ms?  *falls out of chair laughing–or weeping*  No.

If your goal is a publishable manuscript, you may not be able to write 50K in one month.  I may not be able to write Victor’s story in the kind of shape it needs to be in to submit by January.  That’s okay.  I’d rather lose NaNoWriMo — even though I’ve won two years in a row — than miss my personal deadline I set to submit my story.  If Victor needs me to go back and revise, then I’m going to have to do it, challenge be damned.

Keep your eye on the prize.  Use NaNoWriMo as a tool to succeed, not to write another story that’s only going to sit in your files.

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

All around the Internet, people are chomping at the bit to begin NaNoWriMo next month.  Thirty days of mad slinging of words with a 50,000 word goal line.  It’s fun, it’s insane, and yeah, it can be stressful.

I hate to lose.  I hate to fail at a challenge.  So I always get anxious this time of year as I contemplate NaNoWriMo. 

I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but I always need to hide that faint tremble of trepidation.  Can I do it this year?  What if the kids get sick?  What if I get sick?  I won’t have as much vacation to take from the Evil Day Job this year.  Will that make a difference?  I’ve already started the story I want to work on.  What if I run out of words and finish too early?

First off, before joining the insanity next month, think about why you’re writing this particular story.  Most of us recognize that our best work doesn’t come in the fast slinging of words at top speed.  If you want 50K words and you don’t care how crappy they are, more power to you.  However, if you want 50K of solid story that you can actually revise and submit, I hope you’re preparing this week.  Detailed plotting is NOT necessary by any means, but it sure can make your life easier if you at least have a few major plot points ironed out in your mind.

Really, the question you need to answer before midnight on Oct. 31st is how bad do you want to “win” versus how bad do you want to write a publishable story?  If you only want to win, then by all means “cheat” by throwing in bizarre plot elements, having a blast with writing prompts, whatever floats your boat.  If you’re serious about writing a publishable story, then you may have to balance “winning” with “writing.”

Don’t get me wrong — it’s very possible to write 50K in a month that is usable story.  I’ve done it twice myself, although technically, neither NaNoWriMo manuscript in currently available for public consumption.  My first NaNoWriMo project was the Maya thriller, which took me almost two years to revise and prepare for submission.  The first batch of queries went out earlier this year and the waiting game sucks.  Last year’s NaNoWriMo project is book 3 in the Shanhasson trilogy, and it’s in very publishable shape.  There are a few scenes I want to axe and replace with something better, etc. but overall, it’s a clean story that will not need huge revisions.  But I’ve had that story in my head for at least 10 years.  Since the beginning of my writing journey, I’ve known how that story would end.  It was a joy to get there, and 100K in 63 days was not effort — it was heaven.

This year, I plan to finish Victor’s story, which I fully intend to submit to Samhain as soon as it’s revised and polished within an inch of my life.  If I finish his story and I’m short of the 50K total, then I’m going to have to scramble with something else.  I have a few things set up.

Know your goals before you start writing in Nov.  Make every word count.  And have FUN, because there’s nothing as exhilarating as writing at your top speed while millions of other people are slinging words with you all over the world.  Feed on that energy and use it to write the best story possible!

Originally published at Joely Sue Burkhart. Please leave any comments there.

So now the real fun begins.

What I really have is a bunch of disconnected files.  Some are numbered in the correct order (001, 002, 003, etc.) but some are not (Mykal_001 or devalki_notes).  My job now will be to read through each file, smooth it a little, and begin forming a coherent “first draft.”

I’m not going to spend a lot of time on revisions right now, but I will be smoothing things and fixing notes to myself as I go.  Stuff like [go back and change two days to three] or [lay this thread earlier] or [Sal needs to say something pithy here].  This will give me a complete picture of the draft.  Did it succeed?  Did I carry the heart of the Story all the way through?

I know I did on this one.  It gave me chills to come back full circle and use all the elements that are precious to this story one last time.  Gregar even got in an arse competition.  *laughs*

This part isn’t work, not really.  It’s time to wallow in the words I wrote.  Luxuriate in the story I didn’t allow myself to stop and read while slamming toward the end.  Once I get this draft completed, I’ll set it aside to marinate while I return to Revision Xibalba.

Now *that* is a hard revision.

Meanwhile, I plan to read myself silly.  I have the entire Night Angels trilogy by Brent Weeks ready to go, along with In Too Deep by Portia Da Costa and of course the upcoming Stay the Night release by Lynn Viehl.  I also know that Santa brought me two Sebastian St. Cyr mysteries by C.S. Harris.

Come January, it’ll be back to Revision Xibalba while I plot and worldbuild the Bright Shiny.  I need a name for it, don’t I?  Hmmm.  Until I get a better title, I’ll call it Rayne and Crow, two of the characters.  More detailed 2009 goals will be forthcoming later.