Raevenly is Writing: Creepy stuff

Sometimes, we find inspiration in the simplest places. Sometimes, that inspiration leads to some truly creepy things.

I took the dog out this morning and heard a steady knocking, someone clearly not having much luck being let inside. I thought at first, “Wow, 8 at night is really late to be beating on someone’s door–” then remembered day light savings and that it was only about 6:30. Still, after dark is after dark, and in times where we lived with the sun…

And then this happened.

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Raevenly is Writing: Cute fluff

I read somewhere during October to have a secondary project to turn to, when your NaNo inspiration dries up. Somewhere along the way, my secondary seems to have taken over. 😛 I’m still getting good work done on my original, but that stuff is more worldbuildy, telling myself stories to figure things out, casual kind of stuff. Lahna and Ma’khan, at least, seem to be a proper novel. And they’re cute, so I’m always delighted to work with them, so it keeps me motivated and happy. And a happy writer is less likely to kill people off, so it’s win win win, right? Hopefully, this will yield a NaNo win, too. *crosses fingers* Continue reading

Raevenly is Writing: Distracting Things

The nice thing about #NaNoWriMo is that it pushes me to write things I might not otherwise. With the big focus on WORD COUNT OMG WORD COUNT, it means that if a scene is niggling around in the back of my mind, I’ll write it. No matter how useless or irrelevant it might seem. Or if its at all related to the project I’m “supposed” to be working on. (Side note: COUNT IT ALL. Words written are words written are words written. You never know what is and isn’t going to be useful, and most of what you write in your first draft gets scrapped or changed anyways, so count everything. I do.)

I had meant to use this year’s #NaNo energy to finish Book 1 of Love That Broke the War, then start on Book 2. Unfortunately, Book 3 keeps nagging at my brain. So, have a scene. 😛

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Raevenly is Writing: Weird stuff

There’s something about NaNoWriMo that always brings out the “Not what I’m actually working on” projects. I’m not even 100% sure this is actually Dri and Roland, or just me trying to pretend it is so I can count it for my word goal. Either way, it’s a short, fun, stand alone, so have some diversions from your own NaNo while I get back to work on mine.

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Raevenly is Writing: Death Lore

It’s no small secret that I am deeply inspired by the Keisha’ra by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. One of the things that I find myself coming back to again and again is the style of opening with a journal entry. I almost never keep them, but I enjoy writing them, and they help me find my character and my tone. I sat down tonight to work on some death lore, to put to words some ideas Cait and I talked out on the way into work. I found this instead. 😛

It is said that the first fires came from Li’Daea’s hair, and that all fire returns us to her embrace.

So it is said.

I have seen plenty of fires, on the hearth, in the fields, in the hearts of bitter men. On the bodies of the fallen.

I have never seen any signs of any Goddess.

But it warms our bones as we huddle in the dark, a circle of light and warm to chase away the night. We do not fear its betrayal tonight. If there anyone left to see our fire, they are surely as cold and desperate as we. As defeated.
No one actually wins any battles. Sides may fare better or worse than other sides–but so long as there are “other sides”, no one will ever win. Our only hope is to become to beaten and downtrodden by mutual destruction that we come together out of desperation. Cooperation our only hope of survival.

Even then, I don’t hold out much hope for our chances.

Scaled devils. Heartless bastards. The thing that killed my father, brother, mother. They don’t look out and see people. They see targets.

But sometimes, sometimes I wonder. Do they really so those things, in the fallen bodies lying right next to our own? Or do they tell themselves those things so they can bear to raise their bows one more time, gut one more thing they know to be a person?

I don’t tell myself anything.

I simply do as I’m told.

Adrielle Shevell, First Captain
Second Division of Pikemen
Greenbriar Holdings

Raevenly is Writing: Research

I spent the better part of tonight doing nothing.

That’s not true, but that’s how it felt. What I did was spend two and a half hours wandering google, trying to find the right questions to ask to figure out how my main character lives. It’s an important question, and daily life of the D’anhkkhna is one of the main reasons I set out to write this story.

But I hate that I “wasted” my writing time wandering google, so after researching, spending all night at work thinking on what I researched, and a batch of chocolate chip cookies (totally a necessity), I give you: not enough to show for all this effort. 😛 But I know my setting better now, and so it was worth it. I hope.

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Raevenly is Writing: Kortan short

I follow a lot of writing prompt blogs on Tumblr, for those days I just can’t get my motor going. Came around one the other day I really liked, and I really liked the snippet that came of it, so have some more Kortan.

“Write about a journey that takes longer than the stay at the destination.” – dropkickwritersblock

The journey to and from the summit took over a fortnight, near half a month spent away from the work in the fields. But to see the stars on this certain peak on this certain night… Kortan’s father swore it would be worth it. Kortan’s eleven-year-old feet did not agree. His younger sister could ride—and so could he, if he would swallow his pride and shift—but he walked for all eight days on his own two feet, more or less.

The Lover’s Tears, they called it, when Li’Daea wept for her sister and her lover both, one descended into the underworld to retrieve the other. Kortan didn’t know about all that, but he knew the sweetbreads they carried with them were made from the first of the summer’s wheat and the last of the summer’s berries. And that he wasn’t to have any until the best of them had been given up in thanks, a symbolic well-wishing for Dareiya’s long journey.

Surely, it couldn’t be any longer than their own.

But the great bonfire of the camp at the top of the peak was the biggest he’d ever seen, and he met a girl with hair like spun copper who stole from him his first kiss, and the sweetbreads made by the distant caravans were even better than the ones he’d coveted on the trip up.

And then the stars began to fall.

Great swathes of starlight, racing across the sky and leaving shimmering trails in their wake. Hundreds of hundreds of stars, more than he thought were even in the sky, falling and falling, crashing from one end of the sky to the other. From the peak, they could see all the way to the sea, see as the weeping stars fell past the horizon, into the dark waters of the dead. It filled him with awe, and terror.

Kortan never forgot those stars. Even as he fell through the darkness himself, he knew himself to be a star, a tear that Li’Daea herself had wept.