Soon, oh so very soon, I will be on the road with the Slave, the two sprogs, the two hounds, and the four ninjas. I will have nothing left to my name but what seems like 5000* boxes of books and two suitcases of our clothing.
I will be leaving behind a house and the roots I’ve put down over the last six years.
I’m thrilled and excited and more than a little terrified. There are so many oh gods and what ifs that I’m driving myself and my family insane.
Also, writing? What is that? My brain feels too pressurised to even contemplate working on books right now. I’ll get back to it once we’ve moved, though. And I’ll come back to it with all the fervour of a reformed drunk hitting a bottle of vodka because my god there will have been adventures! in the interim. Yay for brain-food!
So if my posting is intermittent, just think of me driving through the karoo at night, trying not to get flattened by trucks and/or hitting ghost springbuck, and hold thumbs that all goes well.
So, just after I decided that I will never write again, waaah, I started writing again.
I’m so predictable.
I’m working on the third hobverse book, just having fun. I was inspired by a writer friend to do this 100 declarative sentences thing he found (Aaand now I dunno what the link was, but the gist is, you write 100 declarative sentences about your character) It was really interesting, and brainstormy, and fun.
And no matter how stupid it might sound, it worked for me, so there’s something I’m going to put in my toolbox.
And now, a brief excerpt.
“What,” Verrel grabbed Gris’s shoulder after the funeral, “exactly are you playing at?”
“My dear, sweet Verrel. I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“This. The red suit, arriving late.” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “It’s as if you were bloody-well making a confession.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I am.” Gris picked at a frayed piece of blood-dark lace at his wrist, seemingly unconcerned. Around them the mourners were drifting off, heading toward their cabs and waiting taji.
Verrel paled. “You didn’t?”
“Kill my brother?” Gris finally looked up and met Verrel’s gaze. His pale eyes were narrowed against the sun, and he wasn’t wearing that strange copper wire and glass contraption about his face – the one he’d had Verrel make to his design. Without it, Verrel knew his eyesight was poor at best. “Why ever would I kill my brother?”
“You hate him – he humiliated you-”
Gris held up one hand. “Hate is a strong word. I reserve it for that thing that rutted between my mother’s thighs, and whose bloodline I must now unfortunately continue. I never hated my brother. I merely disliked him. Intensely.”
“What,” Verrel grabbed Gris’s shoulder after the funeral, “exactly are you playing at?”
“My dear, sweet Verrel. I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“This. The red suit, arriving late.” He dropped his hand and took a step back. “It’s as if you were bloody-well making a confession.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I am.” Gris picked at a frayed piece of blood-dark lace at his wrist, seemingly unconcerned. Around them the mourners were drifting off, heading toward their cabs and waiting taji.
Verrel paled. “You didn’t?”
“Kill my brother?” Gris finally looked up and met Verrel’s gaze. His pale eyes were narrowed against the sun, and he wasn’t wearing that strange copper wire and glass contraption about his face – the one he’d had Verrel make to his design. Without it, Verrel knew his eyesight was poor at best. “Why ever would I kill my brother?”
“You hate him – he humiliated you-”
Gris held up one hand. “Hate is a strong word. I reserve it for that thing that rutted between my mother’s thighs, and whose bloodline I must now unfortunately continue. I never hated my brother. I merely disliked him. Intensely.”
Unfortunately, not if you’re me. *sadface* Also, now my arms are very sore.
Anyway, I am seeking solace in a nice cold beer, and the Slave and I are gonna watch Kagemusha tonight (He’s been on at me for a while to watch it, says if nothing else I’ll love the costuming.) So there’s that, then DEATH MARCH SATURDAY (in which I plough through the last 100 pages of my final revision) followed by PARTY SUNDAY where we celebrate the Younger Sprog turning three, and swim and frolic and braai.
Hmm, actually, that sounds like a weekend made of pure unadulterated awesome.
Friends of mine have started this tres awesome blog called Glam Book Shots
Because really, no outfit is complete without a book.
Go have a look, and if you have any “fashion shots” of people reading fantastic books, send them in.
Today was the first day back at school for me and Sprog the Elder. She’s started grade 2 this year, and looking through her books, it seems like we have such an exciting year ahead of us. The House at Pooh Corner and Peter Pan are two of her set-work books, so seriously? How does it possibly get better than that?
And we really got off to a good start today, so I have high hopes that we are going to be better organised this year.
Now, I’m off to go swim with the Slave and my darling Sprogs, and then back to revisions.
Another friend of mine has just been offered representation. And man, he’s been hard at work at this for a while, so yeah – perseverance!
Ryan Gebhart, who writes funny, who writes boy, who writes dystopia, who writes MG, who is pretty much all round an awesome guy, is now repped by Mary Kole from Andrea Brown
Luckily I’m not too worried about working on hob-books because each is meant to be more or less stand-alone. (think : emo humourless discworld). This one is all about the infamous bastard Mallen Gris, and his little sychophant Ives Verrel. So it’s a history. *grin*
What’s fun is that this time my bff (and hobverse fangrrl) is playing alpha-reader and reading it chapter by chapter, in its unplaned, unvarnished state. Keeps me honest, I suppose.
It’s also way too complex for a first person narrative (Hob an Lam only had three POVs and that damn near did my head in) so it’s going to be one of my few books in third past.
anyway, excerpt for those who like that kinda thing:
“Besides, what does it matter? All of this, it’s just a …dalliance. Already my father has picked out some House bitch for me to marry-”
Verrel rolled over and sat up. He stared down intently. “Who?”
“I’m sure I don’t remember.” Gris waved one hand, brushing the question aside. “It’s not as if I was paying the man any attention.” He focused on Verrel’s agonised face, and grinned. “What does it matter, you yourself are going to be tied to that Pelim spinster, that bug-eyed atrocity.”
“She’s not -” Verrel sighed. “She does have a rather unfortunate face. I’m told she’s witty though.”
“So bug-eyed and a shrew. What a catch. You must be thrilled.”
“Shut up.” Verrel grabbed his pillow and pressed it over Gris, who laughed. Denied the pleasure of a struggle, Verrel pulled the pillow away and dropped it on the floor. “Do you even like women?”
Gris sighed. “I don’t like people. I barely tolerate you, and you’re my darling scholar of E.” He looked up, serious now. “The reason you are what you are to me, is because you’re truth.”
“Aren’t you always trumpeting on about how truth is merely lies tarted up to please?”
“I am.” Gris smiled. “Do you know what the world wants from me – of course you do – they want whatever it is they think I can give them, and so they submit to me, mask their faces with a simpering smile, honey their tongues. They never truly become mine – they tell me what they think I want to hear. But you…” He lay back, returned to his examination of the ceiling.
“I?”
“You submit, but you want nothing from me that you don’t already have. So alone, of all the people I know, you do not fear to tell me the truth.”
There was a long silence, and then Verrel whispered, so softly that Gris almost missed it. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong, I believe we agreed on that.”
Aaaaaaand
My really craptastic blurb of cheesiness. You have to read this in a dramatic James Earl Jones Movie Voice ( I like to write these for focus)
Mallen Gris is a man destined for fame: wilful, arrogant, decadent, perverse – and the most gifted Saint his ruling House has ever seen. When he has a vision of his future and the end of the scriv-mines that feed his family’s magical power, he sets to creating himself a new path. In order to achieve his goals, he will do anything, including burning his own family home to the ground, murdering his dinner guests, building a new empire, and destroying the closest person he has to a friend.
Ives Verrel has always been at Gris’s side, a friend so loyal that behind his back he is known as “Mallen’s Dog”. Not fully understanding Gris’s plans, he follows along as usual, and finds himself trapped in a world of betrayal, murder, and magic. It is when Gris has Verrel’s younger brother murdered that Verrel finally understands the man he has pledged his loyalty to, and what he has to do in order to not only stop his friend, but to regain his House honour.
With the aid of his dead brother’s wife and a boy-scholar in Mallen’s household, they set in motion the events that will eventually turn House Mallen to dust, and ensure the day that Gris’s name is a curse. No longer content to be Mallen’s Dog, Verrel’s path of revenge will awaken a power greater even than Gris has ever seen in his Visions. A power that will change the face of the world.
I am so excited to be working with her. She’s sent me some fantastic revision notes and I am stoked to get on with beating SRR into a prettier shape.
Of course, this news also means I am now agent-bffers with the Incredible Hannah Moskowitz, who is basically the bastard lovechild of Irving and Palahniuk.
Okay, you guys can all jealous over me now, as long as you clean up afterwards.
Darling Grace at Gracetopia is running a competition for a reader to win a signed copy of the fabulous Suzanne Young’s debut The Naughty List. A novel about cheerleader spies? Oh yes.
I got to swim properly for the first time this year. Took my chance in the brief flash of sun between the rain.
Also took Difficult Dog for his first walk not around my garden. Went better than expected so I think he’ll settle into it.
I’m about 7k into the new book, it’s dumb as fuck but I’m enjoying it. So there.
and
You have walked 22 miles.
You have passed Green Hill Country.
It is 5 miles to the next landmark.
You have 436 miles to reach Rivendell.
After some time they crossed the Water, west of Hobbiton, by a narrow plank-bridge. The stream was there no more than a winding black ribbon, bordered with leaning alder-trees. A mile or two further south they hastily crossed the great road from the Brandywine Bridge; they were now in the Tookland and bending south-eastwards they made for the Green Hill Country.
I’m in the mood for a tuesday teaser, only…it’s Wednesday.
I am such a rebel.
From the new super-sekrit project:
The tram hurtles on through the night, until finally we level out. At the third stop I hop off, wave a fake-cheery goodbye to Marietta, and trot down the darkened street to my flat. There’s a small pizzaria on the corner of my building, and the smell of garlic and cheese slaps me, leaving my face greasy.
I head inside to the cigarette machine and buy myself a pack of Llamas.
“You staying for a beer?” Lou the owner is rolling out dough, and his arms are dusted white. The place is pretty quiet. A couple are pressed head to head over their shared Four Seasons, and a bored mother bounces a toddler on her hip while she waits for her take-out.
I wasn’t actually going to stay for a drink, but it doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually no, fuck it.” I only drink beer because it’s cheap, but I’m not really what one would call a fan. “Make it a vodka tonic.”
Lou’s nephew runs behind the small bar and set me out an ashtray and quickly makes my drink. I take a seat and let the fizz and bite of the tonic play across my tongue. On the small corner tv, Tomas’s latest poem is getting the full treatment. Some doe-eyed crooner is singing in his girl’s voice about love oh oh oh, and hordes of scantily dressed women gyrate in time.
Ugh.
And this is the shit that goes to the top ten? Kinda makes you lose all faith in humanity.
“Another one?” says Lou’s nephew, and I nod.
It’s going to be a miserable night.
I keep meaning to do this but I’m a laaaaazy wench, but Here! Now! I’m walking to Rivendell.
You have walked 7 miles. You are at Last View of Hobbiton.
It is 11 miles to the next landmark.
You have 458 miles to reach Rivendell.
