Welcome to WIPpet Wednesday, a weekly blog hop which encourages writers to move WIPs (works-in-progress) to publication by posting excerpts related to the date.
It’s hosted by the lovely K.L. Schwengel, maven of bad boys, stock dogs, and flying monkeys! She’s our fearless shepherd…or something like that, anyway…
Hi there! Ready for something brand new?
I hope so, because today I’m sharing from Foul Deeds Will Rise, the latest in my Trueborn Weft fantasy series – it’s been quite a while since I’ve played here. I’ve finally finished plotting, and the writing has commenced to the tune of nearly 14,000 words – since 5am Saturday! Yes, I was more than ready to write!
I expect that number to climb precipitously over the next few days, as we’ve got nothing scheduled, and, while I was at my CampNaNo write-in last night, my Accomplice was here at home cleaning the kitchen and ‘making our nest nestier’, as he put it, so that I can focus on writing today.
Have I ever mentioned that I love this man?! Well, even if I have, it bears repeating.
I love him. ❤
Here’s the premise for FDWR – and that’s all I’m sharing as far as intro, for now… this one’s better if you need to guess a little!
A young exile who loses everything she values reinvents her life to save both her peoples from her vengeful half-twin.
Okay, so here we go…
- Today is July 15, 2015.
- I offer you 15 sentences. If you happen to count more than that, perhaps it’s camouflage…
“Proof Enough Already”
“How are we to know that you are speaking truth?”
The eldest had hands to hips, chin thrust out, as though she had no fear. But Vaara could smell the stink of it like a miasma in the room, and it was most powerful from this woman. So, she was skilled at camouflage, but mayhap not nearly so skilled as she thought herself.
“I can easily prove the truth of my words, if you doubt them.”
She gave no signal that she scented the fear, and answered instead as though this Untribed had some ability to approve or deny her place here. Camouflage was nature, to her, a means of procuring meat enough to survive, and to live another day in places where such things were far from certain. This soft creature had not even a nursling whelp’s skill, in such arts, and it was writ large in the tiny things her kind seemed never to take any notice of.
“We’ve seen proof enough already that she is who she says she is.” The from the one who smelled least of fear, though she seemed also huddled in on herself, and focused on the stack of scrolls and books she held upon her lap. Now this one bore watching, and tending to. “I’ve got seven documents that state her existence beyond doubt, and twelve more that suggest Niaan had a twin, said to have died, or vanished. And then there’s Rachyl’s sensates…” She waved a hand stained in inkberry vaguely at the banks of plants near the windows.
“If Niaan were still about, she would be here to explain,” said the one named Rachyl. Her clear eyes, the same shade as the mossoak leaves when they first burst forth from their bud casings, were shadowed in concerns – but honest ones. It had been she who hadn’t quailed at the body when Vaara dragged it within, but had simply pronounced Herself absolutely dead.