I want to thank the kind people who have been waiting for this book for far too long (there are reasons, not interesting ones, for the delay).
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If you want to read the writing updates in order here are the links:
......Or you can start here and fly on
|Olive trees, those ancient, patient trees that watched Rome rise and fall.|
I wrote most of the chapter yesterday, was amazed at the turn it took, stopped writing and answered fan messages for an hour or two instead of facing what I knew was coming. Today, NOW, I have to go back.
The City of Limori has been destroyed by war so many times over the centuries. Wizards and kings, back and forth, the people swept up into a battle they become convinced is their own.
But it isn't. It never was.
7 30 2011
|This is a Euphorbia. The thorns keep it safe. And if that isn't enough, the milky white sap can burn your skin or blind you.|
|The moon and one star. Taken with a shaky handheld camera, the lens madly searching for light. I held my breath and counted to sixteen before the shutter finally snapped.|
I spent a lot of yesterday rereading what I have written so far. I also read first person accounts of coal miners and documents from early American mines that describe the effects of working and living underground--and being trapped there. So now I know that what Hahp said yesterday is true, that what he is feeling is not unusual and what he intends to do is a typical human reaction. And I know now what will happen to him if he manages it...
8. 5. 2011
I do critiques sometimes and yesterday was full of talking to people about their work. It's always interesting and always makes me see my own work more clearly. So today I am going back into the dark stone corridors with no idea what will happen, just that I need to be there to record it when it does.
|Silk floss trees would rather be in South America, but they tolerate California. The thorns are huge, and store water in dry seasons. They can grow to 60 feet. mine is about 20 feet tall now.|
|The blooms always surprise me, like they were meant for some other more delicate, more poetic, less thorny tree. I am hoping for unexpected blooms today, for Sadima and Hahp. And Gerrard. Maybe especially for Gerrard.|
The grand plan for a foggy Sunday: Three writing sessions today. First 90 minutes on A Resurrection of Magic #3. Thanks to everyone writing to ask when it will come out. I KNOW it is taking too long, but it is a complicated book and I am writing as fast as I can. It is intensely emotional for me to write--if you have read the books, you know why. Second session will be two projects I am not talking about yet, still exploring what will come next. Third session back to Limori and book #3. Now, off to DO all that....
An amazing thing is happening in Limori. Last night, the people in Market Square were stunned into silence, and so was I. This morning, I will go back and see if I imagined it, if it was an illusion, or real. If it is, I have no idea what will happen to Sadima now, or the boys inside the cliffs.
|This is the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the picture was taken on an night walk. When the tower was built, it amazed the world, a triumph of art and steel, built to awe anyone who saw it.|
Did more critiques yesterday, two by Skype. Critiques in LA: twenty minutes (they have to, the volume of writers is massive) When I do them from home, average time about an hour. Two more today, later in the day. For now, I am about to sneak onto the green of Limori's Market Square in the middle of the night and see if I can find out who is building this thing. (see below) And why.
I thought I knew what Somiss wanted, what he has searched for all this time. And I was wrong. I have three writing sessions planned today interspersed with my usual critiquing, tree trimming, planting, gardening, etc. The deepest insights come when I am outside doing something physical. This one did, yesterday. I dropped the shovel and ran for my office.
I sort of auto-wrote something last night, right before I shut down to go to bed. I was in that tired, defenseless, fluid/creative state that disconnects writer-support from the character--and they begin to breathe on their own. I think it is the protagonist of the next book talking to me. I hope so. If it isn't, whoever she is, she will get a book out of me
someday. (or the reverse?)
**added two days later***....below the photo is a short excerpt of what she said to me last night: