I once read a story (Stephen King, On Writing) about the friend of James Joyce who found Joyce slumped at his desk one day weeping. Asking Joyce what was wrong, Joyce replied that he’d only written seven words that day. The friend said ‘Seven words that’s good for you’, to which Joyce replied ‘I know that’s why I’m crying.’
While I’m not quite at that low level of word count with my work-in-progress, it has been incredibly slow going recently. Partly I think because I have two main characters who I’m still learning about and figuring out as I go (the first draft is just for me after all). And while they have great differences as characters they also have points of similarity. Left to their own devices it is these similarities that can win out.
Which means it has been great that someone new has happened across their paths, a new character has livened things up no end it also happens he’s great to write for (being suave and sophisticated like myself) and as my protagonists react to him in such different ways it makes the whole process a little less stuck in the slow lane.
Anyway here’s a bit of today’s effort which doesn’t include any of the characters I’ve been talking about but was a bit of a gothic change of pace, and switch in action.
The three Helfeund stopped their mounts at the top of the hill. The wall marked with the image of the eagle headed goddess stood in front of them. The carven goddess seemed to flicker and move before their eyes and the solid stone appeared as impermanent to the Helfeund as a curtain of water; a maze of corridors, the ancient temple complex that lay beneath the earth, faintly visible beyond. A ghost light emanated up from the bowels of the earth, creeping about the walls flickering golden, yellows and pitiless blacks throwing phantom shapes onto the walls like the monsters that haunted the recesses of the Helfeunds’ unsleeping minds.
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