One of the editing tips I recently posted on my social media channels for Red Leaf Words Services had to do with rephrasing clichés in your own unique way when you want to use the basic idea. This post from the informative ladies at Writers Helping Writers shows you how to do just that. Your readers will thank you!~
One of the things that pumps me up the most when I’m reading a book is when the author phrases things in a way I’ve never seen before. It could be a familiar concept or image—red hair, an urban street, fear—but when it’s written differently, I’m able to visualize that thing in a new way,…
Hello Everyone! Are the signs of season change cropping up around you? We are in a bouncy weather pattern of random days below freezing in between seasonable days in the 40’s. It’s annoying for wardrobe choices, I’ll admit, but it is keeping mud season somewhat at bay. For now. March is certainly my least favorite month of the year.
The signs of spring are burgeoning, though, birds are singing, maple sap is running, and my turkeys are getting restless 🦃. And we change the clocks soon! That is certainly a highlight of spring! Let’s head back to Huphaea now, where it is already warm and sunny, shall we?
When we last left Ivy and Elahna, they had just finished having a pitcher of cider with Lissa, the tavern-keeper, and were heading off to the bathhouse. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?~
During the bustle of the evening downstairs a few other boarders had claimed rooms upstairs. Partially open doors allowed the sounds of luggage being wrangled and tired travelers to accompany us down the hallway. Ivy un-barked our doors and I shucked off my sandals, happy to be out of their dusty, gritty soles. I fished around in my sack for a few clean items to don after the soak and we headed back out to the bathhouse.
The water was crisp and clean and blissfully warm. I sunk into it, knowing it would be difficult staying awake with the gentle sounds and rhythms of the bubbling water.
“Do you know many people here in Sawyerset?” I asked.
“Some, but certainly not all. It’s difficult not to know some, what with our towns being joined by the Saywer’s Run, the mills, and that we all manage the forest together. Many of us at Rosewood have talents that are particularly beneficial to forestry, so we monitor the health of Venrood Forest and help as needed.”
“Makes sense. So how many actually live at Rosewood? I saw maybe twent- er, quinduary people while I was there, are there more?”
“Oh yes. I’m not even sure how many are part of the Scion, really. Many of us are scattered throughout the land using our talents where they are needed. So, for example, there are several other forest tracts in Huphaea which all need managing for production and in general. Those Arboreans that are drawn to those locales may only venture to Rosewood every few years, but they still belong to it and the Scion. They are still part of us.”
“I see. What is your talent, Ivy, if I may ask? I don’t mean to be rude, if it is rude to ask about that. I am a horticulturist at home, so plants and trees are my thing. And you did grow that bark out of the door…”
“I have bark-related abilities. I can enhance bark growth on the southern side of trees for winter protection, sense insect infestations, heal bark wounds, actions like that. I can work with deciduous and evergreen trees, but I have more success with the deciduous.”
“You know the center tree is a planetree?” Ivy smiled at me, and I sensed that I just scored a point or two with her.
“Yes, absolutely. I’ve recognized most of the species we’ve seen. And if not directly, then they fit into an oak family, or a willow family, or something I know. It’s pretty cool, actually.”
“It must be because our worlds are so closely tied that they can support the same forms of life. That would be something to ask the Scholars about.”
“I have to say, though, that everything I see and know here is so much more vigorous than on Earth. That has to be due to the vitae and your magics. Are all individual magics that specific?”
“Many are, yes. It’s what makes each of us unique. I also have the ability to work with color some, as my patris is an Arister. An illustrator, to be exact. So I can match the hue of something to another thing. It is very helpful with wound healing. I can make it look like the tree wasn’t ever injured.” She sat up a bit straighter as she said this, and I surmised that she was quite proud of this bit. To illustrate the point, she gazed at the sky blue bath sheet on the table and taking a lock of her hair in two fingers, turned it the same bright color. That explained the matching braids and leggings I noticed earlier.
“That is amazing!” I said. “I’m sure the sawyers appreciate that ability, as well as the trees.”
“Yes. They do. Both of them. And some of the wood Aristers as well. It makes me feel useful.”
I began to notice some of the riding muscles in my legs heating, almost like I had applied linament to them, and then they tingled almost like they were going to sleep. I fidgeted with the new sensation and noticed Ivy doing the same. “Is there something in the water? My legs are all tingly.” I asked.
“Healing stones.” She replied. “After contact with them for some time, they correct imbalances in energy.”
“Seriously? Well, isn’t that handy. Which ones are they?” I started hunting for something that would mark the healing stones as different, but couldn’t see anything.
“No idea. Only those with healing abilities can tell. You could be standing on a mountain of healing rocks and be none the wiser.”
“Wow, that could be good or bad, right? Either way, its pretty excellent right now.”
With sore muscles eased, we climbed out of the pool, dried off, and dressed again for the short walk back upstairs. Outside, leaning against the back wall of the tavern, three of the fellows we met through Lissa were sipping pints and trading jokes, by the sound of their laughter. Ivy shot me a quizzical look, one brow raised, and smiled in recognition. One of them stepped over to open the door, it appeared, but he delayed the motion enough that we had to pause ourselves.
“It was lovely to make your acquaintances earlier, ladies, will you be returning to the tavern for a nightcap now? Allow us to accompany you, the taproom is a fair bit more crowded than before.”
I instantly got a bit uncomfortable, a surge of butterflies rising in my stomach. The buzz of noise from the taproom spilled out the partially open door, and the sharp clink of glasses as the barboy washed them in the giant tub inside indicated the state of the evening. The speaker was still holding the door, smiling.
“I appreciate the offer, but it has been a long travel day. I’m set to retire for the night, with another day on horseback ahead. Glad to have made your acquaintance earlier, as well, and enjoy your evening.” I noticed there was no hint of speaking for both of us in Ivy’s words and her pointed look conveyed that I was expected to answer for myself.
“Oh, no, thank you. I couldn’t hold another drink. I’m ready for some sleep, morning will be here soon. It was nice to meet you.”
“Surely there is still time left to be enjoyed before the sun rises.” The speaker, (I couldn’t remember his name), said, a mischievous wink added to his smile.
“I, um, I’m sorry. I really am tired. Thank you for the offer, though.” I straightened and looked over his shoulder at the door, ready to brush past him if he stood firm.
He didn’t, and gave way for us to pass. “If you find sleep eludes you, the offer stands, and my friend here has room dua down the hall from you. Safe travels, Elements be.” The last was uttered at the bottom of a low, sweeping bow that could have been mocking were I at home, but here it felt genuine and even hopeful?
“Elements be. G’dag,” we replied and stepped through the door, pulling it closed once again. The barboy gave us a slight grin as we headed up the stairs. He had heard the whole exchange, I was sure.
“You could have accepted their offer, if you wished,” Ivy whispered. “If I weren’t truly exhausted, I probably would have. I’m sure it would be a lovely night.”
“Ah, what? Seriously? No, I’m good. Was that what it sounded like? Did they want me, or us, to visit that room?”
“Oh certainly. Did you not consider it? Why would you not, if you were of a mind?” She honestly looked puzzled that I was surprised at such a bold proposition.
“Well, I guess I just wasn’t expecting that, being a stranger here.”
“What does that matter? Don’t you express desires and wish them to be fulfilled?” We were outside my door now, my hand on the knob.
“Sure, but what would be said afterwards? I mean, wouldn’t there be social consequences of acting on those desires? There would be where I come from, if word got out to people I knew.”
Ivy stared at me blankly, the silence stretching into awkwardness. Heavy footsteps fell on the stairs at the other end of the hall and she broke the stare.
“You will have to explain the ‘social consequences’ of sharing the pleasure of another’s company and bed to me tomorrow. I am afraid my mind is too tired to make sense of it now. Shall we meet at siesla downstairs?”
“Yes, sounds good. G’dag.” I turned away feeling scolded, hearing her muttered “G’dag” in return.
The bed was soft, and the breeze wafting in the open window stirred the air in the room pleasantly. I was asleep moments after hitting the pillow, despite the crowd noise from below. My last thoughts were of how socially inept I must be for this land. And the dressing down I was likely to get in the morning.
Ivy did end up giving me a good talking to as we rode, and I learned some of the principles of Huphaean society in general. Namely that there was nothing wrong with enjoying the company of anyone you wished to, were they willing. That was the main tenet, however, willingness. Refusal was an absolute and never questioned. She honestly did not understand the concept of judging someone for what they did or who they shared themselves with. Huphaeans believed in enjoying all life had to offer, as much as possible. I had a lot of adapting to do…
In case you are wondering, yes, I did manage to make a bollox of almost every social situation for quite a while… But what’s new, right? Would you have accepted the offer? One thing I was reminded of multiple times is how long it can take to shed prior beliefs and adopt those of the culture you are in. Have you ever experienced that firsthand? Share your cultural adjustments in the comments below, I’d love to hear them.
Wanna be a part of Huphaea? Subscribe to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Then you will be part of Eleanorah’s troupe of Nightingales, privy to extras and fun facts from this fantastical land of magic and elven kind once a month. You can join here:
The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time – and return comments. This group is all about connecting!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world! Our Twitter handle is @TheIWSG and hashtag is #IWSG.
March 3 question – Everyone has a favorite genre or genres to write. But what about your reading preferences? Do you read widely or only within the genre(s) you create stories for? What motivates your reading choice?
Up until a few years ago my reading preference was single-minded: Fantasy.
I hadn’t even thought seriously about writing a book, so that wasn’t part of the equation. When I went to find reading material, I went straight to the fantasy section and that was it.
Then came the day that I was browsing in my local library and I saw Deborah Harkness’s A Discovery of Witches. The cover drew my attention, the blurb reeled me in and I took it with me. A crack appeared in my fantasy-hardened reading focus.
Now with all of the publicity surrounding the tv show based upon that book, you probably know something about it. Maybe only that there is magic in it, so there is a fantastical element present—I didn’t really stray that far.
But that was just the beginning. I blew through the All Souls series, fell completely in love with it, and had the worst book hangover ever after I was done.
I wanted more. I wanted more alternate history stories. I wanted to see where authors’ imaginations take them when historical events are the prompts.
That was the beginning of my obsession with historical fiction set in Europe.
If I look at it critically, it really shouldn’t have surprised me as it did. I have always gravitated toward European history prior to 1900, those are the elective classes I took and what I enjoyed learning about at any point in school. I even took history classes when I studied in Ireland for a year.
Even this time period restriction has eased, though. My current audiobook binges are all set in England and Europe around both World Wars.
Next came my offer to read a novel as a beta reader for a friend in a Facebook group.
Wow, is that a fun genre! I binged that for months, filling my Kindle with its brassy, mechanical tales swathed in multi-layered skirts, clockworks, and evening suits. It has become my go-to for a fun, adventurous, mechanically magical page-turner.
With fantasy being my first and steadfast love, that is what I want to write first. I’m well on my way to doing that, publishing a blog series with the worldbuilding for my created world while I work on sorting through the elements of the main story that stumbles around in my brain.
But every so often, the idea of delving into a historical fiction story or a some-kind-of-punk mystery raises its hand and my writer-brain wants to take a ditch-dive into the ‘shiny new thing.’ One day, yes, I will do it. But first things first.
I also honor my true love of books and bookstores, gravitating toward titles about libraries, bookshops, scrolls, and the like, which has led me to some contemporary fiction. Then there’s paranormal (give me a vampire any day, go ahead, bite me, please!) and the many, many YA and NA (new adult) books I’ve enjoyed.
I guess I do ready sort of widely. Somewhat. I’ve tried murder mysteries, thrillers, cozy mysteries, and women’s fiction, too. It’s all been fun.
Since I’ve branched out, I’ve realized that I do have moments when I want something specific, a certain tone or type of story, and I can usually find it in my TBR list (which is endless).
Covers do draw me in, as a first contact point, or repel me. In fact, I find that the current trend of putting close-up images of people on the covers does nothing for me. It’s fine if there is a character depicted, but what else is there? Symbols, landscapes, buildings, books, what else is there to draw my attention and make me pick up the book to read the blurb? That’s what piques my curiosity and what I want to see in my mind when I read.
I know expanding my reading genres has expanded my ability as a writer and storycrafter. It has to. It’s part of the alchemy that happens in the brain when it is exposed to story. It takes all the bits of inspiration and craft and scrambles it up together to put out my unique author voice.
We are all influenced by what we read. It is important to acknowledge and accept that, even embrace it because that’s how writers learn and develop. Nonfiction that teaches writing craft is excellent, but reading identifies all of those principles in action and helps to inspire our minds to weave them into our own tales.
So yes, read. Read your own genre profusely. But try not to ignore others. You never know which phrase from a horror thriller will be the spark for the reaction that creates your plot twist.
Reading expands our minds and imaginations, fills the creative well. Reading creates inspired writers.~
If you are curious about my fantasy writing, please check out my Collection of Huphaea blog series here on this site!
I remember clearly the morning I picked Nyssa up. She was the most adorable gray and black bear cub ever seen. Somewhere along in the conversation the breeder told me that he uses five gallon pails as water bowls because Akitas drink so much.
Really? I thought to myself. I had had a male Akita some years past and I had never noticed his intake to be more than average. But I nodded politely and said I remembered to continue the discourse.
It did become apparent that she drinks a lot of water. When she stands at the bowl drinking for five minutes or so, I usually remark that she is “tanking up.”
And then I fill the bowl again.
Nowadays, with four dogs, I’m constantly filling water bowls. I should probably get one of those dog water cooler things, but cleaning those can be a pain, like my chicken waterers.
Nevertheless, Nyssa reminds me daily how important it is to stay properly hydrated, even though I’m at my desk working most of the day. And with the change of seasons here once again, I am never more aware of this fact.
A winter spent in dry heat has been rough. I have humidifiers going constantly, but the only thing that really relieves the sinus pressure and dry, cracking, peeling fingers is keeping my internal hydration at well over full. And being able to turn the heat down and eventually, off.
We all know how much better we feel when we eat right, but staying hydrated produces dramatic results much quicker. I notice better attention, I’m more alert and energetic, and can often stay awake longer in the evenings. Digestion is improved, I don’t eat quite as much, and every struck key doesn’t elicit a jab or a sting from my split fingers.
It’s just so much more pleasant all the way around!
I do fall into patterns of days where I forget to hydrate. Then it’s usually a time that I fill a water bowl for the furry ones which reminds me to do the same myself.
In the cooler months I find it easier to drink more water if I have seltzer. But in the summer, I have a hard time with seltzer and I default back to chilled water. I haven’t the faintest idea why that is, but it’s what I’ve noticed. Do you have any similar quirks?
Dogs are professionals at hydration and they can’t sweat, except through the pads of their feet. You would think humans would be better at it considering the water conducting capacity of our skin. I’ve always wondered about that—why my thirst point isn’t higher or something to prevent the deficit I fall into.
Nah, it’s more like I just don’t listen until it’s too late.
If the seasons are changing in your area too, this could be an auspicious time to pay attention to your hydration habits. The results are well worth it, and quick to arrive, so why not?
Dogs do, Nyssa does. We’d all love to have our dogs’ lives, right? Drink up, friends!
How’s your hydration routine? Do you drink enough water or do you need to drink more? Drop a comment below and we can talk about it.
Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo! 🐕🦺
Red Leaf Word Services has a new editing package!
A First 100 pages critique!
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A great idea if you are starting to self-edit and want a bit of guidance where some of your pitfalls and strengths are concerned.
Excellent for trying out a new level of editing for you.
Head over to www.redleafwords.com for more about this new service or other levels of editing.
Interested in some editing tips to help as you work through your own edits?
Subscribe to the RLWS newsletter and get the 15 Tips for Self-Editing checklist!
You can find the checklist popup on the website, or use this link here to sign up and get your copy!
“I’m suggesting you take a different approach, Cedar.”
Cedar and Nyssa playing
Nyssa rules the roost here. Yes, she is the biggest, but size doesn’t seem to matter very much to Dash, nor to Cedar. Both of them love her to bits and bask in her attention when she gives it to them. She instructed Dash to play the way she wanted him to from day one, even though he is fifty pounds lighter than her. He happily complied and they play beautifully together to this day.
Cedar, on the other hand, is a cheeky, fresh young lad. Nyssa is thrilled she finally has an Aussie that loves her and plays with her (my previous boy, Tristan, tolerated her presence) but she is always suggesting he take a different approach.
Sometimes Cedar takes that advice, sometimes he doesn’t. But they still end up playing and happy nonetheless.
The key takeaway from this exchange is the suggesting.
As editors, we are asked to look at someone else’s work with the idea of helping them improve it. In that light, our feedback takes the form of suggestions.
We don’t have the final say over what is left in, how it is phrased, or even punctuated sometimes.
Which is OK and we have to BE OK with that.
Suggestions leave room for acceptance, further thought, or rejection. (This may not apply as much to copyediting, which does adhere often to style guides and other rules for the finer elements of writing.)
The point is that our outside view to the work gives us the ability to see other layers that could be explored or a different direction to approach an issue from. To encourage more thought on the matter that could benefit the reader down the line.
Suggestions don’t demand a certain outcome. It’s not in their nature.
Even when Nyssa is “suggesting” to Cedar not to do as he is, he still has the option to continue and most times he does. Then when he does accept her offer of an alternate way, they end up playing together far longer than if he’d ignored her suggestion.
We want to feel that our efforts have been worthwhile over the course of a developmental or line edit—it’s a lot of work! And often that is only judged by how many edits are accepted. Does that mean we have failed?
No. In the end, the final decision is not ours. Authors can be attached to a particular phraseology that sets an editor’s teeth on edge, it’s their prerogative. It’s their creation. And all of us writer-editors will certainly reserve that right in our own stead!
It can be very difficult to separate the emotion of the hard work from the feeling of not being heeded. Good communication between the editor and author can ease this disparity, as can remembering that we are using our expertise to suggest.
Editors still have all of those accepted suggestions that were acknowledged and appreciated to fall back on. The old saying is that you can’t please one hundred percent of the people one hundred percent of the time. Authors know this too, or they will find it out in reviews for certain. It’s not all or nothing.
At the end of an editing project, I remind myself that these are my suggestions for where I can see some extra thought or reworking is needed. Through my comments and our converstaions, the author can choose to do with those ideas as they will. The more important part is reaching the goal of the editor-author partnership—publishing the best work possible.
Which probably means we may play together again. Like Nyssa and Cedar.
She isn’t daunted when he carries on, because she knows she has done her work in communicating her suggestions. It’s then up to him to take them or not. She advises, he asserts and they meet in the middle to carry on and live together well (thankfully for me). It makes their relationship stronger, and it can with authors and editors, too.
By keeping our minds open, our discussions thought-provoking and considerate, and our common goal in mind, we can measure success in more than ‘accepted vs. rejected.’ It seems to work well for dogs, why shouldn’t we consider it? If it means I can eat, sleep, and play, I’m in. So make your suggestions, try not to be daunted by rejected ones, and keep playing!
Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo! 🐕🦺
Fantasy Authors! Have you heard about ProWritingAid’s upcoming Fantasy Week? No?
Do you love writing fantasy?
Our friends at ProWritingAid have you covered!
ProWritingAid’s first ever Fantasy Writer’s Week will be jam-packed with free events for fantasy authors.
With live sessions from bestselling fantasy writers TJ Klune, Angela J. Ford, David Farland and Stephanie BwaBwa, a world-building workshop, and a complete World Anvil software walkthrough, you don’t want to miss this event!
*Please note this is an afffiliate link, so I may receive some compensation if you click through here 😉.
Interested in more information about Red Leaf Word Services editing? Please visit my website www.redleafwords.com. It has undergone some reorganization, come on by and check it out!
There is a new service—The First 100 Pages edit. It’s great for getting an idea of how your story works from the beginning so you can continue with a blueprint in mind, or for giving self-editing a start. Even for trying out a new level of editing. You can find more information about it on the For Fiction Authors page at Red Leaf Word Services.
While you are there, you can sign up for the newsletter, where you can get more of Nyssa. ‘Cause she always has more to say, she’s an Akita! Or you can sign up below 👇🏼 and still get the same editing news, offers, and tips.
Hello Everyone! Hope you are all keeping well with the difficult weather parts of the US are experiencing right now. The Northeast is used to the snow and freezing temps each winter, I can only imagine how difficult it is to deal with when the infrastructure isn’t designed to handle it. Feel free to send it back this way, where it belongs, we could use some more in my opinion 🤔. February is moving along and we are approaching the year anniversary of lockdown here. It’s actually an odd feeling, to think that it’s only been a year—it feels like ten. Before we know it, the trees will be budding and the Easter bunny will be hopping around, though he already appears to have visited the stores… The Easter candy was out three weeks before Valentine’s Day! But anyway, we should get back to the story after my unplanned hiatus. Stay strong and healthy, spring is on the way!~
We last left the ladies, Ivy and Elahna, in Sawyerset at The Tarnished Blade Inn. The innkeeper had just instructed them to not dawdle in returning to the dining room, as it was filling up quickly. Shall we rejoin them?~
Returning to our setting
I must have stood gazing a second or two too long, as Ivy touched me on the shoulder. “Come on, you heard Lissa, we’d better be quick or we’ll be standing.”
A few heads turned and watched us ascend the stairs, but not in an overly concerned manner. The second floor was a warren of rooms extending off the main hallway that wound the length of the building, much like the random table arrangement in the room below. Though the room placement seemed haphazard though, I decided it was actually carefully planned to maximize space and the number of rooms. “The corner room is my usual, yours is right here. This stair goes to behind the bar and out to the wash building, that’s why Lissa always holds it for me.” Ivy put a hand on her doorknob, “Meet you back in an erd?”
“Yeah, sure.” I pushed open my door and stepped into a tidy, yet welcoming space just big enough to be called a room. It held a single bed, a low dresser, a chair, and a small round table arranged around a long, oval, emerald green rug. The curtains matched the hue of the rug. I slung my bag onto the bed and looked out the window over the back of the tavern. A blocky structure jutted out from the main building, which must be the kitchen that Lissa disappeared into, and a smaller, thatch-roofed building stood further back but directly behind our rooms. A thin trail of smoke rose from a central chimney and people entered or exited from either end. The wash house? I surmised I was about to find out.
I turned to head back out to meet Ivy, just as she stepped in. “Oh, this is so cute, will it suit you?” I nodded. “Good, grab that linen and let’s go wash up quick. I don’t know about you, but I feel quite dusty.” She held a ruby red towel and a round of light pink soap. I did suddenly feel quite gritty, though I hadn’t noticed much dust on the ride.
After I pulled the door closed, Ivy reached out and drew a finger across the door frame and the jamb in three places, sealing the door closed with strips of gnarly wood. I gave her what I hoped was a questioning look and she shrugged as she turned. “Not that I don’t trust Lissa and Beren, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. It will keep the curious and inebriated out, at least. I’m not sure if news of your identity has beaten us here or not. But it won’t be long if it hasn’t.”
That was the first time I had witnessed anyone take any precautions whatsoever. Somehow, it made me feel a bit more at ease. Not having to be aware of those around me had been unsettling, when I allowed myself to think about it. And though Ivy was an Elemental, her powers were of an arboreal nature, and I wasn’t sure how much protection that could provide if necessary. She’d just grown ‘tree tape’ but could she grow a wooden shield or knife if we needed it? Come to think of it, at this point, I didn’t even know what her ability was. I decided to ask that, casually, if the opportunity presented itself. It all just made me think more and more of the fictional worlds I so loved. And it appeared I had stumbled into one, literally.
The wash building turned out to be more like an outhouse with a steam room built in. A bench of latrine places, separated with three-foot tall dividers lined one wall and a screen of translucent silk painted in a mountain scene divided it from the steaming stone pool that was sunken into the floor. My jaw dropped open at the bubbling bath, it looked so inviting! A couple of stone basins stuck out from the wall alongside the pool and Ivy was already soaking her cloth under the tap.
“I’d love to get into that, I don’t feel saddle sore, but that would definitely help prevent it.” I nodded toward the pool, as I tried to figure out how to make water flow from the single pipe that bent into the basin.
Ivy reached over me and pressed her thumb into a depression in the stone wall. Water began to flow, slightly warm, over the cloth in my hands. I deduced then how to adjust the temperature and the volume using the depressions I could now pick out on the wall and the tap. “That does sound like an excellent idea. As long as we don’t fall too far into our cups at dinner,” she gave me a lopsided smile.
“Oh, don’t worry about that with me. I have no desire to have a big head on a horseback ride. That would be pure torment.” I shook my head vehemently, remembering how I woke up in Raga’s tent that first morning. “I’m good.”
We finished up a quick toilette. The pink soap was smooth and fragrant like a bouquet of fresh roses with a rich lather. When Ivy wrung her linen out, I was astonished at how much water she extracted. The cloth was nearly dry! I did the same to my own, and by the time we reached our rooms again, it WAS dry. No real need for drying racks as such, I thought. Remarkable.
I slowed my pace a bit when we retraced our steps downstairs, taking in the scene that unfolded as I rounded the staircase. The crowd had increased, along with the din of upbeat conversation. Tankards decorated tabletops next to brawny, tanned arms amid a sea of colorful plaids. Ivy paused with a few steps to go, looking for an empty table I assumed, but Lissa’s exuberant wave drew my attention. She beckoned us to a small table against the opposite wall where she stood minding a tray of food and a chilled pitcher.
“Here you are, game hen stew and a pitcher of fresh sparkly. Everything to your liking upstairs? Anything else you need, just wave me over. Gotta run just now, enjoy!” Once again, Lissa snaked off into the growing crowd, calling out orders as she entered the kitchen. Ivy and I exchanged an arch look and then laughed in unison.
“I couldn’t have gotten a word in sideways if I’d had to!” I said.
“I know! Once the crowd settles in, though, she’ll visit with a tankard of her own. Lissa can drink level with any of the sawyers. I’d even put her up against someone with rock troll blood and put my wager on her. She and Beren built this tavern themselves, including milling the timber. Beren was a sawyer previously and Lissa’s whole family are, she grew up in a mill. She can horse-whisper, and was responsible for the mill horses, but she loves working with wood. Most of the interior is her work.”
The two tiny birds steaming in thick broth with carrots, peas, onions, and potatoes was difficult to ignore up to that point. Naturally, once Ivy mentioned Lissa’s work, I had to look around and see what she meant.
Many of the tables, including ours, were made of entire round slabs of tree trunk, bark and all. Varnish sealed the tops in a thick layer as clear as glass. The bar counters were of the same idea, the rough live bark edges worn almost smooth by thirsty patrons. The more I looked, the more unique details I picked out—finial carvings on the support columns, the bannister scroll work on the spiral stair, different fluting on the legs of the tables and chairs, wood burning and etching around the windows. Personal touches that gave the tavern a welcoming, lived-in atmosphere. Then my mind snagged on something else she had said.
“What’s a rock troll?”
“I wondered if you’d caught that.” Ivy’s green eyes sparkled with delight. “There aren’t many, if any, here in Huphaea. But they are a large, resilient people who live in mountainous areas on other continents. At least on Iacewen, that I know of. They don’t have any magic of their own and have been known to capture women to try to infuse magic into their population. It doesn’t ever work that way, but some rock trolls keep trying anyway. Almost like they forget about the results.”
“You make it sound scientific, like its an experiment.”
“I don’t know that odd s-word you said, but I suppose it could be described that way, like an experiment. Or even a game to some of them. The rock troll tribe always loses, because the half-troll individual is either turned out when no magic appears, or they leave of their own accord to find more developed societies.”
“That doesn’t sound like an intelligent approach.”
“Intelligence isn’t a rock troll specialty. Fortuantely, most of the true half-trolls gain in that way from their non-troll parent. That’s why they all leave the cave towns.”
“I see. So that blood confers some ability to hold a lot of drink, I take it? Would you be able to tell someone had rock troll blood just by looking at them?”
“Sometimes. Those with rock troll blood are usually larger in physical stature, with a greyish hue to their skin. But both can diminish as the bloodline dilutes and there are plenty of people with larger builds, as we see.” Being in a mill town, we were surrounded by large-framed individuals in that room alone. “The only trait that gives any rock troll lineage away is gray eyes. No other race has gray eyes, so if you meet someone with gray eyes, they have enough rock troll blood to matter. And don’t challenge them to a drink-off.” She grinned again as she filled two flagons from the frosty pitcher.
“I’ll remember that. Certainly.”
We fell into silence for a bit, making forays into the stew with deep-bowled wooden spoons and hearty dark brown bread. The cider was crisp and on the sweeter side, but quite refreshing and it complemented the stew perfectly. I noticed the number of glances and nods in our direction increasing with the influx of patrons. I began to wonder if I was about to become a sideshow to the night’s revelry.
In general, I’m not one to go about attracting attention, so this situation made me uneasy. However, I wasn’t facing a sea of hostile faces, just curious ones that probably mirrored my own. I decided that this evening was no different than any of the others I had spent in foreign countries back home. At least here I could speak the language, mostly. I used that thought as an anchor and screwed up my confidence. After all, we were all humans or elves or some combination thereof with the common threads of curiosity and, I imagine, speculation. Probably nothing would happen anyway.
Thoroughly satiated on stew, I slid my bowl to the end of the table, wondering what would come next. Should we vacate the table for other dining patrons and find a place along the wall at the drink rail if we intended to stay? My eyes flicked up to Ivy, seeking a cue from her, but she sat calmly finishing her stew and tidying the tableware.
Lissa appeared a moment later with a mousy-haired girl of about nine (or nova) in tow, a heavily carved tankard in her hand. She indicated to the girl to clear the dishes away and snagged an empty stool from a table across the aisle.
The men at the table leaned out and around each other to sling good-natured barbs at Lissa and soon we were all laughing together.
After some hasty introductions and small talk about the day, Lissa turned back to our table and hunched conspiratorially over her tankard, her eyes alighting on me. “So, tell me, what was it like to realize you aren’t where you belong? Was it as janked as I imagine it would be? Was the travel frightening?”
“I, ah, well, if you mean was it odd, then no. One second I was walking forward into an old stone structure, the next I was in a different one. That’s all it was. No falling, or darkness, or stretching, or voices, or light. It was just a step like any other. Only it wasn’t.” I had been expecting some questions at some point, but not this particular one. Lissa seemed disappointed almost, but she recovered quickly, firing off more questions until she appeared satisfied and her tankard was empty.
“I should go check on Beren and the lads, hold my stool? I’ll bring another pitcher, no?”
“Sure, but only if you bring some apple crunch with it. I’ve been dreaming of it all day, I even saved room for it, and here you’ve made me wait without even a mention of it!” Ivy sagged back in her chair, a dramatic pout on her face for a few seconds before she winked at me.
“Pssshaaww! And you knew I’d make it special for you, Miss Ivy, didn’t you? As if my sontris’d let me forget you were a’comin’!” Lissa jumped up from the table, feigned offense crumbling into laughter. “Mark my words, you’ll wake up one morning t’ find my Scosy underneath your branch there at Rosewood, waiting on your wishes. I’ll be back in an erdin with your crunch and cider, my lady,” and she swept a mocking bow in Ivy’s direction, mirth plastered on her face.
Ivy pealed into laughter, but her face turned a shade of delicate rose pink in the wake of Lissa’s words. Smiles blossomed on the faces of the men across the aisle, who had obviously been listening to Lissa’s line of questioning and my replies. They knew who I was for certain now. Ivy righted herself and traced her fingers around the rim of the tankard. “I do hope that doesn’t come to pass. But wait until you have her apple crunch. It is fabulous.”
I was pretty sure I couldn’t fit another bite, but the steaming apple crunch in the crock and bowl of fresh whipped cream Lissa returned with was too tempting to pass up.
Lissa helped polish it off, thankfully, along with the pitcher of cider. The conversation turned to local matters and news of individuals both women had in common. At one point, Lissa inquired about Aymur almost shyly, which was so out of character that I picked up on it right away. “He is well,” Ivy answered. “Grandess Daphne keeps him busy lately since she injured her ankle. No doubt she summoned the Orderly first thing now that he is back. He was probably gathering herbs for poultices when we passed him. Unclen will be eager to see her well and back to administering. He is far too used to having his own time most days.”
“Ah, that’s why he hasn’t been by lately. Some of the lads said they could use his talent in the spruce grove. The gall aphids are winding up fierce this year, they wanted a bit of reinforcement from him. Speaking of which, before you go, you should examine the center tree. It hasn’t leafed as quickly as usual and one of the young ones said they could see some sap oozing way up toward the crown. Perhaps you could help? I’m sure if Porter comes in he’ll ask ye to, but here then, you’ve already been made aware.”
“Of course I will, in the morning before we depart.” Ivy glanced at me. “Still in want for a stone bath soak? After all this food and talk I admit it sounds like a good way to cap the evening, and ensure a good night’s sleep.”
“Absolutely! It would be a perfect end, yes.”
“Right then, I’ll leave you ladies to it, my thanks for the updates, Ivy. Tell Aymur to pop in next time he’s round. I’ll leave two bathing sheets by the back door, grab them on your way to the bathhouse. I’ll be in at first light if you want breakfast, but don’t rush on account of me. It’s my early day. Elements be, then, g’tag.”
“Oh, you’ll probably see Unclen before I do, I’ll be in Irillo for a while. Sounds perfect though, thank you. Elements be, Lissa, g’tag.”
Was every meal I ate delicious, you ask? Yes! I honestly can’t think of one thing I did not like, which is highly unusual for me. Oh yes, I was super curious about that little exchange about Aymur. Lissa certainly seemed fond of him by the way she talked, she actually softened somewhat. I never did ask about her horse whispering ability, but I imagine it was as you would expect, without mind magic or Sentients. I’ll stop here for this segment. The night can continue next time!~
The Tarnished Blade sure sounds like a fun place to spend an evening, right? Do you enjoy places like that? I did before going to Huphaea, and definitely did while I was there. I was lucky enough to be in respectable establishments during my stay. Our position as Collectors would not allow anything less since it was realm business. I did hear about some rather unsavory places in Irillo, though, through the gossip channels. Let me know your tavern experiences in the comments below!
Remember to subscribe to Collata ⚡, the Collection of Huphaea newsletter. There will be a new issue out soon, so jump on board! Become a Nightingale and get extras and outtakes from the land of Huphaea delivered to your inbox once a month. You can sign up here 👇🏼
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This landed in my inbox this morning, the day after I wrote a piece about fear. Fear has been on my mind a lot lately and I am in a constant struggle with it in several areas of my life.
In this piece, Donald Maass reminds writers of some questions that should be asked while writing, and then asked again by editors as they make suggestions.
Reading it reminded me of why I read certain things at certain times. Maybe it will resonate with you, too.
And I also just remembered I need to buy his book, The Emotional Craft of Fiction, I’ve been meaning to for a while. Happy Birthday to me!
What do you need to be reminded of today?
What are your hopes and dreams? What are you most afraid of? Search online for common fears and phobias, and you will quickly find that whatever terrifies you also terrifies others. Do you, for instance, suffer (as so many do) from Koumpounophobia, Alektorophobia, Sidonglobophobia, or Hippotomonstrosequippedaliophobia? Those are the paralyzing fears of buttons, chickens, cotton…
Nyssa reveling in the one patch of snow on our walk
Akitas are snow dogs. They wait not-so patiently all year for the white stuff to fly and they revel in it. Unfortunately for Nyssa, our backyard is one of the first places that melts off, even more so with all of the traffic of four dogs. At that point, she has to content herself with rolling in a few patches that remain in the shady areas along our walks. Like in the shot above, she rolls around and creates her own doggy snow angel, savoring every moment she can.
She takes advantage of the snow when it is there.
Which only serves to remind me that I should do the same.
Several times recently I have missed an opportunity that I was interested in, purely because I didn’t act then and there. Of course, there is no way to know whether I would have been selected, but if I don’t apply, then there is no chance, right?
So what holds me back?
Imposter syndrome, mostly, which translates simply to FEAR.
Imposter syndrome is brutal. Once it has insinuated itself into your mind, it is content to hang out and just comment when you think you’ve built up enough confidence to resist it.
All it takes is one little mental sneer, and I’m scrolling onto something else. The demon wins again.
I want nothing more than to beat the bugger into submission once and for all because giving in is not like me. I have enough confidence in every other area of my life, but not this one, not yet. The struggles of new freelancers are real and tough, but everyone has to start somewhere. Why am I having so much trouble kicking this?
Nyssa takes the opportunity to apply herself to what she loves every time she gets it. So in that way, she continually boosts her confidence.
Then she makes snow angels on the ice and wishes for a snowstorm. (Trust me, I know this).
And guess what happens?
It snows. More confidence fills her well.
I need to be more like Nyssa and take the opportunities when they are there. Even if it doesn’t pan out, I still have learned, I have more experience than before, and even a bit more confidence in my well.
So that’s my mission—be more like my dog. Which is definitely not a bad way to be.😄
Do you take advantage of opportunity when it presents itself? Let me know in the comments 👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼
Have a great week! Woof woof roooooo! 🐕🦺
Nyssa is an integral part of Quill & Orb Press editing, where she supervises from the couch. If you are curious about my editing services and the genres I work in, please follow the link to the webpage or you can contact me at aime@redleafwords.com.
My editing is, first and foremost, a collaboration with you that cultivates drafts and ideas into books of gold. 🔮✨✏📚
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Hello Everyone! We’ve reached episode 20, can you believe it? It feels like a milestone to me, considering I wasn’t sure I could sustain a schedule with life, dogs, other work, and (little did we know) a pandemic. But I’m glad I have, it has been fun so far and I hope you are enjoying it as well 😊. Winter presses on in this neck of the woods, we actually had some snow overnight. It should be a given here in New England, but not as much as when I was young, it seems. But my dogs are happy this morning and that is all that really matters, right? Here’s hoping all is well with you, and let’s get back to Eleanorah’s tale. You can also follow her on Twitter at @EleanorahStarr and loads of other authors too! #TeaserTuesday is a popular place to hangout ✍🏼.
We last left the travelers in the aftermath of a discussion about magic inheritance, who is called what, and Elahnawas pondering her position in the society should she have to stay. She had just concluded she would be at the very bottom, as an Ungifted. No real surprise, really, but still something to be aware of nonetheless. Let’s rejoin them on the road, shall we?~
Approaching Sawyerset. *Photo by PxHere
Shouts of a semi-raucous nature tore the forest quiet we had subsided into after the inheritance discussion. I jumped in my own skin, though Revel barely flinched. “Sawyerset’s millmen.” Ivy said, gesturing off to the right and slightly ahead of us. “It’s a bit late to be sending a barge downriver to Cragbend now, they must be tying it off until morning. No doubt they are eager for the end of the day.”
“We’re almost there, then?” I asked, and then mentally slapped myself. I could see the trees thinning as we progressed and the shapes of buildings materializing in the resultant space. Faint tendrils of roasting meat aromas, pine shavings, and wet earth trailed through the air. The prospect of another new place, different people, and more questions to answer set off flutters of anticipation in my chest. It was a welcome sensation that made me smile. I’d learned much on the ride today, yet I was hungry for more.
Sawyerset nestled into the northern fringe of Venrood Forest. Unlike Cragbend, select trees had been spared the axe throughout the town so that the buildings nestled in among the broad trunks. The branch canopies had been limbed up quite high to allow sunshine in, I imagined, and perhaps some cover from precipitation. Not much for crops was going to grow in the grove, though, without some magical help.
Shade plants must love this, I mused as we rode down the main street, and was delighted to see many of my favorite perennials filling up gardens and borders alongside colorful containers of impatiens, lobelia, torenia, and fuschias.
The bright colors of the flowers adorned cottages and shops constructed entirely of wood. Intricate planking patterns and the species of tree the boards were milled from provided the distinguishing features of the buildings in place of paint. I marveled at alternating herringbone patterns, diagonals, and several variations of Tudor-style using different woods.
Rooflines and front fences were adorned with elaborate carvings and patterns, and here and there I saw stained window casings or fascia boards. It was colorful in an understated way that inspired comfort, warmth, and above all, hard work.
The broad, packed-earth road carved a wide horseshoe through the town, with smaller lanes trailing away toward the thicker forest. Most of the townsfolk must live off these paths as I glimpsed only a few cottages that appeared to be actual dwellings and not merchants of some sort. The middle of the horseshoe was dominated by a giant planetree, its patchy white, gray, and green bark visible from any point.
Awnings dyed in bright and varied hues announced the market that filled the western half of the field, while the eastern half contained a clock tower, a well, and a fountain surrounded by woodland plants of every sort. Market-goers were wrapping up the day’s purchasing and gossip, and the stall-owners were packing their carts to head for home, or the pub on the way there. Everything I observed and sensed told me that this was a very close knit community, aware of every event that took place inside its bounds. Small-town camaraderie at its finest.
“We have rooms reserved at The Tarnished Blade,” Ivy said. “It sits at the bottom right of the bend in the Shoe. This road is named the Horseshoe, but everyone refers to it as the Shoe. Directions are given in relation to the place on the Shoe, and relative to the center tree, in case you were wondering.” She flashed me a wise sort of grin. I couldn’t help but laugh some in return. Evidently my curiosity had made an impression on her today.
At the location she described stood a two-story tavern. It was constructed in a Tudor-esque style that paired a silver-gray wood with the framing details in another lumber of fine-grained, dark brown. The contrast of the two colors made the gray shine like a pewter mirror in the fading light of the evening. The second story kept the dark framing of the first floor, but had wide, bright, tongue-and-groove boards diagonally set instead. I noticed each window had different colored curtains in jewel tones, creating the effect of a gem-encrusted belt cinching a pale robe. Warm, golden light spilled out of the many diamond-paned windows along with hearty laughter and scents from the open doors. Half of a sawmill blade was sunk perpendicular into the door frame well above head height, painted scarlet red with blackened tooth tips. Of course, why not use the real thing for a sign?
I dismounted in the small stableyard out back, doing a similar light jig to the one in the forest to restore feeling to my feet. I tried to keep Revel between me and the pedestrians, but he evidently found my dance amusing and did his own version to draw attention to us. A lanky boy strolled in our direction, a wide grin blooming on his face. I picked up Revel’s reins and murmured, “Oh, you are a cheeky one, aren’t you?” as I scratched his ears.
“Long ride today, miss? Oh, Elements be, Miss Ivy, nice t’ see you again. Yes, I’d imagine saddle foot’s got ya, if you’ve been from Cragbend? Here, lemme take thems for you. I’ve stalls prepped for ’em since Mam said you’d be with us for a night. Wat’s this one, he’s a sharp one, eh?” The grinning boy reached for both of our reins, looking Revel over as though he might sprout wings or devil horns.
“Elements be, Scosy, many thanks. You may remember Felicity, and that there is Revel. He’s young, but he shouldn’t give you any trouble. He can be a bit of a sprat though, as you see. They have had a long, but excellent ride today. Make sure they get a good rubdown and extra oats, will you?” Ivy favored the youth with a wide smile, and he colored pink up to the points of his ears. She unlatched her bags from the saddle and turned toward the inn. I slapped Revel’s rump lightly as he pranced away and followed Ivy.
We reached the side door through an alley way of stacked casks and crates and stepped into my imagination. The Tarnished Blade was every bit the tavern I had pictured in my mind, even more so than The Cleft Barrel had been back in Cragbend.
To our right, a lengthy bar of various heights stretched two-thirds of the way to the far wall. A very tall, yet broad-shouldered older man leaned on his elbows from behind the bar, deep in conversation with a patron. His eyes registered our entrance and his hand shot up into the air in greeting, though his conversation never paused. A plump woman burst through the set of swinging doors then, two wide, steaming bowls clutched in towels in her hands. She turned our way, nodded and smiled in greeting before confidently winding through the scattered furniture and depositing the bowls on a table that sat four men in light button-down shirts of the same plaid. She slung the towels over her shoulder and approached us, and I realized what I had taken for plump was actually stout and strong. She would have looked normal in a plaid shirt as well.
“Ivy, Elements be! Perfect timing, as usual. Right before the dinner rush.” The woman’s raised hand greeting turned into a quick, affectionate hug, which Ivy returned, and then she was steering us toward an intricately worked spiral stair at the back of the room. “Take your things up, its rooms septa and octa in the far corner, they’ll be the quietest. Then have a wash, if you like, and grab a table. I’ll ferry over some stew and cider when I see ya come in. But don’t dawdle, it’ll fill up quick on a fine night like this. The mill’s lads’ll be wantin’ their ale!” And then she was gone, back through the kitchen doors for more orders, I supposed.
This is a good place to stop for today, the evening in The Tarnished Blade deserves its own episode. I just may put that out next week instead of waiting a week! I still marvel now at how perfect the taverns were to my imagination. To this day, I miss them. They were true community places no matter where I was in the land.~
Elahna is now a whole day closer to the capital and her situation has a bit more meaning for her. Would you be able to be as composed as she is, in her position? Comment below and let’s talk about it!
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Time and pacing are always foremost thoughts in an author’s mind when they are plotting or writing.
Is it too slow?
Is it too fast?
What if I slow it down a bit, will people lose interest?
And then there comes the moment when the plot puzzle seems to not work together timewise. What do you do then?
This Writer Unboxed post offers some insight into how to deal with this conundrum. Happy reading!~
We’ve all had the experience of something being over in a flash and, in contrast, of time feeling endless. Time feels different, depending on where we are and what we want. It’s the same for our characters—and our readers. As writers, we juggle several kinds of time. I hadn’t really thought about this—not explicitly—until I…
The Sun, a Book, and a Dog 