Here is a different take on the oft-asked “How long should my novel be?” or “Is x words too long?” Read on to hear what Mr. Maass has to say about this age-old query.~
“How long is too long?” The question comes up at every conference. How long should a novel be? It puzzles me that this anxiety persists. We are in a literary era that tolerates length. Game of Thrones, anyone? Even at 292,000 words, George Martin’s first novel in his epic series is not even in the…
Here’s another stellar post from the gals at WHW. If you haven’t checked out their author tools, do it now! (Well, after you read this post 😉).
When I think about some of my favorite protagonists, I can usually identify a trait that defines each one: Sam Gamgee: LoyaltyAnne Shirley: ImpulsivityJames T. Kirk: Boldness However, if each character was made up of only that one trait, they probably wouldn’t make many “favorites” lists because they’d be paper-thin—caricatures, rather than characters with depth…
Hello Everyone! There’s a cool breeze wafting in my window as I type, it feels sort of like—I can’t say it—fall? Yikes! It won’t be long now until I put the pool away, but while the sun is still warm, I’ll be out in my hammock. I hope all is well with you in your corner of the world, and let’s get on with the exploring, shall we?
When we left Elahna, she had just returned from her trip to the top of Rosewood Manor. Let’s see what other mischief she gets herself into.~
back in my rooms…
I stopped back in my room, since Rosewood had so conveniently deposited me there, thinking to grab stuff for a day in town, but then I remembered I didn’t have anything! What an odd feeling. The summer-appropriate clothes I wore had all been given or loaned to me these past three days, I had no personal supplies and no money. Indebtedness was adding to the anxiety I chose to bury in discovery. I’d have to sort that out soon. I hoped the queen would have some ideas of how I could be useful while I was here. Hopefully one that didn’t involve indentured servitude or work camps…. So far this society didn’t feel like a cruel, vindictive one, but I shouldn’t get my hopes up.
For now, I was glad I had been practicing ‘living in the present’ and being concerned with what I could control at any given moment. And oddly enough, right now what I had to control was time. Oh, the irony…
In the back of my mind, yes, I was worried about what my parents and brother were thinking. Especially since I was sure someone would have discovered my car left there in Vermont. I hadn’t really said where I was going, though, cause I wasn’t sure myself. My bike would be harder to find, but if my mom remembered that I was seeking a rumored megalith someone was bound to know where I would end up. It would look so much worse than it really was, I felt awful at how scared and upset they would be. I was also glad I hadn’t yet gotten the puppy I was planning to.
After a quick re-set of my hair in a ponytail, I decided to find Aymur before I left the manor. Perhaps he had a time-keeping device I could borrow for the day so that I didn’t miss the evening meal. On my way back out the the door, something caught my eye on the side table. A small green pouch and a silver disc on a chain sat with a card bearing my name.
Once again, the generosity of these people left me speechless. A few metallic clinks sounded from the pouch, but there was more in it than that. I took it over to the bedspread and upended it, not knowing what to expect. Four copper coins like to quarters with holes in the middle, four white pearls the size of an eraser, two pink pearls a bit bigger than the whites, an iridescent bauble with sides (a dodecahedron?), three gold circles like O-rings the same size as the coppers, and two silver crescents about half-dollar size tumbled out. Well, this would be interesting, hopefully I wouldn’t overpay too much for a tart.
*photos from pxhere, except three gold rings from Deena England on Unsplash
The pocket clock was simple yet striking. The silver cover clicked open when I pushed the tiny catch and revealed a flat dial with numbers one to twenty-seven in a circle. The transparent bronze arrow in the center spun around and sprang to a stop at half ten. I wondered what kind of stone the arrow it was, I’d have to ask about that too.
I swept the money back into the pouch and put both items in my pocket. I still had erdurs before dinner. Time to explore Cragbend!
As I left the manor I encountered the young boy, Lignan, from the night before. He stopped so that we didn’t have to walk through the door together, holding it for me, and I could have sworn I heard a mumbled “Sorry for what I wrote” as I passed. I nodded slightly in thanks and continued down the cobbled apron onto the dirt drive. Moments later, he ran past me and off toward the horse paddocks.
The walk to Cragbend proper took about half an hour. I crossed an ornately carved wooden bridge at the Sawyer’s Run Inn that put me in view of the crossroads. Most likely that was the river’s name, which would make sense, given the barge scene I saw from the treetop. The smell of roasted vegetables and meat surrounded the inn, making my mouth water. How could I be hungry after the lavish breakfast I’d had? But man, that smelled heavenly.
People nodded and smiled, sometimes palming a greeting. I returned it, trying to hide my observation of ears and other elvish features. I wondered how many of Cragbend’s citizens had elemental powers and how many were, what did Daphne call them, Ungifted? Was there animosity between the Gifted and non? She didn’t seem to indicate it, but then again, she obviously had gifts aplenty, so why would she. I’d have to try a little sleuthing of my own.
Cragbend clock tower
A large stone clock tower outlined with dark wood in Tudor-esque style marked the center of town. It was one of the few stone items I had seen so far here. The smooth facade gleamed cream with pink streaks in the bright sun. A large, triangular shaped crystal of the same bronze stone as in my pocket clock glinted in the clock face, pointing just after the eleven. It still felt like the days were the same length as home, it was so hard to tell when my frame of reference was gone.
There was something remarkable about the sun here. The light it gave off was of an intensity that made me expect it to be unbearably hot, but it wasn’t. It felt like a June summer day in New England, no humidity, perhaps around 80 degrees. Was that the weather workers’ doing? How much did they have control of? Did they plan a week’s weather (um, an anek’s weather, I should say) like a menu? When did it rain? It must be frequently, with the lushness of the land and the healthy haystacks I noticed. I had never felt so unknowledgeable before.
So many questions I had, can’t you imagine? No, I didn’t have an escort or anything, I didn’t need one. No one mentioned any threats or things to watch out for. Kind of telling that’s what we think of first, right? Come to think of it, I hadn’t even seen any guards in Rosewood Manor. I guess with a living house that could help when it was needed, people defenders were unnecessary. I’d hate to think what that house could do to an intruder.
The field next to The Cleft Barrel stood empty, the Bluebirds had moved on to their next stop. I felt a pang of sadness at that, but it was replaced by the hope that I would see them again someday. Maybe the other Madrigal troupes too, so I could compare all of their shows. Perhaps a festival. Surely a society with such amazing performers would hold festivals, right?
Since I knew the road to the right headed back to Venrood Forest, I took the left fork. One of those many pointed signs indicated that somewhere down the road were places called Sagebridge,Arrowbreak, and Crescenton. I wondered what they were like. Were they family seats, too? I could hear the rhythmic splashing of a water wheel not far away, and maybe the grinding of millstones? The scents of cooling bread enticed me as I passed a bakery, no wonder as plump baguettes filled racks just inside the windows. Even the carved sign of a steaming loaf above the door looked good enough to eat!
Just then the door of the bakery flew open and three boys scampered out, a stout baker hot on their tails. As the boys rounded the corner toward me and the road, the one in front, a black-haired boy in green shirt and gray knee breeches, reached in the window and snagged two of the baguettes. They took off down the street in the direction I was headed, hooting and laughing. The baker’s rolling pin clocked the slowest boy in the back of the shoulder, but he did not slow.
Wow! That was a surprise! And there I was, caught in the middle! We’ll find out next time what happened 😉.~
And there it was, the first bit of mischief or dissent that I had witnessed since arriving. I did feel bad for the baker, but it was a great throw of the rolling pin! The money, though, I wasn’t sure what to make of that, it was so different. I’ll tell you what I learned about it next time. What would you do in a new town in a new world for several hours? Drop a comment in the box below and we can talk about it 🙂.
In some other news, Quill & Orb Press, (the fiction part of my word services business), is ready to do developmental edits and copyediting for YOU! Fantasy, paranormal, YA, historical fiction, and other genres welcome.
Are you an Indie author? I’d love to work with you!
Click here for a list of genres I review, and other services I offer:
Want more info about life in Huphaea? Sign up for Collata ⚡, The Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Nightingales get some more inside bits about my time in Huphaea, and other news on my writing and related interests. Once a month, so no cluttered inboxes, just a snippet here and there. Join the Nightingales, Eleanorah’s troupe!
How to address the continuum of time in stories is always relevant—we have to use the past to explain the present and future, right? Here are a few reminders on how to do just that from a fellow blogger and writer.~
In writing, especially a novel, it isn’t likely that everything you want to say is linear in time. It MIGHT be…but there is a good chance that you want to tell something that happened in a characters past–or flash forward to what might be in their future. Getting this back (or forward) story into the […]
Hello Everyone! I hope you are all well and staying safe. We have been in the grip of some brutal humidity, but that is just an excuse to use the pool more 😆. Hard to believe it is August already, and the Halloween candy is already in stores? I can’t even… Let’s get back to exploring Rosewood, shall we?
We left off with Elahna finishing her climb up the redwood that took her to the top of Rosewood Manor. She emerged into the sunshine, and… (this is one of my favorite parts, I remember it so vividly!)~
Remember this view?*
I sucked in a sharp breath and dropped to my knees, terrified now that I was the tallest point on the tree. My head swooned and spun, my breakfast threatening to reappear.
That would be way too much of a shame, it had been wonderful going down, I had no desire to ruin the memory.
I crouched within the tips of the branches, stilling my mind and heart, breathing deeply for several moments. Slowly, I lifted my eyes from the floor. My fear had paralyzed me so that I hadn’t noticed the size of the open room around me.
A circular floor, complete with a knee wall, balanced on the tree top like a newsboy hat. Three clusters of plum-colored rattan chairs and side tables and two chaises were arranged haphazardly, colorful pillows tossed here and there. Beyond the furniture all I could see was sky.
The unease that danced beneath my ribs in lurching, fluttering steps sucked in all of my attention, inhibiting me from lifting my hands off the comforting floor. Maybe this was a bad idea. How long would it be before Rosewood alerted Aymur, or worse, Daphne that I was incapacitated up here?
I hung my head lower, about to give in to defeat when a slight tingling flowed up my arms, as if urging me to rise. Soft rustling began to my right and I glanced back to see branches flowing toward me. Their soft, lime green fronds caressed my bare arms, while the woody parts snaked around my waist and legs. The tree was providing me with a safety harness!
Once I was firmly, but gently wrapped in live webbing, I noticed the warm cedar-like fragrance of redwood filling the open air. My mind began to still and I inhaled deeply, using the serene scent to quiet my stomach and nerves.
The tree nudged me again.
I leaned back onto bent knees and raised my eyes to the limitless ceiling of the deck. Ever so slowly I stood up, the living harness adjusting with me, always providing reassuring pressure to my torso and legs. The Seat wanted me to see its grandest view and was providing comforting support, I had to oblige.
The vista of a verdant countryside cut through by a platinum ribbon rolled to the horizon.
Venrood Forest stretched below, vast but short in stature now. A few barges topped with golden stacks of planks emerged slowly from the trees and were hitched to what must be draft horses, but looked like ponies, to be guided into the mill pond. I turned, intending to look down on Cragbend itself, and made my way around the furnishings to the opposite side. My harness loosened and shifted with me, giving me confidence with every step.
Cragbend was a bucolic hamlet at ground level, from the air it resembled a Thomas Kinkade painting.
The river narrowed after the mill pond and continued to wind through the town, bisecting it neatly. People moving on the main road resembled ants, some driving carts to an open air market on the upper side. Smoke curled from chimneys and water wheels sploshed. I glanced at the sun, it still had a way to go until high noon, (what did Daphne say that hour was called, mezzanar, I think?), I still had time to wander once I was done up here.
Past the market, the road ran out of town again, lined with shops and smaller farmsteads just like on the forest side coming in. I wondered where it led to, deciding to ask Aymur for a map later.
As I stepped away from the edge, the wall receded to knee height again. I approached the stairs leading down, and the harness twigs slid silently away.
The redwood scent lingered, however, even to this day I can recall it when I need an extra bit of courage or peace.
I placed my hands on the deck as I passed through the floor and whispered, “Thank you, that was truly amazing. I couldn’t have seen that view without your help.”
Rustling like maracas answered me, along with a warm pulse under my hands. I smiled and ducked below the platform once again.
This time fiery garnets glowed when I reached the circular juncture, directing me down through an immense beech tree that deposited me at the end of the hallway my room was on.
How cool it would be to grow up in a tree! One thing I knew for sure—acrophobia was not part of an Arborean’s makeup!
Yes, how cool would it be to grow up in a tree? You see now why I remember that morning so vividly. I was paralyzed with fear, yet able to witness that grand sight. It was breathtaking. Would you have been able to stand up on top of the tree without help? I won’t forget that sight, nor several others that we will get to later on. Next episode, we will head into Cragbend for a taste of everyday Eflarian life!~
Curious for more information about Ereth, Huphaea, and its inhabitants? Join the Nightingales by subscribing to Collata⚡, the Collection of Huphaea’s newsletter! I send out one email a month with extra bits from my time in Huphaea, things I can’t fit into the episodes. Come along, join the troupe, we are a merry band! Subscribe below!
It’s a question asked by writers every time they sit down with a new idea: “Where do I start?” It is also one of the most important decisions an author makes, as it can influence a reader enough to keep reading, or put the book down. This post contains some valuable tips to think about when you get down to the opening scene.~
Flickr Creative Commons: Roan Fourie
Lewis Carroll advises, through his creation the King of Hearts: “Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.” The King of Hearts is speaking about telling a story aloud, to a listener. As novelists, we don’t always tell our story in chronological order, and…
The topic of using mental health in character construction comes up frequently in writer’s groups. This blog post, along with Episode 42 of The Rebel Author podcast, (which you can find here), outlines some of the considerations and research avenues writers should explore as they write characters to life.~
Giving a character a trauma or mental health backstory seems like an easy way to add internal conflict to our characters – and it is. But where do you start that research? What should you be looking for? No one likes to read a story and find the writer just plain got something wrong. It…
*I received access to this title in exchange for an honest review, which I am happy to leave.*
Much of the historical fiction I have recently read takes place in London, so when I saw Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic is set in the famous and beautiful city of Bath, I was eager to read it. The asserted healing properties of the water, and the resurgence of its popularity in the nineteenth century made for an elegant and engaging backdrop to the mystery. Through the daily routines of the citizens “dependent” upon the water’s curative effects, we are transported into the hierarchy of Bath society with Lady Anne as she visits with her mother in preparation for the announcement of her own engagement.
I had not read any of the previous Lady Anne novels that Victoria Hamilton has written, but that did not restrict my understanding or empathy for Lady Anne or the other characters. The novel can be read as a stand-alone easily, though it may suggest that reading the prequels would be worth it for the story behind Anne and Lord Darkefell’s romance. The portrayal of the lord as dark, haughty, and sympathetic to women of his time who would control some of their independence is skillfully woven into the story as Anne conducts her own rebellions within the close Bath society.
Themes of love, secrets, truthfulness with oneself, exploitation, and societal beliefs are all explored through Anne’s discovery and solving of a murder mystery that involves those close to her. We learn of the complex relationships society demands women maintain, and the depravity they suffer when they do not. Anne treads a fine line between impropriety and inclusion in her goal of maintaining independence and marrying a marquess, to the marvel of her mother and Bath society. It is her tenacity, however, that leads her to pursue an investigation into an untimely death in an effort to spare her friends shame. What she discovers to be at the heart of the deception shakes her definitions of truth and appearance.
Lady Anne and the Menacing Mystic is an enjoyable delve into Georgian society outside London, with all of the decorum and formality of the era. Historical fiction fans will appreciate the complexity and physical description of the city of Bath and its contribution to the story. I recommend it to historical fiction mystery fans who would enjoy a trip outside of London. Partake of the mineral waters of Bath to ease your ailments and enjoy your time sleuthing with Lady Anne!
Hello Everyone! Here we are at episode 10, I’ve made it to double digits! I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep on schedule, and figured that ten would be a good round figure to judge by, but here it is, and I’m enjoying it a lot, so I’ll keep going. I hope you are enjoying my recounting too. And it is almost August—whoa, how did that happen? Make the most of your last month of summer (for those in the Northern hemisphere, that is). I am slated to return to playing soccer next week, and I just purchased a lovely hammock for backyard reading time with the dogs. It’s been hot here, but so much more comfortable reading in a hammock. I hope you make some time for your favorite activity this week!
Last episode we had a delicious breakfast with Lady Daphne Arborea, and got some indication that going home may not be so easy. Elahna also fell prey to some mischevious tree dryads. She was on her way back into the manor to do some exploring…
**This episode has a lot of descriptive elements that I can’t find pictures of, or draw that would do what I saw justice. My hope is that I can describe it well enough that it comes alive in your mind too. Not so many pics this time, is what I mean. Let your imagination do the illustration, that’s my hope.~
Rosewood Manor’s unique and ever-changing floor
Back in the main foyer, I examined the floor scene again. I blinked my eyes several times because I would have bet my last dollar (if I had any!) that the water in the stream was flowing lazily. Gemstones glittered up at me, daring me to follow them to the reaches of the manor. When I looked up, having made my decision, Aymur was approaching me, a bemused smile on his face.
“What catches your fancy, may I ask?”
“The water in the floor scene, I swear it flows over the rocks. Is it real?”
His smile broadened some, “No, it’s an illusion created by the vitae of the house. Quite realistic, isn’t it? We are never sure what will appear when the seasons change, it’s always different. One autumn it was a giant pile of sugar maple leaves. Try finding the red, orange, and yellow markers in that. We were all cross-eyed for anos!”
“Am I really allowed to go anywhere in the Manor? I mean, I don’t want to end up in someone’s bedroom, but I am dying to go up the stairs.”
“Of course, be my guest. Rosewood will redirect you from private quarters anyway, so don’t worry about being nosy. My personal recommendations would be the tiger-eye and aquamarine paths, though.” He stepped aside and gestured toward the stairs.
“Funny, I had just decided on the tiger-eyes. Thanks!” I headed for the stairs, but then stopped and turned back when I heard Aymur speaking. His back was to me, but no one else was there.
Oh, possibly. I’m sure Aymur did have his own dryads. But I think he was talking to the Manor. His hushed tone was that of scolding a small child, like he was telling Rosewood not to mess with me too much. I remember laughing to myself at that moment, cause here talking to ‘yourself’ with no device in your ear or person present is likely to get you strange looks, but there? Nope, it was totally normal. I was kinda bummed that I couldn’t see the fae spirits, or talk to the houses. But I got used to others doing it around me. It was just one of those things.
My impression the previous night had been that the giant staircase formed the back of the main hall. As I walked, I realized that it occupied the center of the ground level. The forest floor scene continued on past the stairs for a distance equal to the front half and ended in a wall of four sets of leaf-outlined double doors. Arches indicated two more hallways off either side, leading away into yet deeper parts of the manse.
The immense, forked-trunk staircase was so large it exuded a presence. It began as one, split to encircle a third, arrow-straight leader, and rejoined at the landing. The treads were smoothly carved into the heartwood, and revealed captivating streaks of red, orange, brown, and gray. The outer edges retained the craggy bark of an ancient oak. Branchlets wove together to form a balustrade on the balcony and stairway, dotted here and there with the guiding gemstones.
The tiger-eyes took me up the right flight, then right again and along a limbway that included short sets of steps. It ended as a sitting area that faced that arm of Venrood Forest I had seen from the road.
The room was open to the air, with a short knee-wall of leafy branches all the way around, and an increased density of slender twigs as a ceiling. The tawny wicker furniture held pillows in various shades of yellow and pale pink and sat around a woven, goldenrod hued rug. It was breathtaking. I wondered if the sun set, or rose in this direction.
I approached the edge, as close as I dared to go, (being horribly afraid of heights), to get an idea of how high in the canopy I was. The knee-wall rustled and stretched in height, getting taller the closer I got.
Wow! What an ingenious feature!
Of course! There were small children in the Seat, so responsive walls would allow them to be anywhere, no matter their age or curiosity level. I appreciated it as well. The queasiness in my gut lessened and I leaned on the now-chest-level wall, looking some fifty feet or more down. Above me, twice that remained, the leaves shimmering in the late morning sun. Acrophobia be damned, I was going to the top.
Back out in the limbway, the aquamarine markers glowed brighter than any other. I was being baited like a mouse with cheese, but I didn’t care.
Up and up I climbed, the stairs getting shorter and the halls smaller, but clearly ending in rooms or suites. I was still within the branches of the colossal oak, though I knew this particular one would not take me to the very top, it wasn’t tall enough. As if in answer to my musings, the sun-dappled corridor shrank notably in width and the limb ended against a circular, deck-like structure.
The decking grew out of the giant redwood trunk it encircled, the silvery inner wood heavily lined and shining like polished granite. Natural colored nets woven of multi stranded string formed the walls of the radial juncture.
It was like walking inside a pair of fishnet stockings, though I was sure this particular weave would lift an elephant if necessary. With no knee wall here, I fought the sickening urge to look down and kept my eyes on the gems in the center of the floor.
Several other hallways extended off of the platform in various directions. Redwood trees have a much more radial structure than that of the rambling oak, and because of it, I would not get to glimpse any suites that may be nestled in the giant evergreen.
The markers led me partway around the trunk and then onto an external staircase that spiraled up. I thanked the tree for the hand-sized banister and continued to climb, my stomach in my throat. Three more platforms fell away below me before the branches became smaller and more dense. My legs were aching and my hands shook with the phobia, but I swallowed it down and pushed through the foliage into warm sunlight.
I’ll stop here for this time, cause I remember the feeling I had at the top of that immense tree, and it still wipes me out! It needs its own post, for sure. See you soon! ~
Rosewood Manor is quite the place, right? I suppose it could be a bit creepy sometimes, but it always seemed more helpful than anything. I sure appreciated those responsive walls. I never saw Rosewood in autumn or winter so I’m not sure how it looked when the leaves were off the deciduous trees that made up the manse. Maybe they didn’t fall, but just turned color. It was such a cool place to live, made me wonder about the other Seats, what they were like. Would you want to live in a place like Rosewood Manor? Leave a comment below and let me know!~
Would you like more info bits about Huphaea and places like Rosewood Manor? Then subscribe to Collata ⚡, The Collection of Huphaea newsletter! Nightingales look forward to one email a month that goes a little deeper into this new world, giving some insight or explanation beyond the episodes. Hit the subscribe button below to join the mailing list and become a Nightingale!
** The links should be live now for the contest and Contributed Occupation list**
Hi everyone! Today I have something fun to share…a special chance to win some help with your writing bills. Awesome, right?
Some of you may know Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi of Writers Helping Writers. Well, today they are releasing a new book, and I’m part of their street team. I’m handing the blog over to them so they can tell you about their Writer’s Showcase event, new book, and a great freebie to check out. Read on!
Certain details can reveal a lot about a character, such as their goals, desires, and backstory wounds. But did you know there’s another detail that can tie your character’s arc to the plot, provide intense, multi-layered conflict, AND shorten the “get to know the character” curve for readers?
It’s true. Your character’s occupation is a GOLD MINE of storytelling potential.
Think about it: how much time do you spend on the job? Does it fulfill you or frustrate you? Can you separate work from home? Is it causing you challenges, creating obstacles…or bringing you joy and helping you live your truth?
Just like us, most characters will have a job, and the work they do will impact their life. The ups and downs can serve us well in the story.
Maybe you haven’t thought much about jobs in the past and how they act as a window into your character’s personality, interests, and skills. It’s okay, you aren’t alone. The good news is that The Occupation Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Jobs, Vocations, and Careers is going to do all the heavy lifting for you. (Here’s one of the job profiles we cover in this book:FIREFIGHTER.)
GIVEAWAY ALERT: THE WRITER’S SHOWCASE
To celebrate the release of a new book, Writers Helping Writers has a giveaway happening July 20th & July 23rd. You can win some great prizes, including gift certificates that can be spent on writing services within our Writer’s Showcase. Stop by to enter!
Resource Alert: A List of Additional Jobs Profiles For Your Characters
Some of the amazing writers in our community have put together additional career profiles for you, based on jobs they have done in the past. What a great way to get accurate information so you can better describe the roles and responsibilities that go with a specific job, right? To access this list, GO HERE.
The Sun, a Book, and a Dog 