There's a saying from my previous career about "knocking rust off your skill". Basically, folks who had been away too long needed to knock off the rust in order to get back to their previous level of performance. Granted, that was always said tongue-in-cheek, but it's amazing the accuracy of that phrase.
Spend too much time on any task and you lose your edge. Whether it's working a day job, hitting the gym, flying a high-performance aircraft, or writing, the brain and body can only operate at peak performance before demanding a break. Time to spool down, relax, recuperate, and recharge. In almost every facet of life, giving yourself a break allows you to come back a little better, a little harder, and a lot sharper than before.
But like with many things in life, it's not as easy as it sounds...
A while back I returned to "active writing mode"* after a bit of a break. I assumed it was like riding a bike and I'd fire up some manuscripts, then pound away on the keyboard with my old ferocity. Only I didn't. Instead, I sat there, staring at the existing words, wondering what in the world to do next.
Returning to writing, apparently, wasn't like riding a bike at all.
And that, right there, was a shock. While creating The Shifter Chronicles, I cranked out consistent word counts, refusing to allow myself to go to bed until reaching them. But having been away from that intense process for a little while, getting back into the swing of things wasn't an easy flip of a switch. Not only did new worlds need to be built, but new characters fleshed out and new plot lines redrawn. More important, the actual process of BICHOK (Butt-In-Chair-Hands-On-Keyboard) had to be relearned.
But much like falling off a bike, getting back on is only half of the equation. The other half is actually pedaling.
Sad to say, a lot of people won't bother with the first part, much less the second. A lot of folks will take a break from something they were "good" at, only to walk away forever when they discover even the slightest atrophy of skill.
For a lot of writers, however, that's not an option. Birthing a story is a passion and one that deserves to be "re-learned" despite the effort required to do so. We hear the call of the keyboard, the siren song of the words, and we plop down in the chair after an absence to muscle through the reeducation process. And like pull-ups, the only way to get good at writing is to do it. We can research all we want, talk about our outlines, but BICHOK is the only way the images in our heads will find life on paper.
Breaks are good for the mind and the soul. Writing a book takes a lot out of a person, so it's absolutely warranted that they deserve a little down time between stories. But writers, myself included, also have to remember that getting back into the swing of things might not always be as easy as it was when we were in the thick of it.
And you know what? That's okay. Maybe it's not like riding a bike, but a little extra effort to knock the rust off our skills is worth it when it's in pursuit of something we love.
*which essentially means I was no longer thinking about the words I wanted to write, but actually putting pen to paper.
Bio:
Joshua Roots is a car enthusiast, beekeeper, and storyteller. He enjoys singing with his a cappella chorus, golf, and all facets of Sci-Fi/Fantasy. He's still waiting for his acceptance letter to Hogwarts and Rogue Squadron. He and his wife will talk your ear off about their bees if you let them.
His Urban Fantasy series, The Shifter Chronicles, is available wherever digital books are sold.
Today I have a question for all you readers out there. And, to be honest, it's a question that I've rolled my eyes at in the past. But lately I've been really struggling with POV and so I'm wondering, do you have a preference for first person or third person POV? And, if so, what is it you like or dislike about one or the other?
Full disclosure: In terms of reading, I can't really say I like one more than the other. Which should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me. I generally answer all either/or questions with yeses or nos. Coffee or tea, wine or beer, red or white, light or dark, favorite season, favorite color--whatever. The more the merrier. Pisces are nothing if not inclusive. So, in terms of viewpoint, it totally depends on what I'm in the mood for at any given time. But when it comes to writing, I definitely prefer third person--unless the viewpoint character has a voice that really stands out.
In most of my first person stories the viewpoint characters have had what were--at least to me--interesting voices. They've also been very chatty. It definitely makes the writing process smoother when you can practically hear the characters' voices in your head, or when you feel as though you're merely taking dictation.
Sadly, that doesn't happen as often as it should.
Which leads me to the book I'm writing now. This is a story told in alternating first person--one chapter in the hero's POV, the next chapter in the heroine's. It's not the first book like that I've written this way, and I actually have another book written like that--the sequel to this one, in fact--all planned out and ready to go. And those characters are practically screaming at me to let them speak.
The h/h from this story, on the other hand? Yeah, not so much.
They've been so very quiet that it's reached the point where I'm wondering if I've made a mistake. Perhaps this book might be better in third person. Hence my opening questions: First? Third? Do you care? And why?
I'm sure you've heard the saying that to eat an elephant, you should start one bite at a time. I resist that idea a lot because I'm so impatient. I want results now. e.g. if I'm starting a new diet or exercise program, I have to go full-out gangbusters. Tackle it 110% percent!
And you know what happens almost every single time? I burn out long before I get to the goal and just give up.
For a variety of reasons, 2016 and 2017 have been a writing bust for me. But I'm trying to get back to the elephant in the room and finish the @#%&*@ book. I even took a class last month to help. (Write Better Faster with Becca Syme at Margie Lawson's Writing Academy) It helped tremendously, though not in the ways I expected.
Just talking with other people about my issues and how to work through them was extremely useful. I also realized that I have all or nothing thinking. I have to do this HUGE THING or OMG FAIL. That's not true at all. I can start small and slowly work my way up to where I want to be and it's not failure if it takes me a bit longer to get there. Failure is just sitting here not doing anything.
One thing that's helped me get back on track is to start extremely small. I know I'm fully capable of writing 500 words in 30 mins. I can write thousands of words a day, *when the story's going well.* When it's not going well, that's a whole other story, pun intended. So I went back to using Kanban Flow, which has a 25 min timer that I really like. I can lay out all my goals for the month, break them down into tiny pieces, and tackle them one by one. Yes, it's a bit redundant to put 100 or more "draft 500 words" to-dos on my board, but something about the act of creating it, putting it in the In Progress column, and then clicking the timer, makes me do it, instead of just *thinking* about doing it, and dreading it.
It's funny, I still get anxiety about setting that timer. Something about it sets my alert button to GO. Like a race, I don't want to get beat. I don't want to waste my time. I have to beat the buzzer. Even if it's only words in 25 minutes.
So little bites are working for me this time around. I actually wrote 2353 words today using this technique. I got up Dark & Early and got 2 25-min sessions in, and then got another 25 mins in over my lunch. I knew I'd be busy all night with the monsters' basketball games, so I had to hit my goal early.
New Audiobook Released: Veronica Scott's Award Winning Star Cruise Outbreak: The story:
She saved countless soldiers in the wars … but does she have the weapons to fight an outbreak?
Dr. Emily Shane, veteran of the Sector Wars, is known as “The Angel of Fantalar” for her bravery under fire as a medic. However, the doctor has her own war wounds–severe PTSD and guilt over those she failed to save.
Persuaded to fill a seemingly frivolous berth as ship’s doctor on the huge and luxurious interstellar cruise liner Nebula Zephyr, she finds the job brings unexpected perks–a luxe beach deck with water imported from Tahumaroa II, and Security Officer Jake Dilon, a fellow veteran who heats her up like a tropical sun.
However, Emily soon learns she and Jake didn’t leave all peril behind in the war. A mysterious ailment aboard the Zephyr begins to claim victim after victim … and they must race against time and space to find the cause and a cure! Trapped on a ship no spaceport will allow to dock, their efforts are complicated by a temperamental princess and a terrorist–one who won’t hesitate to take down any being in the way of his target. If anyone’s left when the disease is through with them…
Space magic, shifters and pirates! A starship shaman kidnapped by a bounty hunter must work with him to defeat a galactic terrorist - her grandfather! Her Robot Wolf is so much fun!!!
One could argue that I'm still a bit too new an author to really have a backlist--but since it's been five years since my release of the second edition of Faerie Blood, and eight years since Faerie Blood's original release, I think it's fair to say that that book's at the top of any backlist I'd be starting now!
All authors have things to love about every one of their releases. For me, though, Faerie Blood remains in many respects the book of my heart. It's the first thing I released professionally, and it's the first thing I ever won Nanowrimo with as well. It's got all the things I love in it: elves (and specifically, the Sidhe). Seattle. Bikes. Geekery. Magic. Music (and specifically, references to two of my major musical fandoms).
And since I redid the cover for the second edition release, it remains to this day my favorite cover. This thing gets a lot of eyes on it every single time I take it to a convention, and justifiably so, as my artist did a stellar job!
In the last year in particular, I've even had the pleasure of finding whole new ways to connect with my heroine Kendis Thompson--because I've taken up learning the fiddle. Which, as I've written about before on this very blog, is one of the biggest things I've ever ostensibly done in the name of research. ;) Okay yeah I wanted to learn the fiddle anyway--but I'm here to tell you all, being able to actually describe what playing an instrument feels like from direct first person experience is very, very helpful for writing a musician character!
But what about the actual story? Here's the blurb, y'all:
Kendis Thompson of Seattle thinks she’s as normal as the next computer geek, and up till now, she’s been right. But her world is about to turn on its ear, for she is the daughter of a Seelie Court mage and her mortal husband—and her faerie blood is awakening. Suddenly the city she’s known all her life is transforming before her eyes. Trolls haunt the bike trails. Fairies and goblins run loose in the streets. An old woman who is not what she seems and a young wanderer running from his past stand ready to defend Seattle—and Kendis—from magical assault. She will need those allies, for the power rising within her is calling her fey kin to the Emerald City to find her. And kill her.
And here's a short excerpt!
“Shit,” I squeaked. Then I shrieked in mounting terror at the man sprawled on the trail, “Get up!”
He stirred. His eyes flickered, urgency warring with grogginess in his bearded features as he clued in that he was now up the proverbial creek, unequipped with paddle. But he couldn’t seem to make himself get out of the troll’s way, even when its next strike with the staff missed his skull by scant inches and pounded a hole into the grass instead.
Since he couldn’t move, I did.
Attacking a pissed-off troll with a Swiss Army knife was probably not the wisest thing I could have done. No, scratch that, it was definitely not the wisest thing I could have done. But wisdom wasn’t high on the agenda right then. What I saw before me was a guy getting the crap beaten out of him because he’d answered my scream for help—which made said beating my fault. And that bothered the hell out of me. I couldn’t leave someone to get his head split open like a piñata on my account without at least trying to do something to assist.
So I flicked open the knife and threw myself in a headlong rush at the creature. I’d like to say that a flash of brilliant inspiration gave me the best possible place to hit the troll with my laughably miniscule blade, and how to tackle it to knock it off of my downed rescuer. But I can’t. I can’t even say that I knew what to call the monster, much less how to fight it. My charge had all the finesse of an intoxicated farm boy trying to tip an armed and all too dangerous cow. I almost knocked myself out when I barreled low into my target, catching the staff between it and me before it could take another whack at the stranger.
Blindly I stabbed out with my little knife. I couldn’t tell where I connected; I could barely tell that I’d connected at all, thanks to almost gagging on the troll’s stench and trying not to faint as I got my other arm around it and held on for dear life. But the tip of my blade caught somewhere along its hide—caught and sank in and stayed there.
With another gurgling howl the troll let go of the staff, nearly choking me in the process as the carved wood jammed up against my throat, and started pawing frenetically at the place where I’d struck. It writhed violently, knocking me sideways, away from the tall figure spilled along the trail. And as it writhed, it began to change.
Color leeched out of its form, turning greenish-brown skin, black tufts of hair, and tusks the stained yellow of old ivory to an overall rocky gray. Flailing arms and paws began to slow, their motions increasingly sluggish, till the troll fell over onto me with one fist still reaching for the knife and the other jabbing clumsily against the ground beside my head. One great foul blast of breath from its maw nearly made me retch before that maw, too, began to freeze up and change color inside as well as out. Its screeches of pain dwindled down to a few burbling gasps, then cut off with an unmistakable finality. Before I grasped what was happening, the weight pinning me to the earth had transformed from monster to monster statue.
The troll had turned to stone.
Want to know more? You can find out all about the book on its official page on my site. I have the first four chapters available as preview downloads there, or if you prefer, you can read longer previews on Amazon or Overdrive!
Or if you want to go ahead and buy the ebook, here are all the places you can do that!
But wait there's more! You can also buy the ebook or the print edition directly from me on my Square store!
If you decide to snap it up, or hey, even if you check it out and want to think about it for later, thanks very much in advance and I hope you will love this book as much as I loved writing it!
-- Angela writes as both Angela Korra'ti and Angela Highland, and you can find out all about her books over on her site, angelahighland.com. Or you can come find her on Facebook or Twitter!
Writers
who don’t read voraciously perplex me. If you don’t love reading fiction books,
why would you want to write them? Yet I know a number of writers who have lost
at least some of their childhood love of reading.
TOP THREE REASONS I’VE HEARD WRITERS GIVE FOR NOT READING FICTION:
1.Life is too busy.
With
full-time jobs, trying to stay fit, kids, sick parents, sick pets, etc... it
can be very hard to carve out time to write and so some writers have sacrificed
their leisure time in order to write. I get that.
This post
is not meant to browbeat you or make you feel guilty, but rather to encourage
you to try to find time for reading. You can still have a book on the go even
if it takes a long time to finish it. Case in point: I read a chapter a night
to my kids. Since I alternate with my husband which kid I read to and some
evenings get skipped, this means about three chapters a week. I’ve read ten
books this way this year.
2. When
I’m tired, it’s easier to turn on the TV than pick up a book.
There
are a lot of wonderful TV shows being aired these days. I grew up on shows like
Three’s Company and Dallas, which simply cannot compare to
the storytelling and sophistication of modern shows. Also there is so much more
to choose from! I love SF/fantasy. There used to be maybe one or two programs
in my genre, now there are dozens. Good shows that I want to watch.
Furthermore,
watching TV is often a social thing. My husband and I love to discuss shows we’re
watching. We’re also enjoying rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with our
teenager. Even a poorly watched TV show reaches a wider audience than the vast
majority of books, so discussing them can give you commonground at the office cafeteria.
But
here’s the thing: I still prefer a good book. I will often turn down TV
watching in favour of finishing a book. Books are a different medium than TV and
to me they are more satisfying. More immersive, richer, with room to be as long
as they need.
If you genuinely
prefer watching TV to reading books, then my question is: why aren’t you
writing scripts?
3. I
don’t enjoy reading as much as I used to because my brain goes into
critical/thinking/editing mode when I try to read
This one
makes me wince. You have my sincere sympathies.
The
only thing I can really suggest is to read better books. Sounds flippant, I
know. But the analytical side of my brain only tends to turn on if I’m having
trouble getting into a book—books that I end up not finishing or rating only
two or three stars on Goodreads. When I’m reading books by my favourite
authors, that are four and five star reads, that side of my brain doesn’t
engage until I finish reading the entire novel.
Life is
too short to spend time reading books that you don’t enjoy. Yes, even if it’s
an award-winner.
Find a
book that hooks you. Maybe it’s an old favourite, a guaranteed thrill ride.
Maybe it’s the new book everyone’s raving about (or maybe you hate that book,
if so, put it down.) Download the first chapters of ten books that sound
interesting onto your ereader and hold a little first paragraph contest (or do
the same while standing in a bookstore or library.) Make them audition for your
time. Read the winner.
REASONS WHY WRITERS, MORE THAN ANYONE, NEED TO READ:
1. To learn technique.
Take your favourite book and think about what it is that
makes you love it--strong pacing, great dialogue, awesome character moments,
plot twists, whatever. Then reread the book and notice how the author achieves
this.
You
can, of course, also learn from watching TV (here’s another post on this topic)
but TV and books are different mediums and IMO you can’t learn as much from TV
as from a good book.
2. To learn to be critical of your own work.
Critiquing skills are vital to learning to rewrite--and they're much easier to practice on other people's work than your own. Not enjoying a book? Analyze
why, then figure out how to apply the lesson to your own fiction.
3. To keep current in your genre.
I don’t necessarily mean chasing fads (though if
you’re one of those lucky writers who can write fast, why not chase them?) but if
you haven’t read much in the last fifteen years, you might have missed crucial things.
Like the rise of steampunk. Or the changes in urban fantasy. (It used to be
that all contemporary fantasy, that is books with magic but set in modern
times, required the magic/fantasy element to be hidden and secret. Thus whole
chapters were spent gradually revealing the magic element to the main character
and building up their belief that it was real. Writers like Laurell K. Hamilton
revolutionized the genre when they created worlds in which vampires had ‘come
out of the closet’ and were an accepted part of the world. This allowed for
faster pacing and opened up so many new story possibilities, it’s no wonder the
genre exploded.) Young adult literature has undergone similar changes since I
was a teen. In my lifetime mystery has spawned legal thrillers as a separate genre.
4. To support your fellow writers.
Read
because if all the writers out there bought five more books a year, then more
writers could make a living at this stuff. (Okay, I don’t have statistical
studies to support this. I still think it’s true.)
To go with one of our suggested themes for June, which is weddings, here's the opening scene of Escape From Zulaire, where the heroine has been pressed into duty as a substitute bridesmaid. This book, which won both an SFR Galaxy Award and a National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award, is currently FREE at all ebook sellers. The 'buy links' are after the excerpt.
The story:
Andi Markriss hasn’t exactly enjoyed being the houseguest of the planetary high-lord, but her company sent her to represent them at a political wedding. When hotshot Sectors Special Forces Captain Tom Deverane barges in on the night of the biggest social event of the summer, Andi isn’t about to offend her high-ranking host on Deverane’s say-so—no matter how sexy he is, or how much he believes they need to leave now.
Deverane was thinking about how to spend his retirement bonus when HQ assigned him one last mission: rescue a civilian woman stranded on a planet on the verge of civil war. Someone has pulled some serious strings to get her plucked out of the hot zone. Deverane’s never met anyone so hard-headed—or so appealing. Suddenly his mission to protect this one woman has become more than just mere orders.
That mission proves more dangerous than he expected when rebel fighters attack the village and raze it to the ground. Deverane escapes with Andi, and on their hazardous journey through the wilderness, Andi finds herself fighting her uncomfortable attraction to the gallant and courageous captain. But Deverane’s not the type to settle down, and running for one’s life doesn’t leave much time to explore a romance.
Then Andi is captured by the rebel fighters, but Deverane has discovered that Zulaire’s so-called civil war is part of a terrifying alien race’s attempt to subjugate the entire Sector. If he pushes on to the capitol Andi will die. Deverane must decide whether to save the woman he loves, or sacrifice her to save Zulaire.
The excerpt:
This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever done
as assistant planetary agent for Loxton Galactic Trading—standing in as a
bridesmaid in a borrowed puce dress because some other girl failed to show up. Andi
Markriss sighed, feeling the garment binding too tight across her chest. I didn’t mind representing the company as a
guest, but this is way outside the line of duty.
Early afternoon on
Zulaire was too warm for an outdoor ceremony, but the Planetary High Lord’s
spoiled daughter Lysanda didn’t care to be ready any earlier in the day. Her
guests’ comfort wasn’t a consideration.
An inch at a time,
Andi shifted from her assigned spot into the shade cast by the towering stone
pillars. How did I get talked into this?
Oh, yes, Lysanda wept, and her mother made vague threats about her husband
reviewing our shipping contracts. As the musicians played, Andi turned,
watching Lysanda pace toward the dais in time to the music, smiling for her
groom-to-be.
The local priest took a deep breath and
launched into a lengthy blessing, invoking the deity and relating the history
of the planet’s three Clans—Obati, Shenti and Naranti. Andi chanted along with
him under her breath. Overlords, Second Class
and Neutrals, as her boss had told her when she’d arrived on Zulaire six
years ago. Easy to keep them straight that way, he’d said, but don’t ever slip
and use the nicknames out loud.
“This
young pair from two of the highest families will cement our peace,” the priest
proclaimed, lowering his arms and beaming at Princess Lysanda and her intended.
“Their offspring will embody the union of Obati and Shenti blood.”
Applause
from the crowd, led by the bride’s mother, made the officiant blush. As he
bowed, Lysanda blew her mother a kiss.
That ovation will spur him to more oratory
for sure. Andi smothered a sigh, wiggling her aching toes, held too tight
in the borrowed silver sandals. I thought
the last three weeks of engagement parties, picnics and games out here in the
summer compound were endless, but this ceremony tops them all.
“The
bride and groom will now light the symbolic candles.” The priest led the pair
to the side altar, where a trio of candles—blue, green and ivory—had been set
into massive golden holders. Representing the three Clans, the candle ritual
reinforced the political symbolism of this ceremony. Everything symbolic on
Zulaire came in threes, Andi thought, watching the couple light each candle in
turn.
Sneezing
violently as the slight afternoon breeze carried colorful but pungent smoke
from the burning tapers in her direction, she earned herself a glare and a
hissed “Shh!” from the woman standing next to her. After taking a deep,
cleansing breath of the fragrant bouquet she’d been clutching, Andi gave the
other attendant a faint smile.
Lysanda
had argued long and hard with her mother earlier about allowing Andi to
substitute for the unaccountably missing handmaiden. Only the fact that without
Andi to partner him, an important groomsman would be omitted from the ceremony
swayed the decision. Good for Loxton’s
business networking that I’m here. The Planetary Lord’s family owes me personally
now for preserving the precious symmetry of Lysanda’s wedding party, at the
cost of my aching feet. With a flash of amusement at the ludicrous
situation, Andi smiled. Lucky for the
princess, I accepted the invitation on behalf of Loxton, not my portly boss.
Tuning
out the priest’s new recitation of more sacred writings, since the man had a
nasal voice and a tendency to repeat himself, Andi studied the intricate
carvings in the shiny black stone wall of the pavilion across from her, details
brought to clarity by the slanting sun’s rays.
The
bas-relief depicted a stylized sun above a giant, multitrunked malagoy tree—each
trunk symbolizing one of the three Zulairian tribes—Obati and Shenti locked in
an eternal struggle to rule the planet, jockeying back and forth for thousands
of years of bloody history. All the while the Naranti stayed neutral, filling a
perpetual peacemakers’ role, as their god, Sanenre, had legendarily decreed.
Symbolic of their Clan’s allotted role in the planet’s history, the Naranti
trunk was at the center of the tree, supporting the other two.
A
skillfully carved herd of three-horned urabu grazed beneath the sheltering arms
of the malagoy, the alpha buck depicted
in a watchful stance, stone face staring at the occupants of the dais. The image of these legendary
creatures, with their sweeping triple horns, was found everywhere on Zulaire,
even on the Planetary Lord’s seal. Beloved symbol of the god Sanenre, legendary
bearers of good fortune and blessings, the gazellelike animals were extinct now,
of course, hunted for the ivory of their sweeping horns.
Lysanda
and her betrothed were repeating vows after the priest.
Apparently as
bored as Andi was, the youngest attendant at the ceremony, just a toddler
really, came across the platform with unsteady steps, reaching for Andi, her
favorite playmate of the last few weeks. Missing her nieces and nephews, who
lived far away in her own home Sector of the galaxy, Andi had been happy to
skip a few adult entertainments to amuse the young ones of the house during her
stay.
After a quick hug,
the little girl plunked herself at Andi’s feet, leaning against her legs. Pulling
the flower garland from her glossy curls, she picked the petals off the
blossoms while humming the processional tune off-key. The priest began to wrap
up, raising his voice to override the toddler’s song. Andi stared out over the
crowd.
Quite a few empty chairs. A surprising number
of high-ranking Obati guests had failed to arrive, which had driven the bride’s
mother into an angry tirade shortly before the ceremony. The failure of the
missing bridesmaid and her family to show up had created another firestorm.
Lady Tonkiln had a long memory for social slights.
It’s been an odd summer, that’s for sure.
Andi would be glad to see fall arrive, when business always picked up and she
could get back to the office, dive into the complexities of intergalactic
trading and leave the socializing to others. And decide if it’s time to leave Zulaire for another assignment.Six years is too long to stay on one planet,
if I want my next promotion. I wish I didn’t love it here so much.
Of course, no one
had expected Planetary Lord Tonkiln to leave the important business of ruling
Zulaire for his daughter’s handfasting. He’d be at the formal wedding later in
the year, held in the massive shrine at the capital, to accept the Shenti
groom’s petition for marriage to Lysanda. His oldest son, Gul, had been
scheduled to stand in for the ruler today, but in typical Gul fashion, he
hadn’t shown up.
His careless
attitude to responsibilities had been one of the reasons Andi had never let
their casual, off-and-on-again affair become more serious. Charming as he was,
Gul was unreliable.
Glancing along the
fringes of the crowd where the invited Shenti guests were sitting, she saw
everyone attentive, focusing on the glowing bride and handsome groom.
The Naranti
servants clustered at the rear of the outdoor pavilion looked bored. I suppose they just want to get this over
with so they can clean up.
Well, me, too. I want to get out of this
dress. What a wretched color Lysanda picked! Andi sighed. I’m glad I can wear my own clothing tonight
at the reception, when I present the Loxton corporate bride gift.
And still the
ceremony continued. The bride gazed soulfully at her fiancé while he knelt,
serenading her with a traditional Zulairian love song. As if she hadn’t been making fun of this very part of the ritual less
than an hour ago. What a little actress.
This was a coolly
negotiated union of the ruling Obati family and an influential Shenti house to
further cement everyone’s power. Lysanda
and her groom are doing an excellent job of portraying lovebirds for the crowd.
Both loving the spotlight.How fortunate he can sing—the family didn’t
have to hire someone to carry the tune for him. Andi blinked, turning her
full attention back to the couple as her own most favorite moment of the handfasting
ceremony arrived—the giving of the bridal shawl. In the old days, she knew,
these shawls had been hand-woven, selected by the groom with much care to
symbolically enfold his chosen one in his love. Lysanda’s shawl followed
current fashion in the capital – machine-made, trimmed with three kinds of
lace, the two family crests outlined in semiprecious gems—all about the show,
not the emotion. Two attendants carried the unfolded shawl to the groom,
displaying the embroidery and jewels for the guests to admire.
Still, it was the most romantic aspect of this
particular ceremony. Andi suppressed a somewhat wistful mental picture of an
unknown man wrapping her in one of the traditional, simple shawls.She took another deep breath of the
flowers’ perfume. What is with me today,
all this nostalgia for the dreams I had as a kid? Romance, a husband, children…
Traveling around the Sectors doing business for Loxton is the wrong career if I
want to settle down. I already made that decision, no looking back, no regrets.
Maybe after I make Sector vice president, I’ll decide on a different course.
No telling how old she’d be by then.
