ROW80 Week 10.5: Collapse

(other ROW80 participants)

Since finishing my second draft last week, I haven’t made any further progress; travel, the flu, and generally being sick of the story have combined to put me off doing any more.

At this point, I suspect the best thing I can do is to start working on something else. I’m going to need more roleplaying material soon, and several other ideas have been growing in the background, so I won’t be short of things to work on.

However, this does mean my goal of posting a story this round is probably a failure. It’s not been a total loss, by any means — I’ve learned a lot about editing, and I’ll very likely get back to this story at some point — but it’s still frustrating to keep missing these goals.

On the other hand, if I wasn’t failing, I wouldn’t be pushing myself hard enough.

New goal for this coming week: write five days out of seven, and find a new project to focus on.

Good luck and happy writing!

ROW80 Week 9: Just Enough

(other ROW80 participants)

This week only saw two evenings of editing, but that was just enough to finish my current draft.

I’m still not happy with the ending: currently, it switches between three scenes going on at once. It is supposed to tie several plot threads together, so maybe that’s expected — or maybe I just have to leave a few things out.

While I think about that, I’ve got some things to establish earlier in the story, so some of the key points in the ending make sense.

I may or may not have this done by the 16th, but I have got a path that can get me there.

Good luck and happy writing!

The Last Heir

Beyond the castle juts a pier of stone.
Stand at its basalt peak. Let eyes drift down:
The swirling vapours hide a gulf unknown.
To this abyss, the old king threw the crown.

Those were the days of wealth, and distant war,
But choices still were hard, and rule was pain.
The weary monarch cried at last “No more!”,
Fled duty and the throne, and joined the slain.

But now the war has reached these ancient walls.
The keep is held — by squabbling, shattered men.
Three blood-stained generals eye the royal halls.

Where father leaped, now daughter climbs again.
Above the stones, her parachute spreads wide …

The gates behind her crack; foes storm inside.