caper_est: The grey wolf in the red gloaming. (golden kate)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 140 words, and my heroes have reached the field of contention at last. I thought the swooping-in narrative perspective at the beginning of this chapter was purely a device to provide context, but now I see it does another job: helping provide a sense of farewell to Golden Kate, who is after all riding into a peril from which she cannot reasonably expect to return, even in victory. And precisely because she has nothing to hope for herself, her fierce old heart is lightened at last, and the mood of the piece lifted up and into stranger tension.

My big job for today is to plan out the events of the Assize and the Battle in detail. Timing and its failures are going to be everything here: this is one bit I simply can't make up as I go along, or out of the elvish mists in my head.
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 1,480 words.  The Bad Baron makes a bad mistake.  There is exactly one person who thinks the Young Duke isn't about to respond with a worse one.  Here I must rest a bit, because Elegant Elder Sister's stand on this is not what I imagined when I first sketched this scene, at all.  Will the others bring her round to that old turn of the tale, or will she not even go there?

The viewpoint has moved right back into its original in-world omni for this chapter.  Unsure whether this is a needful distancing made instinctively as the storm and strain increases, or whether it's going to have to find its way into somebody's head again in the redraft.  If so, this scene is probably Flashy Elder Brother's.  He's the most detached, the most slippery, and the only one of the main characters whose eyes we haven't seen through.  And this is one of those rare pinches even he can't bluff or juggle his way out of, caught cruelly between his little sister's hammer and Bonecold Refugee's anvil.  Yes - he, if anybody!  But I can't slow the spate now to make that happen.

At any rate, the next chapter must surely go with my old wolf Kate, alone.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 600 words.  Something went wrong, and nobody knows what, except that most of their best-beloveds are off somewhere else doing hair-raisingly dangerous things.  Kate and even Hero-Father reach the end of their respective tethers here.  This concludes Kate Scene I from Garcastle. 

The other half of Kate's scene belongs after Bonecold Refugee's, and fixes the timing.  If I really wanted to kaleidoscope this chapter, I could give viewpoint to Hero-Father instead.  That might be taking things to the point of self-indulgence, though it would explain why the Event that gives the chapter its real title is intelligible to the person who perceives it.  H'mm!

Ruddy long chapter, this is shaping up to be.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: 980 words.  Luke's viewpoint section.  When your army has the quality, cohesion, and baseline morale of a strawberry blancmange somebody left out in the rain, and you are running out of time, there is only one thing left to do.  It is not, peculiarly, to attack.

I think Fiery Younger Sister is going to get her brief taste of viewpoint in this chapter, too.  This is looking like a very peculiar, and perhaps a rather central, chapter.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Killer-Kate and Luke Lackland: Luke came down this morning like a thunderbolt back into Langdale, in the 20 words I wrote of my new chapter.

Then on the train journey into work, I detected a stupidity and deleted 17 of them.

But that's nothing.  Last night's plot twist gave me a notion for how to get rid of another 5K or so of my least favourite words during the redraft.  Diplomacy is much more fun on the hoof!

Next job: fix his revised itinerary, and match up the times for the thing he, Kate, and Kate's son are all glimpsing from separate places.  I may have to commit quite a dance between viewpoints in this chapter: all those three, certainly, and probably Elegant Elder Sister, and maybe even Flashy Elder Brother too.

caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Finished the folksong, which was a 'Riddles Wisely Answered' plot with a twist appropriate to its world.  Just for once the tune is a real one in our own setting: The Bonnie Banks of Airdrie (Child #14). Ewan MacColl had earwormed me with that one, but bad. The Benball Stair has now done its job, namely to give me my mind back.

The lady appears to be a conflation of Katy Elflocks - the protagonist of the completed panel of Three Katherines of Allingdale - and the King of Elfland's daughter from her tale. The minstrel appears not to have read the terms and conditions on the back of his poetic licence.

This was totally the reason that I only managed a beggarly 195 words on the main story yesterday. The word-shortage has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I'm heading into a complicated and painful argument, or with the unpleasant discovery that the viewpoint that hurts most for it, is also the right one -  for exactly the same reasons.

Meyer's Law is all too valid for writing. Ow, ow, ow!


caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
One of the bits I like most about writing is its power to suddenly re-enchant my own world, when I find myself thinking the thoughts of a character wholly unlike me, and seeing a vision I'd never have seen otherwise.

Is there any spirit so really earthbound that it has never soared in its fancy on the high winds, and seen the wide world laid out beneath it with the fierce keen eyes of a hawk?  Certainly, fantasy writers from Le Guin to Lackey and beyond have loved to tell of it, and bring it to life in their waking worlds.

I am no predator, for all that.  But my current protagonist has the predator's mind par excellence: she is a fierce falcon of her world, an aristocrat who believes implicitly in the aristocratic spirit.  She is also, at the moment, a falcon who is trying very hard to be a good mouse - albeit, if humans were mice, Kate might be a sort of corrupt Reepicheep fumbling towards the dawn.  So it was only by her courtesy that I could glimpse this, this morning:

- That we envy the hawk's eyesight, from its eminence, with the world spread wide beneath it, and all the creatures thereof in its sight and danger.  But the mouse's world is just as gigantic as the hawk's, and it sees much that the hawk never will: as the green translucent spears of the grass all about it, and the shadow of terror and mystery that blots out the Sun.  And Kate felt all the thrill and hazard of that this morning - and I through her, and I don't ever think it would have crowded in on me otherwise.

It is a wonderful thing to sit at my beige coffee-stained keyboard, and share the mind of somebody so dreadfully alive.

630 words, and flowing.
caper_est: caper_est, the billy goat (Default)
Woke full of beans at something past four, and put in a first 380 words on Golden Kate's exploratory chapter in Fairfields. I used her point of view quite a bit in Katy Elflocks, but in the second half of the tale I've deliberately maintained my distance until now.

That has been an artistic decision - this is the first time in Killer-Kate when I think it's right to see things through her eyes, though it won't by any means be the last. As to the matter of craft, it's... a new kind of challenge: my attempt at a Crone's Journey. Proud, stubborn, intolerant, and trailing disasters behind her as a comet drags its tail, this is the story where she finally achieves the greatness that she thought she had when she was only the villain. But first I must break her heart again with certain small kindnesses, so that it can set right at last.

Hard going. I love my old dragon dearly, but hers is not an easy or a pleasant mind to inhabit. It is, however, an exhilarating one.

Today I learned something new about her: that she knows the old dale-country dances, and that it is new leaves in springtime to her to see them and to speak of them.

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