Another instalment from the journal I kept when I began writing FIREBRAND back 1992. This was a quiet day, it would seem!
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 3, 1992
Didn’t write a thing today. Cleaned greenware. Went to the ceramic shop (on base). Getting another tea towel framed. Somerset. Rather appropriate.
End of journal entry.
I have a decent collection of framed tea towels from when we were stationed at RAF Greenham Common in England—where the story line for FIREBRAND finally began to fall into place. Nice memories. The Somerset one hangs in our dining room now. Avebury’s is in the kitchen. Calne’s and Wiltshire’s are in the family room. Ah, Calne. What a quaint little town, with one of the best pub’s; the Wheatsheaf. Wonderful people who are still great friends 20 years later.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Writing Firebrand: Year One
Gonna really take a chance with this and bare my soul. I pulled out this journal for a reason. I wrote it for a reason. Thought I would share my writer's journey with my friends and fellow writers.
January 2, 1992
KI Sawyer, MI (near Marquette, MI)
A writer writes, always. A brand, shining new year. Full of hope and lots of plain, white paper. So pure it hurts the eyes.
Well, I've written a short story and submitted it to the Marquette Monthly Competiton. My it looks good all typed up. Maybe I'll even win. Who knows?
What to write now? There's a competition in Military Lifestyles. Need to think on that just a little more. Final deadline is March 31, 1992--plenty of time. The practice of these 2 competitions will be good. Good experience.
Then there's the romance story (novel) idea I have. It could happen. All these lovely ideas floating around in my brain. Lots of paper and ink too! Love these fountain pens. Just need to adjust to the quirks of the nib. Slightly different from the blue one.
I already have doubts about the story I sent in. Surprise?! Of course it could be better. Maybe come up with a story involving my nursing experiences? Hmm . . It could happen.
**end**
All that brainstorming led to the scene I posted last time, with Garheris telling Lin her father was wounded.
January 2, 1992
KI Sawyer, MI (near Marquette, MI)
A writer writes, always. A brand, shining new year. Full of hope and lots of plain, white paper. So pure it hurts the eyes.
Well, I've written a short story and submitted it to the Marquette Monthly Competiton. My it looks good all typed up. Maybe I'll even win. Who knows?
What to write now? There's a competition in Military Lifestyles. Need to think on that just a little more. Final deadline is March 31, 1992--plenty of time. The practice of these 2 competitions will be good. Good experience.
Then there's the romance story (novel) idea I have. It could happen. All these lovely ideas floating around in my brain. Lots of paper and ink too! Love these fountain pens. Just need to adjust to the quirks of the nib. Slightly different from the blue one.
I already have doubts about the story I sent in. Surprise?! Of course it could be better. Maybe come up with a story involving my nursing experiences? Hmm . . It could happen.
**end**
All that brainstorming led to the scene I posted last time, with Garheris telling Lin her father was wounded.
Friday, September 3, 2010
The Official Start to The Firebrand--where it began
I recently went through a box, wanting to transfer the contents into plastic totes/tubs and move it from our bedroom. I knew what was in the box, so I wasn't surprised by what I found--several years' worth of my journals. On the top was one dated for 1992, what I found inside besides the journal pages is what surprised me, because I thought it had been lost: I found the page with the very first words I wrote leading to the version of FIREBRAND I have today. The words that officially got the novel started. They aren't in the book, but this is what got the brainstorming rolling for me.
I thought I would share. Apologies for the crude/bad writing, but I didn't fix anything.
Dated: 1-2-1992 (close to midnight)
"Your highness." Sir Gaheris swept past the guard around me. His voice was trembling. He knelt before me and repeated, "Your highness, Sir Bedivere sent me. Your father, the king . . ." his voice trailed off in a half-sob.
In my mind, I panicked. We were standing in the twilight after a full day's battle at the River Cam. A futile and senseless battle against my half-brother Modred. (In the margin, I added: Killing had never been easy for me. {Right! Our Lin?}) The carnage of the battle surrounded us. The sickening syench, hung heavy in the air. It clung to my skin, my hair, my clothes. I'll never be clean again, I remember thinking. I fought to keep my voice in control as i spoke. "What of my father, Gaheris?" BUt, I already knew what his reply would be.
"The king has been sorely wounded--Sir Bedivere (striken: has sent me to) bids you, please come. I shall take you to him." My father was dying. Why had I not been there to defend him?
*end*
Not my use of Bedivere. That eventually changed to Bedwyr. The river changed from the cam to the Thames. But it was Ris who got things started. He "spoke" the first words. I was in bed, unable to sleep and I "heard" and "saw" Ris. I immediately turned the light back on and scribbled those words. More came the next day, and the brainstorming began.
I'm thinking of posting some of those journal entries from that first year of writing. My struggles. My joys. My thoughts on creating Lin.
I thought I would share. Apologies for the crude/bad writing, but I didn't fix anything.
Dated: 1-2-1992 (close to midnight)
"Your highness." Sir Gaheris swept past the guard around me. His voice was trembling. He knelt before me and repeated, "Your highness, Sir Bedivere sent me. Your father, the king . . ." his voice trailed off in a half-sob.
In my mind, I panicked. We were standing in the twilight after a full day's battle at the River Cam. A futile and senseless battle against my half-brother Modred. (In the margin, I added: Killing had never been easy for me. {Right! Our Lin?}) The carnage of the battle surrounded us. The sickening syench, hung heavy in the air. It clung to my skin, my hair, my clothes. I'll never be clean again, I remember thinking. I fought to keep my voice in control as i spoke. "What of my father, Gaheris?" BUt, I already knew what his reply would be.
"The king has been sorely wounded--Sir Bedivere (striken: has sent me to) bids you, please come. I shall take you to him." My father was dying. Why had I not been there to defend him?
*end*
Not my use of Bedivere. That eventually changed to Bedwyr. The river changed from the cam to the Thames. But it was Ris who got things started. He "spoke" the first words. I was in bed, unable to sleep and I "heard" and "saw" Ris. I immediately turned the light back on and scribbled those words. More came the next day, and the brainstorming began.
I'm thinking of posting some of those journal entries from that first year of writing. My struggles. My joys. My thoughts on creating Lin.
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