Today is my birthday and instead of me writing a blog I want you to read my friend Kate's blog today. She made me cry with her beautiful tribute not just to me but to Lin and Firebrand and the Pendragon series.
My best birthday present!
Showing posts with label Lin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lin. Show all posts
Monday, March 7, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Writing FIREBRAND Year One
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
Marquette, MI
February 17, 1992
Chapter one is complete as a first draft. What a feeling. I'm on cloud nine. Can't wait for Bill's opinion. Chapter two is starting to take shape now, starting to make a bit more sense I think. Still not sure exactly what direction it's going to go. We'll see. I do envision a reunion with Lin and Guinevere with the children. Should be interesting. And Lin teaching young Arthur (Bear) her tricks with a sword. We'll see. I've never been so confident about anything I've ever done before. This is great. Lin's been quite helpful.
****
It would seem it took about a month to draft that first chapter. And it really didn't change too drastically after that. It was expanded and tightened, but it's still about Lin and her inner conflict in the hours after the devasating battle of Camlann. That first page or so has never changed.
Chapter 1
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had no idea what hour it was. The sun had set a lifetime ago and thick clouds obscured any moonlight. Battle weary and with heavy hearts, we picked our way from the river in the dark, our joyless task compleated. My four companions formed an escort around me. They knew what I thought of protocol, but I fell in step with the men simply because I was of no heart to argue. The only sounds were the lapping water behind us and our boots crunching the earth.
Odd, such stillness after the mayhem of battle.
When we reached the supply wagons and cooking fires, Dafydd hurried ahead without a word and disappeared into the crowd of soldiers and servants awaiting our return. I noticed immediately that an unnatural hush hung over the entire encampment, like a pall. I saw none of the usual camaraderie or back-slapping, heard none of the light-hearted banter normally present after victory. But my father's men were a special breed, cut from finer fabric. To a man, they snapped smartly to the instant I appeared. I acknowledged their salute with an "at ease" and hurried on my way.
Camlann a victory? Camlann was nothing short of internecine. Not Britanni against Saxon this time. We had all been part of the same army mere months ago. Yet this morning we had faced each other in the twilight mist, astride our battle steeds, in full armour, lances couched, anxious for the signals to be given, the battle cries to be sung, and have at each other. Men who had once been friends met as mortal enemies and slaughtered everything that moved in their paths. Who are the victors in civil strife?
Wfft. What had made us so bloodthirsty?
I saw a different question in the eyes of the men through the smoky firelight as we swept past; the man they had expected to see, the one their eyes sought, the one they had waited for, was not among us. We had lost our king as well as the Round Table. Modred, my half-brother, had driven a pike through Britain's heart. And as my father's heir, the duty fell on me to tell them. But not now. Instead, I announced to my companions that I would meet with everyone for reports after I had changed.
Bedwyr barked out orders and the place seemed to come back to life. Of a sort. I trusted him and the others to know what must be done, and do it, as my father had. He would have addressed the men first most likely, but my father was the Pendragon, and I never would come close to being his equal.
I was not the least surprised to see Dafydd lighting the last of my lanterns when I lifted my tent's flap a moment later. He even had water ready so I could wash.
He offered to undo the laces of my armour, but I declined.
"At least let me help you with this." Dafydd grasped the shield still hanging from my shoulder.
Why had I bothered to retrieve it?
I accepted his assistance without a word.
Dafydd regarded me. Impossible to hide my emotions from him. He knew my heart was shattered. I knew he wanted to offer comfort. But if I allowed myself his embrace now, I would crumble.
"Later, Dafydd," I said.
"You do not bear this alone, Noble One."
"I know. Thank you."
****
Thanks for reading,
Debra
Marquette, MI
February 17, 1992
Chapter one is complete as a first draft. What a feeling. I'm on cloud nine. Can't wait for Bill's opinion. Chapter two is starting to take shape now, starting to make a bit more sense I think. Still not sure exactly what direction it's going to go. We'll see. I do envision a reunion with Lin and Guinevere with the children. Should be interesting. And Lin teaching young Arthur (Bear) her tricks with a sword. We'll see. I've never been so confident about anything I've ever done before. This is great. Lin's been quite helpful.
****
It would seem it took about a month to draft that first chapter. And it really didn't change too drastically after that. It was expanded and tightened, but it's still about Lin and her inner conflict in the hours after the devasating battle of Camlann. That first page or so has never changed.
Chapter 1
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had no idea what hour it was. The sun had set a lifetime ago and thick clouds obscured any moonlight. Battle weary and with heavy hearts, we picked our way from the river in the dark, our joyless task compleated. My four companions formed an escort around me. They knew what I thought of protocol, but I fell in step with the men simply because I was of no heart to argue. The only sounds were the lapping water behind us and our boots crunching the earth.
Odd, such stillness after the mayhem of battle.
When we reached the supply wagons and cooking fires, Dafydd hurried ahead without a word and disappeared into the crowd of soldiers and servants awaiting our return. I noticed immediately that an unnatural hush hung over the entire encampment, like a pall. I saw none of the usual camaraderie or back-slapping, heard none of the light-hearted banter normally present after victory. But my father's men were a special breed, cut from finer fabric. To a man, they snapped smartly to the instant I appeared. I acknowledged their salute with an "at ease" and hurried on my way.
Camlann a victory? Camlann was nothing short of internecine. Not Britanni against Saxon this time. We had all been part of the same army mere months ago. Yet this morning we had faced each other in the twilight mist, astride our battle steeds, in full armour, lances couched, anxious for the signals to be given, the battle cries to be sung, and have at each other. Men who had once been friends met as mortal enemies and slaughtered everything that moved in their paths. Who are the victors in civil strife?
Wfft. What had made us so bloodthirsty?
I saw a different question in the eyes of the men through the smoky firelight as we swept past; the man they had expected to see, the one their eyes sought, the one they had waited for, was not among us. We had lost our king as well as the Round Table. Modred, my half-brother, had driven a pike through Britain's heart. And as my father's heir, the duty fell on me to tell them. But not now. Instead, I announced to my companions that I would meet with everyone for reports after I had changed.
Bedwyr barked out orders and the place seemed to come back to life. Of a sort. I trusted him and the others to know what must be done, and do it, as my father had. He would have addressed the men first most likely, but my father was the Pendragon, and I never would come close to being his equal.
I was not the least surprised to see Dafydd lighting the last of my lanterns when I lifted my tent's flap a moment later. He even had water ready so I could wash.
He offered to undo the laces of my armour, but I declined.
"At least let me help you with this." Dafydd grasped the shield still hanging from my shoulder.
Why had I bothered to retrieve it?
I accepted his assistance without a word.
Dafydd regarded me. Impossible to hide my emotions from him. He knew my heart was shattered. I knew he wanted to offer comfort. But if I allowed myself his embrace now, I would crumble.
"Later, Dafydd," I said.
"You do not bear this alone, Noble One."
"I know. Thank you."
****
Thanks for reading,
Debra
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Writing FIREBRAND Year One
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
February 5, 1992
Well, Gareth has made his intro in a grand way yesterday. From out of no where, he stepped into a scene with Lin. So now I have Lin, Gareth, Gaheris (Ris), Bedivere, and Dafydd for sure. Gwen is still silent. Also still silent: Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin, Modred . . . The list of characters is endless!
But today? It's quiet in Camelot. I'm procrastinating. I have to re-write chapter one again and don't want to. It's a lovely, sunny day. I think I'll go into town awhile. Then I'll work on the re-write.
****
I remember that scene of Gareth and Lin talking. It never made it into FIREBRAND, of course because the book wound up taking a different course; focusing on Lin's years of slavery in Orkney. At this point in the brainstorming, I was still thinking that the slavery years would get glossed over. That in the course of the character relating her life story, she'd mention the slavery and then move on to meeting her dad and getting to Camelot. I still had a long way to go. And the scene didn't make it into RECRUIT either, but it led to something I did eventually use in RECRUIT only without Gareth. If you've read RECRUIT, it's the scene right after she's broken Cerdic's nose and she's sweeping out the stable as her punishment for fighting in the ranks and her dad shows up. Originally it was Gareth first and then dad. I decided that we didn't need both and dad was more important. But Gareth got the scene going for me, so thumbs up to him.
My list of characters is also interesting. People who have read FIREBRAND and RECRUIT will notice that there is no sign of Merlin! And there will be none in the rest of the series.
And as for putting off the re-write? I was still doing it long-hand at the time. On loose leaf paper, with fountain pen. And there were about 35 of those pieces of paper that I would have to re-copy like a medieval monk in a scriptorium.
Thanks for reading,
Debra
(Marquette, MI)
February 5, 1992
Well, Gareth has made his intro in a grand way yesterday. From out of no where, he stepped into a scene with Lin. So now I have Lin, Gareth, Gaheris (Ris), Bedivere, and Dafydd for sure. Gwen is still silent. Also still silent: Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin, Modred . . . The list of characters is endless!
But today? It's quiet in Camelot. I'm procrastinating. I have to re-write chapter one again and don't want to. It's a lovely, sunny day. I think I'll go into town awhile. Then I'll work on the re-write.
****
I remember that scene of Gareth and Lin talking. It never made it into FIREBRAND, of course because the book wound up taking a different course; focusing on Lin's years of slavery in Orkney. At this point in the brainstorming, I was still thinking that the slavery years would get glossed over. That in the course of the character relating her life story, she'd mention the slavery and then move on to meeting her dad and getting to Camelot. I still had a long way to go. And the scene didn't make it into RECRUIT either, but it led to something I did eventually use in RECRUIT only without Gareth. If you've read RECRUIT, it's the scene right after she's broken Cerdic's nose and she's sweeping out the stable as her punishment for fighting in the ranks and her dad shows up. Originally it was Gareth first and then dad. I decided that we didn't need both and dad was more important. But Gareth got the scene going for me, so thumbs up to him.
My list of characters is also interesting. People who have read FIREBRAND and RECRUIT will notice that there is no sign of Merlin! And there will be none in the rest of the series.
And as for putting off the re-write? I was still doing it long-hand at the time. On loose leaf paper, with fountain pen. And there were about 35 of those pieces of paper that I would have to re-copy like a medieval monk in a scriptorium.
Thanks for reading,
Debra
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Go Bears!
Just saying. Besides, there's nothing in the 1992 journal to share today. Lin talked to me a little yesterday. Wrote a few pages for book #3 in the House of Pendragon series--The Shield-bearer. She just called her dad a liar and a fraud. In the Round Table Hall. In front of all the knights. And she has walked out. (After being a knight for less than a whole day.) Now she's realizing what she's done. Do I send her to the tavern to drown her sorrows in ale? Or do I send her to her room to pack, intending to leave Camelot?
What would Lin do?
What would Lin do?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Writing FIREBRAND Year One
Settled on the brown ink for this one.
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 18, 1992
It is after 1 am and I'm still wide awake. Nothing new to write. Had a small bit for the story "Visions of Avalon", continuing with events happening the day after. Introduced two new characters. Who are they? They will be interesting to get to know. Tighan and Elen. Plus mentioned two others. Lots to do. People to meet and learn about. Become friends with. And me as shy as I am!
Nowhere near being tired. Maybe I'll watch Arthur's soliloquy in "CAMELOT". Good idea!
****
Fun, both Tighan and Elen wound up in FIREBRAND. Elen as Dafydd's mother and Tighan as a slave. Lin and Dafydd meet her in the slave's camp after being transported from Orkney to Britain's mainland. Dafydd and Tighan become instant friends. Lin, as usual, isn't so sure. She resists making friends with anyone because she's afraid she will lose that friend because of their slavery.
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 18, 1992
It is after 1 am and I'm still wide awake. Nothing new to write. Had a small bit for the story "Visions of Avalon", continuing with events happening the day after. Introduced two new characters. Who are they? They will be interesting to get to know. Tighan and Elen. Plus mentioned two others. Lots to do. People to meet and learn about. Become friends with. And me as shy as I am!
Nowhere near being tired. Maybe I'll watch Arthur's soliloquy in "CAMELOT". Good idea!
****
Fun, both Tighan and Elen wound up in FIREBRAND. Elen as Dafydd's mother and Tighan as a slave. Lin and Dafydd meet her in the slave's camp after being transported from Orkney to Britain's mainland. Dafydd and Tighan become instant friends. Lin, as usual, isn't so sure. She resists making friends with anyone because she's afraid she will lose that friend because of their slavery.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Writing FIREBRAND Year One
I wonder if it was snowing on this date back in 1992 when I wrote my journal entry. It is snowing here today in Noblesville and I'm glad I don't have to go outside. I do all my travelling here on the Internet!
I seem to be full of myself. Or does every writer get like this in the creating process? I certainly was riding high. And I remember the giddiness of those days. I didn't have an office then, or a computer, or even a typewriter. Back then, I wrote while sitting on the couch. I balanced a clipboard holding loose-leaf paper in my lap and wrote in longhand with a fountain pen. Maybe I need to go old school again!
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 11, 1992
A new day, full of new ideas and new words. What a bloody, great tale I have to tell, indeed! Where is all this coming from? Don't question, Deb. Accept the gift. For it can only be just that.
I realized today that the majority of modern novels pertaining to the Arthurian have been done by women. How odd.
I no longer want to call this "The King's Children". At least I don't think I don't think I do. But I don't know what else to call it. I'm sure that too will be there when the time comes. I doubt it not. Oh. I feel numb right now as Helin.
Indeed. Indeed.
I have run out of ideas for today. That's alright. Don't mind. Just as well. My arms certainly are sore, as if I had hefted a sword and shield myself all day. Ouch!
I read and re-read what I wrote this week and can't help but be amazed that it came from me.
(end of entry)
***
(back in 2010!)
I was still calling her Helin then? I thought I had made the switch a few weeks earlier. And I don't think I was impressed so much with the brilliance of the quality of the writing, but the creative process. I was feeling good about simply setting my ideas into words that made sense on the page. It seemed to me that I had a decent sense for character and dialogue and point of view. And I proved that right when I had the thing critiqued a few years later.
As always, thanks for reading!
Debra
I seem to be full of myself. Or does every writer get like this in the creating process? I certainly was riding high. And I remember the giddiness of those days. I didn't have an office then, or a computer, or even a typewriter. Back then, I wrote while sitting on the couch. I balanced a clipboard holding loose-leaf paper in my lap and wrote in longhand with a fountain pen. Maybe I need to go old school again!
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 11, 1992
A new day, full of new ideas and new words. What a bloody, great tale I have to tell, indeed! Where is all this coming from? Don't question, Deb. Accept the gift. For it can only be just that.
I realized today that the majority of modern novels pertaining to the Arthurian have been done by women. How odd.
I no longer want to call this "The King's Children". At least I don't think I don't think I do. But I don't know what else to call it. I'm sure that too will be there when the time comes. I doubt it not. Oh. I feel numb right now as Helin.
Indeed. Indeed.
I have run out of ideas for today. That's alright. Don't mind. Just as well. My arms certainly are sore, as if I had hefted a sword and shield myself all day. Ouch!
I read and re-read what I wrote this week and can't help but be amazed that it came from me.
(end of entry)
***
(back in 2010!)
I was still calling her Helin then? I thought I had made the switch a few weeks earlier. And I don't think I was impressed so much with the brilliance of the quality of the writing, but the creative process. I was feeling good about simply setting my ideas into words that made sense on the page. It seemed to me that I had a decent sense for character and dialogue and point of view. And I proved that right when I had the thing critiqued a few years later.
As always, thanks for reading!
Debra
Monday, January 10, 2011
Writing FIREBRAND Year One
Here I was in a very happy mood, I think. The words were flowing. But what I wrote in this period of time never made it to the final version of FIREBRAND. Today? No words from Lin or Dafydd. Or Gareth or Ris. Even Modred is quiet.
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 10, 1992
Time to reflect on this past week. What a difference a “year” makes. New Year’s resolutions sure can be powerful, even if you do not consciously make them.
My husband Bill suggested that I take my writing seriously, when I did the short story. Him--actually encouraging all along. Me--paying lip-service. “Yes, I really want to but . . . “ Same old excuse. I have just been afraid of it. Well, it’s beyond my control now. Some other force has taken over, given me the spark I needed. Feeling the despair of my characters, sharing a joke with them, my heart soaring with hope along with them, the joy of getting the words to mean exactly what I thought. There is no other feeling like it and I can’t imagine doing anything eles, ever. Nothing will ever measure up to this labor of love.
Somehow, from somewhere, words are flowing out of my pen, that I never realized were in me. I don’t know if anyone eles will think it is any good but I am truly amazed at what I have accomplished this week. And the ideas keep flooding in. Flooding in so fast I can can’t keep up with them!
Wow! Need to send 2 more installments to Bill. Can’t wait to hear his opinions. I never thought I would be able to share it with others so freely. I know, that’s the point! I guess I was reluctant before because everything I have written up to my short story have been false starts to Lin’s true story. I wasn’t happy with it and felt it unfit for human consumption.
I have finally grown up, I think. Maybe? Not! Had too much fun this week.
Thanks for reading!
K I Sawyer AFB, MI
(Marquette, MI)
January 10, 1992
Time to reflect on this past week. What a difference a “year” makes. New Year’s resolutions sure can be powerful, even if you do not consciously make them.
My husband Bill suggested that I take my writing seriously, when I did the short story. Him--actually encouraging all along. Me--paying lip-service. “Yes, I really want to but . . . “ Same old excuse. I have just been afraid of it. Well, it’s beyond my control now. Some other force has taken over, given me the spark I needed. Feeling the despair of my characters, sharing a joke with them, my heart soaring with hope along with them, the joy of getting the words to mean exactly what I thought. There is no other feeling like it and I can’t imagine doing anything eles, ever. Nothing will ever measure up to this labor of love.
Somehow, from somewhere, words are flowing out of my pen, that I never realized were in me. I don’t know if anyone eles will think it is any good but I am truly amazed at what I have accomplished this week. And the ideas keep flooding in. Flooding in so fast I can can’t keep up with them!
Wow! Need to send 2 more installments to Bill. Can’t wait to hear his opinions. I never thought I would be able to share it with others so freely. I know, that’s the point! I guess I was reluctant before because everything I have written up to my short story have been false starts to Lin’s true story. I wasn’t happy with it and felt it unfit for human consumption.
I have finally grown up, I think. Maybe? Not! Had too much fun this week.
Thanks for reading!
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)