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Working Away Plus Teaser from "Paladin of Anger, Paladin of Peace"

Act 4
Act 4
I am grimly determined to finish Hearts of Tabat before the end of this year: I have my list of scenes and will get them finished by November 15, then crunch through a quick and hasty polish and get that to beta readers. At the same time I’m working on a couple of bespoke stories, several collaborations, and a few stories for Patreon.

Here’s a piece from this morning’s work on a Tabat story that is somewhat connected to the events in Hoofsore and Weary, which appeared in Shattered Shields.

This is how I first saw the Red Paladin.

She must have just entered the city, because her scarlet armor was dulled with dust, and her horse’s head drooped.

Mother had elbowed and fought her way to getting us a booth near the market’s entrance that day, and she was battling to sell every brick of spice we had before going home, despite the fact she could have summoned a servant to do it. She was doing it as some small battle in the endless war between my parents and when I paused to watch the paladin pass, my mother’s hand clipped me across the ear, hard enough to rock my head and feel the snap of blood rising to meet the place she’d struck.

“Stop gawping and bring me more sacks,” she snapped, and sent me racing on her errand, running under the beat of the hot sun and knowing I’d be hard-pressed to get back in time to satisfy her, but even so my soul rocketed out as I dashed through a crowd of tea-pigeons and sent them startled upwards, feeling the press of her attention lessened for a little while.

The image of the paladin, her head upright underneath the masking helmet, the slight curves of her armor the only thing marking her female, stayed with me.

She looked so calm for a knight sworn to Anger.

***

The second time I saw the paladin, I was pretending I was someone else while I walked through the gardens. I pretended I was a noble’s daughter, raised only to think of her own pleasure, not worrying about obligation or responsibility. I could do that because my little brothers were playing tag on the long grass and I could watch them from a distance but pretend that I wasn’t in any way connected with them. I sat on a bench made out of iron spirals and coils and flowers, one of the old-fashioned kind, in the shade and tried to make pieces of myself loosen out.

I tried to do this every few days because otherwise ““ and sometimes even with ““ I would wake up aching as though I’d been beaten, my jaw clenched tight, chased by nightmares through endless passageway toward waiting red rooms, doors mawed with teeth and fleshy silence eating any protest I might make.

But pushing to relax is something you cannot do and finally I just sat and appreciated the sunlight, hoping I’d feel all those pieces of me unclench. It had gotten so much worse lately, with both parents worrying about marriage-brokering (my mother’s thought) or apprenticeship (my father’s) or both, but never my thought of neither.

In other news, this weekend’s classes are the Reading Aloud Workshop, Literary Techniques for Genre Writers II, and the First Pages Workshop. If my live classes are inconvenient due to schedule or price, check out the on-demand versions.

My most recent publication is “Marvelous Contrivances of the Heart”, which appears in Recycled Pulp, edited by John Helfers. It’s a story where I tried to hearken back to an old, twilight-zoneish theme while refurbishing some bits to update it some. I’ll be curious to hear what people think.

If you’ve read Beasts of Tabat and liked it, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, GoodReads, or LibraryThing.

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Work in Progress, Plus an Exhortation About the Write-a-thon

Mysterious Silver Writing on Black Paper
I've been jotting down notes for these pieces in a wonderful notebook made of black paper I found at the University Bookstore. Anything looks more profound written in silver ink.
As many of you know, I am working on a Big Fat Fantasy Trilogy and chunks of it have become my write-a-thon goal. I hope to have a complete rough draft by the end of July and am well on track for that. Interspersed in the narrative are little set pieces. I thought I’d share a recent one and mention that if you support me in the Clarion West Write-a-thon, you will get at least two more of these AND the first three chapters of the book over the course of the Write-a-thon, even for the smallest of donations. Only people supporting me in the Write-a-thon will see these pieces before publication.

If you donate, shoot me an e-mail or drop a comment here and I will make sure you are on the mailing list for the next one.

From Pamphlet series #3 of A Visitor’s Guide to Tabat, published by Spinner Press.

While in Tabat, you’ll want to try the drink it’s famous for: chal. Salty fish and seaweed are mixed with strong black tea in what is admittedly an acquired taste for many. The drink supplies the city dwellers with energy and places to exchange thoughts and news. Many chal houses pride themselves on the antiquity of their brews, which may be years, decades, or in at least one case, centuries old.

The Dancing Cup: Located at the edge of Salt and the Serpentine, the Cup hosts students from the nearby College of Mages. Go here to catch a glimpse of them showing off new spells and minor magics, particularly in the open air of the back courtyard. Their house chal is over a hundred years old, but they offer many variants, including cider and other fruit drinks. Open all hours.

Two chal shops near Tabat’s Arena are renowned: the Blade’s Savor and Berto’s. Fierce rivalry between the two often leads to savings for customers willing to switch allegiance. Both shops frequently sponsor Gladiators, many of which will be spotted drinking and telling stories in one or the other. Bella Kanto and the majority of the Brides of Steel school can be found in Berto’s. These are the only shops you’ll find open during Tabat’s Games. Open all hours.

The Salty Purse, situated a block from the docks on Trade Way, claims a chal of over 200 years provenance, and serves only that, along with ship’s hardbread, doing a hearty business in the former, if not the latte. Open all hours.

In Tabat’s small theater district, the Fuchsia and Heron is favored by actors and wealthy theater goers. The most expensive shop in the city, it subsidizes actors’ tabs and even pays a few to patronize it, ensuring a steady flow of Tabat’s most glittering figures. Open from the last afternoon bell till the last night bell only.

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Today's Wordcount and Other Notes (8/22/2014)

Street art - mural.
Street art in Jaco, across from the sushi restaurant.
What I worked on:

1007 words on Circus in the Bloodwarm Rain, although I really need to start going back and making some of the early parts make more sense. Right now there’s an awful lot of leaping about between the original short story it’s based on (news of that coming soon) and the final outline for the novel.

1005 words on Prairiedog Town (working title)

Total wordcount: 2012, but there’s still time to get a little more in

Today’s new Spanish words: la abeja (the bee), cienca ficción (science fiction), mamar (to suck, as it mother’s milk), el mamon (a kind of fruit), el lavavavillas (the dishwasher), el rastro (the flea market).

We walked down to the farmer’s market in the morning and bought lovely fruit, including bananas and rambutan. After some work in the afternoon, we took a swim break and tried out the pool here, which was delicious. But holy cow, I’d forgotten how tiring swimming can be, and what it’s like to step out of the water and feel gravity reclaiming what was just light and buoyant.

Later on, we went for an evening walk and were forced by rain into a sushi restaurant where we had terrific sushi (although the spicy tuna was a bit too much for me). We’ve been told that Jaco picks up considerably during the weekends, when everyone from San Jose comes down to spend some time here, and it does seem a good bit livelier this evening.

And a little translating! I’ve started “Panecillo tostado, con devoción para acompaña” and am undoubtedly mangling it considerably, all in the name of practice.

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