Well, my summer math program has come to an end and that means that so has my afternoons of writing time away from disruption. Now back to the full time kid time. I wrote very little today, just cleaning up the last two sections I wrote so they accurately finish Chapter 16. Alas, I spent the rest of the day negotiating a way that Grip of Dust actively becomes two novels instead of one. My word count suggests it is wise, as did the many plot lines and locations. Narrowing the focus book by book works as long as, well, it does. I have hammered out a way for Grip of Dust to exist in mirror fashion to Purge of Ashes, as in, prologue, 25 chapters, epilogue – and divided into three sections based off geography, but the question becomes what is left for this new third book? First, I need a new name. Silence of Deluge will yet remain the final book.  Second, eek. A diligent eye is required to assure I don’t screw myself over in some way. I had the whole of the book planned out before it ‘got big.’ It better stay tight and action-packed or what’s the point? I have three chief story lines to draw from for this new book, ones left out, now, of Grip. The first two happen in the city Palprazen, so they go together well, but the last one is giving me fits as to what to do: either my lead leaves Grip 75% of the way through the book to be central in book 3, or I augment who goes where to keep him and certain elements in a more… streamlined fashion. Ah, well. Time and tears will tell.

All told I got 10,000 words done, roughly, and cleaned and re-inspired some more.

My final writing grab of the summer: “The womensworn stormed around in a huff, collecting their belongings and uprooting their children. Blooded Face Eaters mounted up with all their gear in case they needed to ride. Dancetrap begged his spirits for this and that, assuming far greater importance to the events of the day than he ever deserved.”

1,300 words again today, getting back into it. Got started late due to school duties, and will again on Wednesday as I retrieve the rest of my old classroom to move to my new classroom.

I once again hit this point of: “Must this be split in two?” I’m up to 93k words and have basically only fleshed out 60-80% of 2 of 7 story lines. I just can’t see it editing down or not feeling a tad foolish with a book so thick. Maybe that can be the gimmick that draws readers to the series? Stupidly large? Sometimes being unique is worth value all its own. Still, almost done Chapter 16. I can certainly do it by Wednesday, that is, unless it all unfolds into two. Not long now for the scene I’ve been excited for for years.

Today’s choice line: “Sometimes a moment of kinship linked two people more surely than a whole life of proximity.”

1,200 yesterday and 1,300 today – and today was cut off by 1.5 hours. It does take a while to get going, doesn’t it? Unfortunately, if you only have the cracks of the day to write in, you never really get going. I’m excited to see what is produced over the final two days next week, although one of those I have to prep my classroom instead of just using it as a writing hidey-hole.

These sessions have really fattened an area otherwise non-consequential, but I am hoping it keeps as it helps the city of Csarvent feel alive. It also prepares the reader well for a character who is notable in the third book.

On that note, though, as usual, I am again beset by worries over whether I need to split this book in half. I am halfway through Chapter 16 (I skip all over the place, nowhere near that far actually) and it is 29.5 pages. I am yet to get to the second half of the chapter. If I split the book into two, this could easily be its own chapter – even ends on a DUN DUN DUN. That creates its own problems, though. Keeping it, however, the book and these chapters are getting kind of nuts. I want to maintain the same depth of scope and character as I had in Purge of Ashes, but with so many more story lines it is fast becoming insane. Insanely great? Maybe just insane.

Either way, there it is. Also cool to note, today I finally got to write about a character who I created entirely because the name I made up for my almanac of characters so long ago was so cool. Now she’s an important part of the story, having once just been a nifty combination of letters. “Kryloak.”

My favourite pull away today:

“The black ink of the round was half faded into her very skin, a mess of a pattern across her clavicle and breasts. Bruises ran the length of her right side, dark, blotchy and uniform. Kryloak’s eyes widened and stared at her slim finger as it ran a line along one of Daia’s ribs. Leaning forward a little revealed a purple welt twisted up like a whirlpool that covered near half of her skin-pressed rib cage. Its unhealthy hues rolled in and out of the depressions between bones, obscuring the smear of burst blood vessels and making a mess of a mess. The heiress’s gentle touch did not make her jump, but still sent a squeal of tenderness up her nerves. By Kryloak’s stares and Saishan’s idle hands, Daia judged that the Codine Aggregate was far more familiar with disease and malnourishment than the battle scars of fools prone to risk.”

Six already? But all I’ve done is… blarg!

I actually feel like I have done quite a lot, considering, but nothing’s ever really enough. Today I finished off the two scenes from Monday and had to read (read: edit) my way through a few Daia parts to get me up to speed on her story line as it now meshes with the others. How many times have I had to do that. I like reading the older parts, though. I write so slowly and carefully, constantly editing as I go, that it feels good to read over the product I came away with and find that it mostly correlates, sounds well enough. I am hoping that by the end of these sessions I am near to completing Chapter 16. I have done about 16 pages so far in 4 points of view.

Also noticed that half my quotes were Smart and half Straight? What the dilly? A F/R figured that one out pretty quick. Leftover translation issue from OpenOffice to Word, I imagine.

Favourite lines of the day: “For the weight of a conscience rests on its fear of guilt, and once irredeemable, a penitent’s only absolution lies in damning themselves regardless.”