I don't know if you've noticed my little word count meter trickling along lately. Well, I've been writing.

It's not much. Only last night and tonight I wrote, to a total of roughly 200 words. Sad? I don't think so. I feel great. After such a long time sitting at an almost stand-still, getting the ball rolling again is an amazing feeling. To have gotten the characters through just two rooms after a month-long break . . . it's freeing.

I mean, I can't say it's phenomenal. It's no ten thousand words. But I feel like I'm getting somewhere again -- getting to that point where I'm inspired by my own somewhere-getting to somewhere-get even more. Yeah, that was articulate.

I think I understand now why I stopped for such a long time (and it broke my heart every time I was reminded that my novel wasn't going anywhere!). It's because I'm now past that midway point.

Passing the midway point you should speed up, right? I figure that's logical. The problem was that I had created too much in my mind. I knew I had another two thirds at least to write, and if the first draft was ever going to be 120,000 words, I'm sure I would never finish it. I'm very comfortable with my 75,000 - 100,000 word goal.

I was very insecure about my ability to make it even to 60,000 words -- even less again, to be honest. I created an epic Part Two where the main characters end up the world's saviours. I fell in love with it. But now I see that it's unnecessary.

In discussing my concerns with my friend about my ability to fit it all in and finish the novel, I had concluded that I would have to cut down on Part Two. But I loved it! I didn't want to cut it out! He made a very useful remark here: "Well just think: what's the story about? It's about Eoin and his quest to save his sister, isn't it?"

Well, yes, but . . . shining epically epic Part Two is shiny!

Well, it's taken me this long to come to terms with what must be done. I believe this will result in a stronger novel with more direction than I had in my original plan.

I've removed a major section from the story (and here I'm talking about the prospective story -- none of this was written. I only make the smallest of edits while I'm still working on the first draft) where I can tell you now that Faine actually procured Maechre Aura (of the God of Death/the God of the Passing) -- something that won't happen in the new version.

There was a part where Saera was stuck in a world in-between, neither alive nor dead, because of a sacrifice she made. The plan was for Faine to bring her back with his new power, but at a price. He wouldn't be able to touch her, as Maechre's touch kills any person. And he only did all that because of his love for her.

I will still have two parts. I've now moved the end of Part One to earlier. It will now end in the next one or two chapters. I like how it clearly marks the increase in danger found in Part Two.

The main things that I've removed entirely are the wandering around, collecting people with Auras, and the totally epic overthrowing of the Church which I really wish I could throw in but I just don't have enough time and it's really not that relevant to the characters. Maybe I can write it in the appendices?

Bits and pieces of that original plan might fall into place, or I'll fit them in if they complement the action of the story. But the focus is on the characters now, and I have a great sense of direction that I think will help me finish sooner.

I was reading blogs two nights ago, and I read one from Nathan Bransford discussing the up and down contour that shapes a good novel -- sort of action, reaction. A positive that gives hope, then something that pulls that hope away from us, the a triumph over that obstacle makes us feel even better -- this is what keeps us reading.

Seeing his outline example of the Star Wars film, as well as reading so much about writing on blogs that night, inspired me to sort out what I was going to do with the rest of this book. And I did.

I've now got a 400-word outline from where I am until the end of the novel, and it's very pretty. What's exciting is I can mark the various dot-points with "up" and "down". I can see what Bransford was talking about. I think this contour can be applied to scenes as well in order to keep them interesting, but if I want to talk about that it will be in another post.

So I may not be writing much at the moment, but I am writing, and that is the best thing of all. Whether I move forward incrementally or in leaps and bounds, anything is always better than nothing -- especially if you do it daily, or just regularly.

With one day left until the holidays, I think I've made a good start. But these holidays I will push myself harder. If not 500 words daily, I'd like to write 300 words daily. If I miss a day, I won't try to make up for it, but continue on as if I'd never missed that day.

That's it for now. I'll leave you with this excerpt -- the last thing I wrote. (I'm so dash-happy today!)
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The first guard looked Eoin and the others up and down. Eoin shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Right, follow me.” He led them through one of the great doors – doors so huge that they could have fit three across and still have room to spare – and into the opening hall. The floor was adorned with a beautiful red carpet, covered in abstract yet formulaic white patterns. A stone stair tapered inwards as it crawled up to the first floor. Eoin ran his hands along the intricate designs carved into the balustrade as they climbed the steps.

“My name is Sir Halbaer, by the by. So many people pass me every day and I can’t keep up with all their names. The least I can do is provide others with my own.”

The same red and white carpet covered the floors of the castle halls, which were otherwise decorated with portraits of kings and queens past. Nearly all the stone of the walls was covered with red wall-hangings, a golden vase sitting on a table, a heraldic shield, anything to hide the sombre grey of the walls that instilled that depressing sense of nothingness. In a place so devoid of colour, anyone could go insane.
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I actually have a question for you lovely people: Do you find the word verandah in common usage? I'm actually looking for a word to describe the . . . um . . . area one walks out onto when they go outside on a multiple-storey building and they are above the ground floor. Balcony? What would be appropriate in a castle setting?

Wow. All right, admittedly, it's been two days since I wrote, but I did jump back on today. I don't think I'll get to 5,000 this month, but I think I'm set up well to approach next month with more force. School is coming back tomorrow, and I'm excited to test myself to work around school, homework and the many other things that occupy my time.

Writing tonight was sort of funny. First I wrote a bit, and then I did a WorD Splurge (if you don't know what it is, Google Write or Die -- it's an amazing tool!), totalling to what word told me was around 280 words. But then, when I did the calculations at Critique Circle, it appeared that I'd somehow written an extra 40 or so words in there, and it churned out a 320! So I was very happy to see that number, and happily drew that number from my "manuscript progress" over to my "monthly progress". Here's what it looks like now. It's looking a bit sad, but I'm still seeing this as a positive. It proves that even after two days I was able to jump back on and write again.

Introduction:
The characters have entered the Underground, a thieving organisation which is actually located underground. They are looking for the Thief-King, with whose help they are hoping to contact the Queen of Meira.
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Having followed the man’s directions, they came to a door with an engraved piece of wood on its front that read Cartachamber. Before Athrù could knock, the door was opened, although it wasn’t the Thief-King who came out. Instead it was a startled boy almost half Eoin’s height.

Once he had regained his composure, the boy turned around and said, “Thief-King, you have some guests arrived.” Then, walking past them, he said, “Remember to be respectful to the good King.”

Saera crossed her arms as the boy left them in the corridor. “There’s nothing like an innocent-looking little boy to make an inconspicuous thief.”

“Can’t judge anyone for being poor,” said Athrù. “At least everyone down here respects one another. You wouldn’t get any of that above ground. Maybe pity. But no understanding. Thievery isn’t always a choice. The Underground entitles everyone to a life, and the means they take don’t harm anyone.” Without another word, Athrù entered the room.

“Well someone’s certainly passionate,” said Saera as she, Eoin and Faine followed him inside. Again, this room was reasonably dark, but the firelight was more than enough to see the silhouetted shape of the Thief-King hunched over a table. He wore a thick robe that splayed on the floor. His whispers were strings of incoherent drivel, soft and meaningless.

“Your Excellency,” said Athrù.

The Thief-King grunted loudly, holding his hand over the map and drawing invisible lines. Eoin managed to decipher one of his whispers as behind the bazaar, where that bastard sleeps. From next to him he picked up a compass and placed its points on the map.

“Your Excellency.”

A bird squawked from somewhere in the darkness, making Eoin’s heart jump.

“Yes, yes, I need just one more moment. You would not want to be the cause of this boy’s death now, would you?” The tall, silhouetted man retreated to a desk nearby. He dipped a quill in its inkwell and scribbled a one-line note onto a piece of parchment. After tearing the note away, he lifted it above shoulder height, at which point a raven shot out of the shadows, snatched it up spiralled upwards, disappearing through some secret hole in the roof.

“You lads wish to speak with me?” said the Thief-King.

“I’m not a lad!” said Saera.

“Excuse me.” The Thief-King turned to face them and stepped into the flickering light. “You are not of my men.”

“No,” said Athrù. After a pause, he said, “We bring before you a matter of utmost importance, Your Excellency.”

“Of utmost importance to me, lad, is the safety of my men. If you are not here to report to me, then I hold no interest in your issues. Every second I waste could be another man gone red.”

Faine spoke coldly. “With all due respect, Excellency, these issues are not ours, but yours. They concern your men’s safety.”

The Thief-King’s face became less stern. “My name is Fórdhain. I rule the Underground, but monikers like Excellency, Liege and Highness please me not. This is no audience hall. I want to hear my name.”

In order to understand some of the jokes in ths excerpt, I will give you some information about the scene just preceding. Early on, we meet Faine's horse, and he has named her Nardéa. Nardéa, apparently, is the Válkian word for fierce. When they go to Emareus, the capital city of this country, they find themselves at the house of a Gifted, a woman with Kathes Aura.

This woman, awkwardly also named Nardéa, doesn't know how to control her Aura, and her home is basically an indoor forest, while outside her garden and walls are overgrown. Saera calls the place "weird". Faine jokes that the woman should have been called Loccâda instead - the Válkian word for stubborn - when she says she won't join them to help Meira against Duthonne.

Enjoy!
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