Mette Ivie Harrison's Blog, page 46

Friday Feminism (Late): What Women Want

Last week I read this post:

http://middle-agedmormonman.blogspot.com/2013/04/husbands-only-your-wife-might-be-lying.html

I understand that the man here is trying to be nice, and he’s trying to remind men not to take the easy way out just because they are given an excuse. On the other hand, this made me furious.

If you don’t want to read the whole post, the message is that men, your wife is lying to you. Don’t listen to what she says she wants. You know better. You should make a big fuss over her, even if she says she doesn’t like that. You should buy her big presents, even if she says that she wants cards for Mother’s Day.

I admit that there are plenty of women who expect men to read their minds, who refuse to say what they want either because they’ve learned no one listens to them or because they feel like they aren’t worthy of attention or because they simply like to manipulate people in ways other than through direct communication. However, I think that men ignoring what their wives says is a lot more likely to result in the continuation of this cycle than if they learn to listen very carefully and teach their wives that they can be trusted with the truth. The problem in my mind is not the Mother’s Day celebration. It’s the cycle of women learning that what they say they want is never listened to.

It’s been a real problem in my marriage (and in fact, in other relationships in my life) for me to learn to speak out loud what I want. And then to trust other people that they will listen respectfully, even if they do not agree, and actually try to understand what I have to say. Sure, there are situations in which I don’t say everything I think because I don’t know the people who are listening well enough to trust them, or where it is simply inappropriate to rant or explain things in depth. But I tend to err these days on the side of saying a little more than what might make others comfortable than less, simply because I think that there isn’t enough honesty in the world, in particular from women. And also because I think I am articulate enough that I have an obligation to speak out for those who are not as articulate.

When I say that I want cards for my birthday or Mother’s Day, I really mean it. I don’t want expensive gifts. If I want to buy myself something expensive, I really prefer to have some say in choosing it. I don’t expect anyone to read my mind. A token gift is a kind thing to do for me, but just don’t spend a lot on it. Make me laugh, if you like. But cards, homemade and handwritten, are really valuable to me. I leave them on my desk and read them all year long. They make me feel happier. I’m not lying when I say that’s what I want.

When I say that for my birthday, I don’t want any presents, I’m often serious, and not in a passive-aggressive way. Sometimes I want to go out to dinner. Sometimes I don’t. I don’t always want the same thing because I may feel differently one day than another or I may change my opinion of which restaurant is the best one or anything else. And it’s not because I’m a woman with changeable opinions or because I am trying to trick other people or make them work hard. I just grow and change like any other person, male or female.

The biggest problem I have with the above post is that it is so damned condescending. Like “we men” know better than women do. We don’t have to listen to them. We just tell them what they want, and then we give it to them. And we ignore when they say we’re wrong. This is not the way to a healthy relationship. If your wife likes surprises, why would she not admit to this if she trusts you? If she doesn’t like them and you insist on surprising her or making a fuss about her that she finds uncomfortable or embarrassing, what kind of a gift is that? Who is really the most important one in the relationship?

I have seen on to many occasions situations in which women are “given” something which it is clear they do not want, but which they then have to pretend to be very pleased about. This is oppression at work. If you are giving your wife a gift that is really about you showing off how wealthy you are, or wanting to make her look better so you look better, you are using gift-giving time as a manipulative tool to make her accept something that she doesn’t want without complaining. You make her feel like she has to be nice because it’s a “gift.” Children may need to be taught that they should say thank you even if a gift isn’t precisely what they wanted, but with adult women, it may be that if your wife isn’t truly appreciative, it could be your problem more than hers. You aren’t listening.

Influences on The Rose Throne #2: Scarlett O'Hara

I read Gone With the Wind for the first time at a very impressionable age, in ninth grade. I re-read it several times, and became obsessed with the movie version in the next year or so. I read books about the making of the movie, drew portraits of Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable. I memorized lines and generally imprinted on Scarlett and Rhett as the perfect romantic couple. When the first sequel to the novel came out, I read it with pleasure, though there was a faint sense of disappointment.

What I loved about Scarlett was her strength. Yes, she was an idiot about men. She was always falling in love with versions of Ashley Wilkes instead of Rhett Butler. And when she had Rhett, she completely failed to see his real love for her. But she was great at twisting men around her finger. She was marvelous during the war, refusing to ever be cowed by Yankees or poverty. I loved the part where she makes her own gown out of curtains. I loved how she wouldn't listen to other women tell her about the danger outside. I loved how she was always getting into scrapes and getting out of them. She was in essence a survivor.

And as I grew older, I realized something about Scarlett. At the end of the novel, when Rhett leaves her, she says, “Tomorrow is another day.” She isn't going to think about losing Rhett, who might be the love of her life. She is going to think about tomorrow and she is going to move on with her life. Why? Because she is a woman who doesn't need a man. She has never actually needed a man. It was one of the reasons that she kept choosing weak men like Ashley and Charles to marry, men she could manipulate, because they helped give her a cover for her own activities. She could do what she wanted if she was married. And Rhett? Well, Rhett wanted too much of her. He wanted everything from her and she didn't want to give that.

When I was writing Ailsbet in The Rose Throne, I drew very much on Scarlett O'Hara. Ailsbet isn't petulant, I hope. But she is forced into independence. She has a good look at the men in her life and she isn't impressed by them. She has seen a lot of abusive marriages, and she has no romantic ideals left. She knows that her father will likely marry her off to someone she has no interest in. She accepts this, but that doesn't mean she isn't going to fight for what she wants. And it doesn't mean she can't find ways to get power for herself.

Like Scarlett O'Hara, Ailsbet doesn't need a man. She doesn't need or want romance either, not in Rurik, where she is always going to be a prize, the princess, and no one will ever see her for herself. What she wants is to be a musician. What Scarlett wants at the end of Gone With the Wind—I don't know. I suppose that's why none of the sequels make any sense. But she would figure it out. She would do something and she would do it well, because that's who she is. And that is, I hope, how Ailsbet is, as well. At the end of The Rose Throne, she knows what she wants with her life and she is going to get it.

Writing Wednesday: Beyond the Everyman/Everywoman character

I am still thinking about why pity isn't enough for readers to feel for a main character. I can think of a lot of TV shows, movies, and books in which the main character is basically an everyman/everywoman who is suddenly faced with a terrible situation, a life or death choice. Like, your child is kidnapped or the world is about to be destroyed or you are separated from the man you love and have to get back to him, despite all odds. These stories work really well on a plot level often. But for me, they sometimes fail in the character department.

I want to read about a character who isn't an everyman, actually. I suspect that most readers are like me, in fact. Sure, they want to identify with the main character of a story, so it's important that the character have traits that the rest of us share. But it's also true that I read because I want to have an extraordinary experience, and for me, that experience is often about character rather than plot. If I have to choose between an amazing world with intricate, cool rules of magic, a fantastic set-up to a mind-boggling climax and a never-guess it twist with an everyman character, and a character who is extraordinary who lives in the real world, I will choose the extraordinary character every time.

I don't mean that I need to have a character who is of extraordinary intelligence or bravery. That can actually get old, and in some cases, can make it more difficult for me to feel sympathy. But I need a character whose situation is unique. I don't need a character with abusive parents who hit her. I need a character whose parents are cruel in tiny ways that they don't even realize. I need characters who hurt and love each other in equal portions. I want characters who have passions and weaknesses that aren't mine, but make sense to me.

I'm a writer and an athlete and a mother. Those are my passions. But one passion sometimes forces a choice that forces my life into imbalance. And then what? It's because I am so passionate that I have the life I have and the people around me. But what happens when I push someone away? Or when I get depressed? Or when someone falls in love and brings someone else into my life? I really think it is the small things that make the greater things make sense to us. And specifics about characters, tiny details, the right details.

You can do great world building around those perfect characters and make me even more interested in the book. You can add magic or space ships if you like. I like FTL travel and wormholes and wishing wells as much as anyone. But give me characters first. Give me a character who is only your character. Not you. But a person who feels so real I think if the book was left open for too long, she would walk right out of it. Characters I imagine talking to years later. Maybe this is because I am weird, but I sometimes wonder if the most meaningful relationships in my life have been with characters in books.

Lessons in Revision #2: Issa in The Rose Throne

Version 1 (2009):

Queen Timre had been sick but a handful of days.  She had kissed Princess Marlissa on the cheek only two days before, and patted her hand and told her to be a good girl, a good princess, and to learn her lessons, to improve her Rurin and to read her histories.

Issa went that evening to dinner, but found her mother was not there.  King Jaap told her not to worry, that the queen had just gone to bed early that night.

In the morning Issa went to her mother’s rooms, but was denied entrance.

“The Queen is very ill,” she was told by her mother’s friend Lady Ellis.  “You will see her tomorrow.  But for now, you must not make any noise and you must allow her time to rest alone.”

So Issa spent the day out in the Queen’s gardens that were just below her mother’s window.  It was early spring and her mother’s favorite flowers were just blooming.  The queen loved to spend time in the garden, though she rarely used her own magic to make things grow there.  The queen saved her magic for grander things, and spread it fairly through the kingdom.

It was here in the garden that Issa had proven that she had her own female magic the year before.  She touched her hand to the ground and a pansy grew out of it.  For a moment, she thought it must be another of her mother’s ladies, teasing her.  And then another pansy grew up next to the first, and another.  Until the whole corner of the garden she was in was growing pansies, Issa’s favorite flower.  She did not know how to stop it.

One of her mother’s ladies cried out for help.

But it took the queen herself to come and touch Issa’s shoulder and say softly, “let go.”

Since Issa is the princess who has the neweyr, and she lives in the kingdom (Weirland) where neweyr is appreciated, I knew I needed to make sure that the first chapter with her as the viewpoint character allowed her to show the neweyr. But it also needed to show her character. She is the more dutiful princess, the one who has had responsibility on her since her mother died. She has always done the right thing. But for a long time in my process, she was also the more boring princess. I think I wasn't connecting with her as a writer, and that made her seem rather boring.

Version 2 (early 2010)

          A knock at the door and a whispered voice said, “It's Lady Sassa, Your Highness. She's lost herself.”

          Princess Marlissa could not respond. She felt as if her voice had been ripped from her throat. Lady Sassa was only a year older than Issa. She had had her neweyr for five years.

          Issa remembered distinctly the day Sassa came into it, the pansies growing everywhere in the Queen's Garden, up the brick walls like vines, out the edges of the curled iron fence. Sassa had been so happy, and Issa had been so jealous. Five years ago, at only ten years old, Issa had worried whether she would ever come into her neweyr.

           In fact, Issa came into her neweyr the next year, and shortly after that, her mother had died. The joy of the neweyr had not lasted long before it was replaced by the weight of the responsibility, the duties of a queen for a girl not yet twelve years old. But Issa had worn her mother's circlet and shorn her hair as a symbol of her acceptance that from thenceforth, all her strength would go to the neweyr. And it had.

I was trying here to make this first scene with Issa more riveting, I think, by having danger attached to the use of the neweyr. This didn't work, either, however, because as many writers know, it is very difficult to get readers to care for a character who is going to be killed off in the first few sentences of a novel. Also, this doesn't make Issa a more interesting character. It just makes her feel more dutiful, sadder, and more pitiful. I remember reading Orson Scott Card's book on Writing Science Fiction and Fantasy. He argues that the best way to get readers to care for your characters is to make the reader feel sorry for them. But pitying a character isn't enough, especially if that character is passive. You need to feel sorry for a character, but also root for the character. You need to make your reader want to turn pages instead of closing the book.

Final Version:

Princess Marlissa of Weirland stood on the ramparts above the castle at noon, looking out on the craggy hills that surrounded her in all directions. Summer was waning, and soon Issa would use her part of the neweyr to bank the growth and fertility of the season, so that next year would be even more abundant than this one. But now, the neweyr of summer and life was at its height, and there was nothing in Issa’s mind as beautiful as the land that she was part of . She could feel the harvest plants growing fat and heavy, the warmth of the air settling deep into the black soil. It was as delicious to her as any taste on her tongue, as sweet as any imagined kiss.

           “Issa, there is an emissary come from Rurik, waiting to speak to you in the Throne Room,” said her father, King Jaap, coming up behind her.

           “I am sure he would rather speak to you than me, Father,” said Issa. Since her mother’s death, she had taken the queen's place in guarding the neweyr. But she had not yet decided if she would encourage the distant cousin who was her father’s heir to propose marriage to her.

          “His name is Duke Kellin of Falcorn. He is one of King Haikor’s court favorites. He has come to offer a betrothal.”

          “A betrothal?” said Issa. Well, this would be interesting, at least. A duke of Rurik had never been to the kingdom before. In fact, Issa could not remember any official emissary ever coming from Rurik, only spies. She might have fun with this.

This is the final version, where the dutiful side of Issa's character is still there, and her mother is still dead. She has borne the burden of her mother's position all these years, but that's all backstory. Instead of her character being all about pity, she is having some fun here. She thinks about her neweyr, but she isn't a cypher for using neweyr. I hope that in this version, she feels more rounded as a character and that the reader can have fun with her, as she intends to have fun. This was where I as a writer really started to love Issa and where I began to wonder which of my two princesses I was really going to let win . . .

Depression

I am not depressed any longer, though I was for several years and still watch myself to see if I am showing signs. I tend to be pretty cautious about stressing myself out too much, not getting enough sleep, saying yes to too many things, because I want to make sure that I don’t dig myself into a deficit again. Sometimes this makes me feel guilty and I shrug and say—yeah, well.

However, one of the things that has happened as I recovered was the realization that I messed up a lot of relationships when I was depressed. I probably knew I was doing this on some level, but I couldn’t help myself. I was trying to roll into a ball to protect myself, and that meant just dropping a ton of relationships. And now guess what? I have to repair all those relationships.

On the one hand, I am so glad not to be depressed anymore. I really am. On the other hand, I feel like the universe has been saving a big pile of excrement for me, on the occasion that I came out of the cave. An un-depression present, so to speak. You’re feeling better? And by the way, you should notice that you’ve ruined everything while you were sick so you get to spend the next ten years undoing that.

Yeah, yeah. People say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger and I’ll learn some really important lessons from this. I’m sure compassion for others in the same situation is one of them. But there is a part of me that is a little angry. I didn’t ask to get depressed. And don’t tell me I made a choice, either. My choice was to survive a horrible tragedy, not to get depressed. The depression was my bonus side effect.

And now after working through all of that, I get to work through a bunch more. I WANT to fix my relationships. But sometimes I mostly just want them to be fixed already. I want to not have to make up all those years of work. Yeah, not going to happen. That’s depression again. If you are one of the many people whose relationship to me got messed up: Sorry! I’m working on it, I promise! But it will take some time.

Friday Feminism: Being Offended

When I notice sexism in everyday life, I am not immediately offended. In fact, I am rarely offended by sexism. One of the reasons for this is that I think the patriarchy negatively affects men as much as women. Yes, men tend to have more power than women do, but that power does not always serve to make their lives better or easier. Understanding that patriarchy oppresses us all is one of the jobs of those who are cultural critics, which I consider myself to be. Also realizing that patriarchy is very smart and very agile, and that even when attempts are made to correct it, it turns around and swallows up those very attempts.

A friend of mine recently commented that it was silly to get offended about comments the President made about a female Attorney General being pretty. Well, I didn't get offended and she didn't get offended, either. Nonetheless, does this mean it is inappropriate to point out sexism rearing its head? I don't think so. As a cultural critic, I find it useful to call myself out for sexism when I am sexist, which I am. It is impossible not be sexist living in the society we live in. Some people may imagine that they are more above sexism than others. I am not one of them. Offense is not the point here. Criticism is the point. Revelation and truth are the point.

Women who are beautiful have certain advantages in the world. They tend to get more attention, particularly from men. On the other hand, this kind of attention is not necessarily what they would want. It tends to overpower their other accomplishments and can lead to them being overlooked in ways that might matter more. Men are rarely subjected to this same kind of prejudice. Good looks may be an advantage in Hollywood, and perhaps even in the business world, but I think they matter a lot less for men than for women.

A further complication of the tyranny of female beauty is that it sets women against each other in a kind of constant beauty pageant. Women can be allies for each other in this competition for beauty, giving each other tips about how to do hair and makeup or what clothes to wear to show off their advantages. More often, it has been my experience that women tend to pull each other down. I think this is regrettable. I wish that women did not feel as if they had to choose between pursuing intelligence and pursuring beauty. I wish that women did not feel that pointing out another woman's flaws did not help them step higher on the ladder. I recognize that this is so, and I'm not convinced that it can be stopped, but I am not offended by it when it happens. It is what is.

Advice for Encouraging Creative Writing in Children

I think it's important to have two kinds of writing lessons. The first is where you focus on sentence structure and correct grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, punctuation, capitalization, etc. The second is where you let a child focus on the creative side and run free, with plenty of space without adult supervision or correction, only encouragement. It's important that a child know which kind of lesson to expect.

As a professional writer, I have learned over many years to turn off my editorial brain when I am doing first drafts of a novel or even redrafting a scene in a rewrite.  The editorial part of my brain is vital to my success in writing, but if I let it take over, I'm not sure I would ever get more than a couple of sentences out, because that side would be turning over every sentence and asking--is this really the right word? Is this really the right sentence? So I turn that part off, let the creative side of me feel safe enough to make mistakes, and I write as fast as I can in a drafting stage.

It's important to my self-esteem and ability to continue writing to believe that this first draft is good, and so I sometimes will offer it to early readers whose main job it is to give me encouragement. I suspect that parents are mostly needed to do for children who are interested in writing. They just point to the best parts they can find and clap. When I go into schools, I make a promise to kids that I won't correct grammar on their stories on the first draft. I only say what I like. In fact, I have a serious problem as a writer--if I get only criticism from an editor or from my agent, I tend to throw the whole novel out and start over again from scratch. If you don't tel me what you like, I assume you didn't like anything. A lot of kids are like this, I suspect.

But of course, a first draft isn't a final draft and every student needs to learn to use that editorial side, too. But you wait until you feel secure enough in what you've done well before you can move on to a finished product. But it's clear to me these two sides need to operate independently, and most writers agree--though not all. There are some who write very slowly, and every sentence is perfect. I am not sure whether I hate or admire them.

Influences on The Rose Throne #1

I have been obsessed with Queen Elizabeth I for years. That she held power in England for almost 50 years in an era when women were considered far lesser creatures than men has always astonished me. And then, all of the characters around her. Her father King Henry VIII, both one of the great kings of England and one of the worst tyrants, her mother Anne Boleyn who successfully managed to make herself queen—for a few years—before she was beheaded, and who also ended the rule of Catholicism in England. Her sister Queen Mary, who tried to bring Catholicism back to England with burnings. And then those who were part of Elizabeth’s own reign, Raleigh and Drake and Dudley. And of course, Mary Queen of Scots, whom Elizabeth had executed after years in the Tower, where she herself had spent years under her own sister Mary’s reign.

For years, Elizabeth hinted that she would marry. There were many possible suitors, but ultimately, she kept them all dancing on a string. She was known as the perpetual Virgin Queen, as ever beautiful and powerful. There are arguments about how much of that image was real and how much false, as well as how canny Elizabeth was in her understanding that marriage would mean she gave up her power and her throne for a man. I suspect Elizabeth knew full well what she was doing, that she was one of the first monarchs who had control of her PR and her image absolutely. She was brilliant. And she was careful never to be seen as less than a woman. She held all the power of a man, but never seemed to question the reigning sexual dynamics of the time.

The intrigues are fascinating and you could spend your whole life becoming an expert in the era. But what I find most interesting in all of this is Elizabeth’s relationship to other women. Of course, there were women in her court, below her in station. But the women who were her equals had to be destroyed. The memory of her sister Mary among historians is still what Elizabeth would have wanted it to be, that Mary was crazed, blood-thirsty, a horrible ruler, and quite possibly mad. Elizabeth was the cure to all that ailed England. She made it so. And Mary Queen of Scots? Also suffered enormously in comparison to Elizabeth. She wanted power. She tried to get it. But she was less competent and also perhaps more womanly. She was married. She had a child. Elizabeth did neither of those things. And so Mary had to die, as well, under a cloud of guilt that has really never been erased. Again, Elizabeth continued to triumph today.

Perhaps this was the only way for a woman of this time period to keep the ultimate power that Elizabeth had. But as I toyed with the idea of writing something about a character like Elizabeth, I wondered what it would have been like if she and Mary Queen of Scots had met as teenagers (by all accounts, they never did meet) and had formed a kind of alliance—even become friends. What if they had seen that they had certain similiarities? It wouldn’t have changed the fact that they were rivals for the same thrones. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that Elizabeth was the steely, canny, dominant woman that she was, or that Mary was a softer, more feminine version of power. But in a world where women can only take power from each other, is there a chance for friendship?

I deliberately chose to take elements of the Tudor/Elizabethan world and use them in The Rose Throne. But The Rose Throne is not set in our world at all. It’s set in an alternate universe in which there are certain similarities that suit my tastes—and hopefully yours. There are two kinds of magic, and an ancient prophecy and the two separate islands coming back together. And against this, the backdrop of the continent, where other kingdoms rule and look at Rurik and Weirland with alternate distaste, horror, and greed. But ultimately, The Rose Throne is a story of two princesses, Ailsbet and Issa, who are rivals, and yet try to be more than that to each other. Whether they succeed or not is, I suppose, a question left up to my readers.

Writing Wednesday: Getting A Speed Upgrade

I spent an hour last week with my triathlon coach in the pool, showing me a few drills to help my stroke along. I don't have a terrible stroke, but sometimes it feels like I am just reinforcing bad habits in the water. I swam in high school, but I don't remember ever doing drills to improve stroke. I don't remember talking about stroke at all.The interesting thing about this session was that my coach told me to stop thinking about my stroke all the time and just swim. He did the drills with me, but he didn't want me to think about them while swimming. He said that the change would happen naturally and thinking about it would just make me slower.

When I talk to writers, I feel like the biggest barrier for them is speed of writing. Now, there is nothing wrong with writing slowly, but it seems like a lot of writers are aware that the reason they are writing slowly is that they keep thinking too much about their stroke. They are aware on a micro-level of all the elements that go into making each sentence. They think TOO much about voice, grammar, plot, character. They analyze their own words as they are writing them. Again, this is not wrong. If this is working for you, then don't feel obliged to read my advice. But if you are feeling paralyzed by this, then maybe what I have to say will be useful.

What you need to do: Read more. Read a lot. Read a book a day for the next month. Don't write anything. Just read. My idea here is that if you read fast enough, you may be able to disconnect the editor part of your brain for a little while, or that you may figure out how to turn the switch more consciously. The editor part of your brain is really important. Analyzing things is a great way to become a better writer. But if you are too self-conscious about your writing, you may be standing in your own way. Let yourself be an unconscious reader again for a while.

Do you remember when you were a kid and you would just read and enjoy books--even bad ones? It's not a bad thing to be able to get back to. Telling yourself all the things that a best-selling book does wrong may be missing the point. What is it doing right? That is the question and if you can't be that reader again, you may never find out the answer to this question.

Read, read, read. Read good books and bad. Read them quickly. More quickly than you are used to doing. Don't read every line. Speed read. Feel the flow of the book. Look at the shape of the arc rather than the individual words that make it up. And then when you go back to your own book, try to write it the same way, unconsciously, just filling in the spaces.

Mind you, I'm not saying to send it out in this state, before your editorial brain gets re-engaged, but sometimes people can't finish a draft because they have been to too many workshops and classes, have read too many books on writing. Sometimes you need to stop thinking so hard about writing and just sit down and get it done. Be a reader again, and enjoy your words as you write. Let them flow. Then when you have a full draft, you can re-engage the editor brain and start looking at your sentences analytically.

New Lessons in Revision #1: The Rose Throne

This is a bit of a sketch of the long process The Rose Throne went through to come to print in its current form. I have written often about the need to make enormous changes in revision, not just fiddle with making the words sound prettier. I think I demonstrate this clearly in the following openings, introductions to Princess Ailsbet's character. In some ways, I would argue that her character was essentially the same from the beginning: a fiercely determined, fiery-tempered young woman who has been overlooked and abused by her father, and who knows that she is about to be married away to some nameless nobleman who pleases her father in the moment. She loves her music, was once deeply attached to her music master, Master Lukacs, and she is deeply lonely because she has few real connections to anyone at her father's court. She is damaged, but she has potential for power--the only question is how she will use it.

Version 1 (the version that the proposal first sold from--early 2009):
            “Play it again, Princess Ailsbet,” said Master Lukacs.
            She knew that he was unhappy with her.  When she had done well, he called her “little Bez,” his own nickname for her that no one else at court used, not even her father the king.  Especially not King Haikor.
Bez had played the flute since she was two years old, though she had not taken lessons from Master Lukacs then.  He would not have bothered with her, princess or no.  He had become her teacher when she was six years old, when he had been invited to court to play for the king in celebration of his new son, Prince Edik.  Master Lukacs played four different instruments, each as well as the last: the viol, the zither, the harp, and the flute.
He was a proud man, as proud as a king, and very handsome despite his age.  He dyed his hair once a week with the juice of nuts, and he curled his mustache with tree sap so that it made perfect circles on either side of his mouth.  He had but one set of court clothes, but these he always kept clean and pressed.  He had no servant of his own, and must bring his own water up to his room, and heat it himself over the fire in his hearth, which he also had to build for himself.

Version 3 (late 2010):
Bez, Princess Ailsbet of Rurik, sat by her brother Edik for the entertainers her father had hired to perform for the court.  They used taweyr, a whole troupe of men, but they did not use it to kill so it was considered appropriate for both male and female audiences.  It was the first time Bez had seen taweyr used so openly and without any fear in those who watched.  She had seen her father use taweyr to stop the heart of a groomsman who had not shined his shoe's properly.  It had lasted only a moment, and the man had not died, but his face had gone so dark it was nearly purple and everyone around him had stepped back, breathless as if they were afraid that they would be next. 
No man would speak about his taweyr to a woman, much less a girl, so everything Bez knew about the taweyr she had learned from inferences or overheard conversations.  She knew that it was the magic of war and death, and that it began with either fear or anger.  She also knew that it was the exercise of a magical pressure, so that if it was used on certain substances they could burst into flame or be melted to slag.  If it was used on softer substances, they were pressed to stone.  The pressure on air could make men seem to fly, and it could move weapons like swords or spears.
No woman should wish for taweyr because to have it would make her ekhono, those who had the wrong kind of magic.  There had always been prejudice against the ekhono, but King Haikor had made it the law that ekhono were to be killed when they came into their weyrs at puberty, and then thrown to the ocean where all weyr was destroyed.  Still, Bez was jealous of her brother Edik.  The taweyr seemed much more interesting than the neweyr to her.  It had since she was very small, and though she had never come into her neweyr and was considered now seventeen years old and considered unweyr, she had not changed her mind.

Version 6a (early 2011):

            Princess Ailsbet of Rurik, known as “Bez,” slipped into the trews and shirt she had stolen from the laundry. As she changed, she was hidden behind the old, crumbling wall, to the east of the palace and the Tower. She was relieved to get out of the weight and folds of the skirt that prevented her from running freely, and was eager to try out her disguise in the city. She had been told more than once in her seventeenth year that she was as skinny as a boy and as tall as a man. She had her father's freckled skin and bright red hair, as well as his long nose, and as a man, she was far less ugly than as a woman.
            Bez tucked her long, tangled hair under a soft felt hat, tied up in a knot to secure it. Then she bent down and smudged her face with dirt. Finally, she pulled out her wooden flute.
           She had not told Master Lukacs where she was going that night, for she was certain he would not approve.

Version 7a (early 2011):

“Princess Ailsbet, your father demands your attendance at court this morning,” said Duke Kellin, bowing to Bez briefly. He was King Haikor’s new favorite, younger than the last generation, but there were few left who were older. Her father had not been kind to those his own age.
Bez knew what this official invitation to court meant. At sixteen, she was of marriageable age, and it was time for her to build an alliance that would be of use to her father. She had shown no neweyr, the magic of women, but it did not matter to her father, who had no use for the neweyr in any case. It was the taweyr that mattered to him, the magic of war and death that would be her young brother Prince Edik’s legacy, when he was of age.
“You will give me a few minutes to prepare myself,” said Bez. It was a request, though she did not phrase it as such. She had copied her father’s way of speaking everything as a command.
“Your father is anxious to see you. It would be wise for you to avoid his displeasure,” said Kellin in the careful accent of the palace itself, more southern than northern, but smoothed out over the harsher consanants. What his true accent was, Bez could not tell.

Version 7b (mid-year 2011):
“Princess Ailsbet, your father demands your attendance at court this morning,” said Duke Kellin, bowing to Ailsbet. He was King Haikor’s new favorite, hardly older than she was, dark-haired, tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome.
“You will give me a few minutes to prepare myself,” said Ailsbet. It was a request, though she spoke it as a command as her father was wont to.
At sixteen, Ailsbet was of marriageable age, and it was time for her to build an alliance that would be of use to her father. Since she had shown no neweyr, the magic of women, she was now considered unweyr, though her father was unlikely to use her as a trader to the weyrless continent.
“Your father is anxious to see you. It would be wise for you to avoid his displeasure,” said Kellin in the careful accent of the palace itself, more southern than northern, the harsher consanants smoothed out. What his true accent was, Ailsbet could not tell.

Final version:
“Princess Ailsbet, your father demands your attendance at court this morning,” said Duke Kellin of Falcorn, bowing. He was King Haikor’s new favorite, looked hardly older than Ailsbet, and was“You will give me a few minutes to prepare myself,” said Ailsbet. It was a request, though she spoke it as a command.
At sixteen, Ailsbet was of marriageable age, and it was time for her to build an alliance that would be of use to her father. Since she had shown no neweyr, the magic of life that bound women to the earth, and was past the age of developing it, she was now considered unweyr. The well-born unweyr were occasionally used as ambassadors to the continent, where others would suffer deeply without weyr, but that was unlikely in Ailsbet’s case. Her father would want to use her marriage to strengthen his own seat on the throne, as well as her younger brother Edik’s claim to it in time.
“Your father is anxious to see you. It would be wise for you to avoid his displeasure,” said Kellin in the careful accent of the palace itself, more southern than northern, the harsher consonants smoothed out. What his true accent was, Ailsbet could not tell.