Sarah Barnard's Blog, page 12

Letting the characters speak.

I suppose it’s like acting in a way, as a writer I have to get inside my character’s heads, to fully understand them, to find their voice. Some characters are easier than others, and some become easier over time. Others, less so.

Kate is easy. Slipping into her life is like putting on comfy clothes and relaxing with a friend. Lily is harder to connect with, but she’s quite fun to be with while writing. She thinks a lot, she has an inner strength and focus that helps.

Sage is fun, when my car is working. Sage is strong willed and easily annoyed, but she gets things done. She’s a bit of a force of nature.

Then there’s Sam.

Sam is actually quite dangerous. To get inside her head, to find her voice I have to find the dark places. Sam is self destructive, and also damaging to those around her, especially those who care about her. Her story is the darkest, with the unhappy ending we already know (if you’ve read Child of the Portal – in case you haven’t, I’ll leave it there.)

I’m finding my way back into Sam’s view of the world, and entering the editing phase of her story.

Watch this space…

In the meantime, her beginning is told in The Heir.

Only available as an ebook.

Before Sam did this, she wrote to Kate.

From Child of the Portal.

She let herself flow outwards, seeking the still torn areas of land and allowing her essence to fill and heal them. With her last remaining breath Sam flung out a farewell to those she felt closest to and all the magic she had taken from others or imposed on anyone was returned or negated. She felt a moment of regret that Kate was almost deaf and blind to the magic and with the Portals sealed she couldn’t reach her. She should have told Kate. Then she simply let go. She willingly let go of the pain, of the turmoil, of all uncertainty. She relinquished her hold on memories both good and bad. As part of the deal she also let go of her heartbeat, of breathing. She let go of living. That which had been Sam spread out across the realm like oil on water until it was so thin it was no longer anything. Her body rested quietly at the foot of the tree and the final breath sighed from her open lips into the grass.

As she made her choice to take this path, Sam wrote to Kate, and to Lily. She wrote it in secret, hid it from all other eyes, and left it for the Naiad to find after she left the glade for the last time.

Elder handed the document to Lily as she left Talamathir after Gentian’s daughter was born.

Later, Elder tugged Lily to one side, away from Kate and Susan and pulled her into the yurt that Elder shared with Drummer. “I had forgotten that I kept this for you. The Naiad found it on the day your daughter died and then you took her before we could give it to you.”

“And then I brought chaos to you again and it was forgotten.” Lily took the offered roll of paper and held it lightly in her hands. “I understand, Elder, I really do. Thank you for keeping it safe.”

Elder nodded as she laid a warm hand gently on Lily’s arm and squeezed softly before walking to the door, leaving Lily with the paper in her hands. She let it rest there, curious but reluctant to look inside. Lily swallowed and slid off the plaited threads binding the paper. She opened it and read the first few lines.

“Wait,” Lily called as Elder put her hand on the door to close it as she left. “I’ll take this home and read it later. I think I need to be alone and with time to deal with what’s in here. And I suspect Kate needs to read it too. Do you want it back?”

“No, it is not mine, it was left for you.” Elder smiled, a warm sad smile.

Broken promises is that document, Sam’s story, and it’s coming to an ereader and bookshelf near you soon.

Always winter….

The snow is thick across the garden, the kids had an day off school on Friday and have been having a great time with snow sculptures in various forms, snowball fights and generally not having to go to school – an extra day of weekend is always a bonus. A sledging accident left us grateful that nothing was broken, just bruising and a limp for a while.

It’s not looking like school will re-open on Monday. But homework has been done just in case, and uniform is ready.

There are birds fighting over the pile of seeds, meal worms and scraps on and around the bird table. The path outside is icy and the wind bites through several layers and leaves you so cold it burns.

Reminds me of a book I wrote….

A handful of snow flew in a smooth arc through the air and landed squarely on his back, powder shattering in a spray around him. With a roar he whirled, slipping in the snow and falling to sit in the deep drift, snow flying up to cover him. He scooped up a double handful of snow and flung it towards the tree he knew she hid behind, missing her as she ran from him, laughing as her feet kicked up loose snow behind her. His second snowball hit a branch as she ducked under it, shedding its white covering and showering her with snow which shed a sparkling spray as she shook out dark curls and ran on, easily outpacing him, weaving through the trees until she burst from cover and onto the deeply white meadow. Then she slowed, wading through thigh-deep drifts until she found the path they’d dug out earlier in the day and even that was filling with fresh flakes falling in thick sheets. She raced for the huge, heavy doors with him in pursuit, snow flying from both sets of feet. She could hear his boots thundering closer and she knew it would be close but she just squeezed through as he caught up. He threw a heavy arm round her shoulders and rubbed snow into her neck.

“Hiann!” Gentian shivered. “That’s gone right down my back.” She shook off his arm and strode away into the fortress, leaving him laughing as she left. She smiled as she walked away, her annoyance at the snow down her back tempered by the warmth she felt at this new, lighter Hiann. Despite having all his power returned to him, he wasn’t using it and seemed content to stay near the fortress and live quietly. Gentian didn’t like the fortress much but she had to admit that it was secure, held out the worst of the weather and they were undisturbed there.

The outline of Ametsam remained embedded in the wall of the great hall where Hiann had cleared the floor for weapons practice and warrior training during foul weather. But it was faded now and Gentian no longer feared it although she did notice some of the other Eysi that stayed with them glancing at it with wariness in their eyes. She had once suggested that they hang something over it but only once as the look that Hiann had thrown at her had been enough to silence that thought.

Gentian pushed open the door of the rooms they shared and stepped into the large space. She stood in a living space where a fire roared on one wall, sending flickering light and heat into the room. In front of the fire was a thick woven rug on which stood two wooden chairs piled with cushions and with a blanket thrown over each. A table stood to the other side, with a window cut deep into the wall above it. Hiann had added windows where he could when they had begun the restoration of the fortress, saying he preferred natural light. But being set deep into the rock it wasn’t easy to put windows where he wanted them, so he had kept his efforts to the front and one side of the structure and their rooms were on a corner so he had windows on two walls and the light was lovely. Gentian walked through, pausing at the fire to warm her hands and pull a blanket from one of the chairs, and then she pushed open a door on the far side of the room to go into the bedroom. Once there she pulled off her cold, wet clothes and used the blanket to rub away the cold snow lingering on her back and neck before pulling on fresh clothes. She heard movement in the other room as she pushed her arms into a soft wool jacket and she knew it was him. The smells that drifted in to her were appealing and she grinned, stepping into the doorway to watch him lay out bowls, a tureen of steaming soup, and warm bread on the table.

He looked up at her and Gentian felt a surge of emotion. She still wasn’t used to seeing a smile on his face, to hearing his laughter without cruelty, to seeing softness in his eyes. With dark, sword calloused, gentle hands he ladled soup into bowls and tore the bread into chunks so steam rose from the table.

From the third book in the Portal series, Child of the Portal.



Child of the Portal at Kobo Books.

What is it?

What is it? This brightness that sears through the mist. As the day ended yesterday the landscape was closed, sealed from view in cotton white mist. We walked in the clouds and felt the rain cling to us before falling the short distance to earth where it left a sheen that belied the grubbiness.

It wasn’t raining, not really, but the air was thick and heavy, wet. Chill crept into bones while we spoke of how mild it was, for the time of year. It’s January, it should be colder, and we’re walking around with coats undone and complaining it’s too mild.

But our bones are chilled, our marrow crushed.

We slept; too cold, too warm, can’t get comfy. We dreamed dreams so deep and so clear that we weren’t sure when we woke. Were we still dreaming? Are we still dreaming?

Today, the Solar spotlight throws all into crystal razor-sharp clarity that stabs through the brain when gazed on for more than a moment.

New Years Eve – Goodbye 2012.

What a year…. 2012. The year I moved from a decent sized market town close to a city, to a small village in the middle of nowhere. A year of upheavals and changes that turned life upside down and gave it a damned good shake until all sorts of rubbish fell out.

I made new friends, changed old friendships and, I suspect, lost a few along the way too. Those who care made the effort, and are worth the effort of maintaining a long distance friendship.

I lost my chickens, had to leave them behind. I lost my garden, just as I was about to start thinking about the coming Spring. I gained a garden untouched by any form of real cultivation in years – and swimming in a torrential downpour for much of the last year so it remains untouched.

Our last guinea pig died, very peacefully of old age.

Earthlink: Impact was released just before we moved, and The Heir just after.

So many emotional ups and downs, and we lived every second of them all. We found new places to walk in the trees, play in rivers, build castles on the beach.

I revisited the Naiad’s water and found it dramatically changed. I found Lily’s oak tree, less than 5 minutes from my new home.

And then, in the dying days of 2012 I found I can write funny and started something new… if I can stop giggling long enough to finish it.

Also had an idea that might take me away from writing for a while, but I’ll be back.

2012, a proper mixture. Ranging from sheer terror to such a feeling of happy satisfaction, through that thrill of excitement as a new idea takes root.

Thank you, 2012 for one hell of a ride. Already looking forward to exciting things happening in 2013.

I hope that you have a fabulous 2013, riding on the tails of a wonderful 2012.

See you all on the other side….

Christmas Blog Hop

Tag, you’re it….

I’ve been tagged by J Lawrence (blog link) (Amazon Author page)

What is the title of your latest book?

Let’s see, the last book I released was the short story: The Heir, a prequel to my Portal Series. I have another prequel with the editing team aimed for release next year. But, The Heir was the last one and therefore the latest.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I wrote the main Portal books first and I had readers asking me why, and how, certain events happened. The beginnings of a character, even if off the page initially, are critical to their behaviour and reactions as an adult.

I had the back story in notes, from about half way through the second book – and most of it came from one of those mad conversations with a friend where we bounced around the room sparking ideas off the walls. You know the sort of conversation where one of you says, “What if….” and a whole new universe of possibilities opens up. That was where The Heir came from.

What genre does your book fall under?

The Portal Series is Urban Fantasy and The Heir is part of that series, although there is very little magic used in The Heir.

What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

Lily and Heather? I have Emma Thompson in my mind as the older Lily from the Portal Between, but this is 30 years previous to that. So, unless I’m allowed to time travel and have a younger Emma Thompson, can I have Emma Watson instead? Or maybe she’d be better as Heather?

I’d need two good actors, aged or able to play a pair of non-identical twin sisters aged around 20.

Realistically, I think I’d prefer to cast two unknowns.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

A pregnant woman runs to her sister for help and has the hardest choice of all to make.

Is your book self-published or represented by an agency?

The Heir is published by Osier Publishing, as are all my books.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

The Heir is a short story and only took about a week to get the first draft down.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I try not to compare fiction books. Each is an individual in its own right and has the space to be loved by each of us, or not. That’s what being individual is all about.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My readers! Yes, you lot. I was asked so many times why Lily did what she did, I had to write it out for you.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

For anyone who’s read my Portal Series, Lily is the core of the three books. She holds the magic, the secrets and when she fails at the end and has to walk away, I watched her go and wondered how she found the strength.

Lily was special, and readers who know her, love her. The Heir is hers, all hers.

Tag, you’re it…. These authors are up next. Look for their posts in around a week, December 18th.

Morgan Gallagher

Jason Dodge (Blogging at The Writing Network)

Isobel Herring (Blogging at Osier Publishing)

A misty morning.

I was always going to take part in NaNoWriMo.

I wasn’t ever going to take part in NaNoWriMo.

Then November arrived and I couldn’t help myself, I started writing.  Real life and other demands ate up all my days and I stopped after a few days. The story wasn’t working as I’d hoped, and it was all too easy to become distracted.

Monday was a day shrouded in mist, filled with steady drizzle, and I had to go out in it. There comes a point when the shopping has to be done, regardless of the weather or other concerns. That point was reached when I could see the end of the milk in sight! I need milk for tea, and the cupboards were looking more and more bare.

As often happens while driving, descriptions began to flow. Words tend to choose to flow with such eloquence when you’re incapable of recording them.

It was a day when the world shrank, encased in mist and rain, to a narrow view where the mountains vanished.

The valley was still beautiful.

Tiny, shimmering droplets of water clung to the long fur on her tail, held over her head for shelter.

I’m still not convinced I’ll make the NaNo deadline with the required number of words, but I’m writing and that misty valley has me gripped. I can see it in my mind, I can smell it.

What do you think? 5,000 words a day and I might just scrape over the finish line.

Happy Birthday Elois.

It’s not NaNoWriMo. I think I’ll call it NoNoNaNo! If I was taking part in NaNoWriMo then I’d be around 600 words behind schedule.

[image error]Elois liked to sit with her back to the stove, not because it was warm, but because it faced the kitchen door and if the door was left open she could look outside as she ate. Her place was set neatly, but her bowl was already full, even though the porridge was still cooking. Small packages spilled over the top and Elois’ father grinned at her, as her mother arrived carrying an armful of larger gifts.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” Mari Young’s hair was as wild as Elois’ mad curls, but there were a few grey hairs in the riot that fell below her shoulders. She let the parcels down gently onto the table and swept Elois into her arms.

“Yeah, happies, sis.” Lip slouched into the room with a badly wrapped parcel clutched in one hand.

“Start opening some or there’ll be no room for your breakfast.” Kyt was still stirring the pot on the stove, porridge slowly thickening.

Elois sat in her chair and stared at the parcels in her bowl. She didn’t know where to start. She closed her eyes and reached out for a random package. The paper crinkled under her fingers, stiff over something soft. She eased the string off, careful not to tighten the knot so it could be reused. She teased the paper apart, again careful not to damage it. She laid the paper to one side, where Mari took the sheet, smoothed and folded it. Mittens, warm and thick and lined with soft fabric. Perfect if this winter was anything like the last one.

A set of wooden kitchen tools. “Does this mean I can cook on my own now?” Elois beamed at her mother.

Mari shook her head with a smile. “You’re already competent in the kitchen, El. You don’t really need me here apart from the more complex meals.”

Elois blushed. She knew she was a good cook, but she was clumsy at times too. She rushed things and sometimes the seasoning didn’t work as they should. Probably because she didn’t take the time to read the recipe properly.

It’s Elois’ twelfth birthday. She lives with her brother Filip (known as Lip) and her parents, Mari and Kyt on a distant world that was deemed suitable for a simple agricultural life, and free of native sentience. There was no danger of encroaching on someone else’s home.

Elois is about to discover the survey team was wrong.

Still not doing NaNoWriMo.

I’m still not doing NaNo, but I’m still writing insanely fast. It just happens to be November.

Beyond the side door was a path that wound along the side of the house, past the stone forge and finally curved off between the trees.

The wood pile was stacked against the side of the forge, where her dad would be working later in the day. He had a set of horseshoes to make for their own pony and Briony Fitzwilliam had a new set of harness parts ordered. Briony would barter for good leather, Elois hoped there would be enough for warm winter boots.

A large square of strong canvas with leather handles, the lugger, was hanging beside the door. Elois piled the lugger with as many logs as she could carry and took them indoors to stack by the stove. It was going to be a beautiful day once the mist lifted. For now though, the trees were shrouded in grey and the air was damp and cold. Hanging the lugger back by the door, Elois gazed down the length of the valley until the river curved out of sight. The mist hung low, hiding the trees but leaving the top of the ridge clear and bright. The other houses were half hiding in the grey, shadows with no colour.

“Going to be a nice day.”

Elois jumped as a large hand fell on her shoulder and a voice spoke in her ear. “Sorry, did I make you jump?”

Kyt Young was a big man. Not tall, but solid from working his blacksmith’s forge. His voice was soft and he moved quietly, often able to sneak up on both his children, which caused him great amusement. Elois turned to glare at her father but his happy grin and shining grey eyes couldn’t allow her to be angry for long. Calloused hands gripped her shoulders, his heavy arm draped across her shoulders. “You’ll be taller than me soon,” he mused softly.

“But not wider,” Elois giggled as she leaned on him.

“Cheeky!” He mock cuffed her across the top of her head. “Happy Birthday, El.” He pushed her to arms length and studied her with a smile. “You’re growing up so fast.”

A large drop of water landed on the path, staining dark on the stone.

“I thought you said it’d be a nice day?” Elois shook her head as another drop hit, and then another. More came, gathering momentum until the rain obscured their view.

“It will be, once the rain washes away the mist.” That was Kyt, always seeing the positive, always hoping for better. “Thank you for getting the wood in.” He moved away, leaving Elois gazing at the rain. The ground beneath the trees would be soaked again. The mud would suck at her boots and she’d wanted to go and explore the ridge she’d found beyond the gully. If the rain kept up at this pace there’d be no crossing the gully today, or even tomorrow.

This one is aimed as a book for older children, confident readers, or young adults. Not that I’m counting, but the wordcount is ahead of NaNo day 3 target, if I was doing it, which I’m not….

I’m not doing NaNo.

I’m not. I said I wouldn’t and I’m not. I just happen to be writing very fast, during November. If I happen to make it close to the 50k word mark towards the end of the month then I might consider validating.

In the meantime, I thought I’d share some of what I’m writing. Not every day, but most days, while NaNo is on. I told you about NaNo here.

[image error]The house was warm and cosy. The bed was far too comfy and the curtains closed against the dark. Sunlight would filter softly through the fabric in a couple of hours and it was Elois Young’s twelfth birthday. She rolled onto her back, gazing at the fabric draped across the room, hiding the stained metal ceiling. She didn’t remember much about the crossing, only the bright lights that hurt her eyes when she woke from her long sleep and it being chaos getting everyone into the right places for landing.

That had been three years ago and on some days Elois still longed to return to old Earth, where the lights were bright all day and all night and the noise was constant. She reached to push tangled, brown curls away from her eyes. The air felt cooler, the seasons were changing again, turning to Autumn.

A thump was followed by the rattle of something falling across the roof above.

“Stupid ’Corns!” Elois muttered, not daring to shout this early in the morning. If she woke anyone too early they’d be grumpy all day. She stretched out a hand to twitch the curtains. Still mostly dark and the night sky outside was scattered with the last of the night’s bright stars. They were beginning to fade as the night lifted and dawn approached. She let the curtain drop back into place and wriggled back under the blankets, trapping warmth and hoping for a while longer before she had to get up.

“Elois!” her father called. “Your turn to do the fire.”

She groaned. “Yes, Dad.” Rolling to the edge of the bed, she eased a leg out and brushed against the floor. Cold. She lurched to the side of the bed, groping for slippers to slide her feet into. Not warm enough. Dragging a blanket with her, she rummaged in a drawer for socks. Once her feet felt warmer, Elois pulled on layers of clothing.

A small passage from yesterday’s writing. Elois is a first lander colonist on a new world. Her family shipped out when she was nine years old and I’m exploring her new home with her.

Wordcount is currently at approx 2100.