Jennifer Freitag's Blog, page 24

Stirling Castle & Argyll's Lodging

This past Friday (15th), Tim and I went out to Stirling to see the castle and its satellite monuments.  My Scottish history begins sketchily with James VI (First of England) and continues from there, immediately becoming English.  In short, I've only ever taken note of Scottish history when its burn intersects the river of English history.  There were, however, a few names I recognized before the ignominious Stuart line - Malcolm, David, Alexander - but it was a bare acknowledgement of names that have seeped through the thicker fabric of English history.  So Stirling Castle was full of new things for me.





The Gothic-style building in the background is the front bank of the Church of the Holy Rude.



Trying to look over the forewall of Stirling Castle.  There is grass growing all over the place!

 

Queen Anne's garden.  It sports one huge, gorgeous oak tree, on the left, sadly out of the frame.








Reproductions of the famous Stirling Heads.



Part of a commemorative piece done by the same fellow commissioned to reproduce the Stirling Heads.

I wanted to see if they had Man Pie and a recipe for Marshwiggles, but there were three of these huge illumined cookbooks and I didn't have time to go through them all.



The dining room of Argyll's Lodging, a building at the foot of the hill on which the castle sits.

It was a blowy, cold, mizzling day and we were both tired by the end of it, but we loved Stirling Castle, Argyll's Lodging, and the church cemetery.  Indubitably, some of this will wind up in my novels.

Beautiful People - Jennalaide

It has been a long time since I did Beautiful People.  The last time I did it for Mazelin, I think: out of nowhere I decided to do a post for Jennalaide. 

jennalaide

What is her full name?
Jennalaide Blackthorn

Does her name have a special meaning?
No. Her name was originally going to be “Jenna,” but then the “laide” came along as well, a carry over from "Adelaide," which is a pretty name in my opinion. A few people still call her “Jenna” as a diminutive.

Does your character have a methodical or disorganized personality?
Jennalaide has a brutally organized mind: I think Mr. Miyagi would be proud of her. She is fastidious in manner and appearance, but I think most of this is a necessary defence against panic. She has learned to receive everything with a calm demeanour, to think quickly, and to act with an almost irritatingly unruffled air.

Does she think inside herself more than she talks out loud to her friends? (More importantly, does she actually have friends?)
Jennalaide does not have any friends—she does not care much for male company and she cannot abide the presence of other females. She is a pretty, prickly little cat whom only an arranged marriage would wrangle into any kind of relationship, and even then she might contrive to get out of it if she thought it a worse option than being an old maid. She also keeps her own council, a habit which produces acute agonies in some of the other characters.

Is there something she is afraid of?
Yes, but to tell would be to give away too much. But she is of good stock: fear tends to produce in her a compounded determination to get her own way.

Does she write, dream, dance, or sing?
Jennalaide is an accomplished hand and can read, write, and speak in Carmarthen, English, French, and Latin. (“You can’t—you can’t speak Latin. It’s a dead language.”) She is a decent singer but a better dancer, and of course she has dreams.

What is her favorite book?
The Unconquered Sun: the Life and Wars of Auxoris by Margold Becket, Dean of Lamblight.

Who is someone that inspires her?
Auxoris, for one, who was a renowned general in history, and also a singular woman who will at present go unnamed. Jennalaide has met neither as yet (hint: she’s not going to get to meet Auxoris).

How old is she?
It’s not polite to ask a lady her age. My understanding is that she is nearnabout twenty, possibly a year more.

What does she do with her spare time?
Jennalaide has probably more free time than is good for her. When she was younger she practiced the art of pranking; being a young lady now, all that malicious energy has been channeled inward to creating schemes for her wellbeing. She has always been intent on getting her way: this does not change with age. Hobbies include horseback riding, archery, and hunting with falcons.



Does she see the big picture or live in the moment?
She is much more of a big-picture kind of girl, although she is never against enjoying the moment.

Is she a perfectionist?
She is a perfectionist, rather, but she is willing to admit that perfection takes time. But she will get her perfection.

Favourite animal?
The horse.

Does she have any pets?
No, not as such, unless you count her horse Essence of Amber, whom you have already met briefly in Horse Sense.

Does she have any siblings? How many? Where does she fit in?
She has quite a number of half-siblings, of which she is by far the eldest. She has absolutely nothing to do with them if she can help it, and they generally have enough sense to keep out of her way. She has a rough, mannish side and has once boxed a half-brother in the ear—forgetting she was wearing a ring at the time, it left quite a mark.

Does she have a 'life verse' and if so what is it?
“Strike all my enemies on the jaw—shatter the teeth of the wicked!”

What type of laugh does she have?
Silvery. It’s positively silvery. It is also maddeningly provoking.

What is her family like?
Hellish, Carmarthen, and dysfunctional.

Is she a Christian?
Yes, she is a Christian.

Favourite kind of weather?
Clear, cool weather in early autumn.



Does she have a good sense of humor? If so what kind? (Slapstick, wit, sarcasm, etc.?)
She has a very sharp sense of humour and an appreciation for the absurd, but she is also very forward—not fast, but definitely forward in her humour. She finds it amusing to watch people squirm, and it is also an excellent weapon.

Right, or left handed?
Jennalaide is right-handed.

Favourite colour?
A very soft pink, I imagine.

Where is she from?
Ethandune.

Any enemies?
Oh, yes.

What are her quirks?
Jennalaide is a very accomplished actress, not through formal training, but through years of basic necessity. In addition, years of habit have given her slightly mannish tendencies which are jarring when you first meet her. She has exquisite poise and a lady’s skill with her expressions, but the set of her shoulders and the hardness of her brow, on occasion, are not what a finished lady’s should be.

What kinds of things get on her nerves?
Her father, women, children, being bullied, and, in general, men.

Is she independent, or needs others to help out?
Yes.

What is her biggest secret?
“I am glad you have come. I hung my scarlet thread for you.”

Has she ever been in love?
Other than with herself, no.

What is her comfort food?
Red tea and coconut-sugar cubes.

Does she play a musical instrument? If so, what?
She plays the piano (when she has to), the harp, the harpsichord, and the bagpipes (which she plays with irritating frequency).

What colour are her eyes and hair?
Her eyes are blue and her hair is blonde. I’m not sure I’ve ever written a blonde before.



Does she believe in love at first sight?
Yes, I think so.

What does she like to wear?
She looks pretty smashing in pink, so she has a lot of that. She is also very fond of jewellery, both silver and gold, and the paler gems. Her styles run more toward the Carmarthen cut than anything else—they do know how to dress their women…

What do your other characters have to say about her?
None of it is repeatable.

Does she have any habits, annoying or otherwise?
She has a great fondness for playing the cat-and-mouse game with herself in the role of the cat, and for comporting herself in a skin-crawlingly provoking manner of smugness.

How does she show love?
Explicitly.

How competitive is she?
Imagine the mother of an emperor crossed with a European football diva.

Sum up your novel in five words or less.
Save-the-world-romance. That is one word. Boo yah.

Does your character have a specific theme song?
Oh, I don’t know. Something from Blackmore’s Night, I think.

If your character had a superpower, what would it be?
“Pyrokinesis.” “That isn’t even a real word.” Let’s just say, given Jennalaide’s character, it is probably for the betterment of humanity that she not be endowed with superhuman powers.

For all she gave the appearance of a half-breed Carmarthen princess in what could have passed among my folk as wedding attire, she had heated iron for a tongue.

The Environs of Edinburgh Castle

A lot of you have asked for photos of my surroundings, and also my first sojourn to Edinburgh.  I do apologize for these because The Penslayer is a writing blog, not a photography blog, but I'm sure lots of you care to see in what environment I am entrenching myself for inspiration, so here we go!  I hope you enjoy.



Coming out of the train station at Edinburgh.  I'm short.

A shot over the park at Edinburgh Castle.



This is Milne's Close, which took us straight up to the Royal Mile.  You wouldn't guess it from looking at it: it looks like a dark alley in which you might get mugged, but there are lots of these letting in on the Royal Mile.  I was going to take it back home with me, but it didn't fit in my backpack.


A fancy-pants establishment on the Royal Mile.  You need a reservation.  Maybe next time I'll just take my broom.



The relatively new gatehouse of the castle.  We were looking at this for some time, as it took us nearly forty-five minutes to get through the ticket line.

A shot up the lane from the new gatehouse to Argyle Tower and the Portcullis.  And the top of my short little noggin.

Argyle Battery

A view through an arrow-slit from Argyle Battery.

A view of the city from Argyle Battery.  You can see the ocean in the distance.

Coming up through the Forewall Battery; St. Margaret's Chapel is on the right, the Halfmoon Battery lies in the direction I'm looking. 

The Scottish National War Memorial.  Edinburgh Castle is a hodge-podge affair of buildings constructed over the course of many, many years. 

Gloomy shot down into the prisoners' quarters.

Less gloomy shot of me inside a guard post.  The door to the National War Museum is in the background on the left.

Daddy, we haven't been able to find any lead soldiers yet.  Will this do?

There are still parts of Edinburgh Castle that we were unable to see because by the time we wound up at the statue of the man on the horse, we were both hungry enough to eat the horse, so we went back out to the Royal Mile, found a tavern and ate a late lunch, and then took the train back to Glasgow.  We'll go out to Edinburgh again (it's only a fifty-minute train ride!) and explore the city a little more.  Until then, I hope you enjoyed the photos!

Purchance to Dream: Late-Night Snippets

pinterestIt is 2:30 in the morning this time.  I think the coffee I had a billion hours ago is still exercising its powers over me, which it promised a billion hours ago it would not do.  But yours truly did want a chance to write a snippets post on the Macintosh while Tim is not using it, so I suppose now is as good a time as any. 

I am now very glad for Ethandune's existence.  In the past series of weeks I have been far too stressed to handle the severity of Gingerune with any degree of diligence, but I have desperately needed to write.  So for the past few days I have been able to plunk down with my "for-fun baby" at the kitchen table, which gets lovely sun in the morning when the Glaswegian weather has any sun, and churn out a few pages of Ethandune.  Otherwise, I have been quietly thinking about Gingerune and planning the next stages. 

In case any of you were wondering, while Gingerune does feature a Ginger, Ethandune has nothing to do with an Ethan.  Must keep you on your toes.

Saturday took me out by train to Edinburgh Castle, the first castle of my real-life experience.  It was a nippy, half-light, half-cloud affair, full of rough cobbling, teeny arrow-slits letting out upon a stupendous view of a green, violently hilly countryside and a visage of the sea.  It won't help me much for Gingerune, but the Ethandune Etc. part of me was soaking it up beneath a steady shivering and avoiding of the dense crowd.

some snippets from this side of the pond
It was true, and stung the way he said it, but she was angry and her brain was alarmingly clear. “We are all playing a game and diving between the horns of the bull. We can only be sure that we do our best at it.”gingerune
My heart began to sing. The spring term was behind us, summer was ahead: a summer full of lazy fishing and riding about the countryside, perhaps even a descent upon Maresgate and the fashionable seaside parties that went there during the dog-days of the year. The summer stretched ahead of me, sharp and sweet like the blade of a knife, and I took the stairs downward two at a time, teeth biting back a spasm of laughter.ethandune
"I thought I felt the house-bones shake. How are my sons of thunder?"ethandune
I was allowed to lie on the grass in the deep plum-coloured shadows, chin in my palms, gazing levelly at the beautiful picture caught before me in bright bronze and purple and almond. The sounds of their voices were mellow and familiar, and for being only fourteen, I was desperately in love with them as a man is desperately in love with his home country. My throat constricted and I plunged my face in my arms, unable to watch them for long.ethandune
Goddgofang leapt to his feet, followed by Golightly and myself, and stepped out of the ring of lantern-light, whistling by way of salute and taunt the ominous second verse of Tam Lin’s ballad.ethandune
“I don’t keep servants,” he said as he lit the lanterns and followed us into the stable. “It’s just me here—and Kara, when she comes to clean and cook. She is in the kitchen now.” I caught a glimpse of his face, lean and lined with age, turned to look back at the back stoop of the building. The lantern-light turned his hair electrum-coloured. “I suppose she ought to know I have people for supper.”ethandune
It was then borne in on me that many Carmarthen slaves were mute and I guessed that the beautiful woman, who in her younger years could have been the star of a warlord’s harem, had an empty mouth. ethandune
“Pleasant fellow, Coeur de Leon.” He kicked the door shut like a horse. “Puts me in mind of Periot Survance. You remember Survance?”ethandune
"I am too big of a personality to interrogate the man on the street. Heaven built my spirit to move in gilt halls. Which is why,” he added, leaning forward, “I have people like you.”“Art very magnanimous,” replied Aaron Golightly. ethandune
I turned at the sound of Goddgofang’s voice, level and harsh. In that instant, with his profile etched in white marble against the dark room, he looked like the portrait of his uncle in the tower back home. ethandune
I bore him to the ground, my knee on his chest, and took hold of his ears. With a vengeance I slammed his head into the tiles. “Show me your hands!” I roared.The bloody little bantling tried to wrench out of my grip, but failing, feeling my full weight crushing in on his sternum, he complied, twisting his hands up above his face for me to see. In the half-light and trembling of our bodies, it took me a moment to drag their blurred image into view. Twelve.A St. Jermaine.-

The Art of Queuing, and Other Travel-Related Notes

pinterestIt is three o'clock in the morning in Glasgow and I am all out of sleep.  Having slept for at least four or five hours this past afternoon, in addition to going to bed at a decent hour, my body is all full up on sleep and ready to start a new day.  The poor thing is very bewildered.  I kept it mostly awake for the previous twenty-four hours (sleeping on a plane is next door to impossible).  By the time I got to my flat after a mind-numbing eight-hour layover in Newark and a grueling night-flight to Glasgow, I looked and felt like a hellhound who, despite its best efforts, has lost its quarry and is in disgrace.  Between what certainly felt like a much-needed shower and what was certainly much-needed sleep, I managed to remove the appearance of hellhoundishness. 

Prior to leaving my home town, my sister and I discovered "Pocahontas" streaming on Netflix; having only seen the movie once in our lives, and that many years ago, we hunkered down and watched it.  It turned out to be alarmingly apropos since Abigail is taking a Minority Rights class and I was on the brink of travelling to a very strange new world.  In the past forty-eight hours I have used an airplane bathroom, employed an electric shower-head, boiled water for tea in a saucepan, and become half-convinced that I have somehow, freakishly, wandered onto the set of "Doctor Who."

moonblood - anne elisabeth stengl
dragonwitch - anne elisabeth stengl
practical religion - j.c. ryle
friday's child - georgette heyer
the foundling - georgette heyer
the black moth - georgette heyer
bath tangle - georgette heyer
the mind of the maker - dorothy sayers
the last of the mohicans - james fenimore cooper
howl's moving castle - diana wynne jones
sin and salvation - lesslie newbigin
the heir of redclyffe - charlotte yonge
green dolphin street - elizabeth gouge 

It turns out, I brought a lot of books.  I read nearly halfway through Dragonwitch on my stay in Newark; I read a little more on the first evening at the flat.  I didn't manage to make it to the halfway point in Practical Religion; the last few days at home were understandably hectic.  But some of my creative juices have been restored through reading Dragonwitch, and I have been reading so much that I am almost sick and tired of doing so and want to go write, just for a change.  I brought The Last of the Mohicans because Abigail loves it; I brought Green Dolphin Street because she gifted me with my own copy and I didn't want to leave it behind.  There are what appear to be some first-rate second-hand bookstores here in Glasgow, but it is comforting to see all my books on the sitting room shelf: their faces are blissfully familiar.

Le Bon Dieu Est Dans Le Detail

pinterestthe good God is in the detail
When I tell people that I prefer to write fantasy, I'm always afraid they think I prefer fantasy because I'm lazy and don't want to do historical research.  Yes, I'm lazy, but not too lazy to do research; and fantasy requires an equal amount of research in many though different ways.  History is (usually) already set and done, and you have only to rediscover it: even though there is a lot to go back and uncover, it won't create anything new to upset you.  Fantasy, on the other hand, in which you are literally creating everything as you go, is fraught with the danger of tangles in culture, setting, plot, and many aspects of life which are so essential as to be overlooked by us go unmentioned, being conspicuous in absentia.

Anne Elisabeth introduced this topic this morning in Research and the Fantasy Novel (part one).  If you have read any of her novels, you know that she has a lot of ground to cover and a lot of inconsistencies to avoid.  But on the plus side (I am discovering), writing multiple novels about a general place, time, and people group allows the writer plenty of opportunity to explore and create, and that's a lot of fun.  Definitely worth it.  She mentioned a few details to research such as what do the characters eat (what is available to their board, what dressings do they use, etc.), the ever important what do they wear (I have a deuce of a time envisioning clothing styles, so this is a kind of Achilles heel for me), hair-styles (a television show I watch had a character compelled to have her hair done up in a complicated style which was traditional for royalty in the new country she was ruling over), and also something so simple as how do the characters get about? There are a few other aspects of world-building and research which she mentioned, so feel pushed toward her post to read it!  At the end, she asked

What are some basics you think would be helpful to research to create a realistic world? 

1.  Landscape.  I think once upon a time I mentioned this before.  What does the land look like?  Landscapes impact people groups to immeasurable degrees.  Are they in a lush river-valley, prosperous, with good pastureland and crops?  They are likely to be a peaceable folk.  Do they live in empty steppe-lands, going from pasture to pasture, always on the move?  They are likely to be a patient people, broad-minded, but also wary and defensive.  The land matters.  Pay attention to it.

2.  Religion.  I know I have mentioned this before.  People don't always think about this much beyond cobbling together a rough pagan straw-man which will be quickly knocked down by an obviously superior Christian religion.  But man is a spiritual creature, and while his culture and his place in the world has changed over the millennia, he has held tenaciously to religion.  Whether right or wrong, it is undeniable that religion is very important to a people, and this, too, should not be overlooked.

3.  Language.  This is something I discovered with Adamantine and then Plenilune.  Everyone has an accent: depending on where they come from and what social level they stand at, people talk differently.  This is also a place for contradiction!  Because of where I live and my upbringing, my accent can vary between Southern and Trans-Atlantic.  Carrying this over into my writing, I may have a character like Eikin in Adamantine, whose people are admittedly barbaric: their language tends to be rough-and-ready, blunt and at the same to time the point, but they also couple that with an almost poetic arrangement of the words.  Within Plenilune, the lords and land-owners use a clear, clipped style of speech, the lower tenant and peasant classes speak in an older, heavier form of Franco-English with thees and thous.  At the same time, I've had a few lower-class characters who had made an effort to sharpen their speech, and some of the characters among the lords and land-owners pepper their speech with a "lower" form of language.

What kind of research have you done for your various projects? 

I think the most notable bit of detail I had to put into Adamantine (notable to myself, at least) was the post-rider.  In a big ol' world covered over by a powerful empire, who delivers the mail?  People have to get their Bi-Lo coupons, you know.  So I had to think about it: you might have private messengers, you would have standard short-range mail-stations and local deliveries, and you would also have the military post-riders with specially designated mounts at the inns, making them capable of crossing the entire empire in the space of four days.  I did neglect to look into the casualty statistics of people run down by post-riders every year...

You already know that Gingerune has required a lot of research.  In fact, that process is on-going.  I need to know something like, what are the common building-materials of an ordinary Theran house?  I need to know something which might appear a little more obscure, such as what are the body-types of the people of these areas?  I can spot the difference between a Theran and a Mycenaean face.  Little things: little things matter.

Come upon any interesting little tidbits recently?

Because of the location of Ethandune, I am making a synthesis of a Franco-English culture and a Persian-Arabian one.  This leaves me with plenty of research to do (architecture, clothing-styles, language barriers, foods, the types of amenities available), but also the opportunity to make something fascinating out of two people groups.  My most recent tidbit of research was milk baths, which sound scrumptious but also drying, as the lactic acid dissolves proteins while removing dead skin cells: be sure to use a good moisturizer afterward!

how about you? what have you researched?

"Dost Think We Are Here in Dreamland?"

pinterestBlogging appears to be very often a conversation tossed back and forth between blogs.  Bree posted a list of books which she not only loves, but which really changed her.  Brain cogs started turning: which books really changed me?  And I don't mean books like The Chronicles of Narnia, which are the types of books which shape you rather than change you.  I mean articles which flung me off course and changed the way I view things.  Which were those books?

The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff
I was young when I read this book, but old enough to have had my brain firmly set in Narnia and Redwall, that sort of thing.  The Eagle of the Ninth blew me out of the water.  Historical fiction was amazing: it was alive!  These people, this prose, they took my little frame and shook it.  I had never looked at the world the way Sutcliff (in a way reminiscent of Kipling, but I did not know that then) made me look.  She made you see and feel and understand things deeply - and that is perhaps why my writing now conjures such vivid responses from people.  This is where I first experienced that skill.

The Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers
This was a little less of a wild flinging off course and more of a sudden melting in the crucible the raw materials of my philosophy.  When I talk about creativity and God and man, a lot of what I mean can be found summed up within the pages of The Mind of the Maker.  Using the pervasively creating aspect of man, Sayers brilliantly makes a case for the three-fold nature of man built upon the same pattern of the three-fold nature of God. 

That the eyes of all workers should behold the integrity of the work is the sole means to make that work good in itself and so good for mankind.  This is only another way of saying that the work must be measured by the standard of eternity; or that it must be done for God first and foremost; or that the Energy must faithfully manifest forth the Idea; or, theologically, that the Son does the will of the Father.

The Worm Ouroboros by E.R. Eddison
Here it comes.  I got this book because it was said that it really influenced Tolkien.  Sounds like a good place to start, hmm?  I had no idea what I was in for.

There was a man named Lessingham dwelt in an old low house in Wastdale, set in a gray old garden where yew-trees flourished that had seen Vikings in Copeland in their seedling time.

Of course, it helped that I had read Sutcliff's The Shield Ring some months earlier and knew the Vikings of Copeland and all that - so that opening line of Eddison's novel wrenched my heart out of place at once.  And I think it helped that I read it at age twenty and not, say, seventeen: it is an odd style of plot, not at all traditional, which fact might throw some people off.  And yet the book is so rich and so good that you forgive it that - actually, you forget that.  You get caught up in "many-mountained Demonland" and the malicious grace of King Gorice XII, the beauty of Lady Mevrian and Brandoch Daha, the heady thrill of the Battle of Krothering Side...  It seemed all the rich emotions of love and hatred, virtue and vice which are found in people like Tolkien and Lewis were almost unbearably condensed in The Worm Ouroboros.  I fell in love with it, and I fell hard.

"Don't!" said he.  "Oh, Lewis, you don't understand.  Take me back to Malacandra?  If only he would! I'd give anything I possess..."

The Discarded Image by C.S. Lewis
Not your usual C.S. Lewis book.  I might have mentioned The Screwtape Letters, but Bree already summed up my feelings on that book.  The Discarded Image was given to me by my sister for my birthday, and bore the inscription "For Your Birthday, 2011 - Hope It Proves Interesting!"  In reply, having finished it, I scrawled underneath, "It Sure Did!"  This was his last book, based upon a series of lectures he gave at Oxford, unpacking and explaining the medieval synthesis of the ancients' world views.  In his typically engaging way, C.S. Lewis makes sense out of the bulk of medieval literature, as well as Tolkien's Roverandom, E.R. Eddison's The Worm Ouroboros, and his own Space Trilogy - although, he does that incidentally: he does not actually mention any of those works in his lectures.  There is a great deal of history, philosophy, theology, romanticism, and practicality between the covers of this book.  I highly recommend it.

This I believe to be a stroke of calculated and wholly successful art.  We are made to feel as if we have seen a heap of common materials so completely burnt up that there remains neither ash nor smoke nor even flame, only a quivering of invisible heat.

What are the books that have changed you?

Revisiting Me

They talked to one another about old wars and old peace and ancient kings and all the glories of Narnia.C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle
Bree was able to direct me to a new writing blog that just went up, Every Good Word by Meghan Gorecki.  It's always a privilege to see a budding writer pushing out fearlessly into the blogging world, and I hope you will find her blog helpful and inspiring.

In her beginning forays into the writers' blogosphere, Meghan created a brief tagging exercise asking some great ice-breakers - essentially helping her get to know her new writing acquaintances better.  Having been tagged by Bree, and accepting the general invitation from Meghan herself, I'm happy to participate!

What was your first-ever piece of writing?

Something about horses, I think - one in particular (my favourite) was a black mare with multi-coloured flecks on her hide.  Went by the name of Twilight, I think, because of the dusky colours of the spots.  That should amuse my brother-in-law.

How old were you when you first began?

You'll be glad to know I was seven, not seventeen.  I was a young gad-about creature with a violent temper and the brain of a flea-bitten colt.  That lasted longer than I care to admit.

Name two writing goals, one short-term and the other long-term.

My short-term goal is to finish the first draft of Gingerune by the end of 2013 (judging by Ethandune's obtrusive nature, I worry about that not happening).   My long-term goal is to get Plenilune published by the time 2014's tailor bells ring, but I can't guarantee that will happen.

Do you write fiction or non-fiction?

I write fiction pretty much exclusively, except for updates here on The Penslayer and excerpts from my life on Facebook - and even those are couched in prose.

Bouncing off question four, what is your favourite genre to write in?

Definitely fantasy, as an overarching genre.  Often fantasy with a heavy historical bent, but definitely fantasy. 

One writing lesson you've learned since 2013 began.

Only one?  I'll give you my two most recent lessons.  One, Ethandune is the first novel I have brought anyone in at the ground floor.  I have been jabbering about it to my husband since I started and he is pretty fairly up to speed on what I have written on it and where I am going.  Not only do I know there is someone else in the universe who likes the idea and enjoys it, this helps decompress my brain so that I'm not cooking under the strain of holding several universes in my head.  And two, it really helps to plunk.  Even on my bad days, of which I have had several lately, I've sat down and told myself that I will write 500 words on Gingerune - maybe not all in one sitting, but certainly by the end of the day. 

Favourite author, off the top of your head!

...There are authors?  Oh, gee golly, I don't know.  I like bits and pieces of many people - which sounds like Dr. Frankenstein, I know, but what can you do?  And if I say one name, you'll take that away as done-and-done and you will have got a very wrong impression of me.  Honestly, one doesn't want to risk coming across as proud, but I like my own writing (when I'm not depressed), because I get the joy of creating it and seeing the finished work, and seeing other people enjoy it as well.  Can you beat that?

Three current favourite books.

"Current."  That's more like it.  I am really enjoying Practical Religion by J.C. Ryle, which you know I am reading currently; I love E.R. Eddison's The Worm Ouroboros (awesome fantasy of the highest order); and I am still in seizures over the hilarity of The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer.

Biggest influence on your writing (it has to be a person).

My husband.  I think I would have to say my husband.  If it were not for him, for his friendship during my budding years, our courtship, our marriage, I don't think I would have the honed creative flare that I do.  He is a fabulously bad writer himself and he has forever sworn off writing fiction, but he is a great inspiration to me and I would not be what I am without him.  Gush.

What is your go-to writing music?

I've said many times that my go-to music varies.  I managed to watch a yoinked version of "Equestria Girls" on Youtube the other day, so I'm still geeking out over its score.  Standard favourites are Loreena McKennitt, Audrey Assad, Rich Mullins, and some Carbon Leaf.

List three to five writing quirks of yours! Little habits, must-haves as you write, etc.

1. I always have a drink with me (right now I have a cup of kombucha tea).   
2. I almost always have to have music playing while I write and the flow of inspiration often stops when the music does - it's like musical chairs with writing.
3.  My spelling becomes monumentally atrocious when a scene becomes action-packed and exciting because I start typing very quickly.   
4.  I write in Microsoft Word's "read" mode; I have difficulty concentrating and getting inspiration otherwise.

What, in three sentences or less, does your writing mean to you?

To me it means excitement, adventure, exploration; it means getting the words to ring just right and the pictures to have their colours just so; it means creating and discovering; it means friendship and depravity and plumbing the depths both of God and man.  It means power and control and beauty and love.   It means I am making fantastic replicas of creation over and over, discovering more and more each time.

Thank you for this enjoyable exercise, Meghan!  I hope this link-up helps introduce you to many friendly, helpful bloggers.  The Penslayer's doors are always open.

Convalescence

Several people mentioned on "I Don't Think I'd Know How to Dabble" how glad they were to hear that I am not 100% productive 100% of the time.  I don't mean to come across as inhuman, though one always makes an attempt to show one's best side in public, but several of you seemed to visibly relax in your seats when you learned that.  No, naturally I am not on-the-go all the time.  Sometimes I push ahead into the manuscript and feel my way in the dark as I go; but sometimes I have to "run from the manuscript." Sometimes the last thing I want to do is sit down and write, often for various reasons.

pinterest
Sometimes I feel like I don't know where I'm going.  Usually I can push through that, but sometimes that sensation lasts too long and I fall back in a huff of melodrama.  Sometimes I get burnt out.  I've been blazing on too long and I need to rest.  I flog myself and the horse has nothing more to give.  Sometimes I am overcome by the scourge of the artist - I believe that my writing is complete rubbish and will never amount to anything.  Of course there are people who are vastly better than myself, and I don't believe that my writing will never need editing, but when I am really tired and really depressed, I tell myself that it is all for naught and everything I have written today, yesterday, tomorrow, is junk.  I had one of these wretched moments just last night, squeezed in between exhaustion and twenty-four hours' worth of tension headache due to the stress of going to Scotland - I even had a bit of a cry over it.  I know the moments pass, but they are never fun while the last.

On top of that, Ethandune has completely broken out of the corner.  I don't dislike that fact too much, especially since my husband is enjoying every bit of it and I have the pleasure of writing a section and showing it to him, and that helps relax him.  But it does tear my resources between Gingerune and Ethandune, and at this juncture I have little energy to give.  These moments always pass.  Eventually I will be settled in my flat in Glasgow and I won't be stressing over getting there, but this next week or so could be very painful if I do not play my game very carefully and admit to myself that I can't give 200% of myself to two novels all the time every day.

Each and all cannot do better than be found doing his duty, but doing it as a Christian, and with a heart packed up and ready to be gone.j.c. ryle
I have Gingerune open on my desktop, a cup of tea to hand, and some music playing in the background.  I will try to write 500 words, but not in a plunk: today I am taking it easy because that is what my brain and my body needs.  I'm not a Super Penslayer, just a penslayer, and even I weary in the way.

reorientation

Where am I?  Perhaps it will help if I give myself a little perspective.   I started Gingerune in January (2013) and I am 146,986 words into the plot.  I think it is moving faster than Plenilune, but I wasn't paying attention to that aspect of Plenilune so I could not swear to that.  Ethandune has its own notebook, a main Word document, and several scenes written.  I have fifteen pages to the middle of Practical Religion, which I told myself I would reach before I get on the plane.  I have already said that I have several more novels in my head - that's cheering!  Not too shabby a collection of facts.

opening a vein

I'm told there is nothing to writing: you have only to sit down and open a vein.  This is probably true.  I've also noticed that sharing one's work is rather like the medicinal practice of blood-letting: it does seem to get the bad humours out, whatever else it does.

In the end she had not been sure how to do that, so she clung to the great shadow which was like the back of a god hiding its splendour and stood with the sensation of one about to be martyred upon the seaward threshold of the Temple of the Rammerowt. gingerune
"It is a worm in my soul which eats at me that the Earth-Master would not bend down his head to accept my light and momentary yoke.”“It is like the Earth-Master,” she pointed out, “to not bend down his head for anyone’s yoke.”gingerune
“If I told you that you could do it, not merely that you had to do it, but that you could do it, and not to shrink back, you would have dug in your heels and resisted, and the despair would have lasted much longer than a night. But if I agreed with you, that you were not raised to this and that you would find it difficult, almost impossible, then you would chalk up your hands and grasp the bull by the horns."gingerune
Mazelin had dropped his staff and had both hands around [the other's] neck, squeezing until the muscles in his shoulders could be seen in relief through his tunic. White-hot light seared through the cracks between his fingers.gingerune
Thera is hollow-rotten. In what manner does one make the dead to live?gingerune
“A man loves his life and will do much to spare it. Much, Mazelin, as you well know."gingerune
"I hung my scarlet thread for you.""And the warlords of Israel have come."ethandune
“By the twelve houses!” he swore up one side, “you abominable girl, why didn’t you mention that before?” He crossed the distance between the two of them and grabbed her by the shoulders, giving her a violent shake. “Did it not occur to you that perhaps my father and I might care to know that? The devil take you!” he swore down the other side, still shaking her. “I could wring your neck!” ethandune
"Why is it that every time I see that man, I feel as though I've just been caught with my trousers down?"ethandune
"We are not doing a ten-penny romance novel!"She hit him again.ethandune

Horse Sense

The last time I did a horse post, it was for Plenilune, and it was a lot of fun.  And recently I badgered Bree into making a horse post for Psithurism, and that, too, was lots of fun.  But then I began to feel left out again, and cross, so I decided to make an updated horse post.  Because every girl loves a good horse, and my characters often depend heavily upon their mounts.  I'll be referencing my recent post on my characters for this, even though that post has thrown many of my stories into the cocktail shaker and thoroughly bungled them together, but I should point out that some people like Ginger don't have horses, and some horses like Adamant's don't have names and so won't be on this list. 

Deborah, Goddgofang's horse.  Deborah is actually a resurrection of a horse I invented in my youth. Darcy-coloured dapple-grey mare courser - a good gentleman's horse.
Bloodletting, Theodora's horse.  A bloodletting is exactly what Theodora got the first time she mounted this feisty mare.  She's a handful, but Theodora, who is an excellent whip, relishes a challenge.
Devil May Care, Conn Dzale's horse.  Light dapple-grey gentleman's courser.
Elecampane, Avery's horse.  Nomenclatorial jokes!  Elecampane is a plant, also masquerading under the name "horse-heal."  And yes, those ears are real.
Eleventh Hour, St. Jermaine's horse.  Big-boned black courser, about as polite and no-nonsense as his master.  And no, this isn't the horse that pegged him in the face.  I don't believe he has much affinity for that particular equine specimen.
Essence of Amber, Jennalaide's horse.  "Essence of Amber" is her official registration in the studbook: familiarly she goes by "Amber."
Lapwing and Merlin, Rosawn's horses.  Or, well, ponies, rather.  This is a matched chariot pair.  Nothing much to look at, but they pull well together and Rosawn is no mean whip herself.
Griffin, Simon's horse.  Your standard chestnut beast, with very good manners and firm opinions - very like Simon himself.
Magellan, Bruin's horse.  A bay courser, pretty well behaved, but capable of showing a bit of kick when the mood passes over him.  You could let your friend have the loan of him without trouble, but you might think twice about lending his services to a lady.
Martel, Badger's horse.  A fine-boned, stomp-about courser gelding.  He can thrash out a 38 mph gallop for a sustained period of time, making his rider the go-to person when something has to be delivered in record time.  That's what happens when you have skills: you get exploited.
Maximilian Street, Perrelli's horse.  Try - please try - not to place Benedict Cumberbatch on this horse.  Nope, you just did it.  How could you.  Liver chestnut, flaxen mane and tail (which is a gorgeous combination, if you ask me); big and quiet, well adapted to city riding, but a bit lazy in the hindquarters, I confess.
Rouen, Maria's horse.  This blue roan creature was bred especially for Maria, unfortunately he does have a bit of a temper and sometimes gives Maria a white-knuckled time of it before he can get the fidgets out of his hooves. 
Twopenny, Golightly's horse.  And she does.  Go lightly.  Twopenny is a mongrel horse, consequently she is very laid-back and peaceable.  She is very eager to do whatever is required of her, has a good pair of lungs and a strong heart, and the best city manners you could ask for.  Thankfully, Golightly does not have many occasions on which he must ask the utmost of her.
Rembrandt, Sophia's horse.  A fitting mount for the pale Aphrodite.  Good-tempered, springy-footed, ready to take charge if his mistress needs him to, Rembrandt is almost as good a chaperone as Sophia's cousin.