The writers group I belong to does writing exercises sometimes. I did one that ended up being a bit of backstory on Jerok. I figured I would share! Continue reading Another Backstory Bit…
Yes, I am still alive. The conversion from third person to first person is still ongoing, and I find that it is much easier to get into my POV character when writing in first person.
Actually, that’s a lie. It isn’t easier. It’s still hard to do and a pain in the butt. But first person forces me to not ignore it and not take shortcuts. I can’t blow past something with a convenient piece of telling.
I am having WAY too much fun with the character interviews. This little tidbit takes place after chapter 6. There aren’t any real big spoilers in it, but I do reference stuff that happens in both chapters 5 and 6 so if you are reading and haven’t gotten that far, some of this may not make sense. (actually,the ending references something in chapter 7, which hasn’t even been posted yet. Not a huge thing though.) On that note, let’s talk to Jerok.
So, who wants to see the fixed version of the text, now that I got into Mirian’s brain a bit better? WARNING: This has not been run through CC yet, so it is uncritiqued, and may be filled with epic suckage! Continue reading Character Interview, Part 3
So, now you’ve seen the crap version of Chapter 5 opening. I should have mentioned that chapter 4 is where she meets Jerok after fleeing from a gang of murderous robbers. She has accepted Jerok’s offer to accompany her to Trior. What she doesn’t know is that Jerok is a thief of sorts as well. After originally planning on robbing her, when he found out she was a priestess traveling to the castle, he decided to tag along so he could swipe some goodies from there.
No, I’m not talking to myself. My characters are talking to me, and I talk back. Really, it’s them. Don’t you hear them? I do….. Continue reading Character interviews
Jerok crouched behind the bushes, mouth open so his breathing made no sound. The warm air in the forest felt thick with moisture. He shifted the knife he held to his left hand so he could wipe the sweat from his palm. Switching it back, he opened and closed his fingers several times, perfecting his grip. Turning his head to the left, he looked up at his father.