It's My Story And I'm Sticking To It

   I have spent quite a bit of time lately pondering the reasons why I write and how my writing changed over the last year. When I first started a little over three years ago, it was strictly for my own pleasure and I enjoyed creating something new. Writing for others never entered my mind.
   I've written about this before how after my friends and family convinced me to get serious and learn how to write to sell, I completely changed my focus. I became obsessed with learning everything I could about writing correctly with the intent to lure the reader. Being a perfectionist didn't help as I was determined to use every new rule of writing I discovered.
   Unfortunately, this took away any enjoyment I had originally found in writing, and it became a chore just to get anything down on paper. I would over-think every sentence or word I wrote down. Was that the right word? Is the sentence structure correct? Could I have written this a better way? Folks told me I had to find a way to turn off the inner editor monster I'd created and only bring him out when ready to edit. This has proved almost impossible.
   Last week, several online friends challenged me to write a story mixing genres. It had to include a cowboy, a mermaid and be somewhat historically accurate. A complete story instantly filled my mind, but I tried to ignore it as I'm desperately trying to finish my first full length novel. I finally gave up on Sunday and just sat down with a fresh notebook and wrote the words as they appeared. It took me the better part of the day, but when I finished, I had over two thousand words. I haven't done that in over a year. I had finally written something again the way I used to without worrying about grammar, word choice, etc. It remains to be seen if I can now apply this to writing my WIP, but at least I now have the confidence that I can still write the way I used to and enjoy it.
   If you are interested in what I wrote, here is a link:

https://plus.google.com/u/0/+RolandBoykin/posts/jQTCmc9E4QG

Thanks for reading.

What Works For Me

   I'm still mulling over the revelation from last week when I learned that not everyone can visualize in their mind what they are reading or writing. The thought that others don't see things as I do never entered my mind. This explains so many things I've had a problem understanding.
   It makes sense now why some readers complained that there wasn't enough description in my story while others thought there was too much. They each visualized the scene differently, therefore needing more or less detail to complete the vision. This seems to apply not only to sight, but sounds and smell also.
   I brought this up at the last meeting with my close writing partners and it cleared up some confusion for all of us. Two of the writers can only experience one thing at a time as they're writing so several complete re-writes are necessary to add another dimension to the story with each pass. The other pictures her characters talking to her, telling their story and she writes what they tell her. For me, it's like I'm in the middle of the scene along with my characters and I can see, hear and smell everything.
   I think this has been the cause of my difficulty with writing over the last year. Many of the "How To" books on writing seem contradictory, and like I said before, it confused me when some readers loved what I wrote and others didn't. I was trying to find a process that matched the way others recommended and that pleased all the readers all the time.
   I've finally accepted the fact that I can't write that way. The only way I can be productive is to write the way that works for me. It used to bother me when other writers said they had written several thousand words in a day until I understood that those words might get thrown away or changed during the second or third drafts.It might take me several days to write five hundred words, but once they're on paper, they usually stay. I don't re-write or have multiple drafts. I will replay the scene in my head hundreds of times, rejecting or accepting new characters or situations as they appear. When I'm familiar with every sight, sound, smell and emotion, that's when it gets put down on paper and submitted to others for critique. I may change a few words or add to the scene based on their comments, but other than that I'm done.
   I've included a scene that took me four days to write. Not a single word has been changed since I put it on paper. When I submitted it to my local critique group and to my writing partners, everyone loved it and wouldn't change a thing. I know it'll need a line edit, but other than that this is final. What do you think?
   Thanks for reading.


         Nestled up against the base of Mount Baltok, where the capital of Kiplar had originally set down its roots, sat an old non-descript inn. Known as the place for late night meetings between discreet lovers and those whose actions were best kept hidden, the innkeeper never lacked for money. No one remembered the inn’s original name, but based on the faded sign above the door that supposedly sported the likeness of the first Queen of Dahlian with two pints of ale pictured below, the name “The Queen’s Jugs” had stuck. Only the innkeeper was aware of the irony of the name considering the identity of one of his patrons.

In a dark corner farthest from the door, two hooded figures sat in a booth, apparently in a lovers embrace. The pain of long buried memories resurfacing threatened to overwhelm the Queen as she softly kissed the lips of the old arms-master and gently traced the scars on his cheek with her fingers. The face of a young guardsman hovered before her as the past overcame the present and she lost herself to the feelings she had buried for so long. He reached up to cover her hand with his as she pulled back, the flickering candlelight revealing a sad smile on his face.

“The memory of your soft lips has never left me even after all these years. Please believe me when I say I never stopped loving you, Olivia. I used to curse the Eyes for the position we found ourselves in until I realized I could protect you better from the shadows then by your side.”

“Oh Malcom, I’ve missed you so,” she murmured while resting her head on his shoulder. “What happened to our love, my handsome young protector, and why have you chosen to re-kindle that love?”

The arms-master stiffened at her question and then let out a sigh heavy with regret. “The Deluti happened. It is also one of the reasons I needed to meet with you like this. The story I have to tell may not be easy for you to hear.”

It was Olivia’s turn to stiffen as she lifted her head and stared at him, the eyes of a Queen replacing those of a young princess in love. “I’m listening.”

Malcom paused to gulp down the rest of his ale and signaled for another round, which gave him the time to order his thoughts before answering. “On the day Sofia was born, I felt compelled to guard the door to your rooms. After everyone had left to allow you and the baby a chance to rest, a Deluti spirit appeared and had me under its spell before I could react.”

He shivered as the memory of that night returned and he felt caught up in its grip once again. “It was like time had come to a standstill and only the two of us existed. The spirit told me that soon the five Deluti Amulets of Focus would return to the world of men and that they had chosen a number of human children who would receive a portion of Deluti blood mixed with their own. Sofia is one of those chosen. The spirit then charged me with keeping that secret and to protect her with my life until she left to be on her own.”

He watched in admiration as the intelligent woman he knew and loved, calmly sipped her wine while processing the information he’d just given her. It didn’t take long before she leaned back, closed her eyes and blindly reached for his hand.

“Well, that explains a lot, particularly why you distanced yourself from me after Sofia was born, and why you insisted on training her in secret when she was old enough. It’s also clear to me that you wouldn’t be telling me this unless something has happened to her.” At which point she squeezed his hand. “Please tell me she is safe.”

“Olivia, the repercussions from what has happened will ripple through both our countries and the resulting consequences are too numerous for me to fathom. That Sofia is still alive I can almost guarantee, but whether or not she is safe, that remains to be seen.”

Her only reaction was to open her eyes and narrow them in concentration. He then proceeded to relay everything young Gilfor had passed on the night before. He also assured her that men and wagons were already on their way to the ambush site to retrieve the bodies of the guards and to bury the attackers where they lay.

“So my daughter has the power of a Deluti inside of her?”

“Yes, and she has already begun to use those powers even if she isn’t aware of it yet. With Ronald at her side, I believe they will be able to take care of themselves. What worries me is how are the rumors going to affect our people, and what the reaction will be from the King of Marlinor is anybody’s guess.”

The Queen set down her glass of wine and pulled him close, a coy smile dancing across her lips. “Those problems will still be there on the morrow. Right now I need you to remind me how much you love me.”

Malcom returned her smile with one of his own. “As my Lady commands.”

A New Opportunity

 
   We have a large, well established mall in our county, but since I can't afford to get out much, I rarely go there. Several weeks ago, however, my wife asked me to go to the mall and buy something for our grand-daughter's birthday from a store she liked there. The place was no longer in business and had been replaced by what you might call a bazaar for local artists and craftsmen. Out of curiosity, I decided to check it out.
   The store was filled with beautiful works of art, hand made jewelry, pottery, racks of embroidery and sweaters, but no books. Well, writers are artists also, right? I approached the owner and asked about the possibility of selling books written by local authors. She loved the idea. For what I thought was a reasonable monthly fee, she would set up a display just inside the front door that would be the first thing people saw when they entered.
   Since I know a large number of local authors, I soon had enough people interested so that each person's share of the rental is only $5. Even if we only sell a few copies, the potential of getting our names and titles out in front of thousands of readers for that price will be worth it.
   I will get the books and money to her by Friday. She'll set up the display on Saturday and it will be ready for the first of the month on Sunday. At the end of May, I'll post the results of our first month in the mall and any positive (or negative) issues that came about.

I don't know if anyone reads the scenes I try to post every week, since no one comments, but here's another. Navon and his companion, Moonlight, (a large, female mountain wolf) step through a portal, unaware of what awaits them on the other side.

Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.

Navon, Moonlight at his side, stepped through the first arch as the last words of the Deluti spirit followed him. “Remember, young Navon, others will look at the world with a different eye than yours, but it does not mean they are without honor.”

The world they entered resembled nothing he had ever seen before. Rolling hills of grass as far as the eye could see, with scattered stands of short bush like trees. At this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of leaves they had if any. The sun shone directly overhead in a cloudless blue sky so expansive, Navon suddenly felt very insignificant.

Sweat formed on his brow and he could feel beads of moisture trickle down his spine as Moonlight’s tongue hung out. A sweltering wind at their backs brought with it a sound like a blacksmith’s forge combined with a stampede of cattle. Navon spun around to be confronted by the source of the noise. Fire! A wall of flame over ten feet in height stretched in both directions as far as he could see. In front of that wall were hundreds of animals of all shapes and sizes running for their lives.

His legs had already reacted to the sight and started pumping before Moonlight’s mental image of running burst inside his mind. The faster animals pulled alongside and passed them by. Moonlight stubbornly stayed by his side even after several attempts to send her a command to run ahead and save herself. Not used to running in this kind of heat, Navon could already feel himself slowing down.

His lungs struggled to keep up and his legs felt like burning stumps. Mixed in with the sound of the fire were the screams of the animals not fast enough to outrun the flames. The temptation to look behind was not enough to overcome the fear of what he might see, until Moonlight sent him a mental warning.

He took a chance and craned his neck around to look. Not far behind, a beast, larger than any bull back at the keep, bore down on Navon. He also saw that they were losing the race to the fire. The skin of the beast blistered and turned black as he watched. Somewhere he found the strength for another burst of speed or did the ground begin to slope downward? Ahead of them appeared a solid line of dense vegetation with animals bunched up against it trying to force their way through.

The sound of screaming animals as they clawed at each other and at the barrier, combined with the roar of the flames behind him, threatened to overwhelm his mind. He could not think. Was this the end? If it hadn’t been for Moonlight, Navon would have stopped and given up right there, but her constant mental encouragement kept him going. Maybe he could find a way to climb over the top without being trampled by the frantic animals trapped there. The forgotten beast behind him had a different idea. Just before they reached the hedge, the beast’s nose appeared between Navon’s legs and with a powerful thrust of his head, propelled Navon over the barrier to land in water.

A Small Success

   First of all, I would like to thank everyone who shared my posts announcing the countdown deal I decided to run, and especially the folks who decided to take a chance and actually purchase my story. Not only did I sell some books at the $.99 level but also a number sold during the $1.99 price point.
   Now comes the waiting to see if my writing is good (or bad) enough to illicit any reviews or comments. I have no problem with constructive feedback, either in an e-mail or a comment on my blog, as I'm always striving to improve as a writer.
   On a different note, our in-home critique group that I talked about in previous posts, is working out great. It's refreshing to be able to spend the extra time to explain not only what bothered us about a particular section of a story, but also why. The casual atmosphere of meeting in a home and since there are just the four of us, if we get off on a tangent for awhile, that's okay. We have known each other for quite a while so it's easier to share personal feelings and jab a little fun at each other during the meeting that might not be comfortable for newer members in our larger monthly public group.
   I was unable to post a blog last week because I had to deal with closing the estate of a relative who I didn't get along with. Old emotions resurfaced that needed to be addressed. That chapter in my story is now over so I can go on with my life.
   I'm sharing another short scene from my novella this week that I hope you will enjoy.
   Thanks for reading!


                        Chapter Ten ~When Darkness Falls

The sun continued on its path towards the horizon, indifferent to the plight of the companions as they hurried along the road in search of shelter for the night. The untended farmland fell behind when the road entered a sparsely wooded area unlike the dense and lush forest at the beginning of their journey.

Long skeletal fingers stretched for the sky from the tops of the stunted trees as if begging for rescue from the brackish water they were drowning in. Sickly vegetation covered their roots and spread its yellow-green leaves over the water, providing shelter for the inhabitants of the bog.

Swarms of insects formed a dark mist that flowed back and forth across the road. The companions were forced to cover their mouths and noses with cloth while attempting to swat the hordes away from their eyes. Fortunately, Aldan had recovered enough strength in his arm to hold a cloth with one hand and swat with the other.

The smell of decay and the flying denizens vanished as quickly as they had appeared as the road began a slow ascent and the land around them changed once again. Undulating hills dotted with rocks and the occasional ancient oak provided grazing for a small number of horses and cattle. A large house and barn could be seen in the distance but no trace of wood smoke rose from the chimneys.

Aldan lay in the wagon, eyes closed, tired of seeing nothing but clouds and sky. The threat of the goblins was a welcomed distraction from the other thoughts that plagued him. What must the Princess think of him now after his bonehead actions during the fight with the outlaws? How could he have been so careless? Granted, he’d never been in a fight like that before but the first thing his old master had taught him was a defensive spell to protect himself.

Attuned to the feel of power, he could sense the lingering signature of the magic used to heal him. Even now, the accelerated healing was sending short bursts of pain through his chest and then itched as the flesh mended. The feel of the magic was like nothing he had ever sensed before and that worried him. He was afraid the Princess had discovered a new source of power and would decide she no longer needed him.

Unable to lie still any longer, Aldan rolled over on his side and struggled to sit up. Odessa reached over to help him and then made room so he could lean against the sacks next to her.

“I feel like such a fool,” he muttered.

She glanced at him a moment and then continued to stare at the road behind. “What you did was foolish but you are never a fool. What really happened?”

“When I saw your life being threatened by those men, I panicked and reacted without thinking,” he confessed. “The thought of protecting myself never entered my mind.”

Regardless of what she believed, he was beginning to have serious doubts. “You and the men would probably be better off without me. You seem to be perfectly capable of taking care of yourselves.”

This time, Odessa not only turned to face him, she grabbed his head and forced him to look into her eyes. “Now you listen to me, Aldan Beaverson. We would not have made it this far without you. The only way I’ll be able to win back my kingdom is to have a mage at my side.” She paused, searching his eyes before continuing. “Don’t ever leave me. I have already lost two very special men in my life and I can’t bear the thought of losing a third.”

“Derek is coming back,” Jon called softly over his shoulder, hating the need to interrupt them. “I think he may have found something.”

Held captive by the intensity in her dark green eyes, Aldan finally tore free and moved over to lean against the side of the wagon, thinking, ‘now I feel doubly the fool’. He had spent his life in books and study, never as someone special. The idea was a little scary, but yet oddly comforting.

Short but Sweet

   It's late and I'm tired from working on the car all day, so this will be short.
   Our first official in-home critique meeting went really well last night even though one of our group was sick and couldn't make it. It's wonderful how much more in-depth our critiques are when we have more time and can discuss issues that encompass more than a single scene. Plus it feels like everyone is more relaxed with this informal setting instead of our normal meeting in a public area. As with anything new, there will be a learning curve at work here but I don't think it will take long to settle in.
   In other exciting news, at least for me, I've received another wonderful 4-star review on Amazon for my book, and I've gotten e-mails from two other folks who are half way through reading and loving it. They said they would post a review also when done. Those made my day.
   Today I thought I would post the prologue to my WIP, "Eyes of the Deluti".
   Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.


  

                                Prologue~ End of an Age

Now was the time to finish this. Only Demitrios, the last surviving Deluti High Lord, had the power to locate and if possible, destroy the Dark Lord.  He rode at the forefront of the Army of the North, an alliance he had forged between Northern Ogre, Mountain Wolves, the light-shifters of the Elintria and Humans. That alliance proved to be the turning point in a war that had lasted for decades. The Dark Lord of the South refused to acknowledge the intelligence and fighting abilities of the non-humans. For that reason, his entire army was comprised of humans, whom he treated little better than slaves.

The Army advanced steadily across the Plain of Sarglon and approached the Stagwood Forest. Ahead of them stretched an ancient, densely packed wood where the Dark Lord had established his final defensive line to protect his fortress at Bryhom. At the High Lord’s signal, the army positioned itself for attack with archers and mages to the front, followed by ogres, wolves and human swordsmen. The horsemen were positioned as rear guard due to their disadvantage in the thick forest.

As the first volley of arrows darkened the sky and fireballs launched by the human mages sped towards the forest, lightning strikes sent by the Dark Lord’s sorcerers began falling among the archers. Holding position, the mages and archers continued to provide covering fire until the wolves, ogres and Elintria assassins reached the edge of the forest. The swordsmen then followed to sweep through the forest in the wake of the non-humans. Riding among them, Demitrios provided as much protection as he dared but every death added to the burden of sorrow weighing on his heart.

His personal shield protected him from attack but did not block out the pungent odor of ozone and the sickly sweet stench of burning flesh. They had left behind a plain littered with the bodies of human and animal, but in the forest, Demitrios knew they would have the advantage. The wolves and ogre were formidable forest predators and the Elintria would quickly eliminate anyone attempting to hide in the trees.

 A sudden immense gathering of power alerted him to the presence of his enemy and the shocked realization of the terrible mistake he had made. The forest was a trap. With the last of his energy he sent out a powerful mental command to the entire army to abandon the forest immediately.  Face buried in the mane of his horse to keep from being swept off, they careened through the forest with the roar of an inferno pursuing them. Tendrils of smoke trailed from the burnt ends of the horse’s tail as they escaped through the western edge of the forest and ascended to a rock strewn meadow. The horse, lathered and trembling, stopped a few paces away from the body of a man slumped against the side of a large boulder. Demitrios fell from his saddle and stumbled over to his brother. The face of his twin was beyond recognition.

Compassion overwhelmed all other emotions as he gazed at the burnt and blackened body before him.

“Why have you done this to us Scorpios?” he cried. “Your lust for power has destroyed the last members of our race. The Council of Five gave up their lives by forging their spirits into the five Amulets of Focus that are now scattered throughout both continents. The Deluti are no more. You have placed the future of this world in the hands of the humans.”

The body of his brother convulsed, one eye cracked open and a hiss escaped through burnt and blistered lips.

“Kill me.”

“I can not. Regardless of what you have become, you are still my brother.”

Anger invoked by the senseless destruction and death his brother was responsible for rekindled the power of a Deluti High Lord in him. He rose to his feet and stood straight and tall.

“However, since you attempted to kill us all and took in more power than your body was able to control, I sentence you to live and suffer from those injuries and the knowledge of what you have done to our people.”

Demitrios walked over to stand next to his horse and stared at the smoking ruin that had once been the Stagwood Forest. With a faraway look in his eyes, he continued.

     “Many generations from now, the blood of the Deluti will return through the line of humans even stronger than before and our time on this world will come to an end. I have foreseen it.”

Back in the saddle, he turned his horse away from the broken body on the ground and whispered, “Goodbye my brother.”  He never looked back.

Our First Meeting

   Myself and three other writers had our first in-home critique meeting last night, and I think this will work out just fine. Since it was our first get together, we had a chance to go over some ground rules (as it were) such as how often we want to meet and how many pages of material to submit each time, etc. We also had a chance to share what our expectations are for the group and how we envision being helped by the others in our writing.
   One of the drawbacks to a monthly critique with a sizable group of people is that they have a hard time visualizing what a particular writer is trying to accomplish with a larger project. It's easy to comment on a short scene or even a full chapter, but sometimes they lose sight of the overall story from the beginning. For example, the story I'm working on is complex with many characters and spread out over several countries. When I post later chapters for critique, it's obvious that the newer members of the group haven't taken the time to go back and familiarize themselves with the story. Their comments are still helpful, but the questions they usually ask would have been answered if they'd read the beginning of the story. The same thing has happened to the others, that is why we decided to get together on our own.
   An advantage to us meeting like this is even though we have read the beginning of each other's story, we weren't all clear as to where the story was headed. Now we are. Last night gave us the opportunity to share that. Now I have a better understanding of what to look for because I know where the author is trying to go with their story, and can adjust my critique accordingly.
   Like I said at the beginning, I think this will work out for all of us. I'll let you know in a couple of months how successful we are.

   This week I will again share a scene from my book "The Princess and the Apprentice." This is when Odessa first learns she has the power of a Blood Mage. Any comments are greatly appreciated.
   Thanks for reading.


           Odessa held Aldan’s hand as she stood and gazed down at his ashen face. Tears burned her cheeks as fear and helplessness knotted her up inside. A longing for the ability to help him filled her in a way nothing else ever had. She only half listened as the old woman gave instructions for Jon and Derek to retrieve the bodies of the outlaws, lay them behind the barn and remove all evidence from the road.

At a gentle touch on her elbow, the princess turned and stared into the face of a mature woman with glossy black hair and milky white skin. It was the eyes that made her stare. Irises the color of old blood surrounded pupils that were no larger than the head of a pin. A tight, humorless smile revealed a set of perfect white teeth.

Not pleased with the deception, Odessa stood straight and glared at the other woman. “Is this an illusion or was it the other?”

“Both are illusions. My true form is no longer pleasant to look upon.”

“Why?”

“Men are never intimidated by an old, fragile appearing woman but that is no longer important. Come, you and I have much to discuss. You stand at a crossroad in your life and what I have to offer may not be what you truly want.” With that she clamped down on Odessa’s hand with an iron grip and attempted to pull her from the room but the princess refused to move.

“I will not leave Aldan alone.”

“There is enough magic in the staff and tome to keep your young mage alive for now. Whether he continues to live or not depends on you. We haven’t much time. Come.”

This time, Odessa allowed the woman to lead her out of the room and over to the table which now contained a pot of tea and two cups, steam rising from the contents. She refused to drink anything offered; instead she focused her attention on the woman seated across the table.

“Who are you?”

“I am Alicia Gertrude d’Morano, Queen of a kingdom that no longer exists in the memories of men, and a Blood Mage. I have waited for generations beyond counting for someone like you who I could pass on the knowledge I have gained.”

“If you are such a powerful mage, why don’t you just heal Aldan and let us be on our way?”

“I have the knowledge but no longer have the power. You have the power buried deep inside you but not the knowledge. The choice is yours. Accept my offer and Aldan will live. If not, he will die.”

Odessa slumped back in her chair, eyes shut tightly as the realization washed over her that Aldan had become more important to her than anything else. Would it enhance their relationship if they both were mages or just the opposite? She decided it didn’t matter.

“What must I do?”

“Kill me.”

Her chair crashed to the floor as Odessa recoiled in horror as if struck a physical blow. Body trembling, she stared at the once queen, revolted by her words. A moment passed before she could whisper, “I cannot.”

“You can and you will if you wish for that young man of yours to live. Don’t you understand? With every fiber of my being, I want to die. Only by the hand of another mage will my journey finally come to an end.”

She reached under the table and produced a normal sized book, bound in a style similar to Aldan’s Tome of Magic. The Blood Mage stood up and beckoned Odessa towards the bedroom. The princess followed slowly, tears blinding her sight.

Once inside, the old woman laid the book on a table next to the bed and instructed Odessa to remove the tome and staff and place them on the floor at the end of the bed. She managed to lift the tome off of Aldan’s chest but the staff refused to be removed from his hand.

Alicia stood, hands on hips, and stared down at the staff which had begun to glow a weak blue light. “You don’t have any more power left than I do, you old goat. This is his only chance and you know it. Now let go.”

After a brief flare, the glow diminished and Odessa was able to remove the staff. She leaned it carefully against the end of the bed then followed the mage back to the table next to Aldan’s head. Alicia lowered herself with a sigh on to the chair beside the table and pulled out a small, thin bladed dagger. She pricked the end of her finger and squeezed until a drop of blood appeared, then handed the dagger to Odessa with instructions to do the same.

As the drop of blood fell from Alicia’s finger to the face of the book, she intoned, “With this token of my blood, I release all previous claims to you.”

As the drop of her blood landed next to the other, Odessa forced words past the tightness in her throat and spoke as instructed. “With this token of my blood, I lay claim to this book as mine and no one else’s.”

With her features beginning to blur, the Blood Mage gently wrapped her fingers around Odessa’s and placed the point of the dagger against her chest. With eyes closed, she continued, “My life I give freely for the purpose of restoring the life of another.”

Alicia’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Odessa’s. “Now push!”

With a cry of anguish, Odessa forced her trembling body to press the blade through the woman’s ribs and into her heart. The body collapsed in upon itself as a wave of power and euphoria washed over her. The book slowly opened with a sound like rusted hinges and a voice whispered in her mind, “Let us begin.”

The Next Step

   Myself and several other members of our monthly critique group have decided to form a new group that will meet in my home at least every two weeks. The four of us have full length novels that we've been working on for quite some time and are familiar with each others stories from the beginning. One problem with the monthly meeting is that too much time goes by between critiques and progress is slow. The other reason is that the other members of the group are fairly new or don't come regularly and are not familiar with our stories.
   Our hope is that by meeting more often and concentrating on only our novels, we will make better progress and receive more meaningful critique on overall story flow and character development. We have been attending the monthly meetings for several years now and I think our personalities match fairly well, so coming together in a close knit group should not pose any problems.
   Unfortunately, I need someone to hold me accountable to actually write. It's too easy for me to procrastinate when I see that a number of folks have already submitted something for critique and I tell myself I'll just wait and submit something next month. With the new group we plan on everyone submitting at least ten pages for critique every meeting. It won't be a worry for me that I'll get my hand slapped if I don't submit, but more of a feeling that I've let the others down by not doing my part. Hopefully this will force me to get off my butt and start writing seriously again.

For those of you who are interested, I'm sharing another short scene from my book, "The Princess and the Apprentice". This is a conversation between the Spirit of the Mountain Citadel and the ancient dragon who guards the entrance as they watch the companions continue on their way.
   Thanks for reading.

From the shadows of the cavern, two figures watched in companionable silence as the four young humans descended into the valley below.

The spirit of a man gazed with sadness and remorse at the emaciated body of his oldest and truest friend. “Will he come back?”

“He will, if he isss the one.”

“Nice illusion by the way. You fooled them completely.”

Broco shrugged a bony shoulder in reply. “It isss easssy to cassst an image of my former magnificence. Now if I had wanted to look like a toad that would have been difficult.”

A sad chuckle escaped the lips of the spirit. “As time passes, my old friend, I regret more and more the decision I made so long ago. Even though you may have forgiven me, I may not ever be able to forgive myself.”

“It wasss necesssary.”

“Yes but was it right?”

Broco snorted twin puffs of smoke from his nostrils as he turned and began the slow journey back to the wall of the citadel, “Bah! You humansss, alwaysss worrying about thingsss that cannot be changed.”

He snorted again, this time emitting a small flame that caused the spirit to look up at his guardian and friend.

“What?”

“One thing could have ruined the illusssion. I almossst forgot how to breathe fire.”

The spirit laughed out loud in spite of himself as he passed through the blank wall into the citadel.