Finding my way through the next phase of NaNoWriMo. November came and went, and I manged to meet my word-count goal. I made my 50,000 words and more. Still, I have not (in my mind) won the day – the book is not finished. Huw the Bard is only halfway there, and Billy Nine-fingers is still struggling with being Billy.
I can’t find my voice in this tale. Nothing is working right, nothing meshes correctly. In short, I am on track and halfway there! This book has periods of time where it flows like a river, others where it is clogged tighter than… well, tight.
Some passages are just so much verbage and thus they end on the verbage heap:
An hour later, Huw and the Bear were back at the Green Man, and Mora was going over everything that they had bought, tut-tutting at the blood-stains. “What is wrong with folks that they bleed all over everything and don’t clean it up?”
“The dead don’t do laundry unless they have gone to hell, Mora,” the Bear laughed at his wife. “They are too busy kneeling at God’s throne and singing His praises!”
That may be a keeper, I don’t know. The whole chapter has been a struggle. Still, it sits in the ‘to go’ category.
Some passages flow freely, making me shed tears as they do:
With a sinking feeling he came to the back door, noticing that no smoke came from the chimney. The growing sense of disbelief threatened to overwhelm him when he found that her back door was ajar. It looked as if it had been left ajar for weeks. Leaves had blown in to the pump-room, and from there into the kitchen. ‘No… she would never allow that… No…God please, no…’
Huw’s mind knew the bitter truth, long before he found her on the floor in the tidy sitting room, her long dead body unrecognizable. The breeze that blew the leaves through the cottage would have carried away the stench, but she had been there long enough that there was no longer a smell.
His mother had been dead for several weeks, at least. Possibly she had been murdered during the first week after Balen’s death. Her body had been left where they killed her, an obvious execution meant for either him or Balen to find should they have escaped the massacre. It was impossible to tell if they had violated her or not first, but he chose to think that they had not. Huw was not surprised that no one had moved her to a grave. She was known to be a hermit and often went months without going into town. It was very likely that no one in Maudy even knew she was dead.
Writing is easy, writing is hard. Writing is a journey and the road is often hard and full of sink-holes waiting to swallow you whole. The trick is somehow recognizing when you have gone and dropped yourself into a hole, and then digging your self out.