Having my internet slowed for the Christmas and New Year period and then catch a respiratory infection floating about, was a great opportunity for me to write lots, and free flow at that.
No way could I concentrate, in between fits of respiratory distress, on any of the edits I had going. Or think of starting a new section chapter story based in the main universe.
I just started. Thinking while I went. Pecking words out slower than a praying mantis. I wasn’t going anywhere. I started with a character. Eleven-year-old girl. Earnest. Just coming into her adult teeth and with a swag of unkempt raven black hair.
If she were an ordinary fantasy child you’d say to put Harry Potter specs on her. She doesn’t need any. You only thought you knew the sort of girl I’ll be talking about.
I just wrote her, what she did, her brothers, one older and one younger and sister, who they are, how they relate with one another. Plenty of sibling rivalry, I can tell you.
I expect this will mean the young adult category. I haven’t found my ouvre yet, if that is the right term. Maybe this one will be it. Though I populate my stories not just with young characters. Old ones are common, as are all the ones in between.
She lives in a castle. She does projects; she is the perfect narrator because she thinks about, explains to herself, or tells someone everything she learns. Earnestly. Castle words. Facts. About her mystery mother. Mystery sister. Brothers. Everyone else.
Once I got over the feverish parts of my malady, I wanted structure. That’s where I’ve been the last couple of days. Plotting. Coughing. Planning. Coughing. Mapping. Sneezing.