Okay, the issue with the wolf has finally been resolved. It took roughly 3 months, but at least it's done now and I know where I'm going with that. Of course, I feel like a dunce, because now that everything is straightened out, the answer seems so obvious, like there's no doubt this was how it was supposed to work out. What sort of idiot am I not to have seen it immediately? I'm trying to not beat myself up too much, though. It did involve some tricky thinking and research of legends from multiple countries.

Moving on, I'm happy that I'm getting to write about the Skeleton Man. He's the scary guy with all the answers and bad advice. Admittedly, I worry at times that I'm making him too sleazy - I have enough male characters that fit that adjective (hello, Renfrew). But I think if I let him fly his scary flag, it'll all be good. The main consideration with his dialogue is that he hints and reveals a little, but mostly he sets things up for Hallow/Hollowed to reveal later and gives Fin truly horrible advice and information.

Sure, the others set her on the path to self destruction, but he's the one who informs her best on how to drag a lot of questionably innocent people down with her.

There's pressure about writing him now, I must say. Like the maulers of chapter 18, the Skeleton Man is a character I've been hesitantly enthused about since I started this book. And now I can write him! I just half to keep from freaking myself out about him. The draft isn't going to be on par with my image of him, but I have to start somewhere; this is what I'm going to have to keep reminding myself of as I commence drafting him.

Now I'm thinking about chapter 18. I really should get back to that chapter. It has the potential for so much awesomeness - and really, I'm going to have to learn how to write an action scene someday; it may as well be now.

Okay, a teaser and then I'm gone to the Spiritscape for another month or two.


“There was a Veil through which I could not see. Come through the veil, Fin. Come and find the key.”

Lifting a bony hand, he cued a symphony of slithering and quiet clattering as the vines and flowers of the wallpaper became rows upon rows of dancing, jittering skeletons.

I stared at him, at all of it, in a trance. Fascinated by the way his skin stretched and tore over his knuckles, his hand came to my face. But as the tips of his fingers brushed my cheek, the trance broke and I ran.

I ran down the steps, my weight bowing them and shaking the thin, paneled walls that enclosed me. I ran through the store, shouting a rushed ‘thank you’ over my shoulder at the cashier as I fled the building, a bell above the door jingling as I went. I ran out into the freezing air and the setting sun. My feet hit the pavement and I kept running.

Creeping Since 1989,
Maria

June Update

I have 20 chapters finished of an expected 52. So. Go team? I've printed them out to hand edit, since I've realized I catch my mistakes better when reading on paper rather than on a screen. It's an expensive process and a time consuming one since I have to retype any changes I make instead of just dealing with them in the document from the get-go. But it's what seems to work best for me, and I have to respect that.

Admittedly, this is also a delay tactic while I suffer from writer's block. I know exactly what I want to write about, but the words have completely abandoned me. This way, I can still make progress on Nevermore, even without writing anything new. It's frustrating, though, since I'm getting into the action chapters and I've been looking forward to writing them for a while. Of course my brain betrays me.

Finally, figlitchat and yalitchat on Twitter had their weekly chats tonight - figlitchat talked about chemistry between characters while yalitchat discussed torture of characters - which inspired me to share a section of my draft. It's rough, but I like it.

           That did it. I don’t know why, but it did. I lunged at him, my fingers bent to form claws, aimed at his eyes. I had the satisfaction of feeling his blood gush under my nails before his hands wrapped around my wrists, bending them back until I was sure they would break. Under the blood, he was smiling. He backhanded me across my room and I landed on my bed hard. I got back up quickly, but he was already there, standing over me. I lashed out at him, filled with the same fear and rage I’d felt the first time I had run afoul of the Maulers. He staggered back, his smile gone. A fountain of blood gushed from three long gashes across his stomach; they stopped and healed almost immediately, as had the wounds my nails had made in his face.

I was ready to strike again, confident now that I’d found – for the moment, at least – a source of power. But he was faster than me, and stronger than me, and in an instant I was flat against the mattress, my arms pinioned above my head, his hand wrapped around my neck.

His lips were curved in that horrible, infuriating smirk. Fighting against the growing pressure of his hand, I pushed up to press my mouth to his. And for a second, before I was lost in the hate and the pleasure, I saw his eyes flash in triumph. We rolled together over my bed, while my sheets still smelled like the skin and blood, the life and death of another man.