Starting a New Chapter is Hard.

No, this isn't anything philosophical or thought-provoking; I meant it literally, as a writer. I'm not taking it so far as to apply it to life. I'm too tired for that right now.

I've always struggled with finishing things - stuff I mean to bless other people with, artsy projects, lesson assignments, stories. Every word that I write in A Maiden's Touch - the current work-in-progress - beats the record for most-words-Charli-has-written-in-a-single-story. I've never been this close to finishing, or even over half-way, really. So when the story arc finally reached the point where the major foreshadowing is done and I have to keep the ball rolling with some action, not just intriguing hints, I...

...did what I do best. Took a break.

Sometimes God uses breaks to rejuvenate people and get their gumption back. Sometimes He uses truth to combat the laziness and inspire them. And sometimes He lets them sit on their rears until they realize that they're not living according to His calling, waits while they kick themselves, and then none-too-gently pushes them off their rears and says, "Get moving!"

In the span of a few hours, I wrote what I call the EIKAMS (nicknamed 'eek'): Everything I Know About My Story. (Again, there could be real-life applications here that I'm too tired for.) Picking up from where I left off in the book, I typed out every single little detail that was foreshadowed and then some, finishing it on paper so that the ideas took residence somewhere other than my scatterbrained mind. I know exactly what to write now. I have no excuse.

But it's hard. I'm three chapters into fleshing out the eek and already I'm bored. Gah. But no more breaks!

~Charli Rae |Job 39:19-25|

Snippets: A Maiden's Touch

Hey, guys - remember Liadyn? Well, she's back! I'm about a third of the way through her story now (hopefully a little further than that) and here's a sneak-peek into her goings-on!

Liadyn gradually became aware of the earth shifting. Her arm was pinned beneath her, skin tingling from restricted blood flow, and the pounding in her ears competed with a steady wooden clacking that rent the air. Her throat was dry and her thoughts muddled. With an effort she pried her eyelids open, but for a moment she didn’t realize that she had, for it was just as dark. Even when her eyes adjusted, she had no idea where she was.

“You are under arrest,” echoed in her mind. But her prison was moving. Perhaps the execution would be held outside the limits of the capital so as not to subject the people to the sight of her gruesome corpse. But it was hardly fair; if there had been a trial, she was not aware of it, and how could they condemn her without first hearing her plea? Liadyn drew her knees to her chest and uttered a silent sob, for there was little excess moisture in her body with which to cry.

Tior was gone. She was a terrible person, leaving him all alone in the hands of strangers. Not that the poor boys had been responsible for the bizarre outburst, but the very fact that she hadn’t been there to control him, or at least witness the event and willingly make things right, weighed heavily on her heart. And now her horse was gone. They would have put him down by now, deprived of her insistence that the behavior was abnormal and he would never do such a thing without first being provoked.

And she never got the chance to say goodbye. Not to Tior, nor to her father, who would find her body in time and, after seeing the folly she had fallen into, feel vindicated for keeping her sheltered. She would never again happily give in to the spell that Gabby’s green eyes cast over her. Never again work her art in Taylan’s forge. Never again endure Amy’s stories or Haizea’s demeaning eye-roll, a trip to the market with Tanner or the painful process of brushing out Kimberli’s thick brunette curls. Never again see her family.

~Charli Rae |Job 39:19-25|

Book Update!

Remember Pepper Grey? The book that I told you all I was going to focus on? The one I had a perfectly planned-out story chart for? Yeah. This is what that looks like now.

Big. And empty.

I decided it wasn't going in the direction I wanted it to, so I tore it all off, dumped it in a pile, and never rewrote my ideas. Instead, I started fiddling around on a blank Word document and ended up posting that random clip about a random girl named Liadyn. She wormed her way into my head, shoved Peace and Ethan out my ear, and whispered her life story until it was all I could think about.

Now I'm obsessed with her story, a Maiden's Touch. Sorry, Pepper Grey.

I might post an excerpt of it sometime soon. Sorry for this short, facebook-not-blog-worthy, post.

~Charli Rae |Job 39:19-25|

And Creative Juices Flow... sorta...

{random new idea... don't know if i'll continue it... your thoughts?}

“Liadyn, get out of the pantry!” said the cook.

“Liadyn, get out from beneath the stairs!” said the butler.

“Liadyn, get out of the barn!” said the groom.

“Liadyn, get out!” said her father.

So out she went. Not permanently, of course. In fact, she only went down the street to the blacksmith’s shop and returned just after nightfall. But Liadyn had always been a wild child, and her absence caused such an uproar in the house that the staff promised, if she ever came back, to treat her much more carefully. And Liadyn despised it. She was babied, given everything she wanted, spoken to as if she was an infant, everything was done for her, and worst of all, she was no longer permitted to leave the house without an escort. Sometimes it was the butler, sometimes it was the groom - on rare occasions it was the cook and rarer still it was her father or eldest brother. But if she was allowed her choice, she always chose the aged gardener, for he never wanted to walk far, and when she wanted to go to the blacksmith’s, he complied, for there were places to sit.

And so Liadyn grew up, with the ability to do nothing and the longing to do everything. She could never help with supper - no, the cook would make sure it arrived at the table on time. She could never help with the cleaning - the butler was far too meticulous and was afraid of anything breaking. She could never help get her horse ready - when the groom brought him out, he was already immaculately brushed and saddled. And she certainly never, ever helped her father with his work. The only thing she could do was stoke a fire and pound out rings on an anvil, but if the household knew she could do that, surely they would take that away, as well.

As she grew, Liadyn slowly underwent a transformation - she was no longer a wild child. She became more thoughtful, quiet. But she always wished she had fought harder to keep herself the way she was; interesting. She was not an only child, nor was she the eldest or youngest. She was the fifth of eight children, sharing light brown curls with six of them and pale green eyes with three, and in the area of other similarities, she was perhaps the most unremarkable. But by being upbeat and energetic, she stood out. And now, sixteen years old, she was by far the most boring.

That was why she was beyond surprised when her older sister, Haizea’s, friend convinced Haizea to bring Liadyn along to a tournament in the city. “What kind of tournament?” Liadyn asked, but all she got was a degrading look and a, “This is why I don’t take you to things. And by the way, if you tell Dad where we’re going, I’ll kill you.”

Liadyn did not feel the least bit frightened, but she kept quiet anyway. She rarely ever got to sneak out, and this time she had a sibling in on it. So she shrugged off the threat and on a light cloak and followed her sister out the window and down the street.

And then it jumps right into the story. What do you think? Is the description too long? Does the wording seem funky anywhere?

~Charli Rae 

|Job 39:19-25|