This will not be a long post, but it is a glimpse at how I draft my stories. Mainly, I have a dream of a single scene, and in the very first pass of a story, I attempt to capture that scene and build on it until I pass out and dream the next scene, hoping I've written far enough to keep up with the story as it unfolds. Needless to say, this is both a very messy and extremely exciting method of story-craft.
So these are the first few paragraphs of Book Ten, which reflect, in their way, the scene as it appeared in my mind back in 2016 when I first tried to keep up with the narrative unfolding behind my eyes. There are a great many ways to go about building a story, and a fundamental understanding of what makes a good story good, a solid ending satisfying, of how to designate acts or what is sought in the Hero's Journey, this understanding helps immensely in the fifth, third, twelfth, and thirtieth passes. Probably some of the other passes, too. In the first and second passes, though, for me, it's all about capturing the motion of the scenes. A great deal gets cut, as well it should, but the end result is absolutely gorgeous. Well, to my mind it's rather captivating, but tis possible that I am biased in favor of my creations.
That said, I claim these words as my own, but I do hope that they inspire. Best wishes to all who find a bit of passion in the words they write, in the worlds they read into existence.
The first two birds of Spring pulverized the bark of a Lonerip tree, revealing the coarse, bitter sap beneath. Xiezjiit jogged a bit slower, taking in the noises of the forest and seeking their absence to guide him away from his handler and the other hunters. It was inevitable that they would catch him, but this year’s oldest cubs were vicious when he failed to tire them out. It would be far, far better, for all concerned, if they were panting and struggling to catch their breath by the time his and their paths crossed this afternoon.
Of course, it was necessary to lose his scent and send them on a wild chase, so he slipped free of his long-sleeved tunic and bent low to pick up a heavy rock. The wind blowing as it was, he intended to hide the garment such that his mad scramble down the face would be considered a false trail, buying him precious moments as he ran along the path knowing that the scent would carry. Rising, he turned to find a good path through the snow-dappled landscape and blinked twice in surprise as a face nearly the mirror to his own stared back at him.
Leaning slightly to the left, Xiezjiit was relieved to find his doppelganger did not follow suit, instead stiffening and assuming a highly regal glower and shifting his weight such that his disapproval was rendered neat. The exact cut and design of the gaunt form before him, along with the hair a hue of orange so pale as to almost be white, revealed his lineage to be of the Troai’phai’lecinae heritage and a fellow Sophieliescent* elf. More importantly, Ptielieren recognized one of the few Guardians not of his own family’s direct line. It was highly aberant to employ such tactics, but, aeons ago, the number of royals had exceeded the number of available guardians by six. Of those six, only two bloodlines still held the privileged honor of guarding heirs to the royal line, but they had never been particularly prolific.
Bowing with the old decorum and by way of formal introduction, Xiezjiit kept his ears open for pursuit while Ptielieren pinpointed where the heir must be. He accepted a similar motion from the other and rose quickly, cutting off any sort of pleasantry that might otherwise have been exchanged.
“You and your ward are in grave danger.” Ptielieren heard the Vexra spill from his lips and, though there was no outward sign of this, cringed at the lack of decorum. Of course his fellow elf could not be expected to understand even the basest of terms in the tongue. He’d been rude enough that a duel may well be iminent, and this stranger was armed and unfetter while he had naught but familiarity with the terrain and a negligible fraction of his arcana at the draw.
“As too have we been these many weeks.”
Xiezjiit’s brow twitched at the words. The Troai’phai’lecinae’s accent was thick, and his tonal control erratic, but it was clear the Guardian could speak the Feral Common tongue. A distant crack as of a tree being hit with a stick was warning enough of how dire this situation had just become, so Xiezjiit gestured for the pair to step forward into the center of the path. His rival Guardian seemed hesitant and the heir made neither sound nor movement to betray her position, but there was no time for such political games at this.
“You will need to submit to the leader of this den. He is keen to prove himself a competent leader, and already there are some of our race here.” Xiezjiit glanced again in the direction of the hunters and was a little surprised that this newcomer did not pick up and dart off into the underbrush. Xiezjiit would have stalled for them, but, if not this den, their scent was sure to be picked up. It was uncanny that they two had made it so deep into bugbear territory, truth be told, without having been consumed, but it was plain that the Guardian, at least, had not paused for rest nor taken the least sustenance in several weeks. It was lucky this winter had been mild in its easing, though. The den had been preparing for torrential flooding and high winds come the heart of Spring, though how they could predict such a thing was beyond the elf.
“Tell me how.”
No muss, no fuss, no hesitation. Xiezjiit again gestured for the pair, the one still hidden, to step into the middle of the path. This time, his fellow guardian turned and crossed a short distance, helping a figure to rise. She was beautiful, with the starlight hair of her line and eyes that could have held constellations in check. Her stomach, however, revealed her to be somewhere in the fourth trimester, which meant, potentially, trouble. Xiezjiit crossed through the bushes with his bare feet taking the brunt of an upturned stick, but he’d shouldered worse pains and kept his pace often enough that he doubted either could spot his injury.
The woman accepted his aid with a glance to her guardian, stepping lightly with shoes that had once been fine and only remained of any form due to inlayed arcana. Her Guardian revealed a set of knee-high boots and a belt that likely had carried them much farther than mere stamina could have done, as well as some fifteen hidden daggers and two blades holstered one atop the other. From the array, it was plain enough that the Troai’phailecinae favored his right arm to an almost detrimental proportion.
“Kneel, both knees in the dirt. Both of you. Her a little behind.” Xiezjiit cast his head back around, knowing the silence of the two birds out in the woods a sign that he was likely surrounded, the hunting party finding their positions and observing. He noted, too, that the Guardian was translating for his Ward, which meant she did not speak Vexra. He knelt as well, keeping his head up and his haunches down as he scanned for a telltale cast of shadow, a tree that seemed too much a tree. “They’re not going to be gentle. Don’t fight back. Kiss the Boss’s feet if things get too rough.”
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