Time again for another Insecure Writer’s Support Group post. Wednesday, Sept. 6, 2017. Time flies. IWSG is the brain child of Alex J. Cavanaugh who started this group of authors way back when in September. Over the years it has grown from a few people posting their insecurities or their encouragement. There’s a FaceBook page were authors can ask questions, a critique group and a whole lot more. So, if you’ve never heard of IWSG before, check it out. To read other post or learn more go here.
September 6 Question: Have you ever surprised yourself with your writing? For example, by trying a new genre you didn't think you'd be comfortable in??
A short answer from me. No. I write fantasy and at the moment I have more story ideas than I can handle. How about you? I know a lot of writers who dabble in more than one genre.
In other news. We are moving from a one-bedroom apartment into a two-bedroom apartment in the same apartment complex. It is two buildings over. Move in day is Sept. 26. That means there is another delay in up-dating my book cover, editing book two and formatting. Two reasons for that. Time and money. It will get done before the end of the year though.
I will also publish a short story for free in an effort to draw in more readers. Here is a short excerpt.
Title: The Prince and The Warrior
Water rushed between rocks, rippling and letting off a fine mist. The fresh scent of it mingled with rich soil and new spring leaves and grasses. Sunlight shone down through a cloudless sky. Arnoux squinted, gazing upward. A buzzing noise near his left ear caused him to raise his hand to swat the flies away. He let his hand drop. Swelling distorted his left temple and sticky blood clogged his fingers.
He couldn’t remember the fall. Attempting to sit, he gasped, falling on river rocks again. He’d broken a rib. Maybe more than one. His breathing was labored and his mind a muddled mess. He clutched his left side and managed to sit. His success was greeted with yet another pain. This one in his left ankle, like a thousand knives pricking his skin, whose swelling tightened the leather of his boot unbearably. He should remove it, but his strength was gone.
The river might help. He inched over the rocks toward the sandy shore and stuck his swollen left boot in the river. This would ruin the leather, but what choice did he have?
His mare grazed on tender grass jutting through the river rocks. Arnoux wanted to call her to him but he couldn’t remember her name. Some flower or plant. He whistled instead and she raised her head, nickered, shook her mane and came. Arnoux remembered training her. Odd how one memory came while others remained as veiled as a fox creeping up on a rabbit. He clicked his tongue and the horse knelt beside him. He leaned on her and struggled to open the saddle bag. His breathing came in quick gasps and the heavy weight in his side nearly made him pass out.
Once his breathing slowed, he undid the saddle bag and pulled out a spare shirt. Unlacing his leather jerkin, he struggled out of it, then out of the ripped and bloody shirt beneath. He pulled his hunting knife out of his right boot and cut the ruined shirt into bandages. His entire left side was covered with black and blue starbursts. Anchoring one end of the strips with a rock, he bandaged his ribs. He had to stop more than once to slow his breathing and shut out the pain. Once finished, he tied the ends. The support lessened his agony.
Before redressing, he splashed water on his face and scrubbed the dried blood away.
His mare had wandered off as he worked. He crawled to a large boulder and struggled to lift himself onto it. At his whistle, the mare returned. As she stood before him, Arnoux climbed into the saddle and lay across her back.
“Go east. I think we go east.” The mare obeyed the gentle nudge of his knee and walked into the forest.
So my blogging friends, what do you think? And, if you write, do you stay in one genre or have several?