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?
Nancy
