I hit my goal and a single-spaced page beyond.
And wow, working on paper, then retyping, works well for me. I've got some awesome details that work well.
I'm like... excited. It's not amazing all the time, but 1,700 is a good daily WC and by the time I slog to 1,700, I'm warmed up, getting in there. Writing.
I just wish I could do it a little faster. =)
I still think Matthard should GIVE Selah the amulet at some point. Here's the snippet I put on AA's LJ.
It's got errors I'm sure. But I want to believe in this story. I think it has the most solid plot since... well, Painting the Match Girl. And I like Ire's pride, Matthard's attempts, and Selah being just... enigmatic. I don't know her well yet. I have to believe in it, even with the skill of the things I read. It may not be the best, but it teaches me and that's all I can do.
By the time Matthard had made it to the meeting place, the lights had gone and so had Ire. It wasn’t until the next morning that he met with the younger man, over breakfast as it turned out.
“Now that you’ve set lateness as a precedent, I can indulge in all my vices,” Ire said, gesturing at the laden breakfast table. Though Matthard had learned Landrians ate small breakfasts and made up for it in various snacks throughout the day, the table was stacked with porridge, eggs, flaked bread, and a jam Matthard couldn’t identify but smelled regal. Was Ire’s vice gluttony? Matthard wondered as he picked up one of the two plates. But no, the younger man was just waiting for him, hands free of plate and food.
“Fill your plate and follow me. We work and eat.”
“You aren’t eating?”
“I might take some from your plate later. Move, we don’t have much time.”
Matthard obediently began loading his place, though he had the unsettling feeling that he was being watched. When he chanced a glance upwards, he saw the cook—it had to be the cook, normal people didn’t have eyes like that—glaring at him from the doorway.
“You make sure he eats,” she said sourly. “I made enough for two.”
“Thank you,” Matthard said, mentally disagreeing. She had made enough for five and Ire had chosen today to be picky. He stocked his plate with enough food that it would be like eating at home only not, as it would seem, at a table. They left the dining room and headed to a branch of the hall Matthard had assumed led only to the gazebo in the courtyard.
Ire unlocked one of the doors and lifted the heavy wooden bolt, setting it to one side. He then took an unlit torch from a holster in the wall.
“It will get dark once we’re inside,” he warned. “Don’t trip.”
It was pleasant of Ire to warn him, Matthard decided as they entered and Ire shut the door. It was, as advertised, dark and the younger man brushed past him.
“I don’t want egg running down the back of my neck when you fall,” he muttered.
“You don’t have many friends, do you.”
“Vivi and I are friends,” Ire said simply and lit the torch. There were no haunted stairs leading down into a hellish dungeon, which all the castles in stories seemed to have. The torchlight flickered against a barren stone corridor with a dirt floor. It was undecorated except for unlit torches holstered in the wall, their number continuing down into the darkness of the end of the hall, where Ire’s torch didn’t reach.
“There are windows and vents, so don’t worry about the smoke,” Ire said, starting down the corridor.
“Glad you thought of that.”
“Are you angry with me?” The younger man asked, sounding bemused. “I made you breakfast and everything.”
“After I asked you to a meeting and didn’t show up.”
“Perhaps I had that coming,” Ire said, lifting the torch higher to navigate a series of turns in the route. Matthard wished he hadn’t— now he could see the webs of spiders that could eat a mouse.
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