Hello, my friends!
This year is my first time participating in Camp NaNoWriMo! I’m handwriting (just like I did for NaNo) and my goal is 20k words. I’ll be writing one poem a day (based on Lemon’s prompts) and also working on some story ideas: one called “Darius Raven,” a few inspired by the New Testament, and a futuristic dystopian. (Also, I’m writing some short scenes inspired by books I like, but with my own characters in the situations. I had the idea last night and am having so much fun with it today…)
I’m not sure I’ll be posting about it every day, but I am going to try to share my writing frequently this month. It’s (mostly) fun, and provides motivation to do the best work I can.
Today I have two snippets to share with you: a poem based on the prompt “golden,” and a Wingfeather Saga-inspired adventure featuring Aionladon (my novel’s MC) stuck in a jail cell.
First, the poem:
Let me tell you a story:
Stories to make you bold.
Once there was a king who dreamed
and he summoned an interpreter.
A young man, his father’s pride —
he told the king of what would come.
Because of him, the people lived.
once there was a man who chose
the most beautiful woman of all.
A goddess, who promised him a bride —
and a war was fought for this great queen.
Because of him, the people bled.
So those are my stories.
Golden tales to make us brave.
Which one is your guide?
Not sure what all of that means… but it sounds pretty, right? (That’s one of my biggest struggles with poetry: writing things that sound lovely but don’t make a lot of sense.)
Anyway, it was inspired by the stories of Paris and Joseph. And the Joseph connection comes from a book that I’m sure Lemon knows the name of (:
Next comes the snippet about Aionladon. He’s the MC of my high fantasy novel, Remnant, and I stuck him, his brother Nigel and sister Priscilla, his brother’s love interest Lyriona, and his grandfather Semrau in a cell together, because why not? (This snippet was inspired by Chapter 36 of Andrew Peterson’s On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness.)
content warning: someone is called “half-drunk”
and note: some things have been slightly changed because I don’t want to spoil major plot points of my book 😉
Semrau sat against a wall, Priscilla asleep against his chest. Nigel leaned lazily against another, eyeing Lyriona. He still looked half-drunk. Aionladon wondered if he seriously liked her or was just pretending so Acacia wouldn’t feel guilty for falling for [name redacted] —
[name]! The reason they were in the cell. The traitor and liar and — and adriel. The word flowed like poisoned wine, gently and truly, through his mind.
“Don’t,” said Nigel.
Aionladon caught his brother’s eye. “Why not?”
“Because… it rots your mind. Spending all your time thinking about traitors. It can make you… a traitor yourself.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Semrau spoke. “Aionladon,” he said.
“Yes?” Aionladon met his grandfather’s eyes and saw — calm. Acceptance. Maybe even love. He smiled.
“We’ve been through harder things, son. We’ll make it out again. Have — have no fear.”
Aionladon nodded. He knew, deep down, that Semrau was wrong. That this was the worst situation yet, and hope was foolish.
But he didn’t care, and so he hoped. Hoped that tomorrow he’d run through a bright field of flowers. Cilla and Matthias and Elara and Nigel and everyone he cared about with him. He hoped that tomorrow would be the real morning — the dawn of the new age and the Raelin monarchy.
“What does he want, Grandfather?” asked Aionladon. “Why — why is he betraying everything?”
Semrau grimaced and opened his mouth to speak, but it was Lyriona who answered. “Because, ejvela, he has learned the truth. That no one can be trusted.”
“Aionladon,” said Semrau, “[name] doesn’t need much reason to do this to us. But no matter what he does — throw us in the jail, tear our families to pieces, steal our daughters and sons –” His face was fiercely beautiful, and his furor burned brightly. In that moment, Aionladon was proud to be his grandson. “But as long as I’ve breath and life, nothing — not [name], not Quinn, not Brasnin himself — will end my love for you. My fight, my son, goes on.”
Aionladon glanced at Nigel. Nigel had sat up straight and was looking unwaveringly at Lyriona. Suddenly, he growled, intense and real: “My fight, my love, for you.”
“I thought you forgot that song,” Lyriona said.
“I never forget anything.”
And that’s all for today! Let me know what you think of my writing. Should I post more of my poetry/stories? Are you doing Camp NaNo?
Until tomorrow (or the next time I share my poetry:)!