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Alpennia: First paragraphs
Aug. 31st, 2014 09:16 pmMy major project for this weekend is to take all of my initial plot and character notes for Mother of Souls and Floodtide and set up a detailed pair of timelines on the side of one of the media cabinets in my living room (it being tall and having a smooth surface). The two books overlap somewhat in time and address the same underlying "big bad" plot-thread (the one involving magical sabotage that affects Alpennian weather patterns and hydrodynamics). But Mother of Souls is the direct continuation of the main Alpennian series (with our continuing characters and a new primary couple) while Floodtide is a potentially-independent YA story revolving around some of the teenage characters I've been accumulating (with additions). The current idea is for Floodtide to be readable as a stand-alone, but simultaneously to be a potential gateway to the main series. As currently conceived, it will be different in several respects: single point of view and first person, focusing on working-class characters rather than middle and upper, and with a more compact plot (though still braiding up political, social, and personal plot-threads). Because of the way the two stories intertwine (while remaining distinct) I'm probably going to be writing them simultaneously, hence the need for careful planning.
As of this morning, in addition to my plotting progress, I have the opening paragraphs of both novels (or at least, I have drafts of what may become the opening paragraphs). I offer them here for your amusement.
* * *
(Mother of Souls)
Luzie winced as the girl’s fingers stumbled on the keys of the clavichord. Just let her get through the first few measures, then the music would take her and she’d forget that her mother was listening. Yes, now the music was surer and more precise. Luzia slipped a glance sideways at Maisetra [surname] and saw that she was nodding and smiling. Good. Bezza had begun the year awkward and uncertain, drilled in all the basics but too unsure of herself to play with spirit and grace. And so young to be told that her hopes of a good match might rest on her skill at the keys!
* * *
(Floodtide)
You know the scent of lavender on the fresh sheets when you get them from the linen press for the housemaids to take up? You breathe it in, remembering the long rows of purple spikes in the summer sun. Then you imagine the smile on the Maisetra’s face when she settles in for the night on a new-made bed with that scent still lingering. That’s what I always imagined love would be like. But loving Nan was like the hours spent stripping the lavender spikes for the stillroom, back in Sain-Pol. The sharp resin climbed up your nose, making your head throb and ache, and the memory of it clung to your hands and your clothes for weeks so that you’d think you’d never be free of it. That was how they found us out: because I was never free of thinking of her. I‘d watch her from the laundry room door as she went up and down the stairs to the family rooms, and find excuses to call her over to ask about some mending she’d brought down. Then at night, even when we were so tired we could barely talk, we’d kiss and cuddle in the narrow bed we shared. My head was so full of her and it was never enough. We had to keep quiet so Mari would think we were only whispering about the day’s work. I didn’t think she’d rat on us; lots of girls in service have their bit of fun. I don’t think Mari told, but someone did. Old Mazzik the housekeeper took Nan back into her parlor and closed the door for a long time and when Nan came out she’d been crying and wouldn’t look at me. Then Mazzik took me by the arm without a word and dragged me across the yard and out the back gate and threw me down onto the cobbles.
As of this morning, in addition to my plotting progress, I have the opening paragraphs of both novels (or at least, I have drafts of what may become the opening paragraphs). I offer them here for your amusement.
* * *
(Mother of Souls)
Luzie winced as the girl’s fingers stumbled on the keys of the clavichord. Just let her get through the first few measures, then the music would take her and she’d forget that her mother was listening. Yes, now the music was surer and more precise. Luzia slipped a glance sideways at Maisetra [surname] and saw that she was nodding and smiling. Good. Bezza had begun the year awkward and uncertain, drilled in all the basics but too unsure of herself to play with spirit and grace. And so young to be told that her hopes of a good match might rest on her skill at the keys!
* * *
(Floodtide)
You know the scent of lavender on the fresh sheets when you get them from the linen press for the housemaids to take up? You breathe it in, remembering the long rows of purple spikes in the summer sun. Then you imagine the smile on the Maisetra’s face when she settles in for the night on a new-made bed with that scent still lingering. That’s what I always imagined love would be like. But loving Nan was like the hours spent stripping the lavender spikes for the stillroom, back in Sain-Pol. The sharp resin climbed up your nose, making your head throb and ache, and the memory of it clung to your hands and your clothes for weeks so that you’d think you’d never be free of it. That was how they found us out: because I was never free of thinking of her. I‘d watch her from the laundry room door as she went up and down the stairs to the family rooms, and find excuses to call her over to ask about some mending she’d brought down. Then at night, even when we were so tired we could barely talk, we’d kiss and cuddle in the narrow bed we shared. My head was so full of her and it was never enough. We had to keep quiet so Mari would think we were only whispering about the day’s work. I didn’t think she’d rat on us; lots of girls in service have their bit of fun. I don’t think Mari told, but someone did. Old Mazzik the housekeeper took Nan back into her parlor and closed the door for a long time and when Nan came out she’d been crying and wouldn’t look at me. Then Mazzik took me by the arm without a word and dragged me across the yard and out the back gate and threw me down onto the cobbles.
