Wise Men Still Seek Him

Merry Christmas! This was perfect for me to find today. Hope you enjoy it too!

Frustration

I just took an hour and a half getting a blog post ready and what happens....? IT posts to the wrong blog! Argh!!! So frustrating!!!

I couldn't figure out how to get it off the Primary Presidency blog and put it on my own personal one.

* Banging head against the computer screen*

This is why I am the slowest person I know to get on board whatever new techno-cool gadget/thing everyone else is using.

But one nice thing I have to say...for Christmas, Mark took the computer in to get it serviced and cleaned up and all the little nasties taken off. That is a man who understands the woman he loves.

But I hope he remembers to put chocolate under the tree too. I have to have my chocolate.

Airmen & Islands

             

I just finished reading Eoin Colfer's book, 'Airman' last night. What a fantastic read! I know my boys will love this book. I think my sixth grader could enjoy it now, the others when they are a little older.

It is an adventure book, but with some really great character inside-the-head 'who-am-I-really?' moments. It had a really great feel to it. The main story is about young Conor Broekhart who lives on the fictional self-governed Saltee Islands just off the coast of Ireland. He is raised in the shadow of the palace and becomes bestfriends with Princess Isabella. It looks as if their friendship will blossom into something more, when the evil, usurping villain strikes. Conor is witness to the assassination of his king, and is ultimately blamed for it. He is carted of to the notorious Little Saltee prison, located one mile away on an isolated, barren, scrap of an island. There, he goes through two torturous years. But his desire to fly and to escape keep him going. The story of his inventions and his escape and eventual vengeance on all the villains great and small kept me reading. And of course, I wanted to see his name cleared and him reunited with his loved ones. I thought this was a great tween to YA book for boys and girls. The tension building up to the ending kept ratcheting up a notch, but was resolved with a satisfying ending.

The beginning of the book was a little longer than I usually like, but it laid the groundwork for all of the characters, their motivations and even for the flying machines. Overall, really great!

'Airman' reminded me of another book I read this fall, 'The Floating Islands' by Rachel Neumeier. It also has flying men and islands wanting to be independent from the mainland. The flying and magicmaking and dragons put it squarely in the field of fantasy. But I couldn't help but notice the similarities. Trei is a boy who has one desire, to become one of the karujai, the flying guardians of the floating islands. There are challenges and even imprisonment for Trei as well. There was also a strong female protagonist in this book. We see her more than Princess Isabella in 'Airman'. Trei's cousin Areane wants to use her talent to become a famous chef, a position that is only held by men. But it seems she has talent for more than spices when she stumbles into the palace of the magicians who also protect the island. It is wonderful storytelling that weaves together Trei's and Areane's different paths. Each has a pivotal role  in saving the islands  from a mainland  invasion that saps the magic from the islands.

Both were a bit slow-moving at the beginning, but held great promise that was fulfilled with great satisfaction by the end. Nothing PG-13 in either. There were some rough beatings in 'Airman' and talk of killing and the ability to kill one's enemies, but no blood or gore. Most of it is psychological and in the framework of self-evaluation and survival. Something that is part of becoming a man...finding out what kind of man you are and what you can handle and where you set your limits. Really a fine book for middle school and up.

Vocalpoint

I have really enjoyed watching Vocalpoint and the other groups in the Sing-Off on television this fall. Some of the groups have done an amazing job with theatrics, vocal effects and amazing harmonies. But Vocalpoint is still one of the lead groups with a consistent quality that the judges have recognized each show.

I enjoyed this little Mormon Message, hearing the boys share some of their thoughts about the show and the sacrifices that have been necessary to be on national television every week with one (or two) flawless songs. I am a singer, but I am not the caliber of singer that can sing such tight harmonies with no instrumental accompaniment all while moving, dancing changing key and rhythm.

Wow! Blow my socks off!

But what touched my heart was the message that the boys were trying to share: One can lead a faith-led life no matter where that life may lead you.

Wasn't it perfect that they ended with the lyrics "Christ the babe was born for you. Christ the babe was born for you."

Thanks for sharing your testimony, gentlemen and sharing happy, truthful music."

You've done an amazing, outstanding job. Bravo Vocalpoint!

A Book of Mormon Story

What a wonderfully illustrated, heartfelt story of scripture, conversion and testimony. Had to share. The Book of Mormon and the Bible bring peace, a spiritual center and strength to my life. So grateful for prophets and righteous people who have gone before.

Ozark Medieval Fortress

Just spent several hours at the Ozark Medieval Fortress today.

Wow! What a great experience! This fortress is a castle being built from scratch here on American soil in the northern reaches of Arkansas, just an hour south of Branson, Missouri. This was an idea that came from the French project started about ten years ago. It will take about 20 years to built the castle in it's entirety. You can go to ozarkmedievalfortress.com  to get all the info. Some people may not want to travel three hours to see "only" the foundation of a castle, but that was really only part of the attraction.

We started with a tour from the Visitors center, and circled through the woods.
James - the tour guide extraordinaire

 I really enjoyed the tour; I learned so much, even though I've been researching the middle ages for a couple of years now. The guides were well-informed and made intelligent comparisons with modern times so that various concepts could be understood. There was a motte and bailey fortress built on the grounds that I was not expecting. It was such a lovely surprise. The guides explained the changes to the palisade style fort from Roman days to our forts in America that were used as defense from the Native Americans.

There was a weaver and her various dyed wool, sheep (one could feed them for a $1 a bag ), a garden with the various kinds of plants (food, medicinal, dyes, spices) and then we came to the quarry. I really enjoyed seeing the guide there explain the way to find the seams in the rock and demonstrating the breaking of dolomite limestone from the quarry itself and then into smaller pieces. I learned what a "man-sized" stone was. And no, it wasn't 2 meters high.
Jacob- the quarryman

Then, we arrived at the castle sight. And even though there was no part higher than ten feet, it was still very impressive. All of the foundation was laid out and since it was on a hillside, some parts were higher than others. We could enter some of the towers' ground levels. It was amazing the workmanship on the stone, especially the doors and arrow-loop windows. I got into a wonderful conversation with one of the stonemasons and he was quite helpful and very informative.
Brad- the stone mason

 He explained the ratio mix of the mortar (lime and sand mixed with water) and how it was actually cheaper for them to import the lime from France than to get it down the road. We talked of masons and the amount of men needed to build a castle and the length of time required. The whole while, he was on the wall, working and I was squinting up at him and his co-worker.

There are nine people employed to work at the castle site, including the quarrymen, the masons and the guides.
 Anthony- Mason, rope-maker, quarry worker (Jack of all trades)

Others are volunteers who give their time to come and demonstrate their crafts. One such was the knight, Sir Eric and his squire, Brom. I had a lengthy conversation with the both of them about their armor, weapons, heraldry (the colors and pictures on their shields) and all sorts of other things. Sir Eric told me he had been doing reenactments for years and when he moved from the west coast, found Arkansas lacking in numbers when it came to medieval enthusiasts. Not many others in northern Arkansas wanted to spend their free time in sword-play. So he recruited a young friend of a friend ... and soon he had himself a squire. They did some great hand-to-hand combat with full chain mail on Sir Eric and leather armor on Brom. They used wooden weapons, but I'm sure their bruises were real enough. In the end, both were fantastic sources of information.
(Wish I had a photo of them, but unfortunately, I forgot my camera!)

There was also a young tour guide, Luke, who I discovered was their resident blacksmith. He worked the bellows and hammered out iron, showing us how he was working on some Damascus steel knife blades. Some of his work was for sale in the gift shop. It was great to see him work
. Luke- the blacksmith

Then in the gift-shop, I spoke with Mardie who takes tickets, runs the cash-register and seems to keep things running.
 Mardie
She was a fountain of information and so accommodating. She had some great suggestions, reading-wise and gave me a little more background on the whole castle project. She really "sold" the place with her enthusiasm. And when she demonstrated the little model trebuchet (a sort-of slingshot catapult) built by Jean-Marc Mirat (the Frenchman who owns the land the castle was built on), well, I was "sold" on that too. I had to bring one home for my boys.

So, I'd like to say a great big THANK YOU to the wonderful folks at the Ozark Medieval Fortress and for all the extra time they gave today in teaching and sharing. It was a fabulous experience.

The Sing Off - Pentatonix - E.T. - HD - + Judge's Comments

Had to go back and enjoy more of Pentatonix...one of the groups that could give BYU's Vocal Point a run for their money. Only 5 people and some REALLY cool stuff going on.

Futuristic. Fun. Fresh.

Can't wait to see what Vocal Point, Pentatonix and the other awesome groups dish out this week...

It's the SING-OFF!

Guardians of virtue: Young Women song

This is such a wonderful anthem for young women. I love seeing the beautiful smiles of girls around the world. The Little Rock Young Women sang this in our Primary in August right before I gave a presentation to the 8-11 year olds about how our bodies are a temple. The Spirit was so strong. This is a message that all young people should hear. Each girl, each boy is special and loved and strong enough to do wonderful, amazing things. Each of us can be guardians of virtue and holiness.

Sing Off 3 Episode 6 - Vocal Point - I'll Be Missing You

This was a moving tribute. One member of the ensemble missed the first two shows as he flew home to be at his father's bedside when he passed away from leukemia. May God comfort you in your loss and all those who experience similar heartache.

Dynamite - Just Voice and Mouth - a Writer's Parable

My family has become a big fan of this song, Dynamite...the Disney, China Anne McClain version...as we hear it nearly everyday on TV.

But this version caught my attention. A one-man-show putting it all together with only vocalization and mouth to produce the different synths, drums, piano, etc. I am already a big fan of A Capella music. But this was So Fun to watch.

But as I've watched this a few times, it reminded me of my journey writing my novel.

This morning, my eight-year-old asked me. "So, Mom. How long have you been typing that book?"

 If I only count the typing and not the six months of writing long hand, it's been over a year. Fourteen months to be exact. Argh! Really that long?!?

Eep!

So Mike Tompkins and his vocalization reminded me that this is a layered work, not just some simple one page fairy tale.

Yep! I've written a first draft, a second draft, taken out huge chunks added scene after scene. Sometimes I feel like I'm a highway construction crew. I move along patching and repairing and building whole new sections. Then go back to review, only to find that there is STILL more to do!

Sigh!

But I watch this guy, Mike Thompson, and think yeah, this is a lot like writing. First comes the main plot, like the melody line. Then I divided it up between the two points of view I'm using...like harmonizing the song to make it more full. Then we need some counterpoint rhythm...some bad guys and their nefarious goals. This brings a feeling of danger and a value to the stakes. This is the bass, anchoring the piece. Every story needs some great secondary characters. This adds both a rhythmic kick and a floating descant above. These give depth and volume to your story (my story).

Suddenly, I don't feel so bad answering: "Fourteen months I've been typing son. A year and a half that I've been working at this book."

No. It doesn't feel so bad. Because every thing that is worth doing needs time for imaginary creation, physical creation and then refinement. And this story is definitely worth doing.

Believe (www.getoutthebox.org)

This is a lovely list of thoughts focused on the word "Believe". And it is wonderfully motivational. I needed to hear this today...or read it actually.

Believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And believe that you are the light for someone else.

Just keep shining on!

GREAT SCENE - The Princess Bride

Can I just say that THIS is why I write books set in the middle ages with swords and danger and adventure and rescues and everything else that is swoonworthy!

Came across this and had to share. I actually went and looked up once the swordfighting terms they use in this scene, and you know what??? They are real! Honest to goodness!

But the best line from this scene..."I am not left handed, either!"

Knock me over with a feather.

Someday I will have the time and the money at the same time to take fencing classes with my husband and I will be the envy of all I meet, especially the current me right now. Sigh!

"Who are you?"

"No one to be trifled with."

"I must know!"

"Get used to disappointment."

Ha, Ha! Happy dreams to me!

Short Story : Hearing from Bets

As I said in my post just before, I struggled with Bets' version of events for this short story assignment. So here is her point of view in a kinda polished but "boy was it a struggle" kind of piece. Not perfect by any means, but the beginning in particular gives an interesting flipside of the story. This is just over 1700 words.

Bets nearly wobbled on her note as she spied that familiar thatch of red hair in the crowd. But she held it clear and fine, just as Giles had taught her to, and finished the song to loud applause and a fair shower of coins. The sight of him after two years made her fingers clumsy as she gathered the coins from the wagon bed that served as stage.

Rosso.

When she stood again, there he was. But he wasn’t staying for their next song. He was…mounting a horse? Rosso didn’t know how to ride.

The man was much too broad. It must be somebody else; some ill-favored knight with hair as red as a fox. See, he had a mounted squire and a white donkey loaded with baggage. All the trappings.

‘Twas a stranger. She was certain of it, until he turned and looked her way.

Rosso.

There was no way she could mistake that one’s roguish grin.

The tinkle of lute strings sounded far away as she watched Rosso click at his horse and turn from her.

“Bets.” Giles voice was low, but urgent.

She realized he’d been playing the introduction more than once. Nodding, she started singing. Was it the Fates who prompted Giles to pick this song, or merely chance?

“Come, my love, oh come to me.

And I’ll not deny how I’ve missed ye.

Come claim me, dear one, my heart still yearns,

To kiss your lips, herald your return.”

Bets heard the longing in her own traitorous voice. He was turning. Listening? She could feel the blush heating her face.

Giles had her perform this as a flirty “come-hither” type of song. Usually she swayed her hips and gave a wink or two. It always brought good coin. Why couldn’t she do that as he stared at her from across the market square? Instead her voice went low, husky, promising.

“I’ll loose the ribbons from my hair

And wind ye in my ensorcelled snare.

Where’er ye roam as ye wander free

Return to my arms, oh, return to me.”

He paced his horse towards her, through the crowd. The folk started glancing back, moving aside as the chestnut beast brought him closer and closer.

Giles played the music bridge leading up to the third verse and swore under his breath. “Do ye know him?”

“Aye.” She hissed back.

“Are ye willing?”

Bets glanced back. Giles raised his eyebrows suggestively and jerked his head towards Rosso.

Was she willing? She wasn’t sure. Her confusion must have shown.

“If he doesn’t shift his arse, there’ll be no coin from this song or the next. They’ll assume you’re bought by him.”

Bets could only shake her head.

“Let’s change the tune, then.” He fingered a few chords and transitioned into the ‘Ploughman’s Pledge’. Giles took a step and faced her, singing the earnest words of the lovelorn plough boy. Bets sang her parts as best she could, but nearly choked as Giles made faces of agonized love and hopeful admiration. The audience began to laugh at his comic antics. Bets dared not look Rosso’s way until the song was over, the coins tossed and collected.

He was gone.

Giles gave her a gentle shove. “Go and follow him, then. I’ll not get any decent singing from ye ‘til it’s settled.”

“Nay. I only…”

“Be off with ye.” He gave her a chuck under the chin with his knuckles and she scrambled down from the wagon.

At the edge of the square, she asked a boy where the man with red hair had gone.

“Aye. The Chevalier du Reynard? Gone to the Oak Leaf.”

She tossed him a copper and found the inn and his room.

A rap on the door, a silver coin in the wide-eyed squire’s hand and she was escorted inside. A further jerk of her head and the boy left.

She made sure the door was bolted and turned to face him, taking in the large green banner with a bright red fox embroidered upon it, propped against the wall. He wore a matching green tunic. He looked ridiculous, of course. Anyone looking at his face, now filled out with good food and his arms, thick and well-muscled, would assume he had been born in a two story house to a landed lord. No one else would see Rosso, the sharp-eyed piper, the pickpocket, the thief.

“What game are ye playing at, Rosso? Ye can be killed for just putting on a knight’s clothes, let alone riding his horse into the middle of town and asking for a room in his name! Get out of those things and high-tail it back to Montargent before I have to watch ye swing from the gibbet!”

Rosso just leaned back against the wall and gave a cocky half smile. “Didn’t know ye cared so, Bets.” His voice was like running a hand through velvet.

“Do ye have to make a joke of everything? What were ye thinking to come here and pull a trick like this? Showing off like a strutting cockerel? Is this some new effort to win my attention? Because I swear to ye, Rosso…” She shook her finger, like an alleyway mama.

But, he caught her hand in both of his and pressed her fingertips against his lips

The stubble of his chin contrasted with the softness of his kisses. Her words melted away.

“I’m not pretendin’ to be a knight, Bets. I earned it. During the rebellion, I led the street boys. We clobbered just as many Ravenbacks as the soldiers. Cornelius made me a squire. I was shy about telling ye. ‘Twould seem I was braggin’. I waited, tryin’ to find the right moment. But then ye left…”

He broke off and looked away for a moment. She watched a muscle jump in his cheek before he continued. “’Twas an ugly time, Bets. I was tossed with jealousy. Couldn’t stand thinkin’ of Giles holdin’ ye.”

She crossed her arms. “I only sing with Giles. He tells everyone I’m his little sister.”

That brought him up short.

“Oh. Aye.” He cleared his throat. “So…I’ve been learning soldier-craft. Cornelius offered to train any man and give places to the best. I threw myself into it. Practiced day and night. Ate whatever they put in front o’ me and practiced some more. He wants us to know strategy. Teachin’ us himself. He helped us learn writin’ and flag signals. It’s a trade I’m good at, Bets.

“We were in a skirmish over in Savonie last year. Helped the old Duke keep his lands from being overrun by Sauer. It looked like it was gonna be easy. But they had a few tricks, we didn’t see comin’. The old Duke, he was wounded and was brought past where I was fightin’, when a whole rash of Sauer’s men charged us. We were nearly overwhelmed, we were. And…” He ducked his head. “I ended up keepin’ the old Duke alive. When ‘twas all over, he proclaimed me a knight.”

Bets frowned. “Ye are a knight?”

He shrugged. “Nobody else believes it neither. The other lads, from the street, they’ve been chafin’ me for months. Can’t decide to clap me on the shoulder or punch me in the nose. Bit thorny. So th’king sent me off to find some daring-deed-to-do. I’ve been making my way through harvest fairs doing jousts and melees and such. ‘Tis a good way to make a living. Better than…other ways.

“So ye’re truly the Chevalier du Renard?”

“Aye. Knight of the Fox.” He rubbed his fire red hair. “Duke and everybody seemed to think it ‘befitting’.”

“Aye, even your ma named ye Rosso.”

“Nay, she didn’t.”

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Rosso’s my street name. Ye truly think my ma woulda called me that? Didn’t you hear the stories ‘bout my da leavin’ us when my hair grew in red, figured I wasn’t his son? Nobody ever sees past this thatch. Not even you!” His hands gripped her shoulders. “I thought there was more between us, Bets.”

She bit her lip. “I had to leave. ’Twas hard enough to see the kindred sorrow in other girl’s eyes. Yet, when ye looked at me, Rosso, there was no sorrow. Your eyes, they’d burn with fire, eating at ye, bringing back the demons of that night. I watched ye, Rosso, practice with the staff ‘til your arms could barely move. Fighting men that were dead and gone. Trying to rescue what was already lost.”

“Bets…” His voice was a croak. He reached for her cheek. But she stepped back.

“’Twas worse when ye didn’t remember; when we’d walk together on summer nights. Ye…ye’d look at me like a priest staring at a holy relic. Ye didn’t see me, truly.” She took a quick breath. “I didn’t want a protector or a priest. And I sure as snowmelt wasn’t ready for a husband.”

“What about now, Bets?”

Her chest tightened and her gaze dropped.

He ran a fingertip along her jaw. “Are ye still so haunted by all that?”

Bets thrust out her chin, to keep away the tears. “Aye. Happens to a girl when five Ravenbacks have their way with her in a stinking alley.”

“But that night’s not who ye are, Bets, same as…”

He turned away, tugging at his hair in frustration before facing her again.

“I hoped to find the girl I remembered. The girl who had sunlight in her soul, the girl who sang a jaunty tune while scrubbin’ pots or haulin’ water.”

A lump in her throat the size of a turnip kept her from speaking.

“Mayhap that girl’s gone. Mayhap only a bitter girl’s left, and I’d understand. But, if the old, sunny Bets is still ‘round somewhere…”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, soft as a butterfly on a bloom. Her breath caught and her body swayed. Then, his hands were at her waist, his belly pressed against hers. Whiskers grazed her cheek. She breathed in his scent of leather and juniper.

Sighing, her lips found his again.

Her shoulders relaxed and she snuggled closer. Rosso. She felt the fine wool under her fingers and the broad chest underneath. He was a different Rosso, a new rendering of her old chere ami. He wasn’t even named Rosso.

The floor seemed to shift beneath her feet as he deepened the kiss, like a bee questing for honey.

It didn’t matter what his name was. He was her Rosso. And she was his Bets.

Short Story : Rosso's Point of View

Okay, so here is my last assignment for my writing workshop and I'm getting sad that it's coming to a close!


So I've been thinking about my character Bets and wanting her to have her own story once my current work-in-progress is complete. A sequel? Maybe!


So I wrote a scene for our last assignment on plot and theme. This one could be three times longer, so I was excited. But I could not wrestle the thing down to 1500 words. I cut over 600 words, but couldn't get it any smaller without cutting whole limbs off the piece. So I abandoned it (so to speak) and went and read a book. (Two books actually. Finished one, started another)


When I came back, I had a eureka moment. I would try the scene from the other character's point of view. And "Voila!" It worked! At exactly 1500 words. Phew!

A fine, high voice lifted above the market noise as they entered the main square.

Bets.

He turned his head and spied her standing on a wagon-bed singing to the crowd. After searching dozens of towns, she was here. He sucked in a breath and grinned, before he saw, strummin’ behind her, the long-haired son-of-a-gypsy who had stolen her away.

Giles.

His hands clenched the reigns, unconsciously sending signals to his mount, which stopped.

He clicked at the horse, turning away. But her voice caught at him, like a net ‘round a fish.

“Come, my love, oh come to me.

And I’ll not deny how I’ve missed ye.

Come claim me, dear one, my heart still yearns,

To kiss your lips, herald your return.”

By all the silver in the hills, if she was a siren, she couldn’t have done the job better. He turned back. Her hair was loose, the breeze tossing her curls round her shoulders.

“I’ll loose the ribbons from my hair

And wind ye in my ensorcelled snare.

            Aye, that was the truth of it. She had bewitched him for ages, and her spell had only grown stronger, no matter that it was two years since he had seen her.

Where’er ye roam as ye wander free

Return to my arms, oh, return to me.”

He swore under his breath. It was as if it were only the two of them, the way her voice got all low and husky.

Then, that thrice-cursed fool of a minstrel stood started strummin’ a different song, singin’ about a rough-edged ploughboy who longed for the beautiful girl that would never notice him. He waggled his eyebrows and coaxed laughter from the crowd.

T’was a knife to the ribs.

If that was the kind of man Bets wanted, she could have the damned caitiff.

He swung his horse around and went down the first street, blindly searching for an inn. His squire took care of the arrangements, as usual. They always got better rooms when Sergio did the talking.

The innkeeper had just finished settling them in the room when a fist pounded on their door. Sergio checked it and let in…Bets.

The Fates were kind.

She must have given Sergio a coin or a glare, for he slipped, quick as a cat, out the door.

Bets turned to him like a smith’s wife on a bad day, barely giving his new togs a second look.

“What game are ye playing at, Rosso? Ye can be killed for just putting on a knight’s clothes, let alone riding his horse into the middle of town and asking for a room in his name! Get out of those things and high-tail it back to Montargent before I have to watch ye swing from the gibbet!”

He smirked. She thought it some lad’s prank. And the sharpness in her voice disguised her worry.

“Didn’t know ye cared so, Bets.” A blush. Good.

“Do ye have to make a joke of everything? What were ye thinking, to come here and pull a trick like this? Showing off like a strutting cockerel? Is this some new effort to win my attention? Because I swear to ye, Rosso…”

She shook her finger, like an alleyway mama, and he couldn’t stop himself. He snatched her hand and brought it to his lips, her fingers soft. Hardly a callous left upon them.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her face softened. Hope fluttered in his chest. Now was the time to tell her everything.

“I’m not pretendin’ to be a knight, Bets. I earned it. Back during the rebellion, I led the street boys. We clobbered just as many Ravenbacks as the soldiers. Cornelius made me a squire. I was shy about telling ye. ‘Twould seem I was braggin’. I waited, tryin’ to find the right moment. But then ye left…”

He cursed himself for the crack-knobbed fool he was. ‘Tweren’t helpful to bring that painful bit up. He steadied himself. She might as well know.

“’Twas an ugly time, Bets. I was tossed with jealousy. Couldn’t stand thinkin’ of Giles holdin’ ye.”

He was squeezing her hands too tight. She pulled away and crossed her arms.

“I only sing with Giles.”

Not sleep with him, her eyes seemed to say. As if she could see the visions that haunted him every night.

“He tells everyone I’m his little sister.”

“Oh. Aye.”

‘Twas as if she had turned him upside down. He tried to remember the rest of the speech he had prepared months ago and had muttered into his horse’s ears for leagues and leagues. ‘Twas all but gone.

“So…I’ve been learning soldier-craft. Cornelius offered to train any man and give places to the best. I threw myself into it. Practiced day and night. Ate whatever they put in front o’ me and practiced some more. He wants us to know strategy. Teachin’ us himself. He helped us learn writin’ and flag signals. It’s a trade I’m good at, Bets.

“We were in a skirmish over in Savonie last year. Helped the old Duke keep his lands from being overrun by Sauer. It looked like it was gonna be easy. But they had a few tricks, we didn’t see comin’. The old Duke, he was wounded and was brought past where I was fightin’, when a whole rash of Sauer’s men charged us. We were nearly overwhelmed, we were. And…” He ducked his head. “I ended up keepin’ the old Duke alive. When ‘twas all over, he proclaimed me a knight.”

He remembered the flags and swords of the ceremony like a dream.

Bets frowned. “Ye are a knight?”

Aye, who woulda thought it of Rosso the street rat? “Nobody else believes it neither. The other lads, from the street, they’ve been chafin’ me for months. Can’t decide to clap me on the shoulder or punch me in the nose. Bit thorny. So th’king sent me off to find some daring-deed-to-do. I’ve been making my way through harvest fairs doing jousts and melees and such. ‘Tis a good way to make a living. Better than…other ways.” He felt his cheeks flame.

“So ye’re truly the Chevalier du Renard?”

“Aye. Knight of the Fox.” He rubbed his fire red hair. “Duke and everybody seemed to think it ‘befitting’.”

“Aye, even your ma named ye Rosso.”

“Nay, she didn’t.”

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Rosso’s my street name. Ye truly think my ma woulda called me that? Didn’t you hear ‘bout my da leavin’ us when my hair grew in red, figured I wasn’t his son? Nobody sees past this thatch. Not even you!” He gripped her shoulders. “I thought there was more between us, Bets.”

She bit her lip. “I had to leave. ’Twas hard enough to see the kindred sorrow in other girls’ eyes. Yet, when ye looked at me, Rosso, there was no sorrow. Your eyes, they’d burn with fire, eating at ye, bringing back the demons of that night. I watched ye, Rosso, practice with the staff ‘til your arms could barely move. Fighting men that were dead and gone. Trying to rescue what was already lost.”

“Bets…” Hope slipping away. He reached for her cheek. But she stepped back.

“’Twas worse when ye didn’t remember; when we’d walk together on summer nights. Ye…ye’d look at me like a priest staring at a holy relic. Ye didn’t see me, truly.”

She couldn’t see herself as the treasure she was.

“I didn’t want a protector or a priest. And I sure as snowmelt wasn’t ready for a husband.”

“What about now, Bets?” Any hope at all?

Her gaze dropped.

He ran a fingertip along her jaw. “Are ye still so haunted by all that?”

Bets thrust out her chin. “Aye. Happens to a girl when five Ravenbacks have their way with her in a stinking alley.”

He remembered finding her crumpled against the wall, covered in blood and bruises, her skirts torn. Thrown away like rubbish. He silently cursed the black-hearted buzzards who had done this to her.

“But that night’s not who ye are, Bets, same as…”

Her hopeless expression made him turn away, tugging at his hair in frustration before facing her again.

“I hoped to find the girl I remembered. The girl who had sunlight in her soul, the girl who sang a jaunty tune while scrubbin’ pots or haulin’ water.”

She only stared at him with wide, troubled eyes.

“Mayhap that girl’s gone. Mayhap only a bitter girl’s left, and I’d understand. But, if the old, sunny Bets is still ‘round somewhere…”

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. Gently, gently, ready to step back. She swayed towards him and he couldn’t bridle himself any longer. He gathered her in his arms and breathed in the sharp scent of lye soap mingled with flowers.

Sighing, she turned and met his lips.

He kissed her deeply then, like a bee questing for honey, savoring the hope flooding through his veins again.

Neil and Giles : Conflict

I was going back through some of my rough drafts for last week's lesson and found this and tried to shape it up. This is kind of a combo of two different scenes from my Work-In-Progress Novel. This gives a glimpse into Neil & Giles relationship. It was pretty good for the past few years, but now, Neil has something else that Giles is jealous of...his new wife, the lady Anna-Maria...who doesn't know Neil's true identity. She thinks he's some poor minstrel like Giles who's now trying his hand at becoming a merchant so he can settle down with her. She has no idea of the rebellion the two men are brewing or of Neil's noble family.


This is 685 words.

Neil sighed and eased himself down on the bench, careful not to spill his ale.

“Tough kinda day?”

Neil met Giles’ curious eyes across the table. “Tougher than boot leather. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that girl.”

“Anna? What’s she done now?”

“It’s what she hasn’t done. I start thinkin’ that we’re not that different, ye know. An then – ”

“If ye wanted a girl from here, ye had your pick for years. Now ye got the prettiest girl in three countries and ye complain!”

“It’s not the big nuggets, but the flakes that trip me up. Today, I come home for a bit of bread and cheese come noon-time and what do I hear floatin’ out my own window, but “The Blacksmith’s Breeches.”

Giles mouth went slack, then turned up in a sly grin. “That naughty puss! I never would have thought she’d be that kind. Not after…”

Neil gave him quick shove. “Shut your gab. She wasn’t singing the words. She heard the tune somewhere in the city and was hanging up my laundry while humming the tune. Gave me a turn, I can tell ye!”

“Ye need to tell her who ye really are, Neil. Tell her all the words ye’ve been corkin’ up inside. The longer ye go, the worse it’ll be when she finds out. Go on. Make your marriage real.”

“Nay, nay. I have to leave her be for now. Tisn’t fair to sidle up to her all cozy like just ‘afore we stir up trouble."

“Nay. That’s when it’s best. Girl’s not sure if she’ll ever see ye again. She’ll give ye something to remember, that’s for sure."

“Hey! Don’t speak that way about my Anna.”

“Doesn’t seem like she’s really yours, Nit. Ye bring her all the way ‘cross the mountains to where the only soul she knows is you. She only wants a bit of affection and ye can’t give her so much as a kiss and a tickle?”

“Watch your mouth, ye son of a gypsy.”

“What? Are ye afraid of a little truth? Ye afraid ye can’t make her love ye? ‘Cause I see the way she looks at ye. She gets all soft around the mouth and her eyes get all shy.”

“When did ye start lookin at Anna?”

“The day ye toddled down to Trionno, ye fool! Ye left her in a tiny room, alone, in a strange city. I came by to see if she was lonely, which she was.”

Neil felt his jaw tighten. “And tell me, my friend, how did ye care for her loneliness?”

Giles returned his stare. “With an afternoon of music. She sat by the window painting your blasted pottery for market day and I sat on the opposite side of the room strumming away like a fool.” He shook his finger in Neil’s face. “Ye have everything ye need to be happy, but ye push it away at arm’s length.”

“Ye know why I can’t…And anyway, she’s given me barely a kind word since we came here.”

“Because ye’re a fool. She’s only wantin’ to know ye’re glad she followed ye all the way here.”

“Like a pup-hound that doesn’t know how to stay home. She would have been safer there.”

“But she doesn’t want there. She wants a certain fellow who barely spends a span of bells in her company. And eager to please? She’s doin’ your laundry, ye mutton-head! The girl has never washed so much as her own chemise and she’s grubbin’ around with soap and stone to get your breeches clean. If that don’t say she loves ye, then I don’t know what does.”

Neil’s fists were clenched, but Giles didn’t seem to see. Or perhaps he was too far gone in his cups.

“If ye weren’t my friend, Niel Poxhands, I would have seduced the girl before ye coulda tucked your fiddle under your chin and run away with her to the sea coast.”

Aye, Giles was definitely too far in his cups, for he didn’t even try to duck when Neil’s fist swung at his chin.

Six Haircuts

Why can't my boys be like this when I cut their hair? Now that they are growing up, they have definite opinions about their hair styles. My middle-schooler wanted his hair practically buzzed...??? My 4th grader wanted really long bangs. And my kindergartener wanted a mohawk. Really?

Yes. He did.

I did go shorter for some boys and a little longer on others and I promised they could gel it into spikes sometimes, but nobody got a mohawk, that's for sure. Too conservative for that, baby.

Is it because I'm past 35 that kids seem too trendy in elementary school, or is it because they wear uniforms that hair is the only way to "express themselves"?

I dunno. But when more that two hours had past and I had finished five boys' and one man's haircuts, I wanted a reaction more like Calvin's.

"That's great. Perfect."

Interviewing a Character: Developing Voice in Dialogue: Part 2

So, here is the interview I did with my character Bets. I had soooo much information. It was hard to cut down. And she speaks in these huge long blocks! So when I did my interview with Giles, it just worked better. And he's got that extra something...


However, Bets deserves to have some of her story told. So here is just over 1,000 words. It's the first portion of the interview with a fictional character.

“Now, you started late in life as a scullery maid?”

“Aye. A body could say that. I didn’t start working at the Green Goose ‘til I had to.”

“What was your life like before you came here, Bets?”

“My family…My father is a smith, a silver smith.”

“You don’t have to whisper. Are you embarrassed?”

“Nay, not of that. My da is a good smith. And here in Montargent, any old silver smith is a copper for a half dozen. But my da, he is good. Was good.When I was a young lass, he’d let me come with him to his workshop. He was a master at a young age and had his own shop and everything. And he’d let me sit on a stool in the corner and watch. I watched his hands. They’d move so pretty-like. They were strong. But the way he’d twist his fingers on his tools…it was like a dance, ye know. I’d watch him like I was a soul ensorcelled. I didn’t mind the heat. I’d not hear the others’ talk. I ignored the lads pulling on my curls.”

“But in your time, that is, your city, don’t the silver guilds have stern restrictions about who can become smiths? I didn’t think they’d allow a girl into their private workshops.”

“Aye, well, I was only a little sprout of a girl then, and ‘twas my own da’s shop. Those masters that run the guild do get that partic’lar about who they let in, but my da felt he could anything back then, and not pay a price for it. He had the hands of a master and any who wanted his work paid well for it. And my grandda was still around back then. He’s the one started calling me ‘Bets’ like some English girl. Not ‘Alissia’, ‘Bettina’, and ‘Madelena’, but Lys, Bets and Madge. My grandda travelled here from England when he was a young man, just so he could learn the craft. He had become a master there, but wanted to learn the finer arts.”

“I hear your city is renowned for its silver work.”

“O’ course. What else could they do? Silver fair flows out of our mountains. We don’t have orchards and rich farming soil, but we have silver.”

“So.”

“So my grandda settled here and married a mountain lass and my da grew up in his da’s workshop learning the craft and making pieces that are so fine, they're used in castles and palaces.”

“It sounds like you are proud of your father.”

“In silver, I’m proud. But every other thing my da touched has turned to trouble.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, he wasn’t so pleased to get three daughters in a row. Then to have a fourth? He was that mad when Josefina was born. My ma was lying there in her birthing bed, holdin’ my sister all wrapped up against the cold and there was my da, throwing things around the house cryin’, ‘I want a son! I want a son, you worthless cow! I can’t share my best secrets with my apprentices, don’t ye see! I need a son!’ The midwife finally got him out. But not before he slapped my ma.”

“‘Twas after that he started coming home late, visiting the taverns and such. He started changing; the bitterness pickling him from the inside out. My ma got more slaps ‘round the face and her sleeves got longer, even in the summer heat. It think my ma started putting away coin, so someday, she and us girls could escape. We didn’t eat as well as we used to, and the maid that helped my ma with the cleanin’ and cookin’, no longer came every morning. Ma started teaching me and Lys more cookin’ and Madge was set to sewin’ any time something tore. She was always best with a needle, even when little. I’d sing to baby Fina as I chopped greens and bundled herbs for drying. Our home was happy in a careful sorta way during the day.”

“When your father was working?”

“Aye. But we became wary when Ma’s belly began to swell again. ‘Twas a good day when she delivered my brother, Milo. Da was grinning, so proud, and the rest of us limp as unstuffed cushions with relief. Milo saved us, for a few years at least.”

“Wow. Did things change in your home after that?”

“‘Twas better than before. Ma delivered twin girls the next year, but Da didn’t seem to care. He just pursed his lips and talked of stretching coins to match his brood.

“Mayhap ‘twas because we stopped prayin’ near as fervently as we had. But when Milo was nearly three, and the twins a year and a half, it seemed like God dumped us outta his hands and walked away.”

“What happened?”

“One o’ Da’s apprentices got careless in the workshop. One lad got burned badly and my da was hurt trying to help him. Twas some hot silver that splashed his hand. He could still craft, but not the tiny details. All the dreams he had of passing on his best secrets died that day. ‘Twas a month later when Ilana, one of the twins, got sick. She was gone two days later. My ma cried something terrible. ‘Twas like her heart was breakin’. My da couldn’t stand hearin’ her pain, or mayhap he didn’t care. But the day after he blacked her eye and bloodied her nose, she started bleeding elsewhere. The babe that was supposed to be born the next month came too soon.”

“Oh, my poor Bets.”

“‘Tis the saddest sight in the world, to see a babe limp and blue, lyin’ in your hands. ‘Twas too late for any words to be said over it. We had to bury him up on the hill with the sinners and the unshriven. ‘Bout near broke my ma’s heart. At least Ilana was christened and buried in good church soil. But the tiny lad was lost to us, and we all knew ‘twas my da who’d driven him out o’ my ma’s body with his fists and his hate. We stood up there with our laces loose and our hair nearly torn outta our heads by the wind, tryin’ to unbind my brother from the ties of the earth. We had to let the old gods take him since God has no place in Heaven for an unchristened child.”