777 Challenge

To all my beautiful children,

Well, today is a fun day. You see, I got online to write this post–and then was subsequently alerted to the fact that today is also Romantic Typewriter Garden’s third birthday. So yay! It’s…mostly not dead. (Despite my not having posted in a while.)

So why am I posting today? Well, because I’m bad at saying no mostly. Also because my dear friend, Windy Darlington, tagged me in the 777 Challenge.

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What is the 777 Challenge?

Essentially, the 777 Challenge is a writing game made to help us share information with you concerning our current WIP (works in progress). And while I don’t have any that I’m regularly writing on right now, I have several that are in progress and that I might share bits of with you. So be excited.

The 777 Challenge tag originally came from R.M. Archer.

What are the Rules of the Challenge?

  1. Open WIP to the 7th page.
  2. Scroll past the 7th line.
  3. Copy the next 7 paragraphs, and… paste them on your blog for the world to see!

 

It’s a fairly simple game, and what you’ll see here might be a little more than seven paragraphs, simply to help keep you from getting confused, but I’m excited to get to share with you–even if the WIP’s in question are still in rough form.

WIP #1

This first WIP piece is from a fantasy political thriller titled Destruction of Kings. It has been in the works for years, but I am only just now beginning to seriously write on it. So far I have two chapters. (For those of you interested, here’s the Pinterest board and the beginnings of a soundtrack.)

You want to evacuate?” Renotta asks him.

Most of the families can’t afford passage to the islands or across the border,” Mouse answers. “Going to the other side of Thespia would prove more foolish for many of them.”

So we’re just going to let her come,” Renotta tenses beside Daegan, her dark eyes flashing incredulously.

Yes,” Daegan answers lowly, knowing what the man in front of him wants him to say. He knew even before he stepped inside this livery what Mouse would ask of him. He cannot stay. “There will be no reason for the assassin to come if I am not here.”

Daegan doesn’t look at her, but he feels her sharp gaze boring into his skin. “You have a plan,” she says lowly.

A semblance of one,” Mouse replies when Daegan does not answer. Daegan hunches his shoulders, shrugs.

Do you have anywhere to go?” Renotta demands. “Family? Contacts?”

All dead,” Daegan replies.

That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? This is where running has gotten him. Tentative safety, and yet more running. This time he will not be safe anywhere in these lands. Not in Thespia, not in Candania.

Ionica,” Daegan tells them. “It’s a warrior’s country. I can hide easily there, blend.”

I’ll have Jonas forge a pass,” Mouse promises. “He’ll have it prepared for you before sun-up.”

We may not have that long,” Renotta argues, folding her arms over her chest. “The queen was in the southern villages last night. If her assassin makes good time, it will be a matter of hours before he arrives—if he’s left already it could be less. We may already be running out of time.”

Then we will provide him an adequate distraction,” Mouse replies.

For those curious, Mouse does not live up to his name.

WIP #2

My second WIP is a collection of short story fantasy pieces done with a rather folklore-ish vibe. These stories revolve around a woman called The Star Reader and those who cross her path. It’s a slow going project that I’ve been piddling around with for some time, but it’s probably some of my better-written work. For those of you interested in something beyond my vague, awful description, this is the Pinterest board. It’s tentatively titled The Star-Reader’s Chronicles, and this section comes from the second story (as it is the seventh page in the collection).

Once upon a time, when the sky was only a void, there was a mother who loved her son. Many nights she would wander out into the wilds of the earth, searching for him. When the rainy season came, she would follow his footprints down the paths and through the valleys; When the dry season reigned, she would follow the singing wind to find him. She never learned to wait upon him to come home; he was only a boy after all, and nights could be savage when the world grew dark.

Aryn, come to bed,she would call to him, looking up at her son where he lay cradled in the arms of this tree or that, staring at the void above him. The torch she carried would catch on the bronze bands he wore shoved up on each arm. One day, when he was bigger, they would fit on his forearms as they had his father’s. For now, he pushed them up around his biceps.

Hush, Ammi,he would tell her. I am speaking to the sky.She would shake her head, her thin, wispy hair brushing her arms as she did. Already he was streaking her hair grey like a wolf’s coat from his antics.

She would hold up her hand toward him and reply, The sun will return sooner than you think. Come down and rest.

Eventually, he would come. His limbs nigh blended with the tree’s outstretched branches when the boy scuttled down its side. He moved quickly there and there and there before he hopped to the ground, moving like a crab along the shoals at the seaside. Those lithe limbs would gather into a crouched position to catch him when he hit the ground, and she would watch him turn to her, all youthful energy and vibrant smiles, things she wished she yet had left.

When he came to her, she would reach out and smooth back his hair. She would bend down and kiss the birthmark on his forehead. She would trace a finger across the three sparse dots from his forehead down to the spot between his eyes, each connected by a dark line. He would smile at her and take a hold of her free hand, then lead her home through the darkness he knew so well.

Someday I will paint the sky, Ammi,he would say.

Only gods may paint the sky, Aryn, she would answer.

Then I will be a god,her son replied. And I will live in the sky and smile down on you.

She chuckled to her son, watching the earth flicker in and out of focus before them with the movement of her torch. What dreams you have, my son,she would tease. Her son would only smile.

So yes. Essentially, these are the main projects that I’m working on, and I’m glad to have had the chance to share them with you in this little post.

Who Suffers Next?

I’ll admit that when I first got tagged in this, I was not very pleased. I hadn’t written anything “good” in quite a while. Windy-dear only tagged me at the insistence of our darling little Rebkah DeVall.

My reaction to Rebekah: “Why on earth would you suggest tagging me?” Rebekah said something along the lines of that people care about what I’m writing, that it interests them. And my response to this was, “Bekah, I can’t remember the last time I even wrote seven pages.”

Fun times.

So you could say that I put this post off way too long simply so I’d have the time to write pages in my projects for you to read.

That said, now it’s my turn to pass on the torture. So here are my seven tags:

  1. Heidi Salzman
  2. Rachel Brandt
  3. Mary P.J.
  4. Isabella Morganthal
  5. JJ Hallam
  6. Azaria
  7. Rachel Rossano

 

Well, I hope that everyone enjoyed my rambling here. If any of these things interests you, let me know! I’m always happy to grow my list of writing friends and beta readers. I would also LOVE to hear about what you’re writing. ^_^

Take care.

Your unaffectionate supernova,

CS Taylor

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