Begin Again

Since pictures of a sick ME are far less cute than pictures of a sick Monkey, I'll spare you the visuals. Suffice it to say that I have had one heck of an exhausting time being pregnant and sick, and keeping up with a healthy Monkey last week.

>raises tall glass of water<
Here's to a fresh start.

Speaking of which, I've been thinking a lot lately that I want to go through and completely re-write whole sections of my WIP. I've learned a lot over the past months, and I feel like the sections I'm writing now are much better than the ones I wrote when I began.

I feel genuinely blessed to have found some amazing friends in the online writing community. And on occasion, I feel extremely small in comparison. Some of my friends have been writing for years... years! Plural. As in many, or more than one, which is all I've got under my belt. Because of their talents and knowledge, I have learned a lot in a short amount of time. So I'd like to take a moment to thank them.

Amy Standage Personal blog, Story blog
Britney Jensen twitter book site interview
Gloria Sigountos blog twitter
Morgan Shamy blog twitter
Ryan Dalton blog twitter

There are many others, but these five have been friendly, open, and supportive to me from the very moment they found out I wanted to write. They've shared their work, and helped with mine. They've offered support, suggestions, and advice from their own experiences in the writing world. They are the inspiration to me, that I hope to be to other writers someday. Thanks guys.

In their honor, I'd like to share a bit of my WIP that I really like... and see what you all think. Just a little 300 word snippet...


          He saw his face reflected clearly in the polished silver of his plate. He realized he had a rather tired look about him, so he rearranged his features until they showed the impatient haughtiness that his father favored. Raising his head, he saw his younger brother across the table – whose snobbishness looked much more natural – looking toward the doors.
          With a deep, resounding clank, they opened, and his father walked into the dining hall looking immaculate. His doublet and hose were of clean, crisp grey, and he wore soft black leather boots, with his black velvet cape – trimmed in white bear fur – trailing behind him. He, of course, wore arrogance best – he was the king, after all. He strode down the black carpet towards the table where his sons waited. His chair was pulled out, and his mantle removed before he joined his sons. As soon as he was seated, the servants began bringing food and drink to the table. Once the king began, the other two followed.
          The eldest son looked around the room as he ate. The deep gold hangings were pristine. The décor of ancient weaponry looked as though it had been polished that morning.
When the eldest son’s drink was refilled by a particularly beautiful young serving girl, he said a small, “Thank you.”
          The king dropped his fork.
          “Markku!” the king shouted at his son. “Do not speak to servants that way! Save your gratitude for nobility worthy of it.”
          The dark-haired girl gave a quick bow and shuffled hastily out of the room. Markku sat a little straighter, trying to mask his resentment with pride, and said, “Yes, Father, of course.” No apologies; a prince did not apologize, even to his father. His father had taught him that.


Questions for all you writers out there: Who or what inspired you to write? How long have you been writing? I'd love to hear your "getting started" stories! Please share!


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