I will be so, so, so glad when this chapter is finished. It's an utter and complete struggle to get anything on paper. It's like that section in The Fellowship of the Ring after they escape the Balrog but before they reach Lothlorien. Not a whole heck of a lot happens, but you can't get from point A to point B without it. Still, it does give me a chance to reveal some interesting (at least, I think it's interesting) information about Lidozrout anatomy:

Jachym snorted. "I still hate them. I hate them from their piggy noses to their curly horns."

"They don't have horns."

Jachym stared at Ctibor as if he were mad.

"They don't have horns," Ctibor repeated. "Lidozrout have tusks. They grow from the upper jaw up through the snout. That's why most of the ones you'll see have them jutting straight up between the eyes, with only a small curve to it. It's the old boars that get that corkscrew look to 'em. Those tusks get so big though, it pushes their eyes out of the sockets. Can't see worth a damn."

"Tusks?"

"Tusks," Ctibor nodded. "The older the boar, the more cockeyed they get. The big ones might be the toughest and strongest, but they're also the easiest to kill. That big boar in the Kostel, he sent his young warriors to attack first. That wasn't cowardice, it was strategy."

I love it that the Lidozrout are far more complex as a society than they appear at first glance. Which is to say they're not mere cannon-fodder hordes of orcs with a hard-to-pronounce species name. And they're not evil, at least not in a strict sense. While the Lidozrout have a presence all the way through Wetsilver, they're never front and center, which I think makes them all the more intriguing and mysterious. If Wetsilver sells, however, I have the vague outlines of a sequel--or rather a follow-up, since none of the Wetsilver characters would appear in it--in which the "Matter of the Lidozrout" is very much the crux of the story, indeed. But, ah, first things first as they say.

27,000 / 90,000 (30.0%)

Now Playing: The Police Message in a Box

I'm in a quandry. I actually got back to writing last night, and managed 700 words, but it was a struggle. After an hour or so of staring at a blank screen (not entirely staring--a couple of false starts were scattered in there) I realized what my problem was: I had no idea what happened next. The next major beat in the story doesn't happen until the following chapter, so this one is mostly bridge work with some additional characterization. Once I actually realized and internalized this fact, I was able to shift mental gears and make something suitable up.

The long layoff from working on the novel did gave me a bit of perspective on what I've written thus far, and--revisiting that Tetris analogy--I'm seeing some significant gaps in the narrative. Particularly in the last two chapters. So I'm torn between going back and fixing these shortcomings now, while they're fresh in my mind, and forging ahead with the intent of coming back to them at some future date once the overall novel is significantly closer to being finished.

The thing is, I don't entirely trust myself to remember these specific trouble spots--or rather, remember my current "obvious solutions" to fix the individual problems. I could make notes, sure, but my notes are either brief to the point of being cryptic, or so detailed I might as well just go ahead and make the changes now. Decisions, decisions...

26,450 / 90,000 (29.4%)

Now Playing: Eric Clapton 24 Nights

I'm discovering that writing a novel is much like playing a slow-motion game of Tetris. As I'm writing along, oddly-shaped pieces of the story suddenly present themselves to me, and I have to figure out just how they fit. And fit they do, often in unexpected ways. But on occasion, when the unexpected piece is obvious in its role--the perfect element to make a particular sequence work--it also exposes holes I've left in the line of Tetris blocks several layers down. Holes I didn't know existed when that particular level (or chapter in this case) was written. The difference between playing Tetris and novel writing is that I get to go back and fill in those holes on my timetable. And last night's output--1,100 words or so--exposed several holes that, once filled, will make me look like a clever and shrewd plotter.

"Let me accompany you, Excellency. Please."

"I don't need your blade to finish this, Ctibor. Help our injured boys. That's where you can do the most good." She placed her hand on his cheek, cutting of his protest. Her thumb traced a znak. "You've acquitted yourself well, Ctibor. Your Rytír honor is fulfilled. Don't taint it with misplaced pride."

Ctibor lowered his head, and the twin blades of the krukh melted back into the hilt. "Yes, Excellency." Without another word, he ran to the coach.

Satisfied Ctibor would care for the wounded, the Tsukr turned, grim faced, and followed the Lidozrout into the Kostel.

"She can't... can't go after them alone," said Jachym as Ctibor returned.

"She's a Tsukr, boy. She can do any damn thing she wants."

For my reading this weekend at Apollocon I'm planning on doing a section from Wetsilver. In fact, I'm leaning toward a chapter excerpt in which the passage above concludes things. I read chapter 1 at Armadillocon last fall, and it generated positive response, so I'm anxious to test out this more action-oriented, multi-character sequence from deeper into the book to see how it plays to the masses.

Last night I reached the end of the current chapter, and instead of figuring total word count by adding that night's production to the previous total, I recalculated using the cumulative page count. The resulting additional 500-word jump is reflected in the progress meter below (just so you folks don't think I'm intentionally cheating or anything).

25,750 / 90,000 (28.6%)

Now Playing: Lynryd Skynryd Skynryd's Innryds

Over-tired and congested is not a good combination for good word production. I packed it in and went to bed last night after managing just 300 hard-fought words. The scene's not particularly difficult. It was a case of struggling to remain focused enough to put down one word after another. Here's hoping tonight goes a little better so that I might make up some of that 700-word deficit.

24,100 / 90,000 (26.8%)

Now Playing: Andean Fusion Spirit of the Incas

Wrote another thousand words last night, despite the slight handicap of not being able to breathe. Turned out to be a difficult passage to get down on paper because of the need to convey the choreography clearly. Sometimes scenes play out theatrically in the mind's eye very clearly, but translating that vivid imagery into effective prose can be challenging.

Gauthier and Radek burst into the room, hooting and catcalling. Their momentum carried them several steps in even as they saw the Lidozrout and tried to stop. Gauthier's foot slipped on the bloody floor. Radek ran into him, and they both fell.

The pepper-blue Lidozrout leapt over Jachym to block the doorway.

Jachym lay as still as he could, choking back the pain and terror. His right hand covered the searing wound in his left breast, pressing his bondsash into it to try and stanch the bleeding. He couldn't move his left arm, but it felt as if a thousand tiny crystal shards had buried themselves in it. Through the fog of pain his mind grasped two things-- if he lay where he was, he would bleed to death. And if he moved, the Lidozrout would kill him quicker.

Fun stuff, eh?

On a related note, I just now looked at the calendar and realized I'd be in Houston for Apollocon this weekend. Which means I'll not likely have any time at all for writing. It may be good to take a break and recharge the batteries for a few days (my old Compaq laptop died a year or two back), and technically I don't shedule any writing for the weekends, but still. I worry, with my history of procrastination and slow writing, that if I fall behind now I'll not catch up in time to have this book finished by World Fantasy. Such is life.

23,800 / 90,000 (26.4%)

Now Playing: Blue Öyster Cult Workshop of the Telescopes

I wrote a thousand words over the weekend, which pleases me because of how on-the-go we were, with little time to spare amidst all the family activities. I continue to be fascinated by all the unexpected details and revelations that are cropping up in scenes I'd long thought cut-and-dried in my mind's eye. The Sklo Kostel, for example:

They rode deeper into Braclev. The buildings grew progressively larger and grander. Jachym stared with wide eyes, craning his neck as they passed beneath high towers. The avenue opened to a broad plaza. The rubble from a destroyed building lay strewn about, surrounding the broken remnants of walls. Shards of brilliantly colored glass glittered everywhere. Trees that had once ringed the building had been cut, and weedy grasses and candleleaf crowded for growing space around the long-dead stumps. Most of the buildings bordering the plaza showed scorch-marks from fire. Ctibor halted the coach.

"Is this the right one, Excellency?" Ctibor asked.

"I believe so, Ctibor. Thank you," Vondra said, climbing down. "There were seven Kostels in Braclev before the Apostasy. All were destroyed. This would've been the Sklo Kostel, I think. Its walls were said to be completely covered by cut crystal that caught and reflected every mote of light to reach it. Even in moonlight it was said to dazzle."

Jachym stared at the wreckage. It hurt to even imagine how beautiful it once had been. Gauthier, Radek and Dobromil climbed down from the rear bench and joined Jachym.

Jachym knelt and picked up a scarlet crystal the length of his thumb. It glittered brilliantly, even under overcast skies. He tested the pointed edge with a fingertip, and jerked back. A bead of blood, the same color as the shard, welled up on his finger.

22,800 / 90,000 (25.3%)

Now Playing: Herman's Hermits Greatest Hits

Very tired. Hitting that weekly sleep-deprivation wall after staying up too late to write night after night. But I put in 700 good words, and Jachym's finally reached the deserted city:

Reaching high ground, Jachym bent over to catch his breath. The rectangular, powdery-green leaves of a salt-the-earth vine curled around his feet. He looked up, and sucked in his breath.

A great wall stood in the distance, thick with turrets. Behind its protection was a city, full of soaring towers and enormous buildings with walls of faded whites, reds and yellows. On all sides of the city sprawled vast fields crisscrossed by canals--all of which were as dry as the river. No people moved. No dogs barked. No sheep bleated. In the sky, far above, a vulture circled, riding a thermal.

On what was once productive cropland, now only salt-the-earth vines grew. As far as the eye could see, thicker than Jachym imagined possible. It was a desert of green. The leaves rustled dryly as the hot wind sighed over them.

"What is this place?" whispered Jachym.

He should enter during tonight's writing, and I'm excited about that. This whole sequence is one that existed in my head, fairly well-developed, since the very first draft of this story I attempted mumbley mumbley years ago. But the scenes have evolved. Realization struck me last night that certain things have changed in the way events will unfold, and there's a heightened degree of complexity in the coming events. For example, I had no idea why Dobromil suddenly showed up in the narrative several chapters back. Now I do. It's fascinating how the mind will put the proper pieces of the puzzle in place even when you've no idea how they ultimately fit into the Big Picture.

21,800 / 90,000 (24.2%)

Now Playing: The Beatles Abbey Road

A good writing night, despite a late start for me. I've got a fairly clear idea of where things are headed these next two chapters, so the flow of words is much more robust. Jachym is finally getting some much-needed one-on-one time with Tsukr Vondra, and finally learning just what he's gotten into. It's not something he'd have chosen had he other options, but compared to being eaten by Lidozrout, it ain't half bad.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"Not exactly. There's some kind of religious training in Rokanyky you're taking me to. So I can be a better bondservant for the Kostels, I guess."

She shook her head. "Your being a bondservant has nothing to do with this. At least, not directly. Have you ever heard of Strelecs?"

"No."

"Well, you, Radek, Dobromil and Gauthier are all Strelec candidates. It's a religious vocation for men. It demands great dedication and devotion. And yes, there is much training and leaning that go along with it."

"So then, it's like a Knez?"

"More than a Knez. Much more. Strelecs are equal to Tsukrs."

"Will I work blood magic?"

Vondra winced. "Yes. But we prefer it called 'Blood Gift.' It's a gift to men from Tvůrce."

What's particularly interesting to me is the way the current chapter is unfolding. I'd planned for the events approaching at the end of this chapter to take place at the conclusion of the last chapter, but that one grew too long. I'd worried that the held over scenes weren't enough to support a full chapter, but it's shaping up now to be one of the longest chapters I've written thus far. Funny how that works.

21,100 / 90,000 (23.4%)

Now Playing: Salsa del Rio Que Siga La Tradicion

Last night's writing produced a thousand words, bringing the total word count on Wetsilver up to 20,000. Yay! That's roughly only a fifth of the way through the book, give or take, but it's a significant psychological milestone for me. Except for the wretched, not-quite-famous-enough-to-be-infamous Broken Balance, every novel I've ever seriously started tended to fizzle out somewhere in the 15-20,000 word range. Reaching 20K without any significant hiccups is encouraging. The fact that I started this novel reclaimation project back on May 24 and have worked steadily and productively on it since then is also encouraging. That's four weeks, and I'm averaging 5,000 words a week--exactly on my arbitrary, self-imposed productivity target. At this rate--barring any inspired bursts of productivity or major writing disruptions--I'll have 60K words in the bank by Armadillocon and have the whole thing finished by September, with more than a month to spare before World Fantasy rolls around. Knock wood.

Here's some of last night's production. Again, we're seeing Jachym come out of the shock of recent days and start to assert himself more. Also, the relationship between him and Ctibor is developing differently than I'd originally envisioned it.

Three times they emptied the coach and pushed it up a stairstep of boulders when the horses couldn't manage on their own. After the third time, with the day's shadows growing long, Ctibor announced they'd make camp there, under the shelter of a low cliff. The location troubled Jachym.

"Um... Ctibor?" he said finally, having screwed up his courage for twenty minutes before approaching the older man. "I mean no disrespect to you, sir, but you see... well, is this really a good place to camp?"

Ctibor eyed him. "What do you mean, kid?"

"I just thought, you know, this might be a bad site." Jachym dearly wished to be someplace else. Wished that he hadn't managed to work up his courage. "You and the Tsukr, you're not from dry lands, right? So, ah, you might not know that dry streams don't always stay that way. Not with storms about like they have been. Calfa--he's my cousin--Calfa and me once got cut off by a dry stream that rose higher than my chin in the time it takes to shell a sand scute."

Ctibor nodded his head thoughtfully. "You might not be as dumb as you look, after all," he said, then looked upstream. As he turned, his overcoat folded back to expose his hip. On his belt hung an ornate hilt of ivory inlaid with enamel. It sported an elaborate hand guard of intertwined metalwork that shone like gold. But there was no blade attached. Jachym swallowed and tried not to stare. Where was the scorpion-tailed blade?

"This bed we're following isn't just dry, kid. It's dead. The river found a new course long ago."

"How can that be? Rivers don't just... change like that."

Ctibor's jaw clenched, and something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. "They don't, do they?" He sighed. "That's something you'll have to take up with the Tsukr."

Posting my writing progress on Gibberish has helped me maintain my commitment, I suspect. With so many eyes looking over my entries every day--even if most of them come here looking for chupacabra pics--I feel a profound sense of failure if I don't have progress to post daily. I'm even thinking of setting up a tangential blog to host my writing posts exclusively. I don't know about anyone else, but I think I'd find it quite useful.

20,000 / 90,000 (22.2%)

Now Playing: Dave Davies Chosen People

Produced 500 words last night. Discovered, somewhat to my surprise, that this particular chapter was a short one as opposed to an exceptionally long one, and the events I had planned for the latter pages instead want their own chapter. I was also startled to see Jachym stand up to Gauthier in wholly unexpected fashion. That certainly wasn't in my mental outline! I think something changed in Jachym at the end of the previous chapter--he may be burdened by guilt and consumed with anger, but he's no longer the passive victim he'd been before--which I'd thought he'd continue to be for quite a ways longer. Fascinating.

19,000 / 90,000 (21.1%)

Now Playing: Ry Cooder & Ali Farka Toure Talking Timbuktu