Newsletter - November 8, 2022

My youngest daughter celebrated her birthday over the weekend. She turned twelve, but with two older sisters, she's well-versed in teenage drama, and we encountered a nice mix of teenagery attitude with pre-teen whininess. But nothing so far outside of the envelope that we failed to enjoy the birthday.

The weather was fantastic... they got to do a neighborhood scavenger hunt (though they complained about a couple of my hints), had visits from grandparents, stuffed themselves with tacos and cupcakes (and smoked chicken that my youngest loves, a gift from good friends), and capped it off with a sleepover. We encouraged her artistic bent by providing her a drawing tablet, and she immediately impressed me with her understanding of layers and opacity, how to use pen sensitivity, etc. She's a little sponge.

The dreaded family photo event took place on Sunday, and while there's always drama around that experience, it was much less dramatic than previous years. However, almost every location the photographer picked was crawling with poison ivy. I warned my family, but I predict itchiness in our futures. Lol, I'm scratching my arms just thinking about it. If you've never seen thick vines of poison ivy climbing a tree, they're actually quite impressive. (I didn't carry my phone or I would have taken a pic).

I failed to re-ignite my once-good writing habits, though I made some progress. Elliah finally got herself onto the river and is heading towards her density... I mean... destiny. (Name that movie). Thirty-thousand words so far, and I've barely scratched the surface. She still has so much of the world to see. The bottom line: I don't have much to report because I haven't written much.

The Warder groaned, stretching. “I feel better already,” he said. “I just needed some fresh air.” He grimaced, putting the lie to his story. But he did look less queasy than he had when he’d disappeared into the gullet of the ship. “Do you travel during the night?” he asked, looking at Liandra for an answer.

“Not in the Amyla. Once we reach the Flawless, we could, though I doubt that we will. The Amyla, even in this more gentle stretch, holds too many dangers, and changes often enough to trick even seasoned travelers. No, we will moor as the day wanes, at Telloria’ahlia.”

“Telloria’ahlia?” the Warder repeated. “That’s a mouthful.”

“Half Telloria?” Hughelas asked.

“Very good,” Liandra said, nodding approval at Hughelas with a smile that discomforted me. “It’s not technically half. Telloria, the true wood elf city, lies in the forest, a full day from the port. But Telloria’ahlia gets its name for another reason.” She approached Hughelas, confident and full of grace, and put a hand on his chest. “They’re like you, part one-elf, part another. Mostly High-Elf mixed with Wood Elf, like your friend. Never seen a Warder-Salt mix like you before.”

Hughelas took a step back, but Liandra moved with him, sliding her hand up to his cheek as his back hit the rail of the ship, preventing his further retreat.

She laughed, pulling her hand away and spinning to turn her back on him, finding, to both of our surprises, that I stood in her way. I didn’t know how I’d gotten there. I didn’t know what I’d intended to do.

Liandra raised an eyebrow at me, and confused by my own actions, I took a step back. She laughed again and strode past me.

Do you hate getting sneak-peeks? Does it ruin the story for you or whet your appetite? Or neither? For my part, I like to prove that I'm still trying.

o To-Do list for writing last week:

~~Email updates~~
Continue with getting books in B&N. Just a waiting game at this point--nothing else I can do for Book 1.
Restart writing habits. I have not succeeded.

o To-Do list for writing this week: