I've Jumped into a Dungeon

     A while back, I had this random idea about a princess' discovery of a dungeon in her own castle. It didn't seem like much of a story, but I typed up the first chapter to make myself feel better. Then I shelved the project away -- not intending to ever come back to it.
     But, in the past 7 days, the dungeon came alive to me. Strands of storylines and characters wound through my head. Yesterday, I had the chance to sit down and type, and I wrote nearly 5k words.
     I'm at a little bit of a block today. Yesterday, after many failed attempts, the princess made it down into the dungeon. Today, she is trying to return to the dungeon, but the door is locked...again. I am not sure why the door is locked and I am working hard to find a way to get her down there. I'd really like her to be able to go down at will now. If only she could find a secret door...or maybe find the keys...or something...I don't know, but that is where I am stuck (my princess is staring at the locked door with an armful of fruit) and I just have to figure out a way to open the door.
     Hmmmm...
     I am having so much fun writing this one. :)
     My princess is not having fun. No, I am sorry to say she is having rather a rough time of it. But that is what happens when a very sheltered princess finds out that other people are suffering and it's sort of her fault.
      But...I don't want to give away too much of the story just yet. ;) So that is all that I am saying about it today.
     And, you will be happy to know, I think I may have just figured out a way to get my princess through the door...I'm off to try it out!

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A Hard Goodbye

"You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian. He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer. I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip. Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything. But did he appreciate his opportunities? No. And I hated him for it. "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?" His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question. Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash. "They don't DO anything." My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly. Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed. ...

The Countdown: Eight Days

Eight days. Do you know what that means? Barely over a week. Tomorrow will be one week from the announcement date. Are you excited? I am. So, today, I want to talk to those who wrote something for the contest, whether or not you entered it in the end. What made you start writing your story? What was the first inkling of an idea that tickled your brain? What was it that you liked about your premise? As you wrote, did you have a favorite character or a favorite scene? And are you glad you wrote it down? Do you feel like you learned and grew in your ability as a writer as you tried out things for this contest? And, if your story isn't included in this year's Rooglewood anthology (either because you didn't submit it or because it didn't fit with the other four stories selected), what will you do with it? Will you market it elsewhere? Or will you lock it away in a drawer?

Goodbye and God Be With You

It's rather fitting that some things come to a close on this day -- the last day of the year. I submitted my last entry into the Rooglewood contest this morning. I can hardly believe it took me until the day of the deadline to send it in because I'm usually earlier than that. And, even with the extra time I took, I still felt a little bit like maybe I could have done better if I had more time. But there was no feeling of regret when I hit "send." Mostly it was just a prayer that Rooglewood would hear the heart of the message when they read it and that maybe, if I win, they could help me bring the full potential out of my little story. And there was also a feeling, after working on these stories for more than six months, that it felt good to close that chapter and move on to the next one. I did it. I wrote them. And I'm really proud of them. Last year, the act of hitting "send" on my contest entry catapulted me into an anticipatory state....

The Pen of a Ready Writer

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