For "Let's Talk"

Here's my dialog heavy scene for the "Let's Talk" Blogfest. It's something that may or may not actually make it into a WIP... but I always wanted to see the interaction of these two characters. They met four years ago in another land, when Endoric went to assist the Lord Kallikenne against an invasion from an army from across the ocean. The enemy comes from Loysa's homeland and for her the battle is a continuation of a political disagreement started between her Uncle and Emperor a decade prior. Now, the enemy is a guerrilla organization living in the same land Endoric and Loysa (with friends) mostly saved. Mostly, because the enemy obviously isn't gone yet and now Endoric's home is threatened.



Loysa set her pack just inside the tent, then secured the hide flap. What now? She thought, surveying the camp. She had received a look from the sentry when she requested to join, but he hadn't denied the request.
He said, “Take it up with our leader.”
She wasn't anxious to see Endoric again. It had been a long time, and it had taken her even longer to figure out he wasn't dead. Not that it had been a bad thing for the survivors to adopt nicknames. Loysa knew from her own experience just how effective images were. Titles and names could create symbols. She hadn't seen through his, not until Tati and Ahgi left to settle in the town. Then she had had a reason to look again.
“What are you doing here?” Endoric demanded.
Loysa forced a smile as she turned around to face him. “Heard what you were up against, and thought you could use some help.”
Endoric stepped around her, opened the tent and grabbed her pack. “Not needed,” he said in a gruff tone.
He tossed the pack at her. She caught it against her chest. “Glad to see you too.”
“Loysa. I have a little sister to raise. I--”
“Here is no place for a child.” Loysa slung her pack over her shoulder. She didn't plan to actually leave, but it didn't hurt him to think she would do as asked. For now. “And I should know.”
“That is no excuse.”
“Excuse for what?” she asked.
“You—are not...who you were then.” Endoric stepped around her, with all the intent of leaving her right there. Outside the tent.
His men had started to take notice. The men sharpening swords moved their hands just a little slower. Men whittling arrow shafts from branches set their knives aside.
“So, it's going to be like that then?” Loysa didn't care who heard. She raised her voice. Even the whetting stones were set aside. None of the men looked up.
Endoric didn't take another step. His back was rigid. He didn't turn around. “Four years, Loysa. A lot has happened.”
“Tell me about it. I was in the middle, right from the start.”
“Not since Dermiy fell,” he said quietly. Still, his deep voice managed to cross the distance between them, and carried a biting edge, too.
“Don't be so sure, Endoric.”
“Right. You helped the Mieseon army.” He stalked toward her. His brow creased, just a bit. Enough for her to know he was angry. “The same ones who wouldn't help when the enemy crossed the border.”
“I wasn't headed there, not originally.” She dropped her pack at her feet. It landed with a dull thud, followed by a cloud of dust. “I was headed for Dermiy. But the town wasn't there by the time I got to the border.”
His shoulders relaxed. But his brow was still creased. He stood close now. She lifted her chin and refused to shy from his anger. He had every reason to be, as she saw it. She just had to wait for it to spend itself out.
“And you wound up--”
“With the Miesons, yes. But we gave the mutual enemy a good go.”
“And now you're here.”
“You're not dead. You left Dermiy. And what ties I had with the Mieseons just settled down for a less bloody life in a little town on the border.”
“Shouldn't be less bloody on the border,” he returned.
“Shouldn't be,” Loysa agreed, planting hands on her hips. “But you and I know that what we're fighting now is the same as back then. And they are anything but conventional.”
Even the brow began to relax. He still wasn't comfortable with her presence, but at least he wasn't angry. “Their strategy has changed.”
“It's easier to prevent your people and the Mieseons from uniting than it was to separate the groups in the north.”
“You still have insight?”
“Yep.”
“And once you're stuck with...what you're stuck with...”
“You're stuck with it.” He meant the Silver, the magic of her people, which allowed her to alter perceptions around her. She didn't use it often, it was quite taxing, but the enemy used it on the battlefield. She could counter it, and they were none the wiser. In her homeland across the oceans, even her family thought she was dead. Here, they couldn't determine how or who fought them at every turn. But Endoric's people, with their legendary ability to control metal and kinetic energy, were generally blamed. Loysa always liked that she could make her allies appear even more powerful than they actually were. Symbols, after all, were everything.
So there was one more lie she held. One more illusion she had to break. Would he trust her again? If she told him?
“Your sister is alive,” Loysa blurted.
He took a step back. He looked so pained for a moment, and then hope followed. Once, he'd had five sisters. Now, she didn't have to tell him which one she meant.
“Tati,” he said.
“Yes.”
“She's in the town you spoke of?”
“Yes.”
“And her friend?”
“Ahgi too.”
He stared a moment. Then he knelt, gathered her pack and returned it to the place in the tent. Loysa remained where she was. He'd have to sort through what all this meant. His sister had been with the Miesons. She had gone to Larnen to seek help, and in doing so had run off before the attack.
“Tell me--”
A horn sounded from the edge of the encampment, interrupting him. Endoric cursed.
Loysa grinned. That was what she remembered.
“Tell me everything,” he finished. “Later.”
“Later,” she agreed.

Flirt Scene

Cora did her best not to look up from her meal when John entered. They weren't supposed to have met already. Father couldn't know. But she did listen as John traded pleasantries and was seated at the other end of the long table. He was introduced to the Lady Emmaline, their gracious host, and her daughters.
Meanwhile, Cora and her father were seated with other merchants, far from the Lady and her honored guests. That didn't mean appearances had no merit.
Cora dipped her spoon in the soup, raised broth to her lips, and tasted nothing. She listened for his voice, and caught a word or two. She kept her eyes down cast, and said nothing.
The courses passed her by. Eating felt like an act. She pretended to eat, when really she listened. She pretended to converse, only when spoken to. She would make her father proud that she tried. She did her best, then, to ignore John. She concentrated on eating, and the act grew painful.
Father spoke with Barry, who owned the shipyards to the east. It seemed they were haggling about something. Cora was glad it distracted her father. She no longer felt like pretending she enjoyed these outings.
A servant set a glass before her. She could not imagine eating another bite, so she stared at the pudding. She contemplated dessert as the others scraped their dishes clean. Laughter and conversation made it seem to Cora that everyone else was done. She still could not seem to lift her dessert spoon. Lady Emmaline stood. “My daughters and I would like to thank all our friends and guests for observing Vera's birthday. If you would now join us in dance...”
On top of this meal??? Cora thought.
She did not look up, not even as laughter seemed to grow further away. The others left for the ballroom. Cora decided the pudding matter. She stood, and about bumped into John.
“What are you doing here?” he said by way of greeting.
Cora reddened. “I was invited.”
“We're alone, no need to whisper. But we'll be expected in the ballroom soon.”
“I wasn't going to say anything,” she said. Cora was mildly annoyed that she could not seem to raise her voice above a hiss. “You didn't have to approach to me.”
“Hardly. What am I to know of it? I only met you that once--”
“But I knew who you were. I did nothing with the knowledge.”
“It wouldn't look good for either of us.”
“There is that.” Cora noticed how close John stood. It was precisely like the other day, when the guard had chased them. The ban on spell-casting had been city-wide. The guards had been out in force, and they knew precisely where to look.
Apparently, while John and Cora hadn't known of each other before that day, they had been doing precisely the same thing. Mind, they were at opposite sides of the city, and hadn't known of each other. The guards, by chance, had chased both to the center of the city.
“This is a far better place to meet someone than an alley.”
“Happenstance.”
John chuckled. He tucked her hand through his arm. “You are here to dance, yes?”
“According to my father, I'm here to seek a husband.”
“But not to you?” He led Cora to the ballroom.
She couldn't drag her feet if she wanted. She couldn't protest. She was trapped.
Together they passed through the archway into the ballroom. John took her hands and spun her onto the dance floor. He skirt spun about her ankles. She knew she would trip. She would stumble over her feet. She would fall on her face.
It was then she saw that everyone watched them.
“You aren't the only one leading two lives,” he said
“I don't want either,” she returned.
“Well, now we're in it together. You have my secret, and I yours. No going back.”
“Fine.” Cora forced a smile. Everyone would expect a merchant girl to be pleased to be dancing with a lord.
“At least, you provide an out for me,” he said.
Cora decided he was a better actor than she was an actress. His doting smile almost seemed real. He leaned down, so that his breath tickled her neck. “I'm going to call on you, Mistress Cora.”
She was ashamed at the sudden weakness that made her miss a step. She could feel his smile against her cheek.
“I take it you won't mind?”
“I'll mind,” she forced out. The words had more bite in her thoughts. They had fallen off her lips to gently.
When the music stopped, he kissed her hand. His lips lingered long enough to give her butterflies and inspire the beginning of evening chatter.

New Look

I guess I wanted something new to look at.

On the technology front, news of the HTC Evo 4G permeates my house at the moment. I know phones don't seem to correspond with writing, but I'd argue that's all surface. More and more, people with smart phones do their reading on the phone. Blogging, tweeting, Facebook...all of these instant communication media are made easier by the smart phone. I know that my favorite time to be "in communication" is when I'm on the go. I know this doesn't work for drivers, but for me--I walk to the grocery store and that's a 15-20 minute walk. Good for a phone conversation or texting. The ability to scan blogs on my trips to the farmer's market and Trader Joe's is addictive as an idea. I can't stop thinking of the prospect.

The train ride to midtown/downtown will lose all monotony. In order to write, I feel that I have to keep up with the news. But other responsibilities keep me from spending the hours and hours online researching, catching up on my favorite blogs and the like. A phone! A phone! It will be the answer.

Wait a month, lets see if I've pinned hope in the right place.

What I'm Doing...

I was reading this article on Writer's Digest and I thought it interesting. I have to admit that when I'm dragging with my writing, I am a complete social media addict. It is my ideal to be hooked in all the time. But, when I am busy, and when I get the hard bits smoothed out to the point that I am really writing, then I am in communication while on the go. I don't drive, so the time I spend walking to the grocery store, back from grocery store, to the farmer's market and back...to meet people or whatever is on my schedule...I spend the travel time calling, texting and so forth.

But this was part of the point for a 'New Writers Group' as I see it. The critique group is the heart as it focuses on the writing and offers connections to other writers. But stuff a bunch of people in a room, all from different critique groups, and they become a Writers' Group. A network of groups is stronger than a single group. The amount of knowledge, and the less work it requires to meet goals. Then there is the fact that those of us who cannot be full-time writers just yet have times when life intrudes so far that it squeezes writing-time into nothing. Other writers, plus a workshop environment without a class is certainly motivational.

Then there is the little fact that the nature of publishing is turning on its head right now. Yes, the traditional way still works. For now. And the agent-query process might not change too dramatically, but the information revolution has hit the industry. Advice for writers is changing and I think the nature of support in our local writing communities needs to change.

The women got it. And I think we'll see younger men holding blogs soon, and updating more frequently, though theirs might be shorter. Communication is a requirement of this new generation, and textual communication is sidling up to spoken communication in level of importance.

There are many male bloggers at sites like endgaget, but this "type" of site is not the same as the "personal blog." Do women still outnumber men in the more standard journalistic blogs? And women outnumber men in the Personal blogs (like this one, which if it were in a newspaper would likely be an op ed)? If so, is this a digital representation of report/ rapport speech?

Whatever the case, facilitating an online presence in some fashion is likely to be second nature to the next generation of writers. I will certainly believe that they will find ways to utilize this space in ways far different than we do now. I think doing so will be necessary to keep pace with whatever changes occur.

That said, their is a duality to our culture right now. It is something I've mentioned before and which I don't feel that the marketers are using to full effect. Publishers are focusing on digital space, as our writers. But there has to be a real-life component. There has to be a group that mirrors the web of intricate social connections that take place online in the real world. i know a lot of established authors find themselves enmeshed in such a network, but those of aspiring to something...well, we need it to get our feet on the first step up. Going to Conventions and Conferences is part of this, but it isn't the whole. Some of us don't live in vibrant literary cities, and we can't up and move to some place that is. We need to create community in our backyards. We need to become visible in our communities, as we are online. We need real-world visibility to create internet-visibility. This is what Sylvanopolis Writers' Society is doing. Slowly but firmly we are carving out a spot for ourselves in Sacramento.

SWS Today

Today I made a Twitter account for SWS (Sylvanopolis Writers' Society) and worked on our fan page. I've been poking around for news and interesting stuff, and feeling like a lot is quite dry right now. I think it's because it's Monday.

I'm finding cool blogs and writers through groups on Facebook, but not too much in the way of news. I'm going to start poking around Twitter seeking to establish connections. I haven't been advertising this blog very well. I think sometimes I have to wade in the pool awhile before I decide to swim. But there's nothing like Leafkin to get me in the water! So, I'm working on it.

Join me for the ride.

Helpful Links

Leafkin is coming. I am starting to write to-do lists and devise calendars to coordinate all the things that need doing. Then I get to ask people to achieve particular things, and then see if we can pull this all together. Talking to our members, the stories are coming together, and I can't wait to read them.

That said, I have helpful links, today.

Query help

agentquery.com

guide to literaryagents

There's a lot more where things came from! I'll share what I can find...when I can find it.

Reading and Stuff

I finally am catching up on my Google Reader subscriptions. For awhile they were merely collecting while I focused on job hunting and writing. Now, I'm in training for a cafe position that may or may not pan out. The economy not only hit Sacramento, but has kept pounding it into the ground. My old college's career center evidences this fact as it keeps trying to convince me I need to move across the country (as is Monster) when they e-mail me details on really cool jobs in New York, Pennsylvania, or wherever.

Sorry, still have stuff to do in Sactown.

Technology is the big distraction in my house. My guy and I read a bazillion blog posts about the iPad when it came out(not really, but y'know...). Then there is his not-so-subtle love for the HTC Evo 4G... and provided that the TV is also the main PC monitor...the news is right there, in front of my face. Distracting, made even more so because it is so fascinating. I do half of my blogging sitting on the couch in the living room, anyway.

Then there was the release of Silver Borne by Patricia Briggs. I've been following her since I stumbled over her second book, over ten years ago. She was a new author back then, and a bit obscure because of that. When I discovered my friend Lucille also followed Briggs while we were both in High School, we became fast friends. We have bought each other Briggs' books for birthdays and such for the past few years now that adulthood has found us.

I'm still collecting Chinese myths for my new project, and am trying to develop the courage to call a few friends I haven't spoken too in a looonngg time because they might have helpful knowledge in this area. Ok, it's one person. But still, we're no longer terribly close and hanging out is just, well, awkward. I'll do it for the story though. I might need a translator and said person is fluent in Mandarin and fully Chinese-literate last I knew. That's kind of a rarity here in Sacramento, from what I've seen of my age group.

Lucille, actually, has been the biggest help, running things by her mother. But Lucille is in the last stretch of dental school, so I'm trying to avoid from calling her with inane Jing/Lara questions.

That said, the story is building in the back of my mind. I think on it a little, and there are more characters, firmer settings and structures. I have to write it soon, and I'm aching too, but I also don't want to ruin this one. I know that if I research just a bit more, plan just a bit more, before I get too attached to anything I'll have a far better product for the first write through. Then...I get to address the other story trying to rattle around in my head. After Lara has had her say.