I don't have much more to say. I am considering sending some of my YA books (Paradise Seekers, Steelgods) to a smaller publishing house, such as the local Shadow Mountain. It at least would be a rewarding experience, and we'll see where it goes. I still fully intend to continue writing and attempting to market adult books to both agents and the "Big Six," but for now I have a large collection of YA books (including a potential series) that I wouldn't mind seeing some recognition.
Not much more else to say. Work is going well but is busy, but it IS helping motivate me to write in the evenings. I'm feeling relatively confident, but we'll see how long that lasts once I'm on the phones by myself.
Picking up Wise Man's Fear again, with intention of finishing it. It's such a well written book; I'm loving it to death. Even if one could argue the plot itself moves a bit slow, the wonderful narrator and fantastic prose make it easy to read. I wish I could write this good.
To prove I can't, I have an extra long quote for you. This is the end of a chapter that is about three chapters from the end of part 2.
Also, for the record, EC is ~111k right now. If each part is the same length, that would mean the final product would be 333k. That would be both amazing and horrifying, so I'm shooting to make the other parts shorter.
Ciara was silent, the rain falling harder. Lightning and a blast of thunder accented the already dreary scene, the sound rolling across the valley and causing the leaves on the trees to tremble. Still, she stared at Thomas.
And for that moment she believed him. As she looked across his set jaw, his determined eyes and rain-soaked hair, Ciara saw someone else. The impish bookworm she knew was gone, the boy replaced by a man. A man refined by impossible circumstances. A man accepting unbelievable realities and still pressing forward.
The man she had always loved.
She reached forward and touched his chin, the emerging beard poking through the thin gloves. She turned Thomas’ face towards hers, staring deep into his dark eyes.
“Thomas,” she whispered, refusing to break the gaze. “Tell me we can do this.”
Thomas’ lip curled ever so slightly to a smile, and his eyes softened. “I won’t say we can. I’ll say we will.”
Ciara was swept up in his sudden embrace, strong arms holding her tightly as she pressed against his rain-drenched shirt. Despite the assault of confusing emotions Ciara still did not cry, her fear and worry slowly melting away, pooling under her like the rainwater. Thomas held her to him for a long moment, head still high, hair slicked back from the rain.
At last the separated, and when they did Ciara saw a smile – a real one – etched across Thomas’ face.
“I think,” he said, “that maybe we can do this after all.”
Ciara pressed a finger to his lips, indicating he be silent. “I won’t say we can,” she smiled wide, “I’ll say we will.”