Write Me A Novel

So, I’ve been putting it off for a while…

I wanted to sort of just dive in, get the juices flowing, get some writing done. I wanted to concentrate on the micro, on finding a couple of interesting characters, getting to know them. Then, I wanted to play around with a couple of my weak areas.

In some ways, it has been like online dating, I think. I’ve learned all sorts of things about Keeley, Aramus, and Bastion; I feel like they’re old friends. Yet, I don’t even know where they live. I’ve got a couple of generic geographical references (some woods, a village, “the Briarwood”) but I’ve no idea where those things are (or when, for that matter). Today, I suppose it’s time I start figuring that out.

Dawn loomed just past the Withered Oak. The people of Thousand Springs had begun calling that particular tree the “withered oak” several generations ago. It

Nope. Don’t like it. Thousand Springs? Come on!

Guess I’d better back up. Am I in a fictional world, or a real one? Let’s try real:

Dawn loomed just across the water. Bastion could see just the tip of the sun as it rose over Raleigh’s Island. He wondered, would they make it until the English ship returned?

OK, I’m guessing this isn’t historical fiction. At least, not historical fiction in Roanoke during the “lost colony” period.

Dawn reared her ugly, withered head. Bastion tried to remember, through the haze of his hangover, how the hell Dawn would up in his bed. All he knew was that the monkey…”

Come on, Bob. You’re just being silly now. One last try.

Dawn loomed at the outer edge of Charles Town. Aramus watched as twilight withered. He knew that, very soon, their little piece of the world would begin to move. Workers from the river plantations would be bringing their carts up the street, and setting up for Saturday market. In a few hours, one of the ships from the West Indies, probably Barbados, would make its way into dock.

The Son of Fire. Aramus couldn’t fathom it himself. Six months ago, he had been a ship’s mate, sailing from England to make his riches in the New World; today, he was the Hero of Charles Town, the one who vanquished the papists from Carolina, Hijo Del Fuego. Six months ago, he would not have believed such a thing to be possible; today, he wished that it weren’t.

That will do, I think, for now. Not especially well-written, but I think it tells me where these folks all are from. Incidentally, I think that Keeley’s ogre/assassin may become either “the priest” or “the Spaniard.” “The Briarwood” will have to change, too.