Tuesday, May 31, 2011

SocNoc - the Countdown...

SocNoc starts tomorrow. The Southern Cross novel challenge. Anyhow, at present I am working on three books:

1. Aroha's Grand Adventure - currently being proof-read by others (should be released in July/August)

2. Midsummer Knight's Quest - onto its final edit (hopefully available by Christmas)

3. Untitled Lemur Epic - in progress/conceptualising

The last few weeks I have been finishing up most outstanding art trades and swap cards and also editting "Midsummer Knight's Quest". In the act of doing this, I have been turning some of the show to tell. Tonight as a warm-up for what I shall be doing tomorrow, I wrote 1283 words, give or take.


Original prose - Tell
It was the pixies that Hemlock liked best, however. These fierce little creatures looked a little like teeny, fuzzy giants but for their short legs, extremely long arms and sharp, pointy fangs. They decorated their fur with swirls and spots, stripes, spirals and stylised animals, braiding animal bones into their shaggy manes. Their clothing comprised of stitched animal skins and their hats made from the heads of weasels or small rodents. They hunted their prey with spears and slingshots and after some pleading (and a bribe of chocolate-chip muffins) they taught Hemlock not only how to sling stones, but also how to make his sling. To his surprise, the goblin proved to be a decent shot, striking his target nine times out of ten.

Revised Prose - Show (extract)
Relieved, Hemlock dropped the bundle. It had not been heavy, but it had been awkward.

Butterscotch untied the knot and opened it out. “I've brought scones,” she shouted, “in payment.”

For a moment nothing happened, then the trees began to twitch. Cat-shaped eyes apppeared, staring down at them. Several lanky figures dropped from the trees, snatched up a scone and sprang back up. Soon all the scones had vanished, but one of the figures remained.
“Hail goblin,” said the creature. It was another faery. Although no taller than Butterscotch, he was much rangier. His lean, muscled body was covered in fine golden hair. This was decorated with swirls and spots. He leaned forward to sniff Hemlock, broad nostrils flaring. The bones braided into his golden mane clinked together. Hemlock sniffed him back. He smelt feral – of blood, sweat and ill-cured leather. The latter wafted from his clothing - straps of animal pelt stitched together with sinew.

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