I've been slowly working on TYW again. I think part of my laziness with my editing/revision process is creating index cards knowing that my other laptop (with Scrivener) had this done already. Biting the bullet and doing it anyway.
I also hadn't realized I didn't make one entry in April -_- There were some notable things that happened both happy and sad moments. Without going into heavy detail the biggest was the loss of a coworker. I had hoped I'd get to see her before hand but I never got the opportunity then again I'm aware there were probably a lot of family/friends needing and wanting to see her.
Last month I also got to see Hamilton at the Fox which was awesome. I attended a few vegan related events including a health fair and cheese making class. I also half-azzed participated in Camp Nano. My motivation has been pretty low. That said I made it to a weekly writing group for the first time in months and plan to attend tomorrow.
And I'm back in the coffee shop today (was here yesterday) so I'm hoping this means the mental shift has occurred. Hoping to have a few sessions at the coffee shop this week - doing some read-throughs and drafting/revising.
That said I really should be off but I did want to post my latest Lync story. Another based within the world of TYW. I have the first draft and then the final (based on the character limitation set for my Lync status box). I still love my first two as my faves :)
FIRST DRAFT: In the forest rest the soul of the late Mr. Willowby. ‘At night he crept, by dawn he wept’ sang the Lights beneath the darkened streetlamps. A warning to the children of Folly that did little to curve their curiosity. Tasha was eleven the first time. Her eyes weary, stomach in knots, and fingers with fresh welts. She held the lamp with shaky fingers as she guided the recruits to the tree Mr. Willowby was said to have sacrificed himself at. The tree was wide speckled with tiny red buds at its base. Each representing a life loss. “Do you think he’ll show tonight,” one of the girls asked. Tasha’s raised her fingers toward the light of the lamp and simply smiled.
FINAL DRAFT: Mr. Willow was a sacrifice. ‘At night he crept, by dawn he wept’ sang the warning from the Lights beneath their darkened streetlamps. Tasha was eleven. Her eyes weary, stomach in knots, and fingers with fresh welts. She held the lamp with shaky fingers as she guided the recruits to the dismal tree speckled with tiny red buds at its base: Each represented a life loss. “Do you think he’ll show tonight,” one of the girls asked. Tasha raised her fingers toward the light of the lamp and simply smiled./ZeEnd