{Writing Journal} Day 27: Merry Christmas & Writing The Rebel’s Bride

By the time this posts it will be Christmas day. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late, but like a little kid I’m excited for Christmas morning. Not the “What am i getting this year excitement?” as that went away by the time I was 16. I was a really hard teen to shop for and as an adult my hubby would tell you I’m impossible to shop for. I was never one for presents, still not. It’s not that I don’t like to receive them, I just prefer to give them, it’s easier then trying to figure out what I wanted for Christmas.

What can I say? My needs are very simple. Books to read and a computer to write on.

Anyhoo, the other reason I’m still up is that the quiet of evening is a perfect time to write. I had a good deal of the scene done because during the planning stage this was one of those scenes that spoke to me strongly and I wrote about in great detail. Some of what I wrote I kept, a lot of it I had to tweak, and some of it stayed as is. The hard part was piecing together the bits of deleted paragraphs I had that worked for this scene and do so in a way that mad sense.

Total Word Count for Today: 1,346

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Disclaimer: These snippets are unedited and might be entirely different in the final version.

Peloti’s face reddened and his nostrils flared, his mouth opened to spit something hateful at her, she was sure. But Kiptal interrupted with, “What do you know about the Rebellion, Laramina?”

She took the interruption for the save it was. Peloti was after something and she didn’t believe that either of them would be happy with the answers. “You’re fighting the Council over who gets to be ruler. I believe each of you claim to have the strongest contender for the High King’s Throne. Lord Bych being the Angeloi’s choice.”

She’d never been interested in politics, finding it all rather dull and convoluted, but right now she wished she had paid closer attention. It suddenly seemed very important to her life. Maybe if she’d paid more attention she would understand what was so important about the daughter of a farmer who had made a name for himself as a trainer of warriors and rose through the military ranks by the skill of his sword arm? Maybe she would understand why the daughter of Darton, who had been given the title of Lord Farlon because no nobleman wanted to live in the borderlands and deal with the Rebels so close to their gates, needed to be delivered safely to the Rebellion? Maybe she would understand why these Rebels would risk so much for her? And how Cynel fit into this world?

Kiptal nodded, smiling at her like a proud father. “That’s the political side of it. But there is a personal side for those of us who are fighting to avenge the deaths of our families, or for those seeking survive the death decrees placed upon their heads.” His eyes flicked to the spot over her shoulder and to Cynel. “Then there are those who are sworn to protect the only living child of the High King.”

Mina frowned at him. “The entire family was killed by assassins. There are no survivors.”

“Nyfeli traitors,” Peloti growled, glaring at Cynel.

Mina shook her head, remembering the stories her father told her of the young soldier who’d witnessed the massacre and been forced to hide from those who’d kill him for the knowledge he held. “But they weren’t just Nyfeli.”

Gallen’s glaze narrowed on her face. “Who else was there?”

Mina glanced at him, strange and terrifying images rising from the darkness of her memory. “Angeloi soldiers and Demonii warriors.” She shivered, shoving the images back into the dark. She didn’t want to remember what a child must have witnessed that bloody night. “My father said people were wrong to blame one race for the actions of a few bad people.”

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