Braenduir Chronicles

is a captivating new epic fantasy book series for adults. Not recommended for the most sensitive readers because of the explicit content, though! But if you don’t mind severed heads and intimate scenes, keep reading. 

Winter came again

The spring was almost here. The snow was melting and it was nice to go outside for a walk when you could actually get somewhere. That is to say, outside the common, maintained roads, in other words, forest. I rejoiced too early, of course. Today, in the afternoon, it started snowing again. Thanks, Mother Nature. More snow was just the thing we all asked for… As if there hasn’t been enough of it already this year.

So much for complaining. The weather is what it is and there certainly are worse things to deplore of in the world these days.

I’ve spent three days without writing a word. I’ve watched about twenty hours of series on Netflix (very profitable, indeed), and entertained my family in our house which is always as wearisome as it is delightful. Tomorrow, I should get back to the script though I am again slightly at a loss for how to proceed with it.

I took my protagonist where I need him to end up, and for 20 000 or so words it worked out brilliantly. Then I stumbled into the same pit as I did on the second draft (Or was it already the third? I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve rewritten his part in the second book.), him falling for a wrong guy. It is always the same wrong guy that I somehow am unable not to bring on the scene despite of knowing full well that the two of them cannot be. Still, I can’t help myself. I’ve never found writing the dialogue quite as easy as between them. It is like they were meant for each other.

Again, what I’m saying sounds utterly insane save maybe to the other writers. After all, I’ve invented the characters. I decide their fates; whom they fall in love with, whom they find not so desirable and so on. Don’t I?

When it comes to the guys in question, I seem to be but a puppet in my own play. They’re drawn to each other like flowers to the sun (Gods, did I truly just wrote down such a hackneyed metaphor?! And I’m calling myself an author…) At first, the other fellow was meant to be just a minor supporting character. A disposable one to be sacrificed on the altar of drama. He was never supposed to meet the protagonist, but in one point, I found myself altering the plot so that bringing them together became possible. And after they met for the first time… Well, I seem to be incapable of keeping them away from each other.

I am “plot as one goes”-type of a writer. I do have the broad outline sketched, but even that’s nothing, I couldn’t change on a whim if a better idea strikes me. This is obviously both a blessing and a curse. On the other hand, without such flexibility, my story would be much (even) duller than it is, but (There’s a saying about what all that’s said before the word ‘but’ is…) it also makes finishing the script all but impossible. A better twist can always occur, see.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m stuck with the cursed script again, struggling like I’ll be struggling on my midday walk tomorrow, unable to choose whether to take the maintained road, clear, yet seen countless times before, or the path in the woods overtaken by the spirits of winter which may lead me either astray, or to the ending that even the writer herself couldn’t predict. As if it mattered which route I pick. I’m still writing to practically no-one but myself. Something that I should keep in mind for otherwise, I fear I might get stuck in the snow forever.

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