May 7

Time worked:  :50

Work done:  Finished rewriting the very beginning of the story. It’s stronger now, though could probably still benefit from some editing. I also wrote a number of notes for a gap of time I’ve always avoided thinking about. I don’t even know if there’ll be a story there, but I was hit with some ideas today, so I wrote them down.

Writing practice from a few days ago follows. Again remember it’s raw material and may not be entirely clear what’s going on. Also from the perspective of Evan Thossan.

My great-grandfather was 110 years old when I was sent to live with him. Think about that for a second. One hundred ten years old. That’s not unusual, I know, but it’s still old. Now think about how old I was when my parents sent me to take care of him. I was ten. That’s an age difference of one hundred years. I’ll never understand why it fell to me to take care of the old man.

Great-grandpa liked to be called Roba. That’s what he said he had called his great-grandfather when he was younger. I think it’s from some old language that our ancestors used to speak, but I couldn’t even tell you what that was. “Roba” never really cared to share his reasoning with me. He only insisted I call him that…when I wasn’t calling him “sir.”

Roba and I didn’t get along at all. I guess it’s because I was never good at what I did. I was supposed to help him with everyday stuff, like making meals and going to the bathroom. It was boring and sometimes disgusting, so no, I didn’t put my heart into it. I was still going to school, too, not that he cared. He complained about my absence during the day, even when I reminded him that my parents had said they wanted me to finish school.

Every day I wished he would just die already. I mean, he was old anyway. He’d lived long enough, and he was keeping me from having a life too. When I first went to live with him, I remember wondering how many stories he’d tell me, how many skills he could teach me. But he never wanted to talk about anything like that. He just wanted to yell at me for burning supper, or ask me why I wasn’t strong enough to chop the wood right.

Even after I left to join the militia, he lived a few more years. Long enough to see me become a respected Swordsman, even if he couldn’t admit it. Not long enough to notice his sword was missing though.

May 5

Time worked:  1:00

Work done:  Did some revising of the opening paragraphs of my story, which were awkward at best, didn’t do a great job of introducing the story, and tended to ramble. Not done yet, but I’m more rewriting than revising, so that takes time. I also drew up a quick intro to the character I’ve been focusing on lately, from my narrator’s PoV.

From the Pen of Drear: Evan Thossan

I didn’t meet Evan until recent years, but I had heard plenty about him. Naolin had worked with him a few times, and didn’t have many nice things to say about him. Missy had met him too, and she didn’t like him at all. She said he was egotistical, condescending, and just plain mean.

To say that Evan thinks highly of himself would be an understatement. He is very good with a sword and someone you would want around in a fight. In some ways, his happiness depends on being useful to his militia. And he definitely is.

Back in those days, though, he had what some might call an attitude problem. In fact, that’s exactly what got him kicked out of the first militia he joined. That and his tendency to go to extremes to prove himself. He learned his lesson, though, and toned down his less-desirable qualities once he was brought into a new militia. That was when Naolin and Missy first met him.

As Naolin described him, “It was exciting to work with someone as strong and skilled with a sword as Evan. I just wish he didn’t constantly treat me like a child. From the first time I slipped on the ice, he decided that I wasn’t good enough to be in the same militia as he was. He treated me like a commoner. I would never tell him this, but I did admire his abilities. If he would only keep his mouth shut, he could easily become a leader in the militia.”

Missy had nothing better to say: “Most of what bothered me about him at first was how he treated Quinn. I felt like Quinn and I were in the same position–initiates who probably shouldn’t have been on the mission in the first place–so when Evan talked down to Quinn constantly, I felt like his words were aimed at me too. I’m not sure if it was better or worse that he didn’t even bother to speak to me most of the time. Probably worse, considering the horrible things he said about me, even after I’d saved his life.”

After meeting him myself, I wish I could say that they have exaggerated, but I don’t think I can. I do understand him better; he has had plenty of obstacles to overcome in his life–enough to make him feel like he’s superior to others who didn’t have the same trouble. If only he could find a better way to express his satisfaction at what he has achieved.

Evan joins us in “Adventures in Pithea”.