Some manuscripts more than others, of course.
I recently started a new novel. A fantasy, of course, first in a series. And this one is looking like it will be one of those novels where each word is a drop of blood wrung from the heart of the writer.
At least that is my wish.
I'm quite excited about this story. And just a little nervous too, of course. Because this is going to be my largest book, grandest concept, most complex storyline, and most fascinating world yet.
It is the Epic of Aedonia.
Here are the opening lines of the book--one section from both of the main characters' first chapters--just to whet your appetite.
Ronan's Chapter -- Cry of the Sea
The cry of the sea-demon awoke him. Shrill—more of a scream than a cry—the sound pierced the thatched roof and walls of the fisherman’s hut and brought Ronan to his feet, gasping for breath.
He swayed and clutched his hammock with one hand to steady himself. The scream rang in his ears, a high-pitched wail keening across the lonesome shore. Always the sea-demons called to him.
Always he tried to forget.
He clenched his fist, until his arm shook with the force. A stab of pain brought a cry to his lips. Blood trickled down the sides of his hand, spattering his bare feet with dark spots.
Ronan gazed uncomprehending at the blood and then at his hand. He was holding his harpoon by the blade while the metal bit into his palm. He yanked his stiff fingers apart and released the harpoon. It clattered against the stone floor.
Ceridwen's Chapter -- Outriders
The stench of death fouled the air. It filled her nostrils, seeped past the gloved hand she instinctively held to her mouth, and clogged her throat. She could not escape it.
Death was near.
Mindar, her horse, danced a nervous jig beneath her, hooves pawing at the forest loam. A puff of black smoke burst from his nostrils. Ceridwen tightened her grip on the reins, restraining the excited hylshum steed, and pulled her hand from her face to stroke his neck.
Even through the thick leather of her gloves she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. If he didn't calm down, the flamebreather was liable to hold true to his name ... and the prospect of extinguishing a forest fire started by her own steed was even less desirable than investigating this stench.
Well, that's it for now! Pretty rough still, though there'll be plenty of time to sort it out later. Time I crack on though and finish writing the rest of the story. I've got over twenty pages of outlines and world building notes to help me out. And thank goodness! There's no way I'd be able to keep all of it straight without them.