WIPMarathon Intro

I found out about Ifeoma Dennis's fabulous August Writing Marathon through Roselle Kaes, and since I’m ready to start a shiny new WIP and could always use a motivating kick in the butt…here I am. :)

Marathon Goal: To bang out at least 20,000 words of my shiny shiny brand spanking new (did I mention shiny? It’s shiny) YA fantasy, LADY SPRING.

Stage of writing: First draft (SHINY SHINY NEW AND SHINY)

What inspired my current project: My first MS subverted a number of fantasy tropes, but was still set in a medieval-Europe-lite setting (albeit with a protagonist of color). For my current project, I wanted to jettison Tolkienesque notions of fantasy entirely: there are no non-human races and no magic, the setting in no way resembles Europe, nobody goes on a quest to save the world, the majority of the characters are women (some of them trans), and every character but one is a person of color. I also wanted to write a story with George R.R. Martin-style political intrigues and power jockeying, so here we are.

What might slow down my marathon goal:  1. My foolish agreement to make Ren Faire costumes for my friend and myself. 2. WriteOnCon! 3. I observe Shabbat, so that’s a full 25 hour period each week I can’t do any writing.

Because all the cool writer kids are doing it...

Here's my submission to Brenda Drake's Pitch Madness contest. Good luck to everyone who entered!

Title: PRINCESS OF SWANS Genre: YA Fantasy Word Count: 84,000 Pitch: To bring peace to her war-torn country, disfigured, sheltered princess Feyana Belmaron must journey deep into hostile territory to find—and court—a ruthless enemy prince. If only she weren’t falling for someone else. Excerpt: Tavor Castle is beautiful, for a prison. The white stone castle is small but well-kept, and its fields and woods cover almost a square mile. Even the looming, twenty-foot walls enclosing the grounds have an odd charm to them. To protect you, Father says, but I know better. It’s to hide me. The only ugly thing in Tavor Castle is its princess. I jam my foot into Lulari’s stirrup and glare up at the walls, wishing my hate could melt them. Only a little longer, until the war ends, and I’ll be free. Father promised that much, at least. I turn away and cluck Lulari to a walk. The warm breeze ruffles my fascinator and fills my nose with the ripe scent of horse. I smile. Outside, there may still be walls, but at least there’s no ceiling. I brush back a lock of hair—and an ashen, black-cloaked woman appears in my path. Lulari rears. I clutch at her mane but grasp nothing. The ground races up to slap me, and pain jars through my shoulder and back. A stablehand races toward me, her dark hair flying behind her. “Your Highness!” Breathing hard, I stir my arms and legs, then probe my ribs for tenderness. Nothing broken, thank Dal. I sit up and groan. “I’m fine,” I say. “Is she all right?” “She?” The mysterious woman lies crumpled beneath her cloak, her face unnaturally gray. I crawl toward her, my shoulder throbbing, but the stablehand pulls me back sharply.