Novel revisions invoke two contrasting emotions within me. First, elation comes with the knowledge that I prepare to lift a 10-year burden off of my shoulders. Second, and not near as easy to explain, a dread consumes me. Other authors have expressed a remorse that a story dear to them has reached an end. They grieve, in a sense. That’s not what I dread. Others fear the publishing and marketing dance they must perform upon the completion of the only part of writing they truly enjoy. That’s also not what I dread.
I dread never being able to muster the energy, talent, inspiration, and bloody-mindedness needed to write the sequels. Never before has an activity or project revealed to me the depths of my lackadaisical heart. It took a decade to squeeze out the first one. Only six more to go, right?
Anyway, while I sort out my literary angst, here’s an excerpt from Chapter 2:
In a flash, she grabbed the earthen jug from the table and smashed it into his forehead. Ale and blood sprayed nearby patrons. He bent over and mumbled incoherently just before tasting the bottom of her boot. Pelomar hit the dusty floor. At that moment, four of his goons jumped up and moved in to subdue her. Daniella grabbed her chair and swung it like a sword. It exploded across the head of the closest of her assailants. The drunken crowd cheered. Daniella sent a third man to the ground with a formidable round-house kick to the temple. The last two combatants decided to rush her together. The smaller one grabbed at her neck for the choke. The larger one lunged toward her waist for the tackle. Shorty got there first. She grabbed his wrists and stepped to one side. The larger man then steamrolled into Shorty and both went headfirst into the wall behind her.
For more about the upcoming novel, Dragonwind: The Lost Land, click here.