Rewriting another novel

I finished my rewrite of Apocalypse, and currently I don’t have enough distance from it to look at it objectively anymore, which is why it will go back to dev edit shortly.

So where does that leave me relative to writing? I can either start a new book, figure out what to do with the idea for Gods’ Seeds (I’m struggling with that — there’s so much I want to do that it could be two books, my usual problem) or I could look over the post dev edit on Gaia’s Hands and see if I can feel better about it.

I’ve decided to work on Gaia’s Hands. If (when?) I get Apocalypse published, Gaia’s Hands would be a prequel. As such, I’d like to get it polished while I have the time to and before I come up with any other bright ideas. Whose Hearts are Mountains, which still needs a developmental edit, would be the next novel after that.

Yes, I have a plan. All I need is for the stars to align so that I can actually get something published. If you pray, put in a good word for me.

Day 1 Camp Nano April 2019: The beginning of Gods’ Seeds:

I’m trying to motivate for April Camp Nanowrimo and a new book. Here’s an excerpt from the first chapter:
*****

A group of beings — human-like, but with a venerable air for all their apparent youth — sat in a room whose black crystal-crusted walls shone with reflected light from the molten white floor, from the white and silver table, and seemingly from the participants themselves. The paucity of light did not lessen the sterility of the surroundings.

“The Apocalypse proved that we, the Archetypes, no longer take our protection of the human patterns seriously,” Luke Dunstan said earnestly, his hands tented in thought. His visage, weathered in contrast to the unlined faces of the other immortals around him, announced that he had become worldly and, unlike most Archetypes, had committed evil — in his case, for the sake of good. Unlike most Archetypes, he had also repented, which gave him a perspective that could be called almost human.

“But they still embrace evil,” the Baraka Archetype, short and spare like his people, countered. “They fight wars. They envy each other and they commit crimes out of greed.”

“Or out of want, or madness, or jealousy or a dozen other things,” Luke stated, the grimace on his face reflecting a view of reality he knew had wavered from the neutrality of an Archetype. Su, his consort and the Oldest of the Oldest, watched impassively, her tightly curled hair ruddy in the sparse light. She knew how to play the game, Luke noted sourly, something he had lost in his long association with humankind.

“If we give them the full impact of their cultural histories — not just the facts, but the emotions — the fear, the hatred, the xenophobia — “ The Bering Strait Archetype trailed off.

“How do you know it will make them worse? They already have the stories of their peoples’ pasts, and those seem to inspire xenophobia, it’s true. But what if they remember the full impact of the losses of war and weigh it against their hatred — would they decide to fight more? Or would they lay their weapons down?” Luke paused to take a breath, to calm himself down, to wear the gravitas of the Archetype instead of the passion of humans. “The point is that, if they kill each other, millions of them will not die with each death. If we keep holding the patterns of the humans — “

“One of our deaths will kill millions of humans,” Su interjected. “Which is why the Maker created us nearly immortal. Yet Lilith, who held the patterns of all women, was nearly killed by our kind. Can we guarantee this won’t happen again?”

All of a sudden the residents of the room stopped speaking. Luke felt as if a wind had cut through his immortal bones and chilled them for just a moment. Then he felt the weight, a weight of the history of countless descendents of the people of the seax, the knife that gave its name to the Saxons. And then his burdens vanished, and he felt a hollowness inside. The gasps from the others at the table echoed his.

“What — what was that?” The Ibero-Maurasian snapped, breaking the silence..

“I think — Su, did you notice anything?” Luke asked, knowing that Su had not carried humans’ patterns, their cultural DNA, for millennia as all her people, the Denisovans, had long since become extinct.

“Nothing,” Su answered, “except that all of you around me froze for a moment, and slumped forward. As if something had been taken away from you.”

“As it has,” the Bering Strait Archetype murmured. “I think — I think we have lost our patterns, and if we have, the Maker has taken them from us.” He sounded bewildered, as if something more than the weight of patterns had been taken from him.

“I must see — “ the Ibero-Maurasian said, then paused, and Luke knew that she mindspoke another Archetype. “No,” she finally said, speaking slowly as if weighing each word. “I think we are the only ones whose patterns have been taken.”

“But what does this mean?” the Baraka demanded.

The Arnhem Archetype, theretofore silent, spoke. “I think this means that the Maker has decided for us — He will take our patterns from us whether we are ready to relinquish them or not. And we’re the harbingers of this big change.”

Conversation with Leah and Baird

I sit at a front table at the coffeehouse. I look out the plate glass window — outside, the incessant rain punctuates my gloomy mood. I watch two people rush inside, looking wet and miserable. The tall man shakes droplets out of his black curls and the woman, long blonde hair tangled from the storm, playfully swats the man in the shoulder. He laughs at her. “You’ll need to get a lot stronger for that to even begin to hurt, Leah.”

They look young, she just out of high school and he in his early 20’s. They lean close to each other as they speak, not quite touching. I can feel the tension of their not quite touching, and understand their plight more than they themselves: they are young and in love, and they do not want to be.

Then the woman glances around and spies me. She taps the man’s shoulder and draws his attention toward me. They make a beeline toward my table. “May we sit down?” the woman asks. “We need to talk to you.”

It’s then I realize who they are. “Leah Inhofer,” I noted as the two sat down. “And Baird Wilkens, right?”

“Of course you know us,” Leah acknowledges as she sat down. “You’re the writer.”

Baird brushes a lock of wet curly hair out of his eyes. “You wanted to talk to us.”

“Yes, I did,” I admit. “It’s time to write about the two of you, and I need to get a better feel for you.” I pause. “You first, Baird. You’re a Nephilim and you were born not that long ago. Who are you?”

“True on both counts,” Baird notes. “It’s been about a year, but luckily, being a Nephilim, I became very quickly. I fell into the agricultural concern at the Dance, sensing that farming was where I could serve best. I found myself gravitating to the Maker mythos of the Archetypes rather than Leah’s Christianity — “

“Not my Christianity,” Leah corrects. “I don’t know what I believe, I don’t judge like my parents’ God does.” Leah shifts in her seat. “My parents don’t approve of me hanging out with Baird, because he’s a Nephilim. They can’t handle that he’s not fully human, because it calls into question all they believe as Christians. His father’s an Archetype — too much like an angel and not enough like one for Dad’s liking.”

Baird shrugs. “I don’t like that at all. I have to work with him, and he’s cordial enough to me, but he doesn’t like Leah spending time with me.”

I suspect there is more to Mr. Inhofer’s discomfort than Baird’s parentage, but I keep quiet.

“Leah,” I ask. “What are you doing now that you’re out of high school?”

“I’m waiting. My goal is to get to college and then vet med school, or at least vet tech training. We need a vet at Barn Swallows’ Dance. I’m trying to get in at the University.”

Baird looks at Leah pensively. “Baird?” I ask. “Are you going to stay at the Dance?”

He shakes his head as if clearing it. “Oh, sorry,” he murmured. “My mind wandered.”

“Earth calling Baird,” Leah teased. “Come in, Baird.” Baird’s pale cheeks took on a rosy tone as he looked down his nose at Leah.

Baird smiles, and I see something in his smile that Leah doesn’t, a longing. It’s not my business to tell, I realize. Only to write.

Decision Point

I’m at a decision point:

Do I edit Reclaiming the Balance, or do I start writing?

I think I’ve stated this before, but I haven’t written anything new since I finished Whose Hearts are Mountains back in November/December.

It’s time to write. It’s time to get reacquainted with the story line and with my main characters, Leah and Baird. I’m taking some retreat time this weekend to see what I can get going as a start.

I’m a writer again!

The Beginnings of a Novel

The outline for the new book is going very slowly …

Let me explain the general idea of the book. This is in the Archetype series, none of which has gone to developmental edit yet. A little background: Archetypes are near-immortal beings who are tasked with holding humanity’s cultural memories. If the Archetype for an ethnicity dies, all of the people whose patterns they hold die, so that an entire ethnic group (and, more likely, a large group of people of mixed ethnicity that includes that group) die. This is why Archetypes have been held apart from humans and each other.

My series covers the interactions between one particular renegade family (unique in that Archetypes don’t generally have family bonds) and humans. The humans have their own uniqueness in that they have been gifted with abilities by (depending on who you ask) Gaia, the Maker of the Archetypes, God, or genetic enhancement.

The story I’m writing, tentatively called Gods’ Seeds, involves two threads that will come together as the story develops. But here’s a first attempt at synopsis:

The Council of the Oldest, the ruling body of the Archetypes, has announced that humans’ genetic and cultural memories will be gradually divested back to their humans, as humans have been found fit to retain them. Meanwhile, a young woman on Earth named Leah Inhofer sees horrific visions of Archetypes battling each other, with thousands of human casualties resulting. The Archetypes grow restless, knowing that their reason for existence is being taken away, and they will take desperate measures to keep this from happening. The conflict draws battle lines between Archetype and Archetype, and Leah must find the strength to stand between the two — or watch the decimation of humanity.

****

There’s a lot of writing in-between this paragraph and a novel. There’s character, there’s subplots, there’s relationships between characters. And there’s a lot of words — about 80,000 words on average. That’s why I’m going to write an outline, to help me find my way through the plot of the novel.

Wish me luck, and let me know if you’d read this novel!