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razeI am now on editing pass FOUR of Vol 1, which this time I swear is really for real the last one. My objective is to be done editing by the 20th so I can present it to my partner on their birthday; I've got 100 pages of editing to go, so it will be tight, but we are definitely approaching the finish line.
My time has unfortunately been divided due to NaNo. I am doubtful that I will reach 50k within the month, but I decided to tackle Vol 2 this go around and am happy to have produced 15k new words so far this month. I am re-writing it almost entirely because I am not pleased with the current draft and am making bigger changes even to major plot points than I have in any volumes thus far. It is coming out stylistically more in keeping with Vol 1, which is something I want to keep going as I continue plugging through the series. Also now there's salamanders so it's aleady a better novel.
I'm looking forward to writing this one because so many primary cast members come on board in Vol 2. It is also one of the most brutal volumes, both in terms of being graphic and in terms of emotional weight, and as beefy as Vol 1 is currently sitting at about 210k, I suspect Vol 2 is the longest in the series just based on what's been written in the past and everything I want to add in this iteration. I've actually considered splitting it into two volumes, but the second half of it is so oppressively grim that I'm not sure it would be enjoyable read as a stand-alone piece.
Anyway, here is a very unpolished tidbit of the NaNo progress featuring Trent on the full moon and some foreshadowing about a fire that will be plot-significant:
Five years therian, the process of shapeshifting now came with greater grace and ease, but familiarity and routine still had not made it mundane. I had gotten well past the point in early infection where it served only as an unpleasant reminder of my new inhumanity, and now marveled at how my biology had become something remarkable - fascinating and exhilarating in much the same way I once viewed therianthropy as an outsider. The heady rush of the animatus flaring to life in response to the lunar glow, the bodywide pins-and-needles sensation of every cell brimming with energy, the rapid bloom of a dense pelt, tissues contorting and reshaping painlessly in defiance of what seemed intuitive: it really was an incredible experience. Then, of course, there was the end result: blinking into a night brightened by eyes now adapted to capture dim starlight, fine nose raised to the breeze with every wan odor for miles magnified, I stretched, felt my reformed muscles already primed to roam the steep inclines around me with fluid ease.
Even on full moons, I’d progressed to a point where I had decent control over my behaviors when in a fully bestial form. I did appreciate that settling into a more wolfish state of mind placed my tendency to overthink on the back burner temporarily, such that I could enjoy simply being immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of the natural world, but gone were the days when I would lose all sense of my humanity and consequently face the night with trepidation for what might happen. In the deepest mental shifts, there had been an eerie sense of watching myself interact with the world as though I were an outside observer, registering stimuli through a sort of haze but not in command of my responses - it begged the unsettling question of if I’m in the passenger seat, who or what is driving? I’d actually read psychology texts that had described dissociative episodes similarly and wondered if -
Well. Aberrant psychology was of lesser interest to a wolf, at any rate, and rather than losing the thought outright, I simply bored of it. Things that were less dull: I could hear the damp glide of worms through the upper layers of the wood mulch, the soft percussion of pine needles brushing together in the breeze, the high whistles and squeals of bats - long-eared myotis were most common in the region this time of the year - as they cut through the air in pursuit of prey. A nearby tree bore the scent of bobcat urine; predatory markings always made me hackle a bit in response, doubtless an instinctive response to something that could be a competitor or threat rather than prey - but from experience the species gave therians a wide berth and we were unlikely to encounter one another. There were prey smells as well, of course, and I would be the one practicing avoidance; being in better control was not a reason to tempt fate, so after a thorough investigation of a mule deer’s dung heap, I set off away from its trail.
I wove through the trees at a slow trot after a brief skywards gaze to confirm my intended trajectory. I might have been able to simply follow the scent of water if my destination were a larger aqueous body, but this time of the year glacial run-off filled the mountains with small, transitory streams, which muddied that particular mode of detection. I hopped spritely over the first I encountered, knowing from experience that they were unpleasantly cold to wade through, though made for excellent drinking water with a mineral-rich flavor. This was actually true in human form as well; a resistance to pathogens and parasites made finding potable water in wilderness much easier when things like giardia were no longer a concern.
As I traveled westward, the wind shifted in my favor, and I caught the smell of something I hadn’t anticipated: fresh smoke, the promise of a recently active fire perhaps still not fully extinguished carried by the breeze, and while the scent was not so heavy as to indicate a massive area, it certainly large enough to slightly sting my nose and eyes even from afar. Wild fires were common enough in the Bitterroot during summer months, so it wasn’t odd per se, and the advent of global climate change had produced longer burn times and more violent flares, but I did wonder about the cause. The fire risk was currently set to ‘moderate,’ and there hadn't been any storms recently, so a lightning strike was unlikely. While irresponsible campers were often the source of a blaze, it would be peculiar for anyone to be setting up camp this deep into the wilderness. Curious. I adjusted course slightly to investigate, though watched the forest closely for the frantic movements of fleeing and wounded prey animals lest the temptation to chase upon finding them unexpectedly prove too great.
My time has unfortunately been divided due to NaNo. I am doubtful that I will reach 50k within the month, but I decided to tackle Vol 2 this go around and am happy to have produced 15k new words so far this month. I am re-writing it almost entirely because I am not pleased with the current draft and am making bigger changes even to major plot points than I have in any volumes thus far. It is coming out stylistically more in keeping with Vol 1, which is something I want to keep going as I continue plugging through the series. Also now there's salamanders so it's aleady a better novel.
I'm looking forward to writing this one because so many primary cast members come on board in Vol 2. It is also one of the most brutal volumes, both in terms of being graphic and in terms of emotional weight, and as beefy as Vol 1 is currently sitting at about 210k, I suspect Vol 2 is the longest in the series just based on what's been written in the past and everything I want to add in this iteration. I've actually considered splitting it into two volumes, but the second half of it is so oppressively grim that I'm not sure it would be enjoyable read as a stand-alone piece.
Anyway, here is a very unpolished tidbit of the NaNo progress featuring Trent on the full moon and some foreshadowing about a fire that will be plot-significant:
Five years therian, the process of shapeshifting now came with greater grace and ease, but familiarity and routine still had not made it mundane. I had gotten well past the point in early infection where it served only as an unpleasant reminder of my new inhumanity, and now marveled at how my biology had become something remarkable - fascinating and exhilarating in much the same way I once viewed therianthropy as an outsider. The heady rush of the animatus flaring to life in response to the lunar glow, the bodywide pins-and-needles sensation of every cell brimming with energy, the rapid bloom of a dense pelt, tissues contorting and reshaping painlessly in defiance of what seemed intuitive: it really was an incredible experience. Then, of course, there was the end result: blinking into a night brightened by eyes now adapted to capture dim starlight, fine nose raised to the breeze with every wan odor for miles magnified, I stretched, felt my reformed muscles already primed to roam the steep inclines around me with fluid ease.
Even on full moons, I’d progressed to a point where I had decent control over my behaviors when in a fully bestial form. I did appreciate that settling into a more wolfish state of mind placed my tendency to overthink on the back burner temporarily, such that I could enjoy simply being immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of the natural world, but gone were the days when I would lose all sense of my humanity and consequently face the night with trepidation for what might happen. In the deepest mental shifts, there had been an eerie sense of watching myself interact with the world as though I were an outside observer, registering stimuli through a sort of haze but not in command of my responses - it begged the unsettling question of if I’m in the passenger seat, who or what is driving? I’d actually read psychology texts that had described dissociative episodes similarly and wondered if -
Well. Aberrant psychology was of lesser interest to a wolf, at any rate, and rather than losing the thought outright, I simply bored of it. Things that were less dull: I could hear the damp glide of worms through the upper layers of the wood mulch, the soft percussion of pine needles brushing together in the breeze, the high whistles and squeals of bats - long-eared myotis were most common in the region this time of the year - as they cut through the air in pursuit of prey. A nearby tree bore the scent of bobcat urine; predatory markings always made me hackle a bit in response, doubtless an instinctive response to something that could be a competitor or threat rather than prey - but from experience the species gave therians a wide berth and we were unlikely to encounter one another. There were prey smells as well, of course, and I would be the one practicing avoidance; being in better control was not a reason to tempt fate, so after a thorough investigation of a mule deer’s dung heap, I set off away from its trail.
I wove through the trees at a slow trot after a brief skywards gaze to confirm my intended trajectory. I might have been able to simply follow the scent of water if my destination were a larger aqueous body, but this time of the year glacial run-off filled the mountains with small, transitory streams, which muddied that particular mode of detection. I hopped spritely over the first I encountered, knowing from experience that they were unpleasantly cold to wade through, though made for excellent drinking water with a mineral-rich flavor. This was actually true in human form as well; a resistance to pathogens and parasites made finding potable water in wilderness much easier when things like giardia were no longer a concern.
As I traveled westward, the wind shifted in my favor, and I caught the smell of something I hadn’t anticipated: fresh smoke, the promise of a recently active fire perhaps still not fully extinguished carried by the breeze, and while the scent was not so heavy as to indicate a massive area, it certainly large enough to slightly sting my nose and eyes even from afar. Wild fires were common enough in the Bitterroot during summer months, so it wasn’t odd per se, and the advent of global climate change had produced longer burn times and more violent flares, but I did wonder about the cause. The fire risk was currently set to ‘moderate,’ and there hadn't been any storms recently, so a lightning strike was unlikely. While irresponsible campers were often the source of a blaze, it would be peculiar for anyone to be setting up camp this deep into the wilderness. Curious. I adjusted course slightly to investigate, though watched the forest closely for the frantic movements of fleeing and wounded prey animals lest the temptation to chase upon finding them unexpectedly prove too great.
