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A new day in Turra Arrither  
   Yes, tonight is about a very important number; no not 2013, this is a number dearer to my heart -- 100K. A writer should set goals, and 100,000 words is a heavy one. Some books need not go that far, but Epic Fantasies, well, tend to ignore puny word counts. Does that mean "Prince of the furies" is finished? Not quite, but I'm nearing the climatic end. So, a little ways to go; just a re-write or three, some new maps, a glossary. Sigh. Need I go on?

   Ok, I better acknowledge the other somewhat important event of this evening -- Happy New Year!  A blessed 2013 for those who enjoy my books, or just like the blog (hey, the pics are nice. Right?). To my writers friends out there, happy writing in this year to come. So whatever you do in 2013, do it well!

   To celebrate, Here's another snippet from book three Prince of the Furies (not the finished edit, mind you):

Brenn was most eager. This was his first visit to Idarill. He entered the kitchen that was cleaned of dust, thanks to the boy; but it was also clear of the smells one desires most, of bread and cakes, for the stove had been dormant for a year.
He followed Armond, who offered a short tour, down the hardwood corridor where windows offered rich views of southern peaks and forests. They stepped out into the main room, which rose tall in a broad square with shadowy rafters and a balcony with rows of books. Greynol’s pride and joy. A broom rest atop a set of stairs, left fresh and clean by Rhen.
The hearth was cold and dark in its long slumber. Cushioned chairs remained dusty and unused. Brenn surveyed the chamber:
“Seems quite livable. Greynol must have gained his wisdom from reading. Lot’s of books here,” he said, turning the page of a large tome that sat upon the room’s central table. “I could never read something so…thick.”
“Come along, there are plenty of rooms down the hall. The last one seemed to be his,” replied Armond, starting for the darker western corridor.
They came to the Acolyte’s room, stale since it had been closed up for the most part of a year. The bed was made and unused, and the room was plain, save a small book upon a stand beside his bed and a half-spent candle, snuffed out in its tin.
Grey Lane -- Thalon
“I will chose another room,” muttered Brenn, “this is his place. Doesn’t feel right.”
Armond gazed out the side window that gave a view of the hillside cemetery, which contained a handful of markers with names like, Idarill and Maxius. “There are plenty of beds here. Seems, this was once a busy place,” he said.
“Sad now, it belongs to no one.”
Just down the hall they discovered a larger room with several soft beds -- they found it to their liking. Drago and Zerrin came in and the four of them settled in. When they visited previously, for only curiosities sake, they discovered winter had damaged several shutters, and a tree out back was split during a spring storm. Out of Drago’s bag came a saw, hammer, and nails. Keeping the place in order would honor the old man – at least they thought so.
Brenn took the rest of the afternoon getting a fire started beneath the stove. He had brought some beef, carrots, fresh beets, and wild onion. He had plans on a stew. From the sound of it, the other chores were far from his liking, since the split tree was aside the graveyard. That job belonged to Armond...


Congrats on getting so much writing done in 2012!

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