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Trust me

I'm sure you are dying for an update. Book Four, the Lords of Nordheim (tentative name), is two-thirds thru, and a familiar thing happened --  change. When one writes as slowly as I do, and adds characters and names, as I do, details get a little blurry. I do keep a notebook in front of me with names, places, recipes, and the like, but sometimes it's not enough. So what do I do? Read it thru, of course.

Going all the way back has three good purposes: find out if I like the story; get a jump on my first edit; and make necessary plot changes. The plot changes are a tricky thing right now -- should this person do that, or know more, and when does this happen? Like everything else I've written, it comes down to trust. I can't over think the plot, or it might drive me crazy. Just like writing with imagination, sometimes you have to let go and see what comes thru. I often surprise myself.

Here's a snippet before heading back:

Andro sensed a change in the air, which seemed to stir with new warmth, for most of the ride until then held a chill despite the sun. The trees were still in full bloom, and some even bore fruit; that was, in places where order took over amid the woodland. A great orchard sprung up in the middle of the wilderness – a sudden uprising of apple and pear, red plum and cherry. Hazelbert ran in lush rows aside the butternuts, only now showing signs of fall foliage. All seemed a waiting feast.
“Don’t do it,” warned Leonin when Andro reached up to pluck a perfectly ripe pear.
“Don’t do what?”
“Tempt fate.”
Andro just smiled. Maybe Armond was right about the Sindelwarian – they knew little of kindness.
By now the paths were grass and soft beneath the horse’s gait. The sun lowered into a deep autumn crimson and suddenly the forest dropped away to expose a wide field before a great wall of forest, stone, and thorny vine. At the end of a white stone road that crossed the threshold from the northeast appeared a massive green gate. Leonin was surprised they made it this far without encountering a soul. That would soon change.
Leonin turned to Andro who understood at once.
“I know, I know. Hands open and at our sides.”
“That’s right. And let me speak first.”
Leonin’s advice was hardly needed. Andro had no desire to address one of the High race on his own.
The shadow of the gate felt eerily silent. Large twin doors of the finest woodcarving made up the common gate, which was a peculiar name, for commoners found rare welcome there. Leonin dismounted and looked on dumbfounded, for when he attempted to knock the entry was already open.
“Do you think they know we were here?” asked Andro.
“The moment we entered the forest they knew,” replied Leonin. “But I cannot fathom why the city door is ajar and unguarded.”

Andro offered a wide-eyed look. Horses in tow, he swallowed hard and followed Leonin through the Common Gate of Sindelware.

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