Fantasy Romance
Leikar knew zombies and knew how to fight them.
Most important thing was to keep them from getting too close to spread their contagion.
His fire spells did just that, and this kind of undead followed orders absolutely. They would continue charging headlong into the flames unless their master commanded them otherwise.
When no command came, Leikar assumed the Knight had already killed the necromancer.
They’d won, but he still wondered if he’d given up his own life helping the man.
As the Knight of Valor destroyed the three ghouls coming at him from behind, the first wave of zombies closed in on him.
The Knight screamed as they tore at him.
Leikar ground his teeth, knowing the Knight was a fool.
But he couldn’t not help.
As he emerged from his hiding place, a fire spell was already
on his lips.
Leikar watched the Knight of Valor fight, the man’s sword literally ablaze with the light of the gods.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen, and the holy energy was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
But it was still a losing battle.
Not even a Knight of Valor could stand up to so many undead alone.
Leikar avoided the Tamarian forces, knowing exactly what they thought of a mage.
But not even the trousers and work shirt he’d taken from a dead man hid what he was.
Anyone with a modicum of training could sense the magic flowing through him.
He just hoped he didn’t come across anyone with a modicum of
training.
Someone recently asked me how I could keep working on a story after eighteen revisions.
Some would say stubbornness tenacity, others that I might be a little crazy.
Honestly, it’s a combination of both with a sprinkle of inspiration and perfectionism.
In writing, as with many creative endeavors, perfect is the enemy of good. It’s also the enemy of done. But, I do have a strong need to have things as perfect as I can make them. I won’t be happy until I feel like I’ve created the best thing that I can. Letting go and releasing things that are as good as I can do, even if not perfect, has actually been a journey for me. It’s one of the reasons why I sometimes struggle to reread my older work. It was the best I could do at the time, but I’ve gotten better since then.
Sometimes, the writing just doesn’t come. Sometimes, I stare at the blank page and no more than a few words appear on the screen. I still make myself sit and spend at least thirty minutes a day trying. And, I have set myself up to succeed by purposely arranged those thirty minutes to be at a time where I am not exhausted. Yes, it has meant rearranging my schedule, but it’s also increased my productivity. And, if I’m lucky, those thirty minutes will lead to more. But I have to apply bottom-to-chair to have any hope of making it happen.
Not sure I’m allowed to admit that I love them, but I can’t spend days, weeks, even months on ends trying to create characters I don’t love. I want them to get their happily-ever-after, so I keep working.
Sometimes inspiration guides me, and when it does, I can’t type fast enough to get the words on the page. Those are truly glorious moments. As a writer, you live for them even though they are rare and precious.
Anyone who can read the same book eighteen times and still be willing to rewrite it again? Yes, we have our share of crazy.
How about you? Any of you have tips on how to keep at something you know needs to be done but may have lost the inspiration to do?
Rohan was right.
The woman inside was not his daughter. Had never been his daughter.
Where was Elise?
Where had they buried his little girl?
A sickening thought wormed through his stomach.
What if Rohan was right again and she was still alive, hurt, and all alone?
The king began to run.