![babblebabble.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/kaelci/lk0rt8qG-babblebabble.png)
<div class="pull-right"><sub><em>Header image is CC0 and courtesy of <a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/table-wood-notepad-notebook-1558811/">Pixabay</a></em></sub></div>

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<h1>The Babbling Begins!</h1>

Honestly, I want to babble today about my writing but I don't know where to start. I did make a new header image -- that's a start! 😆

Since I've been focusing on the wonderful world of Lyria and Cael instead of the silly nonsense of Joey and Jenny, it was time I quickly whipped up a little something else, no matter how simple it may be. Cheers, Pixabay!

<CENTER><img src="https://images.hive.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?format=match&mode=fit"></CENTER>


A year or so ago when I stopped staring at Lyria and Cael, after deciding that it was a stupid story that no-one would care about except for me, I had stopped at a crucial spot.

I've plotted and arranged the story to be about 36 chapters total. I've written and re-written the first 22 chapters twenty-million times and could probably write them again, word for word, by heart, without even looking at a previous copy I know them that well.

The next 5 chapters were written only once or twice and were still highly rough-draft, and had information in them pertaining to the original story and not the evolution of the story.

Those 5 chapters are what I've been breaking my back over this week -- and they are the crucial ones. I mean, some may argue that the very first chapter is the most crucial one! And I agree, to an extent. I *did* force myself through Raymond E. Feist's *Magician* and his chapter one was a boring, boring BLAH. The rest of the book was wonderful.

I've taken it upon myself to make sure no chapter is boring. None. Even in the ones where it seems as they there is down-time, things are happening. I think my main worry now is not that my story is stupid and only I care about it, but that it's too fast paced! 😬 Time will tell.

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So I believe that these middle chapters are the crucial ones. This is the peak of the story. The first half of the book leads up to this peak and now is where *shit gets real,* so to speak.

I like to think that I've done a good job with these 5 chapters and they now match my evolved writing style... now I have to:

- write one last chapter involving mages who live in the Sundered Isles, there's an important young girl up there who has *stuff* to do.
- write someone's death, which has already been written many moons ago but needs to be updated to fit the current narrative.
- write someone else's rise to power, once again something already in rough draft form that needs to be updated.
- then I have SIX MORE CHAPTERS to go. That are unwritten. That I cry over whenever I think about them. That are going to kill me. Haha!

<CENTER><img src="https://images.hive.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?format=match&mode=fit"></CENTER>


It's hard to just share what I've done because there's no context for what happens before, but here are a few tidbits from this week's Scrivener-ing 😊:

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> His father was silent for a long moment as he studied Lyria from beneath a furrowed brow.

> “I see, young miss,” he sighed. “Only too well, I’m afraid. Both of you, leave. I need to think. I need to send word to Rede. I am not prepared for this!”

> “Father?”

> Cael touched a tentative hand to his father’s shoulder, only to have the man throw him off with a violent jerk.

> “Go away, Cael.”

> His stomach lurched. Though his father was concealing it well, he hadn’t seen the man in such a state since his mother’s death, and never had he so bluntly told him to ‘go away’ before. Was their relationship truly this bad? If he ever had a son, he would be a better father to him than this man was to himself. Squaring his shoulders, he stalked from the room without a word and leaned against the cool wall, trying not to allow his father’s rejection sting too much.

> “Cael?”

> Lyria’s soft voice cut through his angst. He whipped around and fumbled against the wall as he hid his distress, but his heart pounded harder against his ribcage as he noted the concern in her eye. How could she possibly care after how he had treated her that night — how he had treated her since she had first stepped into his city? His own father didn’t care for him! If only he could relive and redo this last year of his life. Maybe his father would actually like him and maybe she wouldn’t think him to be such an oaf.

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> Flat grasslands arched up to meet a mountain’s rise. His legs ached, beads of sweat matted his hair and rolled down his back, and even Ari seemed tired, her breaths panting from beneath her lolled tongue.

> “It’s okay, Ari. We’re close,” he said between gasps.

> Her nose twitched and she leapt in front of him, stopping his passage, her vigour renewed as she released a low growl that trembled the ground. Raising her hackles, she froze.

> “Ari…?” He stiffened. A peculiar stench wafted over him, forced itself through his nostrils and pulled at his stomach. “By the Gods,” he groaned. “What is that?”

> Silence greeted his question. No insects chirped, no night birds called to the rising moon, and though there was a breeze it was as an intangible ghost that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. Ari flicked her ears back and forth, listening to something only she could hear, and then he heard it too: a crazed, guttural cackle that echoed across the plains, above the mountain, and twisted up from the very ground.

> With a trembling hand he drew his sword. 

> Ari whimpered and chills struck his spine — he had never heard her, or any plainscat, whimper before. She slowly turned her head toward him, her golden eyes clouded by terror, and released a tiny cub-like mew. 

> The screaming laughter surrounded them in a cacophony of whoops and shrieks, and fuelled by sudden instinct he slapped her on the backside and yelled, “Go!” then forced his exhausted legs further up the incline as the cat bounded up and away.

> He had barely advanced five yards when the ground rumbled and quaked, grass and dirt separated at his feet, and blackened hands pulled their decaying bodies out from the ground, their foul stench intensifying. It sapped all that remained of his stamina and held him bound. He couldn’t move. The red haired witch had found him, and this was how he was going to die.

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> Andru's shoulders slumped as he stood silently with his back turned to her, his head lowered as he considered his own thoughts, then finally he yelled, “Cael, stop eavesdropping,” and whipped back around as loud footsteps hurried into the distance. “Miss Lewell, as much as this situation absolutely infuriates me, you now wear the mark of the Gods upon your face and I will not risk their anger, nor can I shatter that damned scale around your neck that permanently binds you to my son.”

> “Sir,” she whispered, suddenly emboldened by the mark. “Why do you hate me… us — mages?”

>  He stalked to the door, leant his head on the frame, and released a shuddering breath.

> “Understand that I hate what you are, not who you are. You are a lovely young miss,” he cleared his throat though that did not remove the edge honed within his voice as he grumbled, “and I am proud of my son for his fine choice.”

> Lord Andru swiftly strode from the room with no further word and she realised that behind his angry mask he hurt near as much as she did. Lyria stared at the empty doorway for several long minutes before her heart crept into her throat and tried to choke her. 

> Somehow, her Lord’s diplomatic reaction felt worse than the burning hatred she had initially feared and she buried her head into the soft pillow that sat upon the blinding white bed, her cries muffled as she wept for Cael, for herself, and for the curse that ruled over her life — their lives.

<CENTER><img src="https://images.hive.blog/p/TNXt1szZ4jbwPsgFmU7s9wtMMHaQrtLWBFmxsyEYLxtFXery96oT1eeML2cEg3vmKLjeBvevjPCYnurwdXFoEyKtBnSWnj1fmSscDfNShQAXmyjh3XmbCupaexq74KaZfkxSnCXp3s9PdvZLDYQ3p2WDY2Ets6frK8pELde94KTsNRoF5QWG5xLnuasDYPJQHw61MVxmhqBwAFrUF6tEBC7qpkryixpmwNvLvRgRtJzJfaJVgrorDmbpmpoDiokVKZMv4s2pW4RnaGAHfToV6bvjYxZRUgHXknSETAnAE4wpQShYCcLSHthzHSUpTaTPCUMJb?format=match&mode=fit"></CENTER>

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<CENTER>Can I finish this damned thing before the end of May/Maynia? 😉 Wish me luck!</CENTER>

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<CENTER><h1>HAPPY MAYNIA! 🍻</h1></CENTER>

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