Am very tired. Stayed up until 4am this morning in preparation of a graveyard shift Monday night. Unfortunately, I have to work this afternoon, so a nap is out. Depending on when I get home, I might crash on the couch for a couple of hours.

So, I work Monday late night, I estimate I'll get off about 5am on Tuesday morning . . . then it's back for an afternoon shift. I'm going to be beat.

I went through chapter eight of On Azrael’s Wings last night. Got the basics of what I need to do to edit it. It's just a matter of time before I can get to it.

Chapter seven is complete. Boosted a bit of Azrael's point of view.

Azrael woke before dawn. She lay on her side with Midia cuddled in her protective embrace, a blonde head tucked under her chin. It would be an easy thing to drift back to sleep, to await her slave’s early morning chores, to slake the desire that invariably curled in her belly when Midia returned to the blankets. Such was not an option, however. Azrael and her entourage had an appointment at the slaver’s block. The best deals were had at an early hour, and her prisoners were considered prime material.


She took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of of her body slave, an aroma that spoke of familiarity, pleasure, and home. From where she lounged, she could see the pallet Ursula slept on in the dimness. That one had cried herself to sleep. Azrael had a good idea why. Ursula’s levels of sexual frustration must be reaching an all time high; Azrael’s certainly were. When her new acquisition had retreated from what she so obviously desired, it was all Azrael could do to not take her hard and fast. It had taken great restraint to pull back and dismiss the beauty.


As usual, Midia knew her mistress’ heart well, and attempted to ease the disappointment. The slave had been as enjoyable as ever, even resorting to a bit of play as she pretended to be another. Azrael was rather glad that Midia was with her on this campaign. Vincenza would have no doubt been livid with jealousy at a new slave to compete with. Midia, on the other hand, had years of experience with Azrael and knew how to best serve her.


Memories of the night before flickered across her inner vision as she stared at the pallet, noting feminine curves beneath the thin blanket. Amber colored eyes, hooded with obvious lust as they regarded Azrael’s body; the expression of yearning on Ursula’s face as she knelt at her mistress’ feet; flushed skin and the scent of arousal.


Unbidden, Azrael caressed Midia’s skin, remembering the sensation of Ursula’s flesh beneath her fingers. She licked her lips, wishing Midia was the one on the pallet and Ursula in her bed. It was regrettable, this waiting, but necessary. Her hand continued to roam as she reminded herself of that fact. In her experience, breaking a body slave was unsavory. She preferred slaves and free women who enjoyed her attentions; rape and the subsequent shattering of a woman made her useless, either too grief-stricken or bitter to revel in the physical sensations bestowed upon humans by the gods.

Hopefully this will show Azrael's reasons for not being totally vicious and crude. She has a reputation, you see, and I've got to work to show the reader it's not everything.

Of course, that doesn't mean anything if the reader doesn't like the way Azrael views slavery. It's a fact of life in her time and place, and can't be helped. I know I'll throw off some readers because of it.

Them's the breaks.

Get out there and expand your mind! Piss off the rabid right!

American Library Association | Banned Books Week

Chapter six is finished:

The next four days were the same for Ursula – up before dawn, pack Azrael’s belongings, travel for hours in the wounded wagon and set up camp at night. While Midia prepared Azrael’s bed, Ursula was required to attend their mistress, taking care of armor and food, and lounging in her lap while being kissed senseless. Every night the kisses grew longer, the caresses strayed further, causing her difficulty breathing from the rampant arousal that coursed through her.


And every night, Midia would share Azrael’s bed.

Listening in the dark, Ursula’s imagination ran unchecked to the music of their activities. What did Midia do to cause that low growl, the one that rumbled in her ears and shot straight to her loins? Where was Midia being touched when her moan was interrupted by a gasp of pleasure? What was it like to feel that dark skin? Was it soft to the touch or hard like the calluses of Azrael’s hands? Was Midia even allowed to touch, to respond naturally? Or were there constraints due to her position as a slave?

Finished the fight scene. Divided another scene into two parts – one from Azrael’s POV and the other from Ursula’s.

Azrael’s pretty vicious in the fight scene. It’s only a sparring session, but it’s no holds barred. I hope to illustrate her aloof and vicious behavior as necessary to her personality without alienating the reader. (I think that’s going to be the mantra here. Not alienating the reader from Azrael’s character.)

I’ve got to beef up Ursula’s POV to further investigate why the hel she’s falling for this bitch of a general, too. In a week’s time, Ursula has witnessed Azrael castrate three of her own men for attempted rape, whip one of her captains for laxity, and impale the surviving men of the rebel village for their part in treason against the crown. It’s got to be difficult to intellectually deal with that, ya know?

Heh.

Time stood still. Ursula was certain the gods had sucked out the air in the tent. She could not breathe, or move. Her knees were rooted to the ground and she had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and nuzzle her mistress’ sex. She inhaled, smelling a musky odor. It was one she had begun to associate with Azrael. A strong desire rolled over her, her entire body yearning toward something though she knew not what.

The shock of that want broke her reverie. She did not know how long she had knelt there, and she trembled, fear overtaking her desire. Hastily, she rose, holding the breeches. “I’m sorry, Milady,” she said, wringing the clothing more than folding it. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do.”

Ursula felt fingers on her chin. She looked to see Azrael’s smile. Swallowing hard against tears, she wondered how this evil woman could seem so sweet and caring.

Still working on chapter six. My vacation editing ends in this chapter, and what needs to be rewritten or added must be done from scratch now. About all I have written on the manuscript is 'Beef this up' and 'Show more.'

The army is now encamped at Provey. I'm writing a sparring scene because Steph (a friend of mine) said I needed more action. Here's a piece of it:

blockquote>Leaping forward, she aimed a powerful swing at him. His banter did not dampen his ability to defend himself. He raised his shield and took her left-handed blow, bracing himself against her expected assault. Not impeded with a bulky shield, Azrael slipped her dagger past the edge of his defense. She felt the satisfying give of cloth and flesh as the blade sliced open his shoulder.

The weapons master grunted at the wounding, shifting his shield to block a second attempt by her. He gave Azrael a solid shove, pushing her away.

Indeed, my wife actually read through two and a half manuscripts while she was away. YAY! She now understands why I came to a screeching halt in the latest installment.

Her words: “That’s a perfect ending! Leave it just the way it is!”

Unfortunately, the ‘ending’ is halfway through the book . . .

So, once On Azrael’s Wings is edited, I go back to False Side of Shadow. I’ll have to rearrange things to fill in the center (since the ending is already written apparently.) Then I’ll go back to the Iditarod story to finish it.

Should keep me busy through the winter, eh?

From the blog of Laurell K Hamilton

My theory on the extreme low rise that was so low it showed your thong underwear was that the women who it actually looked good in were so thin they had no breast cleavage anymore, so they went for butt cleavage.

Damn but she has one hel of a point there! LOL!

Beginning of chapter five:

The following day was spent packing for the upcoming journey. When all was ready, the Third Army had three dozen wagons of supplies and bounty. Fortunately for Idonatra, the arms master did indeed have space for many of the weapons, lightening the load considerably from the smithy.

Not many changes, again just the cutting and rewriting to narrow a scene to one POV. While it gains depth from one person’s view, it loses it from another’s. I hope to eventually even it out in the long run.

Toward the end of this chapter, Azrael is moving into the next stage of ‘training’ Ursula. Considering her position as a general and slave owner, it’s not easy to give her character something the reader can connect with. I don’t want to alienate the reader, but Azrael is harsh and at this stage of the game, she doesn’t really give a damn for Ursula.

Azrael backed out of the kiss, amused at Ursula’s attempt to prolong it. It was too soon, however. Ursula no doubt had nothing but painful experiences to draw upon out here in the far reaches of the kingdom. She needed a slow introduction of what pleasure two women could derive from one another. Azrael pulled away, momentarily adopting a stern expression to remind Ursula her place.

A flicker of fear crossed Ursula’s eyes. Her face remained flushed and she swallowed hard as Azrael traced her lips with warm fingers.

“Very nice,” Azrael complimented, a smile creeping across her face as Ursula’s blush deepened. “I can’t wait to taste all of you.”

Ursula blinked once, her expression one of soft confusion as she tried to make the connection. Azrael’s hand still strayed in Ursula’s lap, her thumb dipping to scrape inner thighs. Ursula flushed a blistering red as she comprehended the innuendo.

Fascinated at the spark of passion that flickered and disappeared from Ursula’s face, Azrael gave the thigh a gentle pinch and pushed her off. “Go to bed, Ursula. We march at first light.”

“Yes, Milady.”

Was that disappointment in her tone? Azrael watched her lithe form, catching a hint of wonder as Ursula touched her lips. She sighed, wishing the seduction took less time. But it was better to train Ursula to her bed than break her in the process.

Beginning of chapter four:

For the remainder of the morning Azrael checked guard posts. She scared the stuffing out of a number of Atol’s men on the perimeter, each wondering if she’d heard rumor of further laxity in their cohort. Voices trembled slightly as they gave challenge and received the password, chins thrust out in determination to prove their captain an able officer despite the previous day’s incident.

Not many changes to this chapter. Just tightening up and correcting ponts of view. This chapter is completely Azrael's POV.

Opening of chapter three:

Azrael felt Midia slip out of bed well before dawn. Accustomed to these early morning disappearances, she drifted back to sleep, ignoring the soft whispers and rustling cloth. Had there been an emergency, she would be instantly alert, weapon in hand. Instead, her body slaves utilized the pre-dawn hour to prepare for her eventual awakening.

Some changes in this chapter. More in depth as for as Ursula’s point of view. There’s an entirely new scene added at the end of this chapter, where Midia escorts Ursula to the surgeon’s tent for a look-see.

A piece of that particular scene:

Upon seeing their approach, one said, “Good gods, another one?”

Ursula felt the blood rush to her face as he stood.

“Milady wishes you to see to her new body slave,” Midia said.

The man was tall and thin, his lips set into a permanent sardonic sneer. He came around the table and pulled Ursula closer to a lantern. “Didn’t want her men to outdo her last night, eh?” he asked as he peered at her bruised face.

Before Ursula could think to correct him, Midia said, “Of course not. You know Milady doesn’t treat us in such a manner.”

Ursula gasped at the chill tone in Midia’s voice, not expecting such protectiveness from a slave. Did she love Azrael? Was it because of their intimacies? Ursula could not imagine defending her previous master. Even after she had begun living with the seamstress, he would visit town and drag her away to spend himself with her.

Yet Azrael treated her kindly, almost with respect. And it was her intervention than stopped Ursula’s rape. She shuddered at the thought of the castrations she had witnessed – done by her future mistress’ hand and in a slave’s name.

Her thoughts were so loud in her head, the surgeon had to ask twice what her name was.

First paragraph of chapter two:

Azrael wore clean black breeches, her sword belted over a sleeveless ivory tunic. She braided her thick hair, using a strip of leather to tie it off. Pausing to inspect her bracers, she frowned at the blood still caking the leather. Rather than wear them, she slid the knives usually sheathed at her wrists into her soft boots.

It's been a long time since I've done any writing. Damned if I know why exactly. It's possible that I bit off more than I could chew with this year's goals. Small wonder considering how much I completed last year. Riding on the high of success, I took too much onto my plate for 2004. That's my only defense.

In any case, while my land cruise this summer gave me time to reread On Azrael’s Wings in entirety and edit six chapters in detail, I haven't done much else with it. My Palm running out of juice over my vacation had a lot to do with that . . . I had hoped to type in the changes as I made them. Hand writing with rheumatoid arthritis ain't the greatest.

Just finished going over my notes for chapters one and two. I'll start three tomorrow. Changed the opening scene to a more action oriented one, added a few lines here and there. I was still writing all over the place as far as points of view when I originally wrote this. It's been a chore trying to focus on one character throughout the scene. On the other hand, it's also freed me up considerably, giving me the opportunity to get into the psyche of the starring character.

The opening scene:

It began with a scream.


The sound of it faded as Ursula sat up. Her sleep-fogged mind had only a moment to wonder if she had dreamed the noise before reality burst through the front door in a tangle of swords and bodies. She grabbed at her thin sheet, cowering behind the non-existent protection. A soldier in full leather armor fought with one of the men from her village. They crashed across the small room, destroying weeks of tailoring as lace and brocade, velvet and felts spilled to the floor to be trampled beneath their muddy boots.

Reflections on a wedding | Samizdata.net
Brian Micklethwait (London)

A very interesting blog entry.

One result (among many) of this peculiar fact is a society in which them and us remain permanently divided. Islam, in Islamic minds, is irreconcilably divided from the rest of us, and similar them/us divisions afflict Muslim society itself.