Writing Log: Vicesteed ch. 26 done.
02/27/10, Saturday
Deleted from Vicesteed, ch. 26
Old chapter wordcount: 1,539
New chapter wordcount: 1,067
Vicesteed Draft 1 wordcount: 207,877
Vicesteed Draft 2 current wordcount: 146,914
Notes: 7 chapters left, and they're pretty much all climax. Aw yeah.
Reason for deleting scene: This bit is good for context and character-building, but at this point? Those don't matter so much. Time to turn it up to 11.
Which deleted scene is it anyway?
Rosemary was watching the return of the prime minister with all the other guests, when the harsh sound of a mirror shattering rang through the ballroom. The prime minister jerked, a bad sign; he was the sort of gentleman who was usually impossible to perturb, or so Rosemary's father had told her once. Rosemary certainly didn't have such a subdued reaction. She jumped, startled nearly out of her skin. Her nerves were wires worn to near nothing. A servant set down his tray and hurried across the room to the latest calamity.
At least she wasn't the only one affected by this unpleasantness. All evening she had been plagued with distracting twitches of feeling on her arms and legs, as if she was surrounded by a swarm of biting gnats whose wings constantly brushed her skin. It did nothing to aid her composure.
Her "reintroduction to Society" wasn't going as well as her father had once hoped. Oh, Lady Hasting's relative, Mr. Brooks, had been as amiable as promised. Rosemary had made shift to converse of pleasantries, though her skills at such conversation were more than rusty, and he had made all the appropriate responses, but he failed to interest her in the least. As she had done nothing to encourage his interest, and her looks were too unremarkable to do so, she presumed that his kind attentions were to fulfill something in the nature of a social obligation. It was the way things were done, and she took no offense from it.
She was relieved that there was at least one gentleman not sending her piercing, slanted looks that weighed her up and dismissed her as an uninteresting country cousin. The other invitations that she'd received to dance had turned out to be nothing but pretexts to ask her all manner of forward questions, and while her dance partners' arms had never varied from the proper position, she had still felt they were laughing up their sleeves at her.
However, his presence did little to alleviate her more pressing concern.
Other writingy stuff:
* Processed Arkham Tales' "No, but submit again" rejection of "Demons of Disease."
* Processed submitting "Ekaterina and the Firebird" to Scheherazade's Facade.
* Posted writing log, freewriting, NanoWri.
* Prepped Vicesteed ch. 27 for editing.
* Read Duotrope Digest newsletter and updated markets from it.
Deleted from Vicesteed, ch. 26
Old chapter wordcount: 1,539
New chapter wordcount: 1,067
Vicesteed Draft 1 wordcount: 207,877
Vicesteed Draft 2 current wordcount: 146,914
Notes: 7 chapters left, and they're pretty much all climax. Aw yeah.
Reason for deleting scene: This bit is good for context and character-building, but at this point? Those don't matter so much. Time to turn it up to 11.
Which deleted scene is it anyway?
Rosemary was watching the return of the prime minister with all the other guests, when the harsh sound of a mirror shattering rang through the ballroom. The prime minister jerked, a bad sign; he was the sort of gentleman who was usually impossible to perturb, or so Rosemary's father had told her once. Rosemary certainly didn't have such a subdued reaction. She jumped, startled nearly out of her skin. Her nerves were wires worn to near nothing. A servant set down his tray and hurried across the room to the latest calamity.
At least she wasn't the only one affected by this unpleasantness. All evening she had been plagued with distracting twitches of feeling on her arms and legs, as if she was surrounded by a swarm of biting gnats whose wings constantly brushed her skin. It did nothing to aid her composure.
Her "reintroduction to Society" wasn't going as well as her father had once hoped. Oh, Lady Hasting's relative, Mr. Brooks, had been as amiable as promised. Rosemary had made shift to converse of pleasantries, though her skills at such conversation were more than rusty, and he had made all the appropriate responses, but he failed to interest her in the least. As she had done nothing to encourage his interest, and her looks were too unremarkable to do so, she presumed that his kind attentions were to fulfill something in the nature of a social obligation. It was the way things were done, and she took no offense from it.
She was relieved that there was at least one gentleman not sending her piercing, slanted looks that weighed her up and dismissed her as an uninteresting country cousin. The other invitations that she'd received to dance had turned out to be nothing but pretexts to ask her all manner of forward questions, and while her dance partners' arms had never varied from the proper position, she had still felt they were laughing up their sleeves at her.
However, his presence did little to alleviate her more pressing concern.
Other writingy stuff:
* Processed Arkham Tales' "No, but submit again" rejection of "Demons of Disease."
* Processed submitting "Ekaterina and the Firebird" to Scheherazade's Facade.
* Posted writing log, freewriting, NanoWri.
* Prepped Vicesteed ch. 27 for editing.
* Read Duotrope Digest newsletter and updated markets from it.