(no subject)
For those of you playing along a home, good news: my agent loves the new revision of Plain Kate. She sent a long enthusiastic e-mail, and we had an even more enthusiastic chat. She is sending me what she promises are minor notes, and we hope to have the submission in circulating to the editors she's chosen in early October.
I may actually ink a deal this year. Exciting!
In other news, I didn't quite finish the two-week vacation I gave myself before starting to write again. I did a piece from the end of the first -- chapter? act? structural chunk? of The Teleportation of Gilbert Perez today. And I was pleased. It feels great to do something new.
Here's part of it, for the curious. In this scene our hero goes back to find the mysterious old woman he encountered in the very first scene, but hasn't been able to talk to since, because he's been in prison. He's rather belatedly figured out that he should be listening to her. Unfortunately, when he finds her, she's dying.
“I am - joyous,” she said, her Spanish broken. Her twig fingers scraped at my arm. “Joyous - I have lived - to see you -- again.”
“I…” Well. I was a well-brought-up-lad, even if I had just spent a month in prison. I wanted to be respectful. “Old mother, I think you have mistaken me for someone.”
“Gil,” she breathed. It shook me - my name - but it was so faint, I tried to think I was just hearing her struggle to breathe. I leaned close to her. She smelled of chocolate and drugs, and of decay. “I know you do not know me,” she said.
My whole scalp prickled up, and it took me a moment to know why. She was speaking irga, my own language, which I hadn’t heard in since leaving my parent’s farm, and which no one, no one,in the whole vastness of the ruined Aztec empire spoke.
“Ka gumawa hindi malaman ako,” she said. I know you do not know me.
“Ako may ibigin ka lahat akin buhay.” But I have loved you all my life.
“Ka ay ang ama ng akin bata.” You are the father of my child.
“Ako kilalanin ka.” I have not mistaken you.
“Gilbert Perez.” Gilbert Perez.
Then she coughed. A bright bubble of blood formed on her lips. She coughed again, and there was blood everywhere. She was dying in my arms, the old woman who said she loved me. Blood was all over me.
And then it happened again. Darkness.
The non-English stuff here is a place holder. If you can read it, then you must first forgive me for massacring it, and second write to me if you know where I can get help. I have really dug myself a research hole in this book.
I may actually ink a deal this year. Exciting!
In other news, I didn't quite finish the two-week vacation I gave myself before starting to write again. I did a piece from the end of the first -- chapter? act? structural chunk? of The Teleportation of Gilbert Perez today. And I was pleased. It feels great to do something new.
Here's part of it, for the curious. In this scene our hero goes back to find the mysterious old woman he encountered in the very first scene, but hasn't been able to talk to since, because he's been in prison. He's rather belatedly figured out that he should be listening to her. Unfortunately, when he finds her, she's dying.
“I am - joyous,” she said, her Spanish broken. Her twig fingers scraped at my arm. “Joyous - I have lived - to see you -- again.”
“I…” Well. I was a well-brought-up-lad, even if I had just spent a month in prison. I wanted to be respectful. “Old mother, I think you have mistaken me for someone.”
“Gil,” she breathed. It shook me - my name - but it was so faint, I tried to think I was just hearing her struggle to breathe. I leaned close to her. She smelled of chocolate and drugs, and of decay. “I know you do not know me,” she said.
My whole scalp prickled up, and it took me a moment to know why. She was speaking irga, my own language, which I hadn’t heard in since leaving my parent’s farm, and which no one, no one,in the whole vastness of the ruined Aztec empire spoke.
“Ka gumawa hindi malaman ako,” she said. I know you do not know me.
“Ako may ibigin ka lahat akin buhay.” But I have loved you all my life.
“Ka ay ang ama ng akin bata.” You are the father of my child.
“Ako kilalanin ka.” I have not mistaken you.
“Gilbert Perez.” Gilbert Perez.
Then she coughed. A bright bubble of blood formed on her lips. She coughed again, and there was blood everywhere. She was dying in my arms, the old woman who said she loved me. Blood was all over me.
And then it happened again. Darkness.
The non-English stuff here is a place holder. If you can read it, then you must first forgive me for massacring it, and second write to me if you know where I can get help. I have really dug myself a research hole in this book.