Since mine is a magical world born entirely in my head I don't need to track technological advancements of a certain century or delve into the rules and etiquette of a certain era. What I do need is to be as realistic in details as possible.
I have demons with wings. I have gods who can freeze time. In a fantasy world, it's only natural. But when I write about things that also happen in our (real) world I need to be careful.
A horse can't run for three days straight, nor can we pick a lock with a wooden stick. At least I haven't seen any evidence of it being possible.
Then, there are the fighting scenes. And magical fights aside, I do have characters using fists and legs. I have to admit that I trained in taekwondo years ago. I remember countless hours of practicing kicks, but the safe gym environment and monitored fights are definitely not the same as a fight in Hell for survival.
In a real situation you wouldn't waste energy for round-house kicks no matter how amazing they look. (I am guilty of adding a few of those while writing my Book3. We'll see if they stay there.)
What about fighting with swords? Daggers? I have no experience there whatsoever.
So... I turn to Google.
And just for the fun of it, I'm going to show you a few of my questions.
The last few inquiries aside I have seen some pretty disturbing things. I have watched countless videos of people forging weapons and showing how to wield them. How to attack with a knife.
All for my books. I promise!
One last thing I wanted to share - I decided to do an impromptu sale.
If you haven't tried my books yet, here's your chance to get Till Death and Beyond only for $0.99!
It's a limited time offer, so be sure to take advantage of it.
This weekend I dedicated a good number of hours to work on the novella I am writing. It's a story closely related to what happens in Forged in Fire, but I don't want to give any spoilers yet. So my lips are sealed. For the moment :)
That said, I must admit that I love the rewriting process.
The only problem was - which notebook?
Over the years I used anything I had to write down my ideas and scenes that popped into my head.
Notebooks... Napkins... Sticky notes...
It was easy at first - to find what I needed. Now... not so much.
Now, it's a pile. And it will take me countless hours to sort through the mess and bring some order out of this chaos.
But on the bright side, I can finally finish my series Bible. It's something I have wanted to do for a long time now. I even started it on a few occasions.
I have character information, timelines, relationship trees, but everything scattered across different notebooks and pieces of paper. It's about time to gather it all in one place.
In other words, I'm neck deep in work. Happy Birthday to me!
For the past week I've been rummaging through my notebooks and documents, trying to sort it all out. I've already published a few deleted scenes and there will be more to come, but today I decided to publish something else--a bonus content.
It's a short story of how Nyssa met Logan. It was never meant to be in the book. It was never even written. So it is definitely not a deleted scene. But I decided to write this down because:
Without further ado, here's Nyssa's first glimpse of Logan:
(and yes, this contains a few spoilers, so reading Till Death and Beyond first would be better)
Nyssa couldn’t understand the commotion. And as always, no one was telling her a thing.
Well, she would just find out for herself, she decided. She put on her boots and poked her head through the door, leaving the gap as tiny as possible. Her mother was outside, and the last thing Nyssa wanted was to be caught.
Sometimes she was tired of fighting. But fight was what she got every time she insisted on making her own choices. She might only be sixteen, but she hadn’t been a child since she was eight years old and the Order had attacked their town.
At ten years of age she was the one bringing food to their table because her mother had been too traumatized by the attack. She was the one working until exhaustion overtook her. She was the one caring for her brother when her mother insisted on leaving the baby in the woods.
For her, sixteen was only a number.
But of course, if her mother were to catch her sneaking out that number would be the sole reason for punishment.
What she saw through the crack both shocked and captivated her. It seemed everyone was outside. Hundreds of people. The broken conversations took her hostage urging to investigate, to leave the relative safety of her home.
The second Nyssa stepped outside she was pushed into the milling sea of people. The noises enveloped her. She was forced to dodge elbows and weapons as she navigated through the crowd, confused as to the purpose for such an uproar.
Was the Order attacking again?
The last time she and her brother had been ushered into the main mansion where women had barricaded themselves whilst men fought an army. Now the mood felt different. There was tension. Even anger. But there was no underlying fear. She didn’t see the dread in the eyes of the people. What she saw reminded her of the time the mob tried to execute a witch. But that couldn’t be it. The only witch she knew was the one master Raven protected. And few would dare to go against his wishes.
There might be some willing to risk his anger, but they wouldn’t do it in broad daylight.
So what was happening? Nyssa wondered, searching for the reason. She was about to ask when she realized that she ended her journey at the main entrance of the mansion where people formed a semi-circle.
The line was drawn, and no one was crossing it.
It both seemed bizarre, yet familiar somehow.
For a reason she could not fathom, Nyssa lifted her hand and placed her fingers against the imaginary barrier only to feel resistance. It was real. People didn’t advance not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t. The anger and fragments of conversations she’d overheard made sense now. Still, why would they want...
Nyssa’s gaze drifted to the front steps and the train of her thoughts vanished. Sitting in front of her, maybe some twenty feet away, was a man she’d never seen before.
Granted, he had his head buried in his hands, preventing her from recognizing his face, but she could swear he wasn’t a local. One look at clothes he had on and the truth was plain to see—no one here had clothes this fine. Her own dress was adorned with multiple patches, barely fit for a scarecrow. But she wasn’t complaining. Some had it way worse.
She squinted, trying to determine the origin of the ring on his thumb and didn’t even notice how she took a step forward, crossing the boundary line.
Everyone else remained a captive.
Nyssa didn't stop to analyze the oddity. She saw the opportunity and took it—quickly, she slipped behind one of the three statues encasing the left side of the steps. She glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her and then concentrated on the stranger sitting less than five feet away from her.
It was as if he was one of the statues himself. Still. Lifeless. Only on closer inspection did she notice how tense his fingers were, or how hard his jaw was locked. For the first time, she began questioning her decision to come this close. He might not have a weapon in his hands, and there might be a lot of people around, but none of them would be able to help her if he attacked.
Sometimes, the difference between life and death was one wrong step.
Nyssa debated against returning to safety when the man lifted his head and she realized he wasn’t exactly a man. He couldn’t be older than eighteen. There was also no anger contorting his features. If anything, he appeared lost. And when he looked at the crowd, Nyssa was positive he saw no people. His clear green eyes looked glassy and unfocused.
Any other day she would have been thrilled to find someone her age. There was not a single adolescent living in this area. If one didn’t count the ones in the town nearby. Nyssa didn’t. Those in town regarded people here, her included, as trash. Or worse—witches and their sympathizers who deserved to be burned.
And those were people just like her, this one… she only needed to glance at his hands to know they hadn’t seen a day of hard work in their lives. She looked at her own chipped off nails and callused palms, and a laugh escaped her lips.
“What’s so funny?” the boy asked, his attention solely on her.
Nyssa’s eyes widened, and her heartbeat accelerated. She gulped and hid behind the statue. But it was too late. He had noticed her.
Please keep in mind that the scene hasn't been checked by a professional editor, but if you would like me to continue, leave a comment below.
I write books I would love to read with fantasy worlds I would like to be a part of. Where anything is possible, but nothing more magical than love.