Well friends, we’ve come to the end of another month! I’m a bit in denial that the summer is partway over already. It seems like yesterday that I was sitting down to draft the May wrap-up newsletter.
June passed in a haze of email notifications from my beta readers and wilted flowers at my work (it’s been hot in Iowa as of late). I’ve had a lot of fun along the way, however, so let’s dive into it!
Writing Adventures
In June, I had my first ever official round of beta readers go through Shattered Stories. Words can’t even describe how grateful I am that so many people took an interest in Shattered Stories and were willing to sacrifice their time to read Harper’s story.
I received a lot of great feedback that I’m excited to implement. Along with it was a humbling amount of encouragement. It made my writer heart so happy to hear that people actually liked my story. People liked Harper, Pickett, Fayen, Evaly and Jael. In the discouraging months leading up to the reading, I had wondered if I should shelf the story. I’m so grateful that my readers have helped me see that it’s still worthwhile! I’m daydreaming about writing the acknowledgement pages at the end of the book someday and getting to name each one of them. <3
In other news, I finished the first draft of Sola’s World in early June (and learned my lesson about writing a novella by hand. Never again). I’m currently 2/3 of the way through the first draft of Death of Desolation, a novel length WIP that I’m hoping to wrap up in a few weeks so I can hop back into Shattered Stories.
Books and Music
I am a person that takes great comfort in personal traditions. And as such, I have a habit of rereading certain books at certain times of the year.
Summertime is dedicated to The Lunar Chronicles by Marissa Meyer. I first read these books during the early days of the pandemic back in 2020, and the library copies ended up living on my bookshelf for four months due to the lockdown. Initially, they didn’t sit well with me (I think the global pandemic aspect of the books wasn’t appealing given the real-world circumstances at the time). After a re-read in the summer of 2021, however, they claimed their place as one of my all-time favorite series and have the honor of being re-read every summer. A cyborg Cinderella? A Rapunzel that lives in a satellite instead of a tower? A large cast of characters that are all unique and all have satisfying arcs? An evil lunar queen bent on world domination? Heck yeah! I could go on and on about all the things I love about The Lunar Chronicles, but perhaps it would be best if you checked them out for yourself. :)
On the musical side of things, I’ve added a couple songs to my playlist:
A lovely song about Christ’s love towards us by Josiah Queen,
and a fantastic cover of “Reflection” by Samuel Kim.
Quotes and Quibbles
Per popular request on my Instagram Poll, instead of a quote and a few paragraphs of blabbering, this month I’m sharing the first part of The Queen’s Crossroads, a short story from the world of Arkron.
(For a bit of context, this story takes place 2 years before the events of Shattered Stories.)
The Queen’s Crossroads, Part 1
The stream of courtiers was blurring in front of Anrameta’s eyes. Her mouth automatically spoke the pleasantries, and her arms gave the gesture of respect over and over. The royal way was so ingrained in her that she could trust her body to carry on her duties while her mind was preoccupied elsewhere.
Like with her daughter, in whom the royal way was not ingrained.
The party was half over, and Harper had yet to arrive. She was running out of excuses: “The princess’s lessons are running long”, “The princess is still getting ready”, “The princess is attending to something on my behalf.” It was rare that she brought Harper into the public eye, and even rarer that she allowed visitors at Solstice. People were eager to see both.
She was so lost in thought that she gave Kova the gesture of respect and asked “How are you enjoying the party?” as she had to every other guest before realizing that it was her sister who stood before her.
Kova drummed perfectly manicured fingers on her upper arm. She looked distressingly perfect; every hair and brushstroke of makeup was settled in place. She looked like one of their family portraits come to life. Even though she had spent several hours preparing, Anrameta felt as grimy as a street urchin compared to her. “Where is she?” Kova demanded.
“I don’t know,” Anrameta confessed, turning away from the room under the pretense of studying a plant. “Anthea got her ready, I know. But she seems to have gotten lost somewhere between her bedroom and here.”
Lady Kova’s lips thinned into a line. “I don’t suppose she’s off checking her fish traps again?”
“No, she did that this morning…” Anrameta trailed off, blanching as the sarcastic note in her sister’s voice finally computed in her overwhelmed mind. “I didn’t warn her you were coming, Kova. She wouldn’t have presented herself that way if she had known.”
“She brought dead fish into your study!”
“Dead fish that I might add you ate for supper.”
Kova’s hand flew to her mouth. Anrameta allowed herself to savor the satisfaction for a moment before setting it aside. “She’s fourteen. A child. She deserves to run and play and fish to her heart’s content.”
“But she is also a princess, and the heir to our world! She is on the cusp of womanhood. You cannot keep her cloistered in your perfect fantasy world forever!” Kova narrowed her eyes, staring at her through painted eyelids. “So. What are you going to do? You can’t leave. Neither can I. Anthea is also entertaining guests. Someone has to find her, however, or you are going to disappoint your guests and further mar House Evensong’s image.”
“I’ll think of something,” Anrameta replied. Her eyes roved over the room, scanning the collage of faces. Her eyes finally landed on a possible solution to her problem: Pickett. He stood on the edge of the room, conversing earnestly with several guildmasters. He wore his new Neherum uniform, garnished with his crown. It was set somewhat higher than normal; the band was too big, she recalled. She had been meaning to have it sent to the craftsman to be resized for his head, but with him gone on Mantalor, studying at Anaya, it hadn’t seemed a pressing need.
She stepped down from the throne dais and began cutting through the crowd. Kova tailed her, though at a distance. Smart. They didn’t want to give the impression that something was wrong.
Pickett caught her eye as she approached, and she watched him offer the guildmasters the gesture of respect before extracting himself from the conversation.
“Is something wrong, mother?” he asked, leaning close under the pretense of offering her a glass of sparkling chai.
“Harper,” she murmured, accepting the glass. “She hasn’t shown up yet. I’m sorry to ask you–”
He straightened, pushing his lopsided crown higher onto his head. Moons. What kind of mother was she? She should have had it resized sooner, whether he wore it regularly or not. “I’ll find her.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He dipped his head, and began making his way towards one of the side exits. Anrameta forced her face into a mask of serenity, and rejoined the conversations around her. She could feel Kova’s eyes on her, judging. Picking her apart. Simultaneously scolding her for not being a better queen, mother, and queen-mother.
Harper is her own person, she thought, shaking the guildmaster of millers’ hand harder than was perhaps necessary. I don’t want to force her to become something she is not.
Like I had to.
Harper was well aware of her tardiness. But I have to finish this, she thought, sitting up on her haunches to drag her forearm over her sweaty forehead. It’s the summer solstice. It’s too light outside to be cooped up in a ballroom.
Beneath her feet, a spiral of blue and gold chalk blossomed over the barnyard cobbles. A dance pattern. She had finished laying the chalk and brushing the lines to spread the dust–but there was one more thing left to do. A finishing touch to make it as gilt and glamorous as the ballroom.
She hiked herself to her feet—her legs wobbled after squatting for so long—and tottered to the edge of the pattern she had drawn. Her hands were blue from the chalk, and she wiped them on her skirt.
“Oops,” she mumbled, trying to dust the vivid blue from the green fabric. This only made her smear more color on the cloth, however. In despair, she pulled her hands away from the fabric. She would clean herself off before she went to fetch her mother. That would be after she added the finishing touches to her piece.
She shook out her arms, sore from scribbling and sweeping, and summoned her magic. Her palms warmed instantly. Her fingertips began to glow, and the spirals she had outlined on the pattern flashed gold. She smiled as she summoned them up to hover in the air like lanterns. With another twitch of her fingers, she encouraged them to consolidate into a vivid sun. She imagined people filling her dance floor, talking and laughing. Yes, this was good, but some garlands would make it ever better.
Tendrils sprouted from the sun, creating a twisting canopy. Harper beamed. There! Now to just affix it completely in the physical realm…
Someone caught her wrist in grip so strong she thought it was going to break it. She yelped, and the almost-story erupted in a spray of sparks.
“What are you doing?” Pickett hissed, forcing her arms to their sides.
“Making a new dancefloor,” she said, trying to wrestle her hand out of his grip. His hands didn’t feel right anymore. Not since he’d started training. What had once been soft, caring palms were now the rough, calloused hands of a warrior.
He dragged her closer to him. “What were you thinking? You can’t just flaunt yourself at a function like this!”
“I’m not trying…” she trailed off, feeling her eyes prickle with tears. Maybe she had made a mistake. Maybe it was rude to try to make something better.
But she had just wanted everyone to have fun.
“There are people here from all over the planet. People who might try to hurt you if they learn you’re a storyweaver.”
Oh. Yes. She’d forgotten about that. It was easy to forget that the rest of Arkron wasn’t as sweet as their little hamlet here at Sol. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He snorted. “Come on, we have to clean you up.”
“And you too,” she added, pointing to his coat apologetically. She had smeared blue dust on it when he had grabbed her.
He looked down, and cursed. “Blast it, Harper…can’t you act your age for once?”
She stared at him blankly. Act her age? She was the only person her age that she knew. Besides Fayen, anyway. But he was off at Anaya, training like Pickett. She hoped the callouses from fishing and building treehouses with her would keep his hands from getting too hard like Pickett’s. “How am I supposed to act?”
“Like a princess! Like the future queen of our world!”
She gestured to her creation. The chalk seemed dull without her magic to infuse it. “Isn’t a queen supposed to make her people happy? That’s what I was trying to do.”
“It’s not that simple,” he growled, casting about for water to clean themselves with.
“The pump’s around the barn,” she offered.
“Too messy, it’ll splatter our clothes. Here.” He dragged her over to the rain barrel propped against the side of the barn. Harper plunged her hands into it, rinsing away the chalk while Pickett beat it from his coat and then her skirt. “You would do better to change,” he grumbled, “but we don’t have time for that. Are you finished?”
She showed him her palms, clean and boringly unempowered. He nodded approvingly. “C’mon.”
He hustled her back to the main house, but skirted the main entrance to bring her through the side instead. Famished from her work, Harper snagged a sweetball from one of the bushes and bit into it, savoring the tartness on her tongue.
Then Pickett snatched it away from her and pitched it back into the bushes. “Hey!” she protested, “that was my supper!”
“There is food inside,” he said. “Proper food.”
“I don’t like proper food. It’s more complicated to eat. I like easy food.”
He swept open the door to the room and held it out for her. “You’re going to have to get used to it. This is what your life is going to be like.”
His words stung. She hung back, unwilling to enter this cruel world. The forest sang nearby, beckoning her. Welcoming her. Out there, she was a part of the world.
In there, she was supposed to be the face of it. Supposed to play the role of someone she was not.
“Harper,” Pickett hissed, “Come on.”
She could do this, right? I will be an actress, she thought. I can play a role for a little while.
She picked up her skirt and stuck her nose in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pickett roll his eyes. However, he stepped up beside her and offered her his arm.
They entered the ballroom arm in arm, a perfect picture of House Evensong. Harper felt dozens of eyes turn to her, and she dropped a quick curtsey, praying that her skirt did not show any vestiges of the blue chalk. Her roving eyes found her mother, hovering near her throne. Anrameta smiled and dipped her head.
Near her, Lady Kova glared at Harper with the fire of a thousand suns.
Don’t think about her, Harper told herself. She’s a critic, and you are a fabulous actress. You have nothing on her.
Gripping Pickett’s arm as though it were a lifeline, she beamed and nodded and curtseyed as he led her through the room towards the throne.
Towards her destiny.
Stay tuned for Part 2 in the July newsletter!
Looking Forward
July tends to be one of the busiest months of the summer for me and my family. Along with the 4th of July, my family is planning a vacation sometime during the month! I’m excited to kickback and work on rereading The Way of Kings and planning a new LEGO build during that time.
May the dog days of summer be kind to you!
Blessings,
Norah