Writing practice at last?

I wish I understood what it is that motivates me to write. I've felt dead in the water for months now, and all of a sudden, these last couple of weeks, it's alive again. Maybe it was a form of depression, maybe somebody stole my mojo ;-), or perhaps my muse has returned. At any rate, I'm getting back on the ball...


I"ve been digging back into Imperfect hope, working on redepthing (there's a new word) the main characters. Though I'd done a rather detailed character history for both, I felt like there's something missing, hence the 'redepth'. Besides just adding some details, I've decided to spark my interest again with writing some bits and blurbs from their pasts as writing practice. So here goes, a little bit from Cerryn's life, well before she became a questor of Valnor...



Cerryn peeked out from behind the heavy tapestry, trying to remain inconspicuous as she watched the visitor. It wasn't difficult, she and her older brothers and sisters had found dozens of hiding places throughout the keep, and this was one of her favorites. From here, she could listen in on the courtly activities, though most times she understood little of what the grown-ups spoke of. Usually her older siblings would be discovered, either too fidgety or noisy, often they just grew bored and would run off after each other to play or study. Cerryn would keep quiet and listen for much longer than any of them.


From her secret vantage point, the young redheadwas able to listen intently as her mother and father spoke with the stranger. He was short, his hair was cut severly, with a clean shaven face. From where she hid, she could barely hear any of them speaking in their hushed tones, something rarely done withing the great hall. Cerryn knew that her father held an important position within the western confederacy, and that many came to him for advice on all sorts of matters. The great hall was rarely empty of observers, if there was business that needed to be kept quiet, they would meet in the library upstairs. This meeting, and in fact, this visitor seemed different. Both her father and mother seemed unusually deferential. It was especially odd considering the plain attire of the stranger, simple homespun breeches and tunic more fitting to a weary traveler than one meeting with one of the confederacy's councilmen.

"Cerryn, come here and meet the abbot-questor" called her mother. For a moment, she wondered how her mom knew she was there, and for a few seconds, the red haired youngster tried to stay very still behind the tapestry. When Cerryn peeked out again, she saw all three adults were looking her way. She grimaced, wondering if she were in trouble, and stepped out from behind the wall hanging that depicted the hills that overlooked their ancestral lands. Then, she recognized what her mother had called the stranger, abbot-questor. There would be only one reason the abbot-questor would be visiting the keep. Her heart leapt with hope, even as she kept her face calm. Her feet betrayed her excitement though, and the 6 year old almost ran to meet the legendary sword master of the Valnorian questors...