I checked out Whatpulse, it seems a little too user-friendly. I want to do my own data processing, so the command line approach with selfspy seems better. But thanks for the recommendation.
Well, that’s a tale… I had to switch careers, do some job training, do some job hunting, give my hopes of being a writer the viking funeral they deserved, find the job, start the job, lose the free-time, get stuck on the goal line with this other novel, etc. But manuscripts don’t burn as they say, and the sequel’s gathering material (~40k as of now. It was at 15k last time I mentioned it, in February of last year). The outline, like most outlines, is beautiful and I foresee no way in which the final text is anything but.
I guess I lied the last time I predicted a release date, so I won’t do that again – I really am not a writer anymore, just a web developer with an overdeveloped sense of prose style – but:
Let’s see how Bryn’s doing
[spoiler]On certain nights in winter he could lie in bed and see his breath climbing into the moonlight. He always did, in truth, whenever the moon was strong and the sky cloudless, and would pass the time wishing to someday miss the chance. Mornings were tolerable – the cold purified the light – but these nights were hard. During the worst of them he would light a stump of candle and not even read by it. Better to watch the flame wriggle than his breath, billowing and dissipating into the gray haze above.
He was watching the flame when he heard a thump outside. He did not know what might have caused it, but told himself, after starting half-upright, that of all the seasons winter had the strangest voices. He lay back, wedged his cold hands between his knees, and began bending his memory of the sound onto the frame of an innocuous event. It might have been snow toppling from the roof. Thinking more, becoming more alert as he emerged from the flame watching stupor that was nothing like drowsiness, he decided it could not be snow from the eaves. It had the same soft, collapsing sound, but the report had been a knock, as if that soft body had struck wood.
There came another resonant thump, and a creak. Something had fallen against the huge double doors of the sanctuary’s gatehouse. Bryn winced, knowing he was past ignoring it.
“You already have the candle lit,” he muttered. “Just boots and a cloak.”
Once he had donned both, he frowned, listening – to quiet, the rise and fall of the wind. Boots, a cloak, and a sword. Bryn went rummaging in the chest at the foot of his cot until his hand closed on the handle. Setting the candlestick on the cold stones, he pulled it free and checked the blade. The weak reflection of the candle skirted the rust spots like pits. Tetny would have roundly disapproved. Bryn could see him in the doorway, shaking his head, brains dribbling from the bolthole in his face. Bryn resheathed the sword and dropped it back among the outsider clothes. He would go and wake Dannos.[/spoiler]
Also: I really appreciate your interest, Dave, even after a couple years – it’s really inspiring.
