I need to buy a stamp so I can mail this thing to Leading Edge. (Nothing fancy, don’t get excited.)
Noticed it’s taken a lot more words to say less lately. Good or bad? I’ll find out on revision #1.
What am I writing about this week? BANDITS.
Excited to start CSH revisions in the fall.
Excerpt of the day:
Most of the frames were just out of Esrov’s reach, so he had to retrieve a small ladder from the storage room to do the chore. It took longer than expected; by the time he’d finished, his shoulders ached and the sun had drifted further down in the sky. He paused before returning his supplies, studying a narrow picture of Nowaditt. This painter had depicted him with pale skin, pale eyes, and white hair. His clothes—a robe not too different from the priests’—was a deep maroon, almost black. Of all the pictures of the god of death, this one had the kindest feel to it.
Esrov watched the eyes: light blue orbs that stared skyward. The Raimos had no eyes. No face, no features. When did men start believing that gods looked like us?
The Raimos, chapter 18