Question of the day: How much crap can a newborn take before it shrivels up and dies?
This is something I’ve been pondering over the last 24 hours. I mean, the baby is born, drugged, kidnapped by a giant bird, then dropped thirty feet into what’s basically a hammock. Babies are fragile. I’m wondering if this is plausible, or if the kid would have snapped its neck by now.
I guess that’s what writing groups are for, eh?*
Also, I can’t figure out how one can make a two-page synopsis for an epic/high fantasy.** I mean, take Mistborn for example. Different plot lines, complex magic system, long book—did Sanderson do that in two pages? Or did he get away with five because he’d already been published?
Curse you, publishing standards.
Excerpt of the day:
The creature pulled away from her and her thicket, not coming close enough to hear or smell. Teague didn’t release her breathe until the clicking had faded. Even then she held still, hoping with everything she had the monster wouldn’t come back.
What kind of place is this? She wondered, clutching the infant to her breast.
Part of her didn’t want to know.
Weirs, chapter 3
*Or I could call a doctor, but I have a feeling the conversation would turn to Social Services knocking on my door.
**I consistently get the two confused.