than others." That was certainly true for my writing this week, especially on Friday. I barely eked out a handful of new sentences in an evening otherwise mostly devoted to editing a pivotal scene from an earlier draft. (The editing session felt more like a wrestling match!) In spite of that, I did manage to write six days this week. Here is a sampling from what I accomplished this week with The Lady and the Minstrel.
Monday: She could
barely eat or sleep for wondering where Robert was and what he was thinking and
whether this time apart would cool the simmering heat in his eyes and replace
it with a cold, sober assessment that the dangers of her inheritance outweighed
the desire she knew he felt for her.
Tuesday: Holly,
along with mistletoe and ivy, had always been hung in her grandfather’s hall
during Advent, but her father held to the belief that it was unlucky to gather
holly before Christmas Eve.
Wednesday: Strode
even let her win twice at chess. He praised her cleverness, again conspicuously
before the servants, when he forced her to take advantage of careless moves she
knew a man shrewd enough to rise in power next to the king could only have made
deliberately.
Thursday: His voice
did not slur, but she recoiled, the aromatic mix of cloves and cinnamon and
apples of the wassail soured with the wine on his breath.
Friday: The
inexplicable sense of safety she had felt with Robert in the glade had become a
promise fulfilled.
Saturday: “That
glint in yer eye, that mulish set to yer lips— I’ve known ye too long not to
recognize the signs that ye’re about to do somethin’ insanely foolish.”