So I finally finished the re-write. Major struggle that it was. I cut about 10% from the book. Took out at lease on story line. And now I’m ready to start submitting again.
Just added an image to share
I’m here to share myself on the web. To communicate with my
family, friends and hopefully readers. I have stories from my life and stories from
my imagination. I believe I have some
good stories to tell. Bear with me while I remember and conjure them.
On the trail back to Utroor.
“Jaernleik Tygeson from Hver Landnam?” The courier quizzed as
he walked up to where Jae and Catherine were sitting. Jae’s ears reddened as he
stood and acknowledged that he was indeed Jaernleik Tygeson. The packet had to
be from his mother, she was the only one who insisted on calling him by his
formal name. The one his grandpa Ingle had insisted he bear. “I’ve a packet for
you. I thought you were in Boar Akarn. Probably passed you on the road on the
way there. When I got there, they told me that you were escorting with the king’s
party on the way to Goa Vollar.” He handed a small packet to Jae and began to
“Can you take one I’m sending home?” Jae asked. The man was
a military courier and might have orders preventing him from carrying it to the
next station on the way back through the web of couriers that made the communication
network of Alfheim’s military. In peace time they also carried private letters
between the various towns and villages. The small fees charged helped defray
the king’s expense.
The man nodded his head that he could so Jae reached into
his shirt and pulled out the letter he had written to his family. He passed the
courier a halfpence as he entrusted the letter to him. With any luck it would relieve
his mother’s distress from the tales of the yetann raid that would have reached
their village. She would recognize that he was in the area of the raid and be
“So, your real name is Jaernleik?” Asked Catherine.
For once Drew did not attempt to redden Jae’s ears more. Jae
knew his given name as well. He considered Dureast. How his mother derived that
from dugr and oestr was beyond his keen. Naming a child courageous noble was by
far worse than play of iron any day.
I sent off 5 queries today. I told one agency that it felt like the church dances I went to as a teen. The pastor expected you to ask all the girls to dance. You steeled your self for what seemed like endless rejection, stepped up and embarrassed yourself and the girls. Thankfully some said yes and I survived. Hopefully this is true of queries about my book.
So this character appeared while I was trying to write something. I’m not sure what to do with him. He would fit into the dragon spine world, I suppose.
Thor Thorsen shared the family name with his father and his grandfather. If family history was to be believed he shared it with his grandfather’s grandfather. Somewhere in the distant past the family stories claimed that they were descended for the god Thor. That was why all firstborn males were named Thor.
A family tradition he would gladly abandon it he could. His mother was already matching him with a second cousin named Sif. Another family tradition. His mother was named Sif as was his grandmother. He was expected to marry a Sif. He had avoided that fate by joining the kings service when he was 15. The earliest they took students at Virkiflyot. If he had waited another year, he would have been married to his second cousin. Not that she wasn’t a pleasant enough girl. As his younger brother, Connor, had observed she was quite comely. Yet he wished that he had some choice in the matter. The kings college and service in the kings army gave him the best hope of finding a Sif of his own choice. Not one of necessity but of choice. So far, he had only met three women named Sif. The prettiest and closest to his age wasn’t interested in him and a rebuffed his advances. The other two were almost twice his age, maybe older.
My friends and I had a lot of adventures in that treehouse. It was a club house, space ship, time machine, a balloon sailing around the world and a fort. We even played tag on it. Or I should say around it.
To be truthful, I only clearly remember one time It was the last time. We had an unusually large group that day. There was a mixture of boys and girls. I believe the age range was between 10 and 15. Of the group I only can only clearly see two of the ten or so kids up in the tree that day. Richard from across the street and the Crawford’s grandson (His name escapes me at this time). The Crawford’s grandson visited them often. His parents were divorced, and his grandparents watched him a lot. Richard was a year younger than I was at the time and the Crawford’s grandson was younger still. I think he was one of the youngest in the group.
The treehouse hadn’t been built until I was in junior high It was my buddy Paul Newell who brought his dad’s chain saw and removed the top of the limb so we could expand the size of the floor. If I remember right that limb hadn’t been removed yet. That left a wider path around the front.
We raced around the treehouse and up and down limbs. Some fled down my fireman’s pole and raced back up the various paths that could be found. We were having a grand time. Then Richard was tagged it.
Richard was one of those fellows that refuses to lose. He wouldn’t ever admit that he had been bested. I learned that lesson the year he and I had a snowball fight. I had claimed the high ground. Fifteen foot above the ground on the roof of the treehouse. I had collected all the snow I could from around the base of the tree. A big round washtub full. Enough to discourage any other fellow. Richard couldn’t hit me. By the time the snowball he threw made it to where I was It had slowed down enough that I could dodge it. Most of his snowballs didn’t make it that high. I thought I had him beat. I was wrong. I landed some pretty good hits. Then he started up the tree. I got him a couple more times and then realized I was running out of ammunition. And he was still coming. I got desperate and dumped what was left in the bottom of the washtub on his head. He kept coming. So, he won the day.
Richard chased a few other of the kids then fixed his sites on the Crawford grandson. The chase was on. I was on the far side of the roof ready to use the top of the old antenna pole that functioned as our firepole to escape Richard it this was a ploy of his. It wasn’t and I realized that the Crawford boy was in trouble. Up he went higher and higher the limb he was on started to sway he was getting pretty high and Richard was right behind him. I yelled for Richard to stop. On up they both went. I told Richard he had him. The Crawford boy was now it. Didn’t stop Richard and didn’t stop the kid. They were far enough up the tree that the limbs had narrowed and swayed under their weight. Richard almost reached him. He was only a couple feet away. I watched din horror and helpless as I saw the Crawford boy slip! Down he went. He didn’t hit any limbs on the way down. They were that far out and probably more than twenty feet up. He hit the ground and lay there. Down the pole I went but as I ran up to him, he jumped up and ran to his grandparent’s. I don’t remember him coming back to play the rest of the summer. So, ended our tag in the trees.