Here we are, the first WIPpet Wednesday of July! …And I’m posting on a Thursday. I mean, is anyone surprised?
July has signified a bit of a new beginning writing-wise for me. I’m still working on Rebellion (although it’s now no longer called Rebellion, it’s called Centuries), but it’s been revamped a bit with some plot changes and even more rewrites.
I’m feeling really inspired, but I’m also encountering some creative difficulties. For example, should I dedicate separate chapters to each point of view, or have multiple POVs within the one chapter? Advice?
Considering this, I thought it was appropriate to share the opening of Centuries with you (or at least the very early initial opening).
WIPpet math is easy: 7+7 = 14 sentences. Easy.
He felt safer now that the throne room was empty. It seemed that only a few moments ago it had been filled with courtiers and guards, all present to watch the coronation of their new king beneath the rays of the first sun of spring. But hours had passed, the hall had cleared, the sun was setting, and Rolando sat alone on the great stone stairs leading up to the throne. His throne. It stood high above him at the top of the great staircase which wrapped around its pillar, carved from the same deep stone as the rest of his mountain palace, and guarded by two, amber-eyed panthers. Next to him sat his crown, plucked from the corpse of his predecessor moments before she had been turned to ash and her soul released to seek the Afterworld. He had removed it the moment the crowd had cleared and his guards had been dismissed, relieved to have his neck and shoulders free from its weight. After glaring at it for a long moment, Rolando returned to staring out through the slanted arches that opened onto the rocky outcrop that formed a balcony and, beyond that, the sky. Evening had arrived, and the sun that had earlier played such a central role in his coronation now stained the sky red and purple as it dipped below the horizon. There would be no moon to replace the sun. Once those watching the sky would have seen it as an omen, but such people were long gone, and their superstitions had, for the most part, vanished with them. Some of their faces watched him from the fresco painted onto the stone above the arches, scenes of triumph and loss, a tapestry of the past. Rolando wondered why no one had replaced their artwork with scenes of their own history. They were a lost people, lost from all but the legends, and yet they survived in their art, frozen in time upon the stone they had carved.
Don’t forget to go and check out the other WIPpeteers, they’re all awesome and I never visit them as much as I should!