Kate Warren

Welcome back to another wonderful Weekend for Writing Warriors!  I spent hours going over my WIP looking for the right eight sentences to post, scrolling randomly through the chapters.  Finally I decided that sleep might be important and I should continue from last week.

Last week, of course, Baron Frederick Spencer was surprised to be informed that his beloved granddaughter had been attacked, and then the man informing him of it immediately announced his wish to marry the girl.

I've skipped a few sentences here, and used creative punctuation.  We're in Chapter 7, and Anton has answered Baron Spencer's question of "Who are you?" by giving his name and saying that he is the son of Count DuClerque.  Baron Spencer, you must remember, has been out of the country for twenty years.




          The baron looked skeptical.  "You are too young to be Honore's son."

          "True--it is my grandsire you speak of Baron Spencer, he was made Duke of Oglen some years past--my father, Marcel DuClerque, now carries the title of Count.

          Frederick was not surprised to learn that Honore, so long ignored by king Gustave--to that ruler's folly and detriment--had been rewarded by King Phillip for his service by the granting of a dukedom.  "And you propose to wed my Graciela?"

          "Yes, your excellency."

          "Take me to her."  He would decide about the marriage later...after speaking with the Duke of Oglen and the current Count DuClerque.




Frederick is a practical man.  First he must see to Graciela.  Everything else, and everyone else, can wait.  That's my snippet for the week.  Be sure to visit all the other talented WeWriWa authors!

Kate

Welcome to another edition of Weekend Writing Warriors, that wonderful time when dozens of talented authors post eight sentence snippets of their work for your reading enjoyment.  We authors appreciate your time and support.

This week I am marveling at the number of hits my website is getting from Russia, and the surge in my sales in Japan.  Can I now call myself an internationally acclaimed author?  Probably not, but it's a fun thought.

This week's eight sentences are coming to you courtesy of cold weather, failed recipes, and the letter Q.  Why Q?  It just seems so forlorn and left out sometimes, particularly in Scrabble games.  Anyway, continuing with my historical fiction WIP The DeFord Chronicles, Part II, and using a new method of randomness I give you seven sentences from the end Chapter 6, plus the first of Chapter 7 because it just works better that way. 

Anton DuClerque has just saved a young lady at court from possible rape.  Afterwards, while he comforts her, they share a tender moment.  Leaving the lady in the care of one of the princesses, Anton goes to find her grandfather, Baron Frederick Spencer and inform him of what has occurred.




          Frederick turned at the sound of a voice he did not recognize.

          Anton strode purposefully toward the older man.  He stopped some few feet from the baron and informed him, in clipped tones of the attack upon his granddaughter.

          Frederick did not know with whom to be more angry; the bastard who dared touch Graciela, or the man who now told him of the event with so little apparent feeling.  Would a display of sympathy, some shrinking from the details of the attack not be appropriate when addressing a doting grandfather? He was wondering if he should not find his old sword and run some one or more men through with it when he was startled by a request from the young man standing in front of him.

          "I wish to offer her the protection of marriage."

          "Who are you?"




Perhaps in the future Anton will remember to introduce himself before he requests a lady's hand in marriage. That's my eight for the week.  See you around the other blogs for WeWriWa. 

Kate

P.S.  If anyone is interested, the new method of randomness was to have my daughter choose a number, then search the corresponding chapter for a good snippet. 

Welcome friends and neighbors to another awesome weekend.  Why is it awesome?  Because with the weekend comes posts from the Weekend Writing Warriors, a group of authors who post exactly eight sentences of their work and link back to the WeWriWa website.  Click on the picture at the left or the link above to visit the site and find the list filled with literary deliciousness for your enjoyment!

Side note: there is something terribly odd going on with the font formatting on my website.  I may have to contact someone about it.

As previously mentioned, I am switching back to my historical work-in-progress (The DeFord Chronicles, Part II) for the new year.  The goal is to finally get the first draft finished, and if I'm very lucky, get it published before the end of 2014.  Given that it's been a while since I posted from this one, I considered going back to the beginning, but decided random scrolling is way more fun.  This week's excerpt is brought to you be stir-crazy mothers everywhere (hang in there--school will start again soon!) and by Chapter 21. 

In this excerpt, young Prince Dimitri is delighting in the company of a young woman to whom he has lost his heart.  He has yet to find a way to tell Lilia of his feelings however, and fears that she might not return his regard. 

She was to him the essence of feminine perfection—a model of maidenly virtue and beauty.  Her modesty was unequalled by any at court, and he should know, he had spent his life among young ladies who seemed to think his brother Nicholas and himself the sole ambition in life worth attaining.  Lilia was not aware of her own appeal, and that in and of itself he found utterly charming.  She did not see the way her eyes lit when she heard a beautiful piece of music.  She did not know that her skin glowed in the light of candles.  She did not seem to think herself particularly lovely, and her ears, which the prince found charming, she considered to be her greatest visible flaw.  Lilia thought her hair a tedious shade of dark brown and her eyes unremarkable.  But to Dimitri she had tresses like the coat of the most beautiful horse he had ever seen, and her gaze was expressive beyond words, the color of those speaking orbs seeming to him a mixture of amber and wild honey.




Poor Dimitri.  His thoughts are so poetic, but when he opens his mouth around Lilia, he's rather less eloquent.  That's all from me this week.  See you around the blogs!

Kate