I can tell time isn’t a constant. The past few days just flew by. That’s in direct contrast to the time when I flipped my car down a ravine in a snowstorm, and time slowed way down. All the stuff in my car flew across my vision in slow motion, as I just said, “Oh, F*ck….”
So, I’ve been caught empty handed with not a lot to talk about. Regarding “Blood, Breath, and Fire”, Viho the dragon hasn’t been shutting up. Not for three days. My friend and fellow writer Olivia is dealing with her own snarky dragon. (For all I know, they could be related.) She asked the other day about a custom-designed muzzle for hers. Maybe Viho could use one. Of course, it would only keep him from biting people. Telepathy. Viho’s also turned out to be something of a gourmet. According to him, humans taste better without ketchup. Who knew?
Also, this is WIPpets. So, I guess I’ll share something, too. I’m ashamed to admit that I have more than one WIP. Since Viho’s been hanging around, I’ll put up seven paragraphs of the first created story in Viho’s universe, called “Fireheart.” Here it is, from the beginning of Chapter 3:
“Will you stop fussing? I’m not having the baby in the middle of the ballroom floor. And I’m certainly not going to have it today. So there’s nothing to worry about. Besides, if it was going to happen soon, I’d know, wouldn’t I? Pain, birthwater, snarling and cursing your existence for putting me through all this? You remember from the first time.”
“Maia, stop. You’re panting. Take a moment to breathe. Deeply.” Mikhail, Prince of the House of Darislay, Secretary-General of the Concordat of Independent Planets, and Keeper of the Fireheart of Rassa, gazed upon his very pregnant wife and worried. If the truth were known, panicked. “If you’re going to attend the reception–“
“If?” Maia narrowed her eyes at him and smiled in a way that reminded him of a feral wolf. One that was hunting.
“‘If’,” Mikhail insisted. “Has the healer been into see you today?”
Maia wriggled uncomfortably against her many pillows, trying to prop up her ungainly body a little bit more. “No. Not yet.”
“We’ll defer to her judgment,” he directed. “Your health is more important that offending some little lordling.”
“That ‘little lordling,’ as you call him, will be your daughter’s husband, and the Consort of Rassa,” Maia warned.