Work in Progress: Bones of Earth

Bones of Earth
Heir to the Firstborn, Book 3

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Things are starting to move again. The words are flowing. I’m gaining momentum. And the RWA is spiraling. So we’ll see what finishes first — my book, or my professional (ha!) organization.

If it does die a horrific death, it won’t be because a group of us didn’t fight like hell to save it. I’ve made some friends over the past month — fantastic people who I might not have known otherwise.  So there’s my silver lining from this shitstorm.

On to Bones of Earth. I have one chapter queued, one waiting for a read-through, and I’m working as fast as I can (with interruptions — ugh).  I’ve promised myself that once I have three chapters queued, I’ll write the synopsis for Wings of Air, because I’m looking at this and thinking that I’m not going to have a heck of a lot of lead time between getting the last chapter of Bones up in the queue and starting Wings. But I need a buffer before I can  start working on that synopsis.

Based on where I am in the story, I’m hoping that we’ll be done with Bones by March or April. But I’m going to call it May or June. Which means I might bring the series to a close by the end of 2020. (And I have John Zebedee due at the end of 2020, so who’s going to be busy in the fall? This writer!)

And we’re not going to even talk about the tentative plans for bringing out Swords of Charlemagne — I might save those to 2021 at this rate.

Busy writer. Busy distracted writer. Which means busy, non-as-productive-as-I’d-like writer.

Which means this is going to be a really short blog post. Here. Have a short excerpt. No spoilers:

Owyn shook his head. “I don’t know. If you want a good tool, you have to start with good ore. But sometimes, all you have is pot metal, and you have to make the best of it….So, did the Mother pick us because we were good ore, or because we were all she had to work with?” He ran his nails over his chin, feeling the scratch of whiskers. “I forgot to shave.”

“You’re not pot metal, Wyn,” Alanar said. “Even when you’re scratchy. The Mother chose you because you were what she needed.” He poked Owyn in the ribs. “Do you really think that the Mother is willing to settle for pot metal? She had the entire Fire tribe to choose from. She chose you. Because you were the right person.”

Owyn took a deep breath. He let it out. “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel that way,” he grumbled. “It doesn’t feel like I’m doing any good at all. I mean, really, who am I to be chosen by the Mother to stand for the whole tribe? Anyone else would have been better! I mean, literally anyone else!”

Alanar chuckled, leaned close, and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s how we know you’re the right person,” he murmured.

Owyn snorted. “You know that don’t make any sense?” he asked.

“It does,” Alanar insisted. “Consider what happened when someone decided that they deserved the throne, no matter what the Mother said.”

Owyn frowned, then turned and looked toward the door. “Oh,” he said. “So because I don’t think I’m right for this—”

“It makes you perfect,” Alanar finished.

Owyn thought about it, then shook his head. “Nope. Still don’t make any sense,” he said, laughing. “I told you. I can’t tell from inside.”


Alanar hugged Owyn tightly. “We’ll be fine. Tomorrow, you’ll check the records and I’ll see to the servants. Maybe I’ll learn something. And we’ll decide if we’re going north or south. For now… I think I want to explore the bed.”

Owyn turned and looked at him. “Explore the bed?”

Alanar smiled. “Let’s go find all the places where the bed squeaks.” His smile broadened. “Or all the places in the bed where I can make you squeak.”

What do you think?

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