Twenty-Six Weeks
“The hollow within him was quiet, snarled with brambles. Impossible to see himself and too private to show to anyone else. Garvel shivered in the quiet of the Edgerunner ’s hold and curled his mismatched arms around his knees; thought on the white light he had been told was his breath. He watched it expand and contract until he considered the act of breathing and found himself gasping for air.” It has been twenty-six weeks since I started writing The Orphan Garvel and I feel the need to write something about the experience, though coming to talk about it I find myself at a loss of what to say. It’s work. There should be something more profound in this, maybe something about dedication, inspiration, the power of words on a page. There isn't though. It’s just 500 words every weekday, 2,500 every week, and being diligent about not trying to do more. I often hit 2,500 early and give myself days off. On those days I don’t write stories, I don’t even think a...