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Good afternoon, Snippeteers! GDPR D-day has come and gone and the sky hasn’t fallen. Or at least not yet. I’m hoping work will return to a saner shade of madness now, and I’m positively lighting candles hoping for both writing time and focus. Because after releasing 3 books in seven months – and how did that happen? – I’m entirely at a loss. I have a WiP stack that’s 19 manuscripts deep, and I don’t seem to be able to decide what to finish next.
To help me choose today’s snippet I’ve… tossed a coin.
The gods of fortune directed me towards Healing Glass, a fantasy story that started life as a dream that wouldn’t let me go, that poured out of me like a torrent that wouldn’t stop, and that’s been sitting on my WiP stack for over a year now with only two or three chapters left to write.
I know why I stopped writing – and it has nothing to do with the story. I was just told by a publisher that they wouldn’t be interested in even seeing it since fantasy doesn’t sell. It’s always the little things that turn into roadblocks, right?
Never mind. I will take direction from Fortuna and I’m going to share the beginning of the story. This is the scene that woke me and didn’t let me rest until I’d written it. And maybe by next week, Healing Glass will be a little closer to being complete.
Oh, and I’d be ever so grateful for any recommendations for cover artists who specialise in fantasy.
From Healing Glass
The glass carafe spun on its chain, propelled in slow swirls and small circles by the gentle breeze drifting through the wide-open doors to the roof garden. A rainbow of sparkles washed over the room’s white walls with each of its movements, bringing memories of the endless sky, of sun and sea, and the expanse of green that reached out from the shore towards the horizon.
Minel lay on the floor and watched his masterpiece sway and spin. The carafe was perfect. Its lines were graceful, the material flawless, the craftsmanship that of a true artist. Joy poured from each facet and curve and suffused the room until Minel felt the hum against his skin. The piece was a fitting tribute to his imagination, showing his mastery of that most difficult, fragile, and most expressive of all materials: glass.
He’d designed and crafted the carafe to bring joy to others. Now it swung on its chain over Minel’s head, bringing joy to no one but Minel.
The carafe would never be used. It would spend its days nestled in a bed of velvet, displayed as a testament to Minel’s mastery of his craft. A tombstone to the joy he had meant to bring to the carafe’s recipient.
Because Minel was dying.