All the news... 2010-07-02T22:20:18-07:00 Kris http://www.krismillering.com/index.php nareshe@gmail.com tag:krismillering,2010:KrisMillering Pivot Copyright (c) 2010, Authors of Kris Millering 2010-07-02T22:20:00-07:00 2010-07-02T22:20:00-07:00 tag:krismillering,2010:KrisMillering.22

My story "The Isthmus Variation" is up and free to read in Beneath Ceaseless Skies. Elizabeth Bear, in her week at Clarion West, mentioned something about the uses of whitespace in narrative. I grabbed that and ran with it, and along the way the world of the Slow Game filled itself in around me. I am pretty sure there are more stories to be written in this world, and the way the residents of it think about art and story is fascinating. So go forth, and read!

My story "The Isthmus Variation" is up and free to read in Beneath Ceaseless Skies.

Elizabeth Bear, in her week at Clarion West, mentioned something about the uses of whitespace in narrative. I grabbed that and ran with it, and along the way the world of the Slow Game filled itself in around me. I am pretty sure there are more stories to be written in this world, and the way the residents of it think about art and story is fascinating. So go forth, and read! ]]> aithne 2010-06-27T22:28:00-07:00 2010-06-27T22:27:00-07:00 tag:krismillering,2010:KrisMillering.21

So despite having to work this weekend and having a bunch of household stuff to do besides, I managed to get about 5200 words out. I have slain one chapter and another is lying on the ground bleeding. The finished chapter needs a quick edit pass and then it'll be on its way to The Usual Suspects, as well as to those who have donated. (It's not too late! Help us support Clarion West!) Excerpt below the cut!

donated. (It's not too late! Help us support Clarion West!)



Excerpt below the cut!

Accomplished: Hopes raised, and then dashed most thoroughly. Plans are both revealed and ruined. Someone tries to fly, and finds they cannot.

Excerpt:

In another situation he would have been far warier, but he was worried about Maijid and the time was slipping through his hands. He was nearly within striking range now, and he began to gather the will to use the Word. He crept around the edge of the fountain. Heartbeats went by.

Amin remembered Dema, and moved more quickly.

So close now. He coiled himself, concentrating all of the tension in his body, the eagle prepared to strike. He breathed in, slowly. The scent of water filled his head, tinged with metal.

Now.

He released his hold on the tension and straightened out in a line aimed at Baki’s back, using the edge of the fountain as leverage. The strike was good, true—

“No.”

Something—a hand—clamped around his upper arm and he stumbled, yanked off-balance. Before that hard hand let go, he felt the edge of a familiar rush of power.

Azrael stood there, wings spread, a terrible look on his face. “What—“ Amin hissed, recovering his balance. The angel just shook his head. ]]> aithne 2010-06-22T20:52:00-07:00 2010-06-22T20:52:00-07:00 tag:krismillering,2010:KrisMillering.20

2k words on Word of the Chosen tonight, and I think I'm done for the night. I am strongly suspecting that there aren't 50k more words yet to go in this book. I'd rather forgotten that I'd intended this one to come in at about 70k, and chapters 1-6 have about 32.5k or so already. We'll see; I may get inspired and add a subplot. Excerpt from tonight is below!

I am strongly suspecting that there aren't 50k more words yet to go in this book. I'd rather forgotten that I'd intended this one to come in at about 70k, and chapters 1-6 have about 32.5k or so already. We'll see; I may get inspired and add a subplot.

Excerpt from tonight is below!


They arrived in Tehran, and parted at the edge of town after turning their horses out in the pasture with the rest of the Nizari horses. The Nizari had contacts among the merchants, and Amin arranged with a pot seller to take some of his wares and one of his small sons and go set up a blanket in a spot where he could see Naim’s door. There was very little cover near the house, and so hiding in plain sight was going to have to do.

Amin called out to passersby, flirting with the women and flattering the men, telling them all about the wonderful qualities of his pots. This was a disguise he used often, often enough that he was occasionally recognized as “that pot-selling boy who’s sometimes around” by several people. They seemed to assume that he had a route he worked through the city, which is why they only saw him once in a while. Amin even made a few sales.

He wondered if his parents had been merchants, if this were the life he would have had had he not been born what he was. If he’d been born male instead of female, if he’d been born without the power, would every day of his life be spent in the baking sun, telling all who went by that his pots were the best to be had in the city? Would he be one of the water sellers who trudged past with their huge clay jars on wagons? A drover, beating a stick over the back of a lowing ox?

Or would he instead have been she, locked within strong walls until a husband was found for her? Would she be silly, and perhaps a bit weak? Or would she have been like Isra, using her beauty and her body as a weapon?

Such were the thoughts that occupied him as he called out and watched Naim’s door. ]]> aithne