So how long does it take to write a book?

Alright, while I'm busy procrastinating on Labour Day, here's a quick look at how long it actually took to write the first draft of The Weight of Secrets, or as I call it, "Hostage".

Why? Because I like stats and I like numbers and playing around with data is fun. LOL.
Also, it helps me figure out what works and doesn't work for me, so that the next time I start a project, I can uh, plan. appropriately. Or something.

So how did it go overall?

Look at that! My original target was to quick draft it in 2 months, from February to March. OBVIOUSLY, no writing got done in February. I did start the first 1K like on Feb 24 or something, but let's disregard that. Well, I still did write it in two months, March and April, so I'll call that a win.

And then after a good start in March, it plateaued again like forever before it picked up again. Um, I don't exactly remember why, but probably because I was either a) doing paid projects to actually earn money or b) lazy.

Most likely lazy. Oh wait, Feb & March was when I was working on the Agape & TMRD scripts.

As my daily word count shows, I'm not very good at writing every day. I already figured this out last year when I was working on Berserker (The Weight of Strength). Whether it was for the NaNoWriMo vomit draft or the actually paced-and-plotted rewrite for my dissertation, the best I could do was write on alternate days. It's as if my brain needs a day to recover, especially if I write anything over 2K a day. Who knew?!

Hence the random spurts. If you track the dates (which aren't actually showing on the graph, idk why), you'll find that most of my writing is done on Monday. Which is when I run writing sprints for MYWriters Penang now that we don't get to meet in LUMA for our write-ins. Actually, half the time I'm sprinting by myself, but that's all cool.

I've discovered sprinting on Discord so I get trophies (even if I'm the only one competing), stats and levels. :p

The NaNoWriMo site covers a lot of info if you write with their timer, which is how I've confirmed that I'm a night owl. (Nothing new there).

But because I also want to look at my own stats, I downloaded info off my Toggl tracker to see how many hours I actually wrote over these two-ish months. The info isn't 100% accurate because sometimes I forget to turn it on and sometimes it's on, but I'm just like rewriting the same few sentences over and over again, but most of the sessions are there.

Here are the stats:

I spent 87.5 hours in total writing this beast! That's 87.5 hours for 81K words, so an average of 925 words an hour. 

That's a slight variance from NaNoWriMo's 1,140 words per hour (19wpm x 60 mins), but the average 1K per hour is roughly correct. In all likelihood, the Toggle data is more accurate, because I also track time the time I spend light editing the previous chapters to help me get started. I only turn on the NaNoWriMo tracker when I'm ready to sprint. 

In terms of when I wrote, yup, I wrote the most often in the evening, but surprisingly I wrote quite a lot at 2pm as well. This is just the time I started (count of description) and the total hours written in that session (sum of duration) and doesn't tell you how productive those sessions were.

So, how long does it take to write a book?
Approximately 95 hours over 2 months. 

Or if you're mad enough to cram it into an actual 40-day work week, you could be done in... 2.5 weeks.

This is just the first draft, though.
Next, I have to edit it for all the things I set aside and said "I'll fix this in edits".

I'm not going to start editing until at least June.
HMMM maybe that'll be my CampNaNo goal.

#AtoZChallenge: Zephaniah the Zarf Zealot

Zephaniah the Zealot had a zarf. It was made of silver, with beautiful chasing and filigree work, and he used it every morning as he sipped his Tazo Zen (TM) tea (a blend of green tea with lemon verbena, spearmint and lemongrass—the perfect way to add zest to his morning) from a glass cup.

The zarf was his prized possession inherited from his late grandfather, the only thing in the world he valued almost as much as his tea, so it came to quite a shock when he woke up one morning to find that it was gone.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” he asked his housekeeper, who was actually his housemate that he’d bullied into making tea for him every morning and doing all the chores.

“It’s gone,” Benny said. He was quite tired of clearing up after Zephaniah all the time, especially when the man seemed to spend all day making YouTube videos about the benefits of tea and how everyone should drink them only from clear glasses held in zarfs.

“It can’t be! It was just there last night!”

“Yes, but it’s not there this morning,” Benny grumped, folding his arms across his chest.

“I can’t appear on YouTube this morning without my zarf!” Zephaniah was totally not zen about this.

“Too bad. Don’t appear on YouTube then.”

“But… but… my fans!”

“What fans?”

“My audience! The people I preach to every day and extol the benefits of tea and zarfs!”

Benny rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they’ll make do without hearing from you for one day.”

“But if you don’t find my zarf, then I will never be able to make another youtube video ever in my life!”

“Uhh… buy a new zarf? Or make one? Get one made?”

Zephaniah fell to his knees. “You don’t understand, Benny. That is THE Zarf, the Best Zarf, the Greatest Zarf In  The World.”

“Woahhh,” Benny backed away, “it can’t be all that.”

“It’s like the holy grail. For tea.” Zephaniah clarified with a sniff.

“Right.”

“Please, Benny, you have to help me find it.”

“Um…”

“I’ll reduce your rent! Again!”

Benny didn’t think about it for too long. Doing all the housework and making tea for Zephaniah was tiring and sometimes annoying, but he was paying very little rent. If Zeph reduced the rent even further, he’d barely be paying anything to stay there. It wasn’t a bad deal.

~

Three hours later, after turning the whole house over, Benny found the zarf hiding behind a zither. Where the zither came from or how the zarf got there, he had no idea, but he took it up to Zephaniah’s room.

“Oh thank you, Benny, my man, my best friend! You have saved the day! I will finally be able to make today’s YouTube video where my zealous fans have been waiting all day.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” Benny replied.

“Wait, don’t go. Let me introduce you to my fans!”

Zephaniah turned his video cam around and Benny found himself being talked about as the saviour of the day, for having found the stolen zarf. Benny smiled awkwardly and waved, though he had no idea who was watching, or how many people would watch it later in the day. It was a matter of principle for Benny that he never looked at Zephaniah’s YouTube page. Ever.

As soon as he could, Benny escaped from Zeph’s clutches and scurried back downstairs. He needed to clear up the house after having turned it upside down in search of the zarf, but when he pulled back the curtains, he just couldn’t. It was a gloriously sunny day outside and all of a sudden, he was just desperate to get out of that zoo he called home. Seriously, living with a Tea and Zarf Zealot was sheer madness, despite the low rent (and even lower now, since Zeph had agreed to another 20% reduction). Pay peanuts and get monkeys, as his mother used to say.

Benny made himself a cup of Zeph’s Zen tea and then went out to the zoo.

---

Today's suggestions were:

• zarfs, from Barbara Harrison
• Zealot/Zion,Zionism/zen/Zoroastrianism, from Cherie Osier
• zither, zest, zeal, zoo, from Donna Smith 

OMG WE ARE DONE FOR THE MONTH.

Thank you to everyone who gave me words to use, even if I didn't end up using them! :)
Here's a link to the final list if any of you want to have a look.

There's also this! Hurrah!

Tomorrow, maybe, I'll blog about Eastercon.

#AtoZChallenge: Larry the Lugubrious Leviathan

On that day the Lord will punish 
With his cruel sword, his mighty and powerful sword,
Leviathan that twisting sea-serpent,
That writhing serpent Leviathan,
And slay the monster of the deep.
Isaiah 27:1 (The New English Bible, 1970, Oxford/Cambridge)

~

It was said in times past that the Leviathan was the monster that haunted the depths of the sea. He was reputed to be a great sea-serpent with thick, shining coils that wrapped around hapless ships, dragging innocent men to their watery graves. Not that sailors were particularly innocent or even always male.

Larry the Sea-Serpent hated that description. It often made him lugubrious at odd times of the day when he remembered it.

“But why do they hate me so?” he grumbled to his friend, Lorna the Whale. She too had been called the Leviathan many a time, especially when Melville’s book Moby-Dick was popular. Nobody read Moby-Dick now, so she was spared the pain.

“Oh, they don’t hate you, Larry,” Lorna said. “They just hate what you represent.”

“I don’t represent anything,” he said grumpily. “I am a sea-serpent. I eat… what do I eat? Seaweed. That’s right. Seaweed.”

Leny the Kraken snorted. “Seaweed? You? I’ve never seen anything greenish brown pass those lips of yours, you liar.” Leny too had once been associated with the Leviathan, though he found it more ludicrous than anything.

“No no no, but they always say specifically like sea-serpent, as if I were the one solely responsible for all the wreckage at sea. No! Do you know how many dangerous creatures lurk in the ocean? Like you, Lorna! And you, Leny! And the Octopuses, and Sharks. But nooooooo it’s always sea-serpents. As if we’re the only things that wreck ships and eat people!”

“Weeeellllll, I don’t eat people,” Lorna said. “They can’t fit in my mouth.”

“And I don’t go up to the surface. At all,” Leny said. “So you’re the only one they see.”

“But what about storms! Storms wreck ships more than I do!” Larry wailed.

Lorna cleared her throat. “And who’s always attracted by storms? Who goes to watch humans drown in the storm?”

Larry looked hurt. “It’s entertaining. You can’t fault me.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favours here, Larry,” Leny said. “If you’ll just stop going ship-wreck watching, maybe they’ll stop thinking of you as the Leviathan?”

The sea-serpent’s face twisted downwards, making him look more lugubrious than his friends had ever seen.

“Oh come on, Larry. Not watching humans die isn’t the end of the world,” Lorna tried to cheer him up.

“I suppose,” he replied.

No matter what was said in times past, there are still monsters that haunt the deep places of the ocean. Just don’t tell Larry that you think they’re all him.

---

Today's suggestions were:

• lagniappe, from Barbara Harrison
• Lavender / Lilac, from Andrea Stoeckel
• ludicrous/luxury/loiter, from Cherie Osier
• lyrebird, from Sharna Steinert
• lugubrious, leviathan, lame, from Donna Smith  

Well. Leviathan was fun. :) Also with lugubrious and a mention of ludicrous.

This year's A to Z is flash fiction based on words provided by the community... which is you! Explanatory stuff HERE, Google sheet link HERE.

My word target is 500 words per flash fiction piece, which I'm failing miserably at. At any rate, I'm now at 4.3K for Camp NaNoWriMo so some of the later pieces will have to be longer to make up my target of 10K for the month.

NOTE! I'm going to be pre-writing a bunch of posts tomorrow as I'll be away for Eastercon next weekend. If you have words to add, now's a good time to get them in. =)

#AtoZChallenge: Zilch

Z is for Zilch because that’s what I’ve got for you today.

I think I was overly ambitious (as I always am) because I sometimes need goals to push myself.
But I also forget that sometimes downtime is also necessary, goals or no.

---

Updates to add:

The idea now, I think, is to be a little bit more consistent.
Another 30K to go on this WIP to actually finish the story.

#AtoZChallenge: What I Wrote Today

Also, what on earth am I writing =.=

---

The next day, Rahsia doesn’t get to resume her lessons, though. She’d had to head in to the shop, and by the time she reaches Iman’s apartment in the afternoon, she walks in to find Ahmad there. He jumps to his feet defensively when she enters.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“I could ask you that same question,” she replies dryly.

“I’m their father.”

“Estranged father.”

“So I haven’t been around. Does that mean I should never get to see them?”

Rahsia wants to retort, but she knows that Iman does want her children to see their father, even if it’s once in a long while, so she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, as long as the children want to see you.”

Tulen nods at her and says, “It’s all right, Aunty Sia. I was hoping bapak would turn up soon.”

Rahsia turns to Telus who is staring wide-eyed at the man. “How about you Telus?”

The boy shrugs a little shyly.

“Do you know who he is?” Rahsia asks.

“He’s my bapak,” Telus replies but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Have you met him before?”

“Maybe?”

“Yes, you have, Lus. Bapak’s been here four times already!”

Rahsia does a quick mental scan of the room. Tulen is holding her thoughts tight to herself and Rahsia can’t help but give an approving smile. Telus has hazy memories of maybe seeing the man before, but he’s not sure. There’s nothing negative attached to the memories, so Rahsia lets it go. Ahmad himself is a mess of uncertainty and pride, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here, but he’s proud of himself all the same.

Why should he be proud of just seeing his children a few times a year? Rahsia shakes the thought away. He can be proud of whatever he wants. “Well, then. You’ll be seeing to their dinner?”

Ahmad looks confused.

“Will you be getting dinner for them, or should I be planning on being back later?”

“What about Iman?” he looks from Tulen to Rahsia.

“She’s rather caught up in something these days.”

Ahmad’s face darkens. “How dare she?”

“How dare she what?”

“Ignore our children?!”

“Oh, so you can ignore the children, but she can’t?”

“She’s their mother!”

“You’re their father!”

“It’s different—”

“And why would that be? And don’t say it’s because she’s a woman. I imagine it took both of you to have them, so it should take both of you to care for them, no?”

Ahmad flails for an answer.

“So you’ll be getting them dinner?” Rahsia asks again, a dangerous look on her face.

“Yes,” he answers weakly.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Tulen, Telus.”

“Bye Aunty Sia, and thanks!” Tulen calls after her.

---

Getting there... the full target is 60k, of course, but this month's target is only 30k.

#AtoZChallenge: Visions (snippets of the current WIP)

Rahsia scrabbles at the last of her dreams. She’s built her life around a lie. Now that it has all been taken away, she has nothing. Everything she’s been doing in between has been waiting. Waiting for her destiny. Now she has no career, no prospects, no training that would be useful for anything. What use is knowing how to shield her mind to prospective employers? How useful is unravelling a dream to anyone but a priest or a Secretkeeper? What in Trikingdom can she earn by knowing how to skim thoughts or how to tell lies from truth? How could Nek have done this to her?

But it hadn’t been her fault. Nek couldn’t have known, could she? Foretelling was for priests. Nek had always insisted on that. But she’d also told Rahsia many times that she would be the one to take over. Not her mother. Not anyone else. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have— she would—

Nek hadn’t known. It’s a flimsy kind of comfort, but the only one she can find, at least until Iman wakes up. Maybe Iman will be able to tell her more. Tell her something comforting.

---

“What’s your end goal?” Rahsia finds herself asking.

“My what?”

“A priest doesn’t hang around and give advice for no reason, especially one from Suci. What are you trying to do?”

Father Farouk stretches open his hands as if trying to indicate he has come with wide open arms. Rahsia doesn’t believe it.

“Like I said yesterday, you’re important. I don’t know exactly how yet, but you are. And if you’re important, I need you to know everything you should be knowing and doing everything you should be doing,” he says.

“How do you know I’m important?”

He taps his head then points upwards.

“A vision?”

He sighs. “I guess you can call it that. No, it’s not really a vision. A vision would tell me clearly what’s going to happen and most likely when. This is more like a … well, a knowing.”

“A knowing.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t injure yourself trying.”

“Anyway, no change to our dear patient. And I’m sure you’re worn out. I will see you tomorrow.”

#AtoZChallenge: Update for #campnanowrimo

Sooooooo I've been dreadfully behind on my Camp NaNoWriMo goals, even though I've already reduced it drastically.

But yesterday, I did this.

So it's all good, at least until I have to hit my next goal tomorrow.

---

Rahsia wakes up with a crick in her neck. She doesn’t recall why she’s sleeping on the floor in such an awkward position. It’s not as if she fell asleep drunk last night, unless the priest had spiked her tea. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have done that either, unless he’d brought it with him. There is no alcohol in her house. No drugs of any kind either.

She stretches, feeling aches all along her body. The first thing she does is go in and stare at Iman. Nothing has changed. She goes into the bathroom and takes a long, hot bath until a pounding on the door reminds her that the healer was supposed to come. Has arrived. She scrambles to dry herself and throw on some clothes, kicking her discarded ones into her room and closing the door. By the time she reaches the door, the healer is scowling.

“Sorry. I was in the shower,” she says.

He nods and pushes past her. His inspection is a repeat of everything he did the day before.

“Did you find out anything about this, uh, medical suspension trance thing?”

“No.”

He’s out within minutes, leaving with an admonishment for her to remember to “water Iman.”

Rahsia giggles uncontrollably for the next five minutes. When she finally catches her breath, so goes to do as she’s told. Iman now feels to her like a houseplant. It’s a terrible thing to think of about your best friend, but it’s also a wonderfully amusing thing to think of your worst enemy. She can’t decide which category Iman falls into now, so she just refers to her as her plant. She must be careful not to say it in front of the children.

#AtoZChallenge: Rahsia

Secrets are a burden.

Rahsia had known that since she was seven and her teacher had stared when she said her name was Rahsia binti Abdullah. The teacher asked if that was really her father’s name, but hadn’t said why, so Rahsia asked her mother when she got home in the afternoon.

“That’s none of her business,” her mother replied with venom.

“But what does she mean, Mak? Why would she ask that?” Rahsia pressed, confused though she had never known her father. Maybe now Mak would tell her about him. “Why shouldn’t bapak’s name be ‘Abdullah’?”

Her mother wouldn’t reply, so Rahsia asked her grandmother that night at dinner.

Nek Ramalan glanced at her daughter over their simple dishes of fried fish with sambal tumis and fried kangkung with steamed rice.

Mak shrugged her shoulders and refused to say a word.

Nek shook her head and sighed. “Rahsia, there are some things that you are too young to understand now. It is your mother’s secret and she will tell you someday.”

“Mak!” Rahsia’s mother protested, scowling.

“Even if she doesn’t tell you in her lifetime, one day when you are Secretkeeper, you will know. For now, it is your Mak’s secret to keep and mine to bear.”

“I will know it as the Secretkeeper?” Rahsia asked with excitement in her voice.

“Yes. You'll bear our secrets, Rahsia, when the time comes. You'll be our Secretkeeper, the one that the world needs at this hour. For this time.”

---

As a random aside, I don't know what Rahsia's mother's name is yet. LOL

This is also all very disjointed, and scattered all over the place & timeline, sorry.

#AtoZChallenge: Quest

I’ve been somewhat defining Absolution, and to some extent Secretkeeper, as YA fantasy. Yet whilst Absolution does fit the demographics (with characters in the YA range) Secretkeeper in all likelihood (especially with what I’m currently writing) will not. Rahsia, who is the main protagonist in Secretkeeper, will be in her thirties for the bulk of the story, at least in this envisioning. (WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN THE MORE I ACTUALLY WRITE! WHEN I WRITE!)

Right now, I’m thinking that both the stories might actually fit better as a Quest fantasy. The overall arch of the two books (I have no idea what the third one is about yet) is basically a quest to rediscover and fulfil the Berith Melach and the Sacrifice to prevent the destruction (or downfall) of the Trikingdom. Secretkeeper focuses more on the discovery by the Secretkeeper and the priests, Absolutions follows how it all actually comes to play.

#AtoZChallenge: Memories (an excerpt from Secretkeeper)

Rahsia flops on her bed and stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin hypnotically.

You’ll bear our secrets, Rahsia, when you come of age. You’ll be our Secretkeeper, the one that the world needs at this hour. For this time.

Nek’s words slip into her mind and she has to pause to decide if it’s really her memory of Nek’s words, or if it’s something that’s resonating from Nek’s Memories. She doesn’t know if there is a difference, or if there should be. She’s so unprepared, despite having built up her life towards this point for the last thirty years. Her cheeks burn as she remembers how she’d given everything up so easily when Iman had taken the Memories from Nek. But what else was she to do, to think?

The sting of betrayal still sits in her heart, but its grip is looser now.

‘You have the Memories,’ Father Farouk says. 

The dreamlike quality and the setting in Rahsia’s guest room lets Rahsia know that it’s Iman’s Memory. This must have been from a year before, when Iman had first woken up.

‘The priesthood is not involved in the dealings and the office of the Secretkeeper. You alone hold its secrets. You hold all the secrets of the Secretkeeper.’ The priest tries to hold back a grin, but fails. He thinks he’s funny. He’s always had.

‘Why did it not pass to Rahsia?’ Iman asks. 

Rahsia feels a swirl of emotions that aren’t hers. Did the Memories pass on emotions? She isn’t sure. A little, she decides. There is, after all, muscle memory that she can interpret. Rahsia remembers the feeling of eyes widening, a realisation. Iman’s mouth falls open, she shakes her head. What had Iman realised?

But Rahsia cannot read thoughts, she cannot Remember Iman’s unspoken thoughts. So she doesn’t know what happened then, except that Iman had thought of her, had asked the same question she had, before taking up the role. Iman hadn’t stolen it from her. It had been forced on her. There is a little comfort in that.

—

In Impian, Memories are passed down through an unbroken line of women who take on the role of the Secretkeeper. It’s often passed from mother to daughter, but in certain cases, the Memories choose a more suitable host. In The Weight of Secrets (or Secretkeeper, as I call it), there’s a slight blip in the line of succession.

Also, yay! A current excerpt.

Still way, way, behind goals, but I WROTE STUFF!!

*wiggles*

#AtoZChallenge: Iman

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Man.” Rahsia gripped her mug of hot cocoa with both hands in the silence of her living room. Nek had felt well enough in the morning to go to the Rumah Ibadat, a duty she only managed to discharge two to three times a week now. The priests had sent a young acolyte to walk her there and promised to send her home if she weakened.

Iman, cradling her cup of tea in a similar manner, looked at her pointedly. “You were the one who asked her to stay with you.”

“What else could I do? It’s easier than having to run over five times a day every time Nek has a fall. Besides, she has yet to finish teaching me. She has to teach me everything about the Secretkeeper role before she dies.”

“That’s the real reason you want her here, isn’t it?” Iman said with a sly grin. “You think she’s going to die soon so you want to keep her close to ensure the power goes to you.”

“Iman! You know—”

“Yes, yes, Sia, I know. The role passes through the family line and you’re next in line. You don’t need to worry. Who wants to steal it from you anyway?”

Rahsia rolled her eyes. “Nek will know the time of her death anyway. She says it’s a boon given to the Secretkeeper so that she can prepare her successor.”

“So I’m guessing she doesn’t have a date yet?”

Rahsia shook her head. “No foreknowledge as yet. Though she could be keeping things from me…”

Iman reached over and laid a hand on her best friend’s thigh. “She wouldn’t do that. Look, she’s still strong enough to be out and about discharging her duties. Don’t worry. Besides, I can help, you know.”

“I—she’s not your—”

“Sia, Nek took care of me when I was young too. She’s like my godmother. Like my own grandmother.”

“But your children—” Rahsia stilled at Iman’s hand wave.

“Would benefit from knowing Nek better as their adopted great-grandmother. Tulen is already seven and Telus is three. They don’t need second by second supervision. I can come over on the weekends and you can take some time off for yourself. You need rest, Sia.”

Rahsia sighed, but nodded in assent. “Where are they now anyway?”

“Their father took them out.”

“Huh. Visitation day?”

“He just decided to show up. I don’t know how to predict the man anymore. At least he takes an interest in the children. Occasionally.”

Iman’s husband had left the family suddenly two years ago, when Telus had barely been weaned. After a couple of frantic months searching for him, involving daily visits to the local policing force and the Rumah Ibadat, Iman had decided to move on with her life. With Nek’s and Rahsia’s help taking care of the children, she’d found a job that would enable her to support her family. Now she worked during the weekdays when Tulen was in school and Telus was at the babysitter’s. Her husband had suddenly reappeared a year later, often staying only a day or two before moving on again. 

“You won’t divorce?”

Iman smiled wryly. “You know I don’t believe in divorce. He’s still my husband, still their father. Whether he decides to take an active role in their lives or not, that’s his choice. Though I won’t deny that if he disappears and never comes back, I will be relieved.”

“Did he ever say where he went?”

“No. And I can’t exactly ask, can I? We’re not quite on talking terms right now.”

Rahsia snorted then grew serious. “Iman, I can’t exactly ask you to deal with my problems when you’re barely coping with your own.”

“Rahsia, what else is family for?”

“You—”

“Shh. Best friend.” Iman pointed at Rahsia. “Plus godmother,” she brought her index fingers together, “equals secret sisters.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Rahsia replied, but she couldn’t help smiling.

---

And we finally get a current snippet from my failing campnano effort!
Iman is Rahsia’s best friend and Tulen’s mother. She's a slightly wacky and scatterbrained counterpoint to Rahsia's serious, earnest persona, and plays a key role in Secretkeeper.

#AtoZChallenge: Father Farouk

In my initial draft of Absolution, the High Priest was named Malachi. He was supposed to be this old man, waiting to die, waiting to pass on his office to the next generation. Here's a snippet of that deleted scene:

---

In the middle of the Holy City stood the Great Temple, a massive stonework structure that had stood on that same spot for thousands of years. Malachi, the High Priest, stood before the altar, holding up the brazier of incense, feeling almost as old as the temple.

How long has it been, he wondered to himself. He had come to the Holy City as a boy of twelve, starting as an acolyte and finally being ordained as a priest in his twenty-fifth year. He had served through two High Priests before being elected by God as the High Priest in his sixty-fifth year—that had been nearly twenty years ago. He had spent a total of seventy-two years in the Holy City.

When is it my turn to die, O God, he silently prayed as he waved the incense in the air. When will my turn be to hand this duty over to the next priest? I am old and tired, God. Take me home soon.

Almost mechanically, he set the brazier back into its place and stepped backwards out of the inner sanctuary. He let the curtains fall back into place over the inner sanctuary before turning and making his way out slowly to the courtyard.

Malachi.

The old priest stopped in his tracks, making a half turn to look at the curtained area warily.

Malachi.

“I am here, Lord,” he said, slowly retracing his steps.

---

I had problems with this later on because everything was super White and there I had a main protagonist with a very local name, Tulen. So when I reworked the geography of the area and decided on three separate city-states, I decided that each city-state would have its own culture, including the type of names. The Holy City was renamed Suci (which means holy, duh) and I figured that Suci would be a blend of both the Western culture of Maha as well as the Eastern culture of Impian… and the current High Priest was most likely have Impian roots at this point of time, also for plot reasons. Thus, he became Farouk, which apparently means Discerning Truth in Arabic.

Father Farouk is a young priest during Secretkeeper, in his late twenties. By the time Absolution comes around after about a ten year gap, he has become the High Priest—at a pretty young age for the role.

#AtoZChallenge: Dunno, Distracted, Darn

D is for dunno because I haven’t been writing as much as I wanted to and have been pretty side-tracked by a lot of random things. I should be at 4k by now (with a reduced camp nano goal) but I’m only at about 1.5k. Urgh.

I was thinking of expounding on the Devotions (part of the Blood Sacrifice/Berith Melach) but that is … kind of spoilery and I don’t know how to go about that.

SO BECAUSE I AM DISTRACTED (and obviously got my dates wrong) here's a cover reveal! (I thought today was gonna be C because I forgot we started on the first this year. LOL.)

“I want to be free.” The words came rushing out of me before I could think through their implications and consequences.

“There are two things you need to know about yourself if you want to be free—what you stand for, and what you stand against.” Lady Penelope held up her hands, brandishing a pair of daggers that had been hidden in her skirts. “This world lives enslaved to its destruction, and so long as you are living, as long as you are fighting, you will be free.”

I gazed at the daggers, transfixed. Each blade was clothed in a leather scabbard, but the silver and obsidian of the daggers’ hilts winked at me, as though it was calling for me.

PRAGUE, 1870
For the last ten years, nineteen-year-old Eleanora Svobodová has worked as a servant in her stepmother's household. Along with her older brother, she dreams of the day they will be free to live life on their own terms.

But everything changes when their estranged grandmother comes to Prague on behalf of Queen Victoria. Throughout Bohemia, a string of murders and secret whispers hint at a larger coup. As the leader of the Order of the Crystal Daggers, an ancient order of spies and soldiers that protect kingdoms and their rulers, Lady Penelope is determined to mete out the perpetrators. Now, Eleanora must make the choice between a life of intrigue and saving the lives of others.

Can Eleanora find a way do the right thing and still find freedom?

With a fun blend of historical fiction, true love, castle intrigue, and family dysfunction, The Order of the Crystal Daggers is the latest adventure series from C. S. Johnson. 

Kingdom of Ash and Soot is on my TBR right now. Looking forward to reading it! <3

#AtoZChallenge: Berith Melach

Today’s very belated post is about Berith Melach. This started off because of this line about a Covenant of Salt in the Bible… and I took it and ran with it.
The ritual itself appears in Absolution, but the goal is that much of Rahsia's work in Secretkeeper will revolve around discovering what the Berith Melach actually entails.

Here's an excerpt of some "lost writings" around the ritual:

Intricately tied to the Blood Sacrifice, it refers to the addition of salt to the covenant, thereby binding the supplicant to God for eternity. Salt is only added to a sacrifice when it involves the life of a man … To renege on the covenant (turn away from God, or leave the priesthood) will result in death. This is often obscured in the Scriptures due to its imprecise and archaic wording, leaving it open to much misinterpretation.
All High Priests and King Priests have gone through the Blood Sacrifice. It is not required of a normal priest or a king/leader. Thus the ceremony is only held at very long intervals, usually fifty years or more.
The Berith Melach is also used in the covenant between man and wife, where the seal of the covenant is when the man places a pinch of salt on his wife’s tongue and she returns the same. If either of them spits out the salt, that is a rejection of the union. A man may perform his side of the ceremony, but if she does not return the act, the marriage is not yet binding until she does. If she does not seal it within the month, his act is considered void and they are not bound legally.

#AtoZChallenge: Absolution

So this year’s A to Z theme is also my current camp nanowrimo project, sorta. Well, the world of my camp nanowrimo project would be a better description. This all happened because I already said YES to camp nano and a private cabin and then I realised but hey waiiiitttt what about A to Z? So yeah, this is me being overly ambitious. But it’s all related to the same thing, so it shouldn’t be too bad, eh? I hope?

Back in I don’t know when (I could check, but I’m too lazy), I started a novel project called Absolution. And then I finished it, and rewrote it, and pitched it … and it got rejected a few times so I’m thinking of doing a rewrite. I also have a bunch of notes from the last beta read that I’m still pondering over, but there is still a version of it out on submission, so I haven’t started the rewrite project yet.

ANYWAY, all this is background to this year’s camp nano project.

This year’s project is a rewrite of last year’s failed nanowrimo project because I had a theme and a concept then, but I was trying to ground it in reality AND IT JUST WOULDN’T WORK. (But I got an 11K day out of it so I’m good.) Late November I was thinking it over a bit more, and then it clicked. This concept would work if it were written in the same world as Absolution. AND it might even be the story before Absolution. So wait, now Absolution might be a book 2 instead of a book 1!

And because I had a lot of free time (my brain was just being a little hyperactive and procrastinating on doing everything else), I then had this BRILLIANT TRILOGY IDEA. (Maybe brilliant? I dunno. Let’s pretend it is for now until the next bout of self-loathing begins.

Book 1: The Weight of Secrets (also known as Secretkeeper, which is this year’s campnano project; focused around Impian)
Book 2: The Weight of Sin (also known as Absolution, because I like themes; focused around Suci, or the journey to Suci)
Book 3: The Weight of Strength (I have no idea what this is yet, except that it should be focused around Maha, which is the third state in my Trikingdom. I also don't know when in the timeline it should be yet. Lol)

At any rate, since this post is supposed to be about Absolution, here’s a snippet:

---

The thing is, sayang, there is no such thing as absolution. You just walk your path with faith and pray that it is enough. There, I have said it. Let there be no illusions between us. You search for absolution like I yearn for closure. Neither of us will find our hearts’ desire in this lifetime. Such things are not for the likes of us, murderers and slaves. Listen to Magda, child, and lessen your heartache.

Let me lay it out for you right at the start before I ramble and forget what it is that needs to be said. You will search, but you will not find. You will yearn, but you will not be fulfilled. What use does God have for us? We are dust in the desert, water in the ocean. One out of too many supplicants. Insignificant. Why should He grant you absolution? What penance can you perform in return?

We have left on a pilgrimage, but are we true pilgrims? We go because we have no choice. You would protest that you do. That you are not a slave like me. You could have declined, refused the journey, but would you have done so? You are as much a slave to your guilt as I am to my mistress. Your physical freedom to decline is worth nothing in the light of your spiritual need to go. This pilgrimage is a selfish one, begun in pride. It can only end in ruin. I pray you will find something good out of the wreckage to come. Maybe your purity—both in name and in spirit—will preserve you. God knows the rest of us do not deserve it.

You think I am devout, that I hold the secrets to reaching God. I do not. I have believed and I have doubted. I have prayed and I have railed against. He is who He is, unreachable. Unattainable. Magda will cease to exist. Yet, we are children of God. How do I explain this? How do I reconcile this? I do not. There is no point in trying to know the unknowable. My mind and my heart do not need to believe the same things. Is that not what pure faith is? (Maybe it is pure foolishness.)

But let me return to what drives you most. Sayang, no matter how many times you lay your hand on a goat and will your sin onto it, your guilt will remain until you find your own peace with God. The goat is not magical; it is an escape for those who wish to delude themselves. The animal cannot hold your sin, cannot take it. It makes no difference if you offer your sacrifice in the holy city of Suci or back home in Impian. If you believe God is all-seeing, you would know that location and distance is nothing to Him. But maybe it will assuage your heart, if nothing else.

---

See you tomorrow for B! I don't know what it will be yet! :)

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#atozchallenge: 2015 Theme Reveal #atozreveal

Because I'm obviously off my rocker, and because 83% of voters said I should join the A to Z challenge, and because I obviously thrive on stress and overdoing things, and because I suddenly thought of a theme on Saturday...

2015 edition: The A to Z of (mainly) Worship Songs

Why worship songs?

Because these are the songs that have been impacting my life. I'll be choosing songs that have stayed with me through the years, have impacted me in the past or are currently impacting me at the moment. (Also because I've been working through a lot of songs for Easter, so... I have songs running through my head)

Why mainly?

Because I've already got most of the list but there are a few alphabets that don't seem to have a song. So if I can't find a worship song in time, I might choose another song, or maybe write a random post. 

But why no fiction?

Because I've already signed up for Camp Nanowrimo and I've committed to 30 hours of editing over the month of April. So no. Really. No time to write. REALLY WAN.

Ok. Back to doing important things.

To visit the rest of the theme revealers, go here.

2015 A to Z index
Agnus Dei
Blessed Assurance
Curtains
Dan KasihMu
Ever Be
Forever
God Of This City
He Lives
I Call You Jesus
Jesus At The Centre
(The Bridegroom) King
Like An Avalanche
Mengejar HadirMu
Nocturne For A Thief
Oceans (Where Feet May Fail)
Pursuit
Que Sera Sera
Revelation Song
Spirit Break Out
This Is What You Do
Undone
Voice Of Truth
We Win!
(I e)Xalt Thee
You Make Me Brave
ZZZ (Sleep, Don't Weep)

In transit 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Janice stared at the letter in her hand, wondering if it was the right step. Ripped in neat shreds in the waste basket were earlier drafts that she’d written and discarded. But where are you going, echoed in her head as she read and re-read the letter again. It had been in her head for the past few days - the past few months actually - but she could never sit down long enough to write it out. And now she had.

She glanced at her phone again, waiting for Keith to call. It wasn’t the end of the week yet, but she couldn’t stand being so antsy about it. She started to dial his number, but stopped. What if- she shook her head to clear the gathering cobwebs. Obviously this break was a really bad idea. A very, very bad idea - she’d actually written out her resignation letter! With horror she looked at the incriminating letter in her hand and started shredding it to bits again.

“I hate this, Lee!” she growled into the phone when her housemate finally picked up. “I’m stagnating. I’m dying. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Cancel your leave and come back then,” Lee Chin said.

“No- not that. I’ve been waiting forever for this phone call and -”

“Call them. You know you won’t be able to function until you do.”

“But - but I don’t know -”

“Wait. Is it a guy? Nick?”

“Why would it be Nick?” she remembered guiltily that she was supposed to meet him in two days and hadn’t even given a thought to her business model.

“Because obviously he has a crush on you.”

“Nah, he’s just interested in the business.”

“Which is quite non-existent, so what other hold have you got on him?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly.”

Janice exhaled noisily, blowing her fringe off her face. “Anyway. I need to find something to do.”

“Go hang out with your family or something.”

“And do what?”

“How would I know? Whatever it is your family does together.”

“Nothing. We never do anything together. I don’t know why I bothered coming home.”

“So why did you go home?”

“Stop being annoying.”

“Hey, you called me, didn’t you? I get to be annoying because you’re disturbing me when I’m supposed to be working.”

“Are you working? You sound like you’re eating.”

“Of course I’m eating. And working. It’s tea time. I have biscuits and tea at my desk, don’t you remember? Besides, the crumbs and stains drive my boss crazy.”

“One day he’s going to sack you.”

“Not unless he finds me slacking, like I’m doing now, talking to you.”

“I wrote it, Lee.”

“What?”

“My resignation letter.”

The silence was so long that Janice wondered if the line had been cut off. “Lee?”

“Are you sure you’re fine, Jan?”

“I’m not going to submit it, of course.”

“You so need to get your butt back here.”

“What you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Smack some sense back into you. Why, Janice?”

“I’m restless, Lee. I don’t know where I’m going.”

“And leaving will help you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t do anything rash. This is not like you.”

“What’s like me? I don’t know what me is anymore.”

There were slurping sounds on the other end of the line. Finally, Lee Chin said, “Just. Don’t. We’ll talk when you get back.”

“Okay. Now you get back to work,” Janice said.

“Yeah.”

Janice slumped back down on the bed, letting her phone slip out of her fingers to land with a soft thump next to her.

----

So I got round to writing something. Lol. 

Just picking up the stray threads right now. 

In transit 5

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Nick sat staring at the phone long after he had put it down.
"What's with the grimace? Sounded like she wanted to meet you," Joe said, looking up from the magazine he was reading.
"Yea, she did. She just didn't seem as excited about it as I thought she would be. I mean, the last time I talked to her she was fairly raving about the model -"
"So you caught her at  bad time."
"I don't know." He shook his head. "Well, it's set anyway."
"Good thing."
"Good thing," he echoed, their victory chant sounding hollow in his mouth.
He fiddled with his phone for a while, jabbing pointlessly at several applications then closing them.
"Well. It's set," he repeated.
"And?" Joe closed the magazine, leaning closer to Nick. "It's not just the model."
"What gave you that idea?"
"Don't roll your eyes at me. Game plan?"
"None."
"This is a disaster."
"You don't say."
Joe smirked. "Tense aren't you? Look, give her your hundred-watt smile. Tell her how great her model is, and how well it will work, put together a sweet deal and voila. New business partner and partner."
"It's not that easy."
"What - she has a boyfriend?"
"Her model sucks."
"Fix it. She'll be grateful."
Nick stood up. "We'll see," he said as he walked away.
Joe shook his head at his receding back as he turned back to his magazine.

Part 6

#campnano: In Transit 4, a #fridayflash.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

It was the waiting that killed, and the uncertainty, Janice was sure of that, though it wasn't as if she was really waiting for anything. Anything concrete, that was.

She looked up from her phone as her sister popped her head through the doorway.
"Any plans for tonight?"
"Ye - I don't know. Maybe."
"You still waiting for him to call you?"
"No. I... No."
Cherise walked into the room and sat on the bed beside her.
"What's wrong, little go-getter?"
"Nothing."
"You sit in your room all day, staring at your phone. And nothing is wrong. Uhuh. That's not the Janice I know."
"I'm on leave. I'm not supposed to be doing anything."
"Like you could ever sit still even during holidays?"
"So, I've changed. People do, you know."
"Do they. You're still checking your work email."
"Well. Yes."
"So are you free tonight?"
"Yes, I guess."
"Great. We're going for dinner. Now, go out and do something and stop moping."
Cherise left the room, the last thing to leave was the little waggling fingers telling her to move on and stop waiting.

But what was she waiting for? Janice stared miserably at her phone. She wasn't quite sure either.

~

She almost dropped her phone when it actually rang.
"Hello?" she said, hating the tremor in her voice."
"Hi, is that Jan?"
"Yea."
"Nick here. I didn't catch you at a bad time or anything, did I?"
"Oh. Er, nope. What's up?"
"Remember the last convo we had? I was wondering if I could take you up on that - you know, I think your business model works. I'd just like to have a more in-depth look at it."
"Right. Oh! Right. Yes, when do you want to meet up - only I'm in Penang at the moment..."
"That's great, actually. I'll be there for a do this weekend. Maybe we could schedule something."
"Yes, sure."
"I'll call you when I'm there and we'll figure something out. Does Sunday afternoon sound good?"
"Should be, as far as I know."
"Okay. Catch you then. Bye."
Janice couldn't help the little tear that escaped her eye, brushing it away angrily.

Part 5
Part 6

#campnano: In Transit 3

Part 1
Part 2

It never struck Sharon necessary to hate anyone. The level of negative emotion necessary for the act was not worth the effort. She had always wondered at how her friends could find the energy to hate certain people in their circles, whether they were their high school acquaintances (calling them friends would have been an oxymoron) or their husbands' colleagues. All that changed when she saw the woman talking so animatedly to Keith, finally giving him her name card.

She shifted Pierce in her arms, craning her neck to catch sight of the two of them through the reflection of the glass and the continuous bobbing of people around the luggage carousel. She had never seen Keith that excited, or laughing so uproariously, except when he was with his old school mates. He definitely had never laughed that way at any of her jokes.
Pierce whined.
"Sorry darling, did I hurt you?" she said, never taking her eyes off the made-up tart. No one ever dressed like that, except if they were trying to suck up to someone, or to steal someone's husband. Why else would she dress up just to take a flight?

"I'll give you a ring some time this week," she heard Keith say as the two of them approached the exit to the arrival hall.
"That would be great," the woman replied. "I look forward to it."
Sharon watched as the woman strutted away, hips swaying with each dainty step. Keith looked around and checked his watch. Realising that he hadn't seen her yet, Sharon stepped towards him with a smile plastered on her face.

"Hey, there you are," he said, slinging his bag on his shoulder. He leaned in to give her a quick peck on the forehead, then lifted Pierce from her embrace. "How's my little boy doing, huh?"
Pierce grinned at him, clinging on to his neck. "Ga!"
"There's a good boy. Was that a ga or a da? Are you speaking yet?" He made silly baby noises at his son.
"Did you have a good trip?" Sharon asked as they walked towards the carpark.
"Yeah. The project's going well. Wish they'd just shift everything over here in Penang instead of having part of the team in KL though. It's so difficult to coordinate."
"Meet anyone new?"
"Eh? No. The team's fixed on this one, and there's no new hires over at HQ."
"Really," she mumbled under her breath, wondering if she should confront him. But they reached the car and Pierce was fidgety, and the moment passed.
"It's Pierce's first birthday next week," she said, trying to fill the silence in the car.
"Oh."
"What do you think we should do?"
"Anything. What does my wee one want to do, huh?"
"Shall we throw a little party?"
"Why not?"
"Who should we call?"
Keith shrugged. "Whoever you like. Doesn't really matter, does it? It's not like Pierce will remember."
"I guess not."
Sharon stared out the window for the rest of the drive home. She didn't think she had ever hated anyone as much as she did the woman who had taken Keith's heart away from her. She wanted to reach over to him and rip the card to shreds so that he would never see or talk to her again, but she didn't and she didn't know why.

Part 4
Part 5
Part 6