In days past, the hall had smelled of life: of
soot from the fire, of sweat, mead, grease, fish, bread and venison steak.
Today it smelled of acrid, bitter herbs that caught the back of Hemming’s
throat. But beneath that, there was a worse smell: the smell of pus, of
feverish sweat, of loose bowels. His father was dying, there was no hiding it,
no matter how hard Kjalsi tried.
The time I had available for writing today was considerably shorter than yesterday, however, I have managed to get some words down.
One character's personality fluctuated through the scene because I'm not sure how I want him to come across yet; this will be fixed when I go back through at the end. But the scene has moved the plot forward to where I want it. Other than that, it was fairly lacklustre.
I might even find myself going back through and editing this part (even though that is breaking the golden rule!)
The pacing is a little off, because I have put in little reminders where I want to include info-dumps or heavy description; I'm hoping these will balance out the pace when I add them in.
I already see areas where scenes or dialogue could possibly be switched around, or other scenes added, to make the story move more fluidly.
As someone who has always written very short, controlled fiction, the idea of having so little control over the direction of a story is a little terrifying, but I will stick at it!
All in all, a decent word-count for barely an hour's work. Let's see how tomorrow goes!
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