An Honest Assessment

Sometimes you write a scene that just guts you. Not because it's gory or steamy but because you just know you got it right. You read over it once, twice, three times, even run it through all the checks but you can't find a darn thing wrong with it. It doesn't happen often to me but it happens enough to keep me going to the well hoping the next one will taste as sweet.

Here's a scene I was working on and went back to finish. After a run through ProWritingAid to look for problems, and there are some but not what I expected, I want to put it here for your critique. I want to know what you find wrong with it. No matter how trivial, tell me what you think it wrong.

As I said, I've run it through ProWritingAid and overall, I pleasantly surprised by some things and confused by others. With checkers of any kind you have to be aware it is doing everything without a real awareness of usage. It's all algorithms. Something may be technically wrong but correct for the document.

An example would be "I ain't gonna do it." Terrible writing grammatically but perfectly correct for the country boy being told he has to replow a row.

My purpose here is to see what readers might pick up on and not if you're right or wrong. I know when it blows and when it flows. I really like this scene because I know the characters and they're just real in this scene. I love the King because he's so unkingly.

So, here ya go.

The summons came just after breakfast. The young boy who brought it couldn’t have been more than ten. Daykar took the paper and stared at the seal. He looked at the boy. “Who gave you this?”

“Why, the King, milord.”

Daykar again stared at the seal. 

“I’m to wait for a reply, milord.”

The voice dragged him from his thoughts. “Certainly. Give me a few moments.” He pointed to a chair in the hallway and as the boy sat down, Daykar returned to his office, locking the door behind him, and sat down at his desk.

He frowned at the missive lying on his desk. What could the King want with him? Why did he not send for the Patriarch? After all, he oversaw all aspects of the Order. Daykar poked the corner of the paper. He didn’t like this. It was no accident that he had avoided palace connections. The Order tended to steer clear of rulers and politicians as much as possible. Something might necessitate interaction but it was rare, and the Patriarch was the point of contact. Not the Counselor. He sighed, picked up the paper, and slid a small knife beneath the seal, neatly removing it.

“His Royal Highness, King William Gaenus, Sovereign of the Realm of the Sacred Territories requests your presence today at noon, in his royal chambers at Weskestein Palace. His Highness insists that you keep this meeting private and that you burn this invitation immediately. You may send a verbal acceptance by the court page.”

Request? Daykar shook his head, went to the door, and opened it. A wave brought the boy running, and he skidded to a stop before Daykar. 

“Milord?”

“Tell your. . . em . . . I shall arrive promptly at noon.”

The boy nodded and darted away. Daykar watch a moment before turning back to his office muttering. “Very unroyal, that boy.”

Holding the royal summons by one corner,  he held the flame of a candle to the other and watched as it slowly crept up the thick paper. Eventually, he dropped it on the silver tray used to bring him his mail. Finally, when it was a crisp black sheet, he broke it apart with one finger. 

He worked at his desk until just before noon. He'd intended to order a carriage but considering the note, he decided it would be best to take a horse. He could take the fields and follow the woodland route where prying eyes were unlikely to follow. If anyone saw him, the Counselor was out for a ride.
Now, he stood in the palace foyer waiting the King’s pleasure. Daykar smothered a chuckle. The terminology they used for all this ostentatiousness really was silly. 

A footman approached him, bowed, and motioned for him to follow. Moments later, he stood in a small dining room. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shock of gray hair got up and approached him, one hand extended.

“Brother Grantham. Welcome to Weskestein Palace.”

Daykar raised an eyebrow as he bowed. “Your highness, the pleasure is mine.”

“Come. I’ve arranged a lunch for the two of us.” He moved to stand next to his chair and indicated a chair opposite. “Bertie, close the doors and windows and post the guard, please.”

“Please have a seat, Brother Grantham.” Daykar and the King both sat down and the footman set about his duties.

No one said a word until the door closed behind the footman. Daykar waited, taking time to study the King as he did so. King Gaenus was a large man, broad at the shoulders with muscular arms that ended in large, strong hands. If he remembered correctly, King William fought beside his brothers in the wars, but it was the King who was renowned for his strength. 

The King leaned forward, clasping his those large hands in front of him. “Thank you for coming. I thought you might send the Patriarch in your stead.”

“I admit I was tempted.” Daykar smiled as he shook out his napkin and reached for the glass of water. “It is unusual for the Counselor to receive a summons from the Palace.”

The king laughed. “It is unusual for the king to summon anyone from the Order of the Holy One.”

Daykar nodded in understanding. Religion was not a royal pursuit, but this particular King had been far more benevolent to the Order than nearly any in their history. 

“Please, help yourself to the food.” The king began to prepare his plate. “I would have had a servant handle this for us but I’d rather this meeting remain as secret as possible.”

“May I ask why, Your Highness?”

Breaking off a piece of bread, the king sighed. “I wish it was acceptable for people just to say Will.”

Daykar choked on his water. When he regained his composure, he suppressed a smile. “Yes, I imagine it would be much more convenient for everyone.”

The king pointed a finger at him. “My feelings exactly.” He chewed and took a sip of wine. “Now, Daykar . . . that is acceptable, is it not?”

He nodded and cut a bite of the roast. He put it into his mouth and almost closed his eyes. Food in the order was good, plentiful, and well prepared but pig swill compared to this. If he had time, he’d try to visit the cook before he left.

“Good. Well then, Daykar, I didn’t contact the Patriarch because as I understand from my review of the records, you’re the person I need to contact about this matter.”

Daykar stopped chewing and stared at the king.

“It seems we are drawn into a mutual quandary. I had an unusual message overnight for which I need clarification.”

His curiosity nearly overcame him but Daykar continued focusing on his plate and eating. 

“A courier named Sam arrived late last night. He’s a member of the Order in Rendel. Sent to me by one of my own men, Captain Alington.”

For a moment, he considered the names but then shook his head. “I don't know either man, sire.”

The king cut another piece of roast and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it, staring across the room at a portrait hanging on the wall. 

Daykar waited.

“No, it is doubtful you would. King’s captains are not something the order would bother with and the Order itself is quiet large so you likely wouldn’t have run into young Sam. He came with a message about the compound at Rendel.”

His spine stiffened and his fork poised halfway to his mouth. He looked at the king. “Sire?”

The king lay his utensils on the edge of his plate and sat back. “How many of the compounds have come under attack, Daykar?”

The fork dropped to the plate. Daykar stared at him. “What do you mean, Sire?”

The King smiled and glanced down at his plate, ran a piece of bread through the gravy, and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm, delicious, don’t you think?”

Daykar nodded and waited. 

The King gave a gentle laugh and picked up his wineglass and swirled the contents gently. “I love the way people think something is a secret when it isn’t. It's one of my few joys to see their faces as they try to reorganize them into something akin to ignorance when confronted by a secret. Impossible, of course, but entertaining.”

Daykar tried to imagine something calming. 

After a sip, the king sat down the wineglass down and propped his elbows on the table. “All right. It appears someone attacked the Rendel compound about five days ago. As far as I know, there are at least ten dead, one missing, and several injured. They’ve abandoned the compound and, with the guidance of my captain, headed our way.”

Stunned, Daykar looked away and stared at the far wall several minutes before turning back to the King. “By the One! Is this true?”

The King sat back in his chair. “Yes.”

Daykar looked at the king and considered how to proceed. The King was perceptive and would not be fooled. Any attempt to deceive him could prove far more disastrous to the Order than revealing too much. He took a deep breath and let it out.

“I received a message also, just a day or so ago. The Eastern Sanctuary is under attack. They’ve had to move into the mountains. Rendel is less than three days ride from them, in fact, so perhaps the same band of brigands attacked both.” He didn’t relate the rest of the message nor details on that particular Sanctuary. 

“So how many others?”

Daykar shook his head. “I don’t know, Sire.” 

The King tilted his head and gave him a blue glare. 

“Truly, Sire. I’ve not received any other reports although,” he paused, wishing he were better prepared for this. “I . . . I will admit we’ve heard rumors.”

The King sat back, nodding. “The Sanctuaries are spread out across the kingdom. There aren’t many facilities as large as the one here in Whitehaven. If anyone survives, it could take weeks for information to reach us here. Rumor travels much faster.”

“Indeed.” Daykar felt the tension lessen.

“My sources tell there was an attack locally.”

Again Daykar stiffened, but he kept his face interested rather than panicked. “Sire?”

“Seems a group of militia, not our militia, attacked and killed a young man named Ian Alington.”

Daykar didn’t have to pretend shock, but he felt his stomach twist. This was getting close to home. “That’s horrible, Sire.” He frowned. “Alington?”

“Brother to my Captain.”

Daykar studied his plate. Why had Alyana been in the stable yard? Did she know the Alington brothers? Could the attack have something to do with them? He looked up to find King studying him.

The King took a bite of potatoes. After he swallowed, he laid his fork down, sat back in his chair and tossed his napkin on the table. 

“Let’s understand something here, Brother Grantham. I’m very aware of the relationship of the crown with the order in the past. After the War things improved, but we both know the old wounds left deep scars. However, I’m a far more amenable to the Order than the last King. So, you don’t have to fear me in that way. You do need to know that I’m not a fool and I detest liars. It would be a shame if I discovered that the Order was no more trustworthy than it was in my great-grandfather’s day.”
Daykar swallowed, found he couldn’t, and grabbed his glass of wine, which he’d not touched until that moment. He drank deeply. After the wine settled in his stomach, he took a deep breath. 

“I understand, Sire.”

“Good. Start talking.”

“As I said, we’ve received reports of attacks but have nothing that can confirm this. The report of the Eastern Sanctuary was via a sealed letter. I know the sender. The attack whereof you speak… on Mr. Alington, happened as you say and they assaulted one of our order.”

“I heard they kidnapped the girl.”

He nodded. “Yes. They forced her to help one of the group’s wounded.” Daykar swallowed and fell silent. 

“Where is she now?” 

Daykar stared at the centerpiece of fruit. 

The King stood up, pulled an apple from the centerpiece and plopped it in front of Daykar. 

He felt his face pale. “She is in our compound recovering from her injuries.”

The king leaned forward, concern etching his brow. “How badly was she hurt?”

He felt his heart as it moved into his gut. He swallowed. “Sire, I trust in your discretion.”

“Of course.”

“They raped her and nearly beat her to death. She suffered a broken finger, severe cuts and bruises, a wound to her head, and we suspected broken ribs.”

“By the One, man! Did you not report this to the local constabulary?”

He shook his head. “Sire, they were militia. We didn’t know at the time if the attackers were ours or the Duke’s. And we didn’t want to cause any further humiliation to the young lady. She has suffered much. Is still suffering.”

“She is recovering?”

He nodded. “She is, but she is a healer and she suffers from more than her wounds. Under the circumstances, she can no longer perform that duty.”

The King’s stare bored into him and he wanted to slide under the table. After several moments, the king shook his head and sat back in his chair. 

“It seems we’re dealing with the same enemy. Your people have not requested military intervention.”

“They would not do that.”

“No,” he gave a harsh laugh, "Of course not. You have healers so you’ll just patch one another up and live to be killed another day.”

Daykar jumped as the king slammed his fist onto the table, causing the china and crystal to clatter. 

“Blast it, man! We need more accurate intelligence on this matter. The Duke is after my head. Or my throne. I need to know if your people are a target or if they’re just collateral damage.” 

“I had not considered that, Sire.”

He stood up. Daykar followed suit. 

“No, I don’t expect you did.” He walked toward the door. “I do have one more question, Daykar.”
“Sire?”

He turned, with his hand on the doorknob, looked directly at Daykar. “Did they call for the Guardians?”

Daykar bowed. “Good day, your Highness.”

The King laughed and strode from the room. Daykar’s eyes widened as he stared at the hem of the King’s robes. The king was barefoot.

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Technical Difficulties

If you are a subscriber to this blog, you may have encountered a glitch trying to get the feed. It is my fault because I messed with something. I'm going to try and fix it but if all else fails, give me a few days to get a new feed working. 

I apologize for the mess.

The Horror of Writer's Block

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They're there, somewhere in my head. I know they're there! I hear them breathing, the short, rapid breaths of terror. I can smell the rank sweat of their fear at being found. Sometimes, for a moment, I think I can hear their teeth chatter. And I want to kick down the doors and rip out the walls to find them.

I stare into the mirror and wonder what I can do to get past the barriers they've erected to keep me out. I need some kind of explosive to blow out the walls so they come pouring out in bloody heaps like the innards of a gutted pig. Or perhaps pipe some kind of gas in until it forces them out of hiding into the fresh air, choking, gasping, and clawing at their throats.

Yeah. They're in there. I know. I close my eyes and I can see their shadows darting past the windows of my soul, hoping I won't catch sight of them. I know the words are in there. I just can't make them out.

But I will.

Oh yes, I will.

A Music Box and A Yellow House

So, I'm up late last night. As usual for the last 4 nights, I can't sleep. Everything I'd been doing was boring so I decided to write something that had been percolating in my mind for a few days. I kept seeing this scene in my head and hearing the start of the story. Every time I thought about sitting down to write, I put it off. Last night, boredom drove me to it.

I haven't wanted to write in months because every time I did, it just didn't work. I couldn't think, and I had no idea which way to go. I have a story so near a completed first draft it isn't even funny. Two, in fact. My crazy life has drowned me and left me in a heap on the beach. But I want to write.

Normally, I'd even be using a notebook and jotting things down but with the nerve damage in my hand, writing with a pen is not the pleasure it once was. I love pens and notebooks and writing with both. This has been one of the biggest disappointments of the nerve damage.

Anyway. Last night I sat down to write this scene. I don't know exactly what this is about. I just know that I heard a music box playing and I have a woman and her teen-aged daughter buying a big yellow house. That's it. I know what I think it is but so far I have two pages of dialogue and a sense of something beneath the surface.

It all started with the sound of a music box playing last week. No, I didn't really hear one playing. I was trying to nap listening to some music. It occurred to me that it sounded like a music box playing but a strange one. I went to sleep and forgot about it. But it came back. This music box is special but I don't know how. Next, I had this woman pop into my head and she was buying this house. Actually, I saw her in the house and knew she'd just moved into it. Then, I was seeing her with her daughter, sitting in the car and looking at the house. They take a tour but ultimately; they will buy this house.

What I know: somewhere there's a music box. The woman just moved to this town for a job. She has a teen-aged daughter. They get along well. My feeling is that the child is parent to the woman, but that's just a feeling. At some point, there's a storm. No idea when, why, or the impact. And that's all I have. Other characters? I think so, but nothing presents itself at this point.

Yeah, I know. But I can work with it. I think.

At least I got to write something! Today, I want to do it again but I have to pack for a trip to Arkansas. We'll be driving all day tomorrow. So, not sure I'll get back to it soon.