Pick your 3 favorite pieces of your own writing and say for each:
What is your favorite line/passage and why?
What was the piece like to write? Was there anything interesting about the process you want to share?
Tag 3 people... sigilbroken, jmeelee, ladybladewarangel
All My Life - Favourite line/passage
Jaime walked in the shade of a line of ancient oaks. A sea of tents were set up across the fields, peppered with colourful banners that lay limp like wilted weeds. He stopped briefly at his own tent to remove his armour; hoping it would help to elevate the stifling heat of the day. His mood somewhat improved by his visit with Cersei, he decided to make the way down to the training grounds to see what the competition for tomorrow’s tournament would yield. He hoped to see an improvement of the men he had seen earlier that day.
Any wise combatant would never display the entirety of their true skill during practice, and there was always fear of injury if one exerted themselves too greatly. Some men delighted in displaying their prowess, a maneuver he favoured, one that weeded out the competition.
Jaime enviously watched the knights sparring. It was not too late to change his mind; he too could enter the tournament. It lacked the thrill of a true battle, but swinging a blade made him feel almost as alive as when he was inside Cersei.
He soon grew tired of watching their lack-luster performances. The sun had squelched the liveliness of them all. Some dueled; others took to exercising against straw and wooden dummies. Away from the groups of men, one tall knight swung his sword at a dummy strung up over a branch under a secluded grove of trees. The man used slow calculated movements, reserving his strength. He had good form. No grace, but the man looked strong.
Now this could be a competitor… How odd that he wears his helm…
Most of the men’s torsos were bare fleshed, yet this knight wore a tunic, and a helm. His curiosity piqued, Jaime made his way to the shady place where the knight was swinging his sword.
“That is a fine weapon,” Jaime said politely. The sword was plain and not particularly “fine,” but he was hoping to invite conversation.
The knight stopped suddenly and stiffened. No response.
“What events are you entering tomorrow?” Jaime asked. Silence was his only answer. Annoyed his smile left his face. “Are you mute?” He waited again for a reply. Still the man would not speak. The heat was making him irritable and he snapped, “Take off your helm.”
The knight looked down, slightly tilting his head to the side, almost as if he was looking for a means of escape.
Jaime’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “I may not be in my white cloak, but I am Jaime Lannister, member of the Kingsguard, and I command you to remove your helmet.” Jaime reached for the sword at his hip.
The knight grasped at his helm, lifting it up to reveal a sweaty mop of hair the colour of dirty straw. Beneath an angry furrow of brow were two astonishing blue eyes, gems that seemed cruel to place in such a broad homely face speckled with hundreds of dark freckles. “I know who you are.”
“By the gods, you’re a woman,” Jaime said with a smirk.
Before the wench could respond, a large oaf of a boy came shambling up behind her with a flask of water.
“Do you mean to compete?” Jaime asked with a laugh. The notion was at least an amusing one.
“Thank you.” The wench took the water from the simpleton, pressing the flask to her thick lips. She was panting like a beast.
“Well?” Jaime asked. “Do you?”
“What does it matter to you?” came her terse reply.
Jaime wrestled with feelings of both indignation and amusement at the wench's response.“It doesn’t. Get yourself killed. It is no concern of mine, but the field is no place for a woman, no matter how large and beastly.”
“Good day.” The wench turned away from him.
Her curt dismissal compounded with the blistering heat further soured his mood. She will not brush me away so easily. “I cannot allow you to enter this tournament.”
The wench turned to face him again, her skin reddened. “I thought you said it was of no concern to you?”
“I may reconsider. Tell me. Why are you so willing to end your life here on these fields? For the purse? Hoping to secure a dowry? You would bankrupt the crown for the amount of gold you would need.”
He hoped his insults would break her, but the wench seemed unperturbed.
“They say you are the best swordsman in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” Her words were not exaltations, but instead an insult delivered coldly through fat lips curled into a sneer of disgust. She looked at him the way others did when they assumed he was not looking.
Kingslayer.
What was the piece like to write? Was there anything interesting about the process you want to share?
It was a joy to write something with these two pre-everything and I suppose an alternative universe and time line. Inventing circumstances for Brienne and Jaime to meet allowed me to flex some creative muscles. I needed to invent a reason for Jaime to be suspicious of this tall helmed knight. I thought her fighting fully armoured on a ridiculously hot day would do the trick. I'm still satisfied with the thought I put into those details, and the building of the plot for this one. I must say though that the most fun with this story was building up to chapter four, which I knew would shock. I would have shared that passage if I could... :D
A Call to Arms - Favourite line/passage
Tysha grabbed at another sheet to see what other paintings were hidden away. She gasped at the face that greeted her.
Him…
Her blood went cold. Twyin Lannister. The Monster of Casterly Rock, as she had come to think of him all these years.
His eyes were steely, cold, and full of righteous judgement.
It's just a painting, Tysha thought.
“Well how about that, Lord Tywin,” Tysha slurred to the painting. “It would seem I’ve won in the end.” She picked her bottle up from the floor and drank without pause.
She walked closer to the painting, her eyes locked on his.
“Here I am. Married to your son. Drinking your finest wine.” She took another large sip, and it dribbled from her lips landing upon the white ribbons at the front of her dress. “And ruining what I hope is her dress.” Tysha pointed to the picture of his pregnant wife. “I wonder what people would think if I told them what you did. After you had me raped by your men, by your own son, how you came at me last. How you gave me two golden dragons…” Tysha stopped as her voice broke. How you said you were worth the most…
Tysha wiped a few tears away with the back of her hand. “I refuse to shed another tear for you. You monster! I win! And you know what? I have to piss.” Tysha flung the painting down to the ground, a thunderous thump and a plume dust jumped up from the floor. Tysha stood over the painting, directly on top of Tywin Lannister’s face. She spread her legs, lifted her too-long-skirts and relieved herself, a pool of urine wetting her slippers.
What was the piece like to write? Was there anything interesting about the process you want to share?
I have another passage that I like better from these chapters of 'A Call to Arms', but I've already used it as an example for another meme. The others would be majorly spoilerific. So I chose this one because it was extremely satisfying to write because if anyone deserves to literally piss on Tywin Lannister - it's this woman. My made-up Tysha quickly became my favourite character in the series. I have no idea what she's going to be like if we ever see her again in canon. But I had fun writing a triumphant victim. She's a survivor.
Those Deemed Worthy - Favourite line/passage
She had followed Jaime north to answer the call of the Wall, an attempt to make amends for her betrayal. He seemed indifferent to her presence, it proved to be more cutting than any sharp tongued barb. As the days and nights carried on, she found herself wishing for his acknowledgement in some way, even an insult would have been welcome. She was tired of being a ghost in his presence. The other men gave her the same treatments she'd become accustomed to in other camps. Suspicious glances, petty insults, and contempt. In time they too ignored her, and for that she was grateful.
It seemed Jaime made efforts to avoid her, but as their numbers dwindled, they were forced to travel together, spending long months drudging from one battle to another in cold silence, a gulf of guilt and malice separating them. The night she received the dark words of her father's death, the distance between them lessened. She had crumpled into the dirty snows of their camp and blubbered like an infant. Jaime had been there. Of them all, he had been the only one to move and comfort her. Even through her grief she had been startled by his embrace, too startled to fight his arms away. She gave into the fleeting warmth he offered.
Frozen tears on a red cloak.
What was the piece like to write? Was there anything interesting about the process you want to share?
I wrote "Those Deemed Worthy" as part of a challenge. The premise being Jaime and Brienne are assassins in Essos. The biggest challenge was trying to figure out why either of them would have chosen that life.
As I went on with chapter two I needed to fill in some gaps for my own sake. Brienne's guilt and feeling the need to atone for her betrayal played a large role for me in making sense of this story. I think I did a fairly good job of bringing the feels for our poor Brienne here.
Jaime found his wife in solitude resting against a wall, hair and skin glowing from her swordplay, she was drinking from a flask, her throat deliciously swallowing the cool water.
He slunk down next to her.
They both sat in silence, staring out over the horizon, their eyes on the ocean in the distance, neither one wanting to have the conversation they knew they must.
—LadyofTarth, A Call to Arms
For the lovely LadyofTarth (ladyoftarth-posts) who has been tirelessly supportive of other authors with her own beautiful fanart.
Fact #1--I hate onions. Hate them. Anytime I go to a restaurant and every dish tastes of onion, I assume the chef is shit and doesn't know how to create powerful flavors without a crutch.
Fact #2--I have tinnitus. Mine isn't a literal ringing. It nearly drove me out of my mind in my early twenties, but I cope really well now. It's just a background thing I've learned to ignore, and some days forget about completely--unless something triggers me to 'hear' it.
Fact #3--I refuse to have voicemail. Refuse. It really makes people angry.
Fact #4--I always wear sunglasses outdoors in daylight. Even on cloudy, rainy days. Even in Ireland. Sometimes even indoors. My eyes are incredibly light sensitive. I may be a vampire. Other people see the douchebag wearing sunglasses at night and mock him, but I think, "brother, you are not alone".
Fact #5--I love laser tag. Like, love it. Scary love it. As in, trick younger cousins into going with me, so I don't look like an idiot. I have forced my friends and family go play laser tag with me on my birthday...in my thirties.
This is for everyone who sent me this meme. I hate you guys. :P
