My first novel

First of all I’d like to say that, yes, I hoard paper and also digital files. Works that I will never finish because they were just brainstorms. I keep them. You never know right?

Do you remember your very first novel? I do. I have it in a file. It is not the whole thing though, that was done on a word processor and I never did get it all typed into a computer. So I have a fragment of a second draft. It has been about 150 pages so not bad for a first novel attempt at a fantasy novel. I have about 68 of those pages.

It was about this character who was cursed. She came from a people who were born with psychic abilities. She however was born with them All and destined to go mad. So she was going to be banished to the outlands. To where the humans lived. Void of all talents but they did have magic. There was reason for this of course. Another in their past was like her and went bonkers. Became a horrific dictator. So… why not ditch her to be the humans problem, right? Makes sense.

Main plot rather lacked. Turns out she is the Chosen One that will save everyone, including her own people with the assistance of other racial Immortal people.

I was 12 years old and I was damn proud. It was the first finished project I ever had. Makes me all nostalgic.

Here is a sample:

My name is Sanara, although most only know me as the Cursed One. A title that doesn’t encourage them to ask my real name. Actually I believe they think if they speak my true name it will taint them. I think in fact some don’t even bother to know it and certainly don’t ask for it. I’m tempted to offer it, to be honest, just to see what sort of reaction I would get. I get sort of bored in my isolation and these sorts of thoughts occur from time to time. Still fear of what I am to become doesn’t stop punishment of behaviour they don’t approve of currently. So I resist the temptation to mess with servants who quiver in my mere presence. I’m the second Arnorian to be graced with this title. My predecessor went insane before he was thirty winters old. Which is how the title came about. I haven’t as yet run naked through the streets nor had in-depth conversations with myself, but I can hardly say I have hope for the future. After all, I’m already twenty two.

As usual I ask myself as I lay in bed why I even bother getting up in the morning. Excuse me… afternoon. When every day is the same as the last and tomorrow holds only madness? The obvious answer is — to go to the bathroom. It is very tempting to remain in bed, but I can’t spend all day in it. Well, I certainly can but this seems to encourage a melancholy and that it is said is a madness of the mind. I wouldn’t want anyone to suspect I have symptoms of any signs of madness yet. They watch for it constantly. I would think that madness really… a deep sense of paranoia that I was constantly being judged and watched but that was a mere fact of my existence. However, I do suspect when the madness does come this will get significantly worse and I will have absolutely no idea of it.

Therefore having made this momentous decision to actually get up rather than remain in bed infinitely I reluctantly open my eyes. Only to realize it is not noon after all, more like early dawn. How repugnant. It is surprising I recognized it as such, since I rarely see it. So I must decide if I should go back to sleep or get up. The former being the more welcome. Unfortunately being of my people I know everything I do has a purpose even if I do not know it. This is called intuition; the itchiest and annoying trait known to my people. Meaning that the only reason I woke up early is that I had to, my inner mind knows it yet my outer mind has not yet found the reason. And it better find a damn good reason or I will not be pleased. You simply cannot ignore intuition. It just gets itchier. Sort of crawls up the back of your spine and head. Then sits in your mind and you get prickliness there. Not knowing why of course. Just knowing if you don’t do what it requests you can never be comfortable in your skin.

Grumbling I roll off my bed cushions and then slowly stand up. Well, that was a success. For about three hours sleep and being significantly groggy I’m impressed with the upward movement. Then going through my normal morning ritual in slow motion I stumble about the room looking for discarded clothing. Finding a blouse and some loose female leggings I slip them on, ignoring the creases and wrinkles. Unlike most Arnorians I’m not into hours of preening, although I did take a moment to comb my hair. It is not like I have anyone to impress. Not like I’m out and about in society.

Yes, I’m the Cursed One. The drama of the title deserves a lot of emphasis. And despite popular belief I do not spend all day plotting revenge on my people. Although it is an amusing idea. No, I spend all day searching for distractions. Distractions are a very important part of my existence. In fact without them I would have to spend all my time plotting revenge on my people. Distractions prevent me from dwelling on the future or remember the past. Which is why without them I would be contemplating revenge. Unfortunately I’m never invited to the various entertainment’s my people are engaged in daily, so I must seek out other distractions.

My race the Arnorians, have a special event for every day in the Cycle. Joyful, peaceful entertainment seekers. I don’t Quite fit that description myself. But as the Cursed One I feel I am entitled to be moody, sarcastic and bitter occasionally — Most of the time really.

What to do today? Lose myself in a book? Practice my knives or my dance-of-death fighting style?  Which is another thing I do that Arnorians’ disapprove of; they are after all well known for their peaceful ways. I find venting my frustration that way is the safest of all methods. Or for some real excitement I could go to the market and draw hostile glares and fearful glances. That’s always fun. Gods what a mood I’m in! Perhaps I should go meditate for a while. Unlike most Arnorains I do not do it daily, although I do agree it is good for the mind. Now that I’m thinking of possibilities I think it might be best to stay here. In fact I think something really important is going to happen today. So I might as well wait for it, instead of seeking it out. Because when something happens it usually does not bode well for me.

I go into my meditating room and settle to the floor, folding my legs in and putting my hands on my knees. Controlling my breathing I close my eyes. As usual it takes me a long time to calm my mind of thoughts.

I would like to disown my country. This is not an unreasonable thought, since my people want the same thing. I could join the humans perhaps. Then again maybe not, I’ve heard very few of them have Talent. All Arnorians have at least two mind Talents. I was born with more than my share of All mind Talents, and I’m stronger now. Humans can’t completely understand Talent the way Arnorians do. Considering this they would probably fear me more than my people do. Yet humans have something called Magic, something I can not even begin to comprehend. Perhaps though this would make them more tolerant of me. Until the Madness begins.

It is the hope that I will be accepted among the humans that made me want exile when the High Council gave me the choice. It really was not much of a choice anyway. It was between exile, execution, or the Silence. I don’t want to die; it’s too final for my tastes. No sane Arnorian would willing have the Silence. Exile apparently is considered an equal punishment to my people, since they do not have a high opinion of humans. To me it is more like escape. The Council told me that I would not be exiled unless they felt such measures would be needed. I know however they have been planing it for years.