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Re: Warriors of Love
Here are four versions of "Daisy" Chapter 9 Paragraph 1:
First Draft In contrast to the previous day, the lake lay leaden under a sky heavy with cloud. Gulls mewed, circling overhead –- perhaps a storm at sea had blown them inland. Certainly, a chill wind blew –- feeling almost wintry. A cold shudder ran through me. Gusting stronger than before, the blast carried a smell of burnt canvas from where Liz and Mel inspected the partially charred remains of Sandra’s tent. Sweetness enveloped my tongue from the honey in my blackcurrant tea. Second Draft In contrast to the previous day, dull choppy waves scudded the lake. The sky churned with storm-freighted cloud. Gulls mewed, circling overhead –- perhaps gale-tossed from their wonted sea. Certainly, a sharp wind blew –- with a distinct wintry edge. The gust carried a charred smell. Twelve or fifteen paces distant, Liz and Mel inspected Sandra’s partially incinerated tent. A shudder ran through me –- part cold, part remorse or regret. Sweetness enveloped my tongue: honey-laced blackcurrant tea. Third Draft Unlike the previous day, dull choppy waves scudded the lake. The sky churned with storm-freighted cloud. Gulls circled, mewing –- perhaps gale-tossed from their wonted sea. Certainly, a sharp wind blew –- with a distinct wintry edge. The gust carried a charred smell. Twelve or fifteen paces distant, Liz and Mel inspected Sandra’s partially incinerated tent. A shudder ran through me –- part cold, part remorse or regret. Sweetness enveloped my tongue: honey-laced blackcurrant tea. Probably final version Distinct from the previous day, dull choppy waves scudded on the lake. The sky churned, massed with storm-freighted cloud. Gulls circled, mewing –- gale-tossed, I imagined, from their wonted sea. Certainly, a sharp wind blew –- its edge winter’s harbinger. Charring swept on the gust. Twelve or fifteen paces distant, Liz and Mel inspected Sandra’s fire-damaged tent. A shudder ran through me –- part cold, part remorse or regret. Sweetness enveloped my tongue: honey-laced blackcurrant tea. |
Re: Warriors of Love
Here's something (written today) for anyone who wonders about the origin of the name of a certain European country:
“Fair enough,” I posed the question, “but remind me, why do the girls need to be able to trek in winter weather? Couldn’t they explore the Victoria’s Land wilderness during the summer months?” “As we explore further south and east, Jane, the expeditions will take longer. Years, eventually, perhaps.” “Yes, but couldn’t they rest up during the colder weather?” “There may be no warm weather where they go. A place the Old Time blasphemers called Swizzer Land, for instance, has high mountains – some of them covered in snow throughout the year.” “Swizzer Land?” Passibelle sounded doubtful. “That’s a funny sort of name.” “I believe that it was home to money-changers who swizzed people.” “Perhaps,” Rachel suggested, “they sought refuge in the mountains from the people they’d cheated.” “That makes sense,” Passibelle admitted. |
Re: Warriors of Love
Congratulations to PF Jeffery, Pet (Odalisque). See the reference at the foot of the page here;
http://chomupress.com/our-books/ |
Re: Warriors of Love
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Re: Warriors of Love
A major publication.
The first, self-contained, novel of the Warriors of Love Duodecology... By PF Jeffery. Jane | ChĂ´mu Press |
Re: Warriors of Love
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Re: Warriors of Love
My work in progress is to be Volume 6 of The Warriors of Love. The book is entitled Daisy's Day. The action of the novel covers only twenty hours, something which imposes much upon it.
It is designed to follow Volume 5 Tuerqui. There is an extreme contrast between the two books. At the start of Tuerqui, the narrator has just been enslaved, and there follows an account of life in slavery. Daisy's Day concerns a boatload of young women on a mission to explore part of the wilderness continental Europe has long since become. Here is a summary of some differences between Vol 5 Tuerqui and Vol 6 Daisy's Day: Vol 5 Tuerqui:
Vol 6 Daisy's Day:
As a sample, here is the part of Daisy's Day on which I've been working today... *** “Thank you, Heather,” Sally said, taking her mug. “No honey spoon, I see.” “We seemed to get the tea down our throats without honey, last time,” Heather replied, “and I thought…” “Yeah,” Sally nodded. “Maybe it’s better to do without, rather than take just a scraping. The drop of honey in this morning’s tea only reminded me of what we’re missing – it didn’t do much to sweeten the drink.” “Thanks love,” Carol said to Heather, taking her mug. Then, perhaps to Sally: “I suppose we’ll get used to taking it unsweetened, sooner or later.” “We might even,” Heather added, "come to prefer it that way. Daisy – do you remember Felicity Peace?” Felicity had been a lanky girl with a snub nose and freckles, whom I’d known at school. It would be going too far to say that we’d been fiends. We hadn’t been enemies, either. Rather, we’d failed to interact to any great degree. While I’d ridden my pony, or joined such girls as Heather climbing trees in the Oak Wood, Felicity had preferred to devote herself to ball games. After the Battle of Woking Field – during the First Civil War – Felicity’s mother, Penelope Peace, had lived up to her name by joining Her Majesty’s cause. Although once the enemy of the future Empress, she had been forgiven – and why not? Even Nadine Next had eventually been reconciled. “Yes,” I replied, “what of it?” “Before she came to the Belle House, she’d gone to school in some prison camp.” “Felicity Peace, you say?” Sally asked. “Daughter of Penelope Peace?” “That’s the one,” I agreed. “Did Penelope rebel a second time? I mean, the prison camp…” “Of course not,” Heather replied. “And, even if she had, Felicity was… is… an eaquelle by right of birth. When I said prison camp, I just meant a tough kind of school – a place that wouldn’t allow the girls honey in their drinks.” “In that case,” Carol observed, “exploration would have suited her.” “In some ways it might not,” I said, “we don’t chase balls about the forest.” “Bulls?” Sally asked. “Forest cattle?” “Balls,” I clarified, “with an a. Felicity liked to play hockey, and tennis, and…” “Hockey,” Sally said, “encourages teamwork, which would be useful on an expedition… not that I ever much took to it, myself.” “My point…” Heather looked at us as though we were a class of naughty children, subverting her lesson by introducing irrelevancies. “…was to do with honey, not ball games. Accustomed to unsweetened drinks, she never did take honey – or, at least, I never knew her to.” “Then,” Carol said, “give or take the ball games, she really would have been suited to an explorer’s life.” “What I had in mind is that maybe we’ll be like Felicity.” “Once we have the axes and saws, we could maybe fashion hockey sticks from the branches of fallen trees.” It occurred to me that Carol was now deliberately misunderstanding her partner. “A round rock might do for the ball.” “Are you winding me up?” Heather asked. Carol’s impression of wounded innocence was almost convincing. “Me?” “Yes, you, my precious badness. What I meant was that maybe, once we get used to unsweetened drinks, we won’t reach for the honey jar when we’re back in civilisation.” “On the other hand,” Sally said, “we may go the other way, and pour honey into our tea like Auntie Jane.” “Either way, my love,” I replied, “I hope that you and I will go in the same direction.” “Of course we will. Your home will be mine, and…” “Are you doing a Carol on me?” “And what do you mean by that?” Carol asked. “Deliberately misunderstanding me, like you did with Heather, just now.” “Daisy!” Carol’s exaggerated tone of shocked innocence was unlikely to fool anyone. “As if I would!” “Silly me, Carol, suspecting that you don’t mean every word you say. And I meant, my Welsh floozy, that I hoped we’d go in the same direction by taking more or less honey in our tea.” |
Re: Warriors of Love
Chômu Press have published Jane, the first volume in the Warriors of Love series.
Jane | ChĂ´mu Press |
Re: Warriors of Love
Review of JANE by PF Jeffery (Chomu Press): the first volume of the duodecology entitled 'The Warriors of Love':
Book of the Month: by P.F. Jeffery | paintthistownred "It is a work of towering imagination, staggering wit and vital energy." |
Re: Warriors of Love
BTW, the only other duodecology I can think of is Anthony Powell's MUSIC OF TIME.
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