My Wrists Are Fried, Sauteed, and Boiled

Title: October's Knight
Word Count:5,534
Page Count:20
Author's status after writing: zonked.

Every time I click I can feel it all the way up my arm.

I know I've written hard when I'm in agony.

I'm actually not in agony.

It just kind of hurts.

Ouch.

But it was worth it!

Yes, if I was in NaNoWriMo the limit for a week would be over this word count, but hey. Then I didn't have carpal tunnel syndrome. =)

I'm so glad I finished it! And just in time! We're seeing my friend tomorrow.

Better get off now before my wrists are really in agony.

My Week, Tagged by Celtic Traveler, and Daybook

All of the post's you've seen this week (except for this one) was scheduled. Not from any forethought of mine, but just because I wanted to schedule something. Well, it turned out that it was for the better!

On Monday, we had co-op and schoolwork. I began getting a really bad headache from the cedar pollen.

On Tuesday, I had piano lessons and schoolwork. I still had a headache from allergies.

On Wednesday, we did schoolwork and Mom took Luthien for a hearing test.

On Thursday, we had schoolwork, ice-skating, and then torture. Did I say torture? I meant Accompaniment Class. I was probably the most prepared of all 4 students. Yep, all four. Including me, those were the only four that came, other than the teachers, of course. :) It was actually on the fun side. However, I came away with my CTS really, really bothering me.

On Friday, I did schoolwork. My wrists were still, like, killing me, and I'm was still having allergies.

Today hasn't really begun yet, but the allergy meds that Mom bought for me are now working. Yay!

And so, add it all up and you get a loaded week!

So I'm very glad that I scheduled posts.

Here is the tag from Celtic Traveler:

Rules:

You grab a book, turn to pg. 123. Then go to the the fifth sentence and post the next 4 sentences. The tag 5 people. So, here goes:

'A multitude of paws hauled him swiftly up through the hole. Shrill voices chanted jubilantly, "Yikyik! Gorramouse! Yeeeeeeeh!"

Skipper could not make out what was going on up ahead. Hearing the sounds, he dashed toward the shaft of light.'

--'Doomwyte' by Brian Jacques

Now I tag...

Catherine Morland

Eldarwen

Lady Milisande Awnia Grim

J.T. Norlander

Emma

And now for the Writer's Daybook.

What time is it...9:57 AM

I'm feeling...irritated, annoyed, pained.

Outside is...very good weather.

Today I...guess what! I get to...*drumroll, please*...go to the Alpaca 4-H club! Yay...not. Yuck and grrrrrrr. It's a waste of a beautiful day, that's what!

I am hearing...Luthien.

I am hoping...somehow Alpaca club will be canceled! Only an hour to go!

I'm looking forward to...being done with alpacas.

I am glad that...Alpaca club only lasts two hours. And that my wrists are hurting, because that might keep me from handling alpacas.

What I'm currently working on writing-wise...my story about a girl, a dragon, and a crazy pirate.

What I just finished reading...nothing, really.

What I'm hoping to read...Jane Eyre. But we haven't gotten it out of the library yet.

Writing buddy who I talked to last...igirl.

Writing tip of the week...drawing a blank here. I'm peck-typing because my left wrist is in no shape to type. Excuse any typos, please!

Number of words I wrote this week...2,000 or so.

What time is it...10:07 AM

Izori

Update on my wrists...and a special treat for y'all!

Went to the doctor's office...and they think it's carpal tunnel syndrome :(

So now I have a bunch of hand exercises to do, in addition to my back exercises.

And because of a bunch of things (wrists, schoolwork, life in general) I'm going to take a small break from Blogger. Not TOO long of one, but a decent one.

But to keep y'all from rioting over my absence (yeah, right), I'll let you read exclusive material...the prologue of Sarea complete with commentary!

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The stormy sea surges under the moonless sky; wild waves beating on black rocks, spray flying into the night. Somewhere out in the ocean, a sea nixie sings her haunting song to the hidden stars. Crashing, swirling, black water surrounds the Castle of Dolgotha—Castle of the Skull—as it stands on it’s peninsula, in stony pride, above the waves. “Let them try to reach my towers,” the castle seems to say. “Let them try to wear my stone down—I am not worried. They are too weak.”

The ring of horse hooves now sounds as a roan mare gallops in full flung speed down the rocky strip of land attaching Dolgotha to the mainland of Sarea. Her mount, only just older than a lad, dashes the salty spray from his face and urges the mare onward. With a reluctant snort, the mare picks up even more speed, her hooves flying.

Oh, Dolly, I should be riding you in a friendly race against the other lads in the village, the lad thinks to his horse, Dolly, as he leans over her neck. How did we come to be messengers to a Sorcerer and his King?

Dolly speeds on despite her master’s thoughts.

At last, they reach the drawbridge of Dolgotha. The castle has no moat; the ocean serves as a barrier. The lad reigns the mare in and stares a moment at the cold, unwelcoming stone walls. “Thee art lucky, Dolly,” he says under his breath. “A warm bran awaits thee, but I am the one who has to bring ill news to King Baashil.”

He shivers. Hasn’t he, just like any other peasant in Sarea, heard of their tyrant king’s cruelty? Did not he once have a father before Baashil’s dark army swept in and left orphans and widows?

The portcullis opens just long enough for the messenger to trot inside before snapping back closed, barely missing Dolly’s rump. It is like a hungry dragon’s mouth we have fallen into, the lad tells himself, finding some comfort in poetic similes. And it has snapped shut on us.

Patting Dolly’s sweat-speckled neck, the messenger enjoys feeling her coarse, healthy mane run over his fingers. Well aware that this might be the last time he sees his loyal mare, he gives her a farewell rub. Baashil is slowly crushing the once-rich kingdom of Sarea in his grip of iron, and nothing stands to overrule the tyrant king if he chooses to execute the helpless messenger.

A stable boy walks up to the messenger, silently holding out his hand for Dolly’s reins. His gray, downcast eyes meet the messengers for one moment, and then the boy turns away to lead Dolly to a watering trough. The two—the messenger of the king, and the stable boy—have more in common than a first glance reveals. They are both nameless to the one who has say over whether they live or die, powerless in the impending shadow of their Tyrant King.

The messenger stares around the courtyard, taking in the bleakness. He can still faintly hear the ocean’s roar as it batters the rocks, and the dark sky is the courtyard ceiling.

From out of a shadowy, stone doorway in the courtyard wall a servant appears. A long, thin man, with an equally long and thin nose. A gleam of cold indifference, placed there by the countless seasons of barely surviving, is in his flinty eye as he turns his head toward the messenger.

“His Highness awaits thee, messenger.” The servant whirls sharply on his heel and marches across the courtyard, expecting the boy to follow. He does, but slowly, reluctant to face the king.

The servant leads the messenger across the stone court and through two pillars at the very end. Now they are in a shadowy, dim hallway, lit only by torches giving off a flickering, red glow.

They come to double doors, engraved with odd lines and carvings in their stone. Ancient runes, the messenger boy realizes, the sense of novelty still not lost on him even in a terrifying moment. Magic, maybe?

The servant clears his throat. Apologetically, the messenger gives him a small smile, hoping to get a positive response.

His face remaining as cold and stony as ever, the servant opens the double doors with a sweeping, almost dramatic, movement. He ushers the young messenger into the room, and then the doors snap shut behind him.

The messenger is in the very heart of the ‘dragon’, now.

He glances around him for a long moment, half horrified and half curious. The room—Baashil’s throne room—is as dim as the hall. The walls and floor are, once again, made of cold stone, with no carpeting or tapestry except one solitary hanging behind Baashil’s throne. There are many small alcoves carved into the walls which contain white bowls with candles stuck inside them. A closer glance reveals that the white bowls are actually skulls. Almost the trademark of the Tyrant King.

And on the throne, at the end of the hall-like room, is Baashil himself. The Tyrant King reclines on a black, imposing, tall throne, looking very comfortable. Strangely slanted, red-gleaming eyes look into the messenger’s petrified green ones until the messenger dropped to the floor, pressing his forehead on the cold stone in a bow.

He finally dares to stand, peeping around him at his surroundings for a moment. For the first time he notices the line of noblemen—Baashil’s courtiers or cronies; whichever word would be correct—behind the ebony throne. They are all staring blankly ahead like statues. Only when one twitches does the messenger know that they are living.

Like a magnet, the lad’s eyes are drawn once again to the dark throne and the Tyrant King, and he remembers his message. Hastily trying to make up for wasted time, he stammers.

“G—greetings, O King, may you—you live forever! Thy humble ser—servant, the Sorcerer Alydur, brings you a message, Ruler of the Mighty Seas. Er…”

He fades off as the red eyes bore into his own once more, trembling in case he has just made a fatal mistake. After a lengthy pause, the messenger lad regains his tongue.

“Ah…the—there has been a discovery, Sire. Alydur has looked into the Crystal Ball, and has seen that trouble is brewing in the kingdom. There is a stirring of the Magic, and…”

The lad freezes as the dark voice of Baashil breaks into his sentence like a smooth knife. “The Elashae are on the rise is what you are trying to say, are you not?”

Now the messenger is darting his eyes to the ceiling, the floor, the skull lamps—anywhere but those red eyes. His answer is unspoken but obvious.

“And Sorcerer Alydur nor any of the others have made any attempts to stop this uprising?”

The lad senses a swell beginning in Baashil’s words, like the swell of a destructive ocean before it breaks into fury. Miserably, he nods.

To his surprise, the Tyrant King is not angry, or at least on the surface. He makes a low noise in his throat that could have been an animalistic snarl.

“They are but Sorcerers; what else could I have expected from such humans as they?” He almost seems to be reassuring the frightened messenger as well as talking to himself.

The messenger begins to have hopes that he might ride away from Dolgotha after all. Daring to raise his head, his eyes inch up to Baashil’s face.

Suddenly, the Tyrant King stands, teeth bared. The messenger realizes that they are pointed as he slowly begins to back away. Is our king even a human? he wonders with fear.

“Tell Sorcerer Alydur,” Baashil is almost panting now, the effort to control himself almost beyond his ability. The noblemen gathered in the shadows know that their king is itching to leap on the hapless messenger and sink his teeth into the lad’s soft neck. One of the courtiers’ hands moves to the sword mounted on his hip and glances at one of his companions.

Baashil continues, his taunt fingers clenched into fists. “Tell Sorcerer Alydur that I expect him to have the Elashae in his dungeons, tortured and awaiting execution, by first moon of autumn. If not…if not, I shall give him and the others the fate that was in store for them.”

The messenger bows and then flees the throne room as fast as possible without committing a royal faux de pas. He rushes into the courtyard, flings himself on the waiting Dolly, and gallops through the grinding portcullis and into the night.

_______________________________________________________________
Yes, it's written in present tense. I was experimenting.

Well, that's a bit short for a commentary. Oops.

Tell me what you think of the story!

I shall return!

Izori

From my laptop!

Mom finally got my internet up on my laptop, so now I'm posting on it! Kinda looks weird, but I'll get used to it.

Anyhoo...had piano lessons today, and after looking at the symptoms, my teacher thinks that it's actually not carpal tunnel syndrome, but tendonitis. She said I should go to the doctors for a professional opinion, but being a piano teacher, she's been around a lot of cases of CTS and tendonitis. She actually had tendonitis really recently.

And yes, theoretically I shouldn't be typing.

Izori

Anyone who wants to listen to randomness...

...step right into line.

Random Thoughts:

#1. It seems like I've been falling apart this week. Two wrists with CTS, one extremely bruised knee after slipping on ice, and last night I twisted my ankle slightly while dancing in the basement (don't ask). I just wanted to share that observation with you.


#2. After watching the movie, I can't figure out who I like better: Eowyn or Arwen. I still think that (at least in the books) that Arwen is a better role model. She is respectful to her father, while Eowyn hates her role as lady of the house.

And guess what!

Which one seems happier, Arwen or Eowyn?

Yes, I also believe that the woman's role--and glory--is to be a keeper at home. There isn't any shame in it, and neither does it mean that women aren't strong, or can't touch weapons. But it's the MAN'S duty to be at war, and it's the WOMEN'S duty to support them.

But I still like them both equally. They're like sisters to me! (Well, in a kind of distant way.)

#3. After watching Legolas kill the Mummakill (is that how you spell them?), I have decided that I am only half Elf. Only a full-blooded Elf could do that!

#4. I really ought to be doing my schoolwork. But I'm about to start Latin...and you don't want to get me started on how DELIGHTFUL Latin is.

#5. I'm doing archery tonight. It's part of my Elven training ;) I just hope my wrists can hold up.

#6. Uh...I got to play the piano a wee bit today.

#7. I am sometimes made fun of because of my Scottish accent. I don't have much of a Scottish accent, so I wonder why?

#8. While I'm on the subject of accents...am I the only person who LOVES Pippin's accent? It's really cool.

#9. My laptop is really cool.

#10. I'm running out of steam here! I suppose I'll end now.

Bye!

Izori

Not just a sample, but a whole entire book, of my writing, and another prayer request.

Long title. Sorry.

Anyway, it's a whole book (rather, story) of my writing...

...when I was about seven or eight years old!

hehe. Bet I fooled you there--'Izori's going to post a WHOLE story?!' It' really short.

And guess what. It's with original spelling and punctuation! The only thing I did was split it into paragraphs because it's easier to read that way.

'Patrick the Diver'

Once upon a time, there was a deep sea diver. His name was Patrick. One day, he decided to go diving. So he got his gear, put it in his car, and with a varoom-rooom took off.

Soon enough, Patrick came to the beach. Then he got in his boat with all his gear, and sailed out to the middle of the ocean and got his gear on. He gently lowered himself into the water.

The watter was pretty! On the out-side it shone and gleamed. Inside, well, there were dolfins, whale's, sharks, fish, crabs, clams, conks, and corral. An octopus floated by, with a crab in one of its long arms. Patrick pulled out an under-water-camera and snapped pictures. Then he took notes on a water-proof note pad. He saw a sea-horse clinging to a blade of seaweed. He took a picture of that too.

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw a cave. He swam slowly inside. It was dark, so Patrick turned on his underwater flash-light. He shivered. The cave was very, very spooky!

Soon he came back out of the cave. Then he looked at his air pressure. He had fifteen minutes to get out of the water. Then he saw a great white [shark], at a distance. Patrick decided it was high time to get out of the water. so he swam slowly up, got on board his boat got off his gear, and went home.

The End.

Can you believe that?! How cute ;)

Luthien found it who-knows-where and gave it back to me. LOL. Could use some work...

Oh, and the prayer request. My other wrist has started to hurt. Badly. And it feels a lot like carpal tunnel syndrome. So please pray that it isn't!!!

Thanks,

Izori