But I’ve finally got a good beginning to the story. Please forgive the rough spots, for this is only a first draft.

Thoughts, anyone?

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Kieran glanced at the girl who walked two paces behind him and groaned. He knew Pera quite well. And unfortunately, she looked far from ready to give up her impossible scheme.

He forced his tired eyes to focus forty paces beyond her, and what he saw there was even worse. Dark shadows still shifted through the crowd, following every dogged step he took and increasing in intensity as the sun’s more innocent shadows grew longer.

He moved in front of a particularly oversized barrel of a man, hunched his shoulders, and ducked his head out of sight, just as Pera tugged on his cloak again.

“Kieran, please! I could find another courier to take me, but—”

“Can we talk about this later?” he begged, as he eyed the movements of his large shield.

“Later? What if later is too late?”

“It won’t be. Your mother’s not as sick as you think.” He glanced behind them again, then pulled a worried Pera down a narrow lane behind a vendor selling barely-serviceable tunics.

“That’s not what Stacia’s letter said.”

“Your little sister isn’t exactly an apothecary.”

“I know that, but that doesn’t mean that ‘very sick’ means ‘doing fine!’  And this isn’t the way to Father’s booth.”

He sighed and kept moving. Thankfully, Pera followed. Loudly.

“Kieran! Father is back the other w—.”

“I know!”

“Then why are we going this way? We were just over here!”

He didn’t answer. He was having a hard enough time keeping his mind awake enough to lose whomever accompanied the insidious shadows that followed him, let alone argue with Pera at the same time. If only she’d quit demanding an explanation for every blessed step he took!

“Kieran!”

She pulled her arm free and he turned to face her, glancing over her head at the same time. Nothing. Yet.

“I thought we were headed to Father’s booth.”

He sighed, looked into two stubborn brown eyes staring at him from under almost-as-stubborn curls, and forced his tired brain to get creative. “We are going to your father’s booth,” he began, “but…” He ran his fingers through his hair and looked around until his gaze fell on a familiar and relatively hidden booth just around the corner. “I want to look at the Irycote daggers for a moment.”

“Again? Twice today wasn’t enough?”

Maybe his creativity was wearing thinner than he thought. He turned back toward her, only to find one adorable eyebrow cocked up and a tinge of amusement lurking in still-worried eyes.

“Humor me,” he said, and he stepped away before she decided either to question him further or to resume her pleas.

Except this is “nowhere:”

Glen Etive, originally uploaded by scotweb.

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Here’s a sunset view that you can’t appreciate in the same way in the other seasons. For then, the richness of fall’s colors, the darkness of summer’s, and vibrancy of spring’s all overwhelm the gentle colors of a sunset like this one. But here, in the winter, the white of the snow sets it off to perfection:

The Last Light, originally uploaded by Team Jenneson.

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My favorite hero is Miach, from Lynn Kurland’s first Nine Kingdoms trilogy, which includes Star of the Morning, The Mage’s Daughter, and Princess of the Sword. When I asked myself why he’s such a perfect hero, I came to the conclusion that it’s not his power (which was extreme), his non-magical skills (which were many and formidable), or his looks (which really weren’t described all that well or that often). Rather it was for his never-ending patience with Morgan, his ever-present desire to understand her (even when it seemed impossible), and his humility. In fact, I think his humility was really what got me. He is the most un-arrogant character I’ve ever read, even though he had every reason in the world to be arrogant if he so chose.

Another favorite fictional hero of mine is Jeffery Lyman, from the old Grace Livingston Hill novel Crimson Roses. Lyman is a rich man’s son, yet he lacks the snobbery that keeps many rich men’s sons from being interested in a poor girl. He was able to see past Marian’s shabby gloves into the hands that were not ashamed to work, yet were still refined and cultured enough to sacrifice precious coins for symphony tickets. He proved himself still further by not only getting to know her, but exhibiting the patience necessary to take the romance at her pace, instead of his.

I see a common theme here. Patience and humility.

.~*~.

What about heroines? As a woman, liking a heroine means finding a character I’d like to be like…which is different than how/why I like heroes.

I just finished reading Courtney Milan’s Proof by Seduction (which has much less seduction than you’d think, given the title and cover art). This story actually had a lot of heart to it, and I liked that, even though I did skip over the few bedroom scenes. But I really liked the heroine of this story. Jenny was far from perfect, but she was compassionate and kind. Even better, she was able to see the good in people and bring it out. She made a difference in the lives around her.

Another heroine that many have loved throughout the last century is Anne from Anne of Green Gables. I’m talking about the Anne from the books, not the movies, for I don’t think the movies succeeded in portraying the parts of Anne’s character that I loved. The Anne in the books actually had a lot of the same character traits that Jenny had. She brought out the best in people. She was kind, forgiving, and she never gave up on people. On top of that, she brought joy to those around her.

.~*~.

As an aspiring author, though, how do I go about using this knowledge to make my own readers fall in love with my characters? Especially since different people probably fall in love with characters for different reasons?  Why do other people fall in love with their favorite characters?

This one is in the middle of Loch Tay:

Crannog, originally uploaded by Angus Clyne.

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I saw this photo (another of Scotland) this morning, and to me, it looks like something out of a fantasy story. This is somewhere in the wilds of the Highlands, where the snow and extra-cold temperatures have bathed everything in the colors of steel and white.

…, originally uploaded by Hee Haw But A Number.

This is a deceptively beautiful scene, though, for it is a dangerous one. Over the Holidays, they had three avalanches…one of which killed a blogger whom I’ve followed for two years.

Avalanches aren’t a problem here in Ohio, though. No mountains, unfortunately. But winter’s beauty still surrounds me. Here is what I was treated to on my way to church Sunday morning, courtesy of my camera phone:

Iced Trees

A Frosted Elm

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So I got this new story idea yesterday morning, also set in the fantasy world of Jarentho. Who knows…maybe this’ll be book #2 some day!

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Sixteen-year-old Solen longs for adventure. He wants to save the city, escape from danger, and rescue a beautiful girl. But there’s a problem. None of the girls–beautiful or not–need saving. And even if a raider did manage to kidnap one of them, they certainly wouldn’t want him for their rescuer.  They’d want someone handsome, someone tall, someone amazing. Someone else.

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Nelca watched Solen from her place in the shadows. On the surface, he appeared to be the most unremarkable of this very-ordinary-looking group of guys. Yet, thanks to the gift Malkior had bestowed upon her, she saw something more. Something that beckoned in his future. Something woven from the threads of destiny and power. Something that made him not so ordinary after all.