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Date Posted: 15:27:33 06/30/09 Tue
Author: Esther
Subject: Time to check in >>>
In reply to: Esther 's message, "Okay, a multi purpose post" on 15:15:22 06/30/09 Tue

Okay, it’s been over a week since I’ve said I’m in. So time to check in and let you know how my week went.

It was absolutely fantastic! I can’t believe how good it felt to re-immerse myself in this story. And the most amazing part was that I’d read it and remember what my intention for that part was and what came next and even what music I was listening to as I wrote it originally. I had anticipated being lost, and instead, am pleasantly surprised that I could recall so much. And it was because I thought I’d be so out of it that I never got around to ever even considering that I’d finish it.

Of course, by starting to read some of the earlier versions, and even some of the later ones, well…I realize how much work I have ahead of me. But instead of dreading it, I’m looking forward to it. It’s like I found my friends all over again. So, not so much work, but a fun time to look forward to. Woo hoo!

But to be practical, I realize that those two hours will have to come at the end of the day. For a few reasons. One being that the kids are out of school, the DH is back in town and taking the summer off (unless he gets a call to cover for someone going on holidays like today, which left me in the lurch to go to work myself) and his presence puts a severe downer on my play time. The second reason is work itself, which never seems to stop. I haven’t had a real day off in three months, which I guess is to be expected if you’re self-employed, but still I’d love to be able to catch up enough to have a day just for myself. Heck, I’d be happy if I could get away with a 40 hour workweek instead of this 50-60. And then there is all the stuff going on around the ol’ homestead. The housework (cooking, cleaning, laundry), the garden, the pool (where is that gorgeous pool-man when you need him????), the yard-work (the two acres of grass to mow without a ride-on, the trimming, the weeding, the new flower garden I’m putting in, the preparation for the cement pad we are going to pour this month), the house renovations (the four windows we’re replacing (one of which is the first of the four 6x8 and is our trial one to see how badly the original was framed in, plus three smaller windows), the gutting of our main bathroom to replace the tub, sink and toilet, drywall, tile, etc. etc.), and the chicks we have that’ll need to be butchered at the beginning of August. All time consuming and so sometimes I wish we weren’t so much the DIY kind of people, but the DH is too old to change I guess. *G* Oh, and our tenant is moving out today, so the plan is spending the month of July making repairs, painting, and tidying up the yard and such as necessary.

But still, I’m excited cause I can do this. What’s another couple of hours at the end of the day? *G*

And so, my confession. I didn’t get to write anything last week but I did read a bit of my story, so instead of posting the last 500 or so words I wrote, I’m going to post the last 500 or so words I read. My warning - it’s not pleasant, so read at your own choice. Seriously.

This is part of Gareth’s history and incidentally Debi, this is the woman you mentioned. You’ll see what I mean.

Excerpt from working title ‘Pander’
by E. M. Sawatzky © 2001-2009 All rights reserved.
Posted for critiquing purposes only and does not constitute publication.

“You think me an animal?” For the first time, Gareth’s eyes left Trystan’s face and he looked over to his wife. Her wrists were tied together and bore deep rope burns, so deep the cord embedded in her flesh. That same rope, tossed without concern over a thick branch, twisted with purpose into an unforgivable knot. With a calculated amount of slack, the intent to pull her arms, in what he knew was an excruciating position, above her head. She was limp now, slumped forward, her weight dragging her downward, and her toes still didn’t touch the ground. In that quick glance, he took everything in.

If he hadn’t been so incensed, he would have been nauseous. As an insult, her hair was hacked off, shorn to the scalp in places, he could see enough of her shadowed profile to realize she was unrecognizable. Her face covered in oozing blisters of blackened flesh. Blood, sweat and soot further masked her identity. Other parts of her body had blisters from the touch of flame, but the concentration had been to her features as if her attacker couldn’t bear to see her while he inflicted other tortures on her.

Stripped of her dignity, her nakedness emphasized the brutality and her courage to endure. She had stab wounds, some shallow, and little more than scratches, others penetrating deeper into her flesh. In yet other places, he could see two slight incisions about an inch apart and the ragged wounds where the skin had been cut loose and ripped off between them. The stomach-churning aspect was this combination of horrors accounted for some of the blood pooled beneath her, but not all. It was a testament she was still alive.

“Still no manners?” Trystan taunted him, his voice arrogant and condescending. “I should have known better than to expect anything civilized from you. It does not matter if you tell me what your name is. I know who you are.”

Gareth’s gaze swept back to Trystan. In his fury, he did not hear Trystan’s words. His whole being filled with blood rage, the urge to seek retribution. His eyes narrowed, and his desires took him to the same level of insanity that looked back at him. His nostrils flared out as he breathed, scenting the putrid combination of fear and madness.

He took one step forward and Trystan followed his lead, the two of them circling each other in the clearing. Gareth recognized the abilities of the man before him in the quick assessment, the counter actions to his, and the intense concentration as Trystan sought the first sign of weakness, the perfect time to strike.

“Would the savage like to know what happened to his whore today?” Trystan goaded him with unmerciful glee, a sadistic curl to his lips expressing his amusement. “Would you like to know how she suffered while you looked for her? How she cried out for you when she couldn’t take the pain anymore?

“She begged me to stop. She pleaded with me to think of the baby she carried. Can you believe that?” Trystan scoffed, his tone changing to one of scorn. “She actually thought I’d show mercy and let another Indian bastard come into the world.”

Against his will, Gareth’s gaze went to her extended stomach swollen with their child. Thick clots trickled in globulous trails down her thighs, smearing the dried blood from the initial assault. Sickened by the thought of what she had gone through, of the loss she experienced before her torture began, he fell to his knees, and unable to prevent it, heaved up the contents of his stomach.

Tristan’s eyes took on a calculating gleam. “Oh. I’m sorry. Was it yours?”

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[> [> No, it's not pleasant, but it is necessary >>>> --

Page, 21:09:32 07/03/09 Fri

I remember a scene from Pander you posted before, where Gareth is battling with Trystan. Now I know why Gareth was so enraged. It's clear that this scene is what shapes Gareth's personality through the rest of the book. An experience like this one couldn't be hinted at in memories, or flashbacks -- it has to be written out and read in its entirety to understand Gareth's motivations later on. It's a very gripping scene, and you didn't shy away from had to be described. Very good work, Esther!

Hugs,
Page

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[> [> [> I’d like to think so >>> -- Esther, 14:18:24 07/06/09 Mon

That scene dealt with the part where Gareth had an epiphany of sorts, but yup he was caught up in his memories and waging a war with Trystan from the inside out. He’s had several run ins with Trystan, but unfortunately because of his upbringing, he can’t just kill the man, as much as he wants to, and even now this event influences his choices and has been a great hindrance in the past. Now the funny thing. This _is_ a flashback. *G* Karma’s presence in his world has dredged up unpleasant memories. But no worries, because he has this flashback before the scene you mentioned so it’s all good. Thanks for clarifying this for me.

Hugs

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> Okay, it’s been over a week since I’ve said I’m in. >So time to check in and let you know how my week went. > >It was absolutely fantastic! I can’t believe how good >it felt to re-immerse myself in this story. And the >most amazing part was that I’d read it and remember >what my intention for that part was and what came next >and even what music I was listening to as I wrote it >originally. I had anticipated being lost, and >instead, am pleasantly surprised that I could recall >so much. And it was because I thought I’d be so out >of it that I never got around to ever even considering >that I’d finish it. > >Of course, by starting to read some of the earlier >versions, and even some of the later ones, well…I >realize how much work I have ahead of me. But instead >of dreading it, I’m looking forward to it. It’s like >I found my friends all over again. So, not so much >work, but a fun time to look forward to. Woo hoo! > >But to be practical, I realize that those two hours >will have to come at the end of the day. For a few >reasons. One being that the kids are out of school, >the DH is back in town and taking the summer off >(unless he gets a call to cover for someone going on >holidays like today, which left me in the lurch to go >to work myself) and his presence puts a severe downer >on my play time. The second reason is work itself, >which never seems to stop. I haven’t had a real day >off in three months, which I guess is to be expected >if you’re self-employed, but still I’d love to be able >to catch up enough to have a day just for myself. >Heck, I’d be happy if I could get away with a 40 hour >workweek instead of this 50-60. And then there is all >the stuff going on around the ol’ homestead. The >housework (cooking, cleaning, laundry), the garden, >the pool (where is that gorgeous pool-man when you >need him????), the yard-work (the two acres of grass >to mow without a ride-on, the trimming, the weeding, >the new flower garden I’m putting in, the preparation >for the cement pad we are going to pour this month), >the house renovations (the four windows we’re >replacing (one of which is the first of the four 6x8 >and is our trial one to see how badly the original was >framed in, plus three smaller windows), the gutting of >our main bathroom to replace the tub, sink and toilet, >drywall, tile, etc. etc.), and the chicks we have >that’ll need to be butchered at the beginning of >August. All time consuming and so sometimes I wish we >weren’t so much the DIY kind of people, but the DH is >too old to change I guess. *G* Oh, and our tenant is >moving out today, so the plan is spending the month of >July making repairs, painting, and tidying up the yard >and such as necessary. > >But still, I’m excited cause I can do this. What’s >another couple of hours at the end of the day? *G* > >And so, my confession. I didn’t get to write anything >last week but I did read a bit of my story, so instead >of posting the last 500 or so words I wrote, I’m going >to post the last 500 or so words I read. My warning - >it’s not pleasant, so read at your own choice. >Seriously. > >This is part of Gareth’s history and incidentally >Debi, this is the woman you mentioned. You’ll see >what I mean. > > >Excerpt from working title ‘Pander’ >by E. M. Sawatzky © 2001-2009 All rights reserved. >Posted for critiquing purposes only and does not >constitute publication. > > >“You think me an animal?” For the first time, >Gareth’s eyes left Trystan’s face and he looked over >to his wife. Her wrists were tied together and bore >deep rope burns, so deep the cord embedded in her >flesh. That same rope, tossed without concern over a >thick branch, twisted with purpose into an >unforgivable knot. With a calculated amount of slack, >the intent to pull her arms, in what he knew was an >excruciating position, above her head. She was limp >now, slumped forward, her weight dragging her >downward, and her toes still didn’t touch the ground. >In that quick glance, he took everything in. > >If he hadn’t been so incensed, he would have been >nauseous. As an insult, her hair was hacked off, >shorn to the scalp in places, he could see enough of >her shadowed profile to realize she was >unrecognizable. Her face covered in oozing blisters >of blackened flesh. Blood, sweat and soot further >masked her identity. Other parts of her body had >blisters from the touch of flame, but the >concentration had been to her features as if her >attacker couldn’t bear to see her while he inflicted >other tortures on her. > >Stripped of her dignity, her nakedness emphasized the >brutality and her courage to endure. She had stab >wounds, some shallow, and little more than scratches, >others penetrating deeper into her flesh. In yet >other places, he could see two slight incisions about >an inch apart and the ragged wounds where the skin had >been cut loose and ripped off between them. The >stomach-churning aspect was this combination of >horrors accounted for some of the blood pooled beneath >her, but not all. It was a testament she was still >alive. > >“Still no manners?” Trystan taunted him, his voice >arrogant and condescending. “I should have known >better than to expect anything civilized from you. It >does not matter if you tell me what your name is. I >know who you are.” > >Gareth’s gaze swept back to Trystan. In his fury, he >did not hear Trystan’s words. His whole being filled >with blood rage, the urge to seek retribution. His >eyes narrowed, and his desires took him to the same >level of insanity that looked back at him. His >nostrils flared out as he breathed, scenting the >putrid combination of fear and madness. > >He took one step forward and Trystan followed his >lead, the two of them circling each other in the >clearing. Gareth recognized the abilities of the man >before him in the quick assessment, the counter >actions to his, and the intense concentration as >Trystan sought the first sign of weakness, the perfect >time to strike. > >“Would the savage like to know what happened to his >whore today?” Trystan goaded him with unmerciful >glee, a sadistic curl to his lips expressing his >amusement. “Would you like to know how she suffered >while you looked for her? How she cried out for you >when she couldn’t take the pain anymore? > >“She begged me to stop. She pleaded with me to think >of the baby she carried. Can you believe that?” >Trystan scoffed, his tone changing to one of scorn. >“She actually thought I’d show mercy and let another >Indian bastard come into the world.” > >Against his will, Gareth’s gaze went to her extended >stomach swollen with their child. Thick clots >trickled in globulous trails down her thighs, smearing >the dried blood from the initial assault. Sickened by >the thought of what she had gone through, of the loss >she experienced before her torture began, he fell to >his knees, and unable to prevent it, heaved up the >contents of his stomach. > >Tristan’s eyes took on a calculating gleam. “Oh. I’m >sorry. Was it yours?”
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