It has been just a few days but I am writing quickly these days. Cramming a lot out. Though I have slowed down this week over the last three. For three weeks I wrote at the pace of 50,000 words each week. Now I am slowing down to 40,000 words so I do more with my day then just write.
This is a graph of my writing for the weeks of 2011. The amount shown for Week 6 is on Wednesday, the middle of the day with four more days to write.
My February 2011 Writing log started on Monday so at the moment I am just that 15K words into the month.
My exploration into a Ruritanian Romance is now 60,000 and a little less than half way. The Prize is not as Great as You Think combines those elements along with part of a plot line I had thought about a few years ago and jotted down. My notes of story ideas and plots go back for years. At one time I would wake from a dream and jot down the idea. Last night I had a dream I thought was going somewhere as well and the watching Lights Out  today I saw that some of my dream stems from that as well as the George Clooney  picture from last year, Up in the Air. The premise of my dream was that there was a deal, a business deal and the hero, me of course, was the smart guy, while the other side of the deal was clearly the costar of Up in the Air, Vera Farmiga.
She was the hot number in the plot that was a great Wall Streeter with access to a lot of venture capital. I was in the position with Raymond Enkeboll Designs that I used to hold and advising how to do a deal. Something happened that caused the hot number to scrag the deal which was fine with our hero for he had booked an adjoining room to the hottie and they they took forward a similar deal together making more than either would working for the man.
Who knows, one day I may add to the idea and make a story from it.
In the meantime we are at 218K words for the year and this is the beginning of the 2nd chapter from The Prize is not as Great as You Think:
2) All The Little Pieces
The manor house, near the outskirts of the city was very fashionable. Reginald had seen it before more than once, though he had avoided the inside. He smiled to himself for the expression like the plaque came to mind. Not that Princess Margaritte, was anything at all like that. Just that an alliance, a marriage would signify the end of his life of freedom. That he would have to start serious work here in the principality. Work that his father was more than qualified for and willing to do.With that understood, why then should he worry about taxes, and bread, Germans and railways? Father actually wanted to make all those decisions. He complained all the time that it was too much and he needed help, but Reginald had learned early on that was not the case. That when he had offered to help when he was younger, the Grand Prince would smile and then thank him. Father would say it was noble of him to offer but that Reginald should enjoy his life before he was forced to wear the crown and make such decisions.
After offering a half a dozen times, perhaps more over the years to really work on serious matters, and always being refused, Reginald took to heart that he should indulge himself. Perhaps he had overdone it. Certainly the press loved him for overindulgence. He was advised by the owners of not only the papers from Steilenberg, but those in the provinces, that he contributed greatly to their profits. Everyone wanted to read about what he was doing, or planning to do. They liked pictures of the beautiful women he dated, and fortunately they papers only called it dating. Should they report on how many women he slept with, and sometimes more than one, his reputation might not have been so great amongst the people.
He had one affair that had been placed in the papers so long ago now that no one remembered. It had caused him grief and he had come to an understanding then with the papers. They could report on all sorts of things that he did, but what happened in his bed, and who with, were never to be reported.
“Highness,” he saluted by sharply bringing his heels together. Then he leaned over and kissed the proffered hand. Margaritte didn’t rise when he entered, for she too was a princess of the Fitzroy Perry blood. Though he did outrank her, she was establishing her rights. He had encountered such women before. And of course he had met Margaritte many times. She was one of the most beautiful ladies in Steilenberg. He agreed with his father about that. Was she the woman he would marry, that still was to be determined.
“You do me great honor by visiting and so early in the day? Why I think the sun has only been up a few short hours.”
“Yes, I saw it rise for I have not been to sleep yet. Too much to do and so I must burn that candle at both ends.”
She trilled, for that was what her laugh was. Like a little precious bird. Blond hair, a descendent of one of the infusions from the north. She was one of the many cousins, and anyone who had the least amount of Fitzroy Perry blood seemed to want to proclaim that they were a cousin. Not that his cousin Gerald did, fool. He would have to tell him that the next time he came to town he need use some scent or other to hide the smell of his cows.
Perhaps that would be a good reason to marry, then he would place children between the man and the throne. Every son would cause the need for his cousin Gerald to come to the capital less frequently. “What would you say to eight sons?” He asked Margaritte. Not only because the thought occurred to him just then, but also eight would be needed to bear the damn platform with St. Michael atop it. He was still sore from that. Sure that he had torn a muscle in his shoulder.
“Eight, I think you need to first marry, and then we shall discuss it.” She smiled but he saw that it did not reach her eyes. She was calculating what that question had meant.
“You must meet my cousin Gerald. You know he is next in line to the throne after me? It so irks Athalan. My brother has never accepted that he is not in the line of succession.”
“I do not think of Athalan much,” Margaritte said.
Reginald nodded, “You know most women are like that, but I think that is a mistake. Not that women should like him for his charms or his looks, though you would think with his parents he would look better. No, I think women should like Athalan for his ambition. And what he will do with that ambition should he find he is disliked.”
She laughed again but not the trill she had before. This was forced. “You make him sound dangerous.”
Reginald nodded, “He is probably the most dangerous man I know. I fear that in the years to come we may find out just how dangerous he is. Father refuses to see it. You should know this also should I court you to be my bride and then the Grand Princess. If we were to have any sons, Athalan would not necessarily be there friend.”
She did not laugh, “If you feel this way, then why not exile him? Surely you could arrange that.”
“He is the son of my father, and he is my brother. I know his ambitions seethes inside of him but until he acts upon it, I will do nothing. It is an unspoken truce between us. He wants recognition for all his efforts for a country he will never lead. I pretend that when I am Grand Prince I will do something to aid in his desires.”
She shook her pretty blonde head. She was twenty three he had been told and overripe for marriage. But she was holding herself out for the biggest fish that she could find, and that was him. Did that make cousin Gerald the second biggest fish? Smelling of fish and cow, the man was intolerable.
Well once Reginald was wed and producing some boys, then it would not matter. Cousin Gerald could stay in the country forever. There were other younger cousins who could carry the damn platform during the pageant. And if he had hurt his shoulder, then Reginald would force his father to take a flux and stay in bed next pageant. That was a way to get out of carrying the dame platform. If he had to act as regent for his father for even an hour, it would supersede all other duties and requirements. Athalan had told him that, but only after they got to the damn top of the hill and the Palace gates this year.
Gratitude Log
- El Pollo Loco-The Tostada Bowls–I have been eating these for a number of years and though I typically do not like mexican food, the bowls not only have edible food within, but the bowl themselves are edible.
- Campbell’s Soup–During the cold drinking these were great.  Cream of Mushroom is especially my favorite and Ralphs has been selling them for $1.
- Apple iBooks–Still finding new, free books to download. Last night Jeeves and Wooster by PG Wodehouse.
- Edgar Rice Burroughs –Wrote a Ruritanian Romance called The Mad King . I am rereading again on my iPhone courtesy of iBooks .
- Wishlists–What an incredible and powerful thing when you are broke. Really broke and going into your retirement savings to pay for food. Just place things on the Wishlist when you see what you would like to have and one day, perhaps you can get them.
tonight on TNT.
