I know it’s been quiet over here. Like, the-deafening-chirps-of-very-large-crickets quiet.
Here’s why: I was a bad webmaster. I let my site fall terribly behind in WordPress updates. I wasn’t doing my job. So I had to hire a guy to do some WordPress magic for me, and the whole process just took some time.
But now, The Prolific Novelista is back up and running again at full capacity! It’s kind of amazing, really. When I click things–they actually work. Who’d have guessed?! I can reply to comments! I can check past stats! I can do searches and tweak settings and make everything pretty!
So, there you go. We’re back up and running at full capacity. Please expect many long, rambling, I’ve-been-going-through-blogging-withdrawal-type posts. There may be a few funnies in there, who knows?
I leave you with a tidbit from my Seekrit Project, because I went on vacation recently and for some reason spent my whole vacation writing because I guess that’s what vacation is for writers? Go figure.
A turbaned head bobs over the top of the yawning soldiers.
“Irces!” I shout. The turban stops, turns, and starts bobbing in my direction. Irces appears in a flurry of billowy white robes. He’s dealing with the heat better than any of us, despite the cloth running down to his ankles and wrists, and twisting in wide swaths over his shoulders. Then again, our muggy warmth is nothing compared to the burning, dry heat of the Sand Shelves, where he comes from.
“Yes, m’lord?” Irces says, crossing his arms in a square shape and bowing.
“I need to send a smoke message.”
His dark eyes widen and before I can say anything else, he’s off gathering his smokesticks and directing soldiers to build a small fire. In a tick we’re ready, Irces poised beside me with his hands glowing amber-gold, a smokestick trailing vapor like incense.
“Lord Larkton,” I intone. Irces’s hand waves in the air, painting my words in front of us. A few soldiers have gathered to watch and they stand, transfixed, as the smoky letters glow with magic. “The King’s army should arrive in two days’ time. Stand at the ready.” His words are art in and of themselves, with trailing, curling tails. They are beautiful. “Bring as many supply trains as your lordship can bear to spare.”
When the message is finished, Irces closes his eyes, raises his hands, and lets out a long breath that clears away the smoke. The message is gone, sent off to Lord Larkton’s own court wizard. Irces has never served in a castle, but he is a skilled magician and sent as a gift to me from the Lord of the Willows. He came to us a slave, but the King no longer allows such things; so now he is my personal advisor.
“Would you like me to send a message to the Priestess Ilisa, as well?” Irces asks me. I give a slight nod.
“Tell her we’ll become thirty-three hundred strong when we gain Lord Larkton’s command.”
He responds with a snakelike grin, and writes another message. I don’t wait to read it; I trust Irces unconditionally to perform his task.