Life of Bry

WIP Wednesday: Introducing my Novel

Hey everyone!

I finally have enough courage to introduce what I’ve been working on the past couple years: my novel. The title is still a work in progress — my original title was “Swords and Shields” but it reminded me too much of the Pokémon games lol Then I played with the idea of “Noble Magic” … for reasons. But I’m not married to it. I’m over 36,000 words deep and I’m sure in the next 30k words, I’ll figure it out (or I’m up for suggestions).

However, the most important thing is probably what it’s about. The concept came to me literally in the Taco Bell drive-thru at like midnight when I was working as a sports reporter, and it was just two words: magic assassin. I love the idea of magic. I read so many fantasy books revolving around magic, and how it derives and what it can do fascinates me.

I wanted to play with magic in words, wanted to create a world where magic comes from the universe itself. Magic you can taste and touch; magic you can smell and hear. Magic is a gift given to all, not a select few. Magic in everything; in life and death.

So first a synopsis: In the Kingdom of Zagova, you are either a sword, a shield or dead. Alyx Janosik was born to be the King’s right hand. Darian Kralovsky wasn’t born to be King. When Alyx’s parents both die of the flu, she turns away from the palace and into the shadows to provide for her and her brothers with bloodied hands. When Darian’s brother falls victim to the same disease, he refuses to accept it. Grief can make the best man mad, and together Alyx and Darian will find each other ready to defy the Universe itself.

And now what I want to share: my story. Which is terrifying to think about, because it really has so much of my heart in it. I’m not going to share a lot of my actual novel because I’m scared of someone plagiarizing; but I do tend to rewrite passage or entire chapters several times before one I’m happy with, so I’ll share those. Also, when I’m stuck, I’ll free write. That’s when I just take a prompt or idea for my novel and expand on it without intention of including it. They’re writing exercises essentially.

I’m not sure the point of sharing these except I want to share my excitement for the project. Maybe it’ll also hold me accountable to finish it and not shoot it in the backyard. I’m not sure if you guys care to read this, or would anyone want to know more about my writing process? Let me know what type of content you’d like to see. Also, I’m always down for conversation so let me know what you think of my story. I want to really make this blog a fun place to explore (and I’m desperate for thoughts on this novel).

But without further ado, here’s a scene I wrote and rewrote a million and one times:

The Splendor of Magic

Magic loses some of its splendor after one experiences it enough times.

In Zagova, where magic runs through the streets as blood in the veins of the Kingdom, magic is mundane.

An afterthought truly. The way one doesn’t think to breathe. You simply do. 

That’s not to say there is no splendor left to magic. It’s just reserved for children and tourists. 

Men dressed in bells and overly bright colors making sugar pops change flavors to the delight of little ones leaving class at the turn of the summer season. The fractured mess of a crashing chandelier becoming constellations on the ceiling of a packed theater full of gasps. A woman in rags and filth who will tell anyone when they will die for the small price of a hot meal and a scrap of their sanity.

Magic is not always a bright and shiny thing to gawk at. It is often dirty, grotesque. One wants to look away, but is drawn to it anyway. The splendor is in the unbalance. No matter how hard one tries, the scale will always tip one way or the other. Forever tilting this way and that as the wind blows. The splendor is in the thrill of unpredictability like the rush of the first snowflakes to fall and not knowing whether it’s the start of a blizzard or nothing at all.

Perhaps that is why Alyx still held some splendor for the people of Zagova.

Why the boys challenged her to duels as children in the schoolyard, and later in the rings of the Slate as teenagers. 

Maybe they just wished to test the lead guard’s daughter. Or to match their strength against someone who fought the heir prince routinely. Or a simple curiosity of what the fuss was really about. 

No matter what it was, there was always a challenger, a crowd to watch him fall and plenty of bets to be collected.

That is until another Janosik arrived — sometimes the father, usually the twin brother — to drag the girl from the ring without protest from her or the crowd which hushed at their arrival and departure. 

Torn knuckles could be mended and bruises wiped away in the cover of alleys but there was no way to hide the whispers of a girl and her shadows who couldn’t lose a fight. A girl who belonged to the king but chose them.

The deaths of the Janosik parents led Alyx out of the ring, but there’s still stories told. You can hear them in the backward looks and sideways glances when the girl walks through town as a feather on a gust of wind no one can quite catch. 

It was that girl who prowled across the royal arena in the dark toward a boy, a prince who would one day be king. A boy who wasn’t much of a fighter even if he’d ever wanted to be. 

Because Darian Kralovsky very rarely entered the arena at all. Jakob Janosik showed him how to hold a sword and to throw a knife. He was taught to control the bursts of blooms that came with his shifting and volatile emotions. He watched as his brother was pinned week after week by a girl who was seemingly born to fight. 

This boy only fought his brother. And really that was never fighting or training or anything of the sorts. It was playing pirates in the wild landscape of the arena floor. Where they’d swung wooden swords but never with any force and jumped from the arena walls into the dirt pit and the only magic they cared to use was imagination. It was scraped knees and brush-burned elbows that would scab and heal in their own time under soft velvet sleeves. Scars they’d treasure for the memories that were the only thing truly belonging to them alone.

That is the boy who stood on the other side of the arena. Nervous but unafraid. Suspecting prey to the wolf he knew was out there somewhere.

Waiting.

The arena was quiet but not silent. The same way night is never completely void of sound or the way one is never alone in the forest. Wind whistled by without the resistance of trees or stone or water. The Prince shifted his feet and his new training boots scraped dirt. The blood in his ears ran fast and thunderous. 

Then it was gone. 

Darkness slithered across the ground. A ripple. That’s all.

The Prince saw. Saw and smiled like a starving dog behind a butcher’s shop. He let the dark come nearer, let it dissolve into smoke, let it reform. Until it vanished an arm’s length away. 

Darian raised his hands, fists closed tight in front of him.

Alyx stopped only out of curiosity. 

The wall of shadows separated the two. A weapon against him, protection for her. A sword. A shield. Oh, how one thing could be both. 

A few soundless breaths and the Prince opened his palms, stretching his fingers. 

And then the ground shattered.

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