SCREW IT: Lady of Light Sequel!

In all my pitches to all the agents, I've lied and said I'm halfway through writing the sequel to the Lady of Light. So... I guess I gotta reach roughly 60k words by month's end!

I did write the original in 3 months, so that averages out to 40k words a month. But... Life's busier.

Lofty goal? Or doable?

Follow 'long to find out with me lmao

Welcome to NovMo, Dom! Let's see what you've got
Half of us are already spiralling from the self hate for our own prose XD

So, I did 1600 words in about an hour yesterday before falling asleep at 2. 80% of what I wrote is trash. So I guess I did just 300 words?

Perhaps instead of thinking of it as trash, you could think of it as gems in the rough... first drafts never look great, but they have great potential =D Awesome job on your 1600 words!!

Nah tbh it was trash. I already deleted and am rewriting. I'm very honest about stuff that works and stuff that doesn't tbh. And yeah ik it's a first draft, but first drafts can be good ykwim?

Ahh okay fair enough. (I'll admit I have a first draft of a short story that I also plan to rewrite entirely tonight.... hahahaa) Hope your rewrite goes better!

(Massive spoilers if anyone here is reading the first book)

Part 1 of Chapter 1 done! And It's better for being shorter imho

1
Soft dawn sunlight spilled through lazy clouds to dapple the cobbled streets, shambling alleys, and wide avenues of the ancient city of Afor. Its citizens were slow to rise, as the world was already hot under the infant sun of that summer day. Orioles and ravens sang their dawn chorus, with occasional solos sung uninvited by shrieking seagulls. Amidst it all, there were the sounds of the docks and dockworkers. The docks were never silent, and they sang their laborious songs of clang-bang-shout-thud day and night. Their working could be heard all over the city on quiet, perfect summer mornings. Far to the north, well away from the walled city, there were the factories but their song of machine and steel was too distant to be heard on even the stillest days.
Those early hours went usually unwitnessed by most of the city’s denizens, save for the bakers whose work had only just begun to wind down; and the Lifeguards at the Palace who were just switching shifts; and the factory workers who were just coming back; and the drunken crewmen of the ships at berth who were just falling into deep stupors. Joining this list of unobserved observers was also Eliza, who, that morning, was sitting at her window in her dressing gown and gazing out over her city. She felt a warm happiness spread her heart as she observed. On days like that, Afor reminded her of a cat asleep in a sunbeam. So totally at peace; severed from the world, and the troubles it brought.
But then, there was the ship.
She tried not to look, but it was unmistakable by its absence. Last night, late, a sloop belonging to the Samudi Navy had tied up. Her flag flew at half-mast, her hull was splintered, her sails were tattered. Rumour had it, she had run dry of powder and the crew was emaciated. According to Dazhyen, who had observed her berthing, the crew indeed looked like walking skeletons. The ship itself seemed hardly seaworthy. Beside her, the standards of a hundred ships fluttered proudly in the summer dawn, their silken flags catching the sunlight and the breeze. In that proud company, the standard of Samudabad did not fly.
She knew what it meant, but the news hadn’t been officially delivered – at least, not to her, Dazhyen, and Maryam. What would the news do to Maryam? Eliza decided she would be the one to tell her, though Maryam had certainly already guessed by now.
Eliza stood up, trying not to think about the ship and the tidings she brought. She walked to her dresser idly, as though she had all the time in the world. The clock told her it was 6 in the morning, and she didn’t have anywhere to be for hours still. That could change though, in the blink of an eye. All it took was for Gunada to summon her, to deliver the news that Samudabad had fallen…
She grit her teeth as she sat down, glaring at herself in the mirror.
“Stay your hands,” Gunada had said to her and Dazhyen when they’d volunteered to join the defence. “You are needed here,” Raidas had added. For a year Samudabad had been under siege, and for a year they did nothing. Again and again they asked to be sent, as did Cermak and so many others. Again and again, they were denied, told to stand down. To shore up, to train, to equip.
At least we rescued those poor souls, she consoled herself. Alfsmouth Refugee Camp, some ways to the south outside the walls, was overflowing with the women, the children, and the elderly of Samubadab. Their rescue last year had been difficult and drawn out, but it had been done. And still… it hadn’t been enough. So many thousands were still left in the city. Eliza stopped herself before she could ponder further their gruesome fates.
Today, the inevitable axe-blow would come. Samudabad had fallen; thanks as much to Damad’s 3rd Field Army as to Afor’s inaction. It boiled her blood, not least of all because Gunada and Raidas refused to tell them why.
But they were soldiers now, and theirs was not to know why.
A knock on her door pulled her out of her spiral, and only then did she realise the darkness of her own thoughts. It was a tendency she’d developed over the last year, since her brief encounter with the Masked Man and the immutable will of the Saints.
“Who is it?” She asked.
“It is Cermak, your Majesty,” said a gruff, soldierly voice. “I shall keep it brief: you are required in the cistern, Ma’am. It is quite urgent. In fact, I am certain that it is as we have feared.”
She knew it was coming, and it was no less debilitating. “I know, Cermak. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good, Ma’am.” Footsteps receded as Cermak departed.
Poor, poor Maryam… Eliza thought to herself as she got up to get ready.