Jennifer Freitag's Blog

A week ago, I got the sweetest email out of the blue from one of my blog followers.  Honestly, it's been so long since I've blogged, I was surprised anyone still followed me!  The thing that really stood out to me in the email was that the follower had been praying for me all this time, + you have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

let me recap these past 12 months

As some of you know, I was pregnant in 2018, + lost the baby at 16 weeks - a little boy that we named October Phoenix.  Certainly part of the reason I haven't blogged much is because I had to keep my head down + just keep going, working on my writing, raising Filigree + Wolfgang, finding the places to plant my loss so it could grow into endurance. 

Now I'm pregnant again, just one week shy of when October died, + I'm dealing with the roiling stress of worrying that this baby, too, won't make it.  At 6 weeks I suffered a subchorionic hemorrhage + spent the following month on rest, coping with the mental strain + praying until my body hurt. 

i've barely written anything since 6 weeks

I completed my first draft of Adamantine around the turn of the year, + began writing one of the earliest Plenilunar novels, Ampersand.  But since the hemorrhage, I've been mentally worn out.  I know lots of people say that you should write a little every day, but I have never found that practical.  There is more to life than writing, + we're not machines; sometimes our energies are completely redirected into other channels.  If there is one thing I have learned over the years with my life + my writing, it's that sometimes they can coexist, but sometimes the season for one diminishes + will come back again in due time  No, I never know when that time will be, but I know it will come.

still yours, if somewhat battered,xoxo, jenny

I'M A WRITER.  As are you, probably.  But even though I've published, I still feel clueless about how to go about the publishing process.  

thankfully, i'm also good friends with an editor

After she shared the article "The 7 Deadly Sins of Novelists (According to Editors)," concerning the author-editor relationship from the editor's point of view, I decided to add my two cents on the issue from the author's point of view.

THE VIRTUES OF THE AUTHOR-EDITOR FRIENDSHIP

1.  RECOGNIZE FALLIBILITY
As soon as you set out to employ an editor, you're recognizing that your job isn't perfect.  For anyone of a perfectionist bent of mind, this is personally horrifying (i know, i know, that's me), but this first step is key to getting your manuscript where you want it to be: published.

Relatable: as the writer, I get so entrenched in my w.i.p. that I often lose sight of things I've already written, questions I've already raised that need answering, holes that need filling, etc.  This is natural; the writer's brain is supah-busy running full-steam ahead.  Another pair of eyes (i.e. the editor) can spot these + bring them to my attention.

2.  TALK ABOUT VULNERABILITY
Editors are human, too: they probably know that you're going to be feeling scared handing your manuscript to them to (as it seems to you) tear apart.  If you're already tough as nails + don't mind this process, that's awesome! (i wish i was you!)  But for most of us, it's helpful to be honest about how we're feeling.  An editor will be gentle (while still doing her job) with a tender writer.  Tougher clients can handle their editors' more candid remarks.  Be open.  Compassion is out there.

3.  YOUR GOALS ARE THE SAME: GETTING THE BOOK PUBLISHED
The editor's job isn't to slash your manuscript to shreds.  The editor's job isn't to hurt you personally.  The editor's job is to provide the professional services most writers are not trained in, to inspect, refine, + prepare a manuscript for publication.  You have the job as the writer, she has the job as the editor.  Recognizing that you are both playing different roles on the same team is vital to getting your book ready to publish.

4.  TRY OUT DIFFERENT EDITORS IF NECESSARY, BUT BE RESPECTFUL
When publishing Plenilune, I gave a small section to a potential editor under contract so I could see if I was a good fit for that editor.  While the advice I received on the section was useful, in the end I felt my vision for the book + the editor's were not compatible.  Since I had contracted for only a trial section, I was able to fulfill the contract requirements + look for a new editor.

Be teachable:  While you are the writer, there's still lots of room for error in the writing process, + the editor is there to help you take note of those mistakes.
Be loyal to your novel:  While you're bound to make mistakes, you are the author, + that means your vision is top priority.  Make sure you + your editor share the same recognition of the spirit of your novel so you can work together to polish it until it shines just the way you want it to.
Be an adult:  Fulfill your contracts, don't take revisions personally, + definitely don't make life horrible for your editor; she's here to help you, not fight you.  

The author-editor relationship is often like two dogs trying to sniff each other's butts (which is weird + gross) but snarling + distrusting each other in the process so that no one gets anywhere but in a circle.  It doesn't have to be that way.  Next time you want to hate editors because you're afraid of them, think of dogs circling butts.  That should do the trick.

remember: you're not perfect!+ that's okay!xoxo, jenny

me: if i did a snippets post, would anyone be interested?
arielle: YES. there are still other people who say to me 'yeah, i'm looking forward to jennifer freitag's next book coming out'
me: awww gawsh
me: i'd like to know that, too XD

I'M ALIVE!  And keeping my head down mostly while I work, because I don't have much energy for blogging + writing at the same time, you know how it goes.

h o w e v e r
Here I am with some sneak-peeks at what I'm writing, so please enjoy!  (it's just my life's work, ya know; no biggie; no pressure; don't have to like it; i'll just be eternally crushed if you don't. XD )

jenny's gonna shut up now

"Will you go back?" I asked."That - " there was a marked hesitation " - is doubtful. What welcome would there be for me, who lost three Foundations on a fool's chase? Very likely I would be exchanging the relative comfort of my prison here for the executioner's spike at home. They would call me a - " he sighed, and the word, unknown to me, I had to surmise was tantemount to a traitor. "And, over the past five years, the thought of that spike has worn the blanket of home rather thin."
To Marramir, as she climbed up beside the Roman Orchid, he said, "I see you managed not to die this time. We are going." He gave a toggle a roughish jerk into place and let his hands fall to his sides. "Tatter-catskins will have to take her bath later."I could feel Marramir looking at me, but I did not turn round. I squatted just beyond Rhodri, arms around my broomstick, my head turned so that I could keep an eye on the reindeer. But I did not see them: my eyes were blind to the herd, seeing instead an inversion of the Emerald Jewel's face, a soft white cloudlight diffused behind her head, and a slatey darkness of disappointment on her brow.She spoke past Rhodri. "I see he has also taught you desertion." "And Achaemenimardux has taught you to take life cheaply," Rhodri retorted. There was no trace of weariness in his voice now. "Every time I turn my head for a moment, you are trying to get the kitten killed. How did you come to wear the cloth on your shoulders when you cannot even keep your head on them?"Marramir rolled her head toward him: she looked tired, so utterly, bone-deep tired. "You are not my concern," she murmured.
Gently, I peeled back the muddy, crackling folds, feeling something hard and uneven underneath. A twinkle, a gleam of tarnished metal - then I had the thing bared and was staring down at a history which was not my own, lying across my lap in the voiceless defiance of the past. I stared into the face of the thing and my body began to shake."It is - it is beautiful," I murmured.Rhodri reached out and touched it. "It looked finer when it was first mounted. We neither of us have aged without our blemishes."


I had never known hunger to be so constantly near to me as now, and I was further indebted to Rhodri for taking the time to show me what was good to eat from nature's own larder. An army marches on its stomach. Squatting down to unearth a faintly citrus-tasting root, plugging my nails with dirt, my mind strayed to the bitter climb through the mountains that Rhodri had endured, on the worst goose chase of all goose chases. Had they even had time to pluck herbs from the marchside and eat as they went? I stood, roots in my hands, and looked down at my body. The lush curvature of my form had sunk away to a sharp, serious, uncompromising thing, my wide hip-bones protruding and fanning my catskins out over them. My former, sedentary life had made me elegantly curved, shaped like a perfect Greek statue, but now I had become muscles and bone; what must Rhodri have looked like, who was perhaps half my size, and had not an ounce of excess fat upon him? "I think, if I were Somermilk," I mused, rubbing the roots with the flat of my thumb until the little tendrils scraped off and fell to the earth, "if I were Somermilk, I would not have let Rhodri live. No one that strong cannot be but trouble."
Somermilk folded a cup of wine into her fingers, and as she drank it, I thought the colouring of her gown turned a russet-gold, as though the alcohol flooded veins and threads alike. "I am going to tell our hunting story to those we left behind, and you will hear it also."What did it cost him, to keep all emotion out of his voice? "I will not.""I even brought a gift for you." Somermilk nodded to Marramir, who, in turn, lifted a bundle off the bench and held it out. I thought of a dozen grisly things it could be. Perhaps the same thought was in Rhodri's mind, for he said,"I have just washed. You touch it, not me."Somermilk's eyes danced. "It will not retch on you." She rose, towering over the trestleboard, and gripped the bundle in both hands; with a snap and a shake she flung the whole thing out from her, and a familiar electricity shot through her frame, stiffening the fabric until its scarlet folds were flat-naked to the firelight, as deeply hued as though it had been dyed with blood, and I could see a victory-crown of black tulips sewn around an emblem of dragonfly wings."You can hunt us with fire and arrows," her voice had no laughter now, "but you will never defeat us, no more than the earth can overcome the sky. You cannot bind the mists. You cannot stop the waters. You cannot break the light of the sun and moon. We will strip your lifeless fabric trophies from your spears one by one, and when I am done," the electricity fizzled and the standard fell limp against Somermilk's thigh, "I will wrap you in them alive and burn you for the Midwinter feast."And now - " she folded back onto the bench, smiling slightly, "I will tell you the story."
"You are a dog," said the Roman Orchid, stepping back, "and deserve what I have brought on you.""No." Rhodri pushed past him and turned, looking up into Achaemenimarduc's face. He smiled blithely. "You are a dog, and I am the vomit you keep returning to. Good morning." 

again, i hope you enjoyed them!see you next timexoxo, jenny

{all images via pinterest}

For those of you who have more than one responsibility, of which writing tries to be a member, let me clear something up.

HOW TO DO IT ALL( + stay sane)

When my daughter was born, I was in free-fall.  Who was I? What was I supposed to do?  How did I continue wife-ing, + author-ing, in addition to mothering??  I had a LOT of heartache + confusion to battle through, which took me years.  Y E A R S, people.  It was not easy.  I used to write all the time, whenever I felt like it.  Now I couldn't do that.  Was I still a writer?  Was I doing my vocation a disservice?  Would my writing genius DIE??

Try to tell me you haven't worried about this too.  You have a socially-accepted "job," or children, or you're in school - whatever: there are "other things" that you view as taking up your time + not allowing you to write.  Am I right?

yes, + we're wrong


Here's the problem with this way of thinking: no one has a "full-time job".  I know I tell people, "Yeah, being a mother is it's own full-time job," + you all get what I mean.  But it's not.  Nothing is a full-time job.  Except breathing.  Breathing is a full-time job.  You do not do any one job constantly.  Every job requires breaks, even if all you can do in those breaks is rest - that's okay too.  But the key, I've found, is to get rid of this mentality of "full-time" + "part-time" jobs.  All jobs take their time, + very few lives are going to have everything cordoned off into neat, symmetrical packages of time so that no one task feels cheated.  That's just ridiculous.  All jobs take their time.

linear vs. integral 
"to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven"
As Westerners, we tend to take a linear view of our lives, continuing from Point A (birth) to Point B (death), with little tics along the way that highlight the customary milestones of a normal existence.  As useful as this view may be, it isn't the only view.

My own butt-hurt regarding my writing was alleviated by the thought that my work (mothering, being a wife, keeping a house, being a writer) are not strictly separate "jobs," but rather "gears" that are interlocked.  It takes awhile to get the gears all in place, so chill out, guys.  I can't do all my jobs together at the same time, but neither do I have to chop them up and hermetically seal them off from each other.  They can interlock.  Perhaps writing-time links with nap-time (not always, but I see that it's possible), etc.  When one gear is cranked away, another can come into view.  The tasks can be integrated.

Whoever you are, whatever you're doing, chances are you're not writing all the time, + you probably feel guilty when you're not focusing on writing.  Don't.  Everything has a time, everything has a purpose; you can forget about such things as "full-time jobs" + the ridiculous mental pressure applied by society on that concept.  You still have your job cut out for you: you still have to figure out how to match your gears; but you needn't feel guilty.  You needn't feel that you're cheating your creative self because you have other responsibilities as well.

there is no writing utopia

practical advice: replace "should" with "need" + "want"

This was a hugely useful piece of mental health advice I discovered.  "Should" is usually a harbinger of undue guilt, whereas "need" + "want" help clarify an issue.  Exempli gratia: I "want" to go clean the kitchen, but I actually "need" to rest.  This puts everything in perspective.  Try it!  Sometimes what we want to do seems like the best thing (cleaning the kitchen is always a good thing, ehwot??), but isn't actually the necessary thing.  I don't always want to write, you guys.  Writing is stressful + hard.  Writing means I have to think.  Thinking is exhausting.  Sometimes it's easier to just not do the writing, + sometimes I have to tell myself that what I need to do is sit my butt down + work on my manuscript.

remember: your only full-time job is breathing

thanks for still breathing!xoxo, jenny

all images via pinterest

The current manuscript of Adamantine is 43,618 words.  I thought it was bigger than that.  X____x  I forget that the time I spend thinking + procrastinating about the novel doesn't actually contribute to the wordcount.

bah humbug
But recently I've been on a roll, which is HUGELY ENCOURAGING TO YOURS TRULY, & now I've got some goodies to share with you!  I've mostly got past the big language barrier problem now, & that's definitely helped smooth the plot along.  I mean, I can still hardly see where I'm going in the dark, but at least I can yell coherently while I'm careening down the edge of the abyss, ehwot??

baby snippets of which i am pwoud

The Good Dog gave no explanation for its sudden disappearance, but, when I was able to crawl out into the sunshine, it rejoined me in mid-bound, materializing as a black sickle leaping from rock to rock and closing the distance between us. I put my weight against a stone for support, to catch my breath and to catch a sense of relief that I was still alive and that my wounds were yet minor. The Good Dog landed beside me with all the noise of a leaf falling to earth and something in my chest seemed to leap out to meet it, as a soul springing to embrace another.
I heard a wordless noise of scorn from the Emerald Jewel, which carried across our languages with silk-smooth transliteration.
The Good Dog sank down on his haunches beside me, watching as I also watched. A thin, particularly cold wind sluiced up the brook's depression, ruffling the long, soft hairs in his ears so that they caught the light and turned translucent, elongating into silver gossamer that the wind continually snipped off in tiny drifting threads. I leaned against the bulk of his shoulder and hid my abused cheek in his fur. So close to him, I could see the swell and fade of minute orange flame-veins in every hair, lighting as he breathed, turning down like a lamp as the great breath flushed from his nostrils.
A shrill whistle dropped my awareness downward; the Emerald Jewel had paused on the track, turned to look up at me frozen against the skyline. "Come, kitty," she ordered; "or did you also learn cowardice from the blue dux?"



The Roman Orchid shot her a wicked look. The bubble was starting to form again, with the concentric moons: one was perfectly aligned in the fairy's left eye, and gave him a rabid appearance. "Yes, I resent," he replied venomously. "We slaughtered a life of good cloth for this--this worthless stillborn whelp. You saw! She could not even scream, with her maggoty face bloated with terror. She handles the reindeer like a drunk. And yet we suffer her to live," he concluded.To my shock, the Emerald Jewel laughed softly, under cover of a pitch-smoky gust of wind, and replied, "I heard you say yourself, this is what you get when you make deals with devils. She may indeed be trampled by the deer one day, or swallowed by a forest-spirit, but for my part," again she shrugged, "I am willing to whip some trail out of her before she expires."The Roman Orchid flicked out the fingers of both hands, as if throwing the whole business away. "Let the foolishness rest between your feet, then," he drawled. "You carry the cloth; don't come yelping to me if it hurts."
There I made my error. My hand went out unthinkingly to the nearest stem; at the same instant, the Good Dog exploded into fullest, most solid form around me. My right shoulder seized as his supernatural jaws clamped over them, wrenching back - simultaneously, and then overwhelmingly, my hand gripped a whorl of leaves and red, searing agony rammed into the palm of my hand like an imitation crucifix. Every bone in my body shuddered stiff like ramrods, my own jaw grit down so that the only sound I made was a horrible suffocating squeal like an animal being pressed out under a rock. Black spots, blue auras, sudden flashes of orange light, crashed through my eyes and filled my head until I had the galaxy warring in my skull.

Sounds like fun??  What a relief to be able to include dialogue! XD I'm pretty pleased with where I'm headed, even if I'm not sure how to get there.  I hope you enjoyed the snippets, anyhow!

until next time, cheerio!xoxo, jenny

all images via pinterest

I read thirteen books in 2017.  Those of you who don't have children, physical ailments, & don't get drowsy by reading, you can just siddown.  Thirteen is a book per month + one, which is pretty good for me right now, ehwot.  

four books stood out to me, & i want to share them!

With the growing interest in South Korea blossoming in the west, a voyeuristic view of North Korea is also opening up.  North Korea is basically the Silent Planet of countries, & the world is fascinated by this terrible little backwards oppressed nation & the fate of its people.   Oppression and exploitation are everywhere, but perhaps the isolationist mentality of North Korea + its juxtaposition to its insanely-first-world neighbour South Korea, makes this story so much more enthralling as a train-wreck debacle.  To whet your appetite for this book, you can also watch Ms. Lee's TEDTalk on Youtube.  

THE LIFE-CHANGING {MANGA} OF TIDYING UP by marie kondo
Yass, household name Marie Kondo has a manga + I devoured it.  Such a great little visual refresher for the Konmari enthusiast! (e.g. moi)




HALLUCINATIONS by oliver sacks
Big name, though I'd never heard of him; this psychiatric doctor takes you through many different kinds of "sane" hallucinations.   I get the impression that insanity-based hallucinations may not be as common as hallucinations produced by other factors, such as sensory deprivation.  Really fascinating read!

PLEASE LOOK AFTER MOM by shin kyung-sook
Probably my favourite book of the year, this moving, heart-stopping, at times chilling novel helped me appreciate my own mother even more, & reminded me not to take for granted the sheer amount of love + effort our mothers pour into our lives.

When sixty-nine-year-old So-nyo is separated from her husband among the crowds of the Seoul subway station, her family begins a desperate search to find her. Yet as long-held secrets and private sorrows begin to reveal themselves, they are forced to wonder: how well did they actually know the woman they called Mom?

Told through the piercing voices and urgent perspectives of a daughter, son, husband, and mother, PLEASE LOOK AFTER MOM is at once an authentic picture of contemporary life in Korea and a universal story of family love.

I'm closing out the year with a few books pending; I'll finish them in January, hopefully...  If you haven't hear of these four books + they sound interesting to you, consider this your formal introduction!  Books are best buddies.

until next time!(weak laughter)xoxo, jenny

all images via pinterest

if you are not a writer...i'm not sure why you'd be reading this except maybe as a social study. X_x
If you are a writer, you're probably acquainted with the almost crippling fear of what people will think of your writing + how it will be received.  People are fickle + picky + weird + seem like they think they would have written your book better than you did (rude??).  It's scary.  Halloween ain't got nothing on the horror of an angry readership.

The creative writing career is chockastumblingblock full of advice + rules + opinions + "keys" to success.  It's confusing + paralyzing.  Basically I always come away thinking I'm doing it totally wrong, & I'm sure I'm not the only one with this feeling.

you can't just make up your own rulesbut at the same timeyou kind of can

for every "rule" that i'm confronted with, i find an excellent exception:

a:: the author that "head hops" + yet does so seamlessly
b:: the author who invents words + yet makes complete sense
c:: the author who takes a long time to build up the plot + yet retains your interest with fascination

Rules are training wheels.  Rules are for beginners, just finding their balance, just learning what writing is all about.  But then, you hit your stride, + you can take off the training wheels + be yourself.  BUT RULES NEVER MAKE A GOOD STORY; THE WRITER MAKES IT A GOOD STORY.




two tips for being great
Don't have a fatalistic attitude.  |  If you think the story is going to be lame, then yes it's going to be lame.  If you don't love it, you can't make it live.  You fundamentally have to believe in the story's right to exist + be good for it to have any vitality. Clap! clap for your story!

"LOUDER, PETER."
Determine to be excellent.  |  Not to name any names, but the people groups of the English-speaking world who are notoriously self-effacing, "modest," + don't believe they'll amount to much, don't amount to much as a society.  The same goes for any venture, whether in business, school, or creativity.  Set excellence as the goal & work toward it; you can't reach a destination if you don't steer yourself that way!

"you did it. you've hit the stride and the soul of the story and it's TRULY MAGNIFICENT. i was entirely caught up in its spell, enthralled, needing the next word, the next sentence, needing to know what was happening."

This is one of the most encouraging reviews I've received for my work-in-progress.  In the midst of all the worries + the blind writing + vaguely trying to determine the structure of the plot, the feedback I got restored my self-belief + the knowledge that I am aiming in the right direction.  I'm doing it.  It's not easy, but I'm pulling it off.


be the excellent exception

love you all, my peepitipeeps!xoxo, jenny

{all images via pinterest}

I still remember getting majorly stuck right at the initial critical moment in Adamantine.  UGH.  What a nightmare, leaving that cliffhanger just...hanging there, feeling like I'd shot off a dud firework & I was still waiting for it to burst. 

I'LL GET STUCK AGAIN, DON'T WORRY.  But thankfully, Zenwriter has been a big help keeping me going + not being catatonic while I stare at my screen.*

*writers relate
30,610 words in, the plot is shaping & I think I like the developments.  My biggest hurdle is that the main character can't speak the language yet, so {W O W} have you ever tried to write an engaging plot with no verbal dialogue?  Relying on alternative cues to communicate is like engaging in writing yoga.  FUN.

{eh, snippets, anyone?}

I broke the stillness with a fumbling step; the fairy, having recollected himself, stood aside for me to duck through the doorway. He then led the way, the two of us limping--I quite badly, he but slightly--along a way which I dimly recollected to be a retracing of our steps of the day before. I had my wits, such as they were, better about me, and I was mesmerized by his wings. I thought that heretofore they had been yet one more surreal aspect to an alien backdrop; now they sharpened into focus, composed of velvet cerulean hues, swathes of ombre black into grey, anchoured into his back betwixt his shoulders, and trailing dormant behind him as he walked, the tips dragging upon the corridor. I noticed, too, with a cold shiver, that the membranes near the wings' extremities were ragged and scarred, as I had seen of a butterfly which has escaped the beak of a hunting bird, though not without personal loss.
I went after him out the doorway as best I could with my vision disrupted by blazing miniature suns superimposed over everything I saw. It was nearly a minute before I could see my surroundings for what they were.They ripped my breath away. Conscious of my injured leg and imbalance, my mind panicked, throwing up red flags of vertigo so that I was reaching for the fairy's shoulder' with my free hand before I was aware of what I was about. We were standing at the extreme edge of what looked, from what little I could see or comprehend, to be a massive, sudden, high outcropping amongst a tangled landscape of crags and verdant valleys, off which the morning mist was burning in long, torn banners of blue and gold. A stiff wind added to the alarmingly beautiful pastiche around me, and my mind--I feared it was becoming truly unhinged--was hurled back to the seasides of the Cyclades; it was that sort of wind.


"You - reindeer," I repeated wearily, and sat down on a stone from which I could see the herd.He gave that same sharp huff of humour, unexpectedly jerking out his thumb, pointing skyward. "Bona mew-mew," he chuckled; and with a quick swing-about, he left me, going down the path until the wind and the rock had closed him off from sight and hearing.
My arm, which the Emerald Jewel had never let go, began to tremble with excruciating electricity. The hairs on my skin, the hairs on my catskins, all stood on end and pulsed with a greenish, wretched light that cracked and popped and made my heart misfire as it attempted to regain its natural rhythm. The wings of the Emerald Jewel were flooded in a mesmerizing luminescence, in a pattern that had been invisible in the light. Although the pattern was such as I had never seen before, something primal in me knew that hieroglyph as a labyrinth that led to death.
The Haloed Swan lost patience. She suddenly snapped round, wrenched a knife off her table, and shot her arm forward through the broken field of sparks. I felt her fingers snag my hair. In the vertigo dark, as I was hauled down onto my face, I heard my own voice screaming, felt the reverberations in my own chest, while, above it all, my mind was scrambling to get away, to leave my temporal half behind.Knife blade pressed cold, hard, into the skin above my right ear. I felt the pain like a shard of ice being driven through my skull. My eyes gulped up a vision of sparks and intricately woven, colourful carpet, soft as moss, complex as the night sky, not inches from my left cheek. My mind saw the Haloed Swan twist my hair into a tangled braid, saw her wrist angle for the slashing cut; my body felt like it was being lifted as a plant from its roots; any moment now, my skin would rip loose - 

I hope you enjoyed them!  I have a hesitant confidence in their being rather good, I like where this path is taking me.  Not only is it a challenge to write a novel, it's an even BIGGER challenge to write one whose setup is almost totally devoid of intelligible dialogue.  HERE'S TO ME + my ability to pull this off. X_x

until next time,xoxo, jenny

{all images via pinterest}

IT IS HIGHLY PROBABLE THAT YOU KNOW MY NOVEL ADAMANTINE BETTER THAN I DO, EHWOT
I gave you a selection of six animals that might conceivably show up in my stories, & asked you to pick which one you thought would be showcased in my semi-current-work-in-progress Adamantine.  First person to guess correctly wins a peek at the first ten pages of my manuscript.




& the answer is...








REINDEER
Yes, that's right; reindeer.  Don't ask me why because I don't know, it just is.  Reindeer et al are such fascinating creatures; they're like horse-cattle-camels with oh-no handles* on their heads.  There are still (dwindling) groups of semi-nomadic peoples who keep reindeer, & while the lifestyle is a dying one, it's still fascinating.  Reindeer don't get enough press, I think.



so (what you really want to know) the winner isALLISON RUVIDICH(who sounds like maybe her folk raise reindeer themselves??)
hip! hip! hurrah!  you are the lucky (good luck? bad luck??) recipient of the first ten pages of adamantine! please email me at sprigofbroom293@gmail.com + i will get that to you directly!


* you know, those little handles inside cars that you grab hold of when the driver is going around a sharp bend.  oh-no handles.


Thank you all for participating!  I don't know, should I cook up some more guessing games for you? Let me know in the comments!

until next timexoxo, jenny

{all images via pinterest}

& YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO PEEK ON MY PINTEREST BOARD
i'm watching you
Since I'm working on the beginning of my Adamantine rewrite* & not Ethandune, & you guys probably know more about it than I do, I wanted to test your knowledge.

*i think i'll just call it adamantine from here on out

yay, quiz time(with a prize)

WHICH ANIMAL of the FOLLOWING IMAGES is going to be FEATURED IN ADAMANTINE

a:: lionb:: reindeerc:: catd:: horsee:: dragonf:: kirin

the first person to choose correctly will get a preview of THE FIRST 10 PAGES of ADAMANTINE

ready? set? choose!xoxo, jenny

{all images via pinterest}