Decided to not wait, to not hold off and wrote instead another 3,000 words of Blood From the Mountain and I DESTROYED IT!
Man oh man suddenly things are good, suddenly things are riding hot slipstream silver and the lightning is crackling through my veins, my eyes blaze with fire and my fingers move so fast they blur.
It has come together! The disparate strands have come rushing and roaring into the center and their collision and interweaving gives off a sound like that of Niagra Falls, a huge and deafening clamor of success and victory and sweet sweet success!
All the wanderings, all the uncertainties, all the confusions and hesitations, all the asides and half thought out ideas, suddenly I step back and see that they all make sense, that they paint a perfect picture, and I know where it all goes. I know where it goes, where the story must lead, and ah, the sweet delirium of seeing that it made sense all along! Ogri, cast off and dead for a thousand years in the Valley of the Dead, having abandoned his great empire to die alone. The chamoof, slipping through the world and leading men and women, children and beasts to oblivion. The stone trolls, the need for power, the price for power! Gregory, the twisted Gregory, and the truth about Egard and what he did to him. Golden Crow’s warnings, Nakrok’s ambitions, and at its center Tharok, cursed and blessed, wanting to do as much Ogri but now, now, contemplating the price…!
It comes together. Blood From the Mountain shall work. It shall succeed. It is no wasted month, but a great and glorious tale that I have yet to complete! The very end is as of yet unknown to me, but surely as spring follows winter it will come.