Constantine1453

This morning I just finished my re-read of Jamie's masterful work, the "Scrolls of Icaria" - unfinished, but still masterful. Although it has been four years, I still hold out hope that we will someday see more from him. The world is strong, the writing wonderful, and the characters brilliant. Does anyone have any updates about when something might get posted? His e-mail account is deactivated, so it's unfortunately unlikely, but as I said, I hold out hope even as I work on my own writings, and struggle to find time to craft. Any information would be appreciated.

There was a buffet. Chapter 39 is up. A virtuoso chapter--it ranks (in my mind) with the end of the first part. Incredible. Just incredible. I thought after the birthday celebration there might be a slight decrease in tension--if anything, 'Scrolls' is on a finer knife's edge than it was before. Just...wow. I, like Castor, am beyond words.

Re: The Trio; minor characters--I have a feeling that we will know what happened to them soon enough. While Jamie certainly isn't afraid of killing characters off, should the demands of the story require such a catalyst, he's also shown a propensity for making sure that all of the characters are accounted for. So while we don't know what happened to them (yet, necessarily) it could be that they made it into a stasis coffin but didn't survive, that they made it into a stasis coffin and haven't been found yet, or that they didn't make it into a stasis coffin at all--I think we'd need to go back to the beginning and read over the sections where they find all of the angels to see if we can reason out who might have survived or not. Re: The Machine--I think it may have something to do with the Barrier. Re: beta'ing 39--all good things come to those who wait. :-D I can wait. I'll be patient. :-D Good story-telling (such as Scrolls) is worth it.

The Pecman, Agreed--it is one of my biggest failings as a writer to "sense" the world--my artistic background is primarily the theater, and so as such it is very three dimensional. Translating what I see onto the page is hard, as I am afraid the reader will get bored as I describe the mosaic pattern of the marble floor, or the throne room, etc. I've mad a note of that, however, as I have the other suggestions and incorporated that into my notes for the next draft. Thank you very much for your comments--they are very helpful. And I agree about the name (& the speech)--it does need to sound a bit archaic. Perhaps Wilem or something akin to that. I'll play with it a bit. Many many thanks! Back to the drafting process...

Trab, Thanks for your comments--all of them, regardless of how "small" the detail. One of the things I struggle with is to ensure that in the grand sweeping epic-ness of the tale that the "little" details remain consistent--and believable (well, for a fantasy story). I will take everything under consideration, as I said with Cole--I am very much still in the planning stages, so I thought I'd get some feedback on what (will surely be) a very, very rough draft. I'm very glad that both you & Cole found the concept intriguing--the idea for the world and the story has germinated in my head for the past ten years, and is very much informed by my studies in history, as well as my reading of fantasy, etc. I very much want to have a feeling of movement, of almost a frantic pace throughout the entire work. Anyway, back to editing & writing. Many thanks! --C.

Cole, Thank you for your comments--I've made notations in the text where you've indicated & will take the under consideration when I edit the prologue next. It is, as I freely admit, still in a formative phase--there is MUCH work to go before it's anywhere close to being polished. Thanks for reading & the encouragement--glad to know it is at least a good start. :-D C.

All/Anyone: Below I've pasted the prologue to my (as of now) planned 7-book epic, entitled "The Nightfall Sequence". It takes place somewhere between 300-350 years before the "present day" but should serve to set up the rest of the entire series. At this point I am most likely 6-8 drafts away from "completion"--I am editing the entire work start to finish for the first time as I write, and it's in dire need of tlc. I suspect it will be "done" by Dec 2011. Hopefully there are no rules about repeated postings--I suspect the site will see many snipets over the next year and a half. At this point, general comments are welcome and encouraged--I have a firm idea of where the plot needs to go, but the details of how to get there are obviously being worked on. So...thoughts? I present to you the Prologue to "Torchlight at Dusk: Book I of the Nightfall Sequence" The wounded lion roars its last, The ancient boundary crumbles. Fires burn along the walls Guard them, lest all be overrun. What was once united, Now divided, Will be one. --Issana, Abbess of Mat Kon 578-624 Prologue: Prince Wilim ran down the broad marble corridor at full tilt, one hand clamped down on his heavy gold circlet. Warm bright morning sunlight filtered through arched casement windows, creating patterns he darted through on his way to the throne room. He yanked open a tall door as hard as he could and thudded down the spiral staircase that led from the Imperial Residence to the public areas of the Summer Palace in Zinke. Reaching the bottom, he pushed the door open and started to run again, narrowly avoiding four servants carrying a huge carved chair. Portraits of his ancestors lined the walls; his father had just begun teaching them to him. He was named after his great-great grandfather who'd built the Imperial Library in Izdar, the main capital of the Empire. He passed through several long banquet rooms where the luncheon after the ceremony would be held. Smartly dressed servants in blues and greens were laying the clothes very carefully under the watchful eye of a Chief Steward. The ceremony he was very nearly late for was the Choosing Ceremony, where he and his siblings stood before the Orb and the Guardian and it chose who the next Emperor or Empress would be. He skidded around a corner and saw his father, the Emperor Pelgar and several others waiting for him at the entrance to the throne room. After a dark look from his father to slow down he did so, trying to breathe normally even as his chest pounded. A young dark-haired man stood waiting for them at the shut doors to the throne room. "Your majesty," he said, inclining awkwardly around a box he carried. "I'm glad your youngest arrived." His father gave him a withering look and he blushed and muttered, "Sorry." "I wouldn't want to begin without him," the man continued. "Wilim, you remember the Guardian Perclus, yes?" He nodded in reply. The last time he'd seen the Guardian was months ago at the annual inspection tour of the Barrier. "Your highness," Perclus said, setting the box down on the ground and just looked at it. "I considered carrying it in, but I thought it might be more dramatic this way." His father laughed and turned to the guards, motioning them to open the doors. The entire court waited expectantly for them in the huge ornate room; silence fell as the court stood. Standing at the other end, his brother Antor looked bored, while his mother and sister looked annoyed. He and his father marched up the center aisle and he stood next to Antor, who at nine, was two years older than he. The court bowed as they walked up the aisle and onto the large dais at the other end of the room. The thrones had been cleared away and a carved marble table set in front. It was currently empty, but the front row of nobles eyed it as if they waited for something. "Took you long enough," Antor whispered to Wilim, knocking him on the shoulder. Wilim jabbed him in the ribs, not saying anything. "It is time," his father said shushing his two sons. He stepped forward and called out, "Guardian?" Perclus marched forward with the box hovering in front of him as he walked down the center aisle and up onto the dais. If anything, the court bowed more deeply for the Guardian. When he reached the dais, he set the box down on the table and pulled its red velvet wrappings off, revealing a glittering enammled box. With a flourish, he opened the latches and stepped aside. Inside the box was the Imperial Orb of State, a delicately crafted piece of silver and gold stone that seemed to shimmered under the light. It was perfectly round, and mostly silver, although veins of gold wove their way around in a seemingly random pattern. "Your majesty," he intoned, motioning Pelgar III forward. His father placed his hand on it, and it bathed him in a green light. "The Orb acknowledges you as rightful Emperor, as chosen by the God. Do you swear to abide by the choice of the Orb for your heir and successor, whomever that may be?" "I do," his father replied without hesitation. The light grew brighter for a moment. "You speak the truth," said the Guardian, and his father stepped away from the Orb. "Please call your children forward and place their hands on the orb, one by one." "Fola," their father called, and Wilim's sister stepped forward. Tall and thin, her dark ringlets cast a haughty shadow over her face. She'd boasted to Wilim a couple of times over the past few months that she would be the next Empress. When he'd asked Steffan, his tutor about it, he'd replied that only sometimes was the eldest chosen. She set her hand down on the etched stone and held her breath, waiting for something, anything to happen. It felt as if the entire court waited on her. After a long minute with no green light or anything else happening, Wilim saw her let it go, disappointment. The Guardian looked to her and shook his head. "She is not the Orb's choice, majesty," the Guardian said gently. Fola stepped back, tears welling up in her eyes. Their mother, Dina held her close as she sobbed softly. Wilim noticed that a not insignificant section of the nobility looked decidedly uncomfortable at the prospect of not having Fola on the throne. "Antor step forward," Pelgar called out again, and his brother stepped across the dais to their father. He squeezed his brother's hand once before he left for good luck. If Fola wasn't the choice, then Antor should be. Antor placed his hand on the orb's etched surface and looked up at their father. Whatever was supposed to happen didn't, because the Guardian repeated his rejection of Antor. His brother stepped back, a smile across his face as he stood next to him. "I knew it wasn't going to be me." "Wilim," he father called "I was sure it was going to be you instead," he replied. "Wilim," his father said more insistently, and he stepped forward slowly. He wasn't sure what was going to happen; all he knew was that he'd have to put his hand on the orb. It seemed a mile between where he stood and his father, but he was there soon enough, the bright silver orb directly in front of him. He placed his hand on its cool surface, feeling the etched lines under his fingertips. Suddenly it grew warm, and emerald green light welled up out of the orb, growing stronger as it moved to his hand, and then up his arm. The light pulsated up his arm, over his shoulder, and coalesced on his head. He tried looking up to see the shape of what was there, but he couldn't. The court burst into raucous applause. An orchestra began playing the imperial anthem. His father and mother both hugged him tightly. Even Fola eeked out a smile for him. "The Imperial House of Miron continues," the Guardian projected out to the still cheering crowd. "All hail Wilim V, Prince-Imperial!" Everyone in the room bowed down to him at that--his father, his mother, even the Guardian inclined his head slightly. He looked up at his father, and couldn't believe he'd been chosen! # Prince-Imperial Wilim V sat trying very hard not to itch his at the tight black wool collar against his neck. He pouted and shifted his neck, trying to find a more comfortable position. He sat next to his father, whose eyes flickered down onto him for a second. He stopped immediately, knowing that look. If he continued, there would be consequences. He stared out onto the colorful parade of soldiers as the last of the pikemen marched by; the ends of their sharp pikes glinting in the late afternoon sun, and their regimental colors snapping in the wind. A military band struck up a livelier march in the distance. Staffon whispered into his ear the regiment number and its home garrison. Wilim sat on a raised dais in the middle of the parade route overlooking the Zudor Sea. The broad avenue was narrower here, and the dais set back between a cavity between two buildings. The dirty, smelly harbor was packed with hundreds of ships from across the empire carrying goods and soldiers. The first gun infantry units finally marched forward in perfectly straight lines. He couldn't help but smile a few of them acknowledged him with a bow as he waved enthusiastically to them. His ascension had been proclaimed all over the city, and the entire population had gone wild when they first saw him. Their green and purple dress uniforms were clean, the brass buttons catching the light at odd angles. A flock of seagulls careened out from the rooftops, cawed their way out to the open ocean catching Wilim's eye; he followed them up over the harbor and into the distance. When he'd turned back to the parade, it had stopped, a large group of soldiers directly in front of the Imperial Box. Staffon stopped his narration, stumbling over where that particular unit may have come from. As one the soldiers raised their weapons; the burnished metal of their guns dull and menacing, pointing out in all directions. Pelgar nodded to Golfan, the Captain of his Life Guards, and the guards tightened up around his family. Wilim knew at that point something was out of the ordinary. "Father, what's going--" whatever he'd wanted to say drowned out by the screams that broke out from the citizens amassed around the soldiers. Many fell to the ground at the boom of the sudden volley from the gang of men, maybe one or two hundred moved towards the dais. Wilim was afraid and crouched down on his throne, ready to flee but unsure of what to do or where to go. He looked around frantic and nearly sick at the sight of so many people covered in streams of red shiny blood. Strong arms lifted him up from the red velvet cushion and placed him behind his throne with his siblings. They huddled together, fear freezing their tongue, just staring at each other. His father and mother stood beside them, speaking rapidly to the six Life Guards on the dais, even as the soldiers surrounding the stairs fought their attackers, trying to hold them back. "They are to be protected at all costs, especially Wilim. You know what is at stake if he dies." The soldiers nodded grimly as his father continued, "Fola, Antor, watch out for your brother. I love you all," he said, hugging and kissing them all in turn. Wilim looked up at his proud father, tears filling his eyes as he hugged him tightly around the waist, his small arms barely able to wrap around his waist. Pelgar turned sharply at the sound of a piercing scream, and saw one of the Life Guards on the stairs charge down into the onslaught of attackers. It was time for them to escape. "Go while you still can!" He shouted, pulling out a pistol from his belt. The Life Guards grabbed their charges, and Wilim's heart raced. "He is mine!" A great shout echoed over plaza above the melee. Wilim watched from the back of the dais as a giant man strode forward, knocking soldiers on their heads, kicking and shooting his way to the dais stairs and up them. His leather vest stretched over a powerful chest and grey breeches covered massive legs. His fingers glittered with jeweled rings. "I've waited a long time for this moment, your majesty," he sneered. With an easy sweep of his hand, knocked Pelgar onto his back. "Zenzi, I will have your--" a fist slammed into his father's face, cutting off whatever reply he gave. Wilim shut his eyes and cowered in the corner, partially hidden by the soldiers, partially by a curtain. He heard his mother scream, and the man called Zenzi laugh wildly, his deep rasping laugh ringing soundly in his ears. With a sob he opened his eyes, struggling against his protector to get to the front of the huge wooden platform, but unable to move. Wilim opened his eyes and saw sis father and mother lay dying in front of their thrones, blood pooling out from their wounds. He nearly retched. "Your Highness, you must be silent," a voice broke through his grief. "We must get away. Your family, the Empire depends on it," the soldier said as he lifted the young price up and hurried noisily down the stairs, wading into the thick, panicked crowd. He and his siblings were as shielded as they could be as they made their way down the tiny passageway between the dais and the small alley behind. He was first, surrounded by a dozen or more guards, weapons drawn. Fola stumbled behind him, her pale blue dress flailing about as she pushed forward, surrounded by her own soldiers. Antor was last, and Wilim saw him half-running, half-carried as the need for swift movement grew too great. They turned as a group of raiders followed them, and prepared to stand their ground. Antor suddenly fell limp, and the guard behind him pitched forward as the raiders overtook them. He hardly had time to scream as the wave of raiders pushed toward them harder and faster. They forced their way up to one of the main avenues spilling out into the frantic crowd, moving as quickly as they could. The group spread out as most of the soldiers protecting Fola and he formed a line across the street and engaged the raiders. Wilim forced himself to look as the battle turned quickly against the harried soldiers. The pride of the Empire was overwhelmed quickly, and the raiders surged ahead, anxious for their quarry. Wilim could see the grim and hungry expression on all of their faces. A quick shot to the back of the soldier carrying Fola caused him to stumble, and she fell underneath him, her leg caught. Wilim, still carried by his soldier. A shriek escaped her lips, as an axe fell across her neck. He knew she was dead. "Scatter!" one Life Guard cried, and the remaining ten men and women took up positions around a narrow part of the street and held their ground. His defender, panting hard, pushed himself one last time, barreling into a crowded part of the avenue, determined to lose them both in the melee. Further and further into the crowd they pushed, the horrid sounds of the raiders growing weaker and weaker. The street ahead cleared momentarily, and his guardian surged forward and ran, shedding his cloak behind him letting it float to the ground. He turned one final corner and ducked into an open doorway, leading to a cavernous building. Wilim felt his feet land on the damp ground,. After a momentary shock, he started to cry, his chest heaving with the effort. Tears streaked down his cheeks, knowing that he'd never see any of his family again. The soldier knelt beside him and wrapped him in his strong arms. His tears stopped after a long while, and he stepped away from the soldier. "What's your name?" "Martis, Philon Martis," his guardian replied, bowing. "I'm from the--" "Aknorian province, I can tell. Father taught me," Wilim replied. A crash from outside the alleyway pushed them deeper into the shadows, Wilim peering from behind Martis's leg. Looters and raiders ran past in an effort to catch a fleeing baker. When they'd gone, Philon looked down at Wlim and shook his head. "We've got to keep moving and hiding, highness. It's not safe here." He nodded, and they peered out the doorway, up and down the dirty alleyway. The screams and groans of injured people carried over the air and Wilim cringed. He stepped instinctively into the warm afternoon sun, wanting to help, to do something, but seconds later he was back in the dark, lofted high into the air by Martis. "Your highness, it's not safe. We need to move deeper into this building. We'll stay here for the night, and move in the morning." # Day turned to night, but the raid continued, the Zinke sky lit up by fires consuming the ancient buildings. Screams and cries for help punctuated the warm night, reaching into their warren deep inside the abandoned building. Philon lay beside to Wilim, facing the door, his calloused hand resting lightly on his sword. Wilim stared at the cracked ceiling, unable to fall asleep, mourning for his parents, brother and sister. Silent tears streaked down his now dirty cheeks, and hunger wracked his belly, as he hadn't eaten since that afternoon. Finally exhausted, he fell into a deep sleep. He stood in the center of a vast gray chamber, arches soaring high above him and cool hungry mist swirling around. Dark shadows peered out of a hundred open archways, their sinister eyes catching his as he twisted around, trying to find them all. Suddenly, a blinding white light shot through the mist from above, scattering the dark shadows. It pulsed in front of him, and he felt warm and safe, and looked up into the light. "My son you are safe," his father's voice called out. "Father? You survived?" Wilim asked, his hopeful voice barely above a whisper. Somehow in the deep silence of the chamber it sounded imposing. "Martis will protect you for what awaits you and our House." Wilim moved toward the light, hoping to see his father's face. The light grew brighter and brighter as he walked as close as he dared. He couldn't see anything other than the light. "Father, where are you? Where's mother? What's going on?" "We were attacked, Wilim. You are all that is left of our line. You are the Arch-prince Imperial, no matter what else may happen. One day your descendants will rise up and avenge our deaths. This I speak." His father's voice changed as it spoke, becoming deeper and fuller, if that were possible. What his father said was right, and he felt himself know that he would survive this. "What about the Guardian? Can't he protect me?" Wilim begged. "I have other plans for the Guardian. This must be so. The God wills it," his father said, his voice booming throughout the vast cavern. A shower of mortar fell in the distance. Wilim nodded, not really understanding, but knowing if the God willed it, then it should be so. "Be well," his father said kindly, his voice dissipating into the mist. A moment later the white light shot back up into the ceiling, leaving Wilim alone once again. "I will," Wilim swore to the now empty hall and he walked through one of the doorways before the grey mist could return. # It was dawn when Wilim woke, more tired and hungry than before. "Did you dream, your highness?" Philon asked, his deep voice tentative and concerned. "I saw my father. He said that you would keep me safe," Wilim answered simply. "I was given a mission by the God himself to ensure that you survive your trials, which I pledged with every ounce of my strength," Philon told him, kneeling and bowing his head. Wilim put his hand out as he'd seen his father do to his soldiers. "I accept your pledge," Wilim replied, his voice cracking. After a moment he withdrew his hand. Philon stood and brushed himself off. "I suggest we move out of the city then. There are raiding and looting parties all around us, and if they should find us here...." Philon trailed off. He took his hand and lead him out into the warm early morning sunshine. It was as good a beginning as any. (Prologue fin) I look forward to your insightful criticism. Best, C.

I am once again bowled over by the brilliance of this work. This latest chapter (and really the last three since the resumption of posting) is incredible. The emotional journey that the reader has been through over the past few years as we've followed Jamie's progress as a dancer and a leader seems to be reaching a climax and settling into a new pattern. The writing is top-notch, the phrasing and styling of the setting and characters is nearly pitch-perfect, and I look forward to what comes next. So if you haven't yet, go read chapter 35. Go. Right. Now. :-P Jamie--once again, brilliant work!

So good to dive into the world of "Icaria" once again. Thank you all for making it happen! --C.

Aj--I am very glad to hear that things are on the mend, personally. Please take care, and good luck with everything. "Scrolls" will get there, I'm sure--I for one am willing to wait a very long time for a chapter or two...those winged boys are just so enthralling. Thank you for updating us, but thank you also for the immense amount of work you put into making "Scrolls" what it is. :-) And thanks too to Jamie for writing it. :-P --Constantine

No. Unless I put forth some sort of a "workshop" type piece, where I specifically solicit comments from the audience (Brandon Sanderson's "Warbreaker" comes to mind here), the piece that the audience reads is what I envision in my head as the chapter/novel/short story/whatever. That is not to say that comments, suggestions, concerns, etc. aren't taken into account the next time that I sit down to write. There is, as said, a difference between advance readers of a work and the general reading public. Editors/Advance readers/whomever are encouraged and indeed (I think) entitled and almost required to challenge the author on plot, pacing, characters, and the like. These people I listen to--because they have an objectivity that I the author do not.

Agree with many statements on here--I was just curious as to the nature of people's writing. I have a MUCH clearer idea of what the world is, who the characters are now that I've reached the end of the piece than when I started. One character's whole motivations changed completely, and the world shifted entirely. I can't imagine posting the first chapter without having a strong idea of the next 10-15 chapters. I suppose the release of the novel is a whole different prospect--I am at least a year away from submitting the first book, as it will take 10-12 edits to bring it into good enough shape to submit. Perfectionist, thy name is Constantine. But the first draft is done. Really draft .5, as I've major things wrong with the text. I was just curious as to the nature of how people wrote--I prefer the complete-write-then-serial-post sort of thing, as it gives me complete control over the text, and the story can be told as I intend it to be. The readers also can be assured that there is an ending. I find the whole writing process absolutely fascinating.

In working on my writing, I struggle with the impetus to write an entire draft and then edit to completion versus the more serialized approach of writing a chapter or two, editing, then moving forward. This summer, I began a massive project, one that I've been thinking about, on and off for ten years. When I sat down to work on it, I outlined five (or six, depending) books and went from there. I've finished the first draft of the first book, and have begun outlining the "nuts and bolts" of the world back into the source text as a way to distance myself from the draft and be able to approach it with fresh eyes. I worked on the first few chapters in the more "serialized" style, as in writing a chapter and then editing, but quickly abandoned it for a more (at the time) practical route of writing, writing, writing until I got to the end. In reading on-line fiction, I notice that there are two schools of authorship--those that post in a serialized fashion ("Scrolls of Icaria" pops into mind, although others certainly fit the bill) whereas others such as "Pluto's Child" just appeared on Awesome Dude as a whole text. Is it personal preference? I love the idea of serialization, even of a completed work, as it gives more give and take between the readers and the author, at least, in theory. But in terms of writing, I find that the entire novel is easier to write start to finish, unless you have a fantastic idea of where you're going. I've written a serialized novel (well, fanfiction) before, and that was certainly interesting, but the world itself was prepared for me. Thoughts? Discussion?

I think though, even if you know exactly where the story is going--things can change, new ideas or ways to approach particular characters, etc. pop up, and that impacts the ending. The last 2000 words or so of my first draft are probably going to be the hardest to write--and they will be revised the most, I'm sure. Ending anxiety--I love it! I probably am as well, even though I have five other books planned in the series...and this is only a first draft anyway, so I have a LONG time before I have to move on... Good luck with everything!

Agreed. I've written short pieces that I've thought out in my head--pieces of the 1,000 word or so variety. Written them, then edited them a couple of times with just superficial changes. On the other hand, I am clearly not a "magic user," nor do I exist in the vague 19th century world that I am creating. But they both come from many hours of research & thought, so I suppose that can count as "knowing." I think it comes down to personal preference, and what the work calls for. A short story could come across as over-worked if you revise, revise, revise, whereas if you are writing a novel, revising doesn't seem inappropriate about a billion times. Maybe I'm just biased towards the novel form. I can never seem to write anything "short." Well, except research papers. :-P

Agreed. Much of the web-based fiction that I've read has suffered from thin plots, poorly designed and thought out characters, and a tendency to just let things go where they will. On the other hand, you have a wealth of decent (or excellent) authors here and elsewhere who take the craft of writing seriously and for whom a number of drafts is not uncommon. They at least know where they are going with the story, and have a strong sense of both character and place. Brandon Sanderson usually goes through 10 complete drafts of his novels before he submits them for publication; Jamie (of Scrolls fame) goes through 12-15 edits of each chapter (and has a magnificent plot outline, so everything is included). I am always so impressed by good writing--a strong and healthy plot, solid characters and a well-edited text are essential to any good story. I am finishing up the first draft of what (I hope) will be a six-part series. It has a very long way to go before it sees the light of day--the characters are inconsistent, the plot is developed by the end, but the beginning needs a lot of tlc, and the setting is not as developed as it could be. I've quite the plot, but it will take at least a few more drafts to get it to where I can work with it.

Cole, Reading this over the course of the past few months was a very, very enjoyable experience. The characters, plotting, pacing, scenes and 'little details' drew me in & kept me there throughout the novel. It was such a pleasure reading. The characters were just pitch perfect in your delivery of them--from Andy's hobbies to the "secret life" of various characters--just perfect. The language crafting drew me in from the very beginning through the end--each chapter shifted our perspective ever so slightly, until we understood the characters and their motivations, as well as the journey that each of them had taken through the course of the novel. Magnificent work!

Heh. So...spoiler warning. I am worried about Jamie - he doesn't seem stable...hasn't seemed stable for a while now, and this just adds fuel to the fire...I hope that Nic's love for him, and his love for Nic can stand the trials that are about to face both of them. C.

Yes, I agree - and thank you for that little vingette. It was really sweet, and shows Jamie 'post-story' - which is a really nice idea. David Eddings used it to great effect in "Belgareth the Sorcerer" and "Polgara the Soceress", both published post-Mallorean cycle. Thank you! And...very excited to see new interludes coming from you. I might just have to go re-read the while thing just to get myself in the mood for more. :D C.

I've been following this story for about six months now, and started to read it...goodness, either right 'The Gathering' ended, or during the middle section. TSOI has become one of those stories that I look forward to reading the newest chapter, or even going back and re-reading the entire work just so that I can enjoy once again the style, characters and plot that you've created. It is a world in which there are real characters, people who you could meet and interact with, not just a bunch of archetypes or stereotypes. Because of that fact, the characters pop out of the page and become more lifelike, and we celebrate the victories, just as we mourn the losses. I look forward to the remainder of the 'Interludes', and will be waiting to pick up the second part/book/section of TSOI. Speaking of the title...have we even seen any of the scrolls yet? Incredible, incredible work - major major kudos to both the author and the editor - together you make a great, great team. C.