It wasn’t all the busy yesterday, and I was in one of those afternoon funks where I didn’t feel like doing a lot. It does seem like afternoons are not good for me; most of my writing is done in the morning and evening these days, and the rest of the day is spent for running around and relaxing–or taking deep naps, if you want to look at it that way.
Though, once more, between what I wrote in the morning an what I wrote in the evening, I still managed to add about a thousand and fifty words to the story. If you consider that I also managed close to a thousand words on my first review–yeah, I know: shut up. Just shuttity up, up, up.
Go about your jobs, Cassie.
Back to the Firing Line, where things are not going well . . .
(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)
There were times early on during his A Levels when Kerry felt worried that he wasn’t getting spells right, or fearful that he was going to screw up something and had a spell go sideways on him. There were even times he considered the possibility that he simply wouldn’t get the spell, and never figure it out.
Today, just over a year after he began understanding how to craft spells, and do magic, he encountered an emotion that he’d yet to experience:
We saw Kerry, early on in the last book, get frustrated with magic–not a lot of times, but it was there. We saw Annie get flustered once when she couldn’t get a spell. Both times the other was there to help out, and they got through their moments.
When you’ve been around someone long enough, however, sometimes you forget they have those moments. Kerry is sort of like, “I don’t remember the last time this happened to me.” Unfortunately, Annie’s feeling the same way, and she’s also getting a bit flustered by his inability to bleed out his practice torso. Maybe Annie should try another approach: “My love, why don’t you just bleed that torso out. Do it for me?”
But that’s not what happens:
His last attempt produced the same results, causing him to flip his hands into the air. “Ah, screw this.”
Annie wasn’t about to accept his comment as the last word. “It’s all right. Let’s try again—”
He shook his head. “I’ll get the same result.”
“You will if you think that way.” She crossed her arms as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Please, try again.”
He stared blankly at the torso. “I’m just gonna do the same thing—”
“I know you know you can do this.”
He half turned and scowled. “I’ve been trying—”
“You aren’t trying hard enough.”
Kerry almost recoiled as Annie snapped. She didn’t shout or yell: she didn’t even raise her voice. But her tone let him know that she wasn’t pleased, and that he needed to work harder. Instead he lowered his head and stared at the floor, wondering what he was doing wrong, why he couldn’t get the spell to bend to his will—
Annie was there, along side, with a light touch on his arm and a soft and comforting look upon her face. “I’m sorry, my darling. I shouldn’t have spoke that way.”
He leaned his head towards her and shrugged. “It’s okay, Sweetie.”
“It’s not. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yeah, you did.” Kerry chuckled. “Because it’s true.” He reached across his body to pat her hand. “Can we take a break?”
She tugged on his arm. “Let’s go sit in the viewing gallery.”
You’re always hardest on the one you love, right? We’ve not seen that with these two, but of the two it seemed likely that Annie might be the one to get a little . . . stern with Kerry.
Perhaps they can talk about it when they walk back to the Pentagram for dinner . . .
Ah, young love: doing spells and killing homunculus together.
It doesn’t get any better.