Graylorne
Archmage
A idea I wanted to test out.
I haven't been very happy with how my (published) Revenaunt books turned out. Compared to my later books, certainly the English versions lack spirit. They were the only books I never had beta read, so they only had a line edit. Anyhow, I'm not happy with them and as they are the first books of an ongoing series, I feel I have to do something about it.
I think I have three options:
a. rewrite the books as they are (I've done a few chapters, and it really makes a difference. I would have to rebrand the books, probably.)
b. write an alternate version of the same story (I've done an experiment and wrote the first chapters anew, but with a female main character. This changes the whole thing greatly but it is viable.) I could then leave the original books as they are and continue the series with the alternate concept.)
c. leave them as they are and concentrate on the next books. (This has its drawbacks - What would've happened to GoT if the first book sucked?)
Has anyone a (another, a better) suggestion?
To give an idea of the differences:
ORIGINAL VERSION
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the courtyard. At the first note, the three young men ducked into the shadows and stared at the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed without anyone appearing.
Ghyll Denhalf threw the other two a triumphant grin; everything was going as planned. The night watchmen, all ancient veterans, found the weather too miserable to man the walls. They would be sitting by the fire in the Guardhouse, their boots at the door and their weapons stored in the rack, while they killed the time with mulled wine, dice and the retelling of their war stories. For Ghyll and his friends, the way was clear.
The three slipped through the open gate into the darkness beyond. The world outside the walls lay wrapped in rain; nothing moved but the falling water. It was four hours past midnight and Castle Tinnurad slept.
Without speaking, they hurried to the stable at the castle farm, where their horses stood. Their trained fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch and soon they led the animals away. In the boathouse at the breakwater, their barge was waiting and moments later they sailed on their adventure.
“We did it!” Ghyll took a deep breath, gazing in the direction of the invisible mainland. He knew his foster brother’s eyes were on his back. Olle didn’t approve of this clandestine enterprise, but he followed Ghyll’s lead, as he always did. The other guy, Damion, went along because Ghyll had asked him.
In the distance loomed the dark mass of the Dar Traun. To Ghyll it felt as if the mountain waited for them. We’re coming, he thought, curbing his impatience. Ever since his uncle’s forester told him there were boar higher up the slope of the Traun, Ghyll had known he had to kill one for his birthday. He’d be twenty tomorrow and he had a vague notion that coming of age and hunting boar belonged together, as if one would prove his fitness for the other. He grunted. Uncle Jadron would not be pleased they had gone out without permission, but the urge was irresistible.
ALTERNATE VERSION (in this piece, the male part would be the same. Later on, obviously not.)
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the courtyard. At the first note, the three shapes disappeared into the shadows, watching the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed but no one came.
Gylla threw the other two a triumphant grin. So far, so good, she thought. The rain keeps the guards inside. She knew the men; all pensioners of ancient wars. In her mind she saw them huddled round the fire in the guardhouse, their boots at the door, as they passed round the mulled wine and bragged of their many feats.
She gestured toward the gates. They were locked at nightfall, but the wicker gate remained open. Unseen, the three escaped into the darkness beyond.
Without a word, she led them to the castle farm, to fetch the horses. The stable was pitch-dark, but their fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch and they led the animals away. In the boathouse at the breakwater, the castle barge lay ready and shortly after, they sailed on their adventure.
‘We did it!’ Gylla stood in the prow, facing the wind over the river and the lashing rain. In vain she tried to see the yet invisible mainland.
Behind her, Olle sniffed. She knew her foster brother’s eyes were on her back, his dark face barely hiding his disapproval of the whole clandestine enterprise. She sniffed. Olle was seventeen, a year her junior. He was far too conscious of his common parentage, and sen-sitive of his honor. She smiled. Olle was already a knight, full of Uncle Jadron’s virtues.
Beside him, the other boy hadn’t said anything yet. Damion was a newcomer at Castle Tinnurad–a small, withdrawn guy, who had shown resignation rather than enthusiasm for the plan.
She turned her attention back to the now vaguely visible riverbank and the looming mass of the Dar Traun, the mountain that was their goal.
We’re coming, Gylla thought, impatiently. There, high upon the mountain slope, were the boars her uncle’s forester had reported seeing. She clenched her fists. The hairy idiot! He’d laughed behind his beard when she said she’d like to catch one. “Stick to rabbits, Lady Gylla,” he’d said. “Those are fierce enough for a young miss.” Rabbits! She’d show him. A wild boar would be the perfect present for her birthday guests. She’d be eighteen tomorrow–her coming of age. Finally. The sight of the boar’s head on the table would be proof of her hunting skills. Her conscience gave a little tug. Jadron won’t be pleased.
‘Dammit, I know,’ she muttered. Her uncle was overcautious and never permitted her to leave the castle. Yet this time, the urge was too strong to resist.
I haven't been very happy with how my (published) Revenaunt books turned out. Compared to my later books, certainly the English versions lack spirit. They were the only books I never had beta read, so they only had a line edit. Anyhow, I'm not happy with them and as they are the first books of an ongoing series, I feel I have to do something about it.
I think I have three options:
a. rewrite the books as they are (I've done a few chapters, and it really makes a difference. I would have to rebrand the books, probably.)
b. write an alternate version of the same story (I've done an experiment and wrote the first chapters anew, but with a female main character. This changes the whole thing greatly but it is viable.) I could then leave the original books as they are and continue the series with the alternate concept.)
c. leave them as they are and concentrate on the next books. (This has its drawbacks - What would've happened to GoT if the first book sucked?)
Has anyone a (another, a better) suggestion?
To give an idea of the differences:
ORIGINAL VERSION
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the courtyard. At the first note, the three young men ducked into the shadows and stared at the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed without anyone appearing.
Ghyll Denhalf threw the other two a triumphant grin; everything was going as planned. The night watchmen, all ancient veterans, found the weather too miserable to man the walls. They would be sitting by the fire in the Guardhouse, their boots at the door and their weapons stored in the rack, while they killed the time with mulled wine, dice and the retelling of their war stories. For Ghyll and his friends, the way was clear.
The three slipped through the open gate into the darkness beyond. The world outside the walls lay wrapped in rain; nothing moved but the falling water. It was four hours past midnight and Castle Tinnurad slept.
Without speaking, they hurried to the stable at the castle farm, where their horses stood. Their trained fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch and soon they led the animals away. In the boathouse at the breakwater, their barge was waiting and moments later they sailed on their adventure.
“We did it!” Ghyll took a deep breath, gazing in the direction of the invisible mainland. He knew his foster brother’s eyes were on his back. Olle didn’t approve of this clandestine enterprise, but he followed Ghyll’s lead, as he always did. The other guy, Damion, went along because Ghyll had asked him.
In the distance loomed the dark mass of the Dar Traun. To Ghyll it felt as if the mountain waited for them. We’re coming, he thought, curbing his impatience. Ever since his uncle’s forester told him there were boar higher up the slope of the Traun, Ghyll had known he had to kill one for his birthday. He’d be twenty tomorrow and he had a vague notion that coming of age and hunting boar belonged together, as if one would prove his fitness for the other. He grunted. Uncle Jadron would not be pleased they had gone out without permission, but the urge was irresistible.
ALTERNATE VERSION (in this piece, the male part would be the same. Later on, obviously not.)
Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the courtyard. At the first note, the three shapes disappeared into the shadows, watching the rain-drenched square. Minutes passed but no one came.
Gylla threw the other two a triumphant grin. So far, so good, she thought. The rain keeps the guards inside. She knew the men; all pensioners of ancient wars. In her mind she saw them huddled round the fire in the guardhouse, their boots at the door, as they passed round the mulled wine and bragged of their many feats.
She gestured toward the gates. They were locked at nightfall, but the wicker gate remained open. Unseen, the three escaped into the darkness beyond.
Without a word, she led them to the castle farm, to fetch the horses. The stable was pitch-dark, but their fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch and they led the animals away. In the boathouse at the breakwater, the castle barge lay ready and shortly after, they sailed on their adventure.
‘We did it!’ Gylla stood in the prow, facing the wind over the river and the lashing rain. In vain she tried to see the yet invisible mainland.
Behind her, Olle sniffed. She knew her foster brother’s eyes were on her back, his dark face barely hiding his disapproval of the whole clandestine enterprise. She sniffed. Olle was seventeen, a year her junior. He was far too conscious of his common parentage, and sen-sitive of his honor. She smiled. Olle was already a knight, full of Uncle Jadron’s virtues.
Beside him, the other boy hadn’t said anything yet. Damion was a newcomer at Castle Tinnurad–a small, withdrawn guy, who had shown resignation rather than enthusiasm for the plan.
She turned her attention back to the now vaguely visible riverbank and the looming mass of the Dar Traun, the mountain that was their goal.
We’re coming, Gylla thought, impatiently. There, high upon the mountain slope, were the boars her uncle’s forester had reported seeing. She clenched her fists. The hairy idiot! He’d laughed behind his beard when she said she’d like to catch one. “Stick to rabbits, Lady Gylla,” he’d said. “Those are fierce enough for a young miss.” Rabbits! She’d show him. A wild boar would be the perfect present for her birthday guests. She’d be eighteen tomorrow–her coming of age. Finally. The sight of the boar’s head on the table would be proof of her hunting skills. Her conscience gave a little tug. Jadron won’t be pleased.
‘Dammit, I know,’ she muttered. Her uncle was overcautious and never permitted her to leave the castle. Yet this time, the urge was too strong to resist.
Last edited:
Sage
