So I wrote about 1800 words total today. Not bad, considering most of those are smaller pieces I was just writing because of the Do the Shuffle challenge on writerverse. It at least got my brain moving a little bit.

Still didn’t write anything for Seize the Day, but I did start my Idol entry. Started one draft, canned it. Started a second — haven’t canned it yet, but I’m being way more conversational and less…writer-y with this entry. Sometimes that can do one really good in the Idol crowd, other times it can get you booted. I’ll see what happens, I guess. I don’t wanna do a super-polished nonfiction piece this week, anyway. 

The piece below, I wrote for the Do the Shuffle challenge. The song I wrote it to was A Fair Judgment by Opeth:


Mitchel’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his head bowed and his hands clasped between his knees. “You wish to work with me?” he gasped, shaking his head. “Do you even hear yourself, Emperor?”

Savin frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms over his chest. He looked at Mitchel through the bars of his cell, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I want what’s best for our Empire,” he said quietly, keeping his voice as earnest as possible.

“Somehow, I think asking a known Resistance member what may be best for your ‘Empire’ would be considered a misguided decision at best, Emperor,” Mitchel said, keeping his eyes to the floor. “There is no need to come to the Resistance for help.”

“I am simply asking what it is that the Resistance really wants,” Savin said, trying to keep the biting edge from his voice. “If they want what’s best for the Empire, maybe I should try and listen to them.”

“Perhaps,” Mitchel said, standing up from his cot. He groaned in pain, putting a hand to his shoulder. “But don’t you need time to mourn?”

The question was spat out just as Mitchel lifted his eyes to Savin’s glaring at him. Savin flinched, ignoring the tears that wanted to well up in his eyes. “The Empire is in danger of collapse,” he murmured, tightening his arms over his chest. “He’d have wanted me to stop that from happening, first.”

Mitchel snorted, walking over to the bars. He, too, crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Savin’s body language exactly. “They want democracy. They want to dethrone you. They want the war with Hooba to end, and for the Empire to stop pushing its boundaries outward,” he said. “Now, since you have your answers, I wish to be left alone.”

Savin nodded, pursing his lips together. He made to leave, but stopped, sparing one backward glance at Mitchel. “You loved him, too, didn’t you?”

Mitchel didn’t answer. Not that Savin had expected one.