Hey friends! I think I mentioned before that I’m trying an abridged form of Nano Wrimo this month. Word counts don’t motivate me, and I know better than to burn myself out by making myself too tired to be creative at all. Combine that with the fact that, somehow, I’ve been steadily writing 6 days a week since the beginning of July, and 50,000 words in a month didn’t sound like a good goal. What did sound like a good goal was finishing the first draft of my current novel by the end of the month.

This means that I’m currently up to my ears in the last push to the story’s climax, including researching and planning a battle. To help me visualize, I’ve drawn a very detailed battle scene than showcases my excellent, polished skills at drawing both people and landscapes. Here are a couple highlights:

Seen above, I’m sure you can tell, is an army of peasants armed with axes, clubs, scythes, and even hoes.

And this one is an imposing barbican, as I’m sure you could tell without the arrow labeling it.

So, because of my preoccupation with this, I bring this you today one of my old poems, in case you forgot it or are just joining us.

Without further ado (or excuses), here is one of my sonnets:

House of Sorrow on a Hill

By Beth Wangler

Behold the house of sorrow on a hill
That boasted naught but crumbling façade
And mites of dust unmoved by air so still;
Whose pavèd path no foot had ever trod.
Its desolation never was the last
Thing one was wont to notice passing by.
One glance would leave the viewer sad, aghast
At the solemn structure ‘gainst the sky.
Not long ago I passed it by anew,
Expecting proof that life ends dull and dark—
And lo! Its days of mournful past are through!
Its walls are bright, its windows light. A lark
Sang loud nearby. Its purpose now: To reunite
The lonely and downtrodden with delight.