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coffeeandcalligraphy · 5 years

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Holy Queen | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

Y’ALL. Last week I had some insane writing mojo and pumped out this chapter for MOTH WORK. If you missed the previous updates, make sure to check them out in the shiny new Moth Work tag for context!

This chapter was *a joy* to write. I’ve had this chapter in my head since May, and it’s been one of my most anticipated writes! It’s also the start of part two of the book, which is now split up like this:

As you can see, 1-5 (or part one) belongs to Harrison and is called Eyes, and I’m hoping 6-10 (give or take) will be for Lonan.

Today’s update is focused on chapter six, aka HOLY QUEEN.

This is the first chapter I’ve written in Lonan’s head, and it was such a fun experience? I actually added his whole POV just for this chapter lol (DO IT FOR THE TEA). Drafting this chapter only took about two days which is WILD. I mostly wrote it over a few writing sprints with @sarahkelsiwrites which I don’t often do because I like really taking my time with drafting, however, I think it was super helpful in forcing me to really sit down and write without a break for 20 minutes--something I’ve had trouble doing for a while.

What’s it about?

This chapter follows Lonan wandering through Vegas, unaware of where he is and who he is. Because of this, the entire thing is written in a super disconnected state of conscious (which made it fun to play around with). The chapter starts when he stumbles into a cathedral during the early hours of the morning and meets Winona, a local woman who strikes a conversation with him.

The writing bit:

Like I said, I wrote this chapter almost exclusively during writing sprints! This was the least painful drafting experience for a chapter that I’ve had for this book to date, and I think this is because Lonan’s head is so much more interesting to be in than Harrison’s and that’s the TEA. This is mostly because he sees the world in a really warped way, especially because he’s so disconnected. Harrison has a consciousness to him that’s too immediate (and normal) for me to handle at some times, lol all I want is the “I could be a ghost” vibe POV character and Lonan is definitely fitting that.

The chapter itself consists of only three scenes that all have a really strong religious element to them. Though Lonan isn’t religious this chapter showcases his struggle with the remnants of his relationship with God (with that said, if that’s sensitive for you, tread carefully with the excerpts).

The chapter itself gets its name from the Catholic prayer Hail Holy Queen. @sarahkelsiwrites suggested it to me because it’s a prayer of the rosary (which becomes increasingly more important throughout the chapter). I really wanted a title with a religious context, and after re-reading this one, I felt it worked well for the chapter. I modified it because I only do two-word titles for this project, and I think it works well in the context of the story. This is the prayer if you’re wondering why I chose it (cuz symbolism tho):

Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy! our life, our sweetness, and our hope! To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley, of tears. Turn, then, most gracious Advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us; and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb, Jesus; O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.

Excerpts:

Holy Queen is broken into three scenes:

Scene A

Lonan aimlessly wanders Vegas and approaches a cathedral where he meets Winona

Scene B

Lonan gets a ride from Winona back to her place because it’s raining and he’s been wandering through it without realizing

Things get wild

Scene C

Lonan, finally more lucid than the night before realizes a few things: he’s in a city without a way to get back home, and he’s also! in a random! lady’s! house! He is subsequently beat up by a very angry husband

(I was supposed to enjoy this very much and instead very much pitied him my badddd sorryyyy rip eyeballs)

I’ll share a few paragraphs from the first scene. Here’s the opening paragraph of the chapter ft. Lonan being #dazedandconfused:

Lonan’s heartbeat and the church bells gong in a staccato so identical, he doesn’t notice he’s walked an hour and a half away from the motel. He doesn’t remember why he’s walking or when he started, he doesn’t remember the last time he slept or his mother’s maiden name. He doesn’t remember when it started to rain, or what rain really is, or what the water cycle looks like, or which stage he’s currently in. He doesn’t remember how many sisters he has, or the difference between astronomy and astrology. He only remembers the sequence of how to pray the rosary: ten Hail Marys, one Our Father. Hail Mary. Our Father. Hail Mary. Our Father. This is what guides him to the cathedral. Lonan isn’t Catholic anymore. He maybe never was. He can’t even remember this. He knows he’s a sinner. God will never let him into heaven.

He’s greeted by no one when he walks up the front steps and into the foyer, and the wall clock reading 2:33AM gives him a vague inclination of why. Lonan can’t remember the last time he went to church, or if his family went to church at all, but he walks toward the pew at the front like it’s natural to him and kneels. The sanctuary lamp dangling from the ceiling flickers above the tabernacle, and the air smells like damp wood. His hands tremble in prayerful submission, but he speaks to no one—no God, no deity, no mythologized woman. The act of religion comes easily. His mother could’ve done this as a teenager. A skirt below her knees. Her blouse precariously pleated and then tucked into the waistband. Lonan knows nothing about Izzy, but she would’ve been a good Catholic. She’s just as unbelieving as he is.

This next bit is Winona sparking up a conversation with #dazedandconfused Lonan:

The woman crinkles as she moves—it’s because of the fabric, because of her handbag. She sets all of her things down, the handbag first, and then the jacket, loosening it from her shoulders to reveal a tattooed patch of skin just above her chest. He stares because he doesn’t know where else to look—he can’t remember how mass works, so she becomes his surrogate priest.

“Are you new?” she asks. Her voice sounds like a chorus whistling.

To Catholicism? To life? To this church? To Nevada? Lonan doesn’t understand what she’s referring to, so he answers the only way he can think to: “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She laughs, but when he doesn’t, her smile fades. “Are you lost?” she asks.

“I’m praying,” he says.

Her hair is curly and chemical red. It bounces at her shoulders, and swishes with the rosary clinging between her breasts. She wears a lace camisole and three rings on one finger, all different stones: amethyst, peridot, sapphire. Her nails match her hair and glimmer in the candlelight like blood. He studies the tattoos lining her chest—the rushed outline of a lion, the smudged glimpse of a koi fish, a star circled and pressed into her skin like a brand.

“You’re a satanist,” Lonan says. He stares at that last tattoo, the wobbly outline like she drew it on herself.

This is one of my favourite parts of the chapter, particularly the line in the edit:

Lonan doesn’t understand why she’s asking him all these questions. Her eyes are blue, and her roots are growing back in—a dull brown instead of the hot red. She smiles like his mother, and rests her elbow against the edge of the pew. He stares as she adjusts the elastic of her camisole back over her shoulder, and follows his gaze like she’s expected this.

“I can’t remember.”

He can’t feel his tongue. He can’t feel his heartbeat. He can’t remember how he got like this—if it’s all an illusion, or if someone has cast a curse that’s made him this way. He doesn’t remember if this woman is supposed to be good looking—he’s only distracted by her fingernails, her tattoos, the stack of rings on her single index finger. He reminds her of someone but no one in particular—maybe just women, his mother, his ex-girlfriends, his unknown sisters.

The next one has so? much? symbolism? I am English class:

He doesn’t know why he gets up or when, just that he ends up at the altar. A bible sits on a gold mount, and he fingers the pages, smoothing the ink until it transfers onto his thumb. He doesn’t understand how to read the words—he doesn’t remember how literate he is, just that the ink transfers. He brings the blackened thumb to his face and presses it into his cheek, and if it weren’t for the sudden touch at his back, he’d forget about the woman at the pew.

“Are you a journalist?” she asks. Lonan smooths his finger again over the page, erasing words like father, lie, unnatural, flesh. The words don’t move as much as he wants them to—they don’t reorder even when he begs them to. He isn’t religious and never has been, but at the altar he wants nothing more than God’s forgiveness.

“My father is a journalist,” he lies. His father is dead, he means. His father is the Satanist. “Adam.”

“That’s your father?”

“My name.”

He can’t remember why the woman has removed her jacket. He turns to look at her.

“Are you supposed to be here?” He doesn’t know why he asks this. It just tumbles out of his mouth like his fake cover story, his fake name, the fake words smudged under his fingernails.

“We’re all supposed to be here. I’m Winona.”

“What city is this?”

She leans against the altar, closer to him. She smells like jasmine and vanilla. Moonlight pools through the skylight above her and carves out her outline. This is what distracts him from noticing the hand she slides against his shoulder.

“Vegas. I’m a local. Are you sure you aren’t a journalist? All the high school kids keep insisting this place is haunted. You’re trying to get a story?”

“I don’t believe in God.” Lonan stares at the moon from the skylight. The rain blurring it like organic pointillism. Her fingertips bleed through the jacket, not his jacket—Harrison’s jacket. The thought makes him flinch. “Do you believe in God?”

She chews her lip. “Is that a trick question?”

Lonan turns away from her and the Bible, descending the stairs back toward the pew.

“Why did you come to the church?” she says, her voice growing quieter and quieter the closer he gets to the exit. “If you didn’t believe in God?” He hears her shuffle to grab her things and catch up with him, and he lets her, slowing down until she reaches a half step behind him.

“I wanted to make sure,” he says.

That’s it for this update! Writing this chapter really sparked my love for this project again, and I’m excited to see where it goes from here because I’ve basically run out of pre-planned beats to hit! I’m almost at 25k, which is also very exciting!

Thanks for reading, pals!!

--Rachel

#writing #writerblr #writeblr #amwriting #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates

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