Werewriters and green selfish dragons, and a critical look at Solar Wind 1

Rereading some of my posts after discovering to the bogglement of my mind that my blog has stats - people are actually visiting the posts, possibly even reading them!

And yes, a werewriter, that's what I am.  On the "ant", I wrote a post after the third or fourth sorely sleep deprived night in a row (I'm now on #5 or #6), about the dragon that is emerging from my previously much nicer personality.  My old shell is splitting in two and the dragon, brand-new and shiny, enormously selfish and powerful, is emerging, spreading out its glittering wings in the sunset to test how wide a span they have.  It will fly; but for now it is merely testing functions.  Fire-breathing.  People-eating.  The furnace that burns in its insides powering it - a metabolism that doesn't allow for sleep.  Low tolerance for nonsense; high enthusiasm for great stuff.  X-ray vision that cuts right through the BS and to the truth, and a forked tongue that will not be tied.

I'm now seriously curious about the selfishness cult of Ayn Rand, for no better reason than to find out what fueled those people that worshiped her, that are all billionaires today. 

Adding a "Chapter 0" to SW1 was a good move, no, a great move.  I'm rereading the start of "The Search for Home Base" (Shooting Star 3) and the style is lightweight, entertaining and fast-moving - something SW1 has partially lost over too many careful edits.  Sure, ST3 still has lots of holes in it, and gaps where it should have action, and a lack of multilayeredness (at least, the layers are there but not written out, only hinted at, so there is still lots of work to be done), but - the style is better than SW1.  Stacks better.

Is this then what it will take?  A complete re-edit of the first book, so that the style is (back) in line with my original fast-moving-like voice?  Chapter 0 is great; Chapter 1 nosedives now.  Sorry.  Full circle, 9 years after I originally wrote that first paragraph that was only put in place to evoke a mood before the story takes off.

I still like that paragraph; here it is.

6th of April, 2116. Rust-coloured waves, calm sea fading into the haze towards the darkening east. A minimal breeze, just enough to keep the perfectly balanced white ship moving forward dreamily, southwest towards Bermuda. Young boy high up in the archaic Crow’s Nest, playing a haunting tune on an ocarina, carried down in snatches on the wind. Young man leaning against the foremast, newly bearded and unkempt from the day’s work, strumming on a Clarsach, a small Celtic harp. Ancient acoustic instruments, rare calm moment, the great sea hushed. Young sailor with red hair cropped as painfully short as her two brothers’, leaning against the rail with an infuriated scowl, humming a fragmented alto line. The fast-sinking sun painting the trio orange. Three musicians, the Donegal Troubles, hired for the Solar Wind in Dublin.

Dark eyes watching from the shadows of the jib stowage bay.

*sigh*  I so wish I were on that ship!