A Drift of Quills: Deleted Scenes

Do you like to see deleted scenes that didn’t make it into the final version of your favorite books? Well, guess what? A Drift of Quills are sharing scenes we ruthlessly cut out of our books. (I am pretty sure no characters were harmed in the creation of these novels. Not permanently, anyway…

You’re in luck. Up until I wrote Crow’s Nest, I … didn’t keep deleted scenes. I’m one of those people who like to clear the decks and get rid of rubbish (except, apparently, in my office, where I need it the most!), so once I had the Final Version, I threw away what I deemed was junk.

Only it’s… not?

I know, what?? An author friend freaked out and forced a course correction. I now have scenes…

All righty, then! Without further ado, I present to you one of the scenes cut from Crow’s latest adventure.

The Ancestors Give a Lesson in Magic

(Are deleted scenes supposed to be edited? Good luck…)

“Beloved Ancestors,”—they adored a little worship; who didn’t?—“is there a way we can protect our home and keep others from entering?”

[Yesyesyesyesyesssssss…!]

I had not expected such an enthusiastic reaction. Most of my interactions with the Ancestors had involved them doing things and me being surprised. This request crossed a line from my own perspective as well. I’d spent a long time hating magic and wizards, and finding myself labeled a druid had shaken me to the core. But the Ancestors caused things to happen that should not—could not—happen naturally, and I struggled with the definition of magic and my part in it. Getting involved in the feud between Duzayan and his enemies had marked me—marked me with magic and a target on my back whether my title was druid or wizard. Not only must I watch out for the late baron’s accomplices who might wish to either avenge him or pick up where he left off, but I must contend with a large swath of the population (of which I would still like to be a member) that loathed magic-users. Wizards have their own rules and agendas, above and beyond the scope of mere mortals.

Caught in this precarious corridor between hating them and being counted among them, I needed to protect myself. “Will you teach me?” I asked cautiously.

[He does not know? What is this? How? How? Like a flock of owls, they echoed each other. Teach, yes. Keep Friend safesafesafe.]

And so it came about that I made another trip to the market for bizarre supplies like purified water, ground hematite, paint brushes, and the herb silver spur, which bore a pungent smell reminiscent of smelly cheese, sage, and pine needles. Shopping with the Ancestors proved an exercise in patience, but it was not without its humorous moments.

Their dashing about as they looked for the required ingredients for the spell they’d agreed upon stirred the market in a most remarkable way. I could hardly yell at the Ancestors to settle down without calling attention to myself, so I pretended to gape and marvel and cover my eyes with the rest of the gaggle. It was an excellent opportunity to practice my relocation skills, as well. A number of other goods found their way into my basket or pockets, including a bottle of Tanris’s favorite wine and a new scarf for Girl. Er… Senza.

Trying to figure out what the Ancestors expected me to acquire boiled down to letting them steer me to a particular booth or shop, then listening to them talking over each other in their voices-like-dry-leaves until I figured out what they were saying. All too often, I wound up talking to myself, speculating whether this or that item might be the better choice. Playing a hundred-and-one questions with invisible spirits in the middle of a crowded market, I came inches from capture and confinement as a madman.

Back in the safety of my apartment, I underwent the torture of instruction.

I cannot recommend my tutors.

The Ancestors informed me I needed to infused the potion with the blood of those allowed to pass the barrier.

Marvelous… I didn’t mind donating my own, except for the whole dilemma about no-good wizards, blood magic, and offending the gods. I refused to do that. They loved me too well. I looked up at the ceiling for a while and wondered what they wished me to learn from this experience.

“What about hair?” Not that Tanris had any. “Bits of clothing? Something precious?”

[Sssssssss…] They hissed and swirled and chattered. [Sssssweat…]

Sweat would work? I could live with that…

(Find out more about Crow here!)

P.S. BROADDUS

Author of The Unseen Chronicles
Parker’s website

(READ MORE!)

PATRICIA REDING

Author of the Oathtaker Series
Patricia’s website

As the issue of cutting is directly related to editing broadly, I’m commenting on how removing text fits into that process in a general sense. (In the final edit of my first work, I cut roughly 80,000 words. Imagine that!)

Some cuts come easily. Unnecessary verbiage may be removed with a simple change from passive to active voice. In particular…

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