Just edited what will be the shortest chapter of Planting Life, and all I can think is 'wow I did good.' I had completely forgotten this chapter existed and absolutely blew me away.

Entire chapter is just internal experience of autistic character going through sensory overload on the edge of shutdown.
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Kyawtchais struggled to keep eir head up, eir feet moving. The street was quiet, not like the market areas and docks where the familyless lived. But from inside the compounds came the noises of jungle fowl, children playing, grandparents yelling… and over (Or under) it all the scrape-scrape-scrape of Kyawtchais' own feet against the road.

The sounds, every one of them, even the littlest, hurt. Every movement hurt.

Ey came around the corner and saw tall-Lefeng… no, guarding-Lefeng waiting, hand on eir long knife, watching the street behind Kyawtchais. Safe, safe with Lefeng to guard and Kolchais to watch.
Kyawtchais dropped the distaff and sank to the ground, barely managing to hold onto the spindle with its burden of thread.

Voices around em, but ey couldn't separate out the words. Noise. Just noise.

A gentle hand under eir arm hurt, like lightning under eir skin and ey flinched away. But rather than letting go, the hand tightened, firm, crushing the lightning, grounding em. The hand lifted, and another on eir other arm, firm, firm, holding em so ey didn't float away into the nothing, the grey cloudy fog that filled eir mind.

"Woven fabric always makes me think of a square-net without holes." Ey continued to Chotaikytsai, "But you talk about 'looms' that were as wide as your arm. That's nothing like netmaking."

They spent the rest of the night talking about rope-making and village life. The next night, Chotaikytsai pulled out a little child's loom that was the only loom saved from the fire. Kyawtchais gave eir yarn, and the short-one showed them how to thread the warp and send the shuttle through to build the weft. The silent-one watched in fascination, and Kyawtchais thought it a pity the city had no room for another weaving family.
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About 3000 words edited today. Yay progress!

#ScribesAndMakers 7/15 How's your creativity going? Share a paragraph or image for critique?

It's going well, I think. My current focus is editing, but Rai and I recently started re-drafting one of our stories from last winter. Progress and some fun on all sides.

Here's my most recent snippet from Planting Life:

They finished raising that section – the entire house-to-be now had walls to the height of eir knees – and Kyawtchais gratefully stood and stretched eir back. Spinning was not idle work, but a full day at the walls used more and different muscles than Kyawtchais was used to.

That, too, was like creating a family.

Together, Kyawtchais went with the gruff-one and silent-one to the outside hearth. Today, ey would stay for dinner.

2000 words edited today. Less than usual, but progress still counts.

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Kyawtchais' Cenn had loved the trees. Loved them enough that in spite of the risks, ey had insisted on going out into the forest when eir contractions began. Penpy had a common name – dawn. Ey insisted eir child would have a name that meant something more than the time of day ey had been born.

Penpy had gotten eir wish. Deep in the forest at night, attended by fearful healers and hired guards, ey had given birth. The moment the child had left eir body, eir eyes had been locked on the foxfire glow only seen by those who dared the woods at night. Kyawtchaisawt, the cold fire was called. Kyawtchais, then, became eir infant's name.

It was a name that spoke of mystery, of secret things, of deep darkness.

Planting Life in a Dying City is not a love story in the traditional sense. But there is so much love in this story.

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"I hope the day comes when you can give yourself to me as well. But you have shown me that you accept me as I am. I know if that day never comes, it will be because of your grief and not, as with others, because you reject me." Kolchais smiled and felt the smile to the depths of eir soul. Ey knew Lefeng now. Knew eir spouse-to-be as ey had known few others. Ey would grieve, yes, for a long time. But when ey was ready to move, ey would not be stopped.

Kolchais turned to face the night sky with Lefeng, the stars that guided the farwalkers and boatfolk in their journeys. When the day came, Lefeng would find Kolchais still here, steady as the stars themselves, which never stopped moving, but were always where you needed them to be. "How can I be angry that you grieve them? When it only shows me how great your soul is and how strongly you value those you love."

Slowly, Lefeng leaned over until eir head rested against Kolchais. Together, they watched the night sky.

"Perhaps one day, you can take me to the mountains. Show me how the stars are meant to look."

"I would like that."

"The spinner could come too."

"I think ey loves eir markets, the way I loved the mountains."

"Yes. But ey could still come if ey wants."

"Yes."

Singing… it was a private thing. A family's songs were shared only with their most trusted friends and, sometimes, extended family.

They were family.

In time they would make new songs, but for now, it was right that they share the songs of their childhoods.

When it was eir turn, Kolchais shared one of eir good memories from eir childhood – a song of wind and running eir Baba had taught em while they worked the family garden together.

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About 3,000 words edited on Planting Life in a Dying City, almost done with Kolchais' section of the story.

They are learning how to build a family together!

2600 words edited and a solid start on Tsouchm's story.

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Regardless, there was work to do. Tsouchm arrived at the gate a few steps behind Longstride and helped unload the greenery from the cart. It took less than a finger-width of the sun's travel to get the greenery on the frame Lefeng had built the day before. It would be big enough for all of them to sleep in, with some room left over.

It was rough and unconventional, but it would work.

Rather, Tsouchm hoped, like their family would.