Trying Something New

     Sometimes we have to step outside of our comfort zones.  We have to risk failure and embarrassment with the vague hope that our endeavors won't come to that.  I've always been an avid reader, and an almost equally avid writer.  Just for my own sake, of course.  But my mother has been proclaiming my genius to her friends since the day I handed her a Mother's Day card, still wet with Elmer's Glue and tears of frustration, as most mothers are apt to do.  Lately she and my father have both been after me to try to publish a book.  Naturally I was irritated, because who would want to publish a piece of garbage written by someone like me? But after my hormonal rage subsided, I actually began to play around with the idea of submitting something online.  Why not?  If anything, at least it'll give me something to add to my college applications.  
     There are a bunch of self-publishing ebook sites online.  I think I may want to try and publish one, just so that I can say that I have, and just so that my parents will stop harping.
     I have decided that I want to try to write a historical fiction, set in the Viking Age ( lord, I love vikings!).  I have already started writing, based off some general research and what I already know.  My favorite story is with the legendary Ragnar Lodbrok and his wife, Amazon and shield maiden Lagertha.  Actually, more specifically, my favorite stories of the Sagas deal with Ragnar's greatest son (at least, I think so), Ivar the Boneless.  
     Some themes I really wanted to explore include the clash of the old pagan gods and Christianity, the not-quite-oppressive attitudes toward women, as well as glory in battle and death.  Did you know that for their time, Norse women were pretty well respected and comparatively independent?  They could choose their own husbands and could choose to divorce them as well. 
     My main character (hopefully it's obvious) is a female that seeks to identify herself not with her gender but with the warriors and has been brought up in an environment that is both christian and Pagan.  I hope to show her lack of understanding towards Christianity in general, as it was a relatively new movement at the time.  Also, I once heard a critic say that a truly great author has "a wide array of 'voices' that they can assume at will", and I wanted to try to develop another "voice".  It was pretty challenging.


       So, here is what I have so far:

     The home is the sphere where a woman many reign supreme.  At least, where the care of such sundry items as the wash or children are concerned.  My mother passed such divine knowledge unto me, in the year of our lord, 912, before the Almighty saw fit to send that which plagues us, even now.  My mother taught me things a woman ought to know, even as she lie expiring upon her straw pallet.  She had only me, and although a child still, I was old enough at least to send her off with a dog at her feet and her sword in her hand.  A longship we had no longer, and even if we had, I would not have been strong enough to defend it from thieves.  
    When the greatest of the shield maidens that served the great Lagertha had descended beyond even the powers of Ineata, wisewoman of the village, I closed my eyes and laid my brow against my mother's wasted arm.  I prayed to the gods, old and new, that she may be allowed into the Halls of Valhalla, although she had not died in battle. 
   I knew not the name of the man that sired me, but my mother told me once, a long time ago, that he had not come with the wave upon waves of Christians, clad in their rough woolen smocks and shaven heads.  I would have gone to him, if I could have.  If i knew where he was, or even who he was.  I would ask him to learn me in the arts of the Ulfberht; I would ask him to help me become a shield maiden like my mother, most trusted warrior of Lagertha, wife of Ragnar Lodbrok.  
    My mother had not wished a raider and warrior's life for her daughter.  Had I not been born beautiful, it is likely I would have had my way.  Instead, for all my wit, I was cursed with a fair face.  I was raised not to fight, but to bear fighters.  My glories could come only from my sons.  
    A beautiful woman cannot be taken seriously, and an ugly woman cannot be trusted.  This I understood only upon reaching my fourteenth summer.  The pain in my flesh almost rivaled the pain of being alone, bereft of a mother.  This second pain I inflicted upon muself, for a woman scarred, at least, is neither beautiful nor ugly. 

This is sort of like a prologue.  This second part (below) is some time in the future, after she has found her father and become a warrior.  It also takes place just after Aella of Northumbria captures Ragnar Lodbrok.  BTW, the switch from past to present tense was intentional.

   There is an uproar in Ragnar Lodbrok's great halls tonight.  It is because Ragnar, strongest and hardiest of men, has been taken by a man that can be no man.  What man hides behind stone walls and cannot bear to do his own killing?  Here in the North, such a man is below even a dog.  
  There is talk that this is the punishment of the new god.  But I look across the dusky firelight into the faces of Ragnar's sons and I cannot believe that a birthling god would dar cross such giants of men.  
   "Aella.  Aella."  the halls writhe with hatred, swelling beneath the chants of the Coward's name. Bjorn Ironside spits at his imagined foe and roars for blood.  His brothers join their voices to his, mingling with Thor's thunder outside.  The rain, always rain, cannot wash away such blood, such hate.  Only more blood can wipe clean the wrath of Odin, and of Bjorn.  The crowds call for the Coward's death, for Ragnar is much loved here.  
   I stand and cast aside my cloak, scratchy in the heat of the firepits.  I can feel the eyes of men, tracing, appraising.  They must wonder at a woman dressed in a man's leathers.  Those that know me look away as soon as they realize where their eyes have wandered.  The chicken-livered look away beneath my gaze, fearful of my ravaged face.  Now there is only one man whose eyes boldly fix themselves upon my.  A rose blossoms between his eyes before he even has time to blink.  I yank my dagger out of his skull and bury it to the hilt in the soil beneath the rushes on the floor.  When I pull it out, it has been cleanse by the earth.  
    "Yngnah!" Bjorn bellows, thrusting a tree-like arm heavenward.  His eyes glint with humor, beneath his murderous rage.  "Sister-not, I see your anger tonight.  Do you not wish also to avenge Ragnar-king?  Will you join our Great Heathen Army?"  His query is directed to me, but is met by Ragnar's people with thunderous approval.  I kneel before him.  
     "I will fight."The hall erupts.  Lagertha rises, shakes free her fame golden locks, and kneels beside me. 
     "I will fight."  Our twin oaths bind us, our wrath unites us.  I notice that Ivar, wisest of Ragnar's sons, celebrates not with his brothers, but with his horn.  Lo, his eyes are filled with the same hate, the same fury as Bjorn, as Ubba, as Halfdan, and even as Lagertha.  But his glitter with an ice colder than the midnight sun.

BTW, that last part was a Led Zeppelin reference, for anyone that cares.
I'm starting to ship Yngnah and Ivar, but I really want Yngnah to stay single.   We'll see.  I would really appreciate feedback, so please comment on this.  Does this make sense? Should I use less adjectives?  Is it interesting?