Sunday, November 28, 2010

Sunday Snapshot

Okay, you crazy, hazy-brained, cross-eyed Nanowrimoers!  And sane cowards, like myself, who watch you from the sidelines and secretly envy your determination.

What was the last thing you wrote?  Post it in the comments below. It doesn't have to be perfect.  It doesn't even have to be good. It just has to be YOURS.

Here's mine:

The first bird of morning trilled with freshly-wakened enthusiasm somewhere on the castle roofs as Faldur strode down the walkway of the circular courtyard where he had first arrived.  A troop of mounted soldiers waited there, the best of the half-elevjan who served the King, with Mel at their head.  Tall of stature and strong of girth, clad in the King’s armor, their breath steamed in the pre-dawn chill along with their horses’. 

Faldur hoped that as a display of the King’s favor, they would so impress Chalmeth as to make use of their swords unnecessary, but he was glad to have the swords just the same.  He clasped hands with Mel, and then turned to the groom who held Strider for him.  The dory seemed small and lost beside the tall, gleaming horses; the upper curl of his thick horns came only to the nearest one’s withers.  He butted Faldur impatiently.

“We’re going,” Faldur murmured. “We’ll bring her home.”  


  1. Seeing her after so many years apart brought back all the old memories. Unfortunately, they also mixed with the fantasies that had helped to keep him alive on the peninsula. Jonathon couldn't tell anymore which were real or imagined.

    Upon seeing her, his first impulse had been to kiss her out of her clothes, pull the pins from her hair and take her there on the front parlour chaise. But he had frightened her.

    He knew his countenance had changed. Four years fighting a war on a hot, dirty continent couldn't help but alter a man, however, his most telling scars were on his left leg, which had taken the brunt from the carriage during the explosion. But she couldn't see those.

    No, the scars on the inside of his soul, for all he had seen in the war, were what frightened her.

    He couldn't blame her.

    They frightened him too.

  2. I love your writing! I wish I had tall gleaming horses. :)

    Now for mine:
    Isabelle tiptoed away, too afraid one of them might find her listening. She didn't want to end up like the woman from the wives tales. The musket by her side gave her strength, and the fact that two more bags of gold awaited Brackenbeard when he took her home. He wouldn't give up on that, even if it meant putting up with a pretty pansy lass from the country.
    Settling down with her back against the bow, Isabelle cradled her musket in her lap and drifted in and out of sleep. The sway of the waves lulled her and frightened her at the same time. She felt suspended in no man's land, where you could disappear and no one would ever find you. Her fingers gripped the locket until the tips grew numb and white. That's what happened to Marcel.

  3. if i share too much, it could give the story away, but here's a little :

    Just before Dar'vosh released, Kieran found the strength to ram his shoulder into Dar'vosh’s legs. Dar'vosh threw the knife but it missed Lydia by a few feet. Dar'vosh spun around and clawed at Kieran, knocking him to the ground again.

    Dar'vosh drew another knife. Kieran tried, but couldn’t find the strength to rise again. He couldn’t protect his daughter now. Dar'vosh released the knife, but it was a clumsy effort as he seemed to clutch at his eye right as he threw it. He staggered back and pulled a knife from his gored eye.

    The bridge started to shake. Dar'vosh drew back his arm again, this time holding the dagger that he’d just extracted. Before he could launch the weapon, an ear-splitting crack made Kieran grit his teeth.

  4. i forgot to say your writing is so descriptive. i'm jealous.

  5. Uh, Michelle, your writing is very descriptive. And tell Brandon he's doing a great job!

    I wish I had someone to collaborate with.

  6. Ann and Aubrie, both of your stories sound very intriguing!

    My horses shouldn't be gleaming. That is the problem with rough drafts. It's before dawn, so there is no light to gleam.

  7. Happy Thanksgiving weekend :) From the novel, which is NOT a teen romance despite the following:

    She went up, ordered and came back after a few minutes, holding her drink and frowning back at Delores. She shook her head as she sat down.
    “What's wrong?” he asked.
    “Nothing really. Delores was just acting odd. Smiling weird at me. Usually we're pretty cool.”
    A large lump suddenly grew in Aaron's stomach. “I thought you two were friends.”
    “Sure, we are. But not close friends. I mean, this town is pretty small so we all try to remain on good terms, especially considering what binds us. But nevermind about her, what say you about seeing some fireworks tonight?”
    “I'd love to but Delores asked me to go and I, uh, said yes. I guess maybe she felt funny once she saw you, knowing we're friends and all.”
    Sam sat down, looking at him, expression unreadable. He felt the red return and began fumbling with his cup.
    “I don't think funny is the exact word you want,” she said finally.
    “I was caught off guard.”
    “Aaron, far be it from me to tell you who can hang out with. I just thought if you didn't have plans we could go. Since you do have plans, no big deal.”
    “Listen, I'm sorry but I have to go. The more I think about my dad, the more upset I am. I should go talk to him. He's not exactly up to speed in the twenty-first century. Or sometimes even the twentieth. Talk to you soon, okay?” She got up and left.
    “...I'd rather go with you.” He sat back. Delores was busy with a few customers so she heard nothing. She looked over at him and smiled, then saw Sam was gone and gave a little frown. He got up and handed back the ceramic mug.
    “See you tonight,” he said.

  8. Adam ran a tongue along the inside of his cheek while gave Crystal a measuring stare. Then he turned to Bill, who was standing off to the side near Trey and Rafael. “Go bring the car around,” Adam said. “We’re going on a little treasure hunt.”

    “All of us?” he said. “The car won’t fit seven.”

    “We won’t all need seating,” he said. “There’s room in the trunk.”

    The man nodded and left the suite. Crystal met each of the men’s eyes in turn. Rafael’s anger had dulled into a shadowed fear. Danny still looked like a scared boy, but one who would jump in front of a bullet meant for her. Trey seemed far away, lost deep in thought.

  9. And now, from my current YA WIP. Background: These two characters are from very different worlds, one archaic, the other modern. Sullivan's attempt to befriend Katz in an earlier scene ended with her snottily spelling out her name and calling him an asshole.

    This scene takes place in the monastery library:

    "Um, what's your name?"

    I take a breath. "Sullivan."

    "Sullivan. Okay, Sullivan."

    I turn around and watch her walk toward me, her chocolate curls sticking out every which way.

    "Can I call you Sully?"

    Irritation flashes through me again.

    "No. It's Sullivan. S-U-L-L-I-V-A-N."

    "Okaay. Got it. Don't get your boxers in a twist. Or are they briefs?"

    Boxers? Briefs? What the hell is she talking about?

    "Briefs, I think. That would explain why you're so uptight."

    Even though I don't understand what she means, I can tell I'm being made fun of. I glare at her, spin around, and head for the door, followed by her snickers.

    But a sound in the hallway on the other side of it stops me dead in my tracks.

    Crap. I turn and, glancing at Katz, race for the stacks with as little sound as possible. The rustle of her robes tells me she's a half-second behind. We reach the end of an aisle and I duck to the right while she goes to the left. Listening to the door open, I press against the end of the row and glance across the aisle to see Katz do the same. She grins, her pale eyes wild with excitement, and I can't help but grin back.

    The whistling that accompanies the footsteps into the library can belong only to Brother Arigar. In addition to overseeing the gardens, Brother Arigar also teaches music, and he always whistles wherever he goes. I listen as he heads to the far side of the room.

    "Now, let's see, where is that book? Ah, here it is!" He picks up his tune again and walks back across the room, then stops. The sound of a drawer opening means he's at the desk near the door. I look across at Katz just in time to see her squint and hold her nose, apparently fighting a sneeze.

    Aw, shit. She's going to get us caught.

    The desk drawer slams at the same time a fake sneeze squawks into her hand. I glare at Katz as she hides a grin. My ears strain for any sign that Brother Arigar heard, but his whistling never stops. He walks to the door and opens it. The final notes of his song fade and shut off as the door closes.

    Giggling, Katz steps into the aisle and peers at the door. She looks at me and bursts out laughing.

    "You shoulda seen the look on your face. That was awesome!"

    "That was stupid. We could've been caught."

    "So? What would they do to us? Make us scrub floors? Oh, wait, they already make us do that." She sneers. "Besides, why are you hiding? Thought you were special. I mean, you're that bitch's pet, right? Maybe you do more than just help her in the classroom, huh?"

    A shudder rips through me. My fist curls and shoots past her head into a shelf full of hardbacks and out the other side. Books explode into both aisles. Katz shrinks back, her eyes wide with alarm.

    I stare at her, fighting the rage that wants her face to be next.

    But she's a girl! I don't hit girls!

    What the hell's wrong with me?

    Ashamed by my violence, I scowl at the far wall and head across the room.

    She says nothing as I go through the door.


I apologize for the word verification. I hate it, but the spammers made me do it.