Saturday, April 21, 2012

Streaks and Blurs

Remember a long time ago in a land far, far away I decided I was going to write a novel?  And then I was making fun of myself because everyone says they're writing a novel?  Okay, probably not.  But at the time, I felt confident about the story, and I estimated it would take about a year to complete the manuscript.  That was back in those days of yore where I was an idealistic moron.  Why-oh-why would I think that I could write a manuscript in a year? 

Needless to say, my manuscript is still bleakly incomplete.

The good news is, I am still plugging away at it.  And I really love this story.  I read chapter three and four to Trinity last night, and when I reached the end of chapter four, she gasped and said "Wait--you can't stop there!  What happens next?"  I told her, "I haven't written the next chapter yet, honey."  She was so bummed. She kept saying, "That's so mean Mom!"  The truth is, I did have part of chapter five written.  It's just that it was a first draft, and I wasn't ready to share it yet.  On some level I feel the same dissatisfaction that she does, because I want to see the story propel itself forward, and it's just not happening fast enough.    

For awhile now I've wanted to share out pieces of my manuscript, but Shan has advised against my doing so more than once.  She's worried that my ideas might get stolen by another writer.  So I'm just going to share my favorite paragraph from chapter three.  I'm pretty sure it doesn't give anything away (if it does Shan, let me know and I'll delete it). 

******
            “No!  It’s happening again…!” I heard Stryder cry out before his words became lost in a spinning vortex.  Searing waves of pain pulsed through my entire body.  My fingers and toes vibrated with scorching currents.  It hurt…oh God how it hurt.  The ground seemed to rip itself from my feet, and the wind was knocked out of me.  I can’t breathe!   Terror constricted my throat.  My ears pounded.  Colors smeared wildly around me like an abstract artist on a drug-induced painting rampage, with previously concrete images colliding angrily with one another into incomprehensible streaks and blurs.

 Suddenly, with a violent thrust and a gasp, I found myself in a new place.  I glanced around in bewilderment.  The store room was gone.  The shelves, the cabinets, the falling bottle of solvent…gone.
******

That was actually two paragraphs, but I couldn't resist including that last part. This excerpt was the very end of chapter three.  Now I'm really wanting to copy and paste the first paragraph of chapter four.  There's no harm in that, right?  Anything I post on my blog is immediately copyrighted.  I'll think about it more and maybe post it tomorrow.