Sunday, April 6, 2014

Writing Diary: Week 7

As I sit to write this post, I have to ask myself, Did I write anything? I know I did. Some. The week is sort of a blur, but let's see what I did.

Adult Scifi: 20,808, and I'm one big scene from the end of the first act. I actually did a read-through of this one to refresh some details, tweaked a couple small things... But it's good stuff! I'm pretty happy with how this is turning out.

Fave Lines: (Setting: A cafe table; new acquaintance Tara & Leigh drinking coffee)

"You’re obviously our kind of people.”
For the first time all day she had my attention. “And what, pray tell, is ‘our kind of people'?”
“The kind that doesn’t swallow the bullshit party line.”
You’re integral to the survival of our race, no matter your function in life. Yes, I knew that party line, and wanted to carve it out of my memory with a serrated blade. Behave. Obey. Listen. Be silent. Reflect. Conform. And by heavens, don’t stray too far into thinking for yourself territory. These things were only the beginning of our “lessons.”
My spoon scraped the ceramic bottom of my cup, while I focused on the pale brown liquid spinning in a lazy circle. “Meet a lot of pod women, do you?”
“More than you think. You’re in the north, honey. The centers up this way don’t fuck around. You walk out those doors believing everything they tell you, one way or the extreme other.”

YA SciFi: 25,706, and I'm right in the middle of the first pinch point. The bad guy's about to strike. Whoop! Is it weird that these are my favorite parts? ;-) And side note: I love my main character in this. For all the reasons.

Fave Lines: (Setting: Ian and Sloan are standing on a tree trunk over water and he's just led her across it with her eyes closed.)

When we stop, Ian’s breath brushes past my ear. “Feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“The rest of us call it trust.”
I open my eyes just as he’s leaning away. He isn’t smiling. Maybe he’s waiting for me to explode. I sort of feel like I should, because what he’s doing is a form of manipulation. Is this how he thinks he’ll get me to talk? A crash course in setting aside my trust issues?
“I understand what you’re going through,” he tells me. “Probably better than most. You’ve got no reason to let me in, but you can’t keep pushing everyone away. It’s no way to live.”
I live just fine consulting with myself. Most times, I even give myself good advice. And while Ian’s methods are admirable, maybe a little annoying, he’s failed. He just doesn’t know it yet.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him.
His lids narrow. He senses a trap. He’s got good instincts. If only he’d listen to them. The second his eyes close, I wrap both hands around his side and shove hard to the right. He isn’t expecting it, and he falls almost too easily into the water.
Ian springs up a moment later, gasping and swiping down his face to clear his eyes. “What was that for?”
I bend down and sit on a heel. “A lesson in trust. Don’t.”

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