Actually managed to get a bit of revision done today at the library while the little one was at school. Day 1 was spent mourning the loss of the little ones with the other parents over coffee and baked goods. Today was far more productive. It's amazing how quickly an hour passes when you're focused on something. I think I only added 200 or so words to the count, but my passages are less vague, my verbs stronger, and I've rearranged some scenes. I feel like the first half of the book has really come together.
I've submitted my picks for Crit Partners, and am awaiting my match from the wonderful Lara Willard at writelarawrite.wordpress.com. The novel I plan to send my CP will be much nearer completion, and I will be far less embarrassed about letting a stranger read it. The contests I've entered have made it much easier to accept criticism, especially since they're actually providing helpful feedback. It has been amazing.
I remain hopeful that I will be able to devote a few hours a week to writing now that preschool has entered my life. I'm also becoming more disciplined in regard to how I spend the precious time I have to myself while little man is sleeping. As addictive as all my Kindle apps are, I've had to cut most out of my life.
Little Man is currently screaming and showing me via tantrums that it's nap time. I think I may soon get another block or writing time. Until then, I want to share a snippet I wrote this morning that is actually inspired by a dream I had last night. A dream that involved the resurrection of ghosts that seemed real, and left the summoner unable to part with them a second time. It was intense, and I woke up with a myriad of emotions warring within my chest. I decided to write a bit down before it was forgotten.
The need is palpable, a crushing force against my chest that makes it hard to pull air into my lungs. It’s him, really him. His blonde hair is just long enough for him to tuck behind his ears. His nose has the same bump from where he caught a baseball with his face when he was five. It’s his eyes that steal the last of my labored breaths, pools of blue that threaten to swallow me completely. I’m relatively certain that I would let them take me without a fight. The corners of his mouth lift in that half-smile that always gives away his excitement when he’s trying to be serious.
It’s easy to forget he’s dead when he looks and feels so alive. He even smells the same--like fresh grass after a summer rain shower with undertones of sweat, as if he’s been cutting grass in the rain. When I bury my face in his chest, his scent wraps around me, and I inhale it as deeply as my crushed lungs will allow. I don’t even have time to mull over the fact that I don’t pass right through him, or that he feels so warm against my skin. I just savor the comfort that comes with his familiar embrace.
And then, I am kissing him. My fingers clench his hair and pull it into fists as I bring my legs up around his waist. He holds me, touch both gentle and urgent. His tongue thrusts into my mouth and I meet it with my own. He tastes like citrus and mint, fresh and powerful. I only pull my lips away when I run out of breath. They feel raw and swollen, but still hunger for another taste of him.
That smile tugs his mouth up again. “God, I’ve missed that,” he says, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine.
My thoughts are racing so fast that I can’t form a coherent sentence. Instead, I pull him down into another passionate kiss.
Never thought I'd be one to write a paranormal romance, but this is really leaning that way. Will be interesting to see where it takes me.
No comments:
Post a Comment