Sample Sunday - Blood and Bones
Apr. 3rd, 2011 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
naomi_jaySo I'm back to work on Blood and Bones after a month-long break. I couldn't remember what was happening, which was fine since Ryan doesn't know what's happening to her, so I guess it's all working out fine. Here's a snippet!
I had no idea what time it was, but the sky was starting to lighten, streaks of steel grey appearing in the inky dark, when we finally rolled to a stop. I croaked my relief and hopped onto the head rest of the passenger seat to get a look outside. The thought of fresh air was intoxicating after hours on the plane and in the car, and the outside world just looked so inviting.
We'd pulled up outside an old farmhouse, surrounded by out-buildings that were probably once cattle sheds, hen coops, pig sties. Shadows clung to the pale stone building and I heard the ghostly calls of owls echoing inside the huge barn off to the right. Overgrown grass and creeping ivy covered the walls and stone courtyard, speaking of years of neglect, but soft lights shone inside the farmhouse, and there were several cars parked outside.
Smoke caught me while I studied the place, pinning my wings to my sides. I didn't struggle; I didn't want to be drugged again, and he was being careful not to hurt me. The driver opened the door for him and he stepped out. Cool air, scented with fresh-mown grass and animal droppings, washed over me, and some of the tension knotted inside me uncoiled. I itched to shift back to human, get solid earth under my feet, but Smoke didn't let me, and I couldn't blame him. I wouldn't trust me either.
They conferred in fast-paced French as they hurried to the farmhouse. I picked out a couple of words – no and soon. No help there. My French was pretty much limited to oui, non, and thanks to Jeb's eclectic approach to my education, veuillez me passer le tube à essai.
The front door swung open as we approached. I tensed in Smoke's hands, a nervous croak escaping me. In the warm light flooding the porch, I made out the slender silhouette of a woman – a girl, really, I thought as we got closer. She was dressed in torn, faded jeans and a hoodie that looked several sizes too big for her. Her dark hair was wild and tangled, streaked with bright pink. She didn't look evil, but I admit my judgement was probably off.
The driver called out a greeting, but she ignored him, hurrying to Smoke with a wide grin on her face. "I was worried you weren't coming back!" she cried. Her English was flawless, her rich accent adding a nice exotic touch to it.
Smoke spared her a passing glance, obviously not as pleased to see her as she was him. "I always come back," he said. Was I imaginging the melancholy in the words. "Is Oliver in?"
"Of course." The girl was either oblivious to his lack of enthusiasm or used to it; she gripped his sleeve and tugged him through the door. Smoke's fingers tightened on me just enough to make me uncomfortable, and I snapped halfheartedly at him.
"Oliver!" he called, his voice echoing in the bare stone hallway. "Where are you, dammit?"
"He's in the basement with Jarrett," the girl explained, all eager to please Smoke. She lead him through an equally bare stone kitchen, spotlessly clean if utterly lacking in soul. I thought of Deke and his colourful cooking with an unexpected pang that I quickly buried.
The kitchen had two doors; one leading back outside into a darkened yard, the other down a flight of stairs. Of course that was the one the girl lead us down. The claustrophobia I'd barely kept at bay in the car crushed me now, leaving me shivering in Smoke's grip. It wasn't just the darkness – I like the dark – it was the certain knowledge that there'd be no escape now. I should have fought harder at the airport, should have tried something outside. Hell, at the very least I could have crapped on Smoke as a last act of defiance.
I'm shooting for 1k a day on Blood and Bones throughout April, more at the weekends were possible. That should get me pretty close to a tidy first draft if it comes out about the same length as NIGHT AND CHAOS. I have some time off work later in April, but there is going to be birthday/social stuff happening, so I'm already preparing myself not to meet my goal. But a girl can dream, right?
7105 / 50000 words. 14% done!
I had no idea what time it was, but the sky was starting to lighten, streaks of steel grey appearing in the inky dark, when we finally rolled to a stop. I croaked my relief and hopped onto the head rest of the passenger seat to get a look outside. The thought of fresh air was intoxicating after hours on the plane and in the car, and the outside world just looked so inviting.
We'd pulled up outside an old farmhouse, surrounded by out-buildings that were probably once cattle sheds, hen coops, pig sties. Shadows clung to the pale stone building and I heard the ghostly calls of owls echoing inside the huge barn off to the right. Overgrown grass and creeping ivy covered the walls and stone courtyard, speaking of years of neglect, but soft lights shone inside the farmhouse, and there were several cars parked outside.
Smoke caught me while I studied the place, pinning my wings to my sides. I didn't struggle; I didn't want to be drugged again, and he was being careful not to hurt me. The driver opened the door for him and he stepped out. Cool air, scented with fresh-mown grass and animal droppings, washed over me, and some of the tension knotted inside me uncoiled. I itched to shift back to human, get solid earth under my feet, but Smoke didn't let me, and I couldn't blame him. I wouldn't trust me either.
They conferred in fast-paced French as they hurried to the farmhouse. I picked out a couple of words – no and soon. No help there. My French was pretty much limited to oui, non, and thanks to Jeb's eclectic approach to my education, veuillez me passer le tube à essai.
The front door swung open as we approached. I tensed in Smoke's hands, a nervous croak escaping me. In the warm light flooding the porch, I made out the slender silhouette of a woman – a girl, really, I thought as we got closer. She was dressed in torn, faded jeans and a hoodie that looked several sizes too big for her. Her dark hair was wild and tangled, streaked with bright pink. She didn't look evil, but I admit my judgement was probably off.
The driver called out a greeting, but she ignored him, hurrying to Smoke with a wide grin on her face. "I was worried you weren't coming back!" she cried. Her English was flawless, her rich accent adding a nice exotic touch to it.
Smoke spared her a passing glance, obviously not as pleased to see her as she was him. "I always come back," he said. Was I imaginging the melancholy in the words. "Is Oliver in?"
"Of course." The girl was either oblivious to his lack of enthusiasm or used to it; she gripped his sleeve and tugged him through the door. Smoke's fingers tightened on me just enough to make me uncomfortable, and I snapped halfheartedly at him.
"Oliver!" he called, his voice echoing in the bare stone hallway. "Where are you, dammit?"
"He's in the basement with Jarrett," the girl explained, all eager to please Smoke. She lead him through an equally bare stone kitchen, spotlessly clean if utterly lacking in soul. I thought of Deke and his colourful cooking with an unexpected pang that I quickly buried.
The kitchen had two doors; one leading back outside into a darkened yard, the other down a flight of stairs. Of course that was the one the girl lead us down. The claustrophobia I'd barely kept at bay in the car crushed me now, leaving me shivering in Smoke's grip. It wasn't just the darkness – I like the dark – it was the certain knowledge that there'd be no escape now. I should have fought harder at the airport, should have tried something outside. Hell, at the very least I could have crapped on Smoke as a last act of defiance.
I'm shooting for 1k a day on Blood and Bones throughout April, more at the weekends were possible. That should get me pretty close to a tidy first draft if it comes out about the same length as NIGHT AND CHAOS. I have some time off work later in April, but there is going to be birthday/social stuff happening, so I'm already preparing myself not to meet my goal. But a girl can dream, right?
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no subject
on 2011-04-03 09:05 pm (UTC)It always feels good to start writing again. :)