Yep, I’m back.
Maybe not every week–I’m working on book 3 now, and spoilers abound. Not even just book three spoilers… book 2 spoilers, too. I keep forgetting that you all haven’t seen that yet. I guess the only spoiler here is for people who don’t want to be reassured that anyone survives book two. If you’re that into surprises, you might want to look away now.
Still here? Good.
Anyway, since I am, in fact, drafting something, I feel like I should be able to find a wee bit to share. (For those of you who are new to the game, WIPpet Wednesday is where we share a snippet of a work in progress that relates somehow to the day’s date. Six lines on the 6th, or something from chapter six, or something about a six-armed hooker… the possibilities are endless, really)
I’ve been going for dialogue and character interactions lately, so today we’ll try something a little different.
24 sentences from Rowan for the 24th. She’s just found herself in a dream, standing outside her childhood home. I’m speed-drafting here, I’ll fix it later. No laughing. And this is not the beginning of the scene, so don’t worry if you feel a little disoriented. You’re not alone.
I took a step toward the iron gates and tried to remember whether I had ever seen them closed. No. They’d always been open, a reminder when I was a child that my home was not a prison, even if it felt that way at first. And they’d remained open after I moved back with my parents, welcoming me every time I visited.
Here, in this dream, they were shut tight. A token gesture to be sure; the stone walls on either side were crumbling even more than they had been at my last visit, and wouldn’t keep anyone out. But those black gates closed tight against the road set my heart fluttering. The familiar had been made strange, and I didn’t like to think what it might mean.
I stepped forward and was relieved to find that this wasn’t one of those dreams where I moved like I was swimming through honey. The hard-packed dirt road felt solid beneath my feet, and I hurried toward the gates. No chain held them closed, but they wouldn’t move no matter how hard I pushed. I let my hands drop and stepped back.
Something crashed through the underbrush to my left.
“Aren?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The wind blew, and the tree branches creaked in reply.
The broken stone bit into my hands as I vaulted my legs over a low spot in the wall and landed inside the property.
I gasped. The house could have been abandoned a century ago.
The roofline reached as high I remembered, but only at the ends of the building. The middle had caved in, leaving a jagged, gaping hole. Vines covered the stone walls, growing thick and wild. Narrow branches reached out through shattered window panes. As I moved closer to the building, I noticed piles of rubble and dust at the base of the walls.
The front door hung limp from its broken hinges like a drunkard stumbling into his home, and green slime filled the lanterns outside.
But it’s just a dream… right? Guys?
Guess we’ll see where that goes.*
If you’d like to see what the other WIPpeteers are up to, click here. As always, thanks to our host KL Schwengel, to whom I dedicate this very occasional use of the word “whisper.” And if you’d like to join in on the fun, post at your own blog (according to the rules, mind you), link back, and be sure to drop by and visit everyone else. It’s a good little community.
And with that I bid you farewell. Things got a little crazy after this snippet, and my characters have some big decisions to make.
Back to work.
PS- don’t forget about the Rafflecopter giveaway for a signed paperback copy of Bound! See this post for details.
*If anywhere. I might cut the scene, and you’ll be the only people to ever see it. 🙂