Apologies, first of all, for missing last week’s check in. No excuses (I made those here); the week and everything else got ahead of me.
However, I have news that should make it all worth while. Are you ready for this…?
The novel is done.Finished. Finito. Ended.
Today, while sitting in Pret-A-Manger, I tapped the last sentence of the draft into Scrivener and hit ‘save’. The last ‘first draft’ of Silk Over Razor Blades is done.Wheeeeeeeeeeee!
Not that this is going to stop me writing. I have another eight days of November to go, so I’m going to fill them with words. I have a couple of other projects that I need to get down as first drafts, so I may as well keep going, right?
After finishing SORB, I went on and finally got the first draft down for my Phoenix story. I’m not sure that I like it, but I’ve run with an idea that came to me in the middle of the night after seeing Bo Burnham. Hmm. I’ll let you know what sort of reception it gets when I post on Monday. Failing that, I could go on and write the original idea I had which is, to my own mind, far slicker and easier. We’ll see.
For now, I suppose you’ll want a sample? Tough; you’re getting one. :p
Here you go.
“You know Saar?” Her voice became thready. Shrill. Her hands clutched the air as if seeking support and instead clamped down on nothing. “He’s real?”
“Of course he is!” Jason nodded. He couldn’t help it. “The first. The Father. We all came from him.” As he spoke, he felt panic rising in his gut. He breathed deeply through his nose to get hold of it, but the feeling just grew worse and worse. Turning slightly aside, he spent some time controlling the tremble in his limbs before whispering, “He’s been dead for years.”
The fear spiked again, followed by a rush of adrenalin.
Just before he turned to run, Jason realised that the emotions were not his but those of the girl, projected onto him by the sire-childe bond. He cut the link between them with a toss of his head, slamming the door between his mind and hers. It was all he could do.
He sagged, suddenly alone in his own skin, in his own mind, able to think and consider.
The girl gazed at him, similarly alone, but left in the clutches of her own paralysing terror.
Now was the time to take advantage.
He moved across the grass again, pleased to see that this time she could no longer follow his movements.
Sneaking in from behind, he fastened both hands around her throat and squeezed, sweeping her legs from beneath her with a quick pass of his hooked foot and bearing her down to the floor.
She shrieked, lashing out with her hands and feet, but the motions were jerky and uncoordinated. There was no power in them at all, just the ineffective failings of a terrified female.
Pinning her down, Jason reached into his jacket and pulled out a long dagger. The blade was long, wavy and etched with deep lines, filled with the dark residue of blood and grime. He held the weapon high above his head and gazed into the girl’s terrified face.
Despite himself, a tiny finger of sadness wormed it’s way into his mind.
Though not to his taste the girl was pretty. And clearly powerful. A shame to waste a potential asset.
But, when he thought about Kiara, and her express orders against further Kisses, he knew that he had no choice.
His grip tightened on the dagger hilt, fingers wound tight around the gold and silver handle.
“You should never have changed,” he whispered, “it was a mistake. My mistake. Now I have to fix it.” He swung down, closing his eyes at the last second as it to remove himself from the terrible deed.
The blade swung wide. He felt it go and popped his eyes open at once.
A long line of blood dripped from the dagger’s tip, but the girl was still moving.
A gash ran across her cheek from the corner of her left eye to the corner of her lip, rough, jagged edges weeping blood.
Her eyes narrowed in the depths of her beautiful face and, as he watched, he saw darkness bleed across the wide orbs like ink on blotting paper. Within seconds her pupils had swelled to encompass her whole eye so now iris or white was visible. She looked like Shadow, though his opposite, the dark to his light.
See you all Monday.