Something Dramatic

Hello, hello, hello!

So, I was working on a writing project this last week with my husband peeking over my shoulder, and I turned to him and said, "It's just ... SO DRAMATIC!!!"  To which he replied, "It's supposed to be dramatic!!! Seriously, sometimes you're a little too technical with your writing."

He's got a good point.  I am a scientist.  I've been known to be a little ... harsh ... when the science in a story is off. 

BUT ... that's one of my favorite parts about writing.  It's okay to be Dramatic (Capital intended!). It's great to be poetic!  We are storytellers, after all!

So, for this week's prompt, choose the first animal you see (be it a stuffed animal near your computer, a deer out your window, your cat snoozing on your keyboard, or if all else fails, open an encyclopedia) and write something Dramatic about that animal.

Enjoy!

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She crouched in the hay, stray pieces sticking uncomfortably into her bare legs and arms.  The moon, wide as the sky itself, shone in through the lone window above the loft, illuminating a path to the door.  If she could get to the light, she would survive.

A rustling in the rafters reminded her that she was not alone.  Though the animals had been herded out into pastures and corrals to feed on the sweet, spring grass, one animal would not be herded.  One remained.  And that one wanted blood.

She moved.  The river of light was only a few body-lengths away.  She thirsted for the light like a drowning man for air, but her legs, driven though they were by terror, failed to propel her body swiftly enough. 

The creature moved soundlessly, but she could feel it, as if it were connected to her own soul, some terrible demon sent to torment her alone.  It came quickly, and no one could stop it's flight.

A cry split the night.  Savage claws pierced the flesh of her scalp, her straw-mussed hair providing no protection.  Blood rose and spilled down her face.

A figure stood in the moonlight ahead, her savior, and she ran towards him, praying aloud to him to spare her life.

A laugh sounded in the night, one so jolly and carefree as to break the spell, and she found herself slowing even before reaching the safe shelter of her father's arms.

"Did you fall asleep in the hay again, Sunshine?  Is that mean old owl after you again?"

City of a Thousand Dolls

I just finished reading "City of a Thousand Dolls" by Miriam Forster.  Ms. Forster is going to be speaking at the writing conference I'm attending on Saturday.  Last year I just went to the conference, and I wish I'd known more about the people speaking.

(Don't get me wrong, it was fantastic - I just wish I'd realized how awed I ought to have been in the presence of those amazing authors.  It wasn't until I came home and actually read their work that I started thinking to myself, "Oh, my goodness, I sat in the same room as them!  I shook his hand!  I talked to her!  She told me I reminded her of her daughter and gave me a hug!!!  And I didn't appreciate it!!!)

So, this year I wanted to be prepared.  "City of a Thousand Dolls" is Miriam Forster's debut novel, and can I just say, "Wow!"  I was a little apprehensive because I'd read some reviews of the book that were just awful.  I went to the bookstore and read the first chapter, to see if I got the same vibe as the critics were talking about, but I didn't.  So, I bought it and pretty much devoured it over the next two days.  It was that good. 

Sorry, I'm getting sidetracked ... the prompt this week is inspired by an idea I got while reading the book.

The Prompt: What if the king's new bride has been trained as an assasin?  A string of murders makes the king fear for the life of his new wife, but little does he know, she's the murderer.

Write me a first chapter, something in the middle, the exciting, climatic scene where the king realizes his precious new bride is the ruthless killer, or maybe even one of the murder scenes.  Be creative.  Have fun!

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"What happened?" Reginald the Third asked, his voice low.  "Emilia was so upset, I could barely get a word out of her."

"Yes, Sir.  Her majesty heard a scuffling in the passageway and rang for help.  The kitchen servant came upon the body as she went to answer the bell," the gaunt steward answered.  It was hours before dawn, yet he wore his uniform, starched and pressed as if ready to oversee a royal function.  The king himself wore only a robe over his nightclothes and a pair of velvet slippers.

"They found the body, but not the murderer?" Reginal asked, stepping closer.  He had to stoop in the small passageway meant for servants.  Only twenty feet away, where the passage met the chambers of his new young bride, a thick tapestry covered the arched doorway.  On this side, the thin, broken body of his wife's servant, the only friend she'd brought with her from her own nation, lay bloody and battered.  Dead.

"How was she killed?" Reginal whispered.

"She's been stabbed in the back.  The doctor has been called to examine the body, but for now, that's all we know," the steward offered.

"Poor Isla.  She certainly saved Emilia's life tonight."

The steward nodded solemly.  "Yes, sir, she did."

The king straightened, then flinched as his hair brushed the low ceiling.  He ducked again.  "I'm going back to Emilia.  Double the guard around my chambers tonight and make sure this is all cleaned up as soon as possible after the doctor has a chance to see it.  Have Commander Robbins meet me first thing this morning.  Palace security needs to be increased.  Someone is threatening the life of my bride."

Felicity

It's been a while since we had a picture prompt.  This one is, again, from Julie Fain.  I'd love to have her do my cover art. 

http://www.juliefain.com/

There you are.  Go.  Write.  Enjoy!

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My response:

Infant born, in the dark, deep night,

Worlds line up to give thee might,

Stars align and galaxies spin,

To bless thee and thy earthly kin.

Mistress, grown tall in the sun's bright rays,

Mystery and wonder fill thy days,

Truth and right and dark and light,

Dance around thee, give thee sight.

Woman, at the end of days,

Make thy choice and forge the way,

The fate of souls rest on thy skills,

Bend the universe to thy will.

And Save us.

Hmmm.  I'm not sure if this is my favorite post.  I generally stay away from poetry, although I enjoy reading it.  I'm excited to see what everyone else comes up with.

Her head pounded ...

Inspired by how I'm feeling today...

This week's prompt is: "Her head throbbed with excruciating pain ..."

(But don't worry about me.  Really, it's a dull, throbbing ache - but I can be dramatic about pain.)

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My Response:

Pain. 

Sara hadn't even opened her eyes yet, but her whole body registered pain.  There was a sharp something digging into her ribs behind her, where her weight rested.  Her left arm felt as if it were being crushed in a vice.  Her legs, awkwardly bent above her, were cramping.  Most of all, her head throbbed with excruciating pain.

Sara willed her eyes to open, just a slit, but then snapped them shut again.  The blinding light seared into her brain, and it was a few minutes again before she could will herself to try again.  While she waited, she tried to remember.

They'd been in the short-range interspatial shuttle her dad had rented to go visit her grandparents on a dark little frontier planet near Procyon.  It was a large vessel, but with twelve siblings scurring around, up and down ladders and through portholes, it didn't seem so large.  As the oldest, Sara was supposed to help keep order, but the little ones, in their excitement, weren't listening to her any better than they were to their mother, and Sara had taken the brunt of Mama's anger.

Sara eased her lids open.  Bright light streamed in through a wide crack in the side of the vessel.  They'd crashed.  Sara couldn't remember how or why, but she knew the odds of crashing on an ocean planet were a million to one.  Worse, actually, but the point was, if you crashed in space, you were dead.

Except, Sara wasn't dead ... even if the throb of her heart echoing in her head made her wish she was.