Tuesday, February 17, 2009

More Fashion Disasters

It was warm. I unbuttoned my coat. She took hers off, and kept on taking things off, even her jeans, which made me twitch a little. Geraurd appeared to take no notice. She slid on a pair of light training pants, with no acknowledgment that she had done anything unusual. She bent to knot the strings around her ankles. Above, a tank top fit smoothly over her curves in a manner that, again, I found very distracting. Her arms were bare, and so were her feet.

She bowed, and Geraurd bowed back, not quite so deeply. Then she stepped onto the mat.

"You are tense," Geraurd said. "You move well. Most people move like drunk, pregnant cows." He smiled lightly. "You move like a normal cow. But still too tense."


The whole book is not, in fact, about what this person is wearing today.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Unfolding

... as she skirted the bloody remains she felt the limits of her shape. For everything the Gift gave her, she was still falling behind. She made her decision. She let the adrenaline flow, gave her permission, and the thing inside sang with joy.

She changed in mid-step, an unfolding of night and bone before she disappeared into the bushes as well.


I worry, because I worry about everything, that things are so sparse that people won't be able to figure out what I'm talking about, especially people who haven't read the previous books.

On the other hand, I like it.

Monday, February 09, 2009

A Rare Old Cheese

The snow was thin in the park. The wind whipped through, exposing gray bundles of grass and old concrete walkways. _____ walked between the pillars of the park entrance and into a frozen over memory.

For an instant she saw the sun, felt summer on her skin, heard children squealing to each other on the playground equipment, bright colors in the daylight. Then it collapsed back under the cold of winter nights. The children's voices were silent, and the swing sets and slides crumbled into piles of rust and faded plastic covered with drifts of snow.

She sighed, and that too froze as it left her lips and was torn away by the wind.


But not rare enough for some, I wager.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Refashioned

Normally I don't rework a given paragraph this many times, but that one bugged me. So, cut out some of the commentary.

She did not look like a threat. She looked the opposite of a threat. Her jacket was a white, puffy, synthetic shell. A pleated skirt peeked out below the jacket and ended high above her knees. Black tights below that, and slightly over-large boots lined with fake fur. She didn't look threatening, she looked young, cute, almost sweet, except for the knowing sharpness of her eyes. The guard wasn't looking at her eyes.


A little tighter, I think.

And yes, I am also procrastinating, a bit stalled as I try to figure out what to do with (or have happen to) some characters who should not just be sitting around (they wouldn't stand for it).

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Never Mind

I've rewritten that first paragraph about two more times already.

Fashion Show

She did not look like a threat. She looked the opposite of a threat. She wore a white, puffy, synthetic shell of a jacket. And under that, tonight, for some reason, she was wearing a pleated skirt. It peeked out below the jacket, and ended high above her knees. Black tights below that, and still further down slightly over-large boots lined with fake fur. She didn't look threatening, she looked young, cute, almost sweet, except for the knowing sharpness of her eyes. The guard wasn't looking at her eyes.


She pulled the boots off her feet, one at a time, without looking away, then took off the jacket, too. She was wearing a dark, long-sleeved pullover underneath. It was high-necked, hardly revealing, probably chosen for warmth more than looks, but it hugged her figure in a way that I found very distracting.

She nodded to Geraurd, a brief acknowledgement, and a warning.


Overkill? Perhaps. Fun to write? Oh, yes.

Sunday, February 01, 2009

It Continues



Rushing ahead to get it out of the way.